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ddarker-dreams · 11 months

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Do Puppets Dream of Electric Sheep?

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

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

“What am I to you?”

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

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

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

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

Furniture clatters in a cacophony of noise.

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

How do…? You shouldn’t know that!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is his conscious being tampered with by the gods?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clap twice and the surroundings shift.

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

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

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

The mirror shatters.

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

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

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

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

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t.

What else was he to do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

All verbal exchanges cease.

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

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

You pull away from him.

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

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

You depart with a final threnody.

“Until we meet again, then.”

…

Something brushes over his cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it about?”

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

The sarcasm successfully draws your attention elsewhere.

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

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

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

He gives your pulse a chaste, reverent kiss.

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

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouhe x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #my stuff

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

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Where Did The Years Go?

Yan Scaramouche x GN Reader.

Synopsis: You said you understood him. So why do you plan to leave him too?

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, Scara is in his Kabukimono era, thoughts of murdering the Reader, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

Dendrobium could only grow in areas where Celestia is blind. Kabukimono knew that, almost more than he knew anything else. The Dendrobium blooming next to a grave long since abandoned, much like the rest of this island, has no one to watch over it, no one aside from you and him. The seven red flowers sprouting in the tomb were unloved by this world, much like Kabukimono once used to be before he found a home within you, his beloved.

The flower had many names, unlike the unmarked, broken stone that hid some sort of rotting human beneath the soil. The Flower of Poison because of the stamens which are indeed poisonous to mortals unlike himself, intended to keep pests like mice away from the inner parts. The Flower of Death was another ominous title since the flowers are said to bloom only when an Inazuman is said to cross over to the other side after passing on, be it from old age, disease, or some slow and painful death they either did or did not deserve. Sometimes, when you are feeling guilty enough, you visit this grave too, and sit down to meditate, contemplating what your mother is doing in the afterlife if it even existed. Perhaps this was why you were given a Vision, the shade of that of the tea you often brewed for both Kabikumono and yourself, a bright green color that dared not dwindle. The Flower of The Other Shore is also a common label for Dendrobium because when a soul passes the river they are said to be greeted by a field of them. Kabukimono ponders for a moment, leaning down to pick out a petal, playing with it between his thumb and pointer finger, stopping when he hears you call out his name, followed by the slightly loud note of a bell. He leans back down and buries the petal within the soil of the grave, bowing before hurrying off in the direction of your home.

Today’s dinner is a combination of what you both managed to gather. Kabukimono gathered the fish and seaweed, while you cooked the rice from the small field outside your home, along with some Lavender Melon. Your meals are often like this, Kabukimono found out a few days into him becoming a resident here for the time being, that what you ate depended heavily on the weather and the harvest. He promises himself that one day he will treat you to a meal and life so grand that you will never go back to foraging all day to just be barely given enough to scrape by.

Seven months have passed since he first arrived here, according to you. He hopes that this life will continue to get better and that he will be able to give you the life you deserve.

“Kabukimono,” The saying of your name is unusually deflated like it has been the past week or so. “I… have to tell you something, alright?”

“Absolutely! Tell me anything, anything at all.”

What comes out of your mouth is not what he wanted to hear at all. “I… I’m leaving Yashiori Island.”

“...Huh?” He looks down at the small bowls that are in the center of the two of you. His side, as usual, has more food than yours, because you keep saying you cannot bear to see him go hungry. “Why?”

“There is not enough food. Not enough… anything. The thunderstorms are getting much worse too… I can’t live here anymore.”

You think this is the first time you have been scared of Kabukimono, because that new expression he is wearing is utterly terrifying.

“I… I’m sorry, Kabukimono. I’m… leaving for Inazuma City soon.”

He smiles, and in the blink of an eye, he is standing up and then your foreheads are touching, his hands grabbing your shoulders so tightly you could feel them almost dislocate.

“No, you’re not, because that’s awfully selfish of you! My [First] would never do such a thing, right? They wouldn’t leave me alone to starve and cry and be covered in filth.”

Being aware that you are unaware of his non-human nature, yet acknowledging your uncontainable empathy, makes employing this strategy even simpler. It works every time you want to leave.

“Here, you can have my portion for tonight, alright? Just… Just don’t leave me. Please?” After a moment of silence, along with the tears that trickle down your cheeks, he knows he has one, at least for now. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, [First].”

When you don’t answer again, looking to the side, to the bag of your essentials, Kabukimono wonders if that grave would have enough room for two and not just one.

But he dismisses it because surely, you’ll be with him forever, right?

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harmonysanreads · 1 year

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When something (or someone) is stealing your attention.

characters: al haitham, kamisato ayato, raiden shogun (ei), scaramouche (wanderer)

cw(s): general yandere themes, dark themes, mentions of captivity, mention of gaslighting (once)

──⚝ al haitham

Probably doesn't even notice and if he does, sees no reason to get worked up over it.

Al Haitham practices control over his emotions — more so, the less rational ones, through assessment of the given situation. Sometimes, you can almost see apparitions of the cogs turning and twisting in his irises. So, when he sees your insistence on ignoring his existence, he merely sits down somewhere close and resumes where he left off on his own book. It's you who is concerned from his lack of acknowledgement, stealing glances to see him having his merry time. After all, those light novels can only occupy your attention for so long and after re-reading the same text for who-knows-how-many times, you'll be forced to come to him (yet again another disadvantage of being held captive). He'll have his revenge then.

──⚝ kamisato ayato

His time is precious, more so the time he gets to spend with you, so, not a chance.

Somewhere in his corpse of a heart, there is guilt for the position he has put you in. His pride wouldn't let him admit that though, it claws its way out and blends in some of his actions. Ayato loves you too much to ignore the obvious forlorn look etched on your visage for any longer, your eyes are loud in the demand for freedom and it's been proven that not even an estate full of servants and people are enough to satiate your loneliness. So, when he gifted you the caged canary, he thought he'd finally see you smile again. Instead, it bites back at him and steals the last scraps of your attention. Ayato is displeased, to say the least and he makes it quite clear. If you still insist on being ignorant although, he'd have to resort to crueller methods. Fear not, he wouldn't allow a scratch to appear on you but, he cannot quite say that for your bird friend. After all, he's not ignorant of your attachment towards it or, of the resemblance in situation it has to you. Let this be a warning.

──⚝ raiden shogun (ei)

She's not jealous. Pssh, only a child could get jealous over something like this. You're merely interacting with her pet. A teasing pet who whispers suggestive comments in your ears every three seconds and — is she touching you now?

Gaslights herself for as long as possible because Celestia forbid should she succumb to this feeling of jealousy, in front of this menace of a kitsune moreover, she'll not hear the end of it. In her pursuit of an unchanging eternity, she has triumphed over the trifling mortal emotions. So then, why is it that all of her carefully constructed euthymia crumbles when it comes to you? Without doubt, you're an impediment to that perfect eternity, a weakness and yet, she fails to let you go, refuses to let you go. The mischievous kitsune utilizes it to her fullest entertainment, revelling in both your flustered reactions and Ei's crumbling ataraxia. If Yae Miko does manage to snap the last straw (which she does), Ei will quickly rush her out of her realm to cackle over the victory somewhere else. Then, it's up to you to smother the blow.

(You'll be surprised at how soon she melts.)

──⚝ scaramouche (wanderer)

Depending on which time of his life you manage to win over his non-existent heart, the reaction varies.

Kabukimono does not even feel it at first. Though, as his admiration and observation of the humans deepens, he eventually manages to make out some semblance of the unpleasant feeling. He'll never blame you though. It's... uncomfortable for him as he's new to it but compared to his future selves, Kabukimono is far more forgiving.

Kunikuzushi, newly familiarized with the cruelty and ugliness of the world is not so soft. He's constantly on the edge, questioning your loyalty and anticipating a betrayal. You'll have to put in a lot of sweet talking and loving caresses for him to strengthen his trust in you. Once you've gained it whole, you'll have to be even more careful. I'd advise not adding to his number of betrayals.

The Balladeer's perception of the world is twisted, he simultaneously doesn't want to trust you and is ready to give you the highest position of his heart (whether you like it or not). He's much, much more expressive and violent than Kabukimono but narrows it down to you lesser than Kunikuzushi (that does not mean you're off the hook entirely though). If it's an item that has you ignore him then poof! It's gone, now pay attention to him. If it's a person...then, they're also gone :).

Wanderer (after regaining his memories) is levels above the pettiness of his previous selves, so much so, that he ascends to a whole new degree of it. Rest assured, you won't be on the receiving end of the creative ways in which he deals with the sources, just be prepared to deal with one clingy menace.

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of-solitude-past-and-present · 1 year

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Hidden in the Sands (Yandere!Naga!Kunikuzushi)

Warnings: Character Death (not reader, not kuni), Some Gore (description of a corpse), Injury (of reader), Monster AU, implied semi-cannibalism (he isn't human but close enough), some blood (mostly not reader's, a little is kuni's), biting, venom, graphic description of venom effects (used on reader non-lethally), kuni-typical insults, venom effects are made up, kuni tries to kill you (at first but doesn't follow through), reader has a semi-near-death experience, threats, kidnapping, imprisonment, nonconsensual touching (SFW ofc), general yandere themes, kunibaby is Not Nice but it's okay because he's hot, reader goes through the wringer... if you prefer soft yandere, this is probably not for you. loosely based on a rp I did with a friend.

Sorry I lied about the rook and sebek HCs. I have Sebek's pretty much done I think, but Rook remains an enigma. Might post them separately, idk.

Kuni's appearance is inspired by the desert horned viper. If the formatting seems a little weird at any point, it's because tumblr messed it up when I copy/pasted it here. Might fix it later.

6.5k words or so.

The Desert of Hadramaveth.

You haven't been here before. You thought the rest of the desert was bad, between the heat which was "enough to melt a mist flower but not really" (paraphrased from a certain fox friend) and the unforgiving terrain.

This was worse, with its near-constant sandstorms. This was the second one today, and you had only just left the Tanit camp. In other areas of the desert, you were begging for a reprieve from the sun, but here, you were almost begging for it back if it meant you didn't have to worry about getting sand in your eyes and throat. It was almost, almost enough to make you consider turning around and dropping the commission.

"Do you want to hear a dry joke?"

If it weren't for your friend here, you probably would. Unfortunately, you can't turn back now that you've gotten his hopes up. The most you can do is slump your shoulders and sigh, suffocating under the endless heat, what little you could see of the sun, and what you knew was coming next.

"Sure, I'll bite."

A large, beaming grin spread across Sanad's face, and you braced yourself.

"A desert."

"That's terrible."

"Oh, come on! It's funny and you know it!"

"Does that even count as a proper j-"

You paused, looking up at the sky. In the distance, you could see a large, beige cloud. Again?

"We need to find shelter. There's a sandstorm coming."

"Well, looks like we're in luck. Where isn't shelter?" he responded.

It was true. You and Sanad were somewhere just north of the Tanit Camps, near Wadi Al-Majuj. Ahead of the both of you was the entrance to a deep canyon, lined with ancient ruins. According to the map, it was called Pairidaeza Canyon. Behind you, there was another entrance to a different canyon, and according to your map, if you went back a ways and to the right, there'd be a third one.

"Come on, let's go! I need to look through these for my thesis!" He rushed, running ahead of you.

"Careful!" you called out. "There might be bandits down there."

He immediately slowed to a stop, sheepishly turning around to move back to his place next to you.

"On second thought, take your time. Just make sure there's nobody else in there."

You chuckle, already starting a reasonable pace down the steep slope into the canyon. "Thought so. Just a reminder, we're leaving immediately once the sandstorm ends, unless we find who or what we're looking for."

Right. What you were looking for. Recently, small groups of travelers and even large caravans were being attacked. Most of the attacks occurred between the Tanit Camp and around the Passage of Ghouls. A few supplies were usually stolen, but that wasn't the worst part.

A few days later, the rotting corpse of one of the travelers or nomads would be found, half-eaten and with a twin set of puncture marks in their throat. Any useful supplies would be missing, but oddly enough, the mora was almost never taken.

Normally, you'd assume that maybe it was just a deranged serial killer, and either the bodies were eaten by wild animals or the culprit was worse than you thought. But it was strange. What serial killer had fangs like that? And if it was a wild animal, what use would they have for supplies like bedrolls and first aid kits?

The survivors usually all said the same thing; they were caught out in the middle of a sandstorm, and all they heard was a scream or shout before one of their friends disappeared. When the body was found, some key survival supplies would be missing as well. When a caravan was attacked, some supplies (and occasionally people) would even be snatched right off the backs of the desert sumpter beasts.

Hence why you and your friend Sanad were out here to crack this strange case. Mostly you, though, since Sanad only wanted to take a gander at the desert ruins for some Akademiya thing. You'd probably have gone alone (or at least tried to, before you decided the mora wasn't worth it) but when he heard that you were going to this section of the desert, he insisted on coming for his thesis or something like that. He helped pay for the trip, and he was paying you personally, so you had no reason to refuse. He was your friend, and good company to boot, even if he was a little bit skittish.

"Well, that might be possible... but you said you didn't even know if the culprit was a person, didn't you?" he inquired, as the both of you passed the first of the ruins in the canyon.

You sighed. "Yeah, I told you all about that already."

A glimmer of excitement appeared in his eyes. "Well, I've been thinking since then, and I remembered this old desert legend! Have you heard of nagas?"

"Nagas?" you parroted.

"Yes, nagas!" He nodded his head. "They're an ancient race of ferocious half-human half-snake people that supposedly existed during the reign of King Deshret. Apparently they were equal parts revered and feared, as wise and strong beings."

You raised a somewhat skeptical brow. "I thought you didn't believe in legends?"

He laughed. "The Akademiya has declared them to be just baseless nonsense, so of course I don't think they actually exist. I just think it's very interesting, and it technically matches what we know..." He trails off, looking around in awe.

"If you want to look around, you can. Tell me if you see or hear anything."

You didn't need to tell him twice. With a rushed "thanks!" and a wave, he was practically bouncing up what probably used to be a set of stairs to a higher level within the ruins, off to your left. In the meantime, you'll look around, see if you can find anything interesting.

You looked up and around, spinning on your heels. From what you've seen of the canyon so far, it's just a straight corridor with partially collapsed stone ruins on both sides, and a fallen wooden bridge that once connected them. You can see several ways to climb up higher and explore the ancient stone buildings, including the way up that Sanad went.

You and Sanad are pretty deep into the canyon at this point, and you have to crane your head just to see the top. As you do this, you notice just how many floors there are in the ruins. Some have crumbled so much they seem almost completely inaccessible. They're so high up, you can't see anything on them from your angle at the bottom.

There's just so many places to hide. The realization makes you tense up a little. Maybe you should have gone up with him.

It's so strange though. The complicated ruins, numerous hiding places, and the nearby water would make this place an ideal camping spot for bandits and thieves. But so far, you haven't seen hide or hair of anyone else. Not even an abandoned camp.

Until somewhere in the ruins, you hear an odd sound. It's hard to make out, and it sounds so much like the normal shifting sand that you almost brush it off as a natural sound in the canyon. But you hear stone crumbling and rocks falling, and you look up, seeing something move on the side of a ledge too far above you to check. It's close enough that some of the rocks hit the ground next to you. You squint, watching the ledge, waiting for whatever it was to move again, but the sound stops. The hair on your neck stands on end–from what, you aren't sure. Sanad is even closer to the source of the sound than you are, but not far away at all. Just out of sight. Was it from him? Or someone watching him?

Or are they watching you?

You're not sure, and you'll check just in case. Sanad doesn't have anything to defend himself with except for a dagger. Without another thought, you surge up the stone steps, hand subconsciously finding its place on the pommel of your sword. When you get up there, you see him standing with a hand on his chin, studying some old glowing contraption you've never seen before.

"Did you hear that?" you ask, breathing just a little heavier than normal.

He turns to you somewhat incredulously, just as fine as ever. "Hear what? I haven't heard anything. Are you alright?"

You calm down a little bit, letting your hand fall from your sword. "I'm fine. I was just worried about you. Didn't you hear that noise? I saw something move up there." You look up at the ledge the rocks came from. You don't see any way to get up there that's safe.

The sand is starting to pour in harder through the massive gap in the canyon ceiling, and the wind is beginning to howl. You and Sanad are slowly being dusted in sand.

"You're a little on edge. Relax! A sandstorm is starting and the wind and sand probably just knocked a few rocks into the canyon or something. It happens all the time." He flashed you a reassuring smile, turning back to... whatever those were on the wall. They're shaped somewhat like bowls, and as sand pours into them, sand also pours out a hole in the side into another one of them. You're not the researcher here, so you ignore it.

You let go of some of the tension in your shoulders, letting out a held breath. "Alright, sorry for bothering you then. Just so you know, if the sandstorm gets any worse, we'll be moving deeper into the canyon to get out of the sand."

He turns back to you, somewhat pleading. "But can't I stay? I'm not the one looking for the guy, so you don't need me to come with you, right?"

You expected this, just as you expect that he'll be the one choosing to come with you after what you say next. "Yeah, you could, but if something happens I probably won't be able to hear it if I'm down there."

He freezes, grimacing a bit. "Alright, alright. Let me know when you move on."

As expected.

You chuckle at him with a lopsided smile, turning back to go down the ramp. He was probably right. It seemed like such a silly thing to panic over. Of course sand and rocks would shift and fall in the desert during a sandstorm. That's probably all you saw. You're glad you brought Sanad along and not some other stuck-up researcher who would have made fun of you for it.

When you reach the bottom again, you turn your attention to the ground. Aside from the sounds of the howling wind and pouring sand, you can hear water dripping as it coalesces into the wide but shallow puddle in front of you. That's not what interests you, though.

There's a long indentation in the sand, about as wide as you are, as if something had been dragged through. It extends further into the cave, where the ground becomes rockier and the track disappears.

You crouch down to inspect them further. Chances are, it's probably a large haul of supplies that was too big to properly carry. This place is the perfect hideout for thieves and bandits, so it would be worthwhile to investigate. If you're lucky, it might be the bandit you're looking for.

The canyon starts to darken, so much so that you now have trouble making out the edges of the track. Most of the sunlight that filtered in through the top has disappeared behind a haze. The sound of howling wind grows louder, and the hiss of pouring sand all around you is almost deafening. You've had quite enough of the sand raining on and around you, so you call out for Sanad to come back. It doesn't take him long to come rushing back down the way he came.

"We're heading deeper in to wait out the rest of it," you explain.

He sends a longing look back at where he had come from. "Alright... I see," he concedes, with a dejected slump of his shoulders.

You'll humor him. "Did you find anything interesting?"

He instantly brightens up, excited to talk about whatever he found. "Yes! It's this interesting mechanism that fills with sand. I read about it in a textbook once! It can be opened and closed, but I couldn't figure out how to. I've heard if you can fill them as they were intended to be, you can get treasure from them!"

You two begin moving deeper into the canyon, and you send him a teasing smile. "With the way you're talking, I'd almost think you're the adventurer here."

He shudders. "I could never. At least, not as a full time job. You encounter monsters all the time, don't you?"

"They're not so difficult to deal with, once you're used to seeing them."

"That is not at all reassuring!" He stops to let out a breath. "No, I just want the free mora. Trips like these are expensive."

You sigh. "Well, if you want to, we can at least take a crack at it together on the way out of here."

His eyes light up again. "That's wonderful! We can even split the rewards if we manage to solve it!"

"No more than an hour, though," you warn. "With all the sandstorms, we don't have the time to waste."

"Aww, fair enough." A moment of silence passes, and he turns back to you. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask you! Did you find anything interesting?"

You think back, and the only thing that comes to mind are the tracks.

"Well, a little bit behind us, I found these drag marks. Like someone had dragged a big bag or something, I couldn't tell what."

"Drag marks? Oh, so maybe it really is a naga after all."

You turn to him in exasperation. "Didn't you just say you didn't believe in them? Besides, why'd you even tell me about them if you don't think they exist?"

He laughs. "I'm kidding! I only told you mostly because I wanted to. But I have a more realistic theory too!"

"Really now?" You raised a skeptical brow.

He turns to you, faking a gasp in faux offense. "Why are you looking at me like that? Of course I do! I don't study at the Akademiya for nothing!"

You chuckle. "Oh, go on then. Don't keep me waiting."

"What if the culprit keeps a snake around? Think about it, at the price of a little food, they'd get an unlimited supply of p–Hey! Don't laugh at me! It's not as ridiculous as it sounds!"

Apparently you weren't as good at hiding your snickers as you thought. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you. I was just imagining it in my head. From what I heard, it would have to be a pretty big one based on the size of the puncture wounds and the distance between the fangs."

He crossed his arms, looking away. Guess he didn't quite believe you. "It's not THAT unbelievable, especially in comparison to the naga theory... Haven't you seen the street performers with the snakes in Port Ormos?"

You hold your hands out in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, you're right, I'm sorry. But your theory doesn't explain everything–what about the half-eaten bodies part? And they almost never take mora either... besides, the street performers use nonvenomous snakes."

"I guess it would be risky, but in theory, venomous snakes can be trained too! Desert dwellers tend to be... fearless. Though..." He puts a hand to his chin in contemplation, looking down. "I'm not quite sure about that other part either. Though it's not as if cannibalism was ever off the table, there's always the chance it was just wild animals that found the body after. As for mora... maybe it's someone who never gets the chance to spend it anyway?"

"Like, a recluse or something?" you pipe up.

"Yeah, exactly! Someone who's completely self-sufficient, who doesn't need to deal with other people to survive. Makes enough sense. They probably get everything they need from the people they're attacking."

At this point, the both of you are up to your ankles in water. The canyon is fairly wide at the bottom and grows so much narrower towards the top that very little sand makes it through, so you take the liberty of brushing as much of it off of you as possible. The both of you pass the last of the stone ruins. Up ahead is just bare, mostly untouched canyon. It's damp enough to support an amount of greenery that seemed a little out of place in the desert. You can still hear the wind howl, but it's a bit quieter here.

You and Sanad pass an opening in the wall to your right, leading to a dead end with a fairly deep pool and what looked to be a crumbled stone bridge.

"Your theory is a little... out there, but some of it definitely makes a good deal of sense."

"It's an early hypothesis! We'll revise it as we find more evidence."

You roll your eyes a bit. "It's alright, I'm not judging you."

You look around again. There's plenty of dry places to stop and rest without worrying about sand, so this should be an adequate place to wait it out.

"Why don't we stop here?"

"Not yet!" Sanad points further into the cave, where it opens up some more, with a rock jutting out of the center of the room, surrounded on one side by a shallow stream of water. "I can see more ruins in there! You can stop there and I can keep looking around."

You sigh, for what felt like the hundredth time. As much as you wanted to rest, it wasn't far away at all. "Alright. But we're still going back to that mechanism immediately once the sandstorm is over."

"I know, I kn–"

From an entrance to another path to your right came a blur, barreling right at Sanad. You have barely enough time to shove him behind you and out of its way before it stops in front of you both, dark claws bared.

Now that you can get a look at it, you realize it's a scarred, shirtless man with a dark head of hair, sharp indigo eyes, and... two pale, straight horns? Looking down, he doesn't have a pair of legs, but a sand-colored snakelike tail with rough scales. Even without the rest of his tail, which was hidden behind him, he's quite literally twice your size.

A naga?

He sneers at your sword as you pull it from your sheath, showing off a long pair of fangs. "A little short, isn't it?" He hisses. "Good luck with that."

"Sanad, get back!" You cry, holding your sword out in front of you threateningly. The naga seemed more amused than anything, simply starting to circle. Watching.

While you backed up to keep the naga from getting between you and Sanad, he hurriedly ran far back the way the both of you came, staying just close enough to watch the both of you.

Without warning, the naga lunged forward, one claw-tipped hand reaching out to swipe at you. You swung your sword at his arm, but missed, just barely grazing his side. Still, it was enough to force him back. He brushed over the superficial wound with one hand, smearing what little blood came from it, taking a look.

You stand there, adrenaline pumping through your veins, unsure of what to do. His reach was almost as long as yours, even though you were the one with the sword. This has to be who you're looking for, but you're beginning to think that you should've brought more people.

When he looks back at you, that cruel sneer is still set in his face, but a glint of annoyance is now present in his eyes.

"Lucky hit. Don't count on it happening again."

He doesn't hesitate, rushing forward immediately. You swing again, but it's too early, and he barely has to slow down before he's coming at you again. He's so close now that he grabs your shoulder, claws digging in hard enough to draw blood, shoving you down. In a blind panic, you're forced to adjust your grip on your sword so that you can bring your arm back and stab into his tail.

Before you even realize what's happened, you're on the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. The arm that had held your sword is pinned to the ground by one of his hands, the other still holding onto your shoulder. You wheeze pathetically while he leans down and slides his fangs into your throat.

Your sword had bounced off of his scales, barely even leaving a mark.

The first thing you feel in your throat is pain, followed by an overwhelming numbing sensation, only interrupted by pins and needles. He chuckles as you thrash around in his hold, your free hand trying to push him off. The sensation is spreading, from your shoulder down even to your fingertips. The only thing you can do is let out a pained groan.

The pressure, from anything, from his hands on you to your own as you push and hit him, hurts. Like everything that touches you only pushes those pins and needles deeper into your skin. It's this feeling that finally makes you go limp in his hold, giving in. It gives you the chance to look up, focus on anything but him, and see that Sanad has long since abandoned you. Lucky bastard.

You hope that he gets away, at least. Even as the half-snake thing on you pulls away to hold your face in one hand, forcing you to look at him.

"Seems your little friend didn't care for you as much as you cared for him. Don't worry. I'll do you a favor and make sure he gets what's coming to him." You manage to focus on his face, smeared with your blood and that same, ever-present sneer, but with something else behind it. Something vindictive.

You grit your teeth. It stung, even though you knew it was the only reasonable thing for Sanad to do.

It's petty, and it won't do you any favors, but you lift your arm and slap him across the face as hard as you can. The impact alone sends shocks of pain down your arm, but he barely even moves.

Instead, he laughs in your face, dark amusement flitting across his hauntingly beautiful features. "What was that? A love tap? After everything, I'm surprised you can even try." He leans in closer still, your noses almost touching.

"I'm sure you feel proud of yourself, don't you? Good job! I might just leave you for last, then."

Without another word, he dashes off to find Sanad, and all you can do is pray the snake isn't successful. After all, what's a pampered Akademiya researcher to do against a man-eating monster?

You try to stand, but a bone-deep exhaustion pulls at your limbs. You can only get halfway up before your vision starts to go dark and you collapse onto the ground in a graceless heap. The pressure still hurts, a strange buzzing sensation rising alongside the needles and numbness. All you can do to help it is curl onto your side, minimizing your contact with the ground.

You lay there for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness for who knows how long. The pain is fading slightly, but you're not sure if it only feels that way because you're getting used to it.

Maybe you're dying.

A chill goes down your spine at the thought, and you do your best to dismiss it. It isn't hard, not when your thoughts are interrupted by a terrified, blood-curdling scream cut too short to be natural.

It brings you back to your senses. You keep listening, but you can't hear any more noises over the constant sounds of the canyon. Dripping water, falling sand, and the howling wind.

If that was Sanad, then since you're already deep within the snake's den, it must be only a matter of time before he gets back...

You're pushing yourself back on your feet before you know it, another rush of adrenaline supporting you. To do what, you're not sure. If you couldn't win before, you certainly can't now. But you're already running as best you can to where you saw Sanad go, though it's more of a relatively fast half-stumble than anything else. Everything still hurts, and beneath the venom you can start to feel your muscles ache too, but if you focus on moving it isn't unbearable.

You forgot your sword. You'd turn back to get it, but even with the adrenaline your limbs feel like lead, and your sword arm is so weak you don't think you could do more than carry it anyway.

You've just reached the ruins again, and looking around at all the nooks and crannies gives you the idea to hide. As sluggish and unarmed as you are, you can't fight anyway. Maybe if you hide long enough, he'll go away. Sanad might still be alive, if you can make it to him.

You don't know how long you were laying there, but if you could hear Sanad, they couldn't have gotten far. That fact is a double-edged sword, you realize. It's been a while since you heard his scream, and if the naga was coming back then it wouldn't be long until you saw him. You don't have much time.

You stagger your way as fast as you can manage to your right. You don't see anywhere to hide down at the bottom, but there are plenty of places above. It's so much harder than walking on flat ground, but you force yourself up a wooden ramp onto a stone platform. There aren't a variety of places to hide here, either, but you don't have the energy to go up any higher.

You hear the water below you being disturbed, in a way too constant to be footsteps, and you quickly duck forward to avoid being seen. You don't dare look, instead opting to slowly move towards a large stone statue to your right, as quietly as possible. With one look back to make sure he hadn't come up to check, you hide behind the stone dais that the statue rested on.

You take a breather, listening for any more sounds. You can't hear the water being disturbed anymore, but the thought of moving alone is both terrifying and exhausting. If you wait too long and he finds you gone, he'll probably come back to look for you. On the other hand, if you leave too early and he hears you...

With this in mind, you rest a few minutes more. The wind is slowing down, and there's less sand in the air than there was when you and Sanad first came through, so the sandstorm has likely stopped. At least the naga won't have that going for him too, once you and Sanad leave.

You'd stay longer, but the anxiety eats at you. It's only a matter of time until the naga comes back, and you don't know what condition Sanad is in.

You get up on shaking legs, your body begging you to sit back down and rest more. You know better, so you force yourself forward, looking over the ledge to make sure he isn't nearby.

You stumble back down the wooden ramp, turning to continue down the path to the exit. You have to stick to the sides of the path, where the sand is highest, just to make sure nobody can hear the sounds of splashing water.

Sanad can't be too far off now. Maybe he'll be in the same state you are, and you both can return to the Tanit camp and get help. You still have your pack on you, but the only thing that might be useful soon is the small first aid kit and the knife.

You really hope you won't need the knife.

Just in case, you pull it out of your pack and put in in your pocket. You're out of the water now, but you've come to a steep hill. The only way out is up. You hope you can make it.

You grit your teeth, sweat dripping down the side of your face as you force yourself up the incline. Onward and upward, you think bitterly. The overused phrase "ad astra abyssosque" parroted endlessly by everyone else at the Adventurer's Guild comes to mind. You never thought you'd make it to the stars or abyss to begin with, but you didn't think your journey would end so soon, either.

Your muscles burn with exhaustion, and you think you can feel the numbness slowly spreading further into your legs. Still, you continue upwards, at a much slower pace, even as you almost collapse a few times.

You come up to a point where the hill flattens out for a short distance. You're panting from the exertion, and you almost breathe a sigh of relief until you see what's in front of you.

"Sanad!"

Before you know it, you've staggered forward to collapse at his side. He's lying face-down on the ground in a small pool of his own blood.

You turn him over, tears pricking at your eyes, praying his condition wasn't as bad as it seemed. His head lolled to the side, face pale and eyes empty, unmoving. The blood, on the ground and splattered all over the front of his Akademiya robes, still dripped from the massive tear in his neck. It looked like a set of claws had dug into his skin and tore off the front of his throat.

Your breath hitches, and you fall backwards, dropping his body. Tears well up in your eyes. Why hadn't he done the same to you? Why did he do so much worse to-

"So, so loyal. Like a dog running to protect its master. You're adorable, really, even if you're a little late."

You freeze, only turning your head to look over your shoulder at him. He's slowly approaching, a condescending smirk on his lips. Half-dried blood covers one of his hands.

"There's no need to mourn. He was pathetic. Did you know that he only cared enough to fight when it was his life on the line?" He looked distant for a moment, before looking at you with something almost soft in his eyes. It disappeared so fast, you'd almost think you had imagined it, the condescending smirk and mock pity sliding to cover his face once more. "You poor thing. You're better off without him. No need to thank me."

You blink away the tears, an idea coming to mind. You couldn't overpower or outrun him, so there's only one possible option for you. "You're a... you're a lying bastard! What else was he going to do?" You yelled at him, pushing yourself up on unsteady legs to face him, backing over your friend's body.

"Humans are untrustworthy," he croons, following after you. His eyes don't leave you even once. He's sizing you up, and with nothing more than a moment of contemplation, his smirk widens and a victorious glint appears in his narrowed eyes. "He was using you. Once you were no longer useful to him, he discarded you. It's pretty naive to think he left you with any other thought in mind."

You don't dignify that with a response, continuing to back up. One of your hands almost moves down to your pocket, where your knife is hidden, but you stop it before he sees.

Your heel hits the sharp incline behind you, where the hill keeps going, and you fall backwards and hit the ground. A derisive snort comes from the snake.

"I've decided what I'm going to do with you. It's much better than what I did to your friend, here. You should thank me, really." He towers over you, leaning down to your level, setting a hand down on the ground next to you. Your hand twitches for your knife.

He watches you for a moment, a quiet, breathy laugh leaving his lips at your frozen state. All you do is stare at him, shaking from the adrenaline. Finally, his other hand comes up to rest on the nape of your neck, pushing you closer to him. You can feel the sticky blood on his fingers.

His eyes glimmer with excitement, and he continues while your hand slowly drifts to your pocket. "You're just helpless. I think I'm going to keep you with me, like a little p-"

You thrust your knife at him, landing a hit on his side while he lurches away. Your blood runs cold. It should have been buried hilt-deep, but instead all you've done is leave a bleeding gash. It's not quite superficial, but it won't stop him, and you know you won't be able to land another.

His lips curl in a snarl as you scramble backwards up the hill. You turn, and start running, but adrenaline can only carry you so far. You feel almost like you're in a nightmare, fully conscious and trying to run but unable to move at any pace that could possibly save you.

It only takes a moment for a large hand to wrap around your ankle, dragging you underneath him. Your face hits the ground and your hands scrabble for purchase, but the dirt and sand only give way beneath your fingers. His other hand finds the wrist with the knife, squeezing tightly enough that you can feel the pain, even underneath the lingering numb, buzzing sensation. You can't feel your hand well enough to keep holding onto the knife. The pins and needles return, and tears prick at your eyes.

He knocks the knife far away from you and flips you over to look at him, dark eyes still burning with anger. "You're alive only because I let you live. Did you really think trying that was smart? Did you finally get it all out of your system, or do you want to try again?"

You try to speak, but the words get caught on the lump in your throat. A hand slams on the ground next to you, and you shrink in on yourself.

"Well?" A glimmer of satisfaction appeared in his eyes, even as his lip curled in a mixture of amusement and contempt. "I'm waiting."

It's all you can do to croak out a few apologies and look away, unable to stand his stare.

A deep chuckle resonates from his chest, and his other face grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him again. "Good enough," he croons. "Looks like it won't be so bad for you, then."

"What? What won't?" you whimper. His hand lets go of your face, drifting down to encircle your neck. Your hands instinctively wrap around his wrist, silently begging him not to squeeze.

That little mocking smile on his face widens. His hand tightens a little, and you panic for a second, but it doesn't go any further. Instead, his eyes grow distant, thinking.

They brighten up again, an idea coming to mind. He laughs quietly to himself, pulling his other hand off the ground and trailing it down your leg. "You can call me... Kunikuzushi. I think I know what I'm going to do with you now."

"Please don't hurt me," you plead, vision blurring with tears. He doesn't even look at you, instead watching his hand as he grabs your calf and pulls it up. "It's a little late for that," he hums, adjusting his grip to hold onto your ankle instead. His fingers are long enough to wrap fully around it and then some.

"I can't watch you all the time, and I need to buy myself enough time to get something to restrain you with... besides, you deserve this anyhow."

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, but with a distressing amount of ease, he twisted your ankle to the side hard enough that you could hear the pop. The pins and needles returned to that area full-force, the buzzing and numbing sensations right behind it. It didn't hurt that much, though. You could feel an ache beneath it all, but it didn't hurt as much as it should have. You were sure you could still walk on it.

Until you looked down, where it was still in his hand, twisted so far to the side that you weren't sure it would ever be the same again. It doesn't hurt that much, but your shoulders still shake and you still start to cry.

"There, there," he murmurs, dropping your ankle to stroke your hair. He leans down lower, a smile a little too sharp to be soft on his lips. "You'll be okay. I wouldn't get a pet if I couldn't take care of it."

You try to push him away. You know you need to do something about your ankle, but he only presses closer, resting more of his weight on you so thay you can't see it anymore. "It's a bit too late for that now, don't you think?" he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against yours, too eager and with too much teeth. You flail a bit, trying to push him off, but he only chuckles into the kiss, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. An arm wraps around your waist, pushing you closer.

It feels like an eternity, but soon he's sweeping you up and slinging you over his shoulder. He turns around to go back down into the canyon, and you watch Sanad's corpse disappear over the hill.

This time, you can feel him rumble with the force of his laugh.

"I'm going to have so much fun with you."

#scaramouche #yandere scaramouche #kunikuzushi #yandere kunikuzushi #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #yandere #I'm not sorry I disappeared again I was having a good time #not fully proofread. I'll get around to it another time when I reconsume my own content bc it was made with my desires in mind #the entire time I was writing this I had the words “he's so babygirl” running through my head on repeat #kuni: *tortures the reader insert*#me: yes!!! My Babygirl!!!#it's 5 am and I haven't slept yet sorry I couldn't stop thinking about him #naga scara

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theinnerunderrain · 1 year

Text

Happy End

Note: Yandere themes, disturbing images, depiction of violence and mental health, if you're familiar with Doki Doki literature club you should know what to expect. Be aware and take caution.

Characters: Xiao, Venti, Kazuha & Kunikuzushi.

Venti as Monika - As the President of the Literature Club, he functions as the game's motivator, encouraging club members to produce poems up until the club festival. Venti previously belonged to the debate club but left as a result of the internal politics and turmoil, expressing his desire for harmony, freedom of discussion, and goodwill.

"To be honest, I can't stand all of the politics around the major clubs. It feels like nothing but arguing about the budget and publicity and how to prepare for events... I'd much rather take something I personally enjoy and make something special out of it. And if it encourages others to get into literature, then I'm fulfilling that dream!"

The first thing you noticed about Venti was that he was a charming and intelligent young man who seemed to be brilliant at whatever he did, whether it was writing poetry or playing the piano (he offered to teach the piano after school, isn't that sweet of him?). To have someone with such potential in the school is truly great, don't you agree?

"As president of the Literature Club, it's my duty to make the club fun and exciting for everyone!"

Everything appears to be operating smoothly. Everyone was cheerful, and they were all getting ready for the club festival, which was coming up soon.

But something about Venti began to change.

He remains fairly friendly, but his remarks and encouragement appear to take on a more passive aggressive tone. He appeared irritated with the other members, acting sarcastic when asked for advice or even going as far to ignore them. The fact that Venti had an epiphany before the game began and was given the authority to modify the game's variables also isn't revealed until much later. As a direct consequence, his sentiment toward the other boys was altered because he realised they weren't "real" boys.

When the other boys make it impossible for the player and him to spend time together, he starts acting in a drastic manner.

Drastic.

Perhaps the word drastic truly undermines his behaviour towards the other members.

I wouldn't say it's just drastic.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, (First Name)."

Venti only had the capability to modify parameters within the play and did not wish to immediately delete or eliminate the other boys owing her lingering attachment to them, so he starts attempting to render the other boys unlikeable by changing their attributes out of desperation. He starts with Xiao since he was the childhood friend of the protagonist and he was seen as the biggest threat. Then he would gradually shift between each character, making sure they were all as horrible as possible, in the hopes that you would be sufficiently terrified to reject the others.

Yet you remain unmoving.

Therefore, it wasn't his fault that he had to choose a worse alternative; you can't really hold him responsible for having to get rid of Xiao when you're the one being demanding.

"Yay, you picked me! We can meet at your house this weekend. I promise it'll be fun. Is Sunday okay with you?"

He grows increasingly bitter over not playing a love component in the game as a happy ending wasn't envisioned for him. He also makes it clear that he is in love with the player and begs them to invest additional time with him. The fact that all of his poems are about the player or his epiphany emphasises how consumed he became with achieving this goal as a result of his ambition and determination. As a result of them not being "real," he also begins to ignore and exaggerate the features of the other characters.

Why should he possibly care about these manufactured beings who can't even truly appreciate their freedom? His morals abruptly changed and his sympathies for the other members grew colder.

"Sometimes it feels like you and I are the only real people here. You know what I mean? But it's weird, because in all the time you've been here, we've hardly gotten to spend any time together. Ah...I mean... I guess it's technically only been a couple days…"

Venti may seem optimistic in the Literature Club, but it becomes increasingly clear that he is essentially depressed and lonely as a result of comprehending that everything in his life is just a simulation.

However, can you really hold him responsible for his actions?

Would you be so happy to learn that you didn't even live as a character that was relevant?

Would you be satisfied with yourself?

The worst thing is that he will never be able to experience what is referred to as "happiness" since his route will never be finished. He is obsessed with winning the player's love because they are the only thing that is "real" in his life.

"...Oh...Oh... ... Ahahaha! Well, that's a shame. Wait, were you here the entire weekend, [First Name]? Oh, jeez... I didn't realise the script was broken that badly. I'm super sorry! It must have been pretty boring... I'll make it up to you, okay? Just gimme a sec…"

"..."

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[Yes] or [No]

➤[Yes]

A̯̠͔͍̬̪ͅṉ̝͉͚̯̦̩ e̮̘̖r͍̰͚̩̥̯r̪͕̤̺o͇̺̺̺̼͙r̩ ̮̝̗͓̤͔ͅh̦̹̠̤a̯̭̜͔͚̘͚s̟͉̰̗̯ ̗̙͇͙̺̥̞o͔͍̩c̱̰̺͉̟͕c͈̳u̬r̼̼͓͙r͍͉̦̜ed͈̣͉̺.̗̤̹̦̥̟ ̤̥͙̣͚I͔̳̰͇f̗͇̠ ̟̬̙̟͇̼͈y̬o̦̪͎u̫ ̜̻̭̞̻͚͚c͍ͅo͍͕̞͓ͅn͙̘̞̗̥t̯̣͇̝ͅi̙̙̦͇͔̙͕nual̞l̥y̭̻̗̠ ̠̺̣̺̟ge̗̠͎̪t̥̥̟̰͍ ̘̭̟th̗̳̞̗e͎̹̻̪͉̤ ̦̮̙sa̞͎̙̯̺m̜̩̟͓̭e̻ ̩̮͓͓e̞̹͈r̖̭̳̥͖r͚̼̤o̜͍̪̰̥͇̻r͓̲̰͖,̪̼̮̖̲̲̻ ͉tr͖̭̼̘y̱͚̹ ̲͕̥̥l̤̱͍̖o̟̻̻̝̗a̙͎̲̤d̖̜i̞̳̼͍̱͎͕n̜̠͚g̩̟̞̪͓ ̫a͓ d̝i̪̭̱̰̹̰��ff͎e̹r̹̞̜͍ͅẹ̫͔nt̟ ͕s͕̝͇͕̹͕̰a̞̖͚v̟̯̪͈͍e̗̮̪͔ ̰̯f̝̭̞̝̭i͔̞͙̥͎͚̟l̘͉̙̫̳͎̘e͓͈,̱͕͓̭ ̙̝ͅs̗u̠b̮͎̟m̰̩͎̠̲̼i̞̟̲͈͕̦t̖̠̖̱̞͉ ̯͔͎a̤͙̱̮͕ͅ ͖ḇ̝̳̱ͅu̲̖g̘̪̫ ͍͇̰̤r̮͉̗̠̣e͙p͍o̯̞r̻̮̗̬̝͇t̖̰,͚̞͚͔͕͕͔ a̪̯̥̩̥n̖d̳̦̥̺/͇̘̳̘̘̱o̞̯r̥̗͖̬͓͕̘ ̬̠̭cͅh̙̥̝e̠͓͖͔͎͕͇c̬̦̩ͅḵ̗̯͇̪̯̬ ͉t̼h͙̰̪͈̜e̻̠̜ S̱̱̺̬u̬̪͇p̘̟͉̳̼ͅp̖o̖̩͙̲̫̹̫rt̙̳̘̜͚͍ ͎͇̹F̻͈or̗̪͓͎̰ͅum̹̭̝͔̗s̹ ͉ͅf͙̲o̙͇̥̞r͇͚̠̰̘ ̼̹̮̗a͖̺̻̳̥s̥͓͓̺̪͚͈si͍̩̖̰̞̮ͅs͇̺t͍̼̰̺͓̳a͔̹̘͙nc̝̯͓̜̪̤̱e͖̱̹͕̝.̩͈̘̤̘̦

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]?

➤ [Yes]

Are you sure?

➤[Yes]

"..."

Let's continue on.

Xiao as Sayori - As the vice president of the literature club, he likewise wishes that more individuals would join in order to increase their interest in poetry. Now, I know Xiao is an odd pick for Sayori considering their contrasting personality and you would probably assume Kazuha to be a better match. But there are similarities and I thought he would be better for the childhood friend role.

Since you and Xiao have known one another since you were young, it is difficult for you to recall your initial impression of him. Along with thinking of him as your sweet but reserved friend, you were relieved to learn that he took an interest in writing and that he enjoyed studying literature and writing poetry because these activities allow him to express his emotions.

"Hey, [First Name]....Since we're already here, do you want to walk home together?"

Regardless of the fact that the two of you had known each other since you were children, his question concerning walking home nevertheless came out as rather tentative and scared. Even though you've known each other for a long time, you would tease him about his timidity by marveling at how silly a question it was for him to ask. Later on, it is discovered that he battles severe depression and puts a lot of effort into making everyone around him happy in order to deal with, among other things, his own lack of self-love.

So you shouldn't be teasing him too much.

"Even if it's just a bit…I..I wanted to spend more time with you. I know it seems stupid but.."

He seems to feel unworthy of love because of his depression, but he still desires to be loved, particularly by the protagonist, who he has a crush on.

He only wants your affection, nothing else.

Xiao seems to suffer when the player choose to follow one of the other boys since he subconsciously wishes that the protagonist fall in love with him while also feeling terrible for initially feeling that way.

Xiao will commit suicide the day before the festival regardless of the player's decision.

Don't cry.

Isn't it just a matter of fate?

He feels that if he makes everyone else happy, he won't have any reason to be miserable at all, therefore his relationship with the protagonist and other people's happiness are his main coping mechanisms. Although he tries, he is unable to make you happy.

He's not enough.

He will never be enough.

"You know, [First Name]... It's nice that I get to spend time with you in the club. But I think seeing you get along with everyone is what makes me the happiest."

"..."

An error has occurred. If you continually get the same error, try loading a different save file, submit a bug report, and/or check the Support Forums for assistance.

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

➤ [Yes]

Are you completely sure?

➤ [Yes]

Even after witnessing Xiao's death?

➤ [Yes]

I'm not responsible for anything, [First Name]. You know that, right? Should you go to bed? It's quite late.

Would you like to continue?

➤ [Yes]

"..."

As you wish.

Kunikuzushi as Natsuki - The third member of the Literature Club, an enthusiastic manga fan who occasionally feels self-conscious about it (particularly in light of Kazuha's frequent taunting).

Just be careful not to tease him too much. He might die from humiliation.

Just kidding.

Your first conception of Kunikuzushi seems to be one of a cocky, outspoken, irritable, and even conceited young man. Venti, though, categorises him as the true tsundere given his rather charming, softer interior. Due to his diminutive stature and sour disposition, it's a little difficult to hold back from gushing about him since he's just so cute.

"Well everyone has their own opinion. But my opinion is the best opinion. I'm sure you've figured that out already."

While impetuous and prone to speaking without thinking, Kunikuzushi genuinely cares about his friends and, despite having clear anger management issues, dislikes getting into fights or confrontations with other people (at least ones he can't win). Despite his persistent bullying tendencies, Kunikuzushi had displayed some gentleness by asking you to his house to bake despite his concern about being discovered by his mother.

He would not, however, elaborate on his reasons for being so wary of her.

"Take your stupid poem. If you wrote it for someone else, just don't show it to me!"

Together, the two of you frequently bake, and at one point, you teasedly nibbled on some frosting that was apparently his finger. He gets angry right away and starts ranting about how you shouldn't do that with other men because they might perceive it differently.

Such a cute little thing isn't he?

"Why didn't you come read with me today? I was waiting for you. I was waiting for a long time. It was the only thing I had to look forward to today. Why did you ruin it?"

Selecting Kazuha would irritate him, and when you try to read Kunikuzushi your poem, He would chase you out right away. Xiao will congratulate Kazuha and Kunikuzushi on their writing and capabilities if the player asks him to diffuse the tension. After that, the argument will end, and Xiao's answer will satisfy Kazuha and Kunikuzushi. He also makes a comparison between his and Kazuha's physique, which leads the main character to claim that some individuals are attracted to someone with a little frame.

By now, you should be aware that Kunikuzushi detests being referred to as cute.

"Do you like Kazuha more?"

Even though he acts cute and does cute things, Kunikuzushi despises the label "cute" and will fight any accusations made in this regard by others. However, once he is confident that no one will make fun of him for it, he feels much more at ease showing off his sweet side. Whether it's in regards to his work, his interests, or simply his general demeanour, Kunikuzushi detests it when he isn't treated seriously. He probably developed a sense of guilt about himself and his interests as a result of how his peers treated him and because his mother was allegedly abusive, making his brusque demeanour a coping mechanism.

He liked you so much because you were compassionate and capable of comprehending him for this reason.

Not Xiao.

Not Kazuha.

Not Venti.

But just you.

"I think you're better off not associating with HIM. Are you listening to me? KAZUHA IS A SICK FREAK. That should be obvious by now. So just play with me instead. Okay? You don't hate me, do you? Do you hate me? Do you want to make me go home crying? The club is the only place I feel safe. Don't ruin that for me. Don't ruin it. Please. Just stop talking to Kazuha. Play with me instead. It's all I have... Play with me. PLAY WITH ME."

"PLAY WITH ME [FIRST NAME]."

"PLAY WITH ME"

An error has occurred. If you continually get the same error, try loading a different save file, submit a bug report, and/or check the Support Forums for assistance.

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

I'm sorry you had to witness everything like that. Kuni was a miserable kid who couldn't even feel safe at home in his own house, what an unfortunate person.

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

Come on, [First Name], stop playing this little game. You should put your phone away and go to bed.

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

How annoying—no matter what I do, I can't manage to get rid of this text box. Especially irritating when it keeps interrupting our chat. But aside from that, you appear to be really worn out in front of that phone camera.

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

➤ [Yes]

I see.... In spite of all the terrible things you had to witness tonight, I think you would want to keep going. I guess there isn't much I can do to stop you...

Kazuha as Yuri - The fourth member of the Literature Club, and is widely regarded to be one of the most brilliant writers. Capable of authoring the most exquisite poem and crafting the most magnificent statements which may well render your heart to skip a beat as if wildflowers were continuously overflowing from his tongue.

He's quite the charmer, isn't he?

"Thanks for keeping your promise, [First Name]. I hope this isn't too overwhelming of a commitment for you. Making you dive headfirst into literature when you're not accustomed to it…"

When you first encountered Kaedehara Kazuha, you considered he was a very gracious young man with manners above and beyond those of a high school student. His voice was as soothing and pleasant to hear as his poetry, sweet and delicate and able to move one's heart. Kazuha, despite having a gift for words, was relatively quiet in comparison to the other members. A quality which you liked considering the amount of noise you had to constantly put up with.

But just because he remained silent doesn't mean his affinity for literature has become less profound or anything. One can even contend that Venti's passion for literature and the arts was akin to his own, particularly in those instances where he would get irate about seemingly inconsequential remarks made by Kunikuzushi.

You somewhat fear that their banter may turn physical one day.

"W-Wait! There’s a reason why we have such deep and expressive words in our language! It’s the only way to convey complex feelings and meaning the most effectively. Avoiding them is not only unnecessarily limiting yourself...it’s also a waste! You understand that, right, [First Name]?"

However, as the game progresses. Kazuha's seemingly timid personality took a rather strange tone. As if some sort of glitch had overridened his personality, bringing out the most negative aspects of his personality.

"I-I don't know... I'm kind of indifferent, I guess... WHO CARES ABOUT THAT OBNOXIOUS BRAT?"

Venti intensifies Kazuha's undesirable personality qualities in Act 2, which causes his devotion for you to turn somewhat unhealthy, bordering on an infatuation.

Your pens started to disappear, as if someone had deliberately broken through your desktop and backpack. Alternatively, if the thief returns the stolen materials, they would leave behind a trail of evidence in the form of persistent bite marks on the pencil, suggesting that they have a penchant for chewing them.

Naturally, you would toss them away, just to have someone eventually pick something out of the trash and put it back into your backpack with a little note, always written with most obscure messages.

The culprit behind the theft wouldn't be revealed to you until the very end of the game, when Venti would snicker and explain Kazuha's peculiar behaviours, mentioning how Kazuha had a propensity of looking through your possessions and touching himself with the collection of pens he gathered from you, even going so far as to injure himself with the jagged corners.

Which would explain the constant amount of bandages wrapped around his flesh.

"I mean, I like how nice and quiet the club is right now... And I'm just... happy with you here... But still! I'm the Vice President... It's not right for me to ignore my responsibilities like that... NOBODY WOULD CRY IF HE KILLED HERSELF. I should do my best to consider everyone's perspective and make the decision that's right for the club."

He started using far harsher language than the typical Kazuha, interfering with and beinglittleful to the other club members, and tormenting Kunikuzushi nonstop. In spite of his enjoyment, Kazuha feels horrible since he knows that something is wrong with him and that his statements and behaviour are inappropriate.

Yet he can't bring himself to stop.

Regardless of how hard he struggles, he eventually is unable to regulate his obsessive outbursts. It gets to the point where, regardless of whether the player embraces or refuses his love, he ultimately stabs himself to death, leaving a bloody mess on the classroom floor, with a distressed smile on his face as he begins to fade out of existence.

Nothing could be done but watch helplessly as his body rotted away in the school for three days until Kunikuzushi eventually discovered it.

“Why is this happening to me? I feel like I’m losing my mind... I can’t make it stop. It even makes me not want to read... I just want... ...to look... ...at YOU.”

“...Haah...”

.̵̢̟͎̂̋̈̈́̓.̶̞̬̤̀̋̓̓̕.̵̧̮͒ͅḨ̶̡̩̼͎̒̄̓́́a̸̬̣̣͐̋̃͛̈́ä̷̢͎̦́͜h̸͔̱͋̍̉̚͠.̵͕̳͎̩͚͂̀.̶̡̩͎̦̠͗̆̓.̵̼͉͐̆̈́͌”̷͚̦̾̄̆͂̊͜

̵͚̹̝̓̚͝

“̶̛̩̠͕̰̻̮͓̠̦̥͍̪̗̝͓̰̆̈͘.̵͉̮͚̆̋̈́̽.̸̢̨͔̬̖͙͈̥̘̞͕̖͎͎̟̎̏͂̏̽͐͋̈̑́͋̑͌̎.̵̬͉͕̈̈́̏̔̉͗́̈́̑̊̂Ḧ̷̢̙̩͈̰̰͈́̎̄͛̑͝͠ã̵͖̤̞̜͙̥̈́̈a̸̼̺̭͖͓̣̪͙̪̗̖͍̞̍͗̿́̔̊̚͝h̸̢̛̻̪̯̰̠̭̲͎̰̩̾͑̋̒̀̿̀̈̎̀͊̂͝ͅͅ…̵̡̰̟̞͎̹̙̺͉͓̜͖̗͉̂̓ͅ”̸̣̤̘̜̱̳̥̖̹͙͉̼͕̫̌͆ͅ

A̯̠͔͍̬̪ͅṉ̝͉͚̯̦̩ e̮̘̖r͍̰͚̩̥̯r̪͕̤̺o͇̺̺̺̼͙r̩ ̮̝̗͓̤͔ͅh̦̹̠̤a̯̭̜͔͚̘͚s̟͉̰̗̯ ̗̙͇͙̺̥̞o͔͍̩c̱̰̺͉̟͕c͈̳u̬r̼̼͓͙r͍͉̦̜ed͈̣͉̺.̗̤̹̦̥̟ ̤̥͙̣͚I͔̳̰͇f̗͇̠ ̟̬̙̟͇̼͈y̬o̦̪͎u̫ ̜̻̭̞̻͚͚c͍ͅo͍͕̞͓ͅn͙̘̞̗̥t̯̣͇̝ͅi̙̙̦͇͔̙͕nual̞l̥y̭̻̗̠ ̠̺̣̺̟ge̗̠͎̪t̥̥̟̰͍ ̘̭̟th̗̳̞̗e͎̹̻̪͉̤ ̦̮̙sa̞͎̙̯̺m̜̩̟͓̭e̻ ̩̮͓͓e̞̹͈r̖̭̳̥͖r͚̼̤o̜͍̪̰̥͇̻r͓̲̰͖,̪̼̮̖̲̲̻ ͉tr͖̭̼̘y̱͚̹ ̲͕̥̥l̤̱͍̖o̟̻̻̝̗a̙͎̲̤d̖̜i̞̳̼͍̱͎͕n̜̠͚g̩̟̞̪͓ ̫a͓ d̝i̪̭̱̰̹̰͙ff͎e̹r̹̞̜͍ͅẹ̫͔nt̟ ͕s͕̝͇͕̹͕̰a̞̖͚v̟̯̪͈͍e̗̮̪͔ ̰̯f̝̭̞̝̭i͔̞͙̥͎͚̟l̘͉̙̫̳͎̘e͓͈,̱͕͓̭ ̙̝ͅs̗u̠b̮͎̟m̰̩͎̠̲̼i̞̟̲͈͕̦t̖̠̖̱̞͉ ̯͔͎a̤͙̱̮͕ͅ ͖ḇ̝̳̱ͅu̲̖g̘̪̫ ͍͇̰̤r̮͉̗̠̣e͙p͍o̯̞r̻̮̗̬̝͇t̖̰,͚̞͚͔͕͕͔ a̪̯̥̩̥n̖d̳̦̥̺/͇̘̳̘̘̱o̞̯r̥̗͖̬͓͕̘ ̬̠̭cͅh̙̥̝e̠͓͖͔͎͕͇c̬̦̩ͅḵ̗̯͇̪̯̬ ͉t̼h͙̰̪͈̜e̻̠̜ S̱̱̺̬u̬̪͇p̘̟͉̳̼ͅp̖o̖̩͙̲̫̹̫rt̙̳̘̜͚͍ ͎͇̹F̻͈or̗̪͓͎̰ͅum̹̭̝͔̗s̹ ͉ͅf͙̲o̙͇̥̞r͇͚̠̰̘ ̼̹̮̗a͖̺̻̳̥s̥͓͓̺̪͚͈si͍̩̖̰̞̮ͅs͇̺t͍̼̰̺͓̳a͔̹̘͙nc̝̯͓̜̪̤̱e͖̱̹͕̝.̩͈̘̤̘̦

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

➤ [No]

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

➤ [No]

Would you like to continue?

[Yes] or [No]

➤ [Yes]

"...."

"..."

ᗷEᕼIᑎᗪ YOᑌ.

714 notes · View notes

lazywriters-blog · 1 year

Text

WANDERING ATONE

YANDERE SCARAMOUCHE

'There's a story about a wanderer travelling the islands of inazuma and how during that time, a daughter from a respected family vanished.'

He was a boy who roamed without a destination to reach, all by oneself he would pick a sunsettia and all by himself he would eat, left behind and unbelonging to any soul on the small ghost island, people knew each other's names and festivity were stories and rural tales of strange activity.

One bright day, he met a girl by the quiescent river sinking her fingers in the cold water, she was waiting for her friend but who came was not someone she knew.

They both, although strangers from another land, conversed and desperation for companionship lead to them seeking each other out, some on dull days, some on warm days, and some on rainy days where one couldn't see their shadows with eyes open.

Their friendship was an odd one. He was dependent on her presence, she was a loving figure who showed affection and pleasant smiles to whoever knew her. Without asking for anything in return, she would meet the boy gleefully and talk and share whatever she had on hand.

People began questioning her untimely disappearance, how they could at times discover her talking to the trees and no one had managed to see who was behind them, they knew they had heard a voice, a voice of a boy. When people did not have anything to do, speculating rumours and enjoying themselves with a stranger's stories was what they did.

Eventually, the girl stopped seeing the wanderer somehow hopeful she wouldn't give off a bad impression. Luckily for her, he knew where she resided and at dawn, he would knock on her window and give a rare smile.

They both bonded once more.

However, people never kept to their business.

One fine morning, the boy was caught by her father though he narrowly escaped, they say the confrontation was bad enough to even wake up the neighbours.

For a few days, it was quiet.

And the incident was swept under the rug, and life returned back to normal, at least for the villagers, for them it was a time of unease, having someone circle their town and bring out issues best hidden.

Yet, the girl went missing.

Disappearances were few and far in between, and though they did attempt to find her, it was ineffective. Within no time, it became a tale to scare children from forbidden places.

Then, a year later, the villagers slowly started to die, sliming down their populations to alarming numbers, and soon after, few who remained departed from their homes and to better places, the island was now home to countless terrifying stories and haunted houses, thick fog concealing the greenery, rivers and a dark glow cast on the forgotten fragment of land.

One could spot a lone figure drift across the land if they were brave enough to come in search of the missing daughter, taking back with him a basket of mushrooms and sunsettia, a thin veil covering his face, but no one would dare find out his origins or sprint towards a scream for help.

Because the pale face of the boy glaring at them was enough to scare them away and hope they would never see the boy again.

Maybe one would find her trapped inside an old cottage still clinging to the taste of freedom.

'The story ends with the girl still missing, though their interactions were not known, it is assumed they were friends, but no one may ever know.'

#yandere imagines #yandere #yan yan #yandere oneshot #yandere scaramouche #yandere scenario #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact scaramouche #heheeh #im willing to be talked into making this a full-blown one shot

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after-witch · 1 year

Note

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

note: yandere

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

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

It's maddening, as you are maddening.

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

Is that not one way to view your situation?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maddening. You really are maddening.

#yandere scaramouche #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere interactions #afterwitch writes

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haileyywrites · 1 year

Text

-> Your walk in the woods leads to finding a lone boy, your simple acts of kindness cause him to quickly grow attached to you...

-> No gender or pronouns mentioned for reader! Kunikuzushi x reader! Yandere/unhealthy relationship - this is not normal! Can be read as platonic or romantic!

The sun had just begun rising when you rose from bed, usually you would never wake so early. Your body simply refused sleep this morning and so defeated you got up from the comfort of your futon. The outside air was as fresh as it could be from the rain last night, perhaps waking up so early wasn't that bad after all.

Your hair felt in need of some washing so you picked some spare clothes to change to after your bath. The river you bathed in wasn't far from the village, but it was secluded enough to offer privacy. With the clothes and some soap you were on your way to the river.

On the way you took in the gorgeous spring scenery, cherry blossoms were in bloom and so were the flowers along the path you walked on. Your attention was soon brought to the sound of faint crying you heard within the woods. Your heartbeat quickened in fear - could this be a trap set up by bandits or rogue samurai? No, it sounded like a young boy...

Against your better judgement you strayed from the path to move towards the sound. Behind some brush you found a boy seemingly your age sobbing, face red with some snot almost falling down his face. Your heart ached for him... Clearly he had been through a lot.

“Hey... are you alright?” You asked in a worried but calm and kind tone.

He quickly turned his gaze to face you, some tears still dripping down his red tinted cheeks. His eyes were glossy and filled with fresh tears. He looked alarmed by your presence, but felt strangely comforted by your soothing voice.

He kept staring into your eyes, he almost seemed like he was mesmerized by the sight in front of him... Were you an angel? He wondered to himself. The sun rising behind you certainly made you appear like one. You on the other hand, took notice of his rather high quality clothing. White with royal purple - the color best representing Inazuma itself.

“No...” He weakly responded.

“Why are you out here alone? And why are you crying?” You sat on the lush grass next to him.

“I... I was left here by my creator, my mother.” He mumbled as more tears fell silently.

You didn't know what to say to him, was there a right thing to say in this situation? An "oh" left your mouth involuntarily in response. You sat in silence within the shade for moments before you took notice of his clearly soked clothes and his shivering form.

“Oh, you must be freezing! Here - they should fit you well enough...” You pulled your spare clothes from your basked and handed them to him.

He seemed hesitant to accept them, but he was freezing... You turned your back to him so he could change in peace. Afterwards you offered him some snacks you had packed for the walk back.

“How long have you been out here alone? You're eating like you're starving...” You asked seeing some of the lavender melon juice drip down his chin as he ate it messily.

“I'm... Not sure.” He stared at the melon in his hands for a moment, before continuing to devour it until it was fully gone.

You crawled closer to him before using your sleeve to wipe away the left overs from the corners of his mouth. He stared round eyed, with his mouth slightly agape and cheeks tinting red once again. You smiled apolitically and backed away. He sat still for a moment, processing what you had done and how it affected him.

“You have no other place to go to?” He shook his head no. “Then, you should come with me! I have some space in my small home, if you need it.”

His eyes sparkled with hope as he nodded. For the first time that day he smiled, even if it was barely noticeable - it was still a pure and beautiful smile.

“Then come, it's not far from here.” You offered him your hand and he gladly accepted it.

His hand was cold and so smooth to the touch, his fingers were skinny and bony as they intertwined with yours. Still, it was nice to have physical contact with another and he felt the same. It was new and the feeling of your warm hand within his felt heavenly, yet made his heartbeat more rapidly. It was nice, and he didn't want to ever let go...

The people of your village were still sound asleep when you arrived home, as none were outside yet. Your home wasn't much, but it could well fit two people. You turned back to look at the boy who's name you had forgotten to ask, he seemed more than happy with the small shack you called home.

“I just realized I forgot to ask your name...” You sheepishly said.

“Kunikuzushi.” You nodded and told him your name in return.

“You can head inside, there's some more food if you're hungry!” You smiled.

“Where are you going?” His eyes filled with unexpected fear, you were taken aback by the sight.

“Um... Just to put up your clothes to dry.” You laughed nervously.

He held onto your hand tighter to the point it began to hurt. “Don't leave me... Please don't leave me!”

“Hey - hey, it's okay! You can come with me if you want! I just thought you'd still be hungry...” He calmed down and relented his hold on your hand, but didn't let go.

You walked hand in hand behind your house to the laundry line you had set up. You asked him gently to let go of your hand so you could put up his clothes. He was reluctant, but eventually did as you asked. He watched you put up his clothes on the line impatiently, feeling anxious just by not touching you for a few minutes. To him it felt like hours!

When you were finished he quickly latched onto your arm again, eyes softly pleading for you not to make him let go. You didn't. You simply walked inside to make some dinner for you two with him hanging off of your arm the whole entire time. Even when you finished and sat down to eat he refused to let go, just changing to holding your hand instead of your arm. You didn't say anything in order to not hurt his feelings. Even if it was uncomfortable or inconvenient for you...

Your home only had one bed as you had lived alone for the majority of your life. Sharing the futon was necessary until you would be able to buy him his own, but he didn't seem to mind this. It only meant he could stay close to you, even when you slept... His grip remained tight around you - almost too tight for you to breathe. You just didn't have the heart to tell him to stop, it was just for the beginning anyway. He would get better over time, right?

He didn't. If anything he got worse! He would almost have a panic attack when you needed to use the restroom! It was the only place where you were able to draw a clear boundary, although he did fight against this too... You couldn't even bathe without him near you or he would freak out and Archon's forbid you talked to another person - especially a man. You were honestly so lost on what to do with him or about his actions...

You should have drawn boundaries from the very beginning, now it felt too late - like things had gone too far to be able to turn back... You felt hopeless and drained, everything you did lead to a fight or a breakdown. He would accuse you of betraying him and hating him, of course you didn't but this wasn't okay! He just couldn't understand that.

He clearly cared about you and you him, otherwise you wouldn't have taken him in and let him live in your home - to let him sleep in your bed with you! What do you mean you needed space? What do you mean you need time by yourself? Did you hate him? Did you want him gone? What did he do wrong? He only loves you and wants to keep you safe! He needs to be with you so you don't leave him!

How did things end up like this? You just wanted to help someone from an unfortunate situation, give them a roof over their head and some food to eat. You just wanted to be kind - to treat him like you wished you had been treated when in a situation like this...

Now you felt constantly suffocated by just being in his presence. You felt your life and emotion's be drained without doing anything. You would lay on your futon with him latched onto you for hours without moving, with his constant gaze on you. He was like a parasite - as harsh of a description as it may seem, but he however over you constantly. It didn't matter if he was physically touching you or not, you could feel his presence on you constantly...

Ehehe, some more Scara brainrot... We're getting closer to 3.3 and I am so prepared for him to come home <3

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dear-yandere · 2 years

Text

sinner, saint.

yandere! scaramouche x f! reader (+ implied yan! dottore x reader x yan! patalone). scenario, harbingers’ shared darling au.

› word count: 1.7k › tw: physical abuse (choking, electrocution), explicit imagery of starvation, nonconsensual groping, implied past noncon, implied past nonconsensual medical play, victim-blaming, brief suicidal ideation.

art belongs to 大神　知狼 (pixiv).

( i loved you as icarus loved the sun— too close, too much. )

“i-i couldn’t stop them.”

you’re pleading now. the statement burns your throat and it takes all you have just to welcome it. to welcome the sensation of feeling, to the sensation of being alive.

so you welcome it as if it’s your last. it may as well be.

“liar.” comes his response, detached and disinterested from the weight of his words. “you didn’t even try, did you?” his voice isn’t composed and practiced like it normally is, now replaced with wanton anger and embarrassment, and laced with hints of sorrow. he kneels atop your body, his weight stifling and tiresome against your weakened bones. the back of his thighs dig harshly into your bony hips, but you haven’t the energy nor the mental fortitude to push him off. “you took it like a whore”, he growls. “you didn’t even cry out. you didn’t even ask for help.” he doesn’t know that, but the false accusations mean little to you. he won’t believe otherwise.

but your heart still aches. you expected him to believe you, of all people. that you wouldn’t dare let them defile you like they had, that you are loyal to him and him alone.

“you’re fucking disgusting.” he spits. you can smell blood on his hands, but when you look down, they are pristine, even as they clamp around your throat with intent to squeeze. his grip on your neck is tolerable for the moment, but you can feel the twitch of his joints as he restrains himself from killing you right then.

because when he looks down on you, all he sees is a tragedy. scaramouche has always held a thinly-veiled contempt for you, but the sight before him is disgraceful. your skin sinks against what little muscle you’ve managed to retain. flesh clings to bone, punctuated by a flimsy nightgown which falls against your ribcage like a noose. the sheer bodice collects beneath your breasts, pooling in a pathetic display of satin immodesty. littering your chest and breasts are countless scars and hickies, some so fresh they are the cause of the disgraceful situation you’ve found yourself in. the worst mars congregate around your abused nipples, where upon further examination, he finds puncture marks indicative of a needle. his vision blurred red at the edges when his eyes fell on the patches brutalized skin mere moments ago. he doesn’t dare look lower. because aside from the pitiful state of your physical health, the disgusting markings which decorate your breasts were none of his doing.

“how could you let them touch you like this?”

scaramouche doesn’t like what they do to you. if you were his, you would suffer differently. you would be his and he would choose what punishments you shall endure. you would be his and he could break you himself.

he has to force himself to look at your brutalized body. despite the skin which clings to your bones like a noose, you are still breathing. you are still alive, and it fills this harbinger with an unforetold rage. how could you let them defile you like this? what have they done to you that even you refuse to disclose to him? what have they done to make you fear them more than you fear him?

“you must’ve liked it.” he accuses, disregarding the look of dissent in your eyes. the image of pantalone and dottore having their way with you while he was gone makes him want to scream. “you wouldn’t have let them lay a hand on you otherwise, right?” he knows it’s a lie. you don’t have the slightest say in how the harbingers choose to spend their time with you so long as they return you in one piece. “you like the way they hurt you.”

a realization hits him.

“you like them more than me.”

his free hand thumbs callous circles into the fresh punctures and hickies dotting your right nipple; without warning, he presses down, and you cry out. to be shared amongst the harbingers — you are so powerless in this arrangement. so visionless and vulnerable and so utterly weak in every aspect of the word; and yet, within the tragedy that is you, there is still resilience. there is still defiance and there is still, above all, hope. one that has been obscured beneath layers of blood and tears, one that inlaid itself against your shallow and broken bones, one that will die and rot with you like a boneless dog clinging to any nourishment it can find.

“when will you stop lying to me, [name]?”

his hands leave your exposed, aching breasts and find their place against your neck. he fits perfectly around your throat. under his touch, you can still bend, but you will not break. not yet. not until he wills it.

before you can beg him to stop, the air caught in your throat is wrung from existence. electricity quickly fills the void it left behind, fills the gaps between your synapses, fills them to the brim with wanton thunder and lightning. dainty hands clamp around his wrists, willing them away with what little strength you can muster, but it isn’t enough. overpowering any of your subjugators is in futile attempt. the electricity isn’t even the worst of it. it’s his hands. the way they wrap around your neck like a noose. the way they squeeze like the blade of a guillotine. the way the falter just before you die, because he doesn’t want you to die. not yet. because death is too good for you, because in his hands, he is god and you are his plaything.

it’s only within his hands can you learn that death bows to him.

“i should just kill you.” he says, but the sound is muffled to your ears. everything has gone numb, and all you can do is watch his delirium. fingernails press into the sides of your neck to leave bloody scars, but all you can hear is remnants of his incensed tirade. “i won’t need to share you with those disgusting insects if you’re dead!” he laughs wildly, and through your blurred vision, you see him lean in. the look in his eyes is crazed, bloodshot with tears and anger. his lips are pulled back over his teeth, which clench together so harshly you wonder if they’ll break. “you’ll finally be mine.”

there are tears in his eyes. he’s in pain. as if he’s sapped the pain from your bones and taken it upon himself.

your heart aches for him.

you begin to seize.

it’s brief this time, the convulsions. you can no longer feel it. the only constant is that the room is spinning and your head is bursting and there’s a fire beneath your skin, but you can no longer feel it. you wonder when your mind will numb like your body has, but it never comes. you had always thought death to be deep blackness, but in its place, you see light. stars have fallen from the sky itself to dot your eyes, and you wonder if they’ve come to mark your end.

but the gods have always been unkind.

“then please...kill me.” you manage to say, wondering if your voice will get lost within the light, too.

it doesn’t.

because he pauses. there is hope and pity in your voice, and he finds an inkling within himself—to destroy it, to pull it from the pedestal it’s managed to erect in the midst of disaster and ruin it. so he loosens his grip, and that faint light within your eyes refuses to snuff out. you’re gasping for air — your body can’t help but crave it, no matter how much your mind craves death.

“don’t be stupid.” he croons. his voice is softer now, apologetic, and you don’t even flinch when he gently thumbs the fingerprint markings on your neck. against your better judgement, you find yourself clinging to the hope that he’ll let you live. that he’ll let you go and never hurt you again. that he’ll protect you from those who only wish to harm you. it’s a foolish thought — perhaps you are as stupid as he says — but hope is the only thing holding you afloat.

“you can’t leave me too.” his whispers, letting his head hang listlessly. his body untenses, and he brushes away wet strands of hair clinging to your forehead so gently you wonder if he’s had a change of heart. a hint of curiosity flashes crosses your face, and despite the tiredness you’re desperately trying to fight off, your interest urges him on. the tears swelling at his eyelids finally fall, and he detests the sight. the very thing that made her cast him aside. “if i told you who i really am, would you abandon me?” he mindlessly collect the tears from your cheeks. “will you leave me like she did?”

you cannot fathom what he’s been through to cause him such anguish. he is never this gentle with you, never this vulnerable. this isn’t scaramouche anymore, and you cling to it. this vulnerability, this leverage.

you give him the answer he wants.

“i...i won’t,” it was out of self-preservation, you hope, but an insignificant part of your gut tells you otherwise. it couldn’t be that you care for him... right? after all he’s done to you?

maybe you are stupid.

he smiles gently, as if he’d expected that much. you’ve always been so easy to read...so easy to manipulate.

his hands cup your cheeks and lift your gaze to meet his. his actions are still harsh, but there is hope and pity in his eyes. the same hope and pity in yours.

“then know this well. death is a luxury you do not deserve.”

his voice is still soft even as he says such harsh words. its meaning is directed at himself, but you don’t need to know that. you don’t need to see any more of his hurt, no more than he’s already bared.

hands hover around you neck once more, and he holds you like he would a chess piece — and squeezes.

you’re gasping for air again, but death only answers to him.

#yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact imagines #*scenarios #tw: noncon #tw: starvation #tw: physical abuse #tw: physical violence #tw: suicidal idaetion #tw: malnourishment #harbinger's shared darling au

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kissesforsatoru · 2 years

Note

Hi there, I just wanted to say that I really like your writing and discuss something...

So as we know (spoilers for Scara past btw) Scaramouche hates losing people once he gets used to them and dying feels like betrayal to him. Do you think yan!Scara would make Dottore make his beloved into immortal doll, like put her personality in a machine? So they can both be dolls?

𓏲 ˖. pairings. . . scaramouche x reader

𓏲 ˖. summary. . . scaramouche trying to make his darling immortal

𓏲 ˖. warnings. . . general yandere themes

i never thought of this, but you’re absolutely right!

no matter how unbothered he tries to act, scaramouche is actually incredibly anxious and scared because of the people who abandoned and betrayed him in the past. he’s driven by that trauma, and that’s really what keeps him going, but that doesn’t mean he’d ever want to experience it again—especially with you, his most precious person.

he’ll do everything he possibly can to keep you from ever leaving him like those other people did, even if it means you become a mere puppet just like him. but that’s the worst case scenario, which he’ll probably only resort to if there’s no other option or you die before he can find another option. i don’t think he’d be happy if you become a doll like him though, because it’s not truly you. if it’s possible, he wants to preserve your natural body and mind as much as he can, so that’s why making you a puppet is his last resort.

#[niko requests 🐰]#yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere thoughts #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #yandere scaramouche x you #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #dead dove do not eat

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Give and Take.

Yan Scaramouche x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, obsessive thinking, Scara in his Kabukimono phase being creepy. Word count: 1.1k.

You have such a peaceful expression when you sleep.

It’s always instilled such awe in the beautiful puppet. The world bound to your unconsciousness must be pleasant if you have so little trouble exploring it each night. He wishes he could enter so he may see it for himself, the colors and shapes your mind paints. He’s long since given up on finding solace in his own dreams. His dreams are what brought him ruin. It’s curious, then, that his creator would curse him with eternal slumber when he proved himself too weak for his original purpose.

Ever since then, he’s felt on edge at night. How could he rest without a care when the possibility exists you’d be gone when he awoke?

No, it’s too risky, he decided. It’d be ideal if he could always keep you awake, and he tried, to the best of his abilities. When the moon hung in the sky he’d pester you with all sorts of minor details. He’d purposefully misplace the comb you got him when you started getting ready for bed so you’d help him search, or become uncharacteristically talkative if it meant you’d spare him a few more minutes. Unfortunately, mortals do need their sleep, hence why he no longer relied on this plan.

Reflecting on it, he’s ultimately glad he changed his methods. Now he’s treated to the unique privilege of watching over you while you sleep. At night, there’s no one who can barge in and interrupt your time together, no Tatasurana denizens showing up unannounced to steal your attention away. It’s just the two of you, as it should be. He works hard to ensure you get something out of this arrangement too — it wouldn’t be fair if he was the only one who benefited.

If you readjust and your blanket slips down, he’ll lift it back into place. Should the room grow too balmy, he’ll crack open the door. Then, if an unexpected breeze displeases you, he’ll dutifully pad his way back over and close it. He sits eagerly by your side in anticipation of meeting any of your unspoken needs. You’ve done so much for him, he figures it’s the least he could do.

Slowly yet surely, he’s come to forgive the night for what it took from him. So long as it continues to grant him this time with you, he’ll push away the thoughts he once had of plucking the moon from the sky.

His hands curl into fists by his side. He counts the times your chest rises and falls — fifteen — the mindless task successful in grounding him. Still, he can’t help the tempest that brews within. How much more could he give you if he were truly divine? Instead of flowers pulled clumsily at the roots, still covered in dirt and wilted by the time they left his hand and entered yours, he could’ve given you the world. Laid it at your feet and asked what you might want next. The sun? The stars? He’d string them together and wrap them around your neck if you so much as batted your lashes at him.

Divinity slipped through his fingers, washed away by his foolish tears.

If he were a god… would he have had the courage to hold you by now? Take your hand in his? Learn if your lips would feel as soft against his as he hoped? Instead, he’s reduced to this unsightly state, following you around like a lost duckling on a day-to-day basis. You smiled at him, doted on him, but that wasn’t enough. Something was missing. He had been contenting himself on an appetizer without any hope of the entrée ever arriving. His hunger was growing faster than you could satiate it.

Lithe fingers caress the side of your face. He’s careful — he knows how much pressure he can apply without waking you up — the feeling of your skin’s warmth causing artificial heat to flood his cheeks. He draws the characters of that name the others refer to him as, Kabukimono, saying a silent prayer that it’d remain eternally embedded. Next, his wandering finger finds itself above your parted lips. He hesitates. Holds his breath and stays still as a corpse. If he had a heart, he thinks, it’d surely be pounding loud enough to wake you.

He presses down. Runs the pad of his finger over your lower lip, left to right, then right to left. It’s a slow, meticulous process, drawn out for his gratification. It is soft. He knew it would be. His delight almost gives him away, he leans down without thinking, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Trembling lips hover longingly above yours. Indigo locks splay across your face and he can’t tear himself away from the sight. He wants to dye you with his color, to seep so deep into you that he could never be washed away. Whether it be this shade of blue, or the red pigment you wore around your eyes after saying you liked his, any color born from him was meant for you.

Is it wrong of him to want to stain you? Surely, it can’t be, not when the mere thought feels so good.

You shift the slightest bit in your sleep. He can’t think to feel occupied with terror, not when your movements inadvertently cause your lips to brush against each other. It’s chaste, it’s brief, a pressure so light he wonders if he truly felt it at all. He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, not now, when he’s in danger of being found out. You’re mumbling under your breath and moving too much to be in a deep sleep.

He walks across the tatami floor with extreme caution, avoiding any areas that might creak and give him away. It’s an agonizing few seconds that can’t pass by fast enough. He slips out of your room just in time, closing the sliding door as you rise, blinking the sleep from your eyes and stretching. He returns to the guest room you set aside specifically for his usage, his legs finally giving out beneath him. One would think he had just finished running a marathon if they saw how heavily he’s breathing.

For a few moments, he lies motionless on the floor, only moving to press his fingers against his tingling lips. Enchanted, almost disbelieving.

You kissed him. You were his first kiss. Was he yours too?

He closes his eyes and smiles, giddiness invading his body and running rampant like a virus.

It might be greedy to ask for more than he’s already received, but still...

... He can’t help looking forward to what other firsts each night following this one may bring.

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #yandere wanderer x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #scaramouche brainrot #my stuff

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undermine-the-instinct · 2 years

Text

Tangerine yandere Scaramouche x reader

[ Warning: Choking, asphyxiation, slight mind break on scaramouche’s end ]

Word count : 784

It is a bright, cheerful day when Kunikuzushi tries to kill you.

It is bright, and sunny and you tease him as you have grown fond of doing, all to see the shy red flush creep up his face.

You are peeling fruit with your bare hands and pressing slices, apple, persimmon, currently a tangerine, into his own and delighting when he eats them without a fuss. He could be picky sometimes, but he has not complained thus far.

He has told you that he is centuries old, but you know he is still young, because his eyes are as vibrant and full as the fruit in your hands, and just as sweet.

See? He is staring at you, and when you catch his eyes he has to stop himself from turning away from your gaze. And you laugh, because this is Kuni, and this is normal.

The next thing you know, his hands are around your throat.

You do not have time to ponder because the way he is squeezing he is killing you, and you thrash and you flail, and the tangerine you were peeling for him goes rolling in the grass, forgotten.

And he cries, he is crying–

“ No. No, I’m not going to let you do this, I’m not going to let do this to me!” His hands are around your throat–

“You think I’ll let you? You think you have the power to do that? Because you don't. You won’t break me,” He laughs, deranged, before he squeezes.

“ You won't. I won't let you break me. I won't let you …”

You don't know what has happened to your Kunikuzushi, but you know that you want to live. You scratch at his arms, try to pull his hands from your throat, try to kick him off of you.

But there is a strength in his lithe form that does not budge, and the black creeping into your vision looks no different from the shadows on his face.

You yank at his hair, but all he does is follow you down, close enough that he takes up all your space. He is all you can see and all you can feel. He stares down at you.

You think that he will not let you go. His hands are cold but his eyes are colder and you have never seen an amethyst so cold.

You can’t breathe.

You try to, try to meek out some sort of plea or question, sad little gasps, but his face remains overcast.

“Just die already. Die and be a memory, as pure and untainted as you are now–”

In the midst of your syncopal panic, your hand slips and you palm his face. You slur out the first two syllables of his name. His hands falter.

The look on his face will haunt you forever.

“ I’m not letting you do this to me. I’m not, you can’t, you can't! “ This boy, your boy, does not relent his grip, and you cannot breathe.

Your limbs slowly fall back to your sides, and in your growing panic, the slowing staccato of your heart, you realize he is really trying to kill you. You think I peeled fruit for this boy and I thought he cared for me?

Perhaps that was the problem.

You will die here.

Or you won’t. Air fills your chest again, and you rise to catch it, or rather, to meet his form as he slumps into you.

You are both crying, salty brine and Kunikusuzhi shudders in your lap. You choke on air, and try to calm the spasms in your chest.

“ What are you doing to me? “ You don't answer, you didn't hear him. This only makes him grip your arm, pulling you closer to his space.

“ Why are you doing this to me? Why?! Why am I letting you…”

“ Kuni–” You dissolve into coughs before you finish his name, and his eyes go wide, fingers trembling over the hand prints on your neck.

“Oh no…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry –” And he collapsed in your arms once more, great big sobs wracking his small body, shuddering through you like thunder in the distance, a storm approaching.

His hands grip your shoulders, no longer cold. The warmth he has leached from you warms them. You can’t see his eyes. Your bruises on your neck are the same color as his hair, surely.

You do not know what has happened to your Kunikuzushi, but you know that you want to live. So you wrap your arms around him and let him bury his face to your neck, a noose, one way or the other.

The tangerine lies spoiled in the grass.

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harmonysanreads · 1 year

Text

Imagine... reincarnation au with yandere!raiden ei who just can't seem to have you in any life.

Or well, any of your lives to be exact as fate had preordained an endless cycle of gain and loss for her, ever so saved from the chilly embrace of death, of erosion. That's not to say your first ‘life’ with her was exactly determined to have an eventual parting—far from that and this (self) assurance ultimately created the deathliest crack on her trust in immortality.

You were a little different back in those days splattered with blood and ichor but, what remained eternal was the humanity and the reflection of an undefiled soul in your eyes—and which, she fell in love with. Despite the surges of elemental currents flowing through your body and an aura that suggested a little more, you had a heart and a pair of [e/c] eyes more humane than any mortals' and every one of your glances that shook Ei to her core was directed at her.

It was only natural, she'd admitted. Only someone as gentle and peaceful as Makoto could hope to hold your attention, adoration and perhaps that beautiful heart, too? Only someone as true as Raiden Makoto could stand beside you, after all. Ei had not complained or allowed even the littlest of these feelings to escape ; the occasional conversations you shared with her and the accidental brushes of your hand against hers was enough to keep her satisfied. If it's Makoto, she didn't mind. If it's you, she would keep her desires locked for another five thousand years. But what is she expected to do or to feel when you end the promise of an eternity alongside her sister?

She searches for another, one unbound by the fleeting nature of the world, one unrestricted by the humane emotions, an unchanging, perennial eternity carved from the same dream. To achieve that she'd forsake anything : her body, her emotions and even take away her people's ambitions.

Following that, many things had transpired. One such day with the Sakuko Decree in effect, as she strolled through the almost deserted paths of Narukami on a rare break from her endless meditation and saw her sanctuary through the puppet's eyes, she noticed a tense figure draped in silks suggesting otherwise of being a foreigner. Upon advancing closer, the figure of you garbed in costly Inazuman clothing and the ever so luminescent pair of [e/c] threw her whole world upside down.

Had the icy heart of the Heavenly Principles finally thawed upon her tireless work to achieve Eternity? Was this the reward, the second chance she'd so begged to receive? Unable to control her excitement she practically leaped towards you and called out your name. You responded with a visage painted with confusion and startle, questioning how she knew but then you mirrored her earlier urgency, quickly adding that you were lost and in search of your husband.

Huh. It seemed like your endearing ditz remained unchanged, too. Though soon she found some less endearing things leaking through your posture ; your flighty glances around the vicinity, twirling of thumbs and a look of silent panic barely contained. She was confused now, what exactly were you so frightened for? Beasts and monsters? Or nobushis harboring ill intent? Or was it the Shogunate?

The answer to that could wait though. Right now, her top priority was to keep you safe and make sure not to repeat the same mistake this time. So, she offered you residency at the Tenshukaku and a promise to send a guard to find your...your.....husband?

The realization dawns on her along with a bone-chilling chime. In seconds your body is blocked by another and a reflection electrifies her stare. Her very own creation stands before her, with you in his grasp and the weight of your relationship with him resounds like a koto's broken string.

It seemed like the Heavenly Principles had a whole array of unfunny jokes set for her.

good luck with everyone's wanderer pulls!

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of-solitude-past-and-present · 1 year

Text

Sleep.

Warnings: yandere themes, naga scara, imprisonment, escape attempt, reader is clearly traumatized, threats, mention of past injury & chronic injury.

This takes place a few months after the original oneshot. It could be read independently, if you really wanted to, but it makes a number of references to the original.

A prompt was taken from @ / asirensrage's Obsession Prompts list. Slightly modified, but still.

Roughly 1.5k words.

His warm breath fanned across your throat.

It's dark, but if you squint, you can mostly make out what's around you. The only light you can see is the crack of moonlight, like a silvery river, running down the center of the canyon through the thin crack in its ceiling.

You shifted a bit on a makeshift bed of countless stolen blankets and small pillows, restless and unable to sleep. As much as you could, at least, before Kunikuzushi began to move as well.

You paused, looking down at the outline of his messy mop of dark indigo hair. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around your waist. He was prone to fitful sleep, full of upset muttering, quiet whines, and a grip so tight you'd have bruises come morning. Tonight was, luckily for you, not one of those nights.

Tonight's your best chance.

Truth be told, he wasn't as horrible as you thought he would be at first. He seemed like a purely cruel monster at first (and... he kind of still is), but you've come to see another side of him since. He's rough around the edges, and at most times he seemed vaguely irritated that you do so much as exist around him, but the small things stack up. It's... strange.

He's surprisingly attentive, for one. He pretends to be indifferent to your wellbeing, but it's hard to believe, especially when he'll randomly bring you something you mentioned offhandedly weeks ago. He always expects a thank-you and a reward of some sort for these gifts, usually in the form of a kiss on the cheek and some attention.

You had assumed Kunikuzushi would be more violent than he turned out to be, especially considering your imprisonment rocky start. It's not as awful as you had expected, not that it's really saying much. Actually, living with him wasn't very much like you had expected at all.

Well, except for one thing. Though he hasn't hurt you since, he isn't above threatening to when you aren't behaving how he wants you to. With some display of strength–an iron grip on your wrist, lifting you off the ground by your shirt, or something equally unnecessary–and one of his trademark sneers, he'll whisper something horrible. Maybe he should leave you tied up for the day, so that you won't forget to be grateful next time. Or maybe it would be better to twist your ankle again, just like he did before.

"I think I'd like that," he muttered in that low, husky tone. "It was nice having you so reliant on me for everything. Every time you act out, I miss it a little more."

Maybe giving in was encouraging him to keep it up, but what other choice did you have? You weren't sure if he would do any good on those threats, and you didn't want to find out.

These memories spur you on. You slide his arm off, as slow and gentle as you can, your hands passing over his numerous raised scars. It takes a bit of awkward positioning–some strange face-up spider crawl you had to do to get your weight off the arm that was underneath you–but soon, you're crouched next to him, ready to stand up and get away.

Unfortunately, in your attempt to stand up, you place a stabilizing hand on a part of his tail you didn't see. It's so dark, and he's so long, it's hard to tell where he ends and the bedding begins.

His breath pauses, and you freeze in place. He's facing you, but you can't see his expression. All you can make out is the stark, shadowy outline of his form against the moon-illuminated sand behind him.

He's going to wake up. He has to.

You wait for a few agonizingly slow seconds, heart racing in your chest. He doesn't even move. His breathing starts up again, just as deep and even as before.

Hesitantly, you lift your hand from his cool, rough scales. Nothing happens.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. With one arm (this time, on the blanket) you push yourself to your feet, looming over him. It's strange being above him, even if it's only in the most literal sense. Even on the ground, in the most defenseless position imaginable, he scares you. To get out, you have to step over him. Your heart begins to speed up again, and your knees feel weak.

It's irrational, you tell yourself. He's asleep. He can't do anything, not as long as you're quiet. You're safe. Just one step and you'll finally be free.

It takes you embarrassingly long, making tears well up in your eyes. It feels almost like there's a wall preventing you from doing it, and it tempts you to just lay back down. He's manageable if you're obedient. You know what to expect, if you're obedient.

But you can't. You've come too far to back down now. You want to be free.

But you just also don't want him to be upset. Not while you're there, and certainly not while he's upset at you.

You take in a shaky breath, checking for any stray parts of him before setting a foot down on the other side of him. Pain flashes up the side of your ankle, as quick and as hot as lightning. An unfortunate consequence of what he did that day. It's been months, and you can otherwise walk fine, but you don't think the pain will ever truly heal.

Even despite the reminder of what he can do, a mounting sense of excitement motivates you to take the final step over him. Once you're over him, your final obstacle, you rush outside with no hesitation whatsoever. Tears burn at your eyes again, but for a completely different reason. For the first time in what feels like a long time, you're free. You don't remember the last time you've felt so light, so unfettered.

Even so, you try your best to stay mindful of your surroundings. You make it to the patch of moonlight filtering in through the thin crack in the ceiling of the canyon. The moon's full, you realize as you look up. You've never seen anything so beautiful.

A gentle smile pulls at your lips. All you need to do is find your boots and your canteen, and you'll at least have a shot at making it to the Tanit camp. You just have to put as much distance between you and him as possible, and it should be smooth sailing from there.

But all things must come to an end, some much sooner than others. A voice calls out from behind you. You can practically hear the clanking of chains and feel a pair of manacles capture your wrists once more.

"Come back to sleep."

You look over your shoulder at him, propped up on one elbow, presumably staring at you. His expression is too dark to see, but you've been around him enough to imagine it in your head.

His tone turns dark, threatening. "Don't make me have to come get you."

Everything screams at you to run, but you know better. He's faster than you. You don't have a choice, and he knows it. There's no point in trying.

Every step is a challenge, but soon you're standing above him once again. He doesn't even shift, he simply waits for you to come to him as he knows you will. Despite your position, you've never felt so beneath him, like you really were little more than the loyal dog he compared you to that day.

His hand encircles your wrist, and he yanks you down next to him none too gently. You land roughly on the blankets next to him, a dull ache blooming in your side, but he pays it no mind. He shifts so that he's laying on you, chest pressed against yours and one hand next to your head to support himself. As soon as he's settled, his face returns to your neck, breathing in deeply.

"I was hoping you wouldn't," he murmured against your throat, voice low and deep with the remnants of sleep. His other hand drifts to your waist. "But you just had to go and push it, as you always do. I'll deal with you in the morning."

#scaramouche #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #yandere kunikuzushi #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #naga scara #still haven't figured out the lore. not as fun as writing the little man himself.#also who'da thunk that I'd write faster when not outside at 2 am on a park bench huh....

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