Lil Meow Meow

lil meow meow

Folly ✤ Scaramouche

A/N: This takes place in the same universe as 'Devilry' (aka the crackfic), where MC is the previous Sixth Harbinger dubbed as 'Mistress Fiore'.

✤ Mentions of death

✤ There's nothing wrong with indulging in dangerous follies every now and then, especially if that folly is nothing but that fascinating defector.

Words: 2.1k

Within the expanse of the temple draped in a frosty twilight gathers a handful of dignitaries, all with a single purpose; to grieve for the fallen.

Well, their grieving may be a tepid act—after all, one cannot overlook the possibility that their hearts are more bristling than mourning. The fact remains that it is still only a mere assumption, though.

Despite being... comrades in arms, not one of them truly knows what the other bears inside their chest. Aside from the obvious mutual belligerence, of course.

“Who invited the mistress here?”

The voice rises amid the frigid air, biting as though it carries frost in its tone.

Naturally, everyone's attention is piqued. It's a question that serves both to distract themselves from the loss of an ally and to ascertain the reason for the arrival of an unsought guest.

But is the aforementioned person truly uninvited?

“You wound me, can I not be present to send my own farewell to the Eighth?” you speak up with faux umbrage, stepping beyond the shadows of the pilasters.

Far from being disconcerted by the number of eyes nipping at your profile like tiny cicins, you lift your head, meeting the faces of those you previously deemed comrades. Now mere... 'acquaintances'.

“Besides, don't you think it's only expected for me to fill in the blank slot that the Balladeer left open for this moment?”

It isn't like you're going to take back the position afterward.

The knowing hum settles an air of brewing resignation, tinged with a bit of vexation that seems to come to the group naturally.

Tartaglia clicks his tongue from his place at the pews, voice amicably austere. “Calm down, it was I who invited Fiore.”

His answer dispels most of the lingering bafflement in the crowd and the ceremony carries on without delay and reluctance.

Although, you huff in disbelief. It's more of a business meeting than a funeral ceremony.

You decide not to speak against it, however, aware of your standing in the place. Instead, you've taken to observing the varying expressions on their faces. They're all so impervious as ever.

The plan not to opine fails later on though, following the ludicrous decree about the momentary pause of business and other affairs as well as Pantalone's opinion about it.

“Half a day's holiday?” you find yourself giggling, though it's crystal clear that you're far from being amused. “Careful, your gracious facade seems to be slipping, mister disingenuous mayor.”

Pulcinella crinkles his nose and adjusts his spectacles with a sigh.

“Hm, I'd rather not open my ears to the words of an ex-Harbinger. Do be content that we allowed you to stay.”

You whistle, finding no reason to deny the latter portion of his statements. It's irking how he seems to dismiss your previous rank as the Sixth and denigrate your current status, though.

As if sensing the subdued venom beginning to rise from your throat, another voice cuts in.

“Can you cease the farcical banter?” Arlecchino gives her fellow Harbinger a pointed stare, scrutiny evident in her eyes. “[Name] may no longer be in the official ranks, but she was the only one who ever sought camaraderie between you half-hearted dignitaries.”

Her concern for this shoddy, half-hearted excuse of a holiday is thus valid. Is the underlying message.

You cup your cheeks with a pleased smile, drawing out a long, grateful sigh. “My, thank you, lady Arle. Ever the justiciar.”

Her auxiliaries are anticipated, yes, but you didn't think she'd actually support you. But then again, she seems to be the only one who genuinely grieves the death of Signora. Apart from Pantalone and Pierro—and maybe even Tartaglia.

The Knave transfers her look towards you. It's nothing short of perfunctory, perhaps even a bit scunnered.

“That does not remove the fact that you are no longer one of us. You've only until the end of condolences before you are to leave.”

Of course.

“Oh, the woes of being unwanted!” you bemoan, holding your head for a melodramatic show.

You can tell that doing so has earned you a couple dirty looks and though you feel a tad awful—borderline catalyzing the enmity when again, this is no place to start a fight—you do not apologize.

Well, not to them.

It's an indecent, immoral act, but you like to believe that you're the lesser evil in the room.

With a step forward, you ascend a few inches into the air, moving past the Harbingers and hovering over the intricately gilded cenotaph. No one stops you.

Caressing the marble surface of the tomb makes you note how it's a lot colder than the atmosphere.

Unfitting for the Witch whose heart only knew how to be set ablaze.

But if you consider the Delusion she's been gifted, then it is appropriate; for a blazing heart to freeze and shatter, unable to rekindle its loving warmth.

“Looks like I am only as transient as a minute here, Rosalyne.” there is silence in the temple. Not one voice overpowers yours.

Maybe they have finally gotten self-conscious? It's funny to think that someone who is no longer a Harbinger is the first to send her farewell. What ridicule!

With a silent, single clap, you expel a breath and hum. Your time here is done—you'll have to thank Childe sometime for the official invitation.

Pierro is just about to say something- business talk, maybe. Whatever it is, it does not include you, and to be honest, you'd rather not be included, either.

You vanish into a myriad of snowflakes before anyone can raise a word, leaving only your final murmurs resonating within the temple.

“May your soul find peace in the embers of that which you burned.”

Your next destination leads you to the familiar lands of Liyue and to the terra that stretches past its borders.

The swift travel from the icy nation back to a more tropical one has depleted most if not all of your stamina, so you stayed at an inn for a little while to recuperate.

Although you do have an objective in mind, you aren't in a rush. It's safe to say that you are one step further than the Fatui Harbingers, hence the insouciance.

Besides, like some magical work of nature, you are far attuned to the presence you're seeking, so searching doesn't come off as difficult. In fact, you are able to find him merely two days after staying at Wangshu Inn.

Conspicuous even without trying to, the violets and reds of his attire are emphasized amid the drying greens of the environment. He's dwelling in discreet places, however, managing to shroud himself in the shadows and not make a sound.

Any traveler—not the blond one, though—will fail to see him. But unfortunately, he sticks out to you like a sore thumb.

“For once, you are trying to be discreet.”

The defector stills with a muted hiss, swift to register the arrival of someone as well as the lack of additional weight on his head.

His buttons are already pressed, but annoyance and genuine indifference aside, he's at least thankful that he's found by non-Fatui first.

“Mm, but the hat's still remarkably ostentatious, don't you think so?”

Not like being found by Harbingers poses that much of a problem, he'd simply fight them. That said, he's this close to flicking out his catalyst, too...

“Scaramouche.”

He doesn't, though, and decides to just humor the person who's managed to trace his steps from Inazuma.

Immediately, he meets a pair of gushed [c]s and the usual smile he's seen—unwillingly—far too many times to count. Clicking his tongue, he grumbles.

“Tsk, Fiore.”

No sort of communication has transpired between them in the past months, not after the research about the meteorites and the godawful luncheon shared between them along with Signora and Tartaglia.

So, he isn't going to lie and say that he's not surprised to see her in front of him.

'Fiore' sighs hyperbolically, the theatrical action quick to make the man roll his eyes. He expected nothing less.

She starts with a spin, showing off her apparel that although carried a few similarities from her previous Harbinger attire, looked more... liberated.

In the sense that it's unique, a style that screamed 'Fiore' instead of the nations in Teyvat.

“You misunderstand, Balladear, I'm not Fiore, but [Name]. I'm a free woman. I'm in no organizations.”

That's new, for the last time he saw her, she was still rather attached to the organization. Or perhaps that's her way of supervising him, the one who had taken her place.

He must've been scrutinizing her appearance with a silence that lacked his usual aggro—because before he knows it, the lady leans forward with a wink.

It sends a chill down his back.

“Nor in any relationships, if you catch my drift.”

Bitter Archons above-

“Get the hell out of my sight.” Scaramouche snarls with pinched brows, turning away in disgust after snagging his hat back.

He really doesn't know what else to expect of her, but he's a little relieved that she hasn't grown out of that preposterous charm of hers. Still devilishly annoying, but he's not one to talk.

Uninterested in the laughter that rings behind him, he continues his trek toward the neighboring nation of Sumeru. At the moment, there's nothing but the crucial need to get away.

An impossible thing—for the Fatui always manages to catch up, he knows that better than anyone—but that's a headache for another day.

He already has one just seeing this woman and the humid air is not helping alleviate it. Sweat is rolling down his temples and it's only the nice cover of his hat that prevents him from melting into mush under the raging sun.

A cold gust of wind blows through him, the discordant chill amid the otherwise dry area implying that it was done with the use of both a Vision and Delusion.

Perceptive as always, that girl.

“The Tsaritsa is rather upset, you know?” she calls, voice steadily growing closer.

He was about to address her use of Anemo and Cryo—maybe slot in an impossible thanks—but that's thrown out of his mind a second later.

The Tsaritsa?

Huffing, he doesn't bother stopping and facing her, wary of his growing headache 'cause damn. “Two-faced liar, so you were with them.”

“To pay respects,” the response is quick, as though his censures were foreseen. “Signora was a nice comrade. A little haughty, but nice.”

Nice. Scaramouche almost laughs. Signora, nice.

Perhaps her competency with taking the Queen's piece, yes.

But only someone with a loose screw can ever describe the pile of ash as nice, but then again, this is [Name]. If devilish isn't her middle name, then perhaps eccentric is.

“They will be coming after you. You are aware of that, aren't you?”

Exasperating works, too.

“What do you take me for? An idiot?” he finally stops, unable to hide the offense on his face as he swivels with a glare.

Is he being disparaged? Him?

The venom on his tongue is milliseconds away from coating the words he's about to convey, but he receives an answer before he can do so.

“A renegade with a bounty over his head heading to Sumeru. I hope you weren't blinded by what you sought.” [Name] answers with a shrug, her pretty [c]s fixated on the glimmer of violet peeking behind the overlays of fabric.

On the defensive, Scaramouche lifts a hand to cover the glow of the Electro Archon's Gnosis. He does this even though he's aware that [Name] has no intention of stealing it from him.

In any case, she's much more likely to steal his damned hat again.

He scoffs once more. “I'm none of your business.”

Leave me alone.

The message needn't be said when it's already so obviously implied.

Having uttered what he wanted, he resumes his pace, thinking of feasible plans for the coming few days. He has no doubts that a Harbinger is going to be sent after him.

Eyes forward, he walks with his chin tipped high, confident and unfaltering of what lies ahead. There is nothing to fear, nothing to be bewildered over.

The macabre art of war comes to him naturally and there aren't any qualms about death, he is used to such things. But if there is one thing he isn't used to, then...

“Do you have a death wish?” he halts and asks this, genuinely lost in a confusion that he won't admit out loud.

Only the sound of his feet against the terra is heard a minute ago, but he isn't oblivious to the following figure at his back, levitating as always. Nonchalant as she can possibly be.

“What you're doing is nothing but utter folly.”

Why are you still here?

He doesn't even need to turn around to see [Name] shrug. As if she isn't at all deterred by the fact that she can die if she continues to follow him.

“I know.” she answers, sounding insanely delighted.

Scaramouche clicks his tongue again.

If there's anything he isn't accustomed to, then it is the devilish [Name].

“You're mad.”

Only a giggle answers his words as he begins to walk again, making no move to stop her any longer and letting her float around him with a bunch of jests rolling past her tongue.

He's irked, but that's alright.

He's fond of pretty and exasperating devils, anyway.

a/n: mm, nothing like scara pretending not to care that mc decided to stick with him when in fact he's actually all "aw ye" about it deep down lmao

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021

179 notes View Post

jeno-has-jaem

2 years ago

because i will love you until i die, and even longer still

content: angst, learning to move on

character/s: albedo

note: i’m really excited to share this one with you guys!! i have been thinking about this angst prompt for a while now, and it basically centers the concept of grief and loss. i believe it’s a truly difficult journey to wrap your head around the loss of a loved one. sometimes even the smallest of their habits and likes that you’ve picked up still breathes life into them even when they’re gone. i think it’s a beautiful yet sorrowful lesson to experience in life - to learn that love isn’t always about holding on, but letting go - and it’s seriously inspired me to write this albedo story. for now i hope you’ll still enjoy and have a lovely day!!

ALBEDO

Happy birthday, my love.

Albedo jolted up from his sudden slumber, frantically glancing around his empty laboratory.

I thought I heard her…

He blinks, puzzle for a moment, before fully shaking himself awake and running a hand through his unkempt hair in frustration. How did he end up falling asleep in the middle of his work? And a very important project at that.

He glances down at the stacks of scrolls scattered around his desk and the heaps of books dispersed in the room - starting from the area near his feet trailing all the way to the exit of his laboratory.

I was a bit confused on what to give you as a birthday present, so I ended up sticking with a letter instead.

He stands up and stretches his arms, groaning sloppily from exhaustion. Albedo knew he had to clean before doing anything else - you would have reprimanded the life out of him if you saw his mess of a workroom.

It was currently 9:30 in the morning, and his stomach angrily grumbled, urging him to get some food. He ignored the persistent pain, bending down to gather the fallen books and trash disposed all around the room.

I hope you don’t mind this gift - there are also a few things I need to convey to you in my message as well.

A flurry of soft raps echoed throughout the silent laboratory from the entryway. Never batting an eye at the wooden door, Albedo continued to put away a few more items before eventually responding to the knocks. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, a shy and high pitched voice severing the tranquility of the area. “Mister Albedo, it’s me.”

“Sucrose.” He hums, acknowledging her presence. “What do you need?”

She awkwardly fiddled with her fingers. “You’ve been stuck in here for weeks. I was wondering if you wanted to go out and have breakfast with us. And Klee…insists for your appearance.”

Are you well? Have you been taking breaks like I’ve asked you to?

Albedo shakes his head, dusting his hands off as he stands up. “You know I can’t do that.”

Sucrose sighs. “I knew it.”

“So why bother coming anyway?” He asks, looking around the now tidy room.

She huffed at his stubbornness. “Mister Albedo, you know that isn’t good for your health. If Y/N were here-“

A loud crash echoes throughout the laboratory.

“Don’t say that.”

He seethes through clenched teeth, pent up frustration boiling in the pit of his stomach. In a fit of anger, Albedo’s hands had shoved the previously neat pile of books he arranged, and sent them flying back to the ground.

Even after all these years, hearing your name roll out of anyone’s mouth still sends him into a sensitive and frenzied state.

Sucrose knows that he is slowly dying inside. Anyone could see it in those lifeless pools of teal. Countless days and nights were spent locked up in the tiny room, experiment after experiment only to get his expectations crushed. It had eventually reached a point where even the archons could tell that the great and brilliant Albedo was simply clinging on to the last thin strings of false hope.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I’d voluntarily exhaust the rest of my life making sure it does.” Albedo retorts, eyes fixated at the mess beneath his feet, never daring to meet hers.

Sucrose nods, glancing with pity at the unreadable man with clenched fists standing in front of her.

As I thought. He’s still persistent.

“Alchemy has it’s limits too. That’s all I’m saying.”

Without another word, she quietly slips away through the exit, making sure to shut the door behind her and leave Albedo alone with the voices in his head.

I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to come up with the best way on how to celebrate your birthday.

Not again.

He scoffs, looking away from the scribbled writings on the board down to his chalk - once the length of his index finger, now reduced to a minuscule size. Tossing it behind his shoulder, his fingers dive in to reach for another, before it dawns upon him that he’s finally run out of it.

Archons, this is so damn irritating.

We could pick cecilias and stargaze on Starsnatch Cliff.

Albedo massaged his forehead in frustration, glancing over at the barricaded windows he blocked months ago to obstruct any light from entering the tiny room. It had been weeks since he left the laboratory, and he knew the day would eventually come when he depleted all of his necessary materials and needed to replenish his supplies once more.

Hesitantly reaching for his white dusty coat, he throws it on himself while delving through his pocket for his keys, before carefully approaching the exit of the dark and grimy laboratory.

Or perhaps we could have a nice picnic at Windrise and watch the dandelions flutter in the breeze.

The sun’s harsh glare that peeked through the towering establishments of Mondstadt caused Albedo to wince and squint his eyes at the sight of it.

Today was especially crowded than the usual, or perhaps he simply forgot how the world once looked like before he locked himself out of it. And the longer he stayed with the multitude, the more Albedo felt like he was suffocating as he presently stood amidst the packed jam of bustling citizens.

With one swift motion, he slithered through the crowd, muttering the occasional ‘excuse me’s or incoherent apologies to people who stood in his way.

We could even spend the day cooped up in your camp at Dragonspine. Anywhere is perfect as long as it’s with you.

“Chief Alchemist…?” Flora asks in confusion, blinking once more to check if her vision had betrayed her, upon staring at the man no one had seen for a long period of time.

“I need more flowers.” Albedo hands her a leather bag filled with coins. “Cecilias, if you will.”

“A-ah, right away!” She exclaims and quickly rushes to work, still a bit weirded out to acknowledge his existence back around the streets of Mondstadt.

Albedo tapped his foot in waiting, glancing around the area to make sure no one he knew would notice him.

“I..heard about what happened.” He hears Flora say, and looks back at her, with a bunch of potted Cecilias in a crate on her desk. “I’m sorry for your loss, Albedo.”

He shakes his head rapidly, picking up the crate. “It won’t be a loss soon enough.”

Flora doubtfully nodded as she watched him walk away, wondering if he truly came up with a solution that would eventually fix his problems, or if the alchemist was simply being…delusional.

Anywhere with you…

“Albedo?”

He freezes in his spot at the voice calling from behind him.

“Is that you?”

…Albedo, I have to tell you something.

A hand reaches to clasp his shoulder, and he forcefully comes face to face with familiar purple irises and an eyepatch.

“Wow…I never thought you had it in you to leave your laboratory.” Kaeya grinned at the short man.

Albedo shoved his hand off, beginning to pace away before gathering more unwanted attention. “I’m already headed back anyway.”

“So quickly?” The blue haired man chirpily asks, following right behind him. “You’re very persistent in this new project.”

“I would have greater progress in doing so and in making my way back if you’d just turn around and leave me alone.”

Kaeya clicks his tongue playfully. “Aw come on, at least have a drink with me. We haven’t properly talked together since-“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll make sure you never speak again.”

I’ve been denying it for a while now, because I feared losing a great deal just to admit the bitter truth.

Kaeya pauses upon hearing Albedo’s cold and unfamiliar tone. Everyone had been affected upon hearing the news, but Kaeya knew deep down that the blonde had suffered the worst out of them all.

“I know you’re grieving.” He says calmly, putting his hands in his pockets. “We all are. But you can’t just ignore the truth anymore.”

“You’re wrong.” Albedo counters, a wave of foreign emotions crashing around inside him. “I’ve never ignored the truth. I simply thought beyond it.”

Now that it’s standing right in front of me, I can’t just run away anymore like I did for a long time.

“Not even the archons are capable of doing this.” Kaeya says in a fit of frustration, throwing his hands up in the air. “And you seriously believe you can make it work? What the hell makes you so different, anyway?”

“The only difference between me and all of them is that I still haven’t given up.” He says scornfully, glaring over at the man’s direction.

“Not like the rest of you.”

So this is me being brave. I’m sorry it took so long for me to say to you.

Kaeya scoffs, astounded at his resolve. He was aware Albedo was highly intelligent and completely logical, yet at this rate he was just straying away from his original path.

So this is what he chose.

He looks down with surrender, solemnly nodding at the alchemist’s pitiful answer.

“Or perhaps you just don’t know how to let go.”

I’m dying. I think I have been, for a while now.

Albedo stands alone once more in his laboratory.

Perhaps you just don’t know how to let go.

He gently sets the crate of Cecilias on the ground, and carefully walks over to his desk, rummaging through scrolls and books until he finds what he’s looking for. Albedo reaches out for it, and hesitates for a second, before picking up a picture frame that had been face down for a while now.

They say it’s a rare disease - that I can’t be cured. And that I have two months left.

It was a photograph of you smiling amidst the dandelions, your white dress billowing in the wind. He remembers it like it was yesterday, watching you goofily twirl around barefoot in a bed of grass, while he grinned and held up a camera to capture the memory of your beauty.

The sound of your laughter haunts him until this day, and Albedo can hear it echoing around the empty room, almost as if you were standing right beside him. He shuts his eyes and swallows a bile forming in his throat, feeling tears prickle in the corners of his eyes.

“Albedo.”

That’s on your birthday.

The frame slips in between his hands and crashes onto the floor with a resounding smash.

His eyes flutter open upon realizing what he had done, absentmindedly staring at the broken glass beneath his boots.

Please stop calling me, Y/N.

A little too coincidental, if you ask me.

Perhaps it’s fate reaching out to the both of us, saying that it’s finally time to stop.

Weaving through the shards of glass, he carefully plucks your photo from the mess, with blood-tainted hands. He stands back up and stares at the scattered papers and notebooks spread across his desk - a sign of grueling work he wasted months perfecting, only to realize he hadn’t even reached half of it.

Alchemy has its limits too.

He falls back onto his chair, this time unable to stop the tears from tumbling down his cheeks, and the uncontrollable sob that escaped past his lips.

My love, I know it’s hard. I can’t even imagine my life if I was the one losing you.

The tucked away flashbacks of you start to slip out from the locked part of his mind, swirling around like a tornado that had been waiting to destroy everything around it. His vision blurs and the world spins, and for a moment he swears he can see you standing across his desk, looking down with tears at his vulnerable self.

But we have to remain brave even in the face of danger.

“I love you, Albedo.” You whisper, gripping his chilly hand tightly, smiling up at his teary face.

Even if it kills us.

“Please don’t leave me, Y/N.” He says, with a traitorous crack of his voice at the end of his sentence, unable to bear the sight of you weak and helpless on your deathbed.

Even if it means we end up alone at the end of the road.

“Big Brother Albedo?”

But that will never be the case for you.

Albedo finally looks up from his desk, stunned upon seeing the hazy figure of a little girl in red standing by the entrance of his lonely laboratory.

“…Klee?”

You will never end up alone in this path.

She hesitantly remains rooted in her spot, clutching the doorknob in her little grasp. “I - Sucrose told me I wasn’t allowed to come in…” Klee nods at herself. “But I heard a crash and I ran away, to see if you…were okay.”

Am I okay?

It takes a moment for him to process her words before he nods at her, hastily wiping the tears off his cheeks and sitting up straighter.

“I miss her too.” Klee quietly says with sorrowful eyes.

“But Big Sister Y/N won’t come back anymore.”

I know.

Promise me you won’t try to save me.

It was the simple and blunt truth, yet Albedo couldn’t help but run away at the face of it.

“You can…come in if you want.” He voices hoarsely, making gestures for her to do so.

She nods doubtfully, slowly walking over to his side, carefully stepping over the glass left on the ground.

Let us accept mortality, even if it makes us lonely.

“Is that her?” Klee asks, pointing her little fingers at the slightly crumpled photo lying on his desk.

“It’s the last one I have of her.” He whispers, holding it out to let her get a better view of it.

“She looks happy…” Klee trails off, touching it gently. “I’m sure she’d want us to be happy too.”

And don’t be afraid to be happy without me again.

The sound of footsteps rushing towards the laboratory echoed around the hallways, and perks up Klee and Albedo’s ears upon hearing it.

“Klee!” The two turn to see a figure panting by the door.

“I told you…not to run away.” Sucrose huffs, leaning by the wall to gain support for her body.

“Sorry.” Klee sheepishly apologizes, guiltily rubbing the back of her head. “I just wanted to see Big Brother.”

“I’m surprised…he let you in anyway.” She remarks, raising an eyebrow at the quiet alchemist.

Because I promise I will love you until I die

He looked down, noticing an envelope stuck behind the destroyed frame. Picking it up, he examines it while letting Sucrose and Klee talk for a moment.

Flipping to the back, his eyes widen upon seeing the date and signature scribbled behind the paper.

September 13, Albedo’s birthday gift

“Is your offer…still up?” He asks, eyes flickering back and forth from your picture to the envelope in his grasp.

“What do you mean-“

“Although…perhaps it would be more fitting to have lunch now.” Albedo states, before slowly setting the possession down and glancing over at Sucrose and Klee.

“If you still don’t mind me joining you, that is.”

and even longer still.

“Of course it is!” Klee exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. “We can make up for breakfast tomorrow, and the day after that, and for the rest of our lives!”

Albedo smiles, standing up from his chair, as Sucrose nods at the little girl’s cheery declaration.

“For the rest of our lives…that sounds lovely.”

Yours always and forever, Y/N.

P.S. I’ve attached a long list of ways on how to celebrate your birthday (and the next ones to come) with everyone else. Have fun - and more than anything, don’t be afraid to try again.

407 notes View Post

jeno-has-jaem

2 years ago

im wheezing at xiao’s

— sending them the lyrics of troye sivan’s angel baby

featuring. thoma, kazuha, zhongli, itto, childe, xiao warnings. none! note. not an update but i wanted to try something hehe

576 notes View Post

jeno-has-jaem

2 years ago

。SINCERELY, YOUR BAD INFLUENCE

━━ PAIRING: scaramouche/reader

━━ GENRE: fluff

━━ SUMMARY: the pile of bills waiting to be paid had exhaustion weighing over you like a feasting ghost. good thing that your dear lover was someone who's proven to be adept at fighting off your worries in more ways than one.

━━ CONTAINS: modern!au, established relationship, reader is an office worker, domestic fluff, crude language, scaramouche is implied to be a former member of a gang/mafia, conversational mentions of violence, lowercase intended

━━ VALENTINE’S 2022 EVENT SPECIAL (LATE POST)

EACH step was made with purpose, which is to say, each step was made with a murderous glint in his eyes as he confidently walked the streets leading back to his home. a sick sense of pleasure throbbed underneath his skin, expressed in the victorious smirk on his face as his eyes watched the passers-by avoid him without so much as a complaint. never mind the fact that he was wearing your oversized hoodie or the fact that he was barely cradling four bags filled with grocery items on his own, scaramouche was just as terrifying as he was back in his heyday.

a familiar ringtone broke the silence he kept as he walked and he groaned as he fumbled with his things before opening his messaging app. though, of course, you had to be blind to miss the way the mood around him shifted. gone was the murderous glint in his eyes as it was replaced with an exasperatedly tender gaze. had the strangers not witnessed the way scaramouche nearly bit their head off for staring just a few seconds earlier, they would've been confident to say that they passed by two different people who just looked scarily similar. still, between their own busy lives and the possibility of being involved in a petty fight should they breathe in the direction of a ticking time bomb, the people left him to his own devices — just as they should do.

"where are you?" the text read and scaramouche scoffed at the cold way those words reached him. then again, what was it that he was hoping for? a few heart emojis? a disgustingly, cute nickname? he could only grit his teeth as he feels heat pool in his cheeks. typing back a quick reply, he pocketed his phone before resuming his trek home. the faster he got there, the less the chance that he'll embarrass himself by simultaneously combusting in the middle of the road because of his straying thoughts.

at home, you groaned as you stretched, back aching from the sitting position you held for hours straight. it has been a while since you had the luxury of not having to go overtime at work and you figured that it would be nice to spend it with your grump of a lover who has "subtly" expressed his displeasure over the lack of attention you were giving him these past few weeks. to your surprise, he wasn't home and was in fact, fetching groceries when you were sure it was your turn to do so. lips twitching upwards fondly, you felt your heart clench in adoration. nothing beats acts of service when you're about to pass out from exhaustion.

as if on cue (and you wouldn't be surprised if scaramouche really had a sixth sense for when you're about to fall asleep without giving him so much as a glance), the door opened to reveal your lover whose frown worsened as he spots you from afar. moving closer, he eyed you up and down before squinting — a tell that he does right before he's about to ridicule you out of concern. something about his "you look like shit" actually means "are you okay?" in his prominent language of tough love. wanting to be spared the rudeness today, you beat him to it by giving him a sugary smile.

"welcome home, honey boo! how was your trip to the market?"

scaramouche froze, before a sharp glare was directed at your laidback position on the couch, "what did you just call me?"

"hm? what was that, honey boo?"

your typically collected, although also mostly feisty, lover grimaced but the adorable blush that colored the tips of his ears made him look softer than he actually was. it was difficult maintaining your composure when he was so easy to infuriate but this time, the laughter that bubbled deep from the depths of your core was something you didn't even bother hiding. instead, you helped him set the groceries on the coffee table before pulling him into you as you laid against the fluff of your throw pillows with a sigh.

"oi, let me go. i need to put the groceries away."

"later..." you groaned as you nuzzled your face deeper into his neck. an action that worsened the already vibrant hue on his cheeks, "didn't you say you wanted my attention last week, schnookums."

scaramouche jabs a finger at your waist, "shut up or i'm leaving."

you loved him and you love the act of teasing him even more but at the end of the day, you were a human who instinctively clung to the idea of preserving your life from ferocious, little people like your lover. deciding that you're going to live for at least another fifty peaceful years, you silently snuggle up to him. right, this was better... there was no need to tell him that the way his arms were firmly wound up around your waist — occasionally even tugging you closer — was enough to tell you that he had no intention of leaving the couch anytime soon.

from his position, he could hear the rhythm of your heart clearly and the way you would occasionally sigh in contentment. he's far from being religious and the colorful words he spouts on the daily are enough to have him excommunicated under multiple counts of heresy and blasphemy but if he were to be truly honest and vulnerable with himself for a change, this — you and him and silence, separated from the rest of the tumultuous world — is heaven. it's either that or heaven is nothing at all.

after all, what could paradise offer that could top the way your fingers ran through his hair, massaging the parts that hurt whenever something or, rather, someone, decides to give him a headache? your hand falls from his hair and to his back, tracing swirls and shapes down his spine and it took his all to not shiver as little zaps of electricity traveled with your touch. right... this has to be heaven, the only kind he'll believe and turn holy for. confident now that you won't see his face, scaramouche leaned up to brush his lips over the side of your neck — lightly, barely there but loving, all the same — before closing his eyes. the groceries could wait.

it was half past seven when he awoke once more and immediately, an irritated grumble left his lips at the notable lack of your presence. standing up with a low whine, scaramouche moved towards your home office knowing that that's the only place you'll be at this hour.

"what the hell are you doing?"

you hummed in reply, not shocked at the annoyed tone he was using with you when he purposely announced his irritation for the world to hear with each loud stomp he made on his way over to you, "there was an emergency at work. i just need to get this done quick."

"you're at home. stop slaving yourself for your shitty boss."

you don't respond, too busy typing an email for your colleagues and scaramouche didn't like the lack of response as before you know it, he had turned your swivel chair in his direction and flicked your forehead.

"ow! what—"

"you have thirty minutes to fix whatever it is that your incompetent co-workers fucked up. if you're not by the dining table by then, i'm throwing the router in the bin and knocking you out so you'll actually get a decent amount of sleep, you moron with shit for brains."

knowing that there was no room to argue with him, you nodded in defeat, something that made scaramouche snicker, "now, how hard was that?"

"ugh, romance is dead i swear..."

"tragic. happy valentine's, brat."

laughing at his jab, you went back to work with renewed motivation and aggression as you deleted a few lines from your email that came out sounding too polite. seriously, he and his gremlin attitude were rubbing onto you.

in the kitchen, scaramouche stared at the ingredients in front of him. he wasn't a bad cook per se, he just wasn't the best. cooking was usually left in his... acquaintance's hands. the annoying ginger head dropped by too often for his liking and when scaramouche told him off for lounging around his home when he brought nothing to the table, he began bringing tupperwares of food made by his mom instead of taking a hint and not coming over anymore. still, you were thoroughly amused and well-fed given the strange turn of events so he learned to take it in stride. the less work for either of you, the safer it was for the rest of the world.

staring at the vegetables in contempt, scaramouche huffed before scrolling through his contacts where at the top, your favorite fast food restaurant's delivery hotline was saved for all the times you found yourself craving something he can't possibly make. hesitating, scaramouche glanced at the vegetables again before giving up and dialing. while there's less romance now that he's proven incapable of making a proper homecooked meal that's not eggs and bacon, he knew that credit's still due as he recited your order, memorized through the heart and well, the number of times this situation has occurred.

so what if there's no candle-lit dinner, scaramouche argues as he continues to defend his choice fifteen minutes after he placed his order, at least you'll be eating something that isn't burnt today.

to his surprise, you finished five minutes before he expected you to and you were even pleased that he had ordered in instead of cooking. too much work you said, but scaramouche figured that you've just been watching too many romanticized sitcoms as of late. the rest of the night was a blur of doing your nightly routines side by side, no different from a regular day and frankly, he liked that. over the top, corporate benefiting actions were never his style anyway. what he did remember was that you had sloppily laid your body over his last night, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs as he was left to support your entire weight without any sort of warning. the high-pitched evil voice that reigned the insides of scaramouche's head urged him to push you off of him to return the utter lack of regard but one look at the dark circles under your eyes and he was sighing in defeat. how detestable... if he had known that he would keel over for someone so weak, he would've laughed and thrown a world-ending fit of rage earlier. you were neither great nor mighty but, good heavens, you seem to have a knack for making his blood boil. he knew that some people are born gentle and kind but you? you were overflowing with so much goodwill in your heart that you might as well adopt those annoying, little cherubs that are glowing and praising every single one of your self-sacrificial acts of kindness behind your back.

really, what was he thinking when he fell for a saint?

now conscious, scaramouche toyed with the idea of telling you off and guiding you back into his stellar path of becoming a grudge-holding menace of society. it's definitely not a concern for your well-being that's bringing this thought into mind. it's just... scaramouche sighed, before directing his gaze to the continuous pinging of your phone from far away. he should really give your overindulgent coworkers a piece of his mind. stopping in his tracks, a devious grin and manic look crossed over his face. something that was hurriedly removed as you let out a muffled whine, now also roused from sleep.

"wait... what's happening?"

scaramouche smiles and that was when you knew that something was awfully wrong, "good morning to you too."

shivering slightly, you reluctantly left the bed in favor of getting to work on time. if things went south because of him... well, you'll think about that later when it does occur.

noon approached much too swiftly and before long, it was your lunch break. you could skip lunch, you mused as you eyed the towering pile of papers you had to get through today but before you could begin working on another one, a small bag was placed in front of you haphazardly.

"...scara?"

"why are you looking at me like that with your blank eyes?!" he seethed as a soft pink brought color to his face again, "it's your break, right? there! i bought you lunch because i made too much!"

you doubted the legitimacy of his last statement but before you could tease him or thank him for that matter, he was already scurrying off. shaking your head, you opened the bag only to be greeted with a neon pink post-it with "stop sucking up to your scum of a boss and report him for passing his workload to you. it's not like i can't beat him up if things go wrong" written on it. stifling a laugh, you opened the container to be greeted with the leftovers from last night and freshly cooked eggs made exactly the way you like them.

that man, really... you giggled to yourself as you began typing a report to the hr.

each step was made with purpose, which is to say, each step was made with a murderous glint in his eyes as he confidently walked out of your office and back to his home. a sick sense of pleasure throbbed underneath his skin, expressed in the victorious smirk on his face as his eyes watched your hopeless colleagues avoid him without so much as a complaint. nevermind the fact that he was definitely acting like a househusband just as ajax teased him to be or that he's shorter than everyone he passed by, scaramouche was just as terrifying as he was back in his heyday and the scaramouche of back then is all too happy to be the monster that terrifies those who dare exploit what's his.

taglist / be added or removed here

@genshiningg @serenareiss @cloudybillows @abblebabble @scaraslover @ttaechi @sugarysylz @favonius-captain @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @lowilaufeyson @starforecasts @pumpikun

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jeno-has-jaem

2 years ago

#your highness, do you love me?

—how do they treat you with favor if you’re the tsaritsa’s heir

CHARACTERS. fatui harbingers (Tartaglia / Childe, Arlecchino, Pantalone, La Signora, Sandrone, Scaramouche, Il Dottore, Columbina, Il Capitano, Pierro); Tsaritsa’s heir! Gn! Reader

THEMES. Can be platonic/romantic, it’s on you; fluff; crack on some

WARNINGS. reader is a simp for everyone /hj; sandrone is gaslight gatekeep girlboss; obv tsaritsa is your mother here… biological or not is not really implied

NOTES. You are free to think what’s the reader’s age or appearance as i did not really specify those things here~ p.s. i tried to write for pulcinella… but i really can’t lmao

Archons, in general, do not pass down their divinity to their own blood. But for you and the Fatui, this was different. For them, the Tsaritsa was the one that built them and made them who they are now—giving them power and the ability to conquer the world of Teyvat.

…

TARTAGLIA, being the newest member of the Fatui Harbingers, is expected to do what newcomers do: be too showy with their loyalty—however, this is already quite apparent with his personality all the more, which made him stand out for you as he was twice as showy as the others than you’ve ever seen.

He was not exactly a good person, but he was the Harbinger that did not mind talking to you casually, especially after your permission. And you liked it. It was a breath of fresh air, and it gave you a sense of being one with them, not just someone who had a position just because you were their Queen’s heir.

“Are you leaving?” you question, catching him along the hallways, on th way out of your mother’s throne room.

“Hm? Why? Are you going to miss me?” he lets out a sly smirk to which you chuckled—how he can make you laugh in amusement within seconds still amazes you up to this very day.

“You’re so funny, Tartaglia.”

“So… you won’t miss me?”

You could only smile and send him look, “You’re free to guess, Eleven.”

ARLECCHINO gives you the same respect as she does with the Tsaritsa. She knows her place and her role, and she may not talk to you unless you talk to her first.

“Knave, Knave, have you heard? I heard Tartaglia went to look for Scaramouche. Would you be going as well?”

“I am not,” she answers, “not unless the heir wishes for me to go, then I shall-”

“Ah, no! Don’t!” You immediately interrupt her, “How about spending time with me instead?”

“If that is what you wish, Your Highness.”

“Knave…” you gave her a look—and for her, it was a look she often saw from the Tsaritsa, whenever she is displeased, that is—“I told you to call me by my name, did I not?”

A shiver runs down her spine, bowing her head down, “I apologize, Yo—Y/n.”

She feels a flutter in her stomach when she catches you smiling brightly—as bright as the sun that does not dare to peek in the land of Snezhnaya—what was this? Is this of worry that she had displeased the heir? Or was this because it’s you? Either way, both do not go well with her—this could jeopardize her standing as a Harbinger as well.

“Good! Now, accompany me? Knave?”

“Very well… Y/n.”

PANTALONE treats you quite handsomely (just like he is…) actually. He has a ton of gifts for you, especially when he came to realize how you liked being given one. He’d shower you with material things, and would even give them personally quite a few times—your birthdays most likely.

To be frank, he only did this at first to earn your favor, at the very least, make you have a good word to say about him to your mother just in case.

But things got out of hand.

“Ah, be careful! Lord Pantalone is fond of Your Highness’ heir. He would not tolerate it if he heard you say anything about them!”

Even the others had noticed the (not-so) subtle actions of the Harbinger, and yet it was him who thought that all this time, he was only doing this for such a simple reason.

But why does he find it infuriating just by hearing others say your name? Or whenever he sees you act more friendly to the other Harbingers.

He certainly has to find a reason why.

And the only way is to go and find you and have a nice chat.

Yes… just a chat.

LA SIGNORA is known for being one of the Tsaritsa’s closest aides, and that was how you came to know her as well.

As she is closer to your mother than the others, you’ve seen her far too many times and was able to also converse with her as well.

However… she’s quite…

“Ah, well it isn’t you, little one.”

“I… why do you always call me that?” you purse your lips, almost pouting in front of the Eighth Harbinger, to which she could only giggle.

“Why? Are you displeased with such a thing? Would you rather I call you…” she paused leaning in ever so slightly and making you lean back… but she didn't say anything else—just giving you a knowing smirk and look.

“C-call me… what?” You tried to question, entertaining her response, whatever it is.

“Hmm,” she hums yet never answers the question. She stays in that position a moment longer before she leans back and crosses her arms.

“Seeing as you couldn’t propose a new name, I’ll continue calling you the same, little one.”

SANDRONE does not really speak to you much, but people could feel that she truly favors you, probably much more than the other Harbingers and even the Tsaritsa.

Yet that favor seems to have come from somewhere else.

“I see you all are unaware, yet unawareness is not an excuse for this treachery. Your Highness, if you may allow me to punish them for their disrespect towards you,” the woman bows her head with a hand on her chest, making the Fatui members tremble at their leader’s words.

“T-the heir themselves! Please have mercy-!”

“They are my subordinates and yet they do not know who the heir of Your Majesty is. I am disgraced by such,” she raises her head and sends a look at you, eyes gleaming, “Your Highness should not let themselves be treated this way.”

Is she… urging you?

“I…”

“Have mercy, Your Highness-!”

You looked away, closing your eyes with a sigh.

“I’ll leave it to you, Sandrone.”

She smirks—which you failed to see—and replies, “As you wish, Your Highness. You truly are a great fit to the throne.”

SCARAMOUCHE is not favored by everyone, and maybe that’s why he does find satisfaction whenever you show your kindness to him.

Like a lone moon in the middle of the dark.

Not that he’d ever admit to such a thing.

“Scara!”

He grits his teeth, jaw and shoulders tensing at the way you referred to him—and at the mere sound of your voice. He bit back the words he so wanted to blurt out, aware of his surroundings—the eyes and ears that your call had caught attention of.

After all, it is not that usual for you, the heir of the Tsaritsa, to call someone—let alone a Harbinger with a nickname.

“Your Highness,” he hisses, and pauses just as soon as he had faced you, glaring at you as he mutters in a low tone, “do you love me?”

“W-what?!” You staggered and instinctively looked around. It was a good thing he had questioned you without letting others hear or else—

“I said—”

“I heard you for the first time, Sixth.” Your firm voice made him halt, as well as probably caught more attention from the people around you. It was not that usual for you to talk seriously in front of others—especially to SCARAMOUCHE.

He raised a brow at your tone, only to let out a scoff when you drop the serious look on your face and smile at him again.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No! But you got my heart!”

He makes a disgusted look on his face, only to face away with a huff, crossing his arms. Ah, he should really make you stop… but it’s not like he could—or that he’d want to.

IL DOTTORE… Well, you probably found him scarier than Pierro honestly. At first.

As time went on and you continued to observe him, you realized that...

Just as much as someone like him craves for things that are interesting for him, he was the one who you found interesting.

“Ah… you’re here again, Your Highness! A pleasure for you to join us.”

You found yourself smiling at the grin that the Doctor gave you, standing at your usual place and placing your arms on the desk—one that is quite far from his workplace, as he’d one time told you it was “dangerous to come near”.

“What is it that you’re up to today, Dottore?”

“My, my, aren’t you a curious little cat?” He hums and turns to face you, “this time will be a secret, however. Fear not! Your expectations will be granted once I present to you what this experiment is about.”

“Oh? A surprise? I didn’t know you like surprises.”

“Oh I don’t” he smirks, “but I know you do.”

You adored COLUMBINA’s voice the moment you heard her, and it was you who gave her her name.

“Damselette, truly fitting, isn’t it?”

“I am grateful, Your Highness.”

Anyone could tell that there is something going on between the two of you—either you favor her greatly or that she follows whatever you say as if it is law.

“Isn’t she the Harbinger that the Heir is fond of?”

“I bet that she only became a Harbinger because of the Heir.”

“What are you saying?! That Harbinger is terrifying! Did you not hear what she did on her most recent missions?”

“What? What did she do?”

You were passing by with COLUMBINA when you caught the voices of the Fatuus not too far away from both of you, before they could say any more, you halted from your tracks and reached for your companion’s ears, cupping them and preventing her from hearing anything.

She perks her head but does not say anything. You could still hear the others’ voices, to which prompted you to signal from the guards that were accompanying you, and they knew full well what the look on your face tells.

Removing your hands from COLUMBINA’s ears once the guards had taken the talkative Fatuus’ away, your heart swelled on the smile that she flashed onto you, bowing her head and letting you hear her sweet voice.

“Your Highness is always there for me, and this humble servant shall always be by Your Highness’ side.”

You scoffed, smiling back.

“Good.”

IL CAPITANO… he knows his place—his title as a Fatui Harbinger, but he also would have tendencies where would show some human kindness that probably very few of his colleagues do possess… every once in a while. And honestly, that was what you liked about him. That regardless of his strength and title, you could see an ounce of humanity in him—despite there being a chance that he’s not anymore.

You’d never know.

Nonetheless, it shows whenever he was with you—or when you see him, actually. You two are not that close, it was difficult to. You are the heir of their Queen, who were you to make friends with technically her subordinates? Your mother would not permit you to, nor would she let them do the same.

One day, however, changed it all.

It was the day that you had seen IL CAPITANO training on his own. Ever since, you were mesmerized. It’s quite unknown to you whether it was because of him and his movements or was it your desire to fight.

But nonetheless, it broke all the walls down and prompted you to ask “Could you teach me?”

You caught his attention—maybe way before that day.

“I mean… could you train me? To be as strong as you. You’re strong… right? I’ve heard Eleventh ask you to spar with him before. Maybe… you can teach me that too. To spar.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. '' You could hear the grin in his voice, but you can’t really see it with his mask on.

Actually, you think to yourself, you shouldn’t, you replied to him in your mind, only to merely smile.

Not that he’d ever know.

Not now, that is.

You cannot really remember when was the first time you met PIERRO, as he was already there when you were born, and he had been a constant in your life. Maybe you almost forgot a time where he wasn’t present and by your side.

Nonetheless, you’ve always seen him as quite intimidating, but also somewhat of a protector. At one point, you had heard your mother tell him to guide you on the right path. And since then, you’ve always noticed him whenever he was near.

And one time, you had the courage to walk up to him and actually talk to him.

He was… rigid, so to speak, but he entertained your talk and the conversation, so it didn’t stop you from trying to speak or have a chat with him every once in a while, sometimes even in his office where you just talk his ears off and he listens. He indulges you, you think. And honestly, you were just there because you were quite curious if he’ll ever tell you off or scold you in any way—just like your mother would whenever you try to initiate long nonsense chats with her.

But he doesn’t.

And maybe… you’re still trying up til this day, and he already knew your intentions whenever you try to talk to him.

“Your Highness… you’re here,”

“Ah, yes, I have another story to tell you!”

“I have reports to finish but,” he pauses, sending a look to you, “I shall listen to whatever you have to say.”