littlesilhouettoofaman | The Brightest Things Fade The Fastest

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*psl

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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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

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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