#balladeer

[tikowitika]

Fatui Coat Scaramouche, how silly you are

At long last we got to see Scaramouche and Signora in their fatui coats, thank you hoyo TAT

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 18: stray

NOTE: in celebration of march, tumblr no longer banned, and my exam for tomorrow getting postponed !

Dark clouds. Gray-hued skies. Misty air. Cold breeze. Pouring rain. Droplets unrelenting. And you in your comfiest sweater. 

This is what you’d call a nice weather.

Except when you’re outside, being the one drenched by rain. 

“Meow.”

Oh, and there’s someone else with you, too.

You frowned. “I know, it’s cold, isn’t it? Don’t worry, we’re getting inside now.”

The kitten quietly shivers in your arms. You automatically try to give it warmth by rubbing your cozy, knitted sleeves against it — only to realize that it was useless because your clothes were as soaked as its fur.

You hurried inside your condominium building, only nodding at the guard instead of your usual greetings. Fortunately, the elevator arrived quickly today. ‘Honestly, who would want to go outside in this crazy weather?!’ 

Now walking along your floor’s hallway, you were mentally berating yourself for causing such a trail of mess that the maintenance staff would have to clean up. 

‘I am NOT forgetting my umbrella anymore.’

‘Or maybe I should just not go outside anymore.’

‘I’ve left a trail of puddles, haven’t I? Then they would follow the trail and trace it to my unit. Then they’re gonna know it’s me. Oh god—’

“[Name]?” You’d recognize that familiar, sharp tone anywhere. “Why the fuck are you so wet?”

Huh?

You blinked. “What?”

“What ‘what’?”

You cough in an attempt to swallow down the laughter bubbling in your throat. Scaramouche panics, running to get closer. Though, when he does, he fusses. Arms only hovering, not touching. Lips merely parting, voicing out nothing.

He doesn’t know what to do.

So he does what he does best.

“This is what you get from showering in the rain.”

Masking his intentions through crafted teasing.

Your face heats up at the close proximity, sensing his hand closely behind you. An inch closer and you’re sure he’d come in contact with the drenched fabric of your sweater. And the sheer knowledge of what could be causes you to fail in discerning whether the shiver that just ran down your spine was because of the cold, or because of him.

You laugh to distract both yourselves. “That’s not why I coughed, Scara! Why would you say it like that earlier!”

“What did I say?”

“You asked me why I was wet!” 

His brows furrow. “But you are?”

Your lips curve, but you don’t reply. You only stare back, hoping that he’d realize what you were pointing at by himself.

Scaramouche thought he’d seen delight in all forms, but you managed to surprise him in another way again. Or maybe he just wasn’t looking at others properly before, and this was the first time he did. Because since when did pure amusement look so apparent in one’s eyes? So bright and glistening, so much so that not even the twinkling raindrops resting in your eyelashes could repress it.

He just stays still standing there for a while that you’re the one starting to get embarrassed instead of him. Was he really that slow or is your mind just so… questionable? You almost think that you should just let it go because he doesn’t seem to get it, but you notice his ears starting to flush red.

You smile. He blinks. 

“So you realize now what you said. Good to know my mind isn’t the issue here!”

“What?”

You hum, not bothering to repeat what it is he said earlier in consideration for Scaramouche’s pride. At least he now knows! So he’s also the type who gets embarrassed by stuff like that.

‘Him with his flushed ears looked so adorable.’

Meanwhile, the man with you remained puzzled. He was just admiring your eyes. 

So what the fuck did he say earlier that made you this teasing?

Scaramouche sighs. “Dry yourself immediately when you enter your unit. Take a quick shower, too. Don’t let yourself get sick.”

“But I have to dry the kitten first.” You raise up the kitten even more. “It’s shivering, see? It might get sick.”

“And you won’t?” He flicks your forehead and gives a contemplative stare at the kitten in your arms, before finally sighing and taking the little one away from you.

“Hm?”

“I’ll dry him instead. You go ahead and have a warm shower first. Come back to my unit after you’re done.”

“Okay, I’ll just ring the —”

“The passcode’s ‘0-1-0-3’.”

Hello?

“Why are you telling me your passcode?! Are you stupid?!”

He smirks. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of that question for once.”

“Shush! No, why did I even ask. You’re actually stupid.”

“I’m not. I just thought, aren’t we friends at this point?”

“Wait, really?”

“Ouch,” he says plainly. “Was I the only one thinking that?”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way! Fine then, I’ll say mine too.”

“You don’t have t—”

“Mine is ‘0-3-0-1’.”

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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NOTE: so like, if we think about it, at the end, yn did call scara sir 🤔🤗 also song lyrics scara wrote is from 'aphrodite' by the ridleys ^^ pls listen if u still haven't it's such a good song :))

TAGLIST I (closed)

@kararisa @aries-afk @aetherialcrafter @jamieexistss @lordbugs @aerisellesuchi @adres-tia @luvlockettt @kinichval @miiltrix @suzueuieeeee @automaticpatroltragedy @ahirusstuff @kyuki07 @kunikuni1819 @hungryreadingaddict @deariroha @rosieyama @slayzzz @tired-jaz @mellowberrie @kyouzki @riabriyn @ravenbc @lalalaloveallmydays @moonlitreveri3 @skyoverkill1 @kinbedo @phoenix-eclipses @yomishen @anemosmybeloved @iaraluvs @kunikuzushiit @lockandkeys @yoursockstinks @idkwhattoputasmyusernme @d1gital-data @shyentsmissingink @liuaneee @najaemism @mywillt0live @aswiftiechildofapollo @toekissers @meigalaxy @nishiriks @executeher @verafunny @gl00muraaii @lily-isalittlegirl @just-a-hopeless-romantic

[ange-lya]

he's just a poor boy, he needs no sympathy

[avnasace]

where is the tsaritsa finding these harbingers goddamn bc so far we have:

a royal mage from khaenriah

capitano (no spoilers but those who played 5.1 you know what i mean)

evil very intelligent doctor who experiments with god remains and dabbles in educational crimes, (DO NOT let him near children)

columbina.

a cursed child from a thought-extinct khaenriahn bloodline with shadow fire blood ish magic who runs an orphanage

a politician

the inazuman puppet made by a traumatised god who got discarded by said god, who went on to join the fatui out of spite and grief, almost brought inazuma to its knees, stole a gnosis, made himself a god, then erased himself from history and went to uni

lady and her svarog who we know nothing about except that she created katherine which could be either very wholesome or very sinister

mondstadtian crimson witch of flames 'im the only one around here who gets shit done' la signora (R.I.P)

a banker

local guy in his mid twenties who fell in a hole as a child, went briefly to hell, came back feral and probably traumatised, has a heart of gold but also an 'i want to fight god at every opportunity' complex. was ready to sink a nation bc the hot god said so, and bro can also turn into an 8ft strangely hot abyssal creature and fought an intergalactic all powerful world devouring whale for like 40 days straight.

[kkuzushi]

ᯓ Blowing Off Steam ⋆⭒˚.

⠀✦ cw : powerbottom!Scaramouche x gn!Reader | oral fixation (blowjob + giving), power play, mild degradation/humiliation, choking/gagging/breath play - 1.8k words

⠀✦ additional notes : Warming up after being gone for so long. I also just wanted to write more power bottoms due to popular demand. <3

Scaramouche sat on the couch, his arms crossed, irritation written all over his face. He refused to look at you, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense.

The day’s been rough to him, just like any other day. The endless pressure, the sharp-tongued arguments, the weight of expectations pressing down on him—it was all too much. The last thing the harbinger wanted to do was deal with the likes of you.

“You’re impossible,” you sighed, stepping closer. “You’re all wound up, and you won’t do anything about it.”

His eyes flicked to you, sharp and unamused. “And you just can’t help yourself, can you? Always meddling.”

You scoffed, arms crossing to mirror his posture. “Meddling? You’re miserable, and I’m offering to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, rolling his eyes. “I’ve handled worse days without you hovering.”

“Oh, so you admit it’s a bad day.” You smirked at his frown. “Would it kill you to let someone take care of you for once?”

His glare sharpened. “You’re delusional if you think I’m going to just sit here and let you—”

“Let me what?” You stepped closer, leaning down, challenging him. “Touch you? Make you feel good?”

His lips parted, but no words came out. A hint of color dusted his cheeks, though his defiance didn’t waver. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stubborn.” You tilted your head, lowering yourself in front of him. “But I know you want this.”

His hands twitched, hovering over his seat, his breath a little unsteady. “Tch. If you’re going to do something, do it properly.”

You rolled your eyes, hands traveling to his crossed legs, prying them apart. Scaramouche watched with reluctant interest, his finger tapping rhythmically on the armrest.

You made quick work of untying the sash at his waist, tugging at the fabric of his shorts. They slipped down easily, pooling around his thighs—but the moment you reached for the tight leggings underneath, you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“No wonder you’re stressed all the time,” you muttered, tugging at the clinging material. “You wear way too much shit.”

Scaramouche scoffed, glaring down at you. “Don’t insult my fashion, you imbecile—” His words cut off into a sharp inhale as you tugged the leggings down in one smooth motion, a little rougher than necessary.

In the same instant, his hardening cock slapped against your cheek. Scaramouche’s entire body tensed, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitched, his glare sharp enough to kill. But he said nothing.

You, on the other hand, slowly blinked before a smug grin curled on your lips.

“See?” You tilted your head, voice dripping with amusement. “You need this badly,” you leaned in, one hand wrapping around his shaft as the other stayed on his thigh.

You pressed a lingering kiss against the tip, slow and deliberate, watching as Scaramouche’s gulped. His breath hitched—barely, but you caught it.

Then, just to be cruel, you dragged your tongue along the underside at an agonizing pace, tracing every little twitch, every little shift of his hips as he tried not to react.

His breath came uneven now, chest rising and falling in shallow, irritated exhales. His fingers twitched again—this time moving to your hair, not quite gripping, but the warning was there.

“EnounMF!”

His words dissolved into a gasp as you finally took him in, all at once, no more teasing. His head snapped back against the couch, fingers digging into your scalp as a ragged breath left his lips. For a moment, all that arrogance, all that restraint, vanished.

You barely had time to smirk before his grip tightened, hips shifting forward as if testing just how much you’d let him take. His lips parted, and then, just like that, he was back—composure slipping back into place, though it wavered at the edges.

“Fucking finally,” he muttered, though his voice was weaker than before, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you work.

His lashes fluttered, breath coming heavier, but his attitude remained intact. “Slower,” he ordered, his voice wavering slightly. Then, a sharp intake of breath. “No—faster.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Make up your mind.”

His nails dug into your skin as he let out something close to a whimper, quickly masked by a haughty scoff. “You should be grateful I’m letting you do this at all.”

You leaned in, lips brushing the forming precum. “Oh, you’re letting me?”

Scaramouche shivered, tilting his head back against the couch, his smirk faltering as pleasure overtook his composure. “Shut up and keep going.”

And who were you to deny him?

His thighs trembled beneath your hands, tension coiling tight, but even now, he refused to give up control. His fingers curled in your hair, not pulling—yet—but firm enough to remind you who was really in charge here.

“Ohmnn–” The sound slipped before he could bite it back, sharp and breathy, but he recovered fast. His grip tightened, pressing you closer, guiding rather than forcing.

You smirked against him. “Getting impatient?”

His response was immediate—a quick tug at your hair, just enough to make you wince. “Less talking, more suckingh–!” he bit out, his voice unsteady but still dripping with arrogance.

His grip in your hair suddenly tightened, yanking you down with zero warning. “gHLK–!?” Your throat clenched around his length as a choked, muffled gag escaped, your hands scrambling against his thighs.

A sharp inhale from above—then a quiet, breathless chuckle. “Oh? Too much?”

Your eyes watered as you tried to pull back, but his fingers only tightened, keeping you there just a moment longer, just until your body trembled with the effort to breathe.

Then, finally, he eased up, just enough for you to gasp, drool spilling down your chin as you inhaled sharply.

Your glare burned into him, but just as you went all out—taking him deep, fast, relentless—his hand tightened in your hair, yanking you back just enough to make you stop in your tracks.

A breathless, shaky laugh left him. “Getting bold, aren’t you?” His voice wavered, but the authority was still there. “I don’t remember telling you to do that.”

Even as his thighs trembled, as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, he still forced your pace, guiding you back down—but slower this time, dragging it out, making sure you obeyed him.

“Try that again,” he murmured, breath hitching, “and I’ll make sure you really struggle to breathe.”

You would have argued back if your mouth weren’t too preoccupied with his dick. The wet, obscene sounds echoed in the space between you, each lewd noise only spurring Scaramouche on further.

Once again, he pushes you down, forcing you to take his length in one go. “Mmhnn..! So warm..” His legs trembled against your shoulders, it’s almost like the harbinger wants to wrap them around your head and never let go.

You blinked away the tears that formed the longer you stayed in that position. His cock throbbed deep inside, pushed to the back of your throat. “Mpph– hgKhh–!” You’d gag before he allowed you to pull back and catch your breath, only to push you right back into the same motions.

When you looked up at him, you were almost surprised—despite how demanding he'd been, Scaramouche looked more debauched than ever.

His glare has softened to half-lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape with drool forming on the corners. “What’s with that look?” The Balladeer cuts through your thoughts, his fingers tightening around the strands of hair.

He didn’t look away though, and neither did you. The eye contact made everything else intimate, if you’d ignore the way he’s been roughly handling you.

As the two of you stared at each other, you continued with your ministrations. Your saliva has mixed with his precum already, creating a salty yet uniquely Scaramouche taste.. if that even made sense to your taste buds.

The harbinger’s breathing starts to get heavier, his grip faltering. “Fuck. I can’t take this anymore,” he hissed. “Make me cum already.”

The tension in his body was unmistakable, every muscle coiled as he sought the release he’d been denying himself. Though he commanded you, it felt as if there was no choice left for you to make.

His breath quickened, and his hand tightened in your hair as he started to move his hips, thrusting with a desperation that gave you no chance to resist. His free hand moved to the side of your face as if guiding your head wasn’t enough.

“Faster–ah!♡♡–damn it,” Scaramouche’s voice broke, each word laced with frustration as his hips started to move on their own. “I can’thngh♡—don't you dare stop..!”

Scaramouche’s cock thrusted in and out of your mouth with ease, but it was no longer a show of dominance—it was desperate, borderline needy. His movements lost their rhythm, hips jerking erratically as if he couldn’t decide between restraint and indulgence.

Your head bobbed in time with his hips, forcing you to fight off your gag reflex. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on breathing through your nose.

His hand threaded through your hair, pulling you closer with a low groan. “Please, don’t stop... don’t mm♡♡fucking stop,” he gasped, the edge of his command faltering into something more unhinged.

“I’m close–” he whines, “Soclosesoclosee!♡” And then, in one swift motion, it was over. Scaramouche’s release came crashing down, spilling over your lips, your mouth, the warmth overwhelming you.

He cried out as his hips jerked, his fingers digging into your scalp, holding you firmly in place. His chest heaved as he stilled, back arching towards your face.

Your mouth worked overtime, dragging out the harbinger’s pleasure as you had no choice but to endure the aftermath of his release. Each movement sent another shudder through his body, his grip tightening, his breath hitching with every twitch.

The pleasure crashed into him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping as stars burst behind his eyelids, his vision going hazy. His eyes rolled back, lips parting in a silent cry, as if Celestia itself had momentarily pulled him into its grasp.

His grip finally loosened, and he slumped back against the couch, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. A shudder ran through his body as he tried to compose himself.

You slowly pulled his softening cock out, careful not to overstimulate the man. Luckily for him, you had swallowed down all his essence—not like you had a choice when he came straight down to your throat.

For a moment, there was only silence—except for the heavy sound of his breathing and the wet slickness on your skin. You joined him on the couch, his head abruptly falling to your shoulder just in time.

“Stay,” he murmured, still catching his breath.

You huffed a quiet laugh, wiping your lips. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

© kkuzushi | Please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize my work. This fic is posted in Tumblr only unless stated otherwise by yours truly.

[xinyiz]

Imagine if fatui Scaramouche ever got to encounter Albedo

The parallel and contrast between them is insane—Albedo yearning for the very thing that happened to “ruin” Scaramouche’s life is *chefs kiss* (I also wanted to draw scaramouche letting everything out and crying and breaking down)

[bitter69uk]

“Billie Holiday named him as her favourite singer and Madonna claims he’s the only vocalist who ever made her cry – how’s that for endurance? Scott was born … with a hormonal deficiency that denied him puberty and left with a voice that is frequently mistaken for a woman’s. Betwixt nature and craft, he developed into a yearning, subtly rhythmic balladeer whose high register casts a heady spell – the ethereal counterpart to the low, chocolaty pulse of baritones such as Billy Eckstine and Johnny Hartman. Scott has suffered more than the jazzman’s usual share of pain, neglect and betrayal, but in his eighth decade he is doing some of his best work, recorded at last with care and respect, his voice still strong despite a plaintive crack Holiday would surely understand.”

/ From the November 2003 “American Music” issue of Vanity Fair magazine /

“Everything about the singer is a question mark, starting with his maddening, asexual voice. It could shoot stratospherically high, trail off into a sob-stained vibratto, then descend into a cry so low-down it could shatter the toughest R&B singer. And for all the emotion, he never sounded piteous or weak. Jimmy had no use for falsetto histrionics or on-the-knees pleading. No wonder gospel singers whispered his name, women followed him home, junkies and drag queens idolized him. Jimmy Scott understood.”

/ From “Jimmy Scott: For Whatever the Reasons” by Jimmy McDonough, The Village Voice, 1988 /

Born on this day: haunting jazz vocalist Jimmy Scott (aka “Little Jimmy Scott”, James Victor Scott, 17 July 1925 – 12 June 2014). I was privileged to see the unearthly Scott perform several times in London in the 2000s and it was always a powerful experience. (And like Madonna, he made me cry more than once! Scott makes a cameo appearance in the video for Madonna’s 1994 single “Secret”). For anyone unfamiliar with Scott’s work, the lushly romantic 1962 album Falling in Love is Wonderful (widely regarded as his magnum opus) is a good place to start. David Lynch aficionados already know Scott: he crooned the eerie “Sycamore Trees” against a red velvet curtain in the final episode of season two of Twin Peaks.