#scaramouche!!

[softyswork]

https://twitter.com/scarapics/status/1599249034786799617?s=46&t=czadyjRdPxJElOoNY_tYzg

Scaramouche turning into a bad tempered cat that you take in 🥺

[softyswork]

Scaramouche having a hole where his heart should be. Literally. He hides the cavernous space quite well under his clothes, well enough that you only see it by accident. Things click into place. Now you know why he stays on top while making you undress, why he doesn't want to dress in your presence, now you know that his doll-like looks extends to more than just his face. A part of you wonders if the reason why he treats you so inhumanely is due to his own lack of humanity, but another part of you thinks against it; the scowl he serves you is very human. When you try to touch the uneven cracks that spread across his chest he slaps your hand away and gets flustered. Turns out that it's actually his sensitive spot. Maybe you should experiment and see if you can drag out the same desperate noises he mocks you for making.

His ornate robes, the metal chest piece that he has you rest your head against at night was all a ruse to fool you. Not that his treatment had left doubts in your heart of his monstrous nature; the scowl and brilliant flush of his cheeks as he slaps your hand away only make you more vindictive.

A kiss to his breastplate, asking to show you the space once more. You wish to only fill it with your love. Your saccharine words only cause him to furrow his brow and sharpen his tongue as he tells you to stop your foolish spiel.

You’ll chip away at him, slowly. He hasn’t bedded you since your discovery of his missing parts, disliking how your hands and lips always settle upon that one spot. Scaramouche will consider binding your hands to the wall to keep them down and covering your mouth to lay with you but your eyes speak to him regardless.

[softyswork]

In ancient Inazuma it was the norm for noble women to stay inside and only receive visitors from behind a screen. The Sixth Harbinger is keen on keeping up that tradition despite the changing times; no one aside from him and the servants should cast their eyes on you.

You're stuck viewing the meeting through a silk screen while your lord talks with the Fatui dignitaries over boring topics that go over your head. You wish you were able to hide away in some other part of the estate, but as his 'wife' it's your duty to play the perfect hostess. How you're supposed to do so while being hidden away from view is a mystery, but you dare not question Scaramouche's reasoning, lest you suffer another nasty shock. You try not to catch his attention as you pick at the tatami mat out of boredom.

Childe's own interest in this meeting is waning; must it drag on for eternity? He's sure the topics could've been thoroughly addressed through letters, but he suspects that the Balladeer just wanted to flex his power by having them come all the way to him. The only thing keeping him awake is what's lurking behind the drawn screen; he can sense that someone is behind it. Curious. He decides to sate his curiosity and goes to take a peek under the screen. It can't hurt, right?

Ah. He can see why Scaramouche has you tucked away from view. You're pretty cute.

Anon, I am frothing at the mouth!!!

Scaramouche has expectations of his wife. He recites them to you as he takes in the exquisite kimono that your serving maid has dressed you in, his eyes falling upon the violet obi that matches his irises. A reminder of your lord’s whims and to obey even when you are apart.

If Inazuma is behind the times, then Scaramouche lags even further in history. The sheer silk of the screen allows you to glimpse the diplomats; one with copper hair whose head nods on occasion. You commiserate with him. You’d love to catch a quick nap, sometimes laying in bed and enduring your lord’s ire. “Your needlework? The shamisen?” He snaps without fail when seeing your shameless form sprawled out on the bed, the obi always too tight for you to loosen properly on your own. “I wished to rest longer with you in bed, Kunikuzushi. Will you lay with me for a short while?” Your saccarine words always please him even as he scoffs at you. It’s a scripted play of sorts, as he insults you for your laziness or slovenly appearance but does not insist that you leave the bed. “Well? I am here, am I not? Be grateful that I may indulge your whims.”

Scaramouche does not sleep. He pretends to, certainly. Looking at you greedily or allowing himself to brush his cool hands along your cheek with an affection that is rarely seen by your awakened self. You’ll awaken by feeling his weight shift on the bed, another book written in a language that is unknown to you in his hand and your head in his lap or on his chest.

[softyswork]

Scara knows how to keep house and knows when you aren't doing things the way he wants you to. Your sewing is atrocious, obviously he's going to teach you. Your cooking is terrible, clearly he needs to show you how to cook to his standards. Your efforts don't appease him, and you wonder why he even has servants and you if he complains so much.

You’ll think you’ve started hallucinating when Scaramouche comes into the kitchen, a neat kerchief and apron on. He’s organized and methodical as he chops and boils and fries, only snapping at you to pay attention to what he’s doing. In no time at all, there’s two bowls of shimi Chazuke and with a scowl, he puts down a platter of daigaku imo, quickly sprinkling sesame seeds over it.

“Stop gawking and eat. I expect you to replicate the same tomorrow.”

[softyswork]

Scaramouche doesn't like being toyed with. You're an oiran that has caught his eye, but you don't simper for his approval and attention and it vexes him. You always use his body for your own pleasure and leave afterwards. He won't admit that he's getting clingy even though he visits you weekly; it's like you're a drug he can't quit. It enrages him that you coo over his beauty but won't be his. When his spies in the brothel whisper of your dalliances with the disgraced heir of the Kaedehara clan, over how things are getting serious? He won't take it lightly.

Lord Scaramouche’s endurance is formidable. Once you’ve tired of riding him, still shuddering from the throes of pleasure, you just need to lightly goad him about his own fatigue and he will mount you until your eyes have crossed and your tongue lolls out. “Your cheap taunts and feeble wordplay hold no sway on me.” He hisses before driving his cock deep enough within you to force you to see stars behind your lids.

You take your pleasure greedily from the harbringer; indulging in his body in any manner you can think of. Suckling on his rosy nipples while he tries to bat you away, until they swell under your questing tongue.

If you can manage it, you’ll coo over his beauty; barely touched and unruffled despite having indulged in carnal pleasure with you throughout the night. Gently skimming your hands along the still flawless crimson paint that rims his indigo eyes or pressing your mouth against his marble like skin.

Kazuha is so different to Scaramouche, reciting endless poetry of your beauty when he sees you outside. Even daring to press his mouth to the hem of your skirts before leaving another poem at your feet. His adoration of you softens your heart to him, allowing him to rest his head in your lap as you stroke his hair, watching the fatigue fade from his face. His natural beauty is a sight to behold.

[softyswork]

I am thinking of Scaramouche with a darling who is taller than him. There’s no denying his imposing presence but once you come to your feet from kneeling before your lord? He’s quite small. Perhaps a few inches less than you stand even with his dramatic hat.

You may even think of him as the tiny tyrant when he snaps at you and your fellow Fatui/maids for your incompetent ways.

*

Also!! As Scaramouche rarely doles out praise, waving off with an elegant sweep to the members of the Fatui who carry out their missions to perfection and dismissing them.

Scaramouche is slightly kinder to you. Slightly. Asking for a complete report from the latest mission. “I’ll write one right away, my lord.” You state, keeping your head bowed to not meet his eye. “You will waste my time twice over, then. Tell me of it now as you’re already in my presence.” He snaps. Lord Scaramouche walks up and down as you speak, not quite pacing but almost strolling amongst his office, moving so fluidly that the warning bells that send fear into you and your fellow Fatui’s hearts do not clang from his hat. “And then?” He asks, his voice cool. Stopping before you, his shadow casting over your hunched over form, you rack your mind for details that he may have need of.

[softyswork]

At the beginning Vil puts together your outfits for the next day so that you can study from his choices and develop fashion sense as you are woefully incompetent. Scaramouche calling on the services of tutors so that you dare not embarrass him with any uncouth behavior. Sewing, cooking and homemaking skills are how you're forced to spend your days, and he'll be the one to judge your progress.

The notes that accompany each outfit are detailed. Beautifully penned notes about colour matching, accent points and draping along with heavy tomes about fashion, with every other page marked with a tab to draw your attention to one fact or another. Vil is rarely there in the morning. His morning run and smoothie, work commitments, terrorizing Epel instead of you.. You’re grateful for the reprieve from his sharp lavender eyes. Once you’ve managed to dress yourself, you’re expected to do your makeup to match. Further diagrams await you, pinned to the mirror to force you to follow the intricate blend that he expects of you daily. Tracing your eyes and your lips. Once you’ve completed that step, your face itchy from the tinted layers of powders and creams; you must send him a photo for approval. If he thinks you did a poor job, you won’t be worthy of leaving the boudoir. Just a short voice note, filled with his admonishment. “Have you applied the foundation with a trowel? Use a damp sponge to make an attempt at smoothing it out. You’ve retained nothing from my lessons, I can see as much.”

Scaramouche is a scourge upon your life and you regret the day that you smiled back at the friendly vagrant, admiring the translucent veil and delicate ring of his bells upon his hat. Pacing back and forth with the latest reports from your tutors in his hands, repeating their commentary incredulously. “Lord Scaramouche. We have recommenced the base stitch. I will continue to work on her hand placement on the loom.” He scoffs. “My lord, I have taken it upon myself to bring a child’s work scroll to start with the basic characters before we attempt upon the classic literature that you have requested.”

“You are incompetent in all ways.” He tells you, his doll like face morphing into a scowl as he sees dark smears of ink upon your kimono.

“My lord. Can you weave?” You ask him, your hands fisted in the endless piles of silken thread that he thrusts upon you daily. For all of his criticisms of your bent and calloused hands, you wonder if he’s ever taken up the loom himself. Your hands are used to toiling the soil, repairing your simple dresses and writing with charcoal. The unfamiliar cloth, the sharp strokes of the characters and even the subtle flavouring of the meals that you’re forced to cook; all feel clumsy and foreign to you. His diatribe turns to silence. The air crackling with electricity, as he turns away from you suddenly, the ringing chime of his bells echoing in the room.

You spare a thought for the fatui members likely stationed outside of the screen door, wondering if they’ll risk carrying the news of your insolence in exchange for their tongues being cut out by Scaramouche’s blade.

[softyswork]

My mind is on icy/haughty yanderes who are condescending! How come you don’t know why they kidnapped you? Haven’t they made their affections obvious? Even if you’re regrettably slow. Or worse, they refuse to answer any of your questions and expect your full cooperation in this matter. Gesturing elegantly towards the wedding dress that they’ve purchased after measuring your body. They’re not crass. They’d never break into your home. They wouldn’t lower themselves to that level. You’ll never make it upon theirs but they can attempt to polish you.