#its both funny And i get to curse him w a short stature. its a win win

[ar-mage-ddon]

a safe place to rest

( EPHEMERWEEK 3: home )

[travellingarmy]

║Scaramouche║Jealousy

Requested from Wattpad.

Gender-neutral.

Fluff.

Word count: 1.5k

---

He doesn't know when so don't ask him. But he does know that you had somehow bewitched him into liking you because he couldn't explain what it is about you that had made him fall for you. Was it your hair? Eyes? Smile? Again, he doesn't know and all he could do is blame you for it.

His eyes stare lazily at the crowd, thoughts completely all about you and only you. He wishes he could see you-- oh, would you look at that? Not too far away, he spots a familiar stature, eyes looking at a list. You.

He pondered at today's date, crossing his arms. Based on his notes from observing you, you were out shopping for groceries. Oh, how could he forget that? That was the reason why he was out and about with no particular purpose tied to the Tsaritsa at all. He was grateful at how you always had a routine. That way, he could have these.. Encounters. He doesn't do much other than stare. Creepy, but he does not dare walk up to you to strike a conversation. He only does it when there is a really good excuse for them.

"I thought I'd find you here," a smooth voice spoke from behind the short male, a chuckle following after. Scaramouche had the look of annoyance at the sound that he loathed oh so much. "What do you want, pest?"

He does not need to look behind him to know that it was the young Harbinger, Tartaglia. The ginger chuckles, resting a hand on his hip. "Ouch, no need to be so venomous, old man." He does not even bother to feign hurt.

Scaramouche clicks his tongue, not once turning to see the ginger. "If you have nothing to say, leave. Can't you see I'm busy?" he spat. The taller male grins. "Oh? With what? Surely, stalking an innocent civilian isn't what you are busy about, is it?" Tartaglia has been watching for a while as well, but not at you-- Scaramouche, seeing as the sixth Harbinger started to act strange-- mainly towards you. He thought it was hilarious that a man such as the cruel sixth could easily coil under your words.

Scaramouche mentally curses at the male. "Piss off." He grits his teeth. This just made Tartaglia want to continue. However, a brilliant plan- much better than teasing Scaramouche- had crept its way in his head. Smirking evident in his tone, he bids goodbye to the short Harbinger.

"Good riddance," he mumbled to himself. His eyes had never once left your person as you move onto different stalls that had the needed items on your list.

Maybe he should go up and say a quick 'hello'? You two are friends after all. It wouldn't be awkward, right?

He bit the inside of his cheek, deciding against it. As much as he tops everybody, he cowers to interact with you and only pray that the Tsaritsa had something- anything- to give him a reason to interact with you. He thought it would seem awkward otherwise.

Sighing, he turns on his heels, planning on going to the training ground for new recruits and do something productive like watching new Fatui members bleed their guts out-- anything that would take his mind off of you.

-

He doesn't know when, but the next time he saw you made his blood boil. Actually, it wasn't you that made him that way-- it was at the sight of you talking to the eleventh Harbinger with all smiles and laughter.

Were you two always that close for you to allow Tartaglia to put a hand on your shoulders? It was evident that the Harbinger was up to something when he put it there. Scaramouche doesn't know what type of game Tartaglia was playing at, but he didn't like it in the slightest.

He wanted to walk up and wrap his arms around you protectively while he hiss and glare at the eleventh. But he had to hold back. After all, it would seem weird since you two weren't lovers. Oh how he wished that you would leave the ginger already.

-

If he was itching for a fight, Scaramouche would happily give it to him. It has been 2 weeks since and each day, Tartaglia always seemed free enough to hang around you. And you seemed undisturbed by it? How absurd! Had you not notice where that man puts his hands on you? That hand that the ginger holds is supposed to be his!

He scowls. He can't take this anymore. Scaramouche has finally figured out the game that the ginger started and tried not to fall for his petty trap to make him finally admit to you about his feelings. However, that didn't last long and he started to think that he should take this as a chance before that opportunity is no longer there; when Tartaglia has really fallen for you.

Taking a deep breath, he strides to you two with menacing glares thrown at the tall male. Tartaglia felt those eyes that he knew had been watching him since two weeks ago draw near, getting his attention, which soon caught yours.

"Oh? Why if it isn't gramps," Tartaglia greets, showing his signature smile that was usually a sign of trouble to come. Scaramouche stares long and hard at him before he turns to look at you.

"Scara, hello!" You smiled that smile he loves oh so much. His heart fluttered, almost forgetting the presence of a particular someone.

"Uh, so, gramps," Tartaglia starts, "(Y/N) and I are actually going out for lunch, so if you could speed it up.." Scaramouche shots another deadly glare at the male. It would have been scary to a normal person but since this is what Tartaglia wanted, he wasn't affected by it.

"You're not having lunch with them." With that, he grabs you by the wrist and drags you along with him. "H, huh? Wait, Scara, where are we going?" You look at the back of the short Harbinger before you turn to look over your shoulders at Tartaglia.

You thought he would stand there dumbfoundedly but instead, he waves at you with one hand as the other rested on his hips and balancing his weight on one leg. He gave a close-eyed smile, feeling proud that it had turned out the way he wanted. The eleventh wanted to follow to hear what cheesy thing Scaramouche would say, but he stops himself and decided to tease him later.

Now gone from sight after turning a block, Scaramouche pins you against a wall, both hands slammed beside your head. You yelped and hissed at the impact, closing your eyes instinctively.

"Hey, Scara, couldn't you just--" "I like you," he confesses, getting all words dying on your tongue. "Eh?" Silence followed after, and it seemed to you that there was a bird cawing not too far in the distance.

Did you hear that right? You look up and was met a flushed Harbinger who awaited for your response. "C, could you repeat that? I think water got into my ears when I took a bath this morning."

Scaramouche takes a deep breath and this time, said it loud and clear-- enough for you to comprehend. "I like you, (Y/N)," he said, the heat tingling his cheeks. Gosh, Tartaglia's spot would have definitely been given away by his laughter, if he was there.

"I like you too, Scara," you confess, a confused look on your face at the sudden confrontation. On Scaramouche's part, the light in his eyes twinkled like little stars dancing in the night sky. You liked him as well? A smile was threatening to break but before that could happen, he moves away and coughed onto his fist, clearing his throat soon after.

"W, well, I'm glad we have mutual feelings towards one another.." he said, face still slightly turned from you.

"But, Scara, can I ask what brought this up so suddenly?" you had finally ask. The Harbinger stare at you longingly and removes his fist from his mouth, scratching the back of his neck. "I was, uh, a bit jealous of.." He looks down, feeling embarrassed to say it. But you wanted an answer so he had no choice but to give it. "I was jealous of Tartaglia hanging around you."

Your heart fluttered. He looks adorable if you had to be honest. Who knew that he could be jealous by someone who was much younger than both you and him? You had long knew that the young Harbinger was up to something the moment he came up to you with the smile used when he was plotting something. You weren't that dense.

A laugh escaped your lips, getting the attention of the male. "H, hey, what's so funny?" His brows scrunched together in confusion.

You shake your head to dismiss the question and soon cup his face, bringing him close so that your foreheads were touching. Staring longingly into his indigo eyes, you spoke. "There is no need to be jealous because my heart belonged to you long ago."

---

[remmushound]

Curse of the clan Part 24! @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz

Raphael woke up. His muscles were tight from the hard stone, so the first thing he did was roll over onto his carapace so he could get the most leverage possible in order to stretch. He parted his maw in a long-lasting, pressure-relieving yawn. The nap couldn’t have lasted very long—Raphael could still see the artificial sun in the sky slowly making its way down. However long or short the nap had been, it was certainly refreshing! Raphael found himself able to breathe a lot easier! He was better off than when he had arrived, and the wounds sustained from his previous battle with the dragon had already started to heal! And they were healing fast, too; the scabs were starting to turn to scars.

He looked around at the surrounding mist. It hung heavy with the chill of approaching night and seemed to be thickening with every passing minute. Raphael certainly didn't want to be here after dark if that pattern continued. He still had a king to find, and a blessing to receive! So he started on his way— and immediately stopped.

“Hello?” He called to the silhouette in the mist. “Can you help me find my way back to the West part of the city?”

The figure was tall and incredibly skinny, almost like a bobblehead with oversized hands and feet. Raphael squinted to try and get a better idea of what the yokai could be, but he didn't have to look long before the yokai gladly revealed himself.

It was a frog. His skin was a greenish-gray color striped with streaks of black and vibrant green; bumps littered his skin, and on the end of each hand were four fingers, his feet having one extra digit. The yokai seemed to be almost wasting away, just like the frog Raphael had seen. His skin hung loosely around his bony frame, and the only parts of him that still seemed to store any fat were his thick, muscular thighs. His eyes, a dark murky brown color, were both unfocused and one of them was lazy and drifting to the right side no matter how often he corrected it.

“Hi. Little buddy…” Raphael said, crouching down and waving a hand at the yokai. The frog didn't react to the wave. “Hey— is there a town near here?”

The frog stared. His mouth fell open slightly, breathing in slow and lazy breaths.

“Where did you come from?” Raphael asked as slowly as he could manage, making motions to further serve his point, “Can you show me?”

The frog blinked impossibly slowly, like a video slowed down to the smallest possible framerate. Then the frog pointed back to where he had just come from.

“Uh. O’re there.” his voice slurred.

Raphael gave a patient attempt at a grin, gritting his teeth to avoid a violent interaction. “I mean before that.”

The frog narrowed his eyes. “How much before…?”

Raphael took a sharp intake of breath.

“Caaaaause I’ve just been watching you is all.” The frog went on.

Raphael fixed the frog with a wide-eyed stare. “You’re been watching me?”

“Yeah.” The frog nodded like a sloth.

“For… how long?”

The frog took a sudden deep breath. “Uh. Like… it was night when I started. Like… four nights ago…”

“WHAT?!”

The frog gave a dopey, drunken laugh. “Yyyyyyeeeeeaaaah…”

“How could I have been asleep for four days?!” Raphael had been tired when he went to sleep, sure, but not sleep for four days tired!

The frog laughed again and gave the barest effort needed to shrug. “The fog does weeeeiiird things to people who aren’t like, used to it.” Each word he spoke was slow, with a pause in between each one like he had to put actual thought toward the next. “Some people go to sleep and never wake up.”

“Never…?” Raphael gulped. He had a million different questions rushing through his mind at that moment, but he was finally able to settle on one. “W-what’s your name?”

The frog squinted his eyes and gave a deep, rumbling croak. “Errr… Napoleon…?” It sounded more like a question.

Raphael was half certain that the frog had just pulled out the first name he could think of from thin air, but he didn't bring it up. “Oh! That’s funny! I’m named after a famous guy too.”

Napoleon stared for a moment, and then turned and immediately started to leave. Raphael gasped and ran quickly after him; Napoleon didn't seem to care about either way, he was walking wether Raphael was following him or not.

“So— so you live around here?” Raphael tried, to no response. “Do you have like, a village? Or directions back to the main part of the city?”

Napoleon didn't seem to hear him. He was too busy weaving through the low hanging vines, letting them go so they would swing back and tangle Raphael. After the third time getting caught, Raphael learned to expect and avoid the scare. Going through the uneven terrain was difficult; one step would be planted firmly on stone, and the next he’d be ankle-deep in mud! Napoleon, however, seemed to expect and plan for these changes, using vines to cross over a bubbling bog and jumping a weird pattern to land on rocks hidden under soft quicksand. Raphael did his best to follow in the frogs footsteps, misteping countless times but managing to somehow keep pace with the swift yokai.

“Here.” Napoleon rumbled as he pushed aside a final clump of vines.

Raphael came up beside him, growling as vines got caught around his shell and tangled. He fought to rip them off and made a fool of himself in the process, like a dancer fighting off invisible attackers. He went too close to an embankment he hadn’t seen, stumbling as the soft mud collapsed under his weight and he fell into the shallows of a muddy swamp. There was a rush of several creatures fleeing at his disturbance and he sank in up to his waist in the mud; the mud was deeper than the water was, and much grosser.

Raphael gagged and struggled to pull free. The mud held him captive in its powerful grip, threatening to swallow him if he didn't get out soon. Was this quicksand? He sure hoped not. Whatever it was, he wanted it off of him! Napoleon waded into the water after him.

“Hey— little help, Napoleon?” Raphael asked, grunting with the strain of keeping his head above the water.

Napoleon drifted right on past him, as if the water was carrying him more than he was swimming. Raphael followed Napoleon’s path with his eyes and gawked at the sight he found. The marsh here was open and, with the fog, it looked almost endless. A large, swampy lake with houses in the middle, all build on docks just slightly higher than the water. And there were frogs. So. Many. frogs. More than Raphael could count, hopping lazily around the docks. Grown frogs similar to Napoleon, with starved bodies and empty eyes. Young tadpoles swimming around in the water, with arms and legs that were too weak to support them on land, so they were bound to the swamp. A few tiny frogs, identical to the grown frogs in all but stature, hopped about at their leisure equally between water and dock.

“You have to relax dude.” Napoleon nasaled. “Let the water take you.”

“Let the water take me—?!”

“Yeah…” Napoleon drifted circles around Raphael.

“Can’t you just tug me out?!”

“Errrrrrrrrr no. Listen man just… take a deep breath and the water will do the rest.” Napoleon started to drift away.

“Wait!” Raphael called after him, but the frog was already long gone with no intention of returning. Raphael tried again to yank himself free, but the sludge only pulled him down harder. He sucked in a gasp and whimpered as his head disappeared under for a moment before he was able to stretch out his neck to resurface. This thing was swallowing him! And he had no better idea than the one that Napoleon had offered.

He took as deep a breath as his shell allowed, and breathed it out slowly. An immediately relief washed over him; a calm that made the strain of his thoughts slow into easier to manage sections. The air tasted nice, and it made him feel warm in his chest and stomach. He was encouraged to take even more similarly deep breath to take advantage of the euphoric sensation that crashed over him.

The world changed between blinks. He was further out now, the shore getting more distant. Another blink, and his head bonked lightly against the wood of the dock. The pain didn't register. He wasn’t hungry anymore; his stomach felt pleasantly full of the warm air. That was all he needed; the warmth of this water could sustain him the rest of his life...