Ok So What If He Has A Bowl Cut. He Looks Good In It.

LOVE IS A SONG …

DO I WANT YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE WONDERFUL, / OR ARE YOU WONDERFUL / BECAUSE I WANT YOU? the prestigious teyvat arts academy is once again hosting their annual musical production, and for you? well, you’re gunning for the lead role– cinderella. but something throws a tomato in your star spotlight time when you find out that long-time crush, scaramouche, has been casted as prince fucking charming. cue the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” chorus!

love is a song, a scaramouche x reader smau. reader plays the role of cinderella but is referred to by with they/them pronouns. spoilers for: scaramouche’s, childe’s & signora’s real names. tags: uni! theatre kids! oh-my-fucking-god y’all just pining AND oblivious! swearing (if it ain’t obvious already)! ooc characters (literally all of them except childe)!

STATUS: on - going UPDATES: whenever i feel like it disregard time-stamps & interactions (too lazy to put in likes & stuff just pretend they are there)

MASTERLIST

꒰ teaser ꒱

꒰ prologue ꒱  me, who am i? ( i / ii )

to be continued …

TAGLIST : @keqinxx @scaradocs @scaramew​ TAG : l.ove is a song

BUT!!!!! ITS OKAY BCS **IM** THE ONE DOING IT!!! IM THE ONLY VALID SHINNIE!!!

i just saw this (again) why do u make me see him everyday

That scene…

music-loving aranara…!!

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noe ✩ he/him mostly reblogs! ensemble stars!! music, obey me!, blue period & genshin impact dni if -12/23+ please!

⟢ read carrd bfyi ⟢

Happy Family

I HATE U (t4t kisses u back)

THIS PERSON GETS IT

so cute!!!!

tender-hearted / albedo there is so much to tell, so much to say.

pairing. albedo / gn! reader genre. fluff, museum au (?) word count. 504

note. a late birthday drabble for albedo, but is it really late when albedo day is every day? it’s been a long time since i last wrote and this may be a bit all over the place, but i cannot not write for the love of my life. (p.s. thank you mint for beta-ing this short piece!)

The pure, unadulterated warmth playing beneath your eyes is what distracts him. It isn’t his first time here, nor his second, nor third, nor sixth, nor twelfth—he had already lost count on how many of his days have been spent within the four corners of this room.

It is, however, yours. Your first time to set foot into this room, enter the place of the curation of the past and the present, and see it for yourself.

Truth be told, there isn’t really much to see. Albedo thinks there is nothing of note among the collections exhibited in the room, but he also thinks it must be because he has gotten so used to how his mind has grown accustomed to its space; feet moving across the room through memory he had developed through all his visits.

“This,” Albedo starts, briefly gesturing towards a seemingly bland portrait of the old city framed on the wall. He has not even started with his telling of its details (which you enthusiastically asked for every other exhibit you’ve already passed by) yet… there is an undying awe in you. He finds it endearing, much to the point that he feels it tug at his heart—a cheesy sentiment, but it is really the most accurate description he could find.

He goes on, and on, and on. He details you of what he knows, you listen with such intent that brings him immense pride and joy. There is so much to tell, so much to say. Every word is a testament to his knowledge and expertise, as well as your importance to him. One hand points to whatever your ask about, and his other stays safely in yours.

(He keeps his fingers there, and truly, he thinks, your hand fits his so perfectly.)

This is something that he can only give to you, and only you.

“This place is a curation of the rare and the important. The historical. The canonical.”

You stride towards the middle of the room, where you could survey the whole space with just a simple turn. He watches, with concentration, how you talk about this one particular portrait you can’t seem to forget, but he stops listening after you say its name. He watches, with concentration, how you smile about being grateful for him bringing you here, but he would bring you here, and anywhere you would love.

He watches, with concentration, the only work of art in this room that is alive.

You.

The rare and the important. The historical. The canonical.

“...say it’s monotonous, but I truly believe it was one of the most captivating pieces in here.”

The divine. The ethereal.

“...have given it soul, right?”

The sublime. The…

“Beautiful,” you whisper, almost out of breath. The pure, unadulterated warmth playing beneath your eyes is still there. “Isn’t it?”

This isn’t his first time here, nor his second, nor third, nor sixth, nor twelfth, but—

“Yes,” he responds, never taking his eyes off of you (not now, not ever). “It is.”

day 196: the vision hunt decree