✧ Last Song — AYZHA NYREE X NO GUIDANCE REMIX , Yzha Nyree - No Guidance (sped Up)

˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOU ARE A LIGHT OF EYES OF MINE꒱ ˎˊ˗ ballader / wanderer

you are a ray of light in his impenetrable darkness..

✧ warnings — mention of angst, fem ! reader, doomed relationship, mention of organs. ✧ a/n — sorry for the absence, i was busy writing part 3 of the fic with yandere scara) but for now enjoy a little angst ( BRUUH I will delete this shii tomorrow 💀)

must listen with .. A Little Death – The Neighbourhood

Scaramouche had been stabbed in the back three times, but only after the third time had he finally learned not to expose her to the blow, but to strike first. It was easy to hate people - easier than he had initially thought. Vicious, petty, deceitful and infinitely selfless in their desire to prolong life at any cost, even when it was devoid of the slightest sense… They worshiped the Gods with the most sincere faces, and then sinned with selfless rapture. They smiled kindly, showered pleasantries as if they were gold coins, but each time they began to swear as soon as they realized that there was no longer any need for pretense.

And that made it even more disgusting to realize that some part of his non-existent puppet soul continued to stubbornly strive to acquire this very notorious "humanity". The emptiness where the ribs should have been itched and burned - and he hoped to fill this hole with someone else's blood, pain and suffering.

Killing people is also simple - simpler than he initially thought. They have fragile bones, soft skin and hot hearts that beat in his palms in the last dying fit with quivering clots of bloody flesh.

But the Balladeer did not see beauty in human hearts - slippery, disgusting to the touch and foul-smelling. Disgusting even from an aesthetic point of view. He sincerely tried to discern something in them that would arouse at least a bit of interest in him, but stubbornly did not find it. Or he simply desperately did not want to notice anything, in order to finally convince himself that imitation of people is a waste of time, effort, not worth its cost.

The Electro Archon puppet is created to be the perfect vessel for the Deity. He is above people by right of his birth, by any other right that exists. Electro Gnosis alone will be more than enough to replace some pathetic piece of flesh that drives blood through the veins.

The divine doll Electro Archon was hardly interested in the human body in such a… vicious and obscene aspect.

If he had no need for food, water, or banal rest, then for bed games - and even more so! And did Raiden think about such functions of the puppet organism, creating it…

But when he found such an innocent and bright creature as you, somehow managed to change his opinion about the human race. Hah.. In all his 500 years, he could not even imagine that a creature like him would so tenderly embrace, so passionately kiss and speak such sickeningly sweet words to some human maiden…; he always considered human feelings so alien and forgotten for him, Its uch an unearthly and alien feeling for him… so wrong, but so pleasant… It's as if you're dispelling his bitterness with your sweet taste.

He had no idea how he allowed some girl like you to cross the dangerous line and get so close to him.. Although he does not regret anything. But sometimes he thinks that it was better to kill you then than to break your fragile, like crystal soul into a thousand pieces… He initially understood that your attachment to him was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee

If you told a genshin player back in 2020/2021 that this would one day be possible, they'd call you crazy.

I'm having a stroke.

Happy Birthday, Wanderer!

I've told you there's no need for gifts, so what's with this handmade thing? The craftsmanship is... mediocre. Is this how you see me?

Whatever. I've already gotten plenty of unusual stuff from you, so what's one more?

Hmm? Wait, even Durin prepared something?

...Alright, fine. You guys sure come up with plenty of ideas. And look at you, grinning like that. I'm starting to think you're the ones who've been looking forward to this day.

Reblog this with a gif of your Blorbo

Which genshin impact character(s) are you full on down bad obsessed with?

Wanderer. Not only because I relate to this man so bad but also because he looks so bbg. Also has a very cool hat. I am holding back the urge to yap endlessly about this man. But I absolutely hate how the fandom keeps mischaracterizing him or sexualizing him. Like okay, sure. Be horny for him and all that but stop making him be a fucking sex slave and everything. I may be part of the Scaranation but most of the Scaranation disgusts me more than I dislike most people. Now I know I said be horny with them or whatever but don't be horny for fucking Kabukimono, this innocent little bb doesn't deserve that. Let him keep his innocence. It won't last for long anyway. I hate the fanon version of Scaramouche which is either like "Oh he can do no wrong!!" Or "Oh but he's just an UwU boii!!" Or shit like that because NOO. You're missing the entire point of his character. He was a puppet. He was misled into thinking everyone betrayed him and he did horrible things. The point of erasing himself from Irminsul was not just because of self hatred, he wanted to reverse his terrible actions. It didn't, he has to live with the guilt of every single mistake he has committed and overcome it. He is not a femboy, he is not UwU, he is not a sex doll and he can do wrong. I know this is a fictional character in which it doesn't matter what you do with him, so I'm not gonna be like those Scaramouche fans that bash and wish death upon people for including the tiniest thing relating to Wanderer just because he's their comfort character. I'm not gonna gatekeep him as long as people start treating him with some goddamn respect. That's all I want for him. For his fanbase to give him some space and respect him or at the very least sympathize with him. Now, if you don't wanna that's fine. Walk away. But you shouldn't take your hatred for him out on anyone or anything, in real life. If you hate him, that's okay too. People can have their opinions but don't go bashing people for it.

Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

body painting with flowers man

only with you.

angst & comfort. gn!reader × wanderer. wc 1.7k

summary. non-sexual nudity & intimacy; body painting with flowers; recollection of past events (wanderer).

sumeru is a dualistic region. where knowledge and reincarnation richly seep through every concept there is, it would still not exist without any ignorance, nor destruction. one needs another to thrive. 

wanderer himself is a dual man—a human being without an organic heart yet a puppet with feelings. somebody, who had multiple names throughout. somebody, who once had a mother; friends. somebody, who was given a midway place in this world across his journey. as a wanderer, he is said to have no name, kin, or destination.

maybe there is a definite reason for him to spend the majority of his time in sumeru after all. as he originated from inazuma, a land of isolated eternity, spent years at the claws of the notorious nation of snezhnaya and—seeking his ascension to godhood, eventual prosperity, and validation at last—was forced into flimsy redemption in sumeru.

wanderer self-destructed his ignorance to reincarnate it as full of knowledge; to shape his existence anew. all of this for him to question himself and suffer the same.

the sacred tree of the world—irminsul—answered the questions he always sought and yet, he was betrayed once again. wisdom is a heavy burden with a great cost; it could be one’s demise. ignorance to him was, indeed, a bliss. as well as oblivion, which he was stripped of in a little of a while. 

since the day he had to relive his entire lifetime in a minute and earned an anemo vision in the process, the world around him changed. in fact, he met you, who made a significant change to his demeanor. wanderer may not be the best companion there is, however, you both always seek each other in a crowd. even if there is none of it.

the sunset is pretty today, you think as you immerse yourself up to the chin into the lukewarm water underneath the waterfall of gandharva ville. wanderer remained apart from you for a while. he was hesitant. he may have a synthetic body of a puppet, but being stark naked in front of you felt way too vulnerable by his nature. it felt like cutting himself open and letting himself go free.

he was never free to begin with. freedom to each is a different concept. the day the god of eternity sealed his power and hid him like a failure of hers, followed by letting him roam free, he chained his mind to different intentions of ei’s. he felt neglected and deprived of who he was meant to be—not knowing he was a mere prototype, never designed to hold and wield the electro gnosis; whose existence was about to be terminated right before they saw him cry in his sleep—rather than free.

he had no given name nor a home to get back to at the end of the day. so, naturally, when fatui took him under their wings, he felt that being the sixth seat was his rightful place. 

there were many kind people in his early ordinary days of learning how to be human between the time he was discarded and given the title of the balladeer. your way of carrying oneself immensely reminds him of them all. sometimes it can be agonizing to wanderer, but lovely just the same. he reacts to your eyes, inviting him to join you bathing in the stream while the sun slowly sets. 

erstwhile clear water, due to the reflection of the sky, is dyeing itself in colors of yellow, orange, violet, and pink. the river takes its appearance like the flower field around you at once. 

as wanderer takes his clothes off, he is quickly submerging himself into and under the water. it is shallow, so you can swiftly reach his side. you have qualms about whether he would let you come closer, despite that, you carefully stretch your hands towards his shoulders. you sit him up. he has a lot on his mind lately, thus, he lets you take care of him without thinking much. to tell the truth, he trusts you to a great extent, knowing you would catch him if he fell—literally and figuratively. 

you pluck a lone flower from the floral field. it is greenish blue, or rather turquoise, in color. one would rarely see it blossom. the color reminds you of wanderer’s tattoos’ when they glow with power.

you slowly trace them with luminous petals, so it leaves dye markings; barely visible, but you both know it’s there nevertheless. it is a silly activity yet remarkably intimate for either. he does not feel skin contact the same as everyone else, regardless, he gets chills from your delicate brushes.

somehow you do not care about him being born unhuman at all. maybe because in your mind he is the most human one could be—cruel and all the things beautiful at the same time; imperfect. 

you offer him another flower of your favorite color, for him to paint on your bare body as well. he is skeptical, however, it takes only a moment to engage in the act. you shiver every time he tries touching you softly. neither of you talk. 

you warily touch his face then. the pink rose in your frail grip is kissing his cheeks, and nose, consciously avoiding his pursed lips as well as eyes, which are dyed burgundy anyways. the color was indeed deliberately chosen to imitate a blush of sorts. you thought it was cute. 

he is feeling your skin alongside, attentively selecting parts of your body you would be fine with; giving your consent to. it does vary how you react.

you reach for his chest subsequently, holding a flower of opaque red. you are faltering while drawing something. at that moment, he stops his own tracery and retracts his arm further from you; stays still. you painted a little heart on his chest. likewise, you keep looking at it in silence, smiling. 

it was a heart he was able to call his own. 

he remembers. puppet he is, abandoned by the almighty shogun for being overly human, but used as a tool by fatui ever since. in no way they saw a human—whereas he could not die and had an empty space of a heart. how can one be a human being without a heart? his existence contradicted itself in that sense.

as a harbinger, did he become more human then? when a tainted heart he got from the doctor saved him, it was offered to him in the form of the ashes to have in that empty shell of a place. at first, he did not know it was niwa's; that same withered one he discarded after condemning the entire incident as his second betrayal of cruel human nature. a human heart he yearns for is not worth the pain of another person’s death. 

afterward, he sought a gnosis to take that place instead. his luck was one of a kind really. the contentment he became so familiar with, was short-lived in the end. it was not a real heart anyhow. can the anemo vision he recently acquired serve as his vital core replacement?

each time he came into possession of a fill-in for a heart, someone else had to suffer. merely this time, he actually felt you blessed him with a heart he could be endowed with without any anguish. he put his singular hand up to his chest and held it pressed. he was fond of his ephemeral heart. 

you slowly but surely grasp his fingers. the puppet joints over the years looked almost seamless. it evidently looked human-like. you cautiously brush your lips against his knuckles, meeting his violet-blue eyes. do they twinkle—was it mirroring the stirring water on second thought? 

promptly, the serene moment of yours is interfered. you turn your head to unfamiliar hushed tones and humming. there pop up a few heads of plant-like forest spirits. you notice wanderer is gifted to see them as well. 

aranaras are critters, only to be seen by trustworthy dreamers of pure and kind hearts. it is a mystery really—wanderer’s ability to spot them. is he, not a doll without a heart; can he be regarded as good-natured; is he to be trusted… he is not a child either (but acting like one every once in a while). 

thereafter, wanderer stretches his hand toward a bright blue-colored creature, holding a yellow poppy. flowers make aranaras remember their friends whenever they meet. besides, they gain power from memories. do the spirits of sumeru forests lay hold of dreadful recollections as well? wanderer is brimful of them. 

after a while, wanderer looks in your direction. he is deep in thought at the moment, pondering who exactly he is. he does understand the concept of being human pretty well, yet he does have uncertainties about whether he can call himself one, partially at least. he did give up trying to be human in the distant past, though, he had experienced pieces of being human underway—having emotions, enduring pain, having a heart of some form, a place to live, a region to serve, people he called family, and a name. 

truthfully, he had a myriad of names; words he was called by others. he never deemed them his names frankly. nonetheless, he loved himself as kabukimono—the dolly wandering eccentric, perceived as naive and peculiar. deep inside he knows he did not stray far from his roots, it was simply eclipsed by the wounds of his past. 

he did name himself kunikuzushi, the world-destroyer once. alongside was given titles of the balladeer and scaramouche. it should be mentioned that whilst no man on teyvat recalls it being him—he was formerly known as the everlasting lord of arcane wisdom; shouki no kami, the prodigal, too. 

attempting erasure of himself, including rectifying past events that his existence, and rage-driven deeds caused, wanderer reincarnated into someone as curious as the young kabukimono. he opted for calling himself a wanderer. was he an eccentric one this time on top of that? at the end of the day, it all comes full circle. 

at present, he does go by a freshly given name, restraining himself with a new psyche all while making an effort to atone for his sins. he accepted his birth, not to mention, the entirety of his past. 

he looks all around his own porcelain-like skin, currently dyed with multiple colors. it tugs at his heartstrings. he does glance at your body then, admiring the art, positioned in front—meaning you, not the mindless drawings of flowers’ pigments on your figure. 

hence, he finally feels like he has reached the promised divinity. only whenever he is with you.

how to be Child

˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOUR GENTLE MADNESS꒱ ˎˊ˗ scaramouche

pt I - pt II - pt III

scaramouche takes you from this vicious, dirty world into his arms, twisting, tying, shackling you and not letting go.

✧ warnings — unhealthy attitude, forced affection , angst, singer ! fem ! reader , kidnapping , coercive relationship. ✧ a/n — two more chapters + epilogue are planned. The next one will be a terrible mess, I don’t advise those who are particularly impressionable to read it! So that later somebody don’t complain about me.

He takes you away from the dirty world without a twinge of conscience, and has no plans to give you back.

You follow him like an obedient dog, barely breathing and not raising your eyes from the ground. Scaramouche's fingers squeeze your wrist loosely, carefully, but it still seems to you that your hand is numb and trembling from his grip. He notices your shaking hand out of the corner of his eye and sighs, forcing a smile.

You have time to examine the small Inazuma house you entered and the gloomy hallway, and he pulls you further. He walks you to the very door of the bathroom and only then lets you go and leaves you alone.

And only then does all the horror wash over you like a wave.

You are heartbrokenly silent, feeling that you cannot force yourself to utter a sound. Convulsively open the tap and wash the blood from your wrist and palm. The sound of rushing water makes you feel sick, your eyes water, and you close them, forcing yourself not to cry. You peer into the reflection, wash the burgundy stains off your cheeks, and close your eyelids again. You calm

yourself down with difficulty and even out your breathing.

You gather your thoughts and with titanic calm on your face, you enter a small living room in the Inazuma style, where you find Balladeer.

"What next..?"

You try, however, to make your voice sound confident, but it turns out to be hoarse to the point of disgrace, which makes the harbinger laugh.

"It's obvious, sunshine, you will live with me."

He grins. You are covered in frost, and your whole face acquires hard features. How unbroken, stubborn, strong you want to seem in the eyes of the harbinger brings him to tenderness. You hide all your fear behind sarcasm and irony.

"Pha, the last thing I wanted in my thrice-wanked life was to be held captive by some megalomaniac."

You respond sharply, to which he smirks, surprised by your ability to be sarcastic, he does not even respond to your remark and insult. Scaramouche closes his eyes and folds his arms over his chest, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.

It seemed like you wanted to add something, but you turn around and leave. This amuses Balladeer even more. It is hard for him to imagine how gray and atrophied his century-long existence was before you appeared. Now, after each Fatui task, after a trip to Snezhnaya for the sake of a meeting, after completing another stage in becoming a God, when he returns to you, Scaramouche is met by the cold gleam of your eyes, and the strands of your hair braided by his own hands.

The first few days you look like a ghost. You hide, barely move, and keep your mouth shut. Fear crawls under your skin and tickles your ribs - fear of pain, fear of loneliness, fear of the unknown. You keep waiting for something merciless, restrictive, perverted, but Scaramouche does nothing and only occasionally catches your silhouette with his gaze.

Scaramouche is not one to wait patiently when he has every opportunity to take his own immediately. But he gives you time, like a merciful deity.

"You're late. I was hoping you wouldn't come back,"  You can't help but let out a rude retort. The harbinger walks into the kitchen, taking off his hat, leaning against the door frame, and says sarcastically, drawing out the words: "Oh, look,voice has already emerged huh?"   

You grimace, burning your hands with a cup of hot tea. "What's new, other than you were worried about me?"   

"Me? Worried about you? Don't flatter yourself"

You grin, the puppet knows exactly which weak points to press so that you react, transform, become softer.

"What's new about being cooped up inside?" You raise an eyebrow skeptically and chuckle, leaning back in your chair. "I created a new salad recipe from what I found, meditated, and developed a speech, coming up with fifty epithets for your name. I'll make a song out of it." 

"It's so sweet that you thought of me, I would have listened," - He squints slyly and goes to the countertop to make strong, bitter tea. Bitterness with the taste of bitterness. He himself hides his usual cynicism, as if pushing needles back under the skin. He is irreconcilably drawn to this barely familiar feeling.

Your mutual mockery is diluted with calm conversations about something personal and everyday, sometimes you talk about the past while he braids your hair into a light braid (and you, initially, did not agree). You relax a little, almost get used to it and begin to notice how non-committal and calm Balladeer can be. It seems that he does not need anything at all, except your presence and involvement.

The false sense of security becomes too clear and all-encompassing. You convince yourself of the falsity of this feeling, beg yourself to be stronger and more stable, but inevitably you open up and respond to the most obvious manipulation of the harbinger.

You can't do otherwise. Otherwise, you'll just go crazy from loneliness in a cage. And is it possible not to think about how truly good Scaramouche can be when signs of a peculiar silent care are embedded in your consciousness: You'll find a blanket in your room: the harbinger knows for sure that you're freezing at home in particularly windy weather and therefore love everything warm, you bury yourself in the blanket and do something. Or in the morning you'll see a still-hot mug of tea with your favorite flavor on the kitchen table: the harbinger has accurately calculated the time of your rise and food preferences.

It throws you off balance. You have to pull yourself away and replay the images of what happened in your head over and over again. You remember he's a murderer, right? You remember his hands covered in someone else's blood and that guy's sclera? (The sclera is like the eye who dont know)

Now will you drink tea brewed by these hands? Or wrap yourself in a blanket bought after another murder? 

 Yes...

You should have felt disgusted, but no matter how hard you tried, you didn't feel anything close to that. But you felt how his cruel, dark image, invented by you, was breaking into pieces and becoming better in some ways, more ideal in many ways. To a pleasant surprise. You once again take a mug and sit down in an armchair in the living room, covering your legs with a blanket. On a nearby table, you find a book in a red hard cover with ornate silver patterns.

 "All sorts of synonyms to enrich speech." And, to your horror, you smile sincerely and laugh infectiously at his mockery.

"I need to go to the market square," you casually drop, combing your hair in front of the mirror. Late evening has crept up unnoticed and settled on the window panes with the night darkness and howling wind, too similar to someone's helpless crying. Scaramouche is distracted from some inazuma book and looks at you, or rather at your reflection in the mirror.

"For what?"

You sigh in irritation and, without turning around, answer sarcastically: - "Let me remember what a retail space might be needed for. If my memory serves me right, to buy something!"

"Oh, and have you forgotten how to open doors?" - You wind your eyes in surprise, stop combing your hair, putting the comb aside. In the reflection of the mirror you see his casual look. - "Go and buy some."

Scaramouche is not one of those who willingly respond to all requests. And yet Balladeer allows you too much. Generously provides independence, does not constrain movement, loosens the invisible noose. - "But for this liberty you will sing to me," he smiles playfully, baring his incisors, and squints. You suppress a dismissive laugh and, without trying to hide the lie in your words, echo:

"of course..! "

Scaramouche catches that this means never, and laughs. How sharp you are. You see in the reflection how his features soften, take on shades of innocence, and so he freezes between two extremes. You exhale through your open mouth and hold your gaze on him longer than necessary.

Threads - into knots, knots - into nets, and in them only to get entangled and to sink to the bottom. No balance and equilibrium.

You scrape your tongue against your teeth and force yourself to come to your senses while Scaramouche "unties your hands."

And, as it turns out, in vain.

be ready..

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance

Do you guys think I should change the title of my yandere scaramouche fic? I think either “Annihilation” or “Your gentle madness” WHICH IS MOST SUITABLE.. or just “don’t hug me. I’m scared”

@hairstuckinmythroat  @shyentsfoundherink @rsventhesecondd

omg art is so cool!!

happy birthday wanderer ☂️🎈💙