mintsaysyes
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Scaramouche doesn’t think about his mother.
Bookmarked by mintsaysyes
10 Mar 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
this is so cute
i can't believe they kept the name ambiguous what am i supposed to do
so does ei remember or not this shit making me trip balls... holy shit there's no way wanderer actually asked nahida to make her forget him entirely that's crazy
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When the Birds begin to whistle by rubydragonz
Fandoms: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
25 Feb 2024
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“You must want to go home,” Mona says softly. “The land of the dead is no place for a god of living things.”
“I did not come here as a god,” he says slowly, trying to find the words to describe his feelings. It's an impossible task, trying to use something as clumsy as words to describe something as delicate as gossamer spiderwebs stretched between two branches, but he has no other choice.
“I came here as someone who is already dead.”
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Bookmarked by mintsaysyes
11 Mar 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
i really enjoy how it plays out
lmao organic? god controlling organic matter??
oh and also suicidal
he speaks [to] the treesi also like how miko and ei are shown here
mona, goddess of fate turned god of the underworld, misses the stars too
can't like mona take a break and go up or smth i feel kinda badthis is such a cute fic tho
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Summary
Kazuha returns to Inazuma in search of a link to his past; a famed blade forged by a distant ancestor whom he knows little about. In doing so, his path crosses with a mysterious stranger toting an Anemo Vision, a barbed-wire tongue, and a penchant for staring when Kazuha thinks he isn't looking.
So, naturally, he invites him to journey with him.
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Bookmarked by mintsaysyes
08 Dec 2023
Bookmarker's Notes
i love this, the descriptions are top notch... essentially kazuha is looking for a sword named Hi no Tori and wanderer is helping (the niwa clan made the sword)
He thought of giving in, of just laying his Vision at his archon’s feet, wouldn’t that be easier? But if he did, he would lose himself. Ambitions, dreams, desires—he would be leaving those with her too. What right did the Shogun have to the things that drove him? The thought of a lifeless, colourless world where he had no reason to go on threatened to tear him apart. Kazuha valued self-expression and freedom. He could not simply just hand that over to a woman who cared nothing for it.
“Teyvat has so much history. Calamities and wars, gods falling to each other, mortals caught in the cross-fire. There’s so much in our world that’s a testament to worse times, but it always bounces back. Inazuma is the same. Any history book would tell you, the real Hi no Tori is all of us. We rise again and again no matter what comes our way. It won’t be like this forever, Kazuha. Your winds will blow free again. Someone will have the power to face down the Shogun eventually and show her the error of her ways. History’s taught us time and time again. In the end, everything always rights itself. We rise again no matter what.”
But in the end, he was too late. That night, hiding from the Shogunate while holding the empty Vision shell that had scorched his hand and arm entirely, he knew that the Hi no Tori was a lie. Nothing had risen from the ashes. It had all burned for nothing at all.
<<the scene where wanderer tests the bed and gives kazuha the better one
“Have you ever heard a fawn cry for its mother?” Kazuha asked him. “It’s a dreadful sound. Those orphaned get so desperate that they may even approach a predator in the hope that it will help them. That is how loneliness sometimes feels to me. Though I am used to travelling alone, I must admit that it is tempting to seek out someone to speak with, whoever that may be.”
Wanderer scoffed, glancing away. “So, I’m the predator? Maybe you’re more perceptive than I thought.”
“No, I don’t think so. You understood that short fragment. You knew it meant loneliness. Maybe your heart has called out too, desperate to be heard.”
“I’ve heard the fawn cry for its mother,” Wanderer said eventually, stiff. “I’ve seen it approach the predator too. But my heart has never been desperate. It’s never needed anyone else, because…”
“Because?”
“Forget it.”Wanderer dithered for a couple of minutes trying to open the flask without dropping his Sangayaki, making for such a pathetic sight that Kazuha could barely believe that he was the same man who’d come tearing through the darkness to save him.
“What I do know is that I wouldn’t mind blowing off some steam. It’s on the way to Inazuma City, so why don’t we go hunting? Bash some heads together, strike the fear of the divine into some fools.” Kazuha blinked, a little stunned. “Ah, so is that what you were doing that night when we crossed paths? Tormenting the poor Nobushi who had no idea what was coming their way?”
The weight of the Shogun’s gaze bearing down on his back had driven him to Tenshukaku in the hope that maybe facing the statue head-on would make it easier. Unfortunately, he’d wrong. Her statue had its eyes closed, refusing to look at him even as it carried out its surveillance. Absolved of her sins, she had nothing to apologise for.
“Why would you choose here of all places?” he muttered. “Beneath her gaze, beneath her notice…she sees nothing. This statue proves it. The common people crow for her attention, yet she is ignorant to them all. Despite how they stand before her, her eyes are always closed.”
“I’ve always thought differently. She sees everything, I learned as much in my escape from this place. I came here thinking that I might be able to make peace with myself, but…she averts her gaze. I believe she still sees me, but ultimately cannot face me. Which is likely a good thing, as I’m not so sure I could face her either.”“The Shogun gave me everything,” he said, eyes sharp at the edges, an incoming gale. “She didn’t intend to. I never mattered to her, just like the rest of you vermin. But through her neglect, I gained everything—then lost it all to the machinations of fate. Eternity? Forever? It doesn’t last. It never will. You can fight it as hard as you like, you can even try and change the past, but there is no way to preserve the now. It all burns to embers, it’s all worthless in the end. That was her weakness; she could never understand.”
Still, something about what he said didn’t sit right. “You’re right. There is no way to preserve the present, every good thing must eventually come to its end…but I disagree that it’s worthless. Knowing it will end is what makes it valuable. We must cherish what we have while we have it, because it could leave us at any moment.” -
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Summary
But as with all things, dreams must come to an end, so Nahida sighs and focuses on more important matters. Such as, the stunned girl with white hair sprawled on her knees, leaflets nestled in her braid. She looks up at Nahida with a completely bewildered expression. It’s like looking into a mirror.
Nahida looks down. Black knee length shorts.
“Oh. Whoopsies.”
“Whoopsies,” Scaramouche says, and her own voice comes out. “That’s all you’ve got? Whoopsies?”
Sometimes, getting to know a person is to walk a mile in their shoes, literally. Other times it’s taking pictures of the things you like, and going for joyrides in the middle of the night. It’s about finding a friend you never knew you needed, in the last place you’d ever look. About wishing you were worth sticking around for, and realizing you were enough all along.
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Bookmarked by mintsaysyes
02 Jan 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
this is honestly so cute
<<<<< Actor Scaramouche
<<<<< Nahida insulting Miko
I feel like both the Balladeer and Kusunali could learn so much from each other
this is by far my favorite intrepeation of their relationship
angry nahihi finally
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Summary
In which Kazuha is a competitive hockey player, and Scaramouche is the unfortunate troubled medical student whom he gets caught up with.
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Bookmarked by mintsaysyes
31 Dec 2023
Bookmarker's Notes
the kazuscara great here
I would hardly consider us strangers. It would be hard to maintain anonymity with someone who was with you when the world burned down.
Then he got fucked in the head and the idea of adrenaline was associated with blood and death and the smell of antiseptic– you could feel sorry for him, he thinks, but he doesn’t care. Not anymore, because he knows better than anyone that nothing comes from wishing on stars, or the apologies people sing, however sorry they are.
“So that’s what it is!” Scaramouche cackles. “I was strong, I was— I was a survivor. What does that make everyone else? What does it make everyone else— you think, you think I’m alive because I was clever and smart, like they were idiots, they were stupid, they messed up—“
But they’re not the same. Because Kazuha is here. Niwa isn’t.
To the world, nurses and doctors and midwives are untouchable, angels sent to save your friends and family. They aren’t seen as people– this serves as an uncomfortable reminder; Scaramouche’s tears are proof of humanity. To see a trauma nurse crying and hunched over another doctor; people. They’re people. Scaramouche knew Niwa. And he will continue to know Niwa, forever, and ever.
Sad birds still sing, It says, and so— less bright, the stars of the night, than the eyes of Eulalie. And never a flake— that the vapor can make, with the moon-tints of purple and pearl, can vie with cold Eulalie's most unregarded curl. Sad birds still sing, Kazuha had written. And yet he had written poetry about his beauty in the same sentence. As if he was saying Scaramouche was not beautiful in spite of his damage, but despite it.
He’s never had to feel that empty feeling of loneliness, of being unloved by the people who were supposed to love you most. And still he fell into the hands of addiction. It can happen to anyone, he thinks. The right circumstances can breed the wrong actions.
“You’re the one that wanted it,” Kazuha laughs. Scaramouche throws him a glare without any real heat behind it. “I know,” Scaramouche says, and then his whole demeanor changes. His tone is more bitter, more resentful, “I know. I’ve always hated these things.” “Why’d you get it, then?” Kazuha asks. The airport comes into view, bustling with cars and people departing for home and arriving. Suitcases lounge like corpses around the perimeter of Sawyer International Airport. “I don’t know,” Scaramouche’s eyes stare not at the airport, but at the slushie in his hand. “I guess I thought it would taste different.”
It had been pitch black when Scaramouche ran away from home.
The sun was hiding, and even on that night— when he packed his life away and slipped out into the dead grass, it felt as if the moon was missing too. The stars were snatched from the sky, leaving him with a pitch black, lonely and empty canvas stretching over his home. And that was the beauty of it. It wasn’t the night. It wasn’t a night where the stars aligned for him and his bags were packed and his loose ends tied up. It was just a night.Perhaps it really is time for Scaramouche to learn to move on. The color of his tears has stained his world-view in grays and blues far too long, and Scaramouche has forgotten the color of marigolds.
And maybe, Scaramouche and Niwa will meet again.
The dead are for morticians and butchers. Niwa no longer belongs to Scaramouche.
Matrimony and gold. Devastation and whatever is beyond it. Kazuha pulls him out of the water.A chance. This is his second chance— and he’s going to get better. No matter how long it takes. Baby steps. You can’t come in from a rainstorm and immediately expect to be dry and warm and comfortable. But you can do the little things, like take off your wet clothing, your rain boots, your wet coat, dry your hair. One small thing at a time until you’re completely dry. Healing starts with a choice. And it’s one he will make. He can start to accept what cannot and will not change. He is not helpless.
Everyone always says to take baby steps to recovery. No one ever tells you how to start moving.
Scaramouche cannot wait to get his certification and finally unchain himself from this grave of a hospital. That way he can move on– and the hospital can too. Not one of its employees will have witnessed the shooting once he leaves. A fresh start for both of them.