Chapter Text
scaramouche hated him.
every single inch of him, starting with his golden blonde hair down to his waist and maybe around his hips and down to his thighs and—
aether took up a lot of his thoughts.
it made him sick. he thought he was done, he thought the emotions of humans had finally become irrelevant, that they weren't necessary. yet here he stood, letting himself become affected by something so meager. who was he? surely he wasn't so pathetic, right?
he was. that's why his mother discarded him, after all.
it felt like a blow every time something like this set scaramouche back, because it was only proving her right. he was weak, he was too fragile, he'd never be enough. he was strong, he was capable of holding a gnosis, he was made of divine energy and yet just one stupid blonde idiot was enough to set his progress back by a mile.
scaramouche hated him. he hated him so fucking much.
he wanted to consume every single inch of his skin.
it was exhilarating, hearing all about some goody two shoes traveller, so helpful and so friendly, and being able to reduce him to pure anger. scaramouche hated him, and he knew aether hated him right back. it was mutual loathing, and scaramouche basked in it.
because that anger was just for him. it made him feel special.
scaramouche wanted to knew what made him tick. what would really make the blonde break. perhaps if he brought up his sister? how his entire journey was probably pointless?
it ate away at him. he wanted his attention. he wanted aether's attention. the need for it drove scaramouche mad.
he was obsessed.
it wasn't fun. it wasn't cute. no, this was an obsession that drove scaramouche fucking crazy. he went out of his way to search for any news about the other. he wanted to claw at his own skin when he heard about any of his stupid fucking journeys, especially when they involved other people. he wanted nothing more than to lock aether and make him his, because at least that way, he'd finally have someone all to himself. someone that couldn't die, someone that wouldn't leave him.
scaramouche craved everything about him, and resented him for it all the same.
their relationship was defined by his own self destructive tendencies. scaramouche was a sabotager through and through, he was so scared of people leaving him that at this point, he did the work himself. he needed to be in control, he so desperately needed that control. he hated himself for it.
he hated everything about himself. this obsession with aether made him hate himself. he hated how weak it made him. gods weren't supposed to be pulled down by such pitiful emotions.
but, scaramouche mused, he supposed that wasn't the case. his mother was so overwhelmed by her grief for her sister that she made it her entire nation's problem.
why was his mother allowed to feel, but he wasn't?
what part of that was fair?
he enjoyed tormenting aether more when that was all there was to it. torment. scaramouche had to be the one to go and get attached — he ruined it all. he tainted everyone he touched. every relationship he had.
it was an endless cycle.
he really was just a byproduct of eternity.