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ch4singchase · 3 months

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The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: The group of demigods face Thalia's injury, should they continue their journey or look for a way to remedy the girl's condition?

Word count: 4.3K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and Injury, mention to violence, description of emotional distress and description of medical situations (treating injuries with antibiotics and bandages etc)

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three | series masterlist

chapter 03: Sometimes, People Are Just People

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the backseat of my mom's car—an old black Impala that carried the lingering aroma of spilled coffee. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady motion of the vehicle hinted at our journey.

Before fully waking up, I stole a glance at the front seat, where my mother navigated the route with a map by her side. The details of our destination eluded my groggy mind, another day unfolding in the tapestry of our lives.

"Is everything okay, ma?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to dispel the remnants of sleep.

Caught off guard by my voice, my mom turned to look at me through the rearview mirror, weariness etched across her face.

"Yes, mausi," she attempted a smile, though it failed to reach her eyes. "Sorry if I woke you up; you can go back to sleep."

"No, no, I'm good," I stretched my arms, shaking off the fatigue. "I woke up on my own."

"Good to hear that," my mother nodded, redirecting her gaze to the road while stifling a yawn. "We still have a fair distance to the hotel—probably another hour or so."

Surveying the quiet highway, devoid of much traffic except for the occasional weary traveler, I suggested, "If you want, I can take over for a while, and you can rest."

My mother cast a puzzled look at me through the rearview mirror. "This isn't a parking lot."

"I know," I pressed my lips together, "But you're tired, and the road is nearly empty. I can follow the map until you feel more rested. I've been observing you drive, you know…"

Mrs. Gaumont sighed audibly, as if seeking approval from the powers above for her impending decision. Whatever doubts she harbored, she decided to proceed.

"Okay," she relented, pulling the car over to the side of the highway. "But if anything goes wrong…"

"You come back to the driver's seat, got it!" I grinned, hopping out of the car, prepared to switch places.

Mrs. Gaumont wore a frown as she settled into the backseat, where I had been. Observing me carefully, she watched as I adjusted the rearview mirror to keep an eye on her and the road behind, and positioned the map in a way that allowed me to glance at it without distraction. All the little rituals she followed before hitting the road—she noticed that I wasn't kidding when I mentioned I had been watching her.

Her smile this time was genuine, reaching her eyes. It might have hinted at the wish that someday, I could navigate life on my own. I'll never be sure, but I like to think that's what her smile meant.

"You can rest now, ma!" I called out, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror as I merged back onto the highway. "I've got this."

And deep down, she knew I would. My mom always knew that I was capable of taking care of myself without her constant guidance. Perhaps, that's why she let go so willingly.

So peacefully.

“You’re really good at this,” Luke finally commented after a while, snapping me out of the reverie.

Glancing at the backseats through the rearview mirror, I noticed Thalia trying to stay awake by gazing out the window, while Annabeth observed my actions with keen interest—from the way I alternated my gaze between the road and the map Luke held for me or shifted gears in the car.

Swallowing hard, I met Annabeth's eyes for the umpteenth time. Unlike before, I wasn't frightened; instead, I was taken aback by her genuine interest in my presence.

But who could blame her? According to Thalia's explanations, they had been traveling together for a considerable time.

“Let me see if I understand,” I furrowed my brows, recalling everything the trio had shared with me. “You’re also connected to these Greek gods…”

“Yes,” Thalia muttered from behind, narrowing her eyes at me, mirroring the curiosity of her smaller companion.

“You're the daughter of the thunder god, one of the Big Three, and because of that, you're pursued by a plethora of monsters,” I reiterated their explanation word for word.

The three of them nodded, awaiting my next words.

“You’re the daughter of Athena…” I turned my gaze to Annabeth. I chose not to delve into the more peculiar aspects of her origins—born from an idea of her mother as a gift; the more I tried to comprehend, the stranger it sounded.

“And you,” I looked at Luke, who raised a brow at me, “You're the son of Hermes, which makes all of you like me, as I'm also the daughter of a god. Everyone inside this car is a half-blood.”

My last statement carried a hint of uncertainty.

“Or demigods,” Luke shrugged, brushing a black curl out of his eyes. “More commonly, we're called demigods.”

“Got it…” I squinted my eyes, doing my best to concentrate on the road rather than the knot forming in my head from all this information.

Once again during that journey, I caught the gaze of the boy with black curls alternating between my face and the leather wristband I wore. I couldn't discern if he was equally intrigued by my magical weapon or if he still found amusement or confusion in the fact that it took me more than a minute to transform the sword back into the wristband.

Honestly, I hoped it was the former. Yet, given the number of times he repeated the same eye movements and subtly moved his lips, it seemed to be the latter.

“Where are you from?” Thalia inquired, her voice betraying a hint of weakness that she tried to conceal.

“Hmm,” I frowned, glancing at the map again, “I'm not sure, maybe Missouri?”

“You're American?” the girl with two electric blue eyes asked, her surprise leaving me bewildered.

“As far as I know… Yes? I’m American.” Seeking an explanation for the sudden question, I looked into the eyes of the others, but each of them appeared surprised by my responses.

Here we were, children of Greek gods, fleeing from monsters that sought to harm beings like us, yet what surprised them was that I identified as American?

Noticing my confusion, Luke snorted, shaking his head.

"You have a different accent, that's all," he answered simply.

But that only deepened the crease in my forehead.

“Well, most states have different accents,” I tried to explain. Since when did I have such a strong accent?

“Yes, but we had been to most of the states,” Thalia reasoned, raising her brows. “Yours doesn’t sound like any accent from here.”

I remained silent, trying to remember if my mother had already commented on anything. When I asked her about my father for the first time, she had told me that she had met him in Missouri, so I ended up deducing that both she and I were also born in Missouri.

But if she met my father here, then I was born here. Which meant that maybe my mother wasn't American. Maybe that explained why I had never met or seen my grandparents. They might not even be here in the United States.

It also explained the many times that my mother had to show her passport to a guard or police officer in addition to her ID. There were also some curious looks that I had recently noticed every time I opened my mouth.

Did my mother have an accent? Probably, because I grew up with her presence always present, hardly talking to other people, I never found it strange. For me, it was normal.

In fact, everything in my life before, at the time, seemed normal to me.

This was just another detail at the tip of the iceberg.

"I didn't ask badly, I was just curious." Thalia commented due my silence, "Sorry"

“No, it’s alright” I shook my head, “I just hadn’t-”

Noticed. But I was interrupted before I could say that.

Thalia squeaked in pain, her face retracting into a grimace and her hand instinctively went to her leg.

“Hey, Thalia,” Luke shouted, looking back from his seat, “Stay strong, we’re almost there. Take the next turn.”

I followed his order, watching Thalia quickly, she was way paler than before. I had no idea what I could say or do to help them, so I just continued to drive.

Viola’s pale skin tainted with her own blood jumped into my mind.

“She’s having a fever,” Annabeth bit her cheeks after resting her hand on the forehead of the daughter of Zeus, “I can try to make it better but it won't bring down the fever completely.”

Annabeth retrieved a cloth and a bottle of water from her bag, carefully dampening the cloth before placing it on Thalia's forehead. The gesture was a stark reminder of the mystical and perilous world they lived in, where even a fever could have otherworldly implications.

Just as dangerous as a monster.

"My backpack in the back has some water bottles. You can offer them to Thalia, Annabeth." I suggested, looking toward the two girls in the backseats. The daughter of Athena promptly followed my instructions, but Thalia declined, her voice weak, conveying, "If it's truly an infection, you need to stay hydrated."

Luke glanced at me, surprise evident that I was offering all my water to their friend. If he had suspicions, I was aware he wouldn't be unjustified. Until now, my association with them was mainly due to being a demigod and the sole driver among them, and I was fine with it.

To reinforce or challenge his surprise, the boy with dark curls turned to me. "You don't need to do that. After the next city, it'll be ten minutes until we reach my mother's house."

His mother's house—his designated resource and medical help hub. I mentally noted that, sensing I wasn't the only one doing so.

"But I'm going to," I asserted, meeting the boy's gaze with determination.

While I didn't know them well, and it might not be wise to offer all my water without knowledge of our future path after Thalia's recovery, I knew I couldn't bear witness to someone else dying on my watch.

I wouldn't let that happen.

"And also," I took a glance at the map for confirmation, "maybe it's best if we try to stop at a pharmacy. We can get some inexpensive medicine to take care of the infection and try to prevent it from worsening or recurring soon."

"That's not a good idea," Luke shook his head, reclaiming the map to identify which nearby pharmacies gave me that nonsense ‘enlightening’. "We don't know if it would actually help, and it could delay us getting to my mother in time to get Thalia's real help."

"The pharmacy closer to us is on the way to your mother's house," I pointed out. "Some medicine could at least buy your friend some time before we get there."

“But we don’t have any money,” Annabeth interjected, unsure for whom she should side. She knew Luke for a longer time, but she was also worried about Thalia and wanted to take any chance they had to help her.

And, well… She had a point. I didn't have enough money, especially for antibiotics or antiseptics.

My eyes shifted between Luke and Annabeth, but Luke simply shook his head in refusal. Resigned, I returned my gaze to the road, sighing. There wasn't much for us to do but hope—always hope.

Luke kept his eyes on me, puffing and huffing as he pondered something to himself. Finally, he puffed one last time and retrieved a leather wallet from his pocket.

"Actually," he admitted, holding up the wallet, "we have."

I furrowed my brows, contemplating the oddity of a teenage boy carrying a leather wallet. Such accessories were typically associated with adults.

“Weren’t you against the idea?” I chose to veer away from the wallet's origin, delving into another question from my growing list. This list, I suspected, was only at its inception.

Luke avoided eye contact, placing the map back in my view. "Don't make me change my mind. I'll only agree if I'm the one at the pharmacy. You two stay with Thalia and keep an eye on her."

The unexpected response left both Annabeth and me speechless.

Luke emphasized, "Don't let anything happen to her”.

"Of course," I assured him, stealing a glance in his direction.

"Always," The little girl agreed, fiercely.

Heading towards the pharmacy pinpointed on the map marked a brief pause in our hour-long journey. Already navigating through an extended route to avoid law enforcement and bustling streets, sacrificing a bit of time seemed a worthwhile trade-off to secure additional aid for Thalia to withstand the remainder of the trip.

The pharmacy sign was discreet, sunlight still reflecting off the windows that morning. I wondered about the time—was it around 9 or 10 in the morning?

Luke directed me to park on a nearby street, concealing the car within the shadow of an alley. As I parked, Luke swiftly exited the car, sporting a less-than-pleased expression with narrow eyes and pursed lips, reminiscent of someone who had tasted something sour.

I stifled a snort, speculating if it was his ego at play. He fit the mold of Olympic heroes perfectly.

"I'll be right back," he informed us, tucking the leather wallet back into his pocket before closing the car door.

My gaze trailed after him until he reached the pharmacy entrance. Sensing my watchful eyes, Luke turned towards the car, flashing a smile. Although it was hard to confirm from our distance, the sunlight glinting off his teeth and the sparkle in his dark eyes hinted at its being a showoff move.

Sighing in dissatisfaction, instead of vocalizing my frustration or offering an obscene gesture, I unfastened my seatbelt and turned towards the back seat.

Annabeth stared at me with wide eyes, assisting her friend, who was in a cold sweat, in drinking more water.

"How many days since she was attacked?" I inquired, recognizing that for an infection to manifest, the wound couldn't have been inflicted today.

"Two days ago," Annabeth replied, swallowing nervously. "We've been pursued by Furies; they're the ones responsible for her leg injury, but we managed to escape them."

Escape, not eliminate. There was a clear implication in those words.

"Okay, so it's definitely an infection," I affirmed, a realization I had harbored before, now underscored by the urgency imposed by our limited time. "Raise her leg; we need to help with her blood circulation."

Annabeth furrowed her brows but complied with my instructions, despite Thalia's groans. "How do you know that?"

"Ah, my mother," I admitted, mindful about the way words sounded out of my mouth, "She taught me a thing or two about what to do in emergencies."

Reaching for my bag between Annabeth's feet and my seat, I positioned it under Thalia's elevated leg. "Now you can let it down; my bag will assist with improving her circulation."

The little girl nodded, taking this moment to water Thalia’s cloth again before returning it to her forehead. All we had to do was wait for Luke to return from the pharmacy.

The tension in the car lingered, and I didn’t dare to turn my back to the two girls, my eyes fixed at Thalia’s state. She was still awake, just too tired to say anything. When she noticed my eyes upon her, she gave me a short smile and a quick thumbs up.

Noticing that, Annabeth smiled at me and Thalia, gripping her friend’s hand as she whispered something to her. Slowly, my eyes drifted back to the pharmacy.

Thinking back at our little discussion, I couldn’t help but think if Luke had resented me. We have been in this car for less than forty minutes together, the longest I have been knowing them so far, it wouldn’t be great if I had already managed to have someone I wished to befriend resent me instead.

I stopped my thoughts in their tracks, befriend? I flinched at myself once I realized my own words, how long since I had the opportunity to make friends?

I knew the answer to that question.

It had been a long time since I knew people around my age that I felt click so fast, at least, on my side. A longer time since I wished I could make friends that were like me.

However, that had been the first time I was doing everything on my own, even friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had already screwed this over.

I sighed, biting my lips. Perhaps, it was for the best; I needed to head to Long Island once I could be sure that Thalia was alright and not at risk of dying.

Annabeth's demeanor changed once she put her eyes on me, uncertainty running through her eyes, but she locked eyes with me and began to speak.

“Look,” she started, “Don’t mind Luke, he doesn’t hate you or anything, he just… It isn’t used to it.”

My eyes widened before turning to the small figure, my thoughts were as plain as the noise in my face?

"How long have you known Luke?" I asked, attempting to avoid any uneasy silence.

"I've known them for quite a while.” Annabeth sighed, “We've been through a lot together."

That, I could figure. I was on my second day as a demigod, everything continued to feel new and surreal. As if I was trapped in my childhood dreams.

But no, that was reality, I just needed to adjust. Even if it meant that my life would be complicated from now on.

I nodded to Annabeth’s words, noticing the guarded tone in her voice. “I don’t mean to get in your way, when Thalia gets better, we can say our goodbyes”

I knew too well how it felt to be tolerated, even if most of the time it was a feeling my mind created from no evidence. But, either way, I didn’t wish to go through it again.

“What? No,” This time, Thalia was the one to exclaim, her voice low and rough. Annabeth had to move the water bottle away from her face, “Who said we don’t want you on the team?”

“You’re also a demigod, we have to stick together,” Annabeth stated, her determination slipping at every word.

I shook my head, “We met less than an hour ago.”

“Everything becomes more dangerous when you’re a demigod alone in the world,” Annabeth told me, her voice turning to a careful tone, “Luke told me that once, we can’t leave any of us behind.”

I felt a mix of surprise and gratitude. It warmed a part of me that had been cold and isolated for a long time to know that someone wanted me to stay.

They were strangers at the time, but for a bunch of strangers, I had never felt so welcome.

"Thanks," I mumbled, my voice carrying a subtle sincerity that even surprised me.

“And if you’re worried about Luke,” Annabeth shrugged, “I’m sure he likes you, he is… Protective, it’s hard for him to let people in. It's a survival instinct, I suppose."

Survival instinct. The words hung in the air, resonating with the inherent dangers of our existence. Demigods, pursued by monsters, bound by the whims of gods—we lived in a constant state of vigilance.

Luke wouldn’t be wrong for holding on to it.

“I get it," I replied, empathizing with the complexities of their reality. "It must be tough."

Annabeth nodded, her expression softening. "We all have our struggles. Luke just… carries his differently."

As our conversation reached a natural pause, the car door creaked open, revealing Luke’s silhouette.

Luke returned from the pharmacy with a small bag in hand, his expression more neutral than before. As he slid back into the car, he handed the bag to Annabeth.

"Here, this should help for now," he said, his voice carrying a mix of concern and urgency. Annabeth took the bag, and I couldn't help but notice the worry etched on her face.

"What did you get?" I asked, glancing at the bag.

"Antibiotics and some bandages," Luke replied, his gaze shifting between Annabeth and me. "It's not much, but it's all we could manage for now. Thalia needs proper medical attention, and we're not far from my mother's place. We'll get her the help she needs there."

As Annabeth carefully assessed the medications, she turned to us, "Can you give me a couple of minutes before going back on the road? I need to manage it without worrying about speed bumps."

There was a collective understanding of the gravity of the situation. Thalia's condition required more than a quick pharmacy stop, but the interim measures were necessary. Luke and I exchanged glances, both realizing the priority at hand.

"Take your time," Luke reassured Annabeth. The car fell into a temporary stillness as we awaited the next steps.

Then, with a subtle shift, Luke turned his attention back to me. His eyes held a different intensity, as if he had something important to convey.

“Everything alright?” he asked, taking the leather wallet from his pocket and storing it in the glove compartment of the car.

“Yes,” I answered, “nobody bothered us while you were out and Thalia didn’t get worse.”

“Good, good,” Luke darted his eyes to the outside before looking at me again, “How did you know about the infection or the antibiotics?”

He might as well have noticed how Thalia’s leg was resting above my bag, but he didn’t address that point.

I gulped, scratching the nape of my neck, “My mother taught me a lot of things, how to treat injuries, name of medicines, how to get money… I think she knew that I would have to survive by myself one day”

That twinkle was back to Luke’s dark eyes, his lips twisted in a way as if repressing something.

“You can ask, you know,” I tried to encourage him, “A lot of strangers and the police had already asked me before, I’m used to”

“What happened to her?” finally, Luke asked, the known curiosity waltzing in his eyes.

“A cyclops found us,” I worried my bottom lip, forcing a smile on my face as I explained, “We were shopping for resources until I lost her from sight and heard her voice from afar, I could swear it was her…”

I didn’t need to continue, Luke understood where that story ended. Perhaps, being a demigod for a longer time than me, made him understand exactly how things would run in our lives.

“You must miss her,” that wasn’t a question.

In fact, the boy's tone of voice made me believe he understood the feeling very well.

“I do,” I agreed, rubbing my eyes before tears could show up again, “A lot.”

Luke fidgeted with his fingers, nodding again, but it felt more like a gesture to himself than to me.

"I'm sorry about earlier,” he managed to spill the words out, the thing he really wanted to say since he had sat down, “I just… Your idea helped a lot, I knew your idea would actually work.”

I raised my brow at that. I was still shocked by the fact he had apologized in the first place.

“It's just…” he sighed, shaking his head, “I don't know how to explain it. I'm usually the one who gives the ideas, and in less than half an hour, this awesome person came up with a plan to help my friend. It is complicated."

The sincerity in his words caught me off guard, definitely. I hadn't expected my suggestion would have that impact on him. I almost felt bad for doing so.

A hint of vulnerability surfaced beneath the layers of his guarded demeanor.

"Wait…” I stopped for a second, thinking back to his apology, “Do you think I am awesome?"

"Of course I do," Luke furrowed his brow, “What person who has just learned that he is a demigod goes face to face with a monster without knowing how to use a sword?”

Someone who isn’t afraid of death, but mad at it—I guessed.

“A pretty stupid one,” I said instead.

He simply shook his head, almost laughing at my answer, “I think a brave one would, and you did.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line, uncertain about what to say to that. Rarely, I was shy, and at the time I was stubborn enough to admit to myself that I was, in fact, shy.

“Ahm, you’re brave too,” I stared back at him, “You know, hitting monsters with that golf club.”

“I try my best,” he shrugged, darting his eyes to the golf club that rested next to his feet, “I kinda lost my sword, so now all I have is that thing.”

"You still do fine, hero," I smiled, fastening my seatbelt.

Caught off guard, Luke mirrored my movements. "Do you think so?"

"Of course I do," I echoed his earlier sentiment, and a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

As Annabeth seamlessly reentered the road after completing her task, a warmth settled within me. The connection forged in adversity lingered, leaving a scar on my heart—a good kind of scar.

The road stretched ahead, and in the comforting hum of the car, Luke's voice cut through the air, altering the course of our shared journey.

"You're part of this team now," Luke stated, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. "We stick together, demigods looking out for each other.”

Surprise registered on my face, and I searched his eyes for any hint of insincerity. Instead, I found a genuine invitation—an offer of companionship in a world that often felt isolating.

“What do you say?" he asked a final question.

The weight of the decision hung in the air, and for the first time in a long while, the prospect of not facing the world alone felt like a genuine possibility.

Taglist: @2hiigh2cry

(if you wish to be add to the taglist, let me know in the comments!)

#percy jackson fanfiction #pjo fanfic #pjo tv show #pjo series #dionysus pjo #chiron #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #clarisse la rue #thalia grace #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #the ballad of moths #theballadofmoths #female original character

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jackstheprinceofhearts · 8 months

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rosy maple moths remind me of evajacks <3

#gotta combine my interests #:))#i love moths and u should too #rosy maple moth is evajacks moth #tbona #ouabh #jacks prince of hearts #evajacks #the ballad of never after #evangeline fox #jacks x evangeline #caraval #books #stephanie garber #acftl #a curse for true love

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keryahoraculi · 3 months

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View this post on Instagram

A post shared by DOMINIC CHETTA (@_dom1n1c_)

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A beautiful flight with this butterfly Soul

#dominic chetta #butterfly #moth #music #butterfly soul #soul #musical ballad #beautiful

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go-to-the-mirror · 6 months

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making the poetry anthology for my sister is like okay one poem about being trans from tumblr, one poem about not being suicidal anymore, one poem about being suicidal but like mothcore, one poem with anti-war messaging

#suicide ment #my lonely rambles #girl she is lucky im not gonna make her read all of the ballad of reading gaul bc i would i would #if i didnt have to print this all out #the poems are an untitled one by exmotranny #hammond b3 organ cistern #the lesson of the moth by archy #and dulce et decorum est

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spacedykez · 1 year

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youtube

ohmygods CHILLS

#moths music #i have read the entire hunger games trilogy + a ballad of songbirds and snakes. i have not seen ANY of the movies #the otter splashes #Youtube

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kniteracy · 5 months

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Lounging With Nocturna Hollygloom!

Short Stories: Tales From The Christmas Event and Beyond! Sometimes, I don’t mind it when my biggest responsibility of the day is decorating a room. It’s in my blood, after all. It’s funny how people just assume we Christmas Elves only make wooden toys. We’re far more sophisticated than that, and anyway, almost no children play with wooden toys any more. Even if you give them a really good one,…

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thehungergamesrenaissance · 6 months

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The Hunger Games Renaissance. The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023), dir. Francis Lawrence "“The District Twelve girl tribute is Lucy Gray Baird,” he said into a mic. The camera swept over the crowd of gray, hungry faces in gray, shapeless clothing, seeking the tribute. It zoomed in toward a disturbance, girls drawing back from the unfortunate chosen one. The audience gave a surprised murmur at the sight of her. Lucy Gray Baird stood upright in a dress made of a rainbow of ruffles, now raggedy but once fancy. Her dark, curly hair was pulled up and woven with limp wildflowers. Her colorful ensemble drew the eye, as to a tattered butterfly in a field of moths. She did not make straight for the stage but began to weave through the girls off to her right. It happened quickly. The dip of her hand into the ruffles at her hip, the wriggle of bright green transported from her pocket and deposited down the collar of a smirking redhead’s blouse, the rustle of her skirt as she moved on. Focus stayed on the victim, her smirk changing to an expression of horror, her shrieks as she fell to the ground, pawing at her clothes, the shouts of the mayor. And in the background, her assailant was still weaving, still gliding her way to the stage, not looking back even once."

#lucy gray baird #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosbas #thg #the hunger games #thgedit #filmtv #moviegifs

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ventismacchiato · 1 year

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26 behind the lens — the ship has sunk !

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; same day but it’s now night time

translations for french at the end of the chapter

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You hear a knock on the bathroom door, causing you to jump at the noise. You’d been hiding in your shared restroom for a while to update your friends on the situation, losing track of time as you sat atop the counter in nothing but your pajamas.

“Hey, are you alright?” Kuni asks from the other side of the door, “You’ve been in there for a while silently. Better not be jerking off without me.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, face blooming, “I just have an extensive thirty-step skin care routine,” you lie.

“Alright, I’m going to bed,” he hums, and you hear his footsteps walk off.

You place your face in your hands and let out a low groan, hiding a secret identity was not as easy as Hannah Montana made it seem. You hop off the counter and splash some water on your face to make it seem as if you did have a routine. After muting your phone so as to not hear Aether telling you how bad you were keeping a secret you sat on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, collecting your thoughts.

The stress was really catching up to you. What the fuck were you doing?

You turn your mind off and wander out into the bedroom, the only source of light being the beams of white streaming through the curtains. Kuni’s body was turned away from you, his chest rising up and down slowly. He must’ve been exhausted from today.

You quietly crawl under the covers with him, pulling the comforter up to your chin. You were going to face the other way so as to not bother him but much to your surprise, the blankets rustled and Kuni was now facing you.

He lifts his eyelids open and tugs you in close, hands sliding underneath your shirt to caress your cold skin. Your chests are pressed up against each other, which causes you to circle your hands around his waist out of instinct.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles, pressing his face into the pillow, “I’m glad you came,” he trails off.

“I am too,” you reply, letting yourself play with his hair.

“Star confessed to me today,” he says, his words muffled from his face being hidden in the pillow, but he peeks out to gauge your reaction. You pretend to be surprised.

“Oh, what did you say?”

“That I would rather be with you, obviously,” he says, pinching your waist.

“I’d like to be with you, too.”

Kuni blooms red at that, hiding his face back in the pillow.

You’d come clean after Paris.

You wanted to enjoy this for as long as you could.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

filler

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

sunghoon, yeonjun, and lujiuerhei as scara, felix as kazuha

ngl i kinda regret making ayaka a friend in this au but i’m too far gone ☠️

shadow moth hacking scara’s twt hes in a silly goofy mood

lmk if u can’t read anything in an ask and i’ll zoom in for u,,it’s hard trying to cram everything into ten pics

translations:

merci d'être entré dans ma vie = thank you for coming into my life

author’s notes — lmk if the french is right i trusted google for this one

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @goubaia @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @orbitscara @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos [1/3]

#genshin fics #genshin x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #genshin smau #genshin scaramouche #behind the lens smau

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crazyhearttragedy · 5 months

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Melting the Ice -Coriolanus Snow x Reader

AN: I just watched the ballad of songbirds and snakes and loved it. Hope you enjoy!

Snow stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, his stern gaze sweeping over the crowd of well-dressed Capitol elites. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the intoxicating scent of power. Yet, amidst it all, he felt an inexplicable emptiness. He loathed these gatherings, finding solace only in the corners and shadows, far away from the superficiality that dominated his world.

His eyes landed on you, a captivating figure that stood out from the rest. Your vibrant smile and genuine laughter reached his ears, capturing his attention like no one else ever had. You were a beacon of warmth in the icy sea of the Capitol, and unknowingly, you sparked something within him.

Curiosity mingled with trepidation as Snow approached you, his heart pounding in his chest. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

You turned towards him, your eyes widening in surprise. "Coriolanus Snow! I didn't expect to see you here. Of course, I'd love to dance."

As the music enveloped you, Snow's hand lightly rested on your waist, and he pulled you closer, finding solace in the simplicity of the moment. With every step, his aversion to these gatherings melted away, replaced by the warmth that emanated from your presence.

As the night progressed, Snow found himself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. He realized that he was no longer content hiding in the shadows. You ignited a fire within him, a desire for something more.

Weeks turned into months, and the bond between you and Snow grew stronger. He found solace in your company, sharing secrets, dreams, and fears that he had never dared to reveal to anyone before. In your presence, he felt seen, understood, and loved.

But as life often does, it threw obstacles in your path. The Hunger Games approached, and with it, the weight of the Capitol's expectation loomed over Snow. He wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between his ambition and his affection for you.

"I can't let go of my dreams, Y/N," Snow confessed, his voice laced with regret. "I have worked for this opportunity my entire life. I can't abandon it, even for you."

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you reached for his hand, holding it firmly between yours. "Coriolanus, I understand your ambitions, but is it worth losing yourself? Is it worth forsaking the love and humanity that we've discovered together?"

His heart felt heavy as he struggled to find an answer. In that moment, he realized the walls he had built around himself were crumbling, and he couldn't bear to lose the one person who had taught him the true meaning of love.

With a sigh of resignation, Snow pulled you into an embrace, his grip tightening. "No, it's not worth it. I can't let these games define me. I choose you, Y/N. I choose us."

With renewed determination, Snow started to make small rebellions within the daunting framework of the Games. He subtly used his intelligence and influence to protect the weak and the innocent, to challenge the cruelty that had permeated their world.

And as he fought for a sliver of humanity amidst the chaos, he found himself fighting for you too. Love was no longer a mere distraction; it was his motivation, his anchor in the storm.

Days turned into months, and a new Snow emerged. A man who wielded power with compassion, who fought against injustice, all the while leaning on your unwavering support.

Together, you navigated the treacherous waters of the Capitol, your love acting as a shield against the darkness. And in your arms, Snow found a sanctuary, a refuge from the brutal reality outside.

As the night drew to a close, and you shared a passionate kiss, Snow realized that for the first time in his life, he no longer felt winter in his heart. The ice had melted, and in its place, love bloomed.

#y/n #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #hunger games x reader #hunger games fanfic #hunger games

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ch4singchase · 3 months

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I kind of did something while procrastinating

masterlist's link

#the ballad of moths #theballadofmoths #luke castellan x reader

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adiluv · 6 months

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✦ : ❝ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 !

꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which the cold isn't as bad as he'd originally believed. 738 words.

꒰warnings꒱ soft-yandere scaramouche, barely edited.

꒰adi moment꒱ honestly a bit too tired to try and come up with something interesting/funny to put here, so just imagine that i said something really captivating instead! ♡ hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀིㅅ´ ˘ `꒱ྀི১

Scaramouche, in the many centuries of his existence, has never once considered himself a fan of the winter. Or, as he's found himself being corrected at an increasingly alarming rate, he hadn't. At least not before you decided to worm your way into his life.

It's embarrassing, really. Humiliating, if he was being entirely honest. Pathetic, even, that he would ever allow himself to bend so readily to the whims of a mere mortal, especially one as blatantly naïve and idiotic as yourself.

He should have you killed for it. Would, too, if the mere thought of watching his underlings throwing your lifeless body into the creek right behind your ramshackle cottage didn't stir up the strangest sensation of discomfort within his hollow chest.

... You've got the man absolutely whipped for you, to be truthful, though it's hardly even the worst part of his little dilemma. Couldn't be anywhere near it, really, when you knew of his feelings towards you, understood them, reciprocated them—dissipating the storms brewing within his very being with a mere glance in his direction. You're more than comfortable with the situation you've found yourself in, and that much is clear, a fact that elicits both distress and elation from the ever-feared Balladeer.

He finds that he's become more prone to the latter, as of late.

Your lips were soft whenever you kissed him. Your grip was gentle whenever you pulled his body towards you, though the entryway of your cramped home, into your arms ꒰where he rightfully belongs, he's sure꒱ whenever he'd return to visit after a particularly strenuous mission. Tender, and warm, a type of affection so faint that he feared even the most insignificant gust of wind would be enough to erase it from his body entirely.

But the winter, as he soon comes to find, changes that.

Although he'd much rather clamber onto the cold metal of Il Dottore's vivisection table than admit it out loud, it's truly impossible to deny just how comforting you are to hold, face buried into the crook of his neck as your form trembles beneath his fingertips. Your lips have become chapped, now, and he can feel just how dry they've become—tickling his synthetic skin alongside your shaky breaths, though he's come to find that he hardly even minds it.

You look adorable, truly, wrapped up within his luxurious fur coat, undignified whines escaping your lips whenever he taunts you with an attempt to push you away, force you to battle the freezing temperatures without the aid of his body heat, watch as you freeze up without the extra warmth he provides you. It's an honest miracle that you survived before meeting him, he teases, given the absolutely atrocious state of your abode's decaying walls, soothing circles rubbed onto your back as attempts to defend your childhood home die out on your tongue.

Scaramouche could have them fixed for you, if he so desired. Toyed around with the idea, even, flipped through reviews of some of the more reputable renovators he could find. And he will, he reassures you, pulling your weight atop his own ꒰a gesture more for his comfort than yours꒱, tangling his fingers into your hair, because he'd hate to have another human die on him—especially so when he's already allowed himself to become attached, again—and it's really only a matter of time until he's called away on another mission, and he's certain you won't be able to hold out much longer as things are.

... But there's no harm in enjoying your desperation, if only for the time being. Because you wouldn't be upset with him. Because you can't be, surely, when your love is so terribly addicting, entrancing him like a moth to a lamp. Because seeing you grab onto him with all of your strength, even if partially motivated by the desire to stave off frostbite, makes him feel wanted. Needed. A type of satisfaction that burns away his inhibitions, sears itself into his nonexistent heart.

Besides. Even if he were to miscalculate, and even if your home remained in poor condition by the time he's set to leave, it's not as though he'd ever actually leave you for dead. He's nice, like that. And you're dear to him, now, if those words even hold value for a puppet like himself.

... And he thinks you'd look much nicer, more in place, within the comfort of his estate.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆#genshin impact #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche #the balladeer #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact drabbles #yandere genshin drabbles

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inklore · 7 months

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❛ you’re not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜ with the one and only Mister Jake Seresin pretty please??

Hope you’re doing well!! 🖤

THE BAD ONES HAVE MORE FUN.

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x (f)reader

contents: threats of smut, cocky flirty jake aka the best kind.

note: i miss writing for this little shit, i need to write more!

“You’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

Maybe it’s the amount of fruity drinks in your system; maybe it’s the cheesy love ballad playing on the jukebox. Or maybe it’s that one hundred watt smile that Jake has been giving you all night.

The way he leans his body against the table, slowly inching closer into you—his cologne mixed with the beer on his tongue making your head all cloudy with him—until your eyes keep flashing down to his mouth, and it would barely take you leaning in for you to press your lips against his.

And it’s definitely making you resolve wash away to driftwood in the sand—useless, overlooked, stepped over.

The countless things you’ve heard about The Jake Seresin—the warnings, the rumors that he’s someone you either love or loathe—turn you into a moth to a flame rather than a moth who turns and heads for safety.

The more he talked, the less the warnings and rumors held up.

But maybe that was his play all along—how he sweet talked the best of them out of their panties and into his bed—caught you off your guard when he was the exact opposite of bad people said he was.

Saving that for when he finally had you in his bed, or after the fact.

You can’t seem to find an ounce of worry in your bloodstream. It too busy pumping to the throb in your legs to an annoying ache from his proximity, from the heady scent of him, that smirk, the underlining cockiness in his sentences.

You don’t care. With a mouth as smooth and inviting as his, he could fill you full of lies as long as you were coming on that pretty face of his.

“Oh yeah?” He says, smiling around the rim of his beer as he takes a sip. “And how bad do they say I am?”

“Irredeemable,” you joke. Give him your own smile that his eyes trace.

He makes a face of agreement, like he’s not denying anything anyone has said or could have said about him. Instead, he removes the little space that had been between you and his body. His frame touching yours now, leaning down so there’s a shadow over your face from how close his is to yours as he says, “if it’s a bad boy you want, sweetheart, you’re in for a long night.”

#jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x you #top gun fic #hangman fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #top gun x reader #ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ blurb night

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xthecaptainssaviorx · 4 months

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The audience gave a surprised murmur at the sight of her. Lucy Gray Baird stood upright in a dress made of a rainbow of ruffles, now raggedy but once fancy. Her dark, curly hair was pulled up and woven with limp wildflowers. Her colorful ensemble drew the eye, as to a tattered butterfly in a field of moths.

The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes (2023)

#lucy gray baird #thg: tbosas #the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds & snakes #tbosas spoilers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosasedit #filmgifs #panemgif #*mine: gifs #*mine #*mine: tbosas #yes i know it's not in order and it annoys me but it looked better this way

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apteryxparvus · 6 months

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hope you're having a pleasant day, also congratulations on your 100 followers.

i was wondering if i could ask a street musician reader and a passerby scara fic. ik it doesn't have much explanation but i hope i can leave it to you😞

Thank you! I'm a bit late with this request, but I hope you enjoy it. I completely fell in love with the idea of Scaramouche and street musician reader 🥰

Part of my ✨ 100 followers milestone event ✨ that ran from September 2nd to September 9th.

Pairing — Scaramouche / Reader

Word count — 2,922 words

Content warning — mentions of alcohol

Scaramouche strolls along the bustling stalls of Port Ormos, immersing himself in the symphony of sounds. The air buzzes with the echoes of lively merchants and customers trying to haggle over prices. Kids dart around, gleeful shouts adding to the cacophony. The rhythmic clatter of artisans’ tools echo from the nearby workshops.

The fragrant aroma of spices mingles with the smell of freshly baked goods. Nearby, a vendor proudly displays an array of ripe fruits — from plump and succulent Zaytun peaches, to imported Lavender melons and spicy Jueyun chilies.

Scaramouche pauses, and his gaze meets the warm smile of the vendor. He stays silent, feeling the weight of the curious gaze upon him. With a soft humph, he lowers his wide-brimmed hat, casting a shadow over his face. He continues on his way, his steps purposeful and gaze fixed straight ahead — he tells himself he must stay fixated on the mission, that he must not get sidetracked by the vibrant distractions, nor draw any attention to himself.

He remains composed, a ghost in the crowd, blending seamlessly.

Yet when Scaramouche turns the corner, his hearing is enveloped by a soft voice. A familiar melody resounds in the air, and his heart skips a beat as he recognizes it instantly. He cannot help but be drawn towards the source of the enchanting voice.

There, in the midst of the bustling street, you stand, a lone street performer.

His steps falter as he approaches you. He stands between the other onlookers, his presence like a moth drawn to a flame.

You’re unaware of Scaramouche’s inner turmoil, and continue to raise your voice, your own rendition of the Inazuman song filled with burning passion and purity.

“Kare wa yasei no iro ni michita sekai o samayoi masu,

Jishin no seigen wa naku, kokoro wa fukaku.

Kabukimono, kabukimono…”

Time stands still. The lyrics evoke a lost meaning known only to him, memories he had long locked away. His chest constricts as he feels the weight of the past press upon him.

The last notes of the tune float into the air, and the crowd erupts in response. A few individuals drop mora into your hat, expressing their gratitude for the performance. You nod in sincere appreciation, a humble smile making its way to your lips.

Scaramouche waits patiently for the last of the onlookers to disperse. You crouch on the ground, gathering the coins and placing them into a leather pouch. The Inazuman steps closer to you, his hat casting a shadow over your figure. The weight of his presence draws your attention, and you raise your head, eyes wide with curiosity.

There’s an air of mystery cloaking him.

You straighten up and pat down your pants. “You’re Inazuman, right?” you enquire. His eyes widen for a split second, confirming your suspicions.

“The song,” he starts, struggling to find the right words.

“The Ballad of a Kabukimono,” you reply, a knowing smile on the corner of your lips. “A forgotten tale of a wandering Inazuman eccentric. No one really knows its origins.”

“The melody is different,” Scaramouche states.

You let out a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of your neck. “Yes,” you admit. “The original felt too somber for my taste. I want to make people feel joy, rather than melancholy.”

Scaramouche huffs, muttering something under his breath. A hint of indignation stirs within you — if he has so displeased with the performance, why did he stay until the very end? He had the opportunity to walk away at any moment, yet he didn’t.

A rebuttal stirs within you, but before you can react, the Inazuman reaches into his belongings and takes out a hefty pouch, throwing it at your feet. The coins jiggle, and you watch speechless as he turns his back to you and leaves without uttering another word.

You stand amidst the scattered coins, confusion deepening. Stooping low, you gather the shiny mora, cursing at yourself for being so caught up in the moment, you had not even thought to ask his name.

The same night, Scaramouche strolls through the now-empty streets. Once bustling, the market now stands quiet and deserted, with only a handful of passersby leisurely walking past the closed stalls. Silence permeates the air.

His puppet body carries a deep ache.

His mission was a success — he had effortlessly infiltrated the nearby treasure hoarder camp, quickly retrieving the stolen Ruin Guard cores, along with a plethora of Fontanian and Snezhnayan machinery. The thieves were caught off guard; and he didn’t even need to rely on his Anemo Vision.

But despite the ease of the task and the triumph alongside it, he feels weariness settle upon his mind. A sense of monotony weighs upon him.

And the lingering melody of the song from his past stubbornly clings to his thoughts. It infuriates him, intensifying the restlessness he feels. He finds himself revisiting the memory of your voice — how it soared, building to a powerful crescendo, how you carefully enunciated each syllable of the language long forgotten.

He passes by the spot where he had witnessed your performance — it’s empty. He mentally chides himself for foolishly believing you would remain there throughout the entire day. The generous sum he had given you, along with the contributions from the other onlookers, would undoubtedly provide you a temporary respite from busking.

He feels a slight twinge of disappointment.

His weary gaze catches the flickering lights of a nearby tavern, the warm glow beckoning him. He heads towards the establishment, hoping to find some form of solace in the warmth and anonymity of the tavern; hoping to dull the ache within his soul with a drink or two.

Scaramouche steps inside the tavern, welcomed by the warm glow of the low-hanging lights. The wooden walls are adorned with paintings of the lush green foliage of Dharma Forest, while grainy photographs of Sumeru’s bustling cities add depth to the surroundings. Lively conversations fill the air — cheery and tipsy voices rise and fall; the noise mingles with the clinking of glasses.

His gaze sweeps across the crowded tavern, searching for a secluded place to settle. His eyes lock onto a hidden nook, and there, nestled in that corner, he spots your familiar figure. You’re sitting there, oblivious to the world, engrossed in your own daydreams, with a glass of a milky, effervescent beverage.

As if guided by an invisible force, he takes a few long strides towards the table and takes a seat beside you.

You look up, startled, but your gaze narrows in a split second. “Well, well, well,” you say, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. “We meet again, mysterious wanderer.”

“Mind if I join?”

“Of course, please, have a seat.” As he settles, you take a sip from your palm wine, the milky and powerfully sweet flavors dancing on your tongue. “It seems our encounters are becoming more frequent, no?”

Scaramouche scoffs, and you take another leisurely sip from the drink.

The silence around you carries a hint of lingering tension.

“Say,” you break the stillness. “Would a drink or two make you a better conversation partner?” you lightheartedly joke. “I am willing to offer the first round.”

The male smirks, mischief dancing in his indigo eyes. He leans back in his chair. “Since you’re probably using the mora I gave you for the drinks, I’d say the first round is actually on me.”

“I assure you, the drinks I buy are funded by my own pocket money.” You lean in closer, locking eyes with him.

“Regardless, I accept your offer.”

“Two palm wines coming right up,” you exclaim, already on your way to order from the gruff-looking bartender.

Navigating through the crowd back to the table, you carefully balance the newly obtained drinks. You place them before Scaramouche and sit down. A moment later, you lift your glass in a toast. “Kanpai!” you exclaim in old Inazuman.

Scaramouche’s eyes fixate on yours for a brief moment, before he slowly raises his own glass. “You speak old Inazuman,” he comments.

“A few phrases here and there,” you admit, a flustered look spreading across your face. “I lived in Tatarasuna as a child, and I had the opportunity to learn a bit from the locals.”

The mention of Tatarasuna brings forth a wave of melancholic nostalgia; of fleeting memories of joyous faces, caked in soothe, of cooking lessons and exhilarating sword dances. He closes his eyes and sees the noxious black gas, with its haunting tendrils seeping across the surface of the once idyllic island.

Scaramouche raises his glass to his lips, taking a long, deliberate swig. He struggles to push back the rising tide of memories; struggles to push back the bile rising in his throat.

You notice the somber expression that crosses his face. “I’m sorry,” you say softly.

He meets your gaze, and you observe a subtle shift in his indigo eyes, how they darken. His demeanor is guarded, but in that split second, you see a glimmer of vulnerability. “Tell me more,” he inquires. “About the song, about your life in Tatarasuna.”

You nod, and take a moment to collect your thoughts. Leaning back against the chair, you recount the days of your childhood. You tell him about your parents — true adventurers at heart, with an insatiable thirst for exploration.

“They took me on countless journeys across Teyvat,” you start. “From the rolling plains of Mondtstadt, to the stone forests in Liyue. But those places, so easy to reach, were never enough for them.”

You recount the events that led the three of you to wash ashore upon the rocky outcrops of Kannazuka Island in Inazuma — a botched smuggling operation, led by an inexperienced sailor. You were stuck between two warring states — the Inazuma Shogunate and the Watatsumi Army. Amidst the chaos, a few brave locals defied the Electro Archon’s will, and extended a helping hand.

Within the safety of their village, they shared their crafts with you — under their guidance, you were introduced to the art of pottery, their steady hands guiding yours, allowing you to shape pots that held both practicality and an aesthetic appeal; you learned to weave silk, creating vibrant brocades that told stories of your past. They taught your parents the secrets of tending a garden, how to nurture each plant; they taught them the arts of stealth, of resourcefulness — they’d guide them through the thick forests, teaching them how to identify edible berries and how to track elusive prey without drawing the attention of wandering samurais or the warring armies.

“The villagers shared their stories, their own experiences. They told me about the legendary Mikage Furnace, about its role in shaping the community. But they also passed down folk songs… tales of mythical gods and primordial creatures.”

You take a sip of your drink. “The song I played today, it’s the one that I found the most fascinating. Even as a child, something about its haunting composition and the meaning behind the lyrics called out to me. The villagers themselves had no records of the origin of the melody, but they spoke of this restless longing they would feel each time it was performed.”

Scaramouche stays silent, as you take a moment to savor the last of your drink. You set the empty glass down. “I’ve always found myself wondering about the shadowy figure and his history…”

“Sing the original,” he demands, leaning in closer. “And I will tell you the truth behind the kabukimono.” His lilac eyes lock into yours, holding such intensity that it sends shivers down your spine. You almost squirm under the weight of his scrutiny, but you quickly compose yourself when you notice the raw melancholy swimming in his eyes.

You nod, accepting. “Alright then, I’ll sing the original for you,” you reply, taking a deep breath and letting your voice escape your lips.

The melody merges with the clamor of the tavern, but hidden in your little corner, the noise becomes irrelevant. Several patrons steal a few curious glances at you, their expressions a mixture of confusion and indifference, but they quickly divert their attention elsewhere, finding more interesting distractions.

But Scaramouche listens intently, penetrating gaze fixed on your lips, tracing every movement as the foreign syllables flow.

The final note fades upon your lips, and, completely entranced in the heartbreaking story of the eccentric, you don’t notice the lone tear that escapes your eye, leaving a damp trail down your cheek in the melody’s wake.

Silence stretches between you. Surprise flits across your features at the sight of the watery eyes behind Scaramouche’s stoic mask — he, who had at first displayed such aloofness and indifference, now seems stricken by genuine grief.

“Your song… stirs long buried memories,” he begins with a soft voice, answering your quiet, wordless inquiry. “In a past life, I too knew about the ache of aimless wandering, untethered and alone.”

His words linger in the air, a whispered revelation, one that hints at the depths of his own past.

Scaramouche exhales a heavy sigh, his stoic façade returning. “But a promise is a promise,” he says.

You shift uncomfortably. “Look,” you start, voice filled with concern. “If this brings you pain, there’s no need to continue. We can leave it be.”

He shakes his head, a flicker of determination crossing his features. “The kabukimono from the song… he was a puppet sculpted by the hand of the Electro Archon, intended to house the divine Gnosis. Yet, upon his creation, he shed genuine tears, and in his imperfection, he was carelessly cast aside.”

His words hang in the air, painting a tragic picture of a being cast aside by the very same hands that brought him to life.

“His divine powers were sealed, and he was locked away in a deep slumber,” he continues, voice laced with a mix of sorrow and resignation. “Until a samurai found him and took him in, despite his origins. The puppet formed a bond with the samurai and his companions.”

Scaramouche’s gaze turns distant, as if lost in memories. A sigh escapes him. “But then, tragedy struck. The puppet thought himself betrayed for the second time, and so he left, abandoning the only bonds he’d ever truly known.”

“His life was one of great suffering,” you quietly muse. Still, a doubt nags at the edges of your mind. “But how can you be certain this is the true origin of the song? Akademiya records tell a completely different tale of the Tatarasune Incident…” you trail off.

“The Akademiya is not infallible,” Scaramouche states bluntly, crossing his arms.

“But… the Akasha… the scholars have been able to preserve knowledge for generations,” you counter weakly.

“Not every truth stored is truly truthful,” he retorts. “Perhaps the kabukimono wished for his own story to remain unknown.”

You contemplate his words. “How can you be so certain?” you ask.

A subtle smirk ghosts his lips, and in an instant, clarity washes over you.

“You’re… you’re the kabukimono,” you breathe a sigh of disbelief and awe. The implications settle in your mind like the final pieces of an intricate puzzle. It all fits — the haunting melancholy in his eyes, his intricate knowledge of the past, and his willingness to share the painful truth, no matter how dark it may be.

Scaramouche remains silent, his enigmatic smirk still plastered across his face. It speaks volumes, confirming your thoughts.

Still reeling from his revelation, you meet his inscrutable gaze, a question look in your eyes. “Why reveal this to me?” you inquire, voice filled with caution. “How can you be sure that I won’t go and share this with the Akademiya scholars?”

His grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Ah, my dear street performer, it’s because I saw a kindred spirit within you. And besides, the Akademiya scholars… their pursuit of knowledge often blinds them to the depth of human experience.”

Scaramouche rises from his seat, the scraping sound of his chair against the chair breaking your thoughts. “It’s time for me to go,” he declares. “But if you’re willing, I can divulge more about the history of the kabukimono.”

You feel a flutter of anticipation at his words. “And what do you ask in return?” you inquire cautiously.

“I wish to hear more of your voice,” he admits sincerely, a surprising vulnerability seeping into his words. “If you are willing, meet me at Pharos Lighthouse, a week from now, before the break of dawn.”

And with that hopeful promise, Scaramouche departs, melting into the inky shadows of the tavern.

You remain rooted to your seat long after he takes his leave, mind reeling from the encounter. Your heart still drums erratically, head spinning, his revelations bringing up more questions than answers.

Ordering another glass of palm wine, you sip, hoping its sweet tones may calm your fraying nerves. You turn the conversation over and over, looking for a different, perhaps a deeper, meaning behind his words.

By the time your glass is empty, a weariness has settled into your bones. You offer a quiet nod of gratitude to the tavern keeper, and exit into the night.

Cool air washes over you as you step into the lamplit street, the ethereal glow of the moon overhead. And as you walk the familiar path that leads to your home, finding solace in the rhythm of the journey, the events of the night replay in your mind.

You make your way home, eager for what the future holds and the mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

*Translation of the song:

He wanders the world full of wild colors, A spirit unrestrained, a mind uncontained. Wandering eccentric.

Author's note: I AM BACK! I AM ALIVE!

University sure kicked my ass (and is still kicking it lol). I am still working on one more request, as well as the next chapter of L ♡ V E R ⇌ L ⦻ S E R (I have not forgotten about it, I promise)

#genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer x y/n #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #genshin impact #genshin imagines #request #scaramouche #wanderer

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