[4:08 PM] + Superheroes + “what? You Think I Care?”

little drabble based on the scene where bosacius paints on alatus' (xiao's) face hehe

"who did this?" silence fell across the open space. all chatter died down as he stepped forward, glaring at each and every one of you gathered in a circle. golden eyes surveyed the area, lingering on each one for a second before his eyes narrowed and they fell upon you again.

"it was you, wasn't it?" alatus growled, holding up his hand to show smudged black ink. you bit your lip as you looked up to his face. a black circle surrounded his left eye and there were streaks across his left cheek.

"no! it wasn't me, i promise!" your voice sounded higher and you covered your mouth so as to not let him see the laughter that was bubbling up. it was no use. alatus lunged towards you as you scrambled backwards, laughter spilling out as he fell atop of you, his hands pinning you down as he scowled.

you could hear the others laughing at you and you couldn't help but join. "alatus, i swear, it wasn't me!" your faces were inches apart, and though he was glaring down at you, there was no hatred in those glowing golden eyes of his. he refused to move, even if he believed that it wasn't you, not wanting to push himself up and have to face the others who he was sure were already cooing at the position the two of you were in.

"i told you he would think it was them first." he hears bosacius snicker, so quietly he almost didn't hear it. "it was too easy for me." he narrows his eyes and turns his head slightly but his attention is brought back to you when you start laughing again and press your hands to his toned chest so you can sit back up. he lets you do so, waiting until bosacius opens his mouth again.

"aren't the two of you cute!" alatus ignores the heat on his cheeks as he pushes himself to stand and does his best to glare at the others. he knows there's no way for him to look intimidating with ink all over his face, but for the sake of his pride, he believes that he's scowling menacingly at them.

they're all struggling to hold in their laughter. indarias and bonanus lean in close together, whispering something he can't be bothered to hear. he knows its not them, they like to sit back and watch the trouble unfold. menogias is usually the level headed one, and though he too is trying to cover up his laughter, he wouldn't be the one to do this. which leaves bosacius, ever the troublemaker.

"it was you wasn't it." he directs his words at the purple yaksha, who sputters out nonsense. too easy.

"get back here!" even alatus can't stop the grin that begins to grow across his face. he'll deal with bosacius first, and then he'll come back to you.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: this popped in my head and i just had to write it lol

i didn’t wanna add this to the previous ask i sent, so here it is:

vigil!mc is totally one of those passive aggressive people who argue in a calm, low voice and perfect grammar and punctuation and everything. sometimes she doesn’t even need to utter a word, her aura and the soft smile on her face is enough to send people into a stuttering mess as they run away.

really good negotiator too. she’s learnt how to bargain and haggle from watching and.. eavesdropping on her parents’ negotiation meetings.

Even kazuha, her precious little brother who she ooves to death and wouldn’t ever harm, fears her at times. when he was younger, he’d do something that would very much upset his sibling, and when she turns around at him with a close-eyed smile, he literally prays to every god and archon out there to have mercy on him. (places a bouquet on her bedroom desk later on with a note reading: “sorry nee-san (◞‸◟) - kazuha”. (open the door and you’d be greeted by puppy dog eyes and a pout on a really cute little boy sitting by the door.)

-🦧

After 0192301301 weeks this ask has finally gotten free from my inbox.

That is so canon in the Vigil universe I'm not even kidding-

Also, I shucking had to draw it—

“sorry nee-san (◞‸◟) - kazuha”. this is the shucking reason why.

now INTO THE CHILDHOOD MEMORY WE GO-

(tap for better quality- hdasdhada)

"MY LITTLE BROTHER CAN'T BE THIS CUTE" - Vigil!MC to a young, panicking Kazuha.

despair! | genshin impact smau ++ kazuha x fem!reader

“it’s not love I swear, it might be closer to despair”

summary— what happens if your childhood friend you used to hate is now ur seatmate?

contains— enemies to friends. , fluff, angst, crack, pre and post pandemic au!, childhood friends, —okay maybe to possibly lovers

status— 02-27-22 , ongoing!

note— this story is heavily connected to my other smau ‘someone you like’ so if you’re going for the xiao route, please read ‘someone you like’ until chapter five and after finishing act one of this, you can stop there and continue with the xiao smau

if you’re going for the kazuha route, you don’t have to read the xiao one and just finish both acts for this one!!

if you want both routes on the other hand, read ‘someone you like’ until chapter five, finish act on of this, finish reading someone you like until the end, then start on act two with this smau

chapters!

ACT ONE

one— finding new friends

two— she’s ugly

three— we’re only friends because our parents are

four— two best friends locked in a closet,, jk they aren’t friends

five— paper rings

six— seatmates for the entire year

seven— feelings fade

eight— different person

nine— anything to keep friendships

ten— he’s cute ig

eleven— are you dumb? I wouldn’t let some guy get in the way of our friendship

twelve— misunderstandings possibly cleared?

thirteen— misunderstandings not cleared

fourteen— third year, starts

fifteen— watching her

sixteen— in his arms again

ACT TWO

tba!!

taglist!open— @renuqi @yay-im-fucking-trash @lunavixia @snowggvk @nebulaera @tkooooop @yanderehornyyae @yaemikosblogg

if ur url is highlighted, it means you cannot be tagged.

seonghwa being the main character

❀ dulo ng hangganan | the itchyworms 🥛 — sanzu haruchiyo

❝binibigkas tanging pangalan mo, hinahanap ang mga yakap mo. pag-ibig ko, bakit lumalayo. pag-ibig mo, tila naglalaho.❞

Keep reading

。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.

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© 2021 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐗𝐗. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms but reblogs are appreciated.

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

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and when he leaves you in the dark. xiao x gn!reader. warnings: angst, xiao dies, 2.7 chasm update spoilers. wc: 1,906. semi proofread.

in each of xiao’s waking moments, he thinks of you.

he thinks of the sun rising in your eyes when you turn to look at him. he thinks of your smile brighter than the moonlight when you tell him about your day. he thinks of the warmth in your hands when you gently grab his own, tugging on him to lead the way.

and as his body grows weaker with each passing second from the fantastic compass, he thinks about you. as though his ears are filled with water, the loud yelling of yanfei and paimon is drowned away by his thoughts of you—it has always only been of you.

you always hated how self-sacrificial he was. your shoulders would slump when you’d hear him utter his thoughts and you’d angrily bite back your tears. you’d wrap your arms around his waist after and tell him it was all nonsense—that he still had you.

that should there come a day the stars will not align, xiao will still have you.

you would never miss the sudden look in his eyes, yet he smiles lightly and nods every time.

when the platform shatters and so does his mask, vanishing slowly as the strength in him dies a little more, xiao finally remembers what you had said to him before he left.

“come back home to me.”

you had been playing with his fingers when you spoke, not once looking up at him—missing the ghost of a smile on his lips. someone like you was too far for xiao to reach but still, he wallowed in your affection and surrendered himself fully.

you who has been blighted by someone like xiao, a demon who has slain thousands—mortals and gods alike. xiao wished back then that he had stayed away, kept to himself on the balcony of wangshu inn and never helped you with your problems.

for someone as awkward as him, xiao learned to breathe and love. love someone so different, someone who is not like him; and will never be like him. he learned to breathe you in as though you and he do not know where the two of you had begun and when you two had become whole.

“okay, i will,” xiao whispered that night. it was a promise to you and him—he’d come back home, safe and sound, to you.

then you looked up at him that time, smiling lightly as your eyes interlocked. you had noticed the fondness in his eyes, hand reaching up to cup his cheek. cute, you thought—but you’d never tell him that.

xiao supposes this would be the only time he has broken a promise to you. of the countless promises he had kept, this would be the only one he would have to break, whether he had a choice or not.

he staggers back, breath heavy and so is his body. they all look at him—yanfei, yelan, the traveler, paimon, and shinobu—with wide eyes as he stands weakly, eyes travelling towards the opening above them.

he would apologize if he could, take you once more into his arms and kiss your nose. he would apologize for everything he couldn’t have done with you and ask for your forgiveness. he knew you’d accept him as you always have.

xiao knows that his time is running out.

the color green engulfs his right hand as he balls it into a fist, knowing this would be his last act. heroic—he thinks, idiotic—you’d say. 

“i like the color green,” you told him once on a stroll.

xiao paused in his steps, turning to look at you with a raised brow. “green?” he repeated.

“yeah, i like it,” you hummed. “everything about you is green—you’re green.”

he didn’t know what it meant during that time, only that he knew you liked it because of him. xiao took every chance to take home every colored green object in sight when he would go out.

he brought a four-leaf clover once, hoping that it would bring you any luck compared to being with him. xiao left it on your hands with a shy smile as you stared at it with a smile.

everything else followed after that. xiao would grab a jade stone should he see one, a beautiful water lily when he passes by the lake, a green flower when it blooms at night.

when the sunset came and you laid your head on his shoulder by a tree trunk, xiao hesitantly asked, “why the color green?”

you didn’t move from your position, instead, you took a look at the setting sun. “i just like it,” you answered. “but, if you really want to know…”

xiao gazed at you, watching the way your lips would move, nose scrunch up when you smiled, and eyebrows moving when you spoke. he then glanced at the sky and the setting sun—it was pink and purple, something you always loved to stare at, even more than you loved the color green, that he knew.

“does that answer your question?” xiao blinked. ah, he didn’t listen.

“it does,” he said, hand slowly reaching towards yours, intertwining it with his. 

though he feels disappointed in himself for never hearing your answer, xiao realized there, you are more beautiful than the sun setting. should the sun itself disappear, xiao would follow you to the ends of the earth just to watch the sunset in your eyes.

this time, however, xiao understands why you like the color green—it symbolizes his protection. the color engulfs his companions, a bright light green that he knew would protect them and bring them to safety, and he knew that it would bring only them.

xiao watches as yelan reaches out to him, yelling something incoherent in his ears, then finally, they disappear and leave him on his own. 

the platform below him cracks and xiao falls.

he wonders what you would have said to him should you know he sacrificed himself for others—only this time, he isn’t coming back. it was his job, his duty—it was bound to happen at one point. it was something you always refused to accept, xiao shouldn’t have to bear the burden of others.

“you first before others,” you said one time. “why should you put your life on the line for them?”

it was in the contract—he would have said. but xiao was bound by no contracts (at least anymore), only his morals and his guilt. his sins were far greater than any living adeptus and he must suffer for all eternity for what he has done.

but you show him that he doesn’t have to bear the burden of others, that like everyone else, xiao is loved. and he is loved deeply and greatly by none other than you.

to others love may be a burning fire of desire, to know all of your deepest secrets, or kissing below the shade of the trees in spring and waiting for the flowers to fall. but for you, you show xiao that love to you is simply him.

and xiao knows that you love him more than you do yourself.

it’s only that xiao knows in himself that you are the epitome of love itself—and he will love you even until death.

“what are you holding?” you came up to him on a cold night by the balcony. the wind blew and howled, you shivered slightly as you make do with your hands rubbing your arms for any source of warmth.

xiao turned to you, holding a crystal-fly in his right hand. “i thought it would suit you,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck the piece in your hair. 

he gazed at you, a light smile on his lips as you touched the crystal-fly on your hair gently. xiao was right whenever it came to you—something he was always proud of, and the only thing he was proud of in himself.

“i love it,” you whispered.

“i love you,” xiao whispered back—barely audible but he knows you hear it, and wants only you to hear it.

[name], when tomorrow starts without me, i hope you feel relieved.

he has seen the mountains fall and the oceans rise, but xiao knows that he has loved only you, and forever will only be you. 

but i hope you know that i will love you even if there are no clouds in the sky and the setting sun has become dull in your eyes.

and as he falls into his doom, xiao remembers your smile, the crinkle of your eyes, the laugh you let out when he takes you too seriously, the warmth of your hugs, and the love that you brought him.

“what’s your favorite flower?” he had asked suddenly.

you thought for a few seconds as you say, “oh, i don’t know.”

xiao frowned.

“but if there was a flower like you, i would choose that one,” is what you said after.

you gave him a bright smile, laughing at your own words—still, they were true. wrapping your arms around his neck, he staggered backwards, holding your waist to steady the both of you. should there be a garden full of flowers, you would choose xiao again and again.

“that’s nonsense,” xiao clicked his tongue.

“huh? hey! i thought it was cute!”

his eyes shoot open.

for once in his life, xiao reaches up towards the small light and wishes it would grab him just as how you pulled him out of his misery.

what would you think?

what would you say?

what would you do when the news comes to you?

as he falls, tears spring to his eyes as he remembers you. the only person in his life who had shown him love. the only person who had cried when he came home with blood on him. the only person who he knows would be devastated when you find out the truth about what had happened to him.

if only xiao had stayed far away from you, it wouldn’t have ended up like this—you would not have to cry for him.

until xiao’s final moments, he thinks about you.

--

“i’m sorry, xiao has died.”

the smile on your face fades, handpicked qingxins now lay by your feet as your hands drop to your sides. verr goldet stands in front of you, a solemn look on her face—you watch her lips move but you could barely hear what she says.

xiao has died.

xiao has died?

you open your mouth to thank her for bearing you the news, but it stays open. there was nothing to say. she watches as you tremble, the gloss in your eyes fading—a look she had first seen on xiao when you had not come for a week.

with a shaky voice, you reply, “okay… thank you.”

you should have seen it coming; that one day, xiao would not return safely in your arms. the longer you stand in front of verr goldet, the heavier your body becomes, dragging you down as if it wishes to bring you with xiao himself. for now, you will weep for your dead lover.

you hope that in xiao’s final moments, he knows that should he and you walk this world once again with no remnants of each other, you will find him again and again.

notes i thought about xiao finally resting but wipee go down with me he worries about leaving you alone so in his last final moments he's desperately trying to cling onto whatever faith he has left in himself to go back to you but <3 he can't tada hehe also i hope the transitions are understandable as you can see the reader isn't with xiao in the chasm, so all you saw are xiao's memories with you just loving him or as i like to call it his life flashing before he dies :p i wrote this in one day i can't believe but i had to edit it a lot because my metaphors didn't seem right, i am not an english major so i am horrible at this

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