#your ask got some of my brain juice go brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

[mixed-kester]

hello ms. esther! sorry for suddenly intruding, but i've seen you a lot on my dash n just wanted to say hi! and, well, to also give this tiny brainrot about u and wanderer in offering haha:

i don't know much about your personal lore, but seeing your art for throwaway-yandere's wood vs salt fic had me Thinking Thoughts. do you remember how in the beginning of wanderer-era, before he got his memories as scaramouche back, wanderer was pretty calm and nice? a little ditzy or, well, easily distracted sometimes, yes, but generally, he seemed like someone safe (or at the very least, like he wouldn't suddenly stab you in the back).

what if he met you while in this state? before the traveler found him and brought him back to the sanctuary of surasthana? what if he saw you and felt some dim, compelling force in the hollow of his chest where his heart should be (the lingering influence of irminsul, the all-encompassing obsessive love that scaramouche had for you you you—) when he sees you, a passing visitor in the grand bazaar, and quietly wonders if he's met you before.

now, this could go in many different ways depending on whether or not you remember him (even with irminsul's deletion of scaramouche's existence) and if he decides to do anything about that. one such timeline, like the wood vs salt-esque au, would be so interesting because, well, he doesn't remember pantalone ever being that close to you before. he doesn't remember you working for alhaitham either.

but you still look the same. still smile the same. still blush, huff, and laugh the same and wanderer can't help but cling to that (can't help but listen to the snake-like whispers just behind his ear to hold onto you, tighter this time, and make sure you'll never leave again).

some things are different. some things are the same. and all these unwanted anomalies are easy enough to correct, with or without his vision.

he's learned from the best, after all.

aaa this is very messy n all but i hope i got the idea across! if this isnt ur cup of tea that is very fine wdyhdbd but if nothing else, i would like to say ur art is very cool n ur ebg lore (at least the little i saw of it bc i had pre-mids that week) is very :eyes:

the object of my thoughts.

tags: wanderer, self-insert, situated inside @throwaway-yandere's Apotheosis on Your First Feast...kind of??? maybe??? an AU of sorts.

a/n: omg brain go brrrrr? welcome to my humble blog ajnsbvkjbhlka don't be shy to interact i don't bite- btw this fic is probably nothing like the ask aaaaaaa words: 1,072

The Grand Bazaar is as bustling as ever. Her nose gets hit with the damp, yet fresh air of the hidden city nestled underneath Sumeru's Great Tree.

At once, Esther hears the quiet, lively atmosphere of the merchants, the lingering tune of a song in Zubayr Theater (Sadly, Nilou will not be dancing today.), and the smell of freshly-made street food, minus the bugs that so happens to linger on the stalls.

This place almost ticks all her checkboxes of a "safe space".

almost.

She found herself sitting beside a food stall, waiting for her order to arrive. In Esther's defense, the food was quite tempting. Scented Meat Balls always have a thing going for her mouth. One moment it's there, the next…an empty platter and greasy hands.

A very pleasant experience, 10/10.

With nothing better to do, she rummaged for her shoulder bag and pulled out a small notepad. Some of the signatures are falling off, the purple yarn barely holding it together, and the handmade cover is dirtied with charcoal stains.

Carefully tightening the seams with a sigh, she then looked around, looking for someone to draw. She wouldn't want to ask someone for permission, no. She has to be discreet; quick, yet accurate.

The last time she got "caught", Esther was quite embarrassed, although her subject at the time was quite flattered and even offered some good critiques at her pose anatomy before being dragged off by Alhaitham, of all people.

Alhaitham, your current boss, and the current Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru. Who assigned you to Varanara, just six hours ago.

Vanarana, the supposed home of the Aranara, the children of the Lord of Verdure.

…the Lord of Verdure, and the successful rescuing of Sumeru's future.

A rescue that I refused to join in.

Esther shook her head in an attempt to dispel the frankly annoying and intrusive thoughts in her head. Quickly putting her notepad, aside, she thanked the waitress and tested the waters on the meat balls, still smoking.

Ow. Too hot.

Her eyes roamed around the bazaar like a camera, looking for interesting people to draw. Interesting poses to draw. A merchant selling fruits, a vendor calling for customers. Quite banal.

I spy, with my eyes…

I spy, with my eyes…

there!

Her hands fly towards the notepad, leaves ruffling as she attempts to find an empty page.

The slight off-colored white invites her in to draw the first line, to fill it up with her lines, to see the figure of a person, the someone she chose to draw.

Reaching out again, she tests if the balls are too hot. Feeling the warm, crumbly texture of the finger food, she eats one whole and quickly focuses on the task at hand.

She looks quickly.

He's not looking at her. Perfect.

She quickly dismissed the hat in her drawing. That thing is a pain to draw quickly, she thinks, instead opting for just an ellipse with shaded points.

She quickly deconstructs his relaxed figure, filling it up with more details as the platter beside her grows more and more empty with each passing hour

He doesn't look like he's from here, Esther figures as she draws the man's robes- kimono, she corrects herself- hanging loosely on his figure, making for quite the focus on his high-collared undershirt-

Esther chokes on a crumb. Coughing, she hides her face on her arm and shakes her head again. Taking a bite out of the meatballs, carefully this time, she erases the quite scandalizing abs on her drawing, scolding herself for the…distraction.

She tries to finish the figure without looking this time. A large gold ornament on his left chest… hair shaped like a weird bowl cut…red eyeliner…

hang on.

She glances again. He did not seem to notice, and was still facing away from her, talking to what she presumes is his boss. how did i know his eyeliner is red?

Her gaze lingers on the drawing, slightly smudging the freshly-drawn face as she traces its jaw. She thinks hard, her eyebrows furrowing, the tapping of her pencil serving as a pendulum for her thoughts.

think, think, think.

She tries to chase the thought, but it slips away from her grasp like a falling leaf amid a strong breeze. Whatever the thought is... she deems it not important.

Esther looks at her drawing again, and her grip makes a dent in the notepad. This drawing, this pathetic croquis of a figure...it's too ugly. It doesn't even shine a light on the guy. This drawing of hers is too disgusting to see the light of day.

The left arm is too long, the face is off, the torso is contorted unnaturally, the fingers are unproportioned, the face is off, the eyes are off, the eyes are off, the eyes are off-

…

She tears off the page, throws it on a random garbage bag, and leaves the bazaar in lower spirits than when she came. so much for relaxation.

If she dared to look back, the subject of her interest has filched the torn paper.

Behind the tree, his errand remained forgotten, the fruits on the forest floor as he traced every uneven line that captured his inhuman self, marvelling at the seemingly glorious art in his hands.

Why did she discard it? he can only wonder as he gingerly holds the paper like it's a treasured possession of his. He does not understand. Why did she throw it away?

Should he find her? He thinks about it, but then considers his chances. An unknown person asks for her, saying something about knowing her vaguely and asking to come with him? He might as well parade around Sumeru City with the biggest hat he could find, yelling loudly.

What name would he give her when she asks for it?

He is a shugenja; a wanderer, as he calls himself. A tree with no roots. Somebody with no home, no kin, no destination. Someone with no name, no identity to hang on with. Trekking across Teyvat to train himself...it's just an excuse.

That's how absurd this is.

So why is he so hung up on this one person who drew him in such a human fashion? What is there to her that piqued him?

Have we met before?

He sighs, and folds the paper, tucking it in his hat. He picks up the sunsettias on the ground, and makes way to the nearby river to wash it.