littlesilhouettoofaman | The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

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The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

First they were nothing but echoes, noises without a source or purpose, just something he could blame on the battle he just lost. But echoes changed into soft voices and footsteps and eventually he could even hear the sound of rain outside.
And his body did not hurt after the fall he made, it is merely a familiar sort of uncomfortable sensation of joints popped out of place and cracks that shouldn’t be there. But he had expected to be beyond angry, to feel that rage surge through him, that sense of absolute frustration and that undying desire to serve a certain purpose, that certain purpose. But surprisingly enough there was nothing for now. Just a dreadful, heavy emptiness.

Of course he remembered everything. How could he forget it? Yet another setback. He had been so close to fulfilling his birthright and then that idiot… Oh, yes, the idiot. That buffoon who ranked way lower than him and had the audacity to stand up to a god. And had the audacity to win.

The room is quite dark and when he opens his eyes he can see a couple of figures standing close and half of his mind expects to see the Doctor standing between all of them. But he is nowhere to be seen.

“Get out.”

Did they all come to look at a fallen god? Because seriously, who’d given them the right to do so? So when he repeats the words for a second time they are louder and a lot more threatening.

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Scaramouche can see how the other is trying his very best to remain conscious. Despite his flesh giving in to those injuries, he keeps his eyes open, he keeps talking and yes he can see that shudder after his touch.

"Is it worth it?"

He reaches out again, catching some blood on his finger as he leans a little closer.

"Is it all you have wanted?" Scaramouche wants to hear those words of praise, in fact, he needs them. Slowly he brings that bloody finger to his lips to take a curious lick. Now he is familiar with the scent of human blood, but he has never tasted it. "Heh. It tastes disgusting. Unworthy of a god like me."

He leans in even closer, both of his hands sliding over Childe's cheeks now.

"What will you do about it? Cast off your human shell? Become something more?"

He asks Tartaglia questions that he doesn't necessarily know the answer to.

Was it worth it? Was it what he really wanted? He's not sure. As he sits there, bloody and broken, he does wonder if it was all worth it in the end. If he dies here, he loses everything, but to restore Scaramouche to at least a fraction of his previous power...it's all confusing and conflicting to him. Childe doesn't answer right away, looking into the god's eyes as his hands cup his cheeks.

More questions he doesn't know how to answer.

"I don't know what you mean..."

He doesn't exactly have the ability to do that. The closest thing he has to transforming into something else is the form he's in now, a broken Foul Legacy Transformation that came from beyond the heavens itself. Or is it a trick question, if he says yes, then he'd be granted a painful death and lose his human shell? It's a dangerous position he finds himself in, and Childe thinks on how to proceed while also not withholding the truth. It's hard, with the world spinning and his mind muddled with the overwhelming power and presence that Scaramouche has on it, plus how lightheaded he feels.

"I don't want to die, if...that's...cough...what you're asking."

"Of course you don't want to die. Humans are quite afraid of death to begin with. And you are, most of all, nothing but a fragile little human."

Scaramouche keeps his hands on Childe's cheeks for a while as he studies his face, thinking about what to do with his new (and only) follower. What to do with his new fate? What to do with a dream he has given up on a while ago, only to be able to live it anyways?

"And I do think you are too valuable to lose. I am a benevolent god, you know?"

----

And Scaramouche keeps his word. He waits, in an almost patient way, for Childe to finally stop talking. And no, he doesn't have plans to let him die. In a way, being worshiped by a Fatui Harbinger isn't the worst outcome. Of course, Childe is the weakest one and the one he deems the most stupid, but still, all in all, it could be worse.

As the dark settles in he busies himself with examining the idiot's injuries, carefully removing armor and fabric. And, somewhere along the line, he makes sure that his first follower is a little bit more comfortable than before. At least, the comfort a small abandoned house can offer.

And then, somewhere along the line, he realizes what it is that hides inside that heart of the other. What his motivations were.

"You are beyond stupid." Scaramouche whispers the words softly, not really knowing if the other is awake or not. "Yet, as your god I will not complain about that devotion of yours."

Childe ponders in that short moment, what his fate will be. He can't move, he can't do much of anything but wait for Scaramouche to decide what he'll do. Relief floods his mind when it seems he decides that he's worth keeping alive, that dying here would be a waste. A small smile unfolds on his face, and his eyes droop now knowing that Scaramouche is indeed, a benevolent god. The lightheadedness finally gets to him after a time, and he feels consciousness slip away from him, until he finally passes out from his injuries.

---

He wakes up having returned to normal, the armor gone off of his body, lying down in an old, dilapidated bed in a house he doesn't recognize. Quiet whispers fill his ears as he slowly opens his eyes, looking over to see a blurry image of a dusty old house and a figure standing over him. He's still in a lot of pain, there's crusted blood across his face, but he's no longer on the verge of dying.

"Ngh..."

As Tartaglia's sight comes to focus more, he sees Scaramouche tending to him, as he lies there immobile. He doesn't dare to move, quickly realizing that he's still in a bad position.

"Scaramouche...? Where am I?"

When Childe wakes up he might notice that his legs are tied up. For some reason it would not be wise to lose him at this point. Scaramouche still finds himself torn between breaking him or manipulate him so that he might be useful.

"Does that matter?"

He gazes down at the other while a small smile forms around his lips. Scaramouche doesn't want to be a god of destruction. All humans have to know is that they're inferior beings in need of guidance from a superior being like himself. And this particular human definitely needs guidance.

"I should ask you how you feel, not? But your fragile bones still looks broken and your skin still looks bruised." Scaramouche crouches down next to the other, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against his cheek. "Is there a spot on your body that doesn't hurt?"

As he comes more to, he realizes his bad position is worse than what he thought. His legs are bound, and Scaramouche is looming over him. It's not wise to make any kind of rash decisions, so Tartaglia chooses to calm himself. That malice in the puppet's eyes is still there, but yet for some reason he hasn't hurt Childe more. In fact, he's rescued him.

"Why didn't you end me back there?"

The brush against his cheek feels mocking, not at all the way he'd ever imagined that happening in his wildest fantasies. Childe looks down at the hand and back up at Scaramouche, not answering his question. Feels a bit rhetorical to even bring up where he might not be hurting...which is no where.

"You had me right where you wanted me. Don't tell me you're just returning the favor."

"Heh." Scaramouche chuckles briefly, still studying the other as if he still has to make a decision about his fate. "I have to admit, you are weak. Yet, there is no reason for me to end the lives of those who worship me."

After all, what is a god without followers?

Of course, there is an urge to finish Childe off, for his insolence, for daring to think he was having the upper hand in this situation.

"You underestimated me greatly, worm."

Scaramouche keeps stroking his cheek, the touch almost soft, almost as if he truly cares.

"You listened to the lies your heart told you and look at you now..." That is one thing he finds extremely amusing. "...you do know that loving is a sin in itself."

A part of him wants to jerk away from that touch, realizing that he admitted to a lot of things while he was dying back there. But there was also this compulsory feeling that welled deep within him, something that revered and worshipped Scaramouche and his stupid face. Not to mention that the truth finally came out, his own personal feelings about him...something he wanted to hide and push away into a dark corner that no one, not even him, would be able to find. And yet, he'd still freely admitted everything.

"You were controlling me. Making me say those things."

His retort comes out half-hearted. There's no backbone to it, because he knows what he's saying now is the real lie. Childe hates himself for it, and his first urge is to retaliate and swing his weapon right at Scaramouche's throat. But that's not a smart move and he'd surely die if he made any rash decisions now.

"What did you do to me? Going to turn me into something for you to play with? Well, I won't let you."

Now that is rich. Scaramouche starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he does.

"Oh? Is it my fault now?"

Still, he is very aware of the fact that these new powers come with certain 'perks'. And he is still not entirely able to understand them fully or control them completely. But he knows what he has heard, what he has felt. And he also knows he can abuse that. After all, it is what humans did to him, not? Because once he loved and cared, until they all decided to crush that, to take it for granted and leave him behind.

"Wasn't I something for you to play with, worm?" His hand stills on Childe's cheek. "You didn't allow me to perish as I wanted to. You wanted to fix me and keep me as some sort of...punching bag, not? Out of love?" And then he starts to laugh a little harder. "Hmm...how the tables have turned..."

The situation is getting more and more dangerous by the second. His resistance probably isn't going to get him anywhere, and he knows that if he doesn't play his cards right, he could die. He's absolutely at Scaramouche's mercy now, and maybe the only reason he's still alive is because of his confessions. He has to think, and somehow escape from this situation. Fighting, as much as he'd like to, will end in death. Childe might be fight happy, but he's not stupid.

"I..."

It's hard to say it. It's hard to confront the feelings in his heart that he wished never stirred inside of him, because look where it's landed him. But He's not sure how to approach this, especially now that the puppet knows the truth about his heart.

"...keeping you as a punching bag was never my real intent. Since you got me to admit to that much, you should know that my heart was always in the right place."

He stares back at his captor, his expression hard and unwavering.

"You though...I don't trust you to have any of my best interests at heart."

His hand drops down to Childe's chest and he presses it against the spot where his heart should be. Warm, human and oh so fragile.

"You contradict yourself a lot. You should know I am not someone you can trust, those stupid feelings are not safe with me either. I have no heart."

Still, he does have feelings. A lot of them, to be honest. Scaramouche spreads out his fingers a little, eyes focused on what his own hand is doing as he slowly moves to crouch down, hovering over the taller man.

"Do you see this as another fight? A thrill of some sort?" Then he looks up at Childe. "You are quite a thrill seeker, not?

Childe's eyes fall to the hand that presses against his chest, right where his heart is. Scaramouche could do anything to him in this position, and one of his most vulnerable and important organs is exposed for him to rip out, electrocute, do whatever he wants to it to kill him dead right here.

And it's just as the old Liyue saying goes: When someone tells you who they are, believe them. And he believes that Scaramouche truly doesn't have a heart, and that nothing is safe for him right now being around this power-crazed puppet.

"I don't know what you want me to say here. I seek the thrill of battle, to improve myself with every fight I engage in. Right now, the only battle I'm facing is the one to keep myself alive."

He doesn't know what Scaramouche has planned, and he's completely at his mercy. The fingers that spread across his chest might end it all.

There's no lie in the words he speaks, yet he knows the true lie is hiding inside his heart. So all he can do is reaching out to that lie, wrap his fingers around it and take it out. Gods could do that.

So right after Childe has spoken, he might feel something tugging at him, at times it would feel warm but it could also sting.

"You think that is the truth?"

He leans in closer, studying Childe's face, reaching out further, deeper. And eventually he felt as if he could shape something. Perhaps it was the other's heart, maybe his thoughts.

"Or is there something else?"

Scaramouche is awfully close to the taller man now, grinning broadly.

Childe's chest begins to heave up and down a little heavier, when he feels that presence tug at him, comforting him and both hurting him in a way he can't quite explain. It's like it's touching his soul, far beyond the boundaries of the mortal realm, and he feels a fear begin to form in him. He doesn't know what Scaramouche is doing to him, but what he does know is that this can really only be something a god can do, which puts him in an even more precarious position than he thought.

"....."

He looks up into the menacing face of Scaramouche, staying silent, but this power that permeates his very being is becoming overwhelming. Like he has no control over what happens to him, and his entire conscious lies bare to the other with no protection.

Like he can feel the other's fingers around his heart.

"You're toying with me again," he says between gritted teeth, "just say what you want, and stop beating around the bush. You know I hate it when any of the Harbingers do that."

"I am."

Scaramouche's grin grows wider after he has said that.

"But perhaps there's solace in knowing that you are a gods plaything." There has always been the point where he felt too much. Where he asked himself how he could find himself overwhelmed with emotions while not having a heart to harbor them properly. A long time ago he has been able to name them properly, warmth for love, hot for anger, pain for sadness. But eventually they just melted into this burning sensation in his chest, a constant reminder of a heart that was missing, that he wasn't meant to be human to begin with.

But yet, here he was, being able to feel all of that again...through a mere human.

"Does it hurt?" Scaramouche's eyes glow as he speaks, reaching out further and further, searching for that warmth he felt before. Maybe it is because he wants to take that warmth away, but maybe also because he just wants to experience it once more. Slowly he leans in closer, bringing his lips close to Childe's ear.

"That is it, not?"

And as he curls his fingers he can feel what he is looking for. That warmth.

"Heh. How I want to tear that heart out of your chest."

It burns, the uncomfortable feeling of something invading his very being, wrapping tendrils around his heart that pulse with divine power. A power that could shred him in an instant, wielded by the unhinged man in front of him, hanging on by his mercy alone. Tartaglia's chest heaves up and down as he tries to breathe, but it's suffocating, as the presence inside of him has his heart in his hands. Physically, his real heart beats faster and faster, out of fear and affection all the same, but on the inside, his heart beats as warmth pours out of it into those fingertips that wrap around it.

"Ngh...why don't you, then..."

Even in this desperate time, he taunts Scaramouche, wondering exactly why he hasn't torn his heart out. He defeated him in battle, didn't allow him to die. And now he's using his power to coax Tartaglia's dark secrets out of him, toying with his emotions, cupping the very warmth of love he has in his heart. He doesn't understand...

"Stop talking about it and do it. That's what you want, isn't it? Ngh-!!!

His body squirms underneath the power Scaramouche uses on him, to sink more deeply into his emotions and touch what no mortal could ever conceive of being able to touch. It's almost too much, and he can feel his mind break a little under the strain, no matter how much of a fight he tries to put up against it.

Scaramouche knows he has never been like this. So eager for a certain sort of revenge, so angry at humanity as a whole, so jealous of all those who had a heart, so sad because of the friends he lost. Isn't it fair to yearn for warmth? To be loved and worshipped? Perhaps the only way to force humans to do that is to ascend to godhood.

And, to be fair, that is a good question. Better not answer it and ask different questions instead.

"Do you want to die? Or do you want to worship a true god?"

Really, he wants to give in to that anger, to treat it as the powerful tool it is. But here he is, craving that warmth even more.

"I want that to be for me, and me alone."

Scaramouche is aware of how Childe is failing with his resisting. How the other Harbinger starts to crumble underneath his divine touch. And he could kill him, instead his grip tightens and when his lips cover those of the other, he is not sure if he's acting out of malice or that simple, basic, human need of love.

The moments that pass by are agonizing as Scaramouche holds him there in his grip, unable to move, unable to do much of anything due to his broken body. He's never come into contact with true, divine power before, and the weight of the god's will against his own further breaks him down inside. He wants to keep his feelings, his devotion, and his love away from this being, yet it was always there for him despite himself. And now that his foe here knows it's there, he's breaking through all of Childe's defenses to take it. He doesn't answer the questions, his teeth gritting and straining to keep himself together and avoid falling into this pit where his emotions can freely reign and his will submits to Scaramouche.

His eyes widen with surprise when the attention of the puppet seems to focus at his heart instead of the thought of killing him. Tartaglia doesn't know what he means at first by "that", but as he leans down and brushes his lips against his own, he understands as his eyes close what it is he is trying to covet for himself.

Deep within him, he feels Scaramouche tighten his grip and take that love inside of him, forcing Tartaglia to release it so it can flow and pour right into the divine puppet freely. The power that commands it is too much for him to take, and the feel of their lips slotting together is a fantasy that he could only have when he closed his eyes and daydreamed about in private. It loosens Childe's grip on himself as his heart opens up and fills Scaramouche with his warmth, his repressed love that can no longer be restrained. His lips caress and give unto his god the worship he desires, leaving Tartaglia breathless in his wake and desiring nothing more than to give all of his love to the opponent who has him immobilized on the bed.

And when it ends, he can only look up into his god's eyes with heavily lidded eyes of his own, astonished at what just happened, yet feeling so full now that he's finally shown his true adoration for the god on top of him. Childe is left speechless- how do you respond to something like that, other than to stay silent in total respect for a god?

And in return, Scaramouche has never actually experienced godhood like he is doing now. Of course, he has been dreaming about it, wanting it more than everything in the world but to be in touch with that part of him...it's exciting and confusing at the same time.

Perhaps he wants to be a kinder god, one who recognizes his followers, one who can bless them with his mere presence. Isn't there anything greater than to be close to the god they give their love to? The god they open their precious heart to? All they need is a bit of encouragement.

Shouldn't it be disgusting to kiss a human? And isn't it weak to claim his love? While a myriad of questions rise within Scaramouche he forces himself to focus on what his happening right now. And when an immense warmth engulfs his body he can't help closing his eyes, every fiber of his being reviling in that sensation.

"Praise me..." he murmurs, his lips moving against those of the other. "Worship me..." He keeps murmuring. Sometimes the words coming from his mouth aren't understandable and when they do, they're merely encouraging words to Childe. More worship, more praise, more warmth, more love.

After that there is silence. Scaramouche is still hovering above the taller man, both of his hands pressed against his chest, still able to feel a firm heartbeat underneath them. Yet, he has let go of Childe's spirit a little.

"Are you convinced that this is the only right path for you? A worm is made to crawl after all."

That, and he wants every bit of that warmth, that love.

His head is still spinning, still trying to recover from all the praise, adoration, and love he just poured into the god above him. Gods get power from the worship of mortals, and Childe has inadvertently made Scaramouche more powerful just by this action alone. His romantic feelings, prior to him becoming a true god, had always been persistent yet hidden from view for him- so he knew deep down that he wants this, longs for it, even.

Is it possible to worship two gods, or can he continue to serve the Tsaritsa while also devoting himself to Scaramouche?

He can feel a little bit of control return to him, but Tartaglia is very much still under the throes of turning to his new god and loving him unconditionally and with all of his heart, mind, and soul. He shouldn't accept this, and yet, he still feels the pull of himself towards Scaramouche, and his hand rises from the side of the bed to reach up and gingerly attempt to touch the puppet's cheek.

"I...I shouldn't..."

Yet his eyes dilate in awe and reverence, love exuding from him in two ways- worship, and romantically. Everything hurts, his body broken, and what can he do without the forgiveness of his god?

"...yet, I wouldn't be happy if I were to turn away from You. You fill me with the will to keep fighting, to topple any other gods who stand in my path, to brandish my blade and fell even the mightiest of foes. I've loved you long before you ever became a god. I am your first, true follower."

His eyes are desperate, needing the support of Scaramouche more than ever in this moment, before he's allowed more of his spirit back to realize the transgression he may be committing against the Tsaritsa.

"Help me, Scaramouche. Please. Please."

There was no reason to reject such devotion, such love. While he could take all that life out of his very mortal body within the blink of an eye, he chose forgiveness instead.

"I will accept." Slowly he reaches out and slides his hands over Childe's cheeks, noticing how warm they feel. He smiles briefly, the look on his face becoming far more soft than it normally was. And he keeps stroking the other man's cheeks, eyes focused on his face.

As the Sixth Harbinger, Scaramouche held no love for no one. He hated his underlings, he disliked most of his fellow Harbingers and merely did what was asked of him, longing for that gnosis that (obviously) belonged to him. And now he had everything...everything except that gnosis.

"You will help me to regain my gnosis. And I will grant you my blessing."

Scaramouche expects that familiar feeling of disgust or hatred when he pulls Childe into an embrace. But instead of that he is a ware of a certain sort of euphoria, as if it was a victory of some sort.

"Worship me."

He whispers the words softly, as if it was a secret between Childe and him.

"Now don't hold back."

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The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

sorry, he's just a little insane right now

isn't he always a little tho

I'm gonna put in a little timeskip

is mouchiebaby still using his mind control here btw

the reigns are a little bit more loose, I leave it up to you to interpretate :3

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OKAY HE IS TOTALLY BEING CREEPY TO HIM, FEEL FREE TO INTERPRET IT THE WAY YOU WANT

omg no you have to tell me what he's doing with his powers, i can't decide that for you lol

I HOPE THIS IS OKAY

lawl yeah ofc it is silly haha

he is about to do something more silly

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