#s: i see you've chosen death sir | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reilliane · 3 years ago

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Happiness ★ Scaramouche ★ Venti

— ★ Scry: Ecliptic Scintilla + Scaramouche + Venti + Modern AU + Reader's Prompt (Single Dad AU) — ★ Genre: Platonic + Fluff & Angst — ★ Concept: They were happy... but that's the point, isn't it? You can't always be happy. — ★ Words: 2.4k — Blood, death, and a soft scara A/N: This is from the perspective of [Character] and MC/aka [Name]'s child~ Also, since they share the same prompt, I merged them together. There's some romance for [Name]/Character in the first bit!

A story doesn't always have a happy ending no matter how meticulous the characters are in ensuring their bliss.

It is unfair—incredibly so, but what are humans to the quill that pens fate?

Unfortunately, such a tragedy has chosen to befall upon you at a moment of bliss. Perhaps it is because life has been going too well that a greater force has decided to obstruct said mirth from lasting a lifetime?

A splendid relationship, a loving marriage—and a coming child.

What more can one ask for?

Ah... a happy family?

My, that seems to be asking for too much.

Or so fate says.

The tears in his eyes can't possibly spill more after witnessing you go through hellish pain to deliver your beloved child. His hand is nestled in yours, tight and comforting.

Words are being ushered in your ear, taken with assurance and pride.

“You're doing well, just a little more.”

Just a little more.

The face of your husband can't be seen through the blurriness of your vision, but even having him nearby is enough as you grip his hand in yours.

Whatever the circumstance, as long as you both are present, hand in hand... every hurdle is possible to overcome.

Your tears are wiped away, shaky yet gentle as if he too is feeling the excruciating pain you're submitted into.

Which may as well be true—for you've both vowed, through highs and lows...

“Ah...” mesmerized midwives—then the sound of a crying baby.

Through pain and bliss...

Though it is contradictory for your eyesight to be blurry yet with perfect clarity you can see your husband, you do not care.

In the light of those few seconds, as he whispers your name and brings to you your beloved newborn... you are a happy family.

In sickness and in health...

“My sweet child..” you cradle your blessing with a tearful smile, feeling their soft skin with a hoarse laugh.

Then, you lift your stare and hand, clasping your husband's as you gaze in his glossy eyes. They speak of adoration, of pride, even—and comfort, and just sheer happiness..

“You're a father now..”

That you'd hate to tell him how faint you're starting to feel.

Beep- beep-!

His heart drops to his stomach at the urgent sound coming off the machine—and all of a sudden, the feathery weight on his arms becomes impossibly heavy.

“Severe bleeding, hurry, we'll do a transfusion-!”

You both have vowed,

Plenty of things is happening all at once, far too quick for him to peruse each and every single one of them—though he knows them all to be ominous.

Hasn't he been made aware of such complications during delivery?

As swiftly as it came, the baby is taken from his arms and he slips entirely past the weakening grasp of his wife.

A nurse starts to push him outside in a hurry, “Let me escort you outside, sir.”

But all he can think of is—

That you will be together.

“[Name]-!” he's only able to tear through his bubble of initial shock by the time he's escorted outside the delivery room.

A rapid spike of alarm sends him sprinting back inside, but someone holds him back. His breath hitches and his throat starts to burn.

“[Name]!”

The world blurs as he sees through the closing doors, the tearful visage of his dying wife as she spells out with her lips—in her last breaths-

“I love you.”

And only 'till death do you two part.

The doors close and he hears it before anyone can even attempt to save the mother.

The sound of a flat line.

Scaramouche

Engrossed in his state of loss, he can only continue typing away on his keyboard. Though he knows full well that he's drafting an email, his mind is elsewhere.

Which is natural... for this particular day of the year.

He thinks he's grown numb—that he's much adapted to the hollow condition that his hearth's been left in, but he hasn't.

For every day, it pulses with life and throbs with longing.

Scaramouche didn't think he'd come to face such a period like this when he's in his youth—that he won't fall for someone because love is such a destructive thing that ain't worth his time.

But he has.

“Papa, I love you!”

And oh, how love destroyed him as he feared.

He stops typing as soon as he hears his child's endearing words.

They send life throughout his being and he detests it; the reminder of being alive.

The reminder of being alone in a bind that's meant to be solved with his other half.

Although he is able to control himself from physically lashing out, he cannot tame the hysteric anger in his voice. In warning, he clenches his fists and orders his child to leave the room before it's too late.

This recurring day of the year is not and won't ever be his best.

But his son appears to be more obstinate now than ever and refuses to budge, only looking at him with beady, [c] eyes.

“Get out.”

When there's still no movement, he finally snaps, slamming his clenched fists on the desk and clattering the items on it.

“I said get out, Yukio! Hell!”

There is a tiny squeak of fear—then rushing footsteps followed by a timid shut of his office door. Or at least he thinks he hears it close. He can't look right now.

He can't bear to look and see the same shade of [c] he wishes to gaze and awaken to every morning at his side.

“... Damn it.”

It's only when the fury has subsided for clarity to enter does he finally feels the shame of his doings. And, in no good shape to resume his work—he never was cut out for it today—, turns off his laptop.

Scaramouche rests his head in his palms, his stare directed to the picture frame an arm's length away. He takes it, gingerly, in his weak hold.

There's no picture of the three as a whole family.

“Doing this alone is hard... [Name],” he whispers, broken and solemn as he brushes his thumb against the frame.

“You don't look like it at all, but I can tell that you'll be a wonderful father, Scara.”

His lips upturn in the slightest when he recalls that sentence. It's a wonderful miracle that until now, he still has a perfect memory of what her voice sounds like.

Perhaps it is the sorry gift of life to him?

Ah, to think that he has gone to be like this—a man who fell in love, who lost, and who gained tears, smiles... and even a child.

Hah... a funny thing to reflect over.

But he doesn't regret it at all.

Finding the resolve to make amends with his son isn't remotely difficult, not with the seeping clarity and shame to have shouted at the blessing brought to this world by his love.

Sappy it may be, he does not cringe from the truth.

After another endearing brush of his finger across the picture in his hands, he sets it back in its place and stands from his chair to leave the study.

The house is silent in what's supposed to be an atmosphere between a family of three. Yes, it scalds in the hollowest of burns, but he takes into account the fact that although a mother has passed...

“Hey,” he calls by the threshold of the teal-accented room.

... They are still a family of two.

The child would've tripped on the carpeted floor if not for the swift hand that caught the back of his shirt.

“Ah- papa!”

Scaramouche sets the boy on the bed, gentle mannerisms a complete turnabout from before the arrival of the only remembrance of his wife.

“Don't worry, I'm not sad... I understand,” Yukio drags the heavy duvet over his lap, murmuring, “It hurts, too. But I still have you, so..”

Silence hangs about in the air, absent of the earlier strain.

Small and barely visible, the bitter smile on the father's visage tells of many a tale of longing. A foreign expression, that was.

Rarely does he ever let himself be vulnerable, after all.

Subconsciously, he lets his hand ruffle the boy's—his son, his treasure—[c] hair, sighing, “You take after her a lot, don't you.”

“Mama says that, too,” responds Yukio, whose face is tinged a faint pink at the rather uncommon display of fatherly love.

The answer takes Scaramouche off-guard.

He's heard that children are more 'open' to factors past reality and are considered to be imaginative—artistically and supernaturally according to those sites he read—but to hear it for himself...

Oh, what to feel.

On one hand, he's perplexed since he's not a keen believer in the supernatural, but on the other, he is relieved—happy, hopeful, even.

“Does she now?”

“Mhm!”

Because it means that in some way or another, their little family is still complete. It makes his chest fuzzy inside, warm and thankful.

Knowing this lightens the weight on his heart, and maybe it'll eventually dissipate in the years to come. Though the wound of loving remains fresh, perhaps in time it can be remedied.

Scaramouche opens an arm in invitation, unable to help the content smile when his son beams and snuggles closely.

And as he stays there, hugging his child in a room built with a love between two, a wind flies through the open window—and he feels like he's being embraced, too.

Venti

“Papa, I love you.”

The father in question nearly loses his clutch of the wine bottle he's slid out of the rack at the voice that's come to greet him.

With a hand on his chest to steady his aching, racing heart, he then sets the bottle on the kitchen counter.

After he's ascertained that its placement won't lead to mishaps and accidents, he then turns around, bearing a smile.

Well practiced, easily believable—genuine, yet ironically a little counterfeit.

“Aw! I do, as well!”

It's dreadful, but Venti takes pride in being able to deceive himself and his daughter of the reality that he's intoxicated in lament.

“Mama does, too!”

But there are times when there are cracks in that facade of his. Rarely does it happen, but it lasts with an impact that's difficult to overcome.

This time in particular, the fracture may be too big. Fortunately, however, he's managed to grasp onto a semblance of comfort, a guise of being alright.

“... Papa?”

“She does, does she?” he whispers, falling to sit on one of the chairs with a drawled sigh.

Taking the opportunity to amble closer, Wendy moves to beam up with a bright grin on her features. She pats her father's lap, appearing giddy.

“Yeah! Sometimes she visits me in my sleep. We talk, but it doesn't last long..”

Ah, this again. He's heard this story one too many times already, but it's safe to say that he doesn't find it cumbersome at all.

If anything, it's appeasing.

His daughter has always known about the absence of her other parent, but it's infrequent for her to be crestfallen. That fortitude of hers has always been admired.

Such a strong child, even stronger than he is.

The yawn that he hears is a prompt for him to blink out of his daze, and he chuckles, saying, “You look like you want to sleep now more than ever, hm.”

Wendy rubs her eyes with a murmur, tiny hands clenching the fabric of her father's pants.

“I'm sorry I can't stay up for long, papa... I don't want to see you so lonely and drinking, especially today.”

Venti's smile grows solemn. I can't help it.

“Will you sleep early tonight, papa?” the sudden excitement throws him off his wavelength, blinking in surprise as his child giggles.

“If you do, I'll tell mama to come to visit you in your dreams, too so she can tell you to take care of your health herself!”

“Venti, stop drinking so much-! I'm not about to marry a drunkard! Unless you're drunk in love.”

Recalling those words elicits a sincere laugh to rumble from his chest. Ah yes, he did miss that nagging.

“She always said that I should look out for your health, but! She can tell you herself, too!” Wendy pouts, chubby cheeks appearing much chubbier.

Venti can't help but shake his head in amusement, acquiescing.

“Alright, then. No drinking for me tonight.”

His answer alights multiple sparkles in the girl's tealish eyes, her excitement far too impossible to tame.

“Then I better go to sleep quickly so I can tell her,” she jumps to plant a swift kiss on her father's cheek before zooming out of the kitchen, “Hehe, good night, papa!”

Grateful for the mild appeasement of his anguished heart, he stands, inserting the wine bottle back into its rack with an endearing smile on his features.

No drinking tonight.

After flicking the lights off, he makes a beeline towards his child's room, entering as quietly as possible.

Wendy has already tucked herself in, with her lamp on that slowly spins a myriad of stars against the ceiling. She always said it makes her feel closer to her mother, who's gone above.

The peaceful sight of her slumber eases the heaviness within, plucking away the embedded thorns in a reminder that he's not alone in this journey.

For he still has the fruit of the love he's shared with someone.

Without a sound, the door clicks to a shut, and he moves into his bedroom and pauses for a brief moment.

Now that his head is clear, he discerns how it isn't as cold as it used to be. Perhaps this is because he's more accepting of what has come to happen?

He shakes his head, moving to dress in his nightwear before falling onto the soft, warm bed. Upon natural instinct, he leaves a space at his side.

Venti turns, hand on the empty space on his bed, the recollection of his daughter's words upturning his lips again.

A dream, is it.. ?

“Good night.”

A good night that really is.

But Wendy didn't exactly dream of her mother that night, though, so she was a bit sullen when she awoke the next day.

She's rather ashamed and afraid to face her father in the morning but knows that interaction will be unavoidable. So, after a muster of courage, she gets dressed and goes out to enter the dining room.

To her surprise, music is playing—and the atmosphere is bright.

“Good morning, little songbird!”

There is a smile on her father's face as he beckons her to come and sit next to him.

Ah, Wendy thinks to herself. Papa's really happy today.

He must've had a good dream.

a/n: well, this has impacted me so :')) to be honest this is my first time writing this kind of au so it's fresh in the heart :weary:

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𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

#m-event #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #venti angst #venti fluff #scaramouche x reader #venti x reader #single dad au #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #female reader

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