#just A Weapon 

Is death the only ending? No.

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Curses, and Blood

(SAGAU × Manhwa!Au × Villain!Au)

“What the-”

‘I hear... Footsteps!’

“FUCK!”

[ Mission: Survive Time Duration: 1 hour ]

[ Reward(s): Status points x10, Secret skill! ]

Status points can be used to level up your stats like Strength, Agility, Intelligence, and more.

You sighed, still looking at the game-like system infront of you.

“10 status points for surviving them? This is crazy! My life is on the line!” You screamed at it, but that didn't do anything. It just disappeared and started the timer.

You tsked, forcing yourself to stand up but still being careful, not wanting to open up any fresh wounds.

‘The secret skill better be useful.’

“I SEE THE IMPOSTOR!" you heard someone shout, making you recklessly stand up and run.

You can feel your wounds open up, but that didn't matter anymore as you only have one goal in mind.

‘survive.’

You ran, activating your agility and speed skill. ‘I can't die here!’

As the time passed, your fatigue keeps increasing—slowly making your activated skill disappear.

‘Fucking useless. should've leveled up my durability.’

[ 10x Status points obtained! ]

[ New skill gained! ]

[ Updating... ]

‘Wha- It's done?’ You asked yourself as you looked at the timer.

[0:00]

‘Did the timer even rang?'

[ Updated! ]

Name: Y/N L/N | “The Creator”

MP: 45/100 Fatigue: 96 Extra Points: 10

Agility: 15 Strength: 10 Speed: 16 Intelligence: 10 Durability: 9

=====

Skills:

[ Lv. 10 ] Monster slayer (the skill to eliminate monster type enemies with 2-3 strikes/hits)

[ Lv. 5 ] The Creator's right hand (the skill to make things levitate)

[ Lv. 1 ] The favor (the skill to heal any wounds) new!

[ Locked ] Divine Punishment

‘It's pretty useful. Is the system siding with me right now? Heh- pathetic.’

“Use 5x Extra point on Durability, then use the extra points left on New Skill; The favor and level it up.” You commanded the system, as you sat down under a tree and picked an apple from it.

[ Updating... ]

[ Updated! ]

[ “The favor” has leveled up to level 5! ]

“Activate skill; The favor!”

You smirked as you saw green flashes in your body. As you were healing, you threw the apple you ate and examined your wounds. It still hurts but you can now move more faster.

“Now this is interesting~”

Do y'all want me to continue this? What do you guys think?

Heavily inspired by @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry and @nicebonescomrade

Taglist: @chibikiibielle @xyliope @dapperishere @under-a-starry-night @zhongchi14 @ognenniyvolk @callmemeelah @irethepotato @bardisipatos

Within the Void

a/n | this has been in my drafts for forever and i’m happy to finally share it with y’all :) i have definitely been very high off of the scara hopium leaks and lore lately, and wanted to write this based on the unknown parts of his character. i really tried to challenge myself with this piece. i hope you like it and happy holidays everyone!! (art credits @/chinikuniku on twitter)

warnings | slight profanity

genre | love confession, enemies to lovers

word count | 2.3k

pairing | scaramouche x reader

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩

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Why should I apologize for the monster I’ve become? No one ever apologized for making me this way?

Kdrama villains 

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Deep Sea Chapter IV. Yan Scaramouche x F Reader

>Rating: Mature. >Warnings: Yandere themes, mentions of amnesia, misgoynistic language, minor violence.  >Word count: 6k. >Deep Sea Index.

CHAPTER IV // ORPHAN SPIRIT

The fortune slip in your hand is heavy, even if it bends to the slightest breeze.

Mt. Yogou overlooks the rest of Narukami Island as if it were nothing but an insignificant speck. The buildings down below are tiny, the people tinier. You stretch your hand out into the horizon and grasp the distant Inazuma City and hold it in the palm of your head. How perfectly it fits, you muse. If only the same could be said for myself.

High up on the mountaintop, past the torii gates that welcome you into the realm of the divine, you fooled yourself into thinking the gods might hear out your plight. The dark ink painted on by elaborate brushstrokes echoes the same premonition it always has: great misfortune.

You sigh and consider what to do next. Last month, it was purchasing an omamori, but your luck remained as lackluster as ever. What should you try next?

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taps fingers so that sagau huh 👀 i like the sub troupe where people think reader is an imposter and try to exterminate them for their blasphemy but what about one where reader runs into like the harbingers or the abyss prince/princess while injured and are recognised as the god they are so that by the time the rest realise what theyve done reader is smitten with where they are. like childe jokes around with them and rough houses gently bc he sees readers eyes light up at being treated normally, the reader loves to curl up on scaramouches lap and bask in being one of the only ones to hear the balladeers singing voice, they find snezhneya to be where they feel safest and are terrified to leave its borders w/o a harbinger or the tsaritsa hersef by their side?

HNGHN YESS I love this au! A few other writers have also made amazing stuff with this idea! I hope you enjoy this!! <3 I ended up writing about the fatui since i wanted to make this somewhat coherent and couldnt tie the abyss into it, but i'd totally love to write abt the abyss too!! (I really enjoyed writing this, miiight write more abt it if i have any ideas)

cw: mention of injury, trauma

Length: 1.9 k

Warm as the ice and snow

Perhaps it was because it was the first act of kindness you'd been blessed with since being forcefully flung into this strange, magical world. Perhaps it was because of the bitter resentment burning in the back of your throat like a vile poison. Whatever it was - it was the first time you'd felt - well, content since arriving in Teyvat.

You still recall the aches jabbing at your body - unsure where you were hurt, since everything ached agonizingly. Every bruise, cut - and especially the searing words echoing within your mind - voiced by ones you used to love.

Darkness.

Hallow, cold, darkness.

A never ending abyss of agony followed by numbness.

Tufts of fur ticking your nose - cool breezes brushing against your skin.

Wet flakes of snow, gracefully gliding down from the skies - only for their brief, yet beautiful life, to come to an end as they landed upon you and spread out into tiny droplets of water.

Strong arms carrying you in them, pressing you against a broad chest tightly - as though you'd fade away if they eased up their stronghold.

The crunching of snow beneath their feet. Anxious huffs of breath next to your face as the pace sped up.

Warm, plush furs underneath your frame - cradling your broken form and enveloping you in their inviting warmth. Pulling you down to sink into the softness below.

A cool, yet gentle touch upon your forehead.

Delicate fingers rolling across your skin, feather-light in their touches as they traced every mark upon your face with a barely-there caress.

"Thank you for bringing them to me."

A forehead pressed against yours - skin much too cold to be human, yet a warmth in the regal, quiet voice that spoke out.

Gradually, your heavy lids let up and allowed your eyes to open. You were greeted by a high ceiling - gratuitous silver embellishments lining the walls - crowned by diamonds that glistened like ice in the sun. Every corner of the room was decorated lavishly in cool silvers and blues - the only warmth oozing from the fire roaring near your bed.

A large bed - furs covering every surface of it and silky, transparent curtains drawn around it - fuzzing up your vision of the surrounding room ever so slightly.

Gently, careful not to irritate your injuries further, you sat up, allowing heavy duvets to slide off your form and crumple in a heap beside the bed.

Where on earth were you?

With a shaky hand, you reached for the airy textile of the curtains.

Your arm was wrapped in bandages - upon further inspection, much of your body was. The dull ache remained - but your wounds ached much less - as though a numbing and cooling agent had been applied upon them.

Before you could even attempt to climb out of the bed - the large, looming doors of the room swung open and a small crowd flowed into the room like rushing spring waters - a quiet murmur hovering around them.

You stared in awe at the people before you.

Childe, his blue gaze focused solely on you - a sincere relief upon his features?

The familiar wide-brimmed hat of an unforgettable Balladeer peeking out from behind the others?

But first and foremost - your eyes fixated upon the unfamiliar woman at the head of the group.

Icy, pale blue eyes that stared into your soul - silver-white hair enclosed in beautiful intricate braids and a shimmering tiara fixed within her hair. Her long, blue robes hugged her figure - the silver embroidery gleaming when the fire cast light upon her.

She was beautiful.

"Your Grace," she whispered, her voice like a melody sung out in a church - reverent and wise as much as it was enchanting.

She approached your stunned figure - a coldness hovering around her - something you should have figured, given the symbol of cryo worn around her delicate neck.

"We're so glad to see you're awake at last."

You hadn't expected to be held out a loving hand by the villains of the story. The harsh - merciless Tsaritsa and her loyal Harbringers. But you were glad they brought you into their loving arms within the nation of Snezhnaya - showering you in attention, gifts - worship as though you were the most delicate and valuable gem within the universe. Tending to your aches with soothing remedies and the best doctors.

A god - held in higher regard than even the royal and beautiful Tsaritsa herself - who was glued to your side, her mesmerizing eyes always upon you.

At first - you had been skeptical.

Skeptical, when Childe - Tartaglia, kneeled before you and kissed your bruised knuckles with the utmost adoration welling within the pools that were his eyes.

Frightened, when Scaramouche - the unpredictable and short-tempered Balladeer of the Harbringers allowed you to see a softness within his hardened shell - worshipping the very ground you walked in.

Intimidated, when the Tsaritsa lovingly guided you around the palace, showing you the gnosis she had acquired - promising to make the ones who hurt you suffer.

But slowly - you felt yourself melting in the company of your newfound friends, despite the ever cold winds and snow of Sznezhnaya.

"Your Grace, would you like to accompany me to go fishing?" the cheerful voice of Childe called out to you as you sat on your window sill, cocooned in a blanket.

You glanced up at him, a rare, faint smile upon your lips.

You'd been bundled up in the warmest fur coats, elemental magic keeping you warm as you rode a carriage to a nearby lake.

There, Childe had been quick to get to work, showing off his skills in a myriad of ridiculous ways. Shooting arrows at the fish - swooping them up with the claws of his Foul Legacy form - anything to keep the light in your eyes glowing.

Finally, as he attempted a complex series of tricks to catch his next fish - you allowed a laugh to bubble in your chest - pure and earnest, and vulnerable.

The icy waters of the lake had no effect on the Harbringer as he stared in awe, a dumb grin upon his own face as he relished in the heavenly sound.

He made it his mission to coax that sound out from you as often as possible, after that.

Even as he shivered in bed for days after that, a harsh fever riding over his body from the incident at the lake - he minded little, as your divine presence kept him company - slowly opening up to him. Telling him about your life before Teyvat.

He was smitten.

You found it strange, at first, how the Balladeer followed you around constantly, his eyes always on you. It was a little intimidating, given how two-faced he had the capacity to be. That being said, you were quite liking this new side of him you were unearthing.

Your head spun as you escaped your bed, throwing off the restricting covers as memories of your time being hunted crushed you beneath their degrading heel. You were desperate for air - desperate for freedom - for escape. It hurt so much and your legs could only carry you so far in the dark corridors of the palace.

You were brought to earth by soft hands gently grasping yours.

The room was barely lit by violet glow of an electro vision. Your panicked eyes bore into those of the Balladeer - and despite your best efforts, you found yourself sobbing quietly.

The usually angry Harbringer bit down his fury - fury at those that reduced your divine form to tears in the dead of night - and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in an awkward attempt at comfort.

He guided you to the sofa in his room, allowing you to sit upon his lap as you wept - not minding the tears staining his clothing as you clutched onto his shirt.

All that mattered to him was you.

You allowed the faint scent of incense imbued within his clothes to soothe you - lulling you to a state of exhaustion. His lips moved faintly - a whisper of an ancient lullaby flowing from them, until finally, you were asleep once more, guarded by the hands of the ruthless Country Destroyer.

After that - you slowly began to seek his presence more. His tough demeanor would wither away in your presence, becoming putty in your hands whenever you were around.

He could go from degrading his subordinates to kneeling before you - eager for your attention - ready to hold you - to allow you to hold him - anything you wanted. Behind his back, few even commented that they could almost see him wagging a nonexistent tail when you were around.

The Tsaritsa was always so gentle - you found yourself getting attached quickly. You were well aware of her jagged, icy nature towards those she deemed problems, but you cared little when her gentle hands placed diamonds around your neck and sang praises to you in a soft voice. Anything you may have needed or wanted - it was yours.

She'd play with your hair gently as she stood by your throne - her throne, as you had told her many times, only for her to disagree. She seated you upon it, smiling gently as she told you of her plans for the archons. Plans for those that hurt you.

Clearly, once the archons and their nations became aware of the fact that the imposter they had attempted to vanquish was indeed you, it was far too late.

Offerings and apology letters were discarded - shredded by the ravenous wolves that were the Harbringers. All to eager to let out their anger towards your transgressors by unleashing it upon their gifts.

When they were foolish enough to enter Sznezhnaya - naïve enough to attempt confronting you - they were denied any access to you. The Tsaritsa was very thorough in her defense systems.

That being said, they were subjugated to witnessing you bloom with infectious joy in the arms of the common enemy.

From a distance - never too close. Never close enough to be seen by you - another thing the Tsaritsa and her army made sure of - but close enough to see you.

See you allowing Childe to pick you up - twirl you in the air while calling you not by your title, but your name. It sent Zhongli into a spiral of despair.

See you sat on the lap of the Electro archon's discarded puppet - affectionately calling him nicknames you made up on the spot, or occasionally leaning against his chest as his edges softened only for you, singing gently for only you to hear. It broke Ei's heart.

See you pampered by the Tsaritsa - watch laughter simmer and spill from your lips as you were entertained by the beautiful flames of La Signora. Suffer as you held hands with the Cryo archon, gifting her your attention and company as she showed you the sights of Sznezhnaya proudly - a knowing glint in her eyes as she sensed her enemies nearby.

It was enough of a punishment on it's own - sentenced to see you happier without them. Happy and safe. Showing your most vulnerable state around the enemies.

But it wasn't enough for the Tsaritsa, or her army of Fatui.

No.

They would tear down every nation if they must - anything to see you smile. Anything to vanquish the nightmares still plaguing you permanently.

Those that dared harm you would certainly live and die to regret it.

Too much angst? Okay imagine Darling first arriving in Teyvat and the sheer happiness they experienced in meeting their favorite characters. The whole cult is so happy to finally meet them but wait! We can’t just greet them willy nilly, so every nation just puts up a HUGE welcoming festival. Every Archon and government are amped up to one up the other in wowing darling when they enter their nation the first time. Everyone is so happy to finally have darling in Teyvat. Brainrot over ☺️

@weirdsht 👀 hope you don't mind anon but I'll have to do this too in three parts 😭

Everybody in Teyvat expected their day to go as it always has done; Flora will send the Traveller to get her some freshly picked flowers, Xiangling will be out and about with Chongyun and Xingqiu for ingredients, Thoma will do his usual housekeeping and attend to Ayaka— just their everyday routines, for eveyone.

At least, that had been the plan if it weren't for a certain, sudden shower of stars that engulfed the entirety of Teyvat's sky. Of course, this has people talking— but what can the rest of the nations do but wait when the stars— or meteorites, perhaps?— seem to be aimed at Mondstadt?

But not even the Mondstadtians, with Jean herself at the front of the investigative group, could have anticipated that they'd find you, their God and Creator, face first against the grounds of the tree in Windrise, near the statue of Barbatos.

And it is you; Jean can feel it in her very bones, can feel the way every part of her body almost unconsciously recognises you— and so can the rest of the group, even those with no vision or who are particularly religious.

Gently, lovingly, reverently, you are carried by the Dandelion Knight herself back to Mondstadt to be tended to, and despite her orders of secrecy it doesn’t take long before the entire city is abuzz and excited— you're here! Their God, their very Creator is with them and decided to visit Mondstadt first! Is it not a cause for them to celebrate, then?

And so while the city begins to celebrate, bright banners strewn over buildings, fresh flowers hung everywhere, you are in the Favonius HQ, surrounded by nearly everyone— all so happy and excited to meet you, to greet you, and even more so once you actually wake up.

You are understandably scared and confused at first and they of courser rush to comfort you— do you happen to be cold, your grace? Are you injured, your grace? Are you hungry, your grace? Would you like new clothes, your grace?— until you are calmer and now even smiling as brightly as them.

And when they hear you say that you've always wanted to meet them, too, well nobody blames them for beaming, no?

And then you say you want to explore Mondstadt, and who are they to stop you when you want to and when the whole city has prepared a big festival for you?

While the Knights quickly start clearing their schedule, it is Venti who first takes you to tour the whole city— seeing you so excited and happy to meet his people, to interact and talk with them has him with a spring in his step, even more so when said people are all too glad and happy to tell you whatever you ask them. And so when you've turned your back on him for a few seconds, he quickly gets a cecilia flower crown from Flora which he gifts you.

Seeing you wear it with pride and kiss his cheek in thanks is a memory he will cherish forever in his heart.

Klee and Diona then join you, Klee excitedly taking your hand in hers after Diona shyly gives you a delicious drink she prepared just for you and dragging you to where Bennett and Razor are all the while telling you about the new bombs Albedo helped her make. Bennett is a shy, stuttering mess that doesn't even get the chance to warn you of his bad luck before you're pulling him and Razor to a hug, the latter a bit confused but not saying anything because he can tell through every single one of his senses that you lupical, that you are friend.

And after that is when you meet Amber and Eula— Eula who's so stiff despite Amber telling her that you aren't the God she's expecting, Eula who tries to drop into a kneel before you stop her and instead also take her to a hug and tell her that she's even prettier than you thought. Amber has a Baron Bunny in her hand, which she gives to you with a bright blush but a happy grin when you laugh and thank her.

Then comes Jean and Lisa, both bearing plates of food for you. Jean is also cautious like Eula, but it is easier to put her at ease after you tell her that the city is a thousand times even better than you imagined and yes, everyone has been so wonderfully nice to you. Lisa is only chuckling into her hand, though you are not blind to a the happy little smile she gets when you link your hands with her and Jean and thank them for the delicious food.

The three of you walk around the city again, and your eyes are still bright with wonder when you notice Angel's Share and ask to go there.

Diluc is of course the first to notice you, followed by Kaeya who has a little smirk that tells you exactly that he's been pestering Diluc at work again. Although you yourself don't notice it, they both brighten up as do all those at the tavern upon your entrance.

You don't known whether Diluc would've been as stiff with you as Eula and Jean were, because it doesn't take seconds before Kaeya is starting again except this time he's pulling you into the banter— and it is banter, because despite their words there's amusement and fondness in the two brother's eyes while they pester one another and tell you to ignore the other.

And then later it is Venti who comes and take you from there, citing that there is still so much you must see! And he is not lying— there's a dance going on in the plaza with Barbara singing, who waves at you with the joy of the sun itself.

When he sees that you are hesitant to join the dance, he only shakes his head when you tell him that you don’t know the steps; this is the City of Freedom, nobody will be bothered by you not knowing the steps, your grace!

Still, Venti takes your hands in his and teaches you the steps, until you are passable enough not to step on his feet every so often. Venti himself doesn't care; he's more focused on the bright gleam in your eyes and the fact that the winds are literally singing with your laughs.

Even now, it's still hard for him to think that his beloved God is actually here— but he does not dare complain. This is a dream come true for him, he will not ruin it in any way.

(And unbeknownst to him, this is a dream come true for you, as well.)

Wealth, Fame and Power? Perfection.

Summary: SAGAU but you're from a historical manhwa. Part 1

Warnings: NO BETA WE DIE LIKE CREPUS

The mansion was crowded. Noise of chatters can be heard from here to there as they talked about all sorts of topics you can think of. They were the people of power. Both against and the one who supports the Duchy/Dukedom

The ones who supports the Duchy/Dukedom celebrated the return of the rightful heir, the one who will be a part of the royal family in the future, as they were engaged with the crown prince/princess.

But the ones against them were in rage. How dare they come back? Did the assasins they sent wasn't enough? Did the royal family helped them? There were so many questions in their mind, still thinking about their own selfishness.

There are people who are neautral. The ones who wants to watch the ongoing fight come to an end. “Who do you think will win?” An old woman asked the other who was beside her—a countess.

“For me, It's the duchess/duke.” The countess answered proudly “It's not about how many people are on their side but it's how smart and powerful they are. Sure, the opposing side has more numbers of men but remember, the duchess/duke has the royal family's support.” she added, chuckling at the mere idea of the duchess/duke starting the chaos.

“They can basically do whatever they want!” The noble woman sighed as the countess laughed at her own statement, stopping when they heard the announcement.

“The Duke/Duchess— Y/N of the L/N clan has arrived! Pay your respects!” Everyone got on their knees and bowed their head down, even the ones against them couldn't do anything. not when you feel their eyes shooting ice cold daggers at everyone under them. The true power of the next heir of the duchy/dukedom and the next in line for the throne.

“Amazing... They've completely got all silent!” Venti screamed. But not too loud, just enough for the other three to hear. “Is our God also a God here?! What kinds of vision you think they have?!” he excitedly looked at Zhongli, who was busy looking at you. “I don't know...” He answered. “But one thing's for certain. We need to show are God that we're better than them! Better than those sneaky humans wanting to have a fight with our God! MUAHAHAHA” Venti laughed scarily, making Albedo and Ei look at him with a shut-up-bard-we-didn't-ask face.

But deep down, they knew Venti was right. You have everything and you can get anything in this world, as you were the one in control here, looking at how you made those humans shake in fear under your ice cold gaze, making them feel your authority.

So they looked at each other one more time and nodded, signalling to make another plan and that this won't work.

You're not safe in here.

They need to get you out of here.

You have more power in Teyvat.

And the people here are far too weak to protect you.

So they'll give plan b a go.

taglist: @chibikiibielle @dapperishere @under-a-starry-night @zhongchi14 @ognenniyvolk @callmemeelah @irethepotato @bardisipatos @uchihaeirin @chaosinanutshell @thatgoodolswitcharoo @lotterymology @aykolovescats

Special taglist: @nicebonescomrade @is-very-sad @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry @white-like-dis @willowedwisteria

Did you take request? If so, can it be gn?

Um..hehe, can I get yandere scaramouche when he know that reader has a lover that sadly die, but for some reason reader can't moved on. Not like they want to, and each day scaramouche could tell that reader is thinking about them.

Doesn't matter if he punish them or anything, each pain will just be met with "if scaramouche indeed killed me then can I finnaly see you darling?"

And while they were obedient, scaramouche definitely can tell that reader think of him as "replacement" ya know? Perhaps it's his eyes resemble them or his hair or whatever you can possibly think of.

If you didn't take a request feel free to delete this but please tell me cuz I know I'm gonna be waiting.

Yandere Scaramouche x GN Reader

/// Carved From Dreams - Part 1

Summary:

Slightly inspired by the myth Pygmalion

Your mind still recalls when you were a woodblock printer for the God of Eternity. With Raiden Ei's powers, your prints became those beautiful prototype puppets. But, unfortunately, you foolishly fell in love with your creation, so when he dies, and you are left devastated, The Balladeer uses your sorrow and his appearance, which perfectly mirrors your former lover, to get you wrapped around his finger.

Warnings: Angst, Death, Depression (more to be added in the 2nd part)

word count: 5.8k

Snezhnaya is cold.

Too frigid to relax. One always needs to be on the move, or else the hoarfrost will gobble you up.

Though a fox envoy, your memories of being a servant to the God of Eternity have all but faded into the glimmering snow. Yet for some reason, each night as the heavenly moon peeks a glance at your half-sleeping form shrouded in satin and silken sheets at Zapolyarny Palace, everything seems to come back.

The sea of white. Those poignant kisses that left burns on your beating heart. Never-ending tears. The mikos must have passed on the tale of an aloof kitsune whose robes were stained purple for an entire summer.

Perhaps it is like muscle memory, or maybe all of it became engraved into your mind that afternoon at Tenshukaku. Yes, the experience was akin to red wine tainting a wedding dress. You may try to forget. You may try to scrub out the haunting darkness until your skin peels off and your bones show, but the mark will always be there. Even if it’s just seen by you.

Nevertheless, it is something that lasts for an eternity.

You could recall the way paper became skin, how colored ink became violet eyes and plush lips, how each stroke became strands of hair.

He was sketched by you, carved by you, inked by you.

But honestly, could something so fair and radiant truly stem from a simple woodblock print crafted from your hands? You still ask yourself that very question. Yet one thing that you can be certain about is that Her Excellency, the Electro Archon, really did amaze you. Back then, the scarlet sun was setting; as she examined the nude, slender puppet, her face didn’t show a sliver of awe nor a shred of doubt. It was as unmoving as her goal.

You opened your eyes.

Still nighttime. Still too cold.

A chilling breeze invaded the room and you shivered as you pulled up the silken sheet to your chin and tiredly scrutinized your surroundings. He left the window open again. You shifted your body slightly to look at the Harbinger better.

The eagerness to lock the window and close the curtains was strong; however, in these scarce moments, as he obeys slumber’s will, he appears so insecure and pure. The word innocent crossed your mind. A princely face that lacks nothing except a touch of celestial divinity weeps for a tender heart and glazed dreams. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight.

You breathed lightly and didn’t dare to get out of the bed. A single disturbance would awaken the ruthless man. If you committed the transgression, a severe punishment wouldn’t be a surprise.

Besides, you didn’t really want to awake him, anyway, since in these fleeting moments, the Balladeer reminds you of the crack of thunder and brilliance of lightning.

So bright and clear like Akihito. A mere prototype puppet before him.

___

That summer in Inazuma, it was especially hot.

“Don’t be worried, Ei! If anything, my former ward is a shut-in.” Your master, Yae Miko, was always rather blunt. Even as a fellow kitsune, you couldn’t keep up with her demanding, mischievous personality. “You know I don’t like this nonsense you're concocting, but how could you think such preposterous notions? That I would bring someone who can’t be trusted!”

“Miko. Please.” Beelzebul vexingly sighed at her friend’s behavior and gave a cross response. “Everything must be perfect for my plan to take form. No one besides a few must know.” The Electro Archon monitored your eyes shifting from place to place, taking in the lavishness of Tenshukaku. She walked towards you and lifted your chin. You tried to stop your fox ears from twitching. Her touch was, not surprisingly, electrifying. “Miko tells me you're a skilled artist.” She grabbed your hands and inspected them. “Calluses. You practice your craft often, I see.”

“Yes, Your Excellency, I make a variety of woodblock prints. Some depicting the Shrine, some tales from the past, others mere imaginative scenes. I sell them in the city and during seasonal festivals.”

“Good, good.” You couldn’t really tell if she was pleased or not. She spoke so plainly. “Now, answer this question, and I will see if you are fit for my task as Miko so claims.” Your archon’s lilac eyes glowed brightly like an angelic spring morning, but they were solemn. Hands still being held by her were gripped tightly as if begging for you to speak earnestly.

“What does eternity mean to you?”

Abruptly, memories of lazy days at the Shrine came into your mind. Days when you tried to help your master with utter mischief. Times when you would simply listen to the koto being plucked at dawn or the shamisen being strummed at dusk. Echoes of the jingles from the suzu bells being performed by dutiful maidens in red hakamas and white kosodes rippled in your mind. Those nights when you would venture into the ruins of Araumi and sleep under a cherry blossom tree, dreaming of Kitsune Saiguu, bring sugary nostalgia.

But in actuality, the aftermath of the Cataclysm was your childhood. The ghosts of family members who succumbed to the potent abyss scratch your skin. They craved your innermost thoughts. You were so young when it occurred, but you remember how the shrine maidens would pet your fur to soothe the nightmares that plagued you. Vague images of eyes feasting on your form brought shudders. Faint sounds of talons clawing a wall gifted shrieks. You would only shift back into a more human form when Guuji Yae was around.

One morning as the sakura blooms seemed to float higher and higher into the misty sky, your master gifted you ink as black as shadows, paper as delicate as clouds, and a brush as fine as thread, and instructed you to paint whatever pleased you. Her blush-colored hair in the somber winds of Mt. Yougou blocked her stunning face for a moment. Her gold headdress—just polished— shined excessively.

“Come now, my dear. This will help you.”

You crafted scenes from fairytales. Skillful strokes told the story of a young fox walking through a riveting forest of cherry blossoms. Your family was there. In your work, the branches of the Sacred Sakura no longer wept over the fact that ichor from the one with a feeble heart and an oil-paper umbrella soiled the land that day. The lamentable cries of lightning didn’t startle Narukami Island when you were engrossed by your canvas.

Every piece you made became more beautiful and picturesque as your nightmares became more ravenous. You thought that if you shared your work, you would experience more bliss, so you moved to woodblock printing for faster production. That gullible hope died out soon.

“What a twisted child. The more they suffer, the more exquisite their work becomes.”

Ink stained the tatami flooring. Paper scattered your room. Slabs of wood were unattractively laid everywhere. One would've had to be careful not to step on a carving knife. Blisters, calluses, and splinters littered your hands. Even the shreds of ripped work still created masterpieces.

You transformed and curled into yourself, your tail blocking weary eyes from the light of the dimly burning lantern.

Just as you were about to remember more, an electrifying touch brought you back. You pondered for a moment.

“Eternity, to me, means achieving absolute happiness. Abandoning the waking world for one of euphoric dreams.”

Ei uttered the next few words so softly.

“It’s as if I’m staring into a looking-glass, and for once, I’m seeing myself. Not who I want to be… Not Makoto.”

That night, there was a sorrowful thunderstorm. The mournful tune of tragedy kept all of Inazuma awake.

___

The God of Eternity only had one request for you: The design of the prototype puppet mustn’t have the same appearance as herself. It may look similar, but not exact.

It’s just a test, after all.

After a variety of sketches, the one you presented to the Raiden Shogun was elegant.

Her reaction to some would be considered rather dull. A nod was all that was given. But the approval was thrilling.

The path to eternity had begun.

You remember the way the shrine maidens teasingly snickered as you tiredly hacked down a few sakura trees. Huffs and puffs, your heated face covered in sweat, drew their attention. The pink petals billowed in the air before they landed on your attire. You haphazardly dropped your axe, collapsed on the ground, and sharply exhaled. Pain ravaged your arms and back.

“My, my, not exactly what you signed up for, is it?” You rolled your eyes with slight annoyance. Your master articulated her words so gracefully, but anyone close to her could pick up on the underlying tone of amusement.

“It isn’t every day that someone works for their Archon,” you playfully defended yourself, waving your hand to shoo her away.

“That may be true.” Yae put her hands on her hip and sighed. “I think Ei is acting like a child throwing a tantrum with this ‘plan for everlasting eternity.’” Her eyes shifted to the trees that were victims of your slaughter. All of the fallen petals made exquisite pools of pink. “Yumemiru wood. Good choice.”

___

You stayed up all night making the first print, though not one that would be of much use to Her Excellency; it was a sentimental souvenir. Your heart thumped with excitement and anticipation.

It was second nature to you already. To paste the sketch drawn on washi onto the wooden block, to carve the surface, to repeat the whole process until you had a woodblock for each color to be added.

Your creation would have lavender eyes lined with crimson, lithe arms, and a gentle smile. His black robes loose on his body revealed his bare chest adorned with the lilac emblem of the Shogunate. Proof of his lineage, which stems from the divine, and evidence of his purpose, to house a celestial heart.

As the hours passed, your vision blurred. You didn’t mean to, but you ended up dozing off and dreamt of a young man strolling below tranquil wisteria trees. There was a slight fog on the narrow path. Dark hair flowed as he turned around to greet you. The geta sandals he wore echoed a low click sound as they met cobblestone. Lavender eyes matched the scenery. His chest ignited, his heart pulsated with power. He reached for your rough hands and placed them on his slightly exposed torso.

Gleaming tears spilled down his regal face. He mouthed something to you, but you woke up gasping for air.

Ugh! I fell asleep. You almost spilled the inks you made and nearly cut your hand on your tools.

The heavenly moon lit the room with nightly opulence. A feathery chill ran down your spine, a breeze pecked your cheeks.

Huh… It seems that you had left the window open again.

___

That afternoon at Tenshukaku, you weren’t sure what to feel, but frustration was certainly an option.

The way the Raiden Shogun observed you so intensely became seared into your distressed consciousness. She was like a teacher testing their pupil as you applied the ink onto the paper with the help of a baren. After you embossed your name and the number one onto the print, you handed it to the grim deity.

“It is finished, Your Excellency.”

Ei stared at the work of art for a second. Perhaps examining the youthful face of the man who would aid in her arduous pursuit to be closer to the Heavenly Principles. Maybe she was astounded by the vibrant hues of purple that made up hair and eyes. You couldn’t tell. Her face was as blank as the stack of unused kozo paper laid on the tatami mats.

As fast as lightning, her plum eyes became incandescent, her eyebrows furrowed, her braided hair came undone a bit. A gust of wind nearly knocked you over. The luxurious room quivered. The dendrobiums closed their ruby petals. You hissed at the intense light diffusing from her.

In a second, the print vanished, yet you knew what had transpired. Skin from paper, eyes from ink, but still, he would lack a benevolent heart.

You didn’t have a moment to relish the fact that your art had come to life, because as soon as he opened his eyes, the puppet withered away into dust.

Mouth now agape, hands clenching your clothes, you snapped your head back to Beelzebul to receive much-needed answers.

“It will take some time before one can even last more than a second,” she said, tone completely casual. “We must continue. This is why I chose a woodblock printer. The mass-production aspect of the craft will speed up the process immensely.”

“But–”

“Let’s make haste.”

About fifty prints took their first breath that entire evening. Out of all of them, only twenty prototypes weren’t wholly ephemeral in nature; however, they showed no sign of function. Perhaps you should’ve asked if you were supposed to paint strings on the puppets.

Ironically, though she was someone who should have all the time in the world, the God of Eternity didn’t want to wait until the nonfunctional ones vanished back to dust to further her progress. She cruelly threw their pale bodies onto the floor like a child discarding an old doll for a new toy. They laid there like corpses stacked in a pile. Some had their lifeless eyes still open, as if attempting to resurrect. Even as you continued your monotonous work by applying the ink, using the baren, embossing your name and the number which belonged to that specific prototype, only just to repeat the process, those unchanging melancholic eyes stifled your mind.

You winced as you heard the sickening thud of one of the bodies falling. Their heads and limbs moved unnaturally with the sudden movement. One underneath had disappeared, allowing for gravity to simply follow its laws.

Prototype number forty-three, or so you believe, was one of the ones on top, but he tumbled down the heap and ended up right next to you. A few strands of hair covered his face. His limp arm stretched out completely. A slightly bruised hand was open, as if begging for you to hold it.

You lifted your head from your work to stare at the man you had sketched, carved, and inked. How handsome he is.

A reserved sigh was emitted from the woman with a noble body and amethyst irises. You paid no mind to her as you stood up and cradled the forsaken being in your arms before placing him back onto the morbid mound.

Calloused hands cupped the lifeless face of the prince. “I don’t want you to be alone. Have sweet dreams with your brothers.”

You used your index finger to close all their eyelids carefully. You thought you did it to give them some peace as they decay. But really, that harrowing lavender color prickled your soul for what felt like an eternity.

___

It took about a month before you and Ei managed to create a puppet that seemed to be promising. Unlike the others, you asked if you could give him a name, as you would be the one in charge of watching him to see if he’d be fit to move on to the next stage.

After hundreds of times, the ordeal wasn’t as bewildering as that first afternoon. It became like an everyday chore. Numbness was all to be felt. But the second he gasped for air, took in his surroundings, and grinned excitedly, you blinked. Shock seeped into your heart and mind. Huh, this one is rather distinct from the others.

You decided on the name Akihito. It was fitting. That smile of his was so bright and clear.

Time passed by quickly; you wished the kamera was invented sooner. The burning yearn to go back and somehow capture those moments has disturbed you for centuries. You remember how you brought him to Konda Village and taught him how frail crystalflies are, how warm the day is compared to the dignified night, and how to paint what’s on his mind.

It was the simple things with Akihito. He would ask about someone’s day, how they were feeling, have they eaten yet, have they smiled at all. He made the citizens of Inazuma laugh so easily.

Once, you brought him to the Shrine, and he held your rough hands. You mindfully noted how delicate his were. He stopped every second to talk to passersby. He even gave his spare dango to a weeping child near the torii gates.

“Why must you stop so much?”

“Because the present moment is so fleeting. We must treasure it through our interactions with others.”

He soon knew more about the maidens at the Shrine than you did, and you had spent your whole life with them.

You remember your cheeks heating when you watched his face brighten as the mikos performed the sacred kagura dance.

The realization that you liked spending time with him — not just because he's your artwork, nor just because it's your job — wasn’t as tough to swallow as you thought it would be.

___

Your room was nothing short of a chaotic mess back then.

Inks, most commonly hues of purple, always stained the tatami flooring. Kozo paper was always scattered around. Slabs of yumemiru wood were always haphazardly strewn all over the place. Whenever Guuji Yae came to visit you, she had to be extra careful not to step on your tools.

The word embarrassment wouldn’t be able to properly describe what you had felt when Akihito asked to visit your dwelling. Besides Tenshukaku, your little abode was also your studio.

Without thinking one day, you had told him that the majority of your equipment and original prints were there.

He smiled. Of course, he did. That’s what he’d never stopped doing.

“May I pay your room a visit? I would love to see your process.” Akihito pleaded to you. Well, that’s how the sensation of those handsome, lavender eyes growing rounder with questioning awe felt.

You resigned. You couldn’t say no to those eyes and that enrapturing beam.

You briskly turned your head away from his inquiring stare and looked down at the ground. You attempted to distract yourself by scrutinizing his geta sandals instead. “It’s kind of an eyesore, though…Everything is rather cluttered.” The urge to say no was immense, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you felt safe sharing everything with him.

“I don’t mind. I can even help you clean your room! If you want me to. You have done so much for me. It’s the least I can do!”

Courage must have possessed you because you met those bright eyes and fondly brought your right hand to his face.

“No, you are the one who has helped me so much.”

You realized what you had done and tried to pull away swiftly, but he caught your rough hand and tugged you into a warm embrace. The sudden affection caught you off guard.

By the end of the idyllic day, your room was spotless.

You made sure to leave the window open, for there was a pleasant breeze.

___

It was around noon time when it occurred. Another month had nearly passed.

Those breathtaking lavender eyes closed, his eyebrows raised slightly, he chuckled. You rested your head on his lap. You two were under a cherry blossom tree in the Araumi region. The regal young man caressed your skin and pet your fox ears. Akihito’s form was hunched slightly to shelter your eyes from the sunlight that was slipping through the branches. Light pink petals fell on top of his head; they contrasted with his indigo hair. He gleefully giggled, and you joyfully sighed and booped his nose.

___

“Why don’t you paint as much anymore?” your master questioned you one evening. Her hands were on her hips, her white and scarlet sleeves swaying from the movement. There was a hum in her voice.

“I suppose I’ve been happier lately.” You looked directly into her violet eyes. “I took up art so that it could help me like you said it would. It’s just that, now, I don’t need to worry about the nightmares anymore.”

Yae Miko took your hands and drew comforting circles into your skin. “Be careful, dear, those who abandon the waking world for one of enchanting dreams only mourn when they return to reality.”

A frown fell upon your confused face. Shouldn’t she be happy for you?

“By the way, your hands have become soft.”

___

The temperature was searing when the God of Eternity invited you back to Tenshukaku. You gave your report on his progress.

“He reminds me of Makoto.”

She always spoke that name whenever it was morning; it was as if the luminous rays that bring fertile life to Teyvat were as jubilant as her deceased sister. Makoto was her sun. Ei was merely another planet revolving around such brilliance.

“She, too, was gentle and loved by everyone. I believe he will be a fitting vessel.” Beelzebul lifted her hand before closing it tightly and concentrating. She then opened her fist, and a purple chess piece began to float. “This is my gnosis; it represents my divinity and status as an archon. As I will be placing my consciousness into my sister's sword, the Musou Isshin, I will need a place to house my celestial powers.”

You had already been informed about this ordeal, but seeing the gnosis in person was a rather bewitching experience. The sheer energy it radiated was terrifying. Why was it so captivating? The luminous glow of the minute yet potent object was hypnotizing.

Your pupils must have dilated.

However, you couldn’t stop the dreadful feeling of drowning in nauseating darkness as you neared it. The heaviness was too similar to those plaguing nightmares you had.

You didn’t even notice you were about to snatch it until Ei swatted your hand away.

“Apologies. I should’ve been more careful. I know how entrancing it is. A whole war was fought between gods to gain one.”

Your ears fell down. How embarrassing. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, it won’t happen again.” Sheepish words rolled off your tongue as you scratched the back of your neck.

“No need to apologize. Now, let’s bring in Mako—“ She cleared her voice. “Akihito.”

You slid open the shoji door. Inside another room was the one with a pure smile. Akihito was working on an ink painting. Not a single dark drop tainted the chabudai or the tatami flooring. So mindful. Rigid branches, budding blossoms, and a kitsune dressed in a yukata weren’t anything praiseworthy, but there was a splendid air about the focus in his eyes. You mastered many mediums of art as a means of income and as a means to escape the woes that life brings, but in his case, anyone could tell that he did it to experience joy.

He was having fun.

“Far from a masterpiece, but I wanted to capture that memory of us under the cherry blossom tree in Araumi. I didn’t get to finish myself, but I’m more than happy that I was able to draw you. Even if you don’t look as… attractive due to my skills.” Words so timid yet sincere were whispered. “I know I may not have a heart… but I believe I understand what I feel.”

A light thud sounded as you sat down beside him and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Akihito, my love, we mustn't make Her Excellency wait.”

“I know.”

___

The clock signaled that it was already past noon.

It was, yet again, another afternoon at Tenshukaku.

He laid down on a futon placed on the ground and undid his robes slightly to expose his chest. That violet marking, the symbol of the Bakufu, was far too jarring on his fair skin. Indigo hair, the color of the night sky, was sprawled out like lightning scattered throughout a storm.

He shut his eyes and breathed in, then out.

Ei knelt down beside him, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and placed her index finger near his hairline. She touched every curve and dip of his forehead, nose, lips, neck, and chest as she grazed her finger down his body. One can tell that everything about him was designed with a purpose. Your deity placed her palm flat on his chest before curling her fingers in, just below the stately symbol. Light scratch marks began to swell.

There was that familiar glow. Looking back, you curse yourself for not having grown used to it after so many puppets, after seeing the gnosis, after this.

But then again, how could you, when the memory that follows is the image of the God of Eternity shoving her fist into his chest.

Piercing skin that was once paper.

There was no sweat, no clenched fists, no furrowed eyebrows. The poor creature displayed no pain so as to not frighten you.

Was it a success? That single thought raced into your mind. You bit your lip anxiously.

The gleaming lilac halted. Her pristine hand left his body. For once, her face bore an expression. Pure disappointment.

Those lavender eyes suddenly shot open and moved around frantically, his lips parted slightly, attempting to speak. You quickly rushed to him and touched his hand.

“Hey, it's okay… It’s over.” A tender lover you were. You rubbed delicate hearts into his palm.

Akihito’s back arched. Those petrified eyes wouldn’t stay still. He harshly snatched his hand from your soothing touch and uncontrollably gripped and pulled his sleek hair. That slender body wouldn’t stop jerking back and forth. That fair skin was turning as white as snow. Fingers contoured into grotesque shapes. His mouth opened and closed desperately.

He’s trying to speak. He’s trying to gain control. He’s trying to survive.

You hastily turned your head to his other creator and shrieked at her.

“Do something! H-He’s dying!” Oh, how big and small you felt that day as you insulted your god. “It’s always like this! You…You monster! You always have to just stand there with that horrible blank expression. You never cared about any of them!” The wretched sentences you seethed were merely the bubbling surface. Deep inside, you felt so much anguish and pain that words couldn’t have even been formed from your mouth to communicate to her. Too many “yous” were wailed that afternoon.

I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone…

That phrase flew around and accumulated in your mind like a blizzard.

The Electro Archon looked at the scene with a vacant face. “There is nothing I can do. It seems I overestimated him, this project, and, most of all, you.” Beelzebul tilted her head and pitied your trembling form. It reminded her of that fateful event. “He is malfunctioning due to the gnosis. There is no use in taking it out now. The outcome will be the same.”

You clicked your tongue, annoyed at her indifference. She had nursed that face for so long that it had left her naught but a hollow shell. She was more of a puppet than they were.

You briskly tuned out her words and cradled his body so tightly in your arms, bringing your forehead to his. Akihito’s bright, clear face and limbs were littered with ink-like markings, a sign that his body and mind were yielding to heinous forces. They were devouring the gracious man alive.

You tried to turn his face so that his eyes would look directly into yours. But, even then, he kept staring at the ceiling, as if searching for something more.

“Cel—”

“Celestia.”

Your eyes widened. “Yes, what is it, my love?” A sorrowful smile was plastered onto your face as he began to murmur. Tears ran down. They fell onto his face sloppily.

A weak arm tried to affectionately touch your sobbing form. You brought his hand to your wet cheek, answering his wish.

“I’m...I’m sorry, but now that I have a heart…. I know for certain that I can say that I-I love you.”

That nimble hand withered away.

You hugged him so tightly and wept, “Please, don’t go… I can’t face them without you. Not without the person I love.”

Though his smile was no different than that time at the Shrine, that time napping under the cherry blossoms, and that time watching the mikos dance, the main thing you couldn’t help but notice was how those lavender eyes were the last to fade away. Like always, they still had that shine that defined him. That sparkle that revealed how much he valued the present moment.

You nestled your face into his black robes, bunched them together, and held them firmly like a mother holding an infant. Trying to conserve the warmth, scent, anything.

It was one summer afternoon at Tenshukaku that you realized how transient eternity really is.

___

Your master knocked on your door. She begged you to answer. “Dear, you must come out. It’s been weeks.” Autumn was arriving. Children would soon be dressed in adorable kimonos for the harvest festivities to come. All for Her Excellency's blessings and everlasting reign. Crimson leaves would stain the land.

It would soon be too cold to relax.

There was another knock. Why does it matter if you wallow in your grief or not? Nothing truly changes with you. Your life was set in stone the moment your parents perished to the abyss.

Ink once again stained the tatami mats of your floor. Paper once again was scattered around your room. Those slabs of wood were once again unattractively laid everywhere.

Everything that had occurred with Akihito disappeared. All those happy changes were gone in an instant.

Yet, the only things that didn’t revert back were your hands. They stay changed. You couldn’t bring yourself to draw again. No more rough calluses or blisters; they will forever remain as delicate and supple as velvety petals. Just like they were that afternoon he melted away from your scorching touch.

“The mikos are worried about you.”

Perhaps you were being too harsh, but that flowery, saccharine voice of hers made you gag. A cacophonous ring it had, like funeral bells tolling. You nearly put your right hand over your left on your throat to halt the bile from rising and consuming every waking specimen. But what left did you have to regurgitate? You vomited your singing heart as he mumbled those last words. You yearned for those lazy, scenic days spent with him.

Taunting laughs stung your brain. You scrambled to grip Akihito’s black robes tighter in an attempt to control the heavenly and abyssal images that pester and pick.

“What is it?” You spat it out finally.

The mouthwatering smell of fried tofu delectably laid atop udon started to cloud the vicinity.

Oh, she’s good.

“I figured I’d bring your favorite.” Yae Miko placed the tray outside your room, but she didn’t leave. A deplorable phantom, she was. Was she here to mock you? To once again sabotage your life?

You flung the door open, seized the steaming bowl of kitsune udon, and savagely threw it at her.

But of course, the Guuji was always more agile.

“You could’ve burned me, you know?” That tone of amusement, that laugh of hers that treated everything like a humorous joke, irked you terribly.

Oh, when did you become so unruly and rebellious? Childhood was long gone.

“I hate you! Why did you bring me to her? You knew her plan would end up like this, yet still, you brought me to Tenshukaku!” Tears started to well up. Those skeletons of the bygone times dug their claws into your ankles and wrists. “You were like a sister to me. I was filled with joy when you were placed as my guardian.”

You collapsed to your knees.

“Why did you do this to me?” Those black robes once again became damp from heartache. “I even introduced him to you, and you didn’t do anything!” Each syllable was exclaimed so shakily, so breathlessly.

She hummed as you continued to babble and sob. “Well, I did give you a small warning that one time. But I will shoulder some of the blame if that will pacify you.”

Those violet eyes looked towards the ground. “I suppose I thought that if you, someone I know, were involved, we could lessen the damage Ei would cause with this foolish project.” Your master reached out to hold you. “My bad, my dear.”

Your blood boiled. You gritted your teeth, got up, and stomped closer to her. The broth soiled your attire. The wet fabric clung to your body. The fried tofu became disgusting mush under your bare feet.

You breathed heavily, chest heaving. Your fox ears twitched. Protracted sharp claws unintentionally ripped Akihito’s precious black robes. “Don’t. Patronize. Me.”

Too many unrelenting, intrusive thoughts invaded your head. You wanted to slap the arm that was reaching out to you. You wanted to push her to the ground and bellow out all that mauled what was left of your mind. You would go as far as to say that you even wanted to pierce her chest, snatch her heart, and make her feel what your love with indigo hair experienced.

Yae Miko gazed directly into your eyes. You nearly fell again when you saw the purple color. Everything went away. The bloodlust. The vengeful spirit. Your jaded soul even fled.

All that was left was the kitsune who tried to nap on their lover's lap. All that was left was a child who lost their family. All that was left was the artist who painted their plight. All that was left was the creator who laid those princes to rest and closed their lavender eyes.

All that was left was you.

You stumbled slightly, nearly slipping on the puddle of udon, as you treaded to your master and accepted her embrace. Sharp guilt formed.

“I’m sorry... I miss him. I was an idiot for falling in love.” your voice cracked.

A gust of air blew some of your disorderly papers lying on the ground to the door. From the corner of your eyes, you could tell which one was the one closest to you.

It was a scene of rigid branches, budding blossoms, and a kitsune in a yukata. The artwork was nothing praiseworthy, it was even unfinished, but you bawled and whimpered because you knew that fluttering sensation of felicity you felt when you saw it for the first time would never come again.

Another puff of wind came in.

It seems you had left the window open again.

Thank you for reading!! ღゝ◡╹ )ノ♡

Part 2 is already in the making! This was originally supposed to be one big oneshot, but I decided to split it due to its length

aaa scara + red tulips + hurt to bittersweet fluff?

crimson flowers bloom (just know i love you too)

tw/cw - mentions of blood, light angst.

a/n - lol i kinda died but uh here ya go hopefully he isn’t too ooc it’s kinda hard to do fluff with a man with homocidal urges

the first time you told the balladeer about your infatuation for his being, he had laughed in your face, and asked if it were a cruel joke.

the flowers quickly followed, having been stuck tight inside your throat while his laughter rung in your ears, and only released when you were alone in the dark confines of your room. they blanketed the comforter of your bed, red tulips blending with the blood from the body wrecking coughs. how cruel, you thought, for something so beautiful to be the reasoning behind so many lives taken.

the fleeting thought arose when you cradled them gently in your hands, staring quietly as you studied the result of the disease well known throughout the nation. you sputtered an equally soft laugh, vaguely recalling the warnings given to you throughout childhood, and the caution over fluttering hearts and a tender touch. all over this single flower. a life created through one’s own suffering, formed through those a servant to the emotion unfortunately befalling upon them.

and molded from the love you felt for a man who would never feel the same.

you made it your sole duty to act as if the flowers and love made from your body never surfaced in the first place. tight stretched smiles that would fool any. countless hours dedicated to the work you found to be the only escape. an excuse to stay trapped in your room as the garden grew, and to blame on when one asked about the decaying corpse you found yourself stuck in.

no questions were supposed to be asked. it was why you felt both fear, irritation, and pure heartache when the man behind the poison came to your door and called you out on the lies and illusions you had so comfortably hidden yourself within.

you could hear the way the wood protested when scaramouche slammed the door shut behind him, despite your protests for his presence in the first place. you would’ve continued such banter if it weren’t for the anger so visibly trembling his hands and the gray clouds storming his eyes, “you haven’t been at your best, i can tell.”

your throat felt dry at his words, and you forced yourself to clear such obstacles in order to reply, “im trying.”

“well your effort right now isn’t enough,” his tone was still harsh, not once lightening even as he took notice of your fallen expression. instead, he hesitated before taking a small step forward, “seriously, come on! what’s up with you?”

the echo of cruel laughter rung in your brain, causing you to pick yourself up from the desk you had been working at and maneuvering your body to leave the room, “it’s nothing, scaramouche. mind your own business-”

the man scowled, face twisted into irritation. it wouldn’t have bothered you so much if he hadn’t caged your upper arm within the harsh grip of his cold fingers, “it’s my business when it affects MY work too.”

you had never been fond of scaramouche. from the moment you first met him as new recruits competing with one another for the top spots, the man had earned himself the title of least likable in anyones lives, especially yours. it was why it frustrated you that those feelings had changed so abruptly, all because of the single moment you shared showcasing vulnerability. ironically enough it reminded you of that exact moment, but instead with cold skin numbing the pain of a deep cut from an expedition, and an expression so soft he was almost unrecognizable.

it frustrated you, how it had stuck with you for so long, and eventually nurtured the petals you had been so desperately trying to kill for the past couple weeks.

scaramouche froze as you dropped yourself to the ground, and even more so when your hacking fit revealed the product of his carelessness. he tried, desperately, to clear his throat and mutter out the first words of his reaction, “you were…serious about that?”

you let your eyes remain glued to the ground, burning holes due to frustration. that was all he had to say? there you were, dying, and the man had the audacity to waste his first words on the confession you had given weeks ago, “well, doesn’t really matter now so-“

“why me?” he dropped down beside you, purple hues also fixated on the abnormal amount of blood and flowers in your hands. if you hadn’t known better, you would say he appeared broken by the realization of the outcome, “what’s so lovable about me?”

you frowned, both perplexed and upset at his strange behavior, “scaramouche-“

“why are you dying for me!” his fingers once more gripped the sides of your arms, almost shaking you with the way they trembled. scaramouche, the balladeer, appeared almost desperate, searching for something amongst the blurs of red and frustration.

“i would do anything for you.” you mumbled quietly, slowly placing your own hands over where his lay. a reassuring touch for who, you didn’t know, but it remained there as his grip tightened and he pushed his body to rest over yours.

“you cant.”

“hm?” you hummed, afraid that your voice would betray and reveal just how much the feel of his forehead resting on your collarbone, affected the disease still plaguing your body.

for a brief moment he remained quiet, before suddenly pulling back, and this time his hands gripped the sides of your face as the tone of his voice grew several octaves, “you cant!”

the lines around your lips deepened, forcing yourself to drift your gaze to rest anywhere but his expression, “my fates already sealed, there’s nothing-“

“and what if i said i cared for you?” he quickly spoke, prompting you to meet his gaze for the final time that night. it…surprised you to say the least. but the most surprising thing of all was not the glare of purple, although halfhearted, nor the frown of his lips, but rather the deep hue of red burning his cheeks, “that you’re not just some underling. you aren’t annoying and you aren’t a burden.”

you opened and closed your mouth several times before his words clicked, and several more attempts before you could speak, “are you saying…?”

instead of replying straight away scaramouche once more leaned forward, the heat of his skin burning your own, “do i need to repeat myself?”

“say it. just once,” you croaked out, caging him within your arms and desperately clinging on as if he’d disappear, “and i won’t die.”

you felt it, the gentle way his lips moved against your skin, whispering something so quiet you could barely register it. but you heard it, and it was enough to fully clear the pressure in your throat, and wilt the flowers you had grown.

menu. pomegranate mousse cake.

ok i am having serious SAGAU brainrot right now so-

i see a lot of imposter AUs where you’re recognized by the Fatui and Tsaritsa, usually including Foul Legacy Childe but what if ONLY Foul Legacy Childe recognized you? like you ran into the Fatui and Tsaritsa earlier and they thought you were an imposter as well- you survive (barely) and run and they send Childe after you because he’s bound to have a fun time hunting and killing you yeah?

it goes mostly as planned, he tracks you down and confronts you, but he feels something tugging at his senses, poking and prodding at the corner of his brain before suddenly his Foul Legacy transformation bursts out and takes hold of him and suddenly he knows you- that tugging sensation was the Abyssal side of him screaming and crying to not hurt you. he puts down his weapon and leans closer, heart breaking when he sees you scramble away, covered in bruises and cuts, tense and scared beyond words. he warbles and coos gently, reaching out and trying to reassure you, and when you’re in reach he quickly scoops you up and wraps you snugly in his cape (can’t decide if he has wings or a cape,,, maybe both!!), holding you against his chest. he knows everyone else thinks you’re a fake- his own Archon tried to strike you down! but he knows you’re real, you’re the real god, and you’re in so much pain. fuck the Fatui, he doesn’t need them anymore. you’re here, and you’re who he devoted his life to yes?

even if everyone else hunts and hates you, he’ll be your protector.