#LONG LIVE WAYPOINT

[callmearcturus]

"We are at minute four-point-five into the trip and you speak in a sort of glossolalia."

THE LEGENDARY. THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME. AUSTIN FUCKING WALKER READING ABOUT "MACHINE ELVES".

The greatest monologue anyone has EVER done EVER.

[ahrisaamariyo]

ive been comparing luxu to emet-selch (not something im happy about either), and ive come to the conclusion that luxu would hate him. luxu is a kh character, and i think he kept his care for the dandelions after all these years; while emet-selch refuses to see people as people and is willing to do whatever it takes to bring back the past he loved, even if the people he cared for then would look down upon the destruction he's wrought to do so

[ghoulbrain]

The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 2

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 3

The waves hit the boat gently as you wait for the sound of people to get quieter. Once the cawing of birds is the most prominent sound, you jump out of the boat onto the shore. You walk up Amakane Island and keep your head low as you pass by stalls and people.

You get to mask stall which is thankfully empty at the moment. A jagged fox mask with the lower half missing and gold accents catches your eye. You put it on right as the vendor comes back to the stall.

You smile excitedly at the two men feeling more confident with your identity hidden. The mask showing the bottom half of your face is a necessary sacrifice. Body language is a double-edged sword for lying that you've learned to wield expertly.

"Hello, are you the vendor for these masks? I really like this gold one, I couldn't resist trying it on. How much is it?"

The vendor sees the mask you're wearing and laughs nervously.

"Hello dear customer but I'm afraid it broke when two other customers were fighting over it. You could come back tomorrow, and I could give you a mask with that same color or you could pick a different mask now."

You skirt around the offer and distract him with more questions. It's not like you have any mora to pay with. Your tone is sympathetic and sweet.

"I'm sorry to hear that happened. If you don't mind, I would like to know why they were fighting over it."

"Well as everyone knows, gold is heavily associated with the creator and that happened to be the last mask. The Yashiro guard that usually stands guard is escorting them to the prison."

"Oh, I see. Actually, do you mind answering some of my questions? You see I'm a traveler and I like to listen to stories about the creator. Each region has their own variations about the creator so I'm curious about Inazuma's!"

Your smile is bright, and the man seems to perk up at your words. He begins explaining about acolytes, praying times, the creator's image and even more.

Simply put the playable characters are acolytes and it's a high honor if they have been awakened. Which is a fancy word for saying that you pulled and won them.

No one knows the creators real name meaning you can still live on as Y/N. They believe that after creating the world you were now resting inside a different world. That now that you were awakening acolytes, you would be arriving soon.

It's when he mentions sacrificing that you feel dread pool inside you. This is a cult; you have a fucking cult. Ironic how Ei almost sacrificed you to yourself.

After getting all the information you needed from the man, you walk away. Still wearing the mask without paying for it. The vendor will probably realize in a little while, but you would be long gone by then.

You look back at your boat wondering how you could get rid of it. Ei saw it meaning that she'll be able to recognize it as long as you have it nearby.

You look at Byakko Plain where a teleport waypoint should be. If you could get to it, activate it then your plan of discarding the boat should work.

As you walk across the sand and soft waves from Amakane to Byakko you see 3 treasure hoarders and a nobushi. Right in the middle and right in your way.

Could you outrun them? Probably not. Fight them and win? Maybe the treasure hoarders but that nobushi is dangerous. Your only choice is to retreat and have one of your acolytes defeat them. It felt weird referring them like that but this whole thing is bizarre.

Just as you turn around, you hear them yell. The nobushi pulls out his sword, a treasure hoarder takes out throwing knives, another a crossbow, and the third uses a paddle.

You have no choice but to fight. Gritting your teeth, you skid across the sand to avoid getting hit by the knives and arrows. The nobushi sprints and slashes his sword to hit you at the same time the paddle treasure hoarder rushes after you.

You jump away just in time to see them hit each other instead of you. The sword stabs the paddle guy right in the stomach and the two other treasure hoarders freeze at the sight. The nobushi pulls the sword out unfazed.

The two treasure hoarders watch in horror as paddle guy coughs up blood and falls to the ground.

"What the hell man?! Why would you stab him like that?!" The treasure hoarders start yelling and aiming at the nobushi. The nobushi glares at them and starts walking toward them. The blood on his blade glints in the sunlight and you try not to think about the blood that is splattered on your shirt.

Using the argument between the nobushi and treasure hoarders, you pick up the paddle. The nobushi will probably kill both treasure hoarders and attack you again.

It's better to take out the nobushi and fight the treasure hoarders then run away. As you sneak up behind the nobushi, the treasure hoarders see you and stay silent.

The nobushi prepares to swing and cut down the treasure hoarders. It exposes the back of his neck, and you swing the paddle hard. Your hit lands and the paddle breaks from the force.

The nobushi falls to the ground leaving you exposed as you pant from the strength needed for the blow to be effective. The treasure hoarders stare at you in some shock as they tremble from their life so close to being over.

"So, uh truce?" You offer as you stand up straight. They look at their weapons and look back at you. Their hesitance unnerves you and you drop the broken paddle remains. They get a dangerous glint in their eyes now that you're unarmed.

You smile and pick up the nobushi's sword in a flash. Pointing it at them, you spoke with a drawl.

"Which do you think is faster? Your shitty aiming knives and arrows? Or this sword that's almost as tall as you?"

You touched the teleport waypoint as you watched the treasure hoarders run away. That sword was heavy as hell and only the adrenaline coursing through you in that moment gave you the strength to lift it so easily.

You held a small bag of mora, an old handguard, and 3 treasure hoarder insignia. You opened the bag that you got from the house you woke up in. You put it all in and close the bag. You didn't expect that enemy drops would still exist. The blood on the materials stained your hand and left you a chill.

Watching the teleport become gold you open the screen and open the map. You click on the first teleport waypoint you opened on Kannazuka. The same one where Ei found you.

There were two options, both had the words 'teleport waypoint' but one was gold. You pressed the gold option, and your vision went white.

Pressing your hands to your eyes, you open them slowly. It actually worked. You teleported to Kannazuka island. In a daze you walk to the waverider and summon the boat. You open the screen and teleport back to Byakko Plain.

Your eyes close automatically as you teleport. When you open them again at Byakko Plain, you look to see the boat gone. Pushing down the relief at it working, you try to remember what you needed to do next.

The cold wet feeling of blood on your clothes was creeping you out. Plus your clothes were so unique that Ei could definitly recognize you from it.

You pace the path as you think. The small amount of mora you put in your bag was all you had. But how much could a shirt, pants, and shoes cost? A potato was like 100 mora so the price should be around 4,500 mora. And even that's the least amount it can cost.

You open your bag to check the mora and instead of seeing inside the bag, a screen is there. It's the same screen you see when you open your bag in Genshin.

Well at least you won't have to worry about weight or food expiring. But unlike the bag you have in Genshin, this one is nearly completely empty. So, it's not connected to the bag you have in your account.

You look to the bottom and see 108 mora. You select the insignia and handguard. You try to trash them to see if you can get any mora from that. The game warns you nothing can be recovered, and you cancel the trashing.

Maybe you should just steal? It's your only option at this point. No one would be willing to accept help from a bloody masked stranger, nor will they accept 108 mora as a down payment. You really wanted to avoid stealing more than this mask. Clothes take a long time to make considering how the technology here isn't as advanced.

You trip over something small and pointy almost falling face first into the ground. You catch yourself and look to see that it's.

"Ushi?"

The cow moos at you and before mooing at a group of people running towards you.

"BEEFCAKE!"

Itto runs and picks Ushi up in a twirl nearly smacking you in the process. Kuki and his boys catch up as they breathe heavily. The only thing you can think as you watch Itto baby Ushi is.

'Dear god the game did not do him justice.'

Itto is huge, as tall as the nobushi you fought, and his muscles are nowhere near as flat as his game model.

"Boss, be more careful! You nearly hit them when you threw Ushi!"

Kuki scolds Itto as she points at you. Itto stops and looks at you in surprise seeming to finally notice your existence. Putting Ushi down Itto ruffles your hair and laughs.

"You mean this kid? C'mon if Ushi didn't nearly hit them, something else would."

"Sorry about him, he'll call anyone shorter than him 'kid'."

"It's fine, the bull, uh Ushi, you called him? Didn't hit me."

"Either way sorry about that compadre, but it's a good thing it didn't hit you. As an acolyte if he did hit you, you would probably be six feet under."

As gruesome as Itto's words sound, his actions are the opposite. He has an arm slung around your shoulders and a bright smile. Kuki who is usually more composed seems to be smiling judging by the crinkle at the edge of her eyes.

"Wow, you're an acolyte? Makes sense, a lot of vision users are. My name is Y/N, what are yours?"

Itto perks up at that and releases you. He stands in front of his gang facing you. The sun makes his red horns glint as he spreads his arms animatedly.

"I'm Arataki 'The One and Oni' Itto! I have many names but for time's sake I'll skip them this time to introduce you to the Arataki Gang."

He points to each of his members as he introduces them. "This is Shinobu Kuki, my deputy. She has a permit for everything - literally everything and is also an acolyte. Ushi is the auxiliary member; I call him Beefcake. Akira, Genta, and Mamoru are my boys and have been some of the longest standing members of the gang."

"You mean the only other gang members."

Shinobu corrects him. Spinning around to face her Itto shushes her a comically number of times. Not very quietly he whispers to her.

"Hey, hey don't ruin it for me. A new person is the best to get to join the gang."

Those words make you perk up as you watch Itto continue whisper-yelling at Shinobu. Honestly you wouldn't mind living as a member of the Arataki gang. It's not a criminal gang like the one you were in, in your old world. In fact, it would be even more fun than a normal job.

But there's no way you were staying in Inazuma with Ei hunting you down. You need to steer the conversation away from this into something more productive.

"Sorry if this is rude to say but are your horns real? This is my first time in Inazuma, so I've never seen anything like it before."

Itto abandons Shinobu's side to stand in front of you and comb his hair back with a proud grin.

"Indeed, they are real. Guess you didn't realize my clever wording in my title as the 'One and Oni' Itto. I'm a red oni and the best one there is!"

"That's why you have those red markings right? Plus, your clothing and accessories have all those horns too. So cool!"

Your voice heightens in a way that is similar to a fan. His reaction is just what you wanted. With a smile he juts out his thumb at himself as Shinobu shakes her head.

"Glad to see you recognize my awesomeness! Go ahead and praise me some more!"

"Don't encourage him anymore or else we'll be here for hours."

"Relax Shinobu, an amazing oni like me wouldn't let them stay out here for so long. C'mon Y/N we'll lead you to the city!"

Rubbing the back of your neck, you look down as you sheepishly admit.

"I don't think I can go in with clothes like these. Some treasure hoarders and a nobushi attacked me on my way to the city. So now my clothes are all cut up and dirty."

"What?! That's horrible, I swear if I see them, I'll-"

"Calm down boss, let's get them a change of clothes and then you can go after them."

Shinobu also seems a bit pissed at your story, interesting.

"We should have a spare uniform with the other materials, right? We can get the clothes along with the materials."

"But what if they got hurt? We can't have them walking like this! Akira, Genta, Mamoru! I'm gonna need you three to get the supplies and the old uniform. Shinobu and I will keep our new friend Y/N company in case anyone else tries attacking them."

You inwardly sigh in relief at not having to walk. Your heels still hurt from the electricity.

The boys hesitate as they give you a glance. Unlike Shinobu and Itto who seem to have an instant liking to you, the boys are unsure. Shinobu tries to explain to them.

"I know boss gets scammed nearly every time something like this happens, but I have a good feeling about Y/N. It's like I've meet them before, almost like an old friend."

The boys nod and leave feeling more assured with Shinobu on your side. Itto pats her back with a grin.

"You explained it almost as well as I would have."

"But maybe you should have gone with them. It'll be difficult to carry all those materials by themselves."

"Ah, have more faith Shinobu. They'll be fine. The shrine will look great."

This talk of materials and a shrine give you an inkling of what they're doing but you question them to be sure.

"By shrine, do you mean you're making a shrine for the creator?"

"That's right! It's almost the anniversary of the creator awakening the traveler, so we wanted to do something special. But it'll take some time for the boys to get back with the stuff. Why don't we have some fun in the meantime?"

That smile on Itto's face turns competitive as he stares down at you. It's infectious and before you know it, you have the same grin.

"What game are you suggesting? It would be fun to try an Inazuma game. You'll probably need the extra help of it being familiar too."

"Oh hoho! Shorty's got jokes! I'll take you on in any game. But since you want something Inazuma style then beetle fighting is the obviously best choice!"

Shinobu sighs affectionately as she watches Itto explain how beetle fighting works to you. She can't help but feel drawn to you and Itto feels the same way.

You find a huge purple reddish beetle and carefully carry it to the stage Itto set up.

"That's a good one Y/n, seems like the beetle likes you."

Shinobu comments as you bring it into view. The beetle moves in your hands as docile as a lamb and you pet the hard shell.

"That's great to know. Hope you won't be too mad when I beat Itto's ass."

"As if, just be prepared for him to challenge you to a 100 more matches."

"He wouldn't actually do that right?"

Shinobu adjusts her mask as she stays silent.

"Right???"

She only laughs as Itto bounds up to you both holding a good-sized purple beetle.

"I can tell this little guy has a beetle fighting spirit like no other! Be prepared to lose Y/N!"

With both beetles on the stage, the fight begins. Or that's what you would think if Itto's beetle wasn't immediately defeated.

You give your beetle a nice pat for a job well done as Itto picks up his beetle shocked.

"Alright, I lost that time, but this next round will be different. He just got stage fright is all."

Another round goes and you win again. Itto challenges you again and surprise, surprise you win again. This loop goes on and on until the boys arrive with the clothes and materials.

You cheer tiredly as Itto finally stops challenging you to help his gang with building the shrine. You pick up your tired beetle and hold him close to you as you watch them begin building.

Itto's beetle pinches your leg lightly to get your attention. You smile at the purple beetle and hold him too. Now out of battle the two beetles are friendly with each other.

"Never again Shinobu, that was at least 35 rounds."

"37 actually but hey, who's counting?"

You chuckle at her words and watch as she takes the uniform from the boys. She walks back and hands you the clothes.

"There's a small stall right on the outskirts of Inazuma City. You can change there."

You look at where she's pointing and thank her before going to it. You enter it and take off the mask. After changing clothes, you look at yourself in the mirror.

The outfit itself was Inazuma style with near unnoticeable patches. You never imagined you would be wearing clothes like this in Teyvat. Putting on the mask and looking back into the mirror, you feel more like a part of this world.

Was it because without it you would be hunted? Were you just able to disassociate better with it on? Or were you truly so isolated from the person you wished to be, that living with a mask and an altered identity was more comfortable?

You shake off those thoughts and leave the stall. You get back to where the Arataki gang is building the shrine. Your shrine. And sit beside Shinobu who is supervising to make sure they don't accidentally kill themselves.

You casually chat with Shinobu slowly bringing the conversation to the topic you want. You finally get to say the sentence that will serve as information bait.

"Actually, I'm trying to find a boat to Liyue. I want to keep exploring."

As much as you would love to stay in Inazuma a while longer to look around, Ei isn't the only one you were worried about. Yae, Heizou, and Ayato were all threats in their own right.

They're all good at sniffing out lies and mysteries. And you happen to be the biggest one, especially with this mask.

But Shinobu never got to reply to your comment as Sara approaches you all. Her stare is intimidating as she glares at Itto. Her voice has that same crisp professionalism that you remember her for.

"What is it that you all are doing here? The residents are complaining that your noise is distracting from their daily activities."

Itto gives an annoyed huff and stands up to face her.

"Me and the gang are building a shrine, thank you very much. I never do anything to attract more trouble, seriously what do you take me for? Like obviously I am the trouble, duh."

The way Sara examines the half-built shrine is similar to a stranger looking at a little kid's art piece.

"At least you're doing something productive for once. Despite that, you still need a permit to build one."

Shinobu sighs and stands up. Sara examines the permit from Shinobu before handing it back to her. Just as Sara was about to leave, she finally notices you.

"And who is this? You didn't drag them into your shenanigans, did you?"

The accusatory tone in her voice directed towards Itto made you smile but Itto's sputtered defense was what made you laugh. Sara watches you before approaching you.

"What is your name? I don't think I recognize you as a local or as a frequent traveler. I'm Kujou Sara, general of the Tenryou Commission."

"It's nice to meet you Sara, I'm Y/N. This is my first-time visiting Inazuma."

You smile innocently at her knowing how strict she was at her job. She went silent before saying.

"Your hair, your jaw shape even your smile is so similar to the creator."

Your heart drops when you hear that. Shinobu and Itto look at you too, they can see the resemblance. But your smile stays on your face with ease.

"I've heard that before but thank you for the compliment. Being similar in those features is a blessing."

Your tone is wistful like a shy admirer. Sara's suspicions seem to ease but she becomes curious instead.

"Where are you originally from? How often are you compared to the creator? Were you born with those similar features or did your face naturally change into it?"

With each question Sara gets closer and closer. Her tone has a rare curiosity and just a hint of reverence. It was a good decision to be wary of the cult and all the acolytes. It seems like most of them would react the same way Ei did if they saw your face.

"Your presence. If I'm not wrong, it feels exactly like how the creator would control us."

Her tone becomes cold and as you had no time to answer any of her questions, the suspicion has tripled.

You jump back as lightning flashes right where she was as she retreats a step. She stares at you waiting for your answer. Shinobu and Itto seem to fade in the background as you stare at Sara.

They all want answers. Answers that you don't have. The truth will only be seen as a lie and what lie could you possibly tell them that-

Oh.

That could work. Yes, it can definitely work.

You sigh and turn your head to the side while lowering it a little.

"I was hoping to keep quiet about this longer until I was sure of it but if you insist then I should tell you all the truth. Especially Itto and Shinobu since they've helped me out a lot."

You spin a story on how you woke up with little to no memories at a little shrine near Ritou. You rest your cheek on your hand as you recall how you heard the most beautiful voice state that you were now the creator's oracle. How you were told that you were not going to be controlled but be a way for everyone to communicate almost directly with the creator.

As you finish, they all stare at you with in slight suspicion but no hostility. You smile to yourself as you realize that they are willing to believe. That they could be convinced of your lie.

You play with your hands as you solemnly tell them that you understand that they may not believe you. That the creator even warned you of this being the most likely possibility.

Your smile is gentle, and your voice is a little hopeful as you explain that by communicating with the creator you could prove your status as an oracle.

"Prove it. Show us that you are truly the chosen oracle of the creator."

Sara says firmly.

"I want to believe you Y/N and I hate agreeing with Kujou chicken but I'm serious about the creator. I'll need to see this proof too or else I'll having to actually knock you with Beefcake as revenge for lying by using the creator. I speak for Shinobu and the gang."

You can see Shinobu roll her eyes at Itto's theatrics, but she doesn't interrupt. You smile and nod your head.

"Of course! Using the creator like that is blasphemous. I just need a small shrine to pray in private. If anybody sees or interrupts me, it could make the process go wrong."

Sara accepts that and leads you to a small temple in the middle of Byakko Plain. Which most definitely did not exist when you were still just a player.

You walk inside and stare at the murals that decorate the walls. It's you, undoubtedly so. Some are beautiful, while others are hauntingly sad. You can't help but let your eyes linger on the mural of you embracing a crying Thunderbird that was slowly becoming a Thunder Manifestation.

Probably Kapatcir, the Thunderbird that bonded with Ruu on Tsurumi Island. You never bothered to really memorize this kind of stuff but perhaps being the creator has made you automatically recall everything.

Sara leads you deeper into the temple until you stop at a alter. The altar itself is beautiful. A cobblestone base with Sakura, Amur Maple, and even some Otogi wood used to make the structure of it.

It reaches almost as high as the ceil and the trees wind around a statue of yourself. The statue depicts you with a peaceful expression and clasp hands.

You try to ignore the blood stains that cover the base of your statue. You go into a kneeling position and clasp your hands. Sara leaves the temple and it's only when the light from the door is gone that you relax.

The candles around your altar keep the temple bright and you open the screen.

You already know from experience that simply telling them private information will just lead you to be more suspicious. Instead, you switch out their weapons. From fully leveled weapons to dull blades, you close the screen.

You leave the temple and head back to where the gang and Sara is waiting. You hear the sounds of Itto trying (and failing) to challenge Sara to a rematch as you get into view.

Shinobu sees you first.

"Y/N! Did you finish praying?"

You nod with a gentle smile.

"I did and they answered my prayer. As we know, the creator can really only affect the acolytes so please take out your weapons."

"Gladly, I mean their grace gave me a wonderful fully upgraded Whiteblind that makes me even more powerful than I already am!"

Itto summons his weapon and holds it over his shoulder in a pose. Yet in his hands is a level 1, one star, Waster Greatsword. Shinobu sighs and breaks it to him.

"Boss look at your weapon."

"What? Why would I? It's fine, the creator gave me it before they even- Oh my archon, this isn't my claymore!"

As Shinobu and Itto squabble, Sara looks at the Hunter's bow that she now has. It's so unlike the Sacrificial bow that she normally wields. She feels weak with it, like the creator deemed her unworthy of their gifts.

Looking back up at you, she speaks with a small sadness that doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"It seems you are telling the truth. I apologize for doubting you. There has never been anything on an oracle appearing, so I was suspicious. Could you please pray and ask-"

"Y/N! You have to speak with the creator again! There's no way I can wield this hunk of junk. Not when I know that my great Whiteblind that was given to me by the creator is somewhere out there."

Itto shamelessly cuts Sara off. You laugh and reassure them.

"Don't worry, I'll pray and ask them to change it back. It was only temporary after all."

You leave quickly to the temple and change the weapons back. Shinobu didn't bother taking out her sword, but you still gave her, her correct one back.

You get back in time to hear Sara announce her departure to see Ei.

"I must report this to the Almighty Shogun. The existence of an oracle could mean a great deal of things. Including the chance that the Almighty Shogun can inquire the creator through you as to why she has not been awakened yet."

You didn't pull for her before and you certainly won't after how she chased you. Ei could even take you awakening her as a sign of approval of hunting you.

And there's no way you can let Sara tell Ei about your existence yet either. You would be seen as suspicious due to being found on the same day the 'imposter' was found. You needed a firm reputation as the oracle before you could ever meet Ei again.

"And I have to stop you from doing that. You see there's a reason the creator wants to keep my oracle status quiet. The creator wishes to not only see the world but all the acolytes naturally. Lumine is a famous traveler, people naturally act differently around her. But I'm not well known so everyone's true or normal attitudes are revealed to me. They want to see them as their truest self and warning the Electro Archon beforehand will go against the creators wishes."

Yes, it contradicts how you want people to be aware of you being an oracle, but it's works better than you would expect. Sara is too devoted to go against the creators wishes so she'll stay quiet. Shinobu is trustworthy and will keep quiet to please the creator.

But Itto and the gang? They'll either boast or let it slip easily. Anything that is told to stay quiet or secret almost always gets spread even faster. And since no one would dare speak to Ei casually nor will she actively look for information, Ei will still be oblivious. Only Yae could possibly let Ei know and you plan to be gone by then.

Sara keeps her head down as she speaks.

"Our truest self? Truly, the creator thinks far ahead than anyone else. Can I ask you a favor? How does the creator view me? I treated you with suspicion when you were only doing the creators will. Is that my truest self?"

You reach out your hands and grasp both of hers. She seems so sad and resigned that you can't stop yourself from using your title to speak plainly.

"Sara, the creator has seen you and your truest self is not what you believe. They see just how devoted you are to the Electro Archon and to them. The way you take your job seriously to protect the people of Inazuma, how you do your upmost to preserve their will. They wish that you would grow more when it comes to your emotional state, but they love seeing you take pride in your work. There is nothing to fear."

The way you tilt your head makes it obvious that you're staring directly into her eyes. Your skin, your hold on her hands, that piercing but warm gaze. Your features so similar to the creator. It's like she's looking at the creator in the flesh.

"Your grace..."

Sara whispers before jumping back as you're pulled away from her.

"Hey! Stop hogging Y/N! Weren't you going back to your boring workplace? If you're gonna stay any longer than you should just agree to my rematch."

Itto is holding you by the back of your shirt lifting you above the ground as he glares at Sara. You wanted to laugh at his clear jealousy.

Sara grits her teeth in annoyance.

"I was just conversing with Y/N, but I will be on my way now."

With that Sara leaves with Itto putting you back down as he stomps his foot like a kid.

"That stupid chicken, why did you hold her hand? You could have just held mine, I'm way stronger!"

"Didn't she beat you in a fight?"

"Well yeah, I admit that, but she always refuses a rematch! She's too chicken to accept it because she knows she'll lose!"

"Boss the shrine is done!" "Let's go get the offerings now." "Maybe some candles, candy, and lavender melon."

You struggle not to fall as Itto drapes his whole arm on you. He turns to his boys with a grin as Shinobu helps you escape his grip.

"Good work boys, we'll get the best stuff."

You walk with the Arataki gang as they gather stuff to offer. Sometimes they ask you which one is better to offer since you can communicate with the creator. It's not like anyone will believe that you, a scrappy lying human is their beloved creator.

You smile and shamelessly pick anything you like. You were the creator after all, this totally wasn't self-serving in the slightest.

Taking it back they light the candles and offer the gifts. There's a rare moment of silence as you all pray to the shrine. Well at least they were, you were too busy trying not to fall asleep from such a busy day.

It's only when you are eating roasted lavender melon with them all that Shinobu speaks on topic you needed.

"I almost forgot, Y/N, you planned to leave Inazuma right?"

"What!? You're leaving already? Why?"

Itto's whiny dramatic voice made you smile.

"I'm not leaving yet; I don't have any transportation. I'm following the creators will. As the oracle it's my duty to spread the creator's thoughts and feelings. It's my honor to be one of the bridges between the creator and Teyvat. While Lumine is used to let acolyte be awakened, I am used to communicate."

Itto groans before sighing.

"Fine fine, I understand. You know what? I'm such a great oni that I'll even bring you to meet a guy that can help you. Pretty kind of me, right?"

Perfect, a possible transportation to escape Ei.

"That does sound great! I would love to meet them."

You can basically see Itto's ego grow with every word you say. Before Shinobu can say or do anything Itto lifts you up onto his shoulder. His hand holds you steady as he laughs at your panic.

"Then what are we waiting for? Feel free to admire my greatness as we go to see my guy."

Shinobu waves sympathetically as Itto hauls you towards Inazuma City. He asks you loads of questions about the creator and how they view him.

"Do they think I'm great? Am I their favorite? Of course, I'm their favorite, I am Arataki 'Numero Uno' Itto after all. Just look at me."

"They think it's funny how you always find a way to accidentally consume bean products."

"Oh god no, don't even mention beans. I can't believe they saw me in such a weak moment."

"They also wanted to whack every human who threw beans at you with a beehive to see how they like being allergic."

"You're not lying about that right? Cause that's the best news I've ever heard in my whole life!"

It's fun, the whole walk with Itto was fun. It's even better than you imagined being in Genshin would be like. You wanted to continue living like this. But the looming threat of Ei hanging over your shoulder seemed to stain your mood.

Your hand brushed against your mask. It's a reminder that you probably can't ever live your life here without it. It's still a cult that may attack you at any time.

With that grim reminder, dread pools in your gut as Itto leads you closer to Thoma.

Oh god, oh fuck if it's Thoma then it's Ayaka and if it's both its Ayato. And Ayato could definitely figure you out. Maybe you'll be fine, not everyone that meets Thoma will eventually meet Ayato.

"Thoma! My bro, my guy, my dude. This is Y/N, and they need your help getting a boat to Liyue. They're a super sick oracle for the creator and got a big mission to follow the creators will."

Shit. That one little word is repeated in your mind as Itto keeps talking. You were right about how saying 'it's a secret' makes things spread faster but you didn't want it to happen while you were still here! Thoma has a smile frozen on his face as he listens.

"I'm sorry they're the creator's oracle? I really mean no offense, but this is quite hard to believe."

Thoma smiles sheepishly while Itto pushes you in front of him to face Thoma. There's no point in trying to remind Itto to keep your identity on the down low. Holding out your hand you speak cheerfully to Thoma.

"Yeah, you aren't the first acolyte to not believe me. It's understandable since I'm the first."

Thoma shakes your hand, it's a little hot but not burning. It seems visions really do affect their bodies.

"How did you know I'm an acolyte? I'm just a simple housekeeper for the Kamisato Clan."

"Like Itto said, I'm an oracle. The creator grants me knowledge needed to meet and communicate with everyone."

"Well, I'm sorry Y/N but there's no way I can help you with your identity as an oracle so, sorry to say, suspicious."

It makes sense, Thoma while being a nice guy is loyal to Ayato and Ayaka first and foremost. It's one of his key defining traits and that also means he's loyal to the creator too. Itto tries to convince him by retelling how you switched the weapons, but Thoma doesn't believe it.

"Okay if I tell you information that only very few people know that can prove that I'm truly an oracle, will you help me find a boat?"

"Alright but I have very high expectations. I refuse to help someone that might be using the creators title to trick people."

"To the public knowledge, Lord Kamisato was awakened and then you were awakened. But that isn't the truth. That was a switcheroo Lord Kamisato made to avoid enemies using the truth against the Kamisato Clan. You were awakened long before Lord Kamisato but had to stay quiet about it per his instructions."

Thoma looked at you with slight suspicion. Only Ayato, Ayaka, and Thoma knew about this, yet you a stranger did. But he just couldn't shake off the nostalgic feeling you gave him.

"That's honestly really shady but I can't deny that you're impressive. The only people that know about this would never say anything unless they really trust you."

He smiled kindly like you always seen him do in the game.

"I'll honor our agreement and help you find a boat."

Itto cheered at Thoma's agreement and waved goodbye as you and Thoma left. The gang caught up and started walking to God knows where as you and Thoma walked through Byakko Plains.

"An oracle huh? That does explain why the feeling of being awakened seems to surround you."

The grass swayed as the moon rose higher in the sky.

"All you acolytes tell me that. I can't feel it myself, but it sounds amazing."

"It is, like being embraced by the creator themself. Do you truly not remember much about yourself or your life before becoming an oracle?"

The butterflies dance with the fireflies as the sound of hilichurls dancing can be heard faintly.

"Other than my name, my bag and the clothes on my back, I truly had nothing. My only knowledge of Teyvat is the one the creator shows me through dreams, visions, and stories."

"This must feel like a whole new world to you then. But you're adapting quite well. Would it be presumptuous to ask what the creator thinks of me?"

The path splits to two at Konda Village and Thoma leads you to the right. Nerves prick at you as remember that Ritou is on the left. Where is he taking you?

"A malewife."

"A what?"

"It must be some slang from their world. But it isn't an insult from what I've gathered. In fact, I think it's a compliment."

Thoma blushes a little as he stares straight ahead. You turn your head to hide your smile at his cute reaction. Chinju forest surrounds you as you pass under a red gate and walk along the stone path. You really hoped he wasn't taking you where you think it is.

"But if you want a deeper answer, the creator sees you as a loyal person. As kind and helpful you are to others, it's your fierce loyalty that keeps their eye on you. It burns as bright as your flames."

His eyes shine at your words as he looks up at the sky wistfully. The moon seems to reflect in his eyes.

"Do you mind if I tell you something a little personal? I just feel comfortable with you so easily."

"Go ahead."

"When I still lived in Monstadt with my mom, my dad would send me letters from Inazuma. My parents had their differences, but they never failed to speak so highly of the creator. His letters always ended with a reminder to look for the creator in my hard times."

His words made your shoulders heavy. With guilt or responsibility? You don't know yet. You could only take some solace in the glowing blue flowers of the forest.

"When I left Mondstadt to find my dad, I took a little boat and sailed with a bottle of wine. It's a miracle I didn't die. It was the creator's grace."

You remember reading that part of his character story. It was a shame he never found his father nor the bottle of wine.

"When I was on the boat as the storm raged and it was falling apart at the seams. All I could do was pray, pray that I would somehow survive. When I woke up, I was on Inazuma. My lord and lady were the ones who found me and took me in. That's why I gave them my loyalty just like I gave my loyalty to the creator."

You're standing at the front of the Kamisato Estate when Thoma stops and smiles at you. His eyes were almost closed with how hard he was smiling.

You could tell he was happy, you wished you could feel the same. Because at that moment all you could feel was relief. Relief that you wouldn't have to feel responsible for all their misplaced faith.

You were not a God; you did not save them. But if they knew the truth that you were their beloved creator, you don't know if you could actually tell them that.

"Thoma..."

You trail off, not wanting to lie in such a personal moment. You clutch the strap of your bag. Thoma looks at you with gentle eyes patiently waiting for whatever you have to say.

"The words I'm gonna say right now are mine, not the creators. Even if you didn't sail to Inazuma and almost drown. Even if you didn't meet Lord and Lady Kamisato. I still fully believe that you would be just as great and loyal to whoever you chose. A friend, a lover, even if it was an animal. Anyone would be lucky to have someone like you care for them. You, yourself even without that vision is just as incredible."

You start off softly but feel a rise in your pace as your words come together. You look up at him and smile brightly. All your teeth show, and you feel that happiness he displayed earlier.

Thoma sucks in a sharp breath as his heart rate speeds up. His face burns for reasons he can't seem to comprehend. Why did your words have such a strong effect? How do you look so ethereal with the moonlight shining on you?

A guard calls out to you both from the top of the stairs.

"Thoma?! Is that you?"

You peak past Thoma to see a guard walk closer. Before you could see Thomas's face, he turns his head around clears his throat.

"Hey Hirotatsu! This is Y/N a special guest I brought to meet our lord and lady. Depending on how the meeting goes, they might become more than just a special guest."

His words remind you of your situation. He brought you to Ayato and Ayaka. You'll have to lie and use all sorts of tricks to survive with your life and identity intact. You hope desperately that Ayato doesn't ask you to take off the mask.

Thoma turns to you with a apologetic smile.

"I know this isn't Ritou like you were probably expecting but I promise you. If you can prove your oracle status to my lord and lady, they'll provide you with the safest and fastest way to Liyue."

His smile turns almost sad as he says his next words.

"I'm sure you understand why it's important for me to make sure that you travel in a safe boat."

You know what he's saying. You know that this is technically emotional manipulation. But damn it, he's looking at you with warm eyes and a nervous smile that makes you want to pinch his cheeks. You were weak in this area.

"It's fine, I'm no fake. I'll prove it to them just as I proved it to you and everyone else so far."

You speak with casual confidence and face the stairs that lead to hell. Ayaka wasn't the issue, she's sheltered to a degree that you could spin a tale and have a good chance of escaping. But Ayato? That man believes few things and trusts even fewer.

A pleasantly hot fingerless gloved hand takes yours heating you up. Thoma leads you gently up the stairs. You follow him like a moth to a flame knowing that you're close to being burnt to a crisp.

Something to add is that if Y/N changes things that happened or says something that doesn't align with what happened. It was completely intentional. I just don't want to write "You lied, you paraphrased etc at almost every dialogue. I'm riding on my creative high and taking full advantage of it. Plus, I'm finally almost done getting used to writing again. I loved all your comments, reblogs and hearts! And my taglist is open to whoever wants to be in. Just leave a comment and I'll add you.

Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma If you are in italics that means I couldn't tag you! Usually you'll need to check your settings to fix that.

[sgiandubh]

From barf bag to pity party

The whole 'Kick in the hornets' nest' involuntary series was started by this Anon, received by the de facto leader of the Disgruntled Tumblrettes yesterday evening (in Europe):

The next morning, another Anon chimed in, on the same page, with what prompted the First Kick: S has a child with 'a woman', but God forbid, not with C 🤣🤣🤣.

And then, one of their group felt the need (then the clearly irritated urge) to come back and comment on the above Anon. No less than 5 (five!) long and plethoric comments were written, prompting my Second and Third Kicks - as you all know, the woman practically begged for them.

I feel it's time to show some mercy and draw the line here.

This blog is read (and trusted) by many. Comments were received. Very interesting, matter-of-fact submissions, to say the least. You know: FACTS (🤣🤣🤣). People who have rich and full and loving lives, people who travel. People who don't even agree on many things, yet spontaneously concurred on what things very probably looked like, on that Palm Sunday morning.

Exhibit 1: Mom and Traveler #1 (a mom I am not - but I was a child, unbelievable as it might sound, and I absolutely confirm every single bit of it)

I am not yet ridden with dementia, and I remember very well waking everyone up at ungodly hours and refusing my mandatory afternoon siesta (a very bad habit we have in Southern Europe). I wish I would still have that same insane energy now. I also wish I would have kept my 3 year old fashion model food quirks - but that is another story.

However, I am a dog slave (not owner) and as such, I am taking Baby out for his short (but excruciating) morning routine at 7:30 AM. Come rain or shine. Beg him to finish his business with grace and dignity. He never listens. Labs are a charming, addictive handful and my Greek boy is no exception:

Exhibit 2: Mom and Traveler #2. Who happened to be in GLA on Palm Sunday, March 24, 2024 (for the thick people at the back!):

All that trip was abundantly documented on her own page. I am reasonably sure she might be reblogging this with her own pics from that day.

And now, for the real questions at stake:

Why make such an unbelievable fuss over an Anon with no pic, that I was reluctant to publish myself?

Why have a cosmic meltdown, in public nonetheless, if you do think this is such a pile of unbelievable nonsense crap? (*imagine the freakout in DMs, if this made the headlines!)

How many times has/have S (or C, or SC) been seen by Antis in GLA in similar postures, without a word being uttered in public?

Why would such an occurrence be An Event, outside of this (help me, I have no words) fandom?

Why insist with your crappy arguments, when it is plain to see you have got all your facts dreadfully wrong?

Why mention 'central Glasgow', when it is public lore (and included in Waypoints!) that S does not live there anymore? (* I blacked out the exact reference, which makes total sense - the least thing I would like to see happening is freaks like you stalking them)

One last time, you insist - comments 6 and 7 (wow, girl!):

First comment is a lie and if you read my Anon (and you know you all did and discussed it to oblivion) you'll have also read this:

Which part of 'he didn't approach' you don't get, in plain English, madam? I am lousy at drawing, but hey - for the cause (open in separate page, questionable humor included):

Second comment, I won't even get into it. God only knows what the hell you meant. I am Romanian and we tend to be a very sarcastic bunch - especially the Southerners.

You posted those at about 2:45 AM, local time (if you are, indeed, a Scot). That's 4:45 AM my time.

I am a lifelong sufferer of insomnia. You, madam, you are mad wae it, as they say in Glasgow.

Don't drink and post, seriously. It makes for a very #sorry hangover show.

And with this, I am done with you. All of you, in that corner. You showed me more than enough. You know there is substance to that Anon, despite the lack of a picture - hence the collective freakout.

From barf bag to pity party. Who knew?

[Later edit:] re-reading the sixth comment, I think she wants to imply it was the 'other child' - I was literally blind with sleep when I first saw it. Well, there is no evidence of whatever she is trying to explain (has she contacted The Climber? between midnight and 2 AM, local time?). Also, a 5 year old child is not a toddler anymore: kids are considered toddlers up to 3, only. That boy, as we all know (and I am sorry we do), has dark hair - where is the resemblance Anon noticed?

Desperate, grasping at straws, lying through her teeth and mad wae it, all the way.

@pamalissou, thanks for bringing us a third mom's POV in your reblog.

[hn-undercover-9503]

For the first time since being banished from his one and only home, Ren felt like he might actually be okay.

Things had gotten off to a rough start, but he was doing well now! He had his campsite, he got along well with the locals, and he had even managed to gather new armor and weapons to protect himself with. And then there was Luna, the beautiful gray dragon he’d nearly died several times over to attempt to save. She was probably the thing he was the most proud of with his new life, but there was one tiny little problem.

He had no idea how to care for a dragon.

He’d dealt with dragons before, back in his old kingdom. Except his job then had mostly been to get rid of them, and slay them if he was able. When it came to knowing what to feed them, what they needed, and how they liked to live he was totally clueless. He’d tried asking the high elf Sausage for advice, but he was little help. The way he explained it, every dragon was different and different attributes required different care.

So far, she had seemed content enough to curl up at his campsite and go off to find her own food when she wanted, and he felt comfortable letting her. She always came back eventually, curled up beside the water and went right back to dozing. But Ren felt bad, keeping her on such a tiny little beach.

Which was exactly why he had started clearing out more of the forest area behind his camp, hoping to give her a bit more space so she would be comfortable. It was as he was swinging his axe into the fifth tree, though, that he spotted the oddly shaped bump in the ground that he was sure hadn’t been there before. Curious, he set down his axe against the tree and walked around to the other side to investigate.

It was a small burrow dug into the ground, with a few chests and a large bedroll inside. He might have thought it was abandoned if he wasn’t certain it hadn’t been there the day before. His eyes found a small sign stuck into the ground in front of it, with scratchy letters carved into the wood.

Dragon's Lair

Martyn the Whyte

“Dragon..?” Ren mused, even more confused now. Luna was much bigger than this little burrow, and Sausage’s dragon was as well. There was no way a dragon would fit inside of there. Plus, he was fairly sure dragons didn’t know how to write Common.

He thought about looking through the chests, but decided that was probably a bad idea. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off a dragon, even if they might have been small. So instead, he turned back to the tree he’d been chopping and finished it off. With a bunch of freshly cut logs in hand, he started making his way back to his campsite, sidestepping the burrow.

He heard it before he even made it halfway. He froze, listening to what sounded like a roar followed by a huffing noise. Wind rushing, the same way it would when Luna had been struggling against the ocean’s current, frantically beating her wings as she tried to escape the water. Immediately, he dropped the wood and took off in a run, jumping the fallen log he used as a waypoint and stumbling into his camp.

He’d been expecting to find Luna under attack. What he had not been expecting to find was her sitting up and nudging a much smaller figure with her snout, huffing breath in their face and half covering them with her giant leathery wings. He gawked openly, watching as whoever she was being so friendly with laughed, trying to wriggle out from under her.

They did eventually succeed, managing to pull away and instead laying a hand on her snout, starting to gently pet her. It was a man, with long blond hair tied into a braid that fell over his shoulder. His hands were covered in blue and white scales, icy horns stuck out from the top of his head, and behind him lashed a thick, blue-white tail. Luna huffed again, eyes closed and some kind of rumbling noise shaking the ground at their feet.

W-Was…was she purring?

“Oh, hey.” Ren jumped, realizing then that the mystery dragon whisperer was looking at him. “Are you her owner?”

“Um–” He hesitated. “Yes?”

He frowned, tilting his head to the side. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“Um, uh–yes! Yes, I am her owner! My name is Sir Brie Ren, and would you mind telling me what you are doing in my campsite?”

The man laughed, stroking his hand down Luna’s snout still. “My bad. I just saw your friend here and couldn’t help myself.”

“How are you able to touch her if you just met her?” Ren wondered out loud. “It took me hours and hours of trying just to get near her, much less rescue her.”

The man shrugged. “Guess we just tend to trust our own, hm?”

“Your own?” Ren asked, eyes trailing back to his…less than human features. The tail, the scales, the icy horns. “What exactly are you?”

“I’m Martyn,” he introduced, raising the hand he’d been using to pet Luna and reaching out toward him with a half-smirk. “And I’m what you’d call a dragonborn.”

[marshmellin]

Star and Stone

Elaniel, a stonemason fleeing the fall of Eregion, makes her way to Lindon. When she meets Gil-galad, something unexpected occurs. Amid the chaos of preparing for a war against Sauron, their growing love is tested by the weight of duty: his to lead armies into peril, hers to rebuild what darkness has destroyed.

The pull of two fëa is strong for the Eldar. But is duty stronger?

Rating: Explicit for eventual smutty smut; canon-typical angst

Notes: Gil-galad lives. Fluff and happy ending. Sort of a slow burn, but we'll get there. Gil-galad deserves a little smooch. He's going to get a lot more than a smooch. Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. No beta, we die like Mirdania.

Chapter 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Chapter 2 of 12: Mirrored

Chapter 3 of 12: Fair and Free

Chapter 4 of 12: Countless Stars

NEW >> Chapter 5: Silver Shield

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

The Fall of King Gil-galad Gil-galad was an elven-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing; the last whose realm was fair and free between the Mountains and the Sea. His sword was long, his lance was keen. His shining helm afar was seen; the countless stars of heaven's field were mirrored in his silver shield. But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star in Mordor where the shadows are

//

For days, survivors trickled westward along narrow paths toward Lindon, carrying few possessions but heavily burdened by the memories of what they had seen. Of who they had lost. 

Soldiers from Lindon supplied waypoints to help protect the survivors from straggling orc groups, with mounted soldiers ferrying civilians between waypoints from Ost-in-Edhil. Gil-galad’s scouts had reported the arrival of each new group, describing not only weariness but a grim determination in their eyes, a will to endure that hadn’t been crushed by the growing darkness.

The elves of Eregion were strong.

//

The road was long, winding through the remnants of ancient forests. Elaniel trudged along the rough path, flanked by the silent company of her fellow survivors. It had been days since they fled the city’s shattered walls, and the journey to Lindon was slow. She was with one of the last groups of survivors on the trail — an assortment of warriors, tradespeople, and elflings without their parents. 

Two handfuls of us at most. This week has made many orphans.

They stopped at the next the rough outpost built of half-finished wooden barricades, lashed together quickly and supplied with the barest essentials. There were no formal fortifications or armaments here, just hastily constructed barriers and watchfires burning low. This place had no room for rest, only vigilance. Around her, other survivors from Eregion huddled near the fires, speaking in hushed tones.

She watched as a small group of Lindon’s soldiers gathered around the central fire, speaking in low murmurs. Their faces were steady, their voices calm. 

Are they calm because they are so familiar with the horrors of war? 

Or are they calm because they are not?

Her gaze lingered on one of the warriors—a tall, lean elf with silvered hair braided down his back. There was a steady rhythm in his movements as he collected bundles of lembas bread to hand out at the campfires. His smile was soft as he came to the orphaned younglings, giving them a few sweets to share in addition to the bread. 

Elaniel felt a pang at the look of compassion on his face. She waited for feelings to flood her, but none came. 

Standing in silence, she watched the fires flicker in the clearing, the light casting warm shadows across the faces of her fellow refugees. 

They were strong. They would rebuild.

//

Twilight settled over the sky. Elaniel reached a rise in the path and paused to take in the scenery around her. In better times, she might have found beauty in the rugged landscape, the mossy rocks, the towering oaks and golden aspens reaching high into the sky. The wind bit at her cheeks and she pulled her cloak up tighter against the chill, wisps of hair peeking out of her hood. They would make the city by nightfall.

Lindon was the elven kingdom furthest west in Middle Earth. It clung to a strip of land between the mountains and the sea, the rebuilt remnants of a near-fallen kingdom. 

This realm would be her new home. For now. 

She kept moving.

As their small band approached the end of the trail, the city gates opened, revealing stone walls that curved gracefully into archways and towers, glimmering like silver branches in the dusk. Her eyes lingered on the architecture, the skill of the stonework. She reached out to touch a foundation wall as she walked by, feeling the solid rock beneath her hand.

She was a stonemason with centuries of experience in her craft, but Lindon’s walls were unlike anything she had seen in all of Eregion or even Khazad-dûm. The skill in the curves, the way the stone flowed as if the walls grew from the earth itself. The old masons of Lindon leveraged the beauty of natural stone to craft protective walls. The masons of Eregion sought to tame the woods and rock around them. 

The thought stirred something in her, a memory of Eregion’s walls and those who had fallen to defend them. Now was not the time to mourn. She would have an Age to weep.

Or I will weep for an Age, she thought. Or perhaps both.

As the group entered the city, they were guided to a large courtyard where guards moved through the crowd, offering food, blankets, and kind words to each group. The survivors clustered together, many calling across the courtyard, begging for information of their families and friends who may have already arrived — and of those who had not. 

A ripple passed through the crowd, and Elaniel glanced up, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. At the head of the courtyard, a broad figure stood, wearing an unadorned, simple gray-blue and golden robe – if “simple” and “golden” were terms that could be used together. A circlet of gold leaves added to his already imposing height. 

Ah. This must be our welcome committee, then. High King, it looks like, unless everyone in this realm wears golden crowns. Wouldn't surprise me if they did. 

Annoyance twitched through her. She wanted to see a hot meal and a clean bed, not a politician offering platitudes. 

“Elves of Eregion,” he began, his rich baritone carrying across the courtyard. His tone was soft, yet he commanded a respect that quieted the crowd. “I welcome you all to Lindon, and invite you to stay with us as if this were your own home. You are safe within our borders, and your lives here will be as peaceful as the stars allow. Come; rest in safety with us.”

Gil-galad finished his speech and began moving through the crowd, greeting each cluster of survivors in turn, calling for healers or sleeping accommodations. Elaniel watched him draw nearer, noting his unhurried steps. 

I am exhausted, hungry and covered in dirt – perfect time to meet a king. 

She also noted he was quite handsome. Up close, his chest was broader and his build more muscular than he appeared from across the courtyard. Strong jaw. Soft brown eyes. His long, dark hair was drawn back into a half braid, a few gray strands at his temple. 

She reminded herself that she had seen many handsome faces over the centuries. His face was no different. And it was rude to stare. 

She was too tired to focus on not focusing. Her eyes started to flutter close. 

Finally, he reached her in the corner of the courtyard. “It is my honor to welcome you to Lindon, my lady.”

“High King Gil-galad,” she replied with a similar, if slightly sleepy, formality, blinking herself awake. “It is my honor to be welcomed. I am Elaniel, a master stonemason from Eregion.”

His eyebrows lifted in polite interest. “A stonemason? A skill of great importance for our people. Did you practice your craft in Ost-in-Edhil, I wonder?”

A red flush rose to her cheeks, and her tiredness waned for a moment. “Yes, I did, under Chief Mason Carasta,” she replied, a note of pride creeping into her voice despite her– admittedly unenthusiastic– attempts to squash it. “I designed and oversaw the construction of the eastern walls and watchtower fortifications.”

They were strong. 

A shadow passed over her face, a reminder of the destruction that had claimed her city. Of crumbled walls that she once marveled at, thick and sturdy.

But not thick enough. 

“Fine work, indeed, and no small task,” Gil-galad said solemnly, his eyes filled with sadness. He dipped his head to catch her gaze. “Elaniel of Eregion, you have my respect and gratitude for your service to our people. Many are alive today because of your work.” Reaching out, he clasped her hand between his in a simple gesture of thanks. 

And then, the world shifted. 

She looked up at him, curiosity blooming into open surprise. She sensed his fëa, a deep knowing she had never experienced with another being in her two thousand years of existence. His soul contained a fierce tenderness she hadn’t expected, a warmth that softened the sharpness of his mind. And a pull towards duty, to do better – be better, stronger, wiser – for his people that bordered on frustration. Impatience simmered at the edges of him, held back by wisdom and weariness. Her eyes went wide with wonder.  

And Gil-galad stared back at her, shock etched into every line of his face. His eyes flicked down at their clasped hands, before he held her gaze again.  

Elaniel felt known in return. Her stubbornness, the defiance and wit she used to hide her more vulnerable emotions. The compassion for others that hammered in her heart, louder than anything else. The anger she wrapped in layers and buried beneath a pressure to work, to do more, to earn her place. The sadness that sometimes filled her when she looked at the stars, a stirring she never named. 

He had not let go of her hands. She did not want him to.

They could stay here for an Age. No, they would stay. Like Melian and Thingol, they would stay rooted to this spot, bathed in moonlight, unable to leave each other. The courtyard would crumble and overgrow. The trees would reclaim the land. Tilion would chase Arien’s flame across the morning sky and finally hold her sunfire in his arms. 

And Eleniel and Gil-galad would still stand here. Knowing and known. The string between their chests tying them together. 

“High King, Herald Elrond requests your presence as soon as possible. The Commanders have gathered to present an urgent report,” came a strong voice over Gil-galad’s shoulder. The voice could have come from the wind or the mountains – Elaniel did not see who spoke. She did not care. 

But the message seemed to shake Gil-galad awake. He nodded over his shoulder in response, his eyes never leaving Elaniel’s.

“The walls here are different from Eregion,” she whispered tightly, groping for something else to say, anything to say to keep him here. “Living stone. Beautiful.” She was not sure she was speaking in full sentences. Again, she did not care. 

A deep noise came from his chest, a rumbling agreement only she could hear, his voice low. “Yes. We treat beauty with reverence here.” His thumb brushed softly against her knuckles. A flicker of hesitation – burden and responsibility fighting curiosity and desire – played across his face. She thought she saw his jaw twitch. She knew she saw him hold back a sigh.

And she saw the exact moment that responsibility won. 

“Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo,” he whispered. A star shines on the hour of our meeting. 

Gil-galad pressed her hands between his once more before letting go, and she instantly missed his warmth. Then, as if a door had shut in front of her, his face smoothed into one of a politician. “Welcome, Elaniel of Eregion.”

And without a glance back, he moved on, leaving her standing among her fellow survivors. She watched him until he disappeared from the courtyard into the palace. Seeing the last glimpse of his robe as he walked out of the courtyard caused a tugging at her heart. A new, unfamiliar type of….sadness? Yearning? A pulling at this new knot in her chest. 

She blinked, confusion on her brow.

What was that? 

By the time she fell asleep that night, face down in a hastily set up cot, she wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not.

//

Elaniel wound her way from the low, humble building that served as the gathering place for Lindon’s refugees to the city center. Her quarters—if they could be called that—were modest, one of many small, shared rooms in the main hall set aside for those who had fled.

Elaniel often shared the space with two other women from Eregion, each bearing their own wounds from the city’s fall. Every evening, they sat together in silence, staring at the flickering candlelight, each lost in her own thoughts.

But she would not let herself be idle with her thoughts for long. She busied herself helping where she could, assisting with basic repairs, offering an extra pair of hands for craftsman work. 

Herald Elrond put out a call for skilled craftsmen to volunteer their skills to prepare for the upcoming conflict, and she had answered. She was glad for the distraction it provided, even if she often lingered on the fringes, an outsider looking in. 

Today, as she entered the small council chamber for the stonemasons’ meeting, a hush seemed to fall over the craftsmen gathered there.

At the end of the table sat Halion, one of the oldest and most influential masons in Lindon, known for his meticulous designs and proud, exacting standards. He barely acknowledged her presence, instead choosing to ignore her altogether.

Today was no different. As the council discussed the defensive measures for Lindon’s outer gates, Elaniel waited for a pause to interject. She cleared her throat when there was a lull.

"I would like to share this concept," she replied, her tone upbeat and respectful as she pulled a drawing from the stack of papers in front of her. "I have experience with fortifications—"

Halion interrupted with a scoff, his arms crossing over his chest. “Experience with fortifications? In Ost-in-Edhil?”

Elaniel held his gaze, determined not to be shaken. Her tone flattened slightly. A warning.  “Yes, in Ost-in-Edhil. I was part of the team that oversaw the building of city fortifications and the eastern wall. I know where we fell short and where we succeeded after four weeks of continuous siege. I believe Lindon could benefit from these insights.” 

She paused for a moment before pushing on, clamping down the anger in her voice. 

“During the fortifications of Eregion, we strengthened the ramparts with reinforced stone blocks with chains attached to anchor points in the rock,” she began again. “A similar approach here could add to the strength of—”

Halion’s hawkish face was hard and unforgiving. “Had the walls of Eregion held but moments longer, perhaps more of our kin would be with us.” He spoke as though each word were calculated to cut deeper. “I am unsure your counsel is needed here, stonemason.”

A murmur of agreement moved around the table, some of the others nodding or casting her brief, condescending glances. 

The accusation stung. She had fought so hard to tame the memories of that day—the crashing of stones, the cries of her elves around her, bodies amid the rubble. But here it was, brought to the surface casually by a man who had not been there. Had not seen. 

She dug inward for a measured, appropriate reply. 

And all she found was anger. 

She dug again. 

Rage. 

“If we’re assigning blame for the loss of Eregion, perhaps you ought to consult the enemy,” her cheeks heated, scathing words flowing quickly now. “Do you not allow for growth in Lindon? Or is it your intent to personally cast out every stonemason here should their work fail once? I did not recognize we all stood in the presence of perfection.”

“That’s enough,” Halion started, standing up. 

No, it’s not.

“Oh, I understand, Master Halion,” her voice lowered, a false softness. Poison and mockery filled every syllable. “Perhaps if you had been in Ost-in-Edhil with a bucket of mortar and a trowel, they would all still be alive. I know you would have single-handedly turned the tide of the battle with a stack of bricks if you were. but. there. 

“But you were not there, Master Halion, so I suppose we must disregard your thoughts on the matter.” She could see outrage and embarrassment flash across Halion’s face, and a twisted satisfaction blossomed in her chest at his discomfort. The other craftsmen around them began murmuring louder, and she knew she was not winning over hearts or minds.

Anger does not serve me now.

Anger does not…

Anger…

Be angry later. 

She let out a slow, steadying breath, willing her muscles to unclench. Weariness crept into the lines of her shoulders, her body sagging slightly. “Forgive me,” she continued, “But I share my failures to ensure that none of you must face it in the future. You may not welcome my insights, but Herald Elrond has asked all capable stonemasons to contribute to this council. And until he says otherwise, I intend to.”

The room fell silent. Halion glared at her, but something in her tone must have touched a nerve, for he gave a grudging nod.

“We present our recommendations for fortification improvements to the High King in two weeks,” he said finally. “We will allow you to share your council if it is requested.”

Elaniel nodded, her jaw set. “I look forward to your questions.”

With that, she turned and took a seat among the gathered stonemasons, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, determined to carve out her place here, no matter how many skeptical gazes she had to face.

Chapter 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Chapter 2 of 12: Mirrored

Chapter 3 of 12: Fair and Free

Chapter 4 of 12: Countless Stars

NEW >> Chapter 5: Silver Shield

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

One of my entries for potluck2024. Got home today and wrote again. It's not a happy piece. Spartan Thorne, grief, and the long process of picking up pieces and looking for answers where there are none.

-

No one talks about the mundane grief that comes with navigating estates after losing loved ones. Months or years after the person is gone, and you're still picking up the pieces. Still getting messages, reminders, memories, that come and go as if blown on the wind or personally delivered via Waypoint to let you know you owe someone money. There's no such thing as tying up loose ends when it comes to people's lives. There's always another thread to find, and Thorne has found they will find you and trip you up when you least expect it.

7 million people suffered a fate worse than death in New Phoenix, became the very things Thorne has had to fight, and now he was getting letters about a price hike on a storage unit thousands of miles away.

He had kept his grandmother's house. Grant had been right, it was amazing that he had a physical place to go back to, to remember them by. There had been a will and that saved him some headaches, but it wasn't updated. No one expected an attack on Earth, for the sky to open up and 7 million souls to vanish in the span of an hour. He hadn't expected to find the violin in the garden 6 months later when the city reopened.

He hadn't expected the house unchanged.

Nor had he expected the letters, knick knacks, family memories that weren't his own, and with no clear way forward. His own parents were dead and gone for decades now so the loss wasn't unique, but having to sift through generations of belongings without the full story hurt in a new way.

A storage unit on the outskirts of New Phoenix with artifacts of lives he never knew, barely got to touch, was a new kind of tomb. His grandmother's music, his parents' medals, pictures from his childhood, old toys and books for the grandchildren and their children. Clothes and jewelry and keepsakes and lives lived entirely without him. And dust.

What paper there was was yellowed. Old porcelain cracked and sharp. Dishes he'd never seen before and ones he ate off every holiday. Belongings of relatives long dead before he was born and those who passed when he was small and selfish and wrapped in his own grieving world.

Concrete floors and aluminum doors, passcodes and cheap carts to haul things to and from the transports. His grandmother's name greets him every time he keys the code in to use the elevator. Star 3367 the last four digits of the chatter number she refused to give up and then the pound sign. Welcome back, B. Thorne.

There's the painfully familiar and the horribly unfamiliar. People he doesn't know in pictures and letters, old fashioned print books made out to loved ones who are no longer around. Thorne is alone and there is no one to talk to about this. He was eight years old when his parents and Alluvion were glassed. He was nineteen when his grandfather passed and Gabriel came to the funeral. That was 5 years ago and the last time he saw his grandmother alive.

He can still picture her face, the earrings she wore and the sweaters with the cowled neck she preferred. He has her violin and some recordings. He has the house. It's more than most have. He should be grateful.

But staring up at the corrugated ceiling and the sprinkler system with his ass going numb from the cold concrete floor, Thorne can't find it in himself to keep a brave face. Maybe he should have let Grant tag along.

[mossstep]

ghost sagau!

Part one… you’re here Part two part 3

characters: Hu Tao

tw/cws: genshin sagau, swearing, minor ooc (idk how to write hu tao)

note: I am a minor, don’t be weird in my tags please!

Waking up in teyvat was certainly not on your bingo card for this year. You had only been playing genshin seriously for about a year or so. You had played before that, but had gotten bored after the Monstadt archon quest, because of the steep ar requirements for the Liyue archon quest.

So waking up in Liyue, specifically wuwang hill was,  jarring to say the least. You had recognized the area immediately. You had basically lived in the crimson witch domain farming for your Hu Tao. Not that you had Hu Tao yet, having lost your 50/50 on each of her reruns. (Seriously! Talk about bad luck!)

As you get up you notice a vague feeling weightlessness, looking down, you noticed that you were partially see-through? What?

You had barely been able regain your composure when you here a familiar song. You recognized it anywhere, seeing as it from was one of the most iconic idles in the game. 

As the director of the Wanshengn funeral parlor sang her song, she suddenly paused, staring directly at you.

“Hello!” She says with a grin walking towards you, “you’re different from the other ghosts that hang around here,” she said with a smile.

“I-“ you opened your mouth to speak, but what were you supposed to say in this situation? ‘Yeah you’re right, I’m from a world where this is all a game and you’re a fictional character lol’ like, you can’t just say that! That’d give Hu Tao an existential crisis! 

…actually maybe it wouldn’t considering her personality, but thats besides the point. 

“…yeah,” you say, “you’re Hu Tao, correct?” You don’t need the clarification considering how much time you’ve spent on this game, but it doesn’t really matter.

Hu Tao laughed, “I’m sure you don’t need need me to confirm, your grace, considering-“

“IM SORRY?” You blurt out before thinking, “what- what the fuck did you just call me?”

“Oh” Hu Tao stared at you for a moment. “You’re the creator right? Everyone here knows we wouldn’t exist without you creating an account!”

“What?” Is the only thing you can’t think about to say, “you- oh my god?” The people here know they’re in a video game? Wait hold on- creator? The fuck?

Hu Tao stared at you for a moment, before a mischievous look washed across her face, “you should come to liyue harbor! I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you!”

“Okay?” You say, and Hu Tao ran off. “Hey- wait!” You didnt know your way to liyue harbor from here, always taking advantage of the waypoints, you go to run after her, but suddenly the world shifted. 

You would’ve felt a wave of nausea if it weren’t for your ghostly form, but one moment you’re at wuwang hill, and the next you’re standing by the waypoint overlooking Liyue harbor.

This was going to be a long day, wasn’t it?

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in July 2024 🌈

🌈 Good morning, my bookish bats, and happy July! Pride Month may be over, but remember: Read Queer ALL Year. Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Earth to Alis - Lex Carlow 🧡 Cursed Boys and Broken Hearts - Adam Sass 💛 The Sky on Fire - Jenn Lyons 💚 The Meaning of Liberty - Sage Donnell 💙 Making It - Laura Kay 💜 The Black Bird of Chernobyl - Ann McMan ❤️ A Map of My Want - Faylita Hicks 🧡 The Devil You Know - Ali Vali 💛 The White Guy Dies First: 13 Scary Stories of Fear and Power - Various 💙 The Second Son - Adrienne Tooley 💜 Cursed Under London - Gabby Hutchinson Crouch 🌈 Forbidden Girl - Kristen Zimmer

❤️ Rise - Freya Finch 🧡 Undercurrent - Patricia Evans 💛 Online Rebellion - Blue Matt Jeff 💚 Wolf Gift - T.J. Nichols 💙 Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream - Tehlor Kay Mejia 💜 Miller: Origin - Starr Z. Davies ❤️ The Shadows Beyond - T.J. Rose 🧡 The Ones Who Come Back Hungry - Amelinda Bérubé 💛 Their Viscountess - Jess Michaels 💙 Fast Holiday - Kerry Lockhart 💜 The Great Cool Ranch Dorito in the Sky - Josh Galarza 🌈 The West Passage - Jared Pechaček

❤️ The Hades Calculus - Maria Ying 🧡 Misrecognition - Madison Newbound 💛 One Last Summer - Kristin Keppler 💚 Waypoint Seven - Xan van Rooyen 💙 Hiding Him - Adam Hattan 💜 Thousand Autumns - Meng Xi Shi, Me.Mimo ❤️ The Adventure Zone, Vol. 6: The Suffering Game - Various 🧡 Rowan & Aldred - Lucie Fleury 💛 Yoke of Stars - R.B. Lemberg 💙 Casting Vows - Ariella Talix 💜 Count Felford's Vessel - S. Rodman

❤️ The Actor and His Secret - Ben Alderson, Laura R. Samotin 🧡 How To Die Famous - Benjamin Dean 💛 So Witches We Became - Jill Baguchinsky 💚 The Amazing Alpha Tau Romeo and Juliet Project - Lisa Henry, Sarah Honey 💙 The Noble’s Merman - S.S. Genesee 💜 The Loudest Silence - Sydney Langford ❤️ Life is Strange - Brittney Morris 🧡 Bury Your Gays - Chuck Tingle 💛 I Will Never Leave You - Kara A. Kennedy 💙 The Blonde Dies First - Joelle Wellington 💜 Under the Lupine Moon - A. Knightley

❤️ Benji Zeb is a Ravenous Werewolf - Deke Moulton 🧡 Charlotte Illes Is Not a Teacher - Katie Siegel 💛 The Ghostkeeper - Johanna Taylor 💚 Trespass Against Us - Leon Kemp 💙 Exes & Foes - Amanda Woody 💜 The Very Long, Very Strange Life of Isaac Dahl - Bart Yates ❤️ Unbound - J.A. Vodvarka 🧡 StreamLine - Lauren Melissa Ellzey 💛 Time and Time Again - Chatham Greenfield 💙 No Road Home - John Fram 💜 Queen B - Juno Dawson 🌈 A Darker Mischief - Derek Milman

❤️ Beautiful & Terrible Things - S.M. Stevens 🧡 Benvolio & Mercutio Turn Back Time - Elle Beaumont, Lou Wilham 💛 About Last Night - Laura Henry 💚 You Had Me at Happy Hour - Timothy Janovsky 💙 Moonbane - Jamie Jennings 💜 Between Fate & Failure - Amber D. Lewis ❤️ Blessed by the Cupid Distribution System - Robin Jo Margaret 🧡 Between Dragons and Their Wrath - Devin Madson 💛 Twisted Magic - Barbara J. Webb 💙 Rare Birds - L.B. Hazelthorn 💜 At the End of the River Styx - Michelle Kulwicki 🌈 Origin Story - Jendi Reiter

❤️ Eras of Us - Shannon O'Connor 🧡 Corpses, Fools and Monsters: The History and Future of Transness in Cinema - Willow Maclay, Caden Gardner 💛 A Wolf in Stone - Jane Fletcher 💚 Toward Eternity - Anton Hur 💙 Portrait of a Shadow - Meriam Metoui 💜 Anyone's Ghost - August Thompson ❤️ Home Ice Advantage - Ari Baran 🧡 Unbelievable You - Chelsea M. Cameron 💛 Incorrect Eyes - Andromeda Ruins

[meteormind]

Bkdk on Ao3

Everyone: smut! Smut!! Smut!!! SMUT!!!

Everyone: fluff! Fluff!! Fluff!!! FLUFF!!!

Everyone [pounding table, impassioned]: ANGST! ANGST!! ANGST!!! ANGST!!!!

Me: what if i wrote a canon-remix exploring the evolution of bkdk's childhood dynamic over the course of 100k words

Everyone:

Someone: quirk accident where deku's dick gets bigger everytime bakugou compliments him

Everyone: OOOoooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOO

... all jokes aside, I really am writing a fic and am in need of beta readers (or just plain readers) if anyone is interested. It only has 5 chapters as of 4/05/23 but I'm updating every day this month for NaNoWriMo.

EDIT 4/09/23 : I have found betas! Thank you for the warm response.

Bkdk are kiddos in this fic (9 and 10, at least for now,) so no smut. But there will be fluff! Eventually! It's kind of at an angsty part right now. It's also canon-divergent in that Izuku has a quirk. (Sorry for any canon-verse purists.) If you were ever looking for a bkdk POV alternating, weak-to-strong fic, then please have a look. 💖

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Mitsuki, Bakugou Masaru, Midoriya Inko Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon Compliant, To a point, Pre-Canon to Canon, Worldbuilding, just a little, Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, Video Game Mechanics, author removes Deku's brakes, he wasn't using them anyway, Bakugou Katsuki Redemption, underline that three times, Bullying, Therapy, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Pre-Slash, for now, adding tags as I go, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Alternating Summary: Izuku's party blazed through the mobs, plucking tails as they went, competent and assured in a way he could never hope to be in reality. He wished, not for the first time, that he could live life like a game. He wanted to exist in a world where he was setup to win, for once. In such a world, he could carve out a place for himself between 1's and 0's. Even if he started with nothing, as long as he put in the time and effort, he was guaranteed a happily ever after. And if only people were as transparent as a string of code. If only they told him what they wanted in plain words. If only the path into someone's heart was marked with waypoints and rat tails. If only they would follow you through the windy wilds, battle at your side through storm and cloud, never turning their back on you as long as you watched theirs. --- In which Izuku gets a quirk and Katsuki learns as he loses.

[to-myalphonse]

“Wherever I go the Wind follows." (part one)

Reverse Isekai! Scara x Reader

2k +

Based off this idea and this post

I know you all have been waiting me to release this since last Christmas (sorry I took so long.)

Thank you all for your patience I hope you enjoy!

Series: The Player and the Wannabe God

Oh I forgot for those who are new and are just reading my Sagau Scara stories, (Wanderer is named Masha. I gave him this name awhile ago in the Sentient Series.)

Reader is referred to as Them or They

Tag for my scara series is here. Follow this is you want to be updated on any new updates.

Masha knew that other worlds existed, the Traveler was living proof of that. He wasn't aware that they were being watched from the sky. Not by the Archons or Celestia but by a figure peering down into their world.

“The stars and the sky is just one giant hoax.” 

Those are the words he told the Astrologist during those falling stars he had to research.  Briefly he remembers Dottore mentioning how the fake sky they live under was a placeholder and how the real one was long destroyed during the Archon War. He didn't like thinking about it, remembering his time in the Fatui.

Looking up into the sky instead of a sea full of stars he sees faint lights in what appears to be a room and a figure peering into their world. The figure wouldn't shut up constantly muttering something as they controlled the room ,manipulating objects. 

"This goes here." The person mutters as they place the objects down in the house. 

“And if we put this here.’’ Masha peers down from his spot in the hallway, as they decorate the living room of the Traveler’s house. The characters who were in the halls remained in place. The ceiling returns to normal as they hear their voice switch into another room. 

The desert women with different color eyes took a seat on the couch letting out a sigh. She stretched her feet, relaxing from standing in place. As she sat down she immediately stood up hearing their voice re enter the room. 

He glances up seeing them look around the room before exiting through the front door. 

“Alright I'm coming.” The ceiling turned black before turning back to its normal color. 

 Characters who were in specific spots began to move. The Rwathist insomniac sluggishly passed through the halls running into the pillars.

Masha sighed, moving from his position. That person wasn't here to stop him after all.

Traveler went in the direction towards their room, others who were outside came inside and the others went their separate ways.

The Traveler and the desert woman sat on the deck of the house talking about nothing within his interest. They spare him a glance before continuing on with their conversation.

Pulling out his dispatch he snapped it in half. The area became pitch black as he was teleported out of the teapot.

________________________________________________________

"In today's lesson, we'll talk about King Deshret's rule." Wanderer sat in the back of the room, tapping his pencil on the notebook as the lecture started.He didn’t intend on coming if it wasn’t for the radish.

“Masha.” He regains his vision, as light green flashed before his eyes. Standing next to the waypoint, bag in hand was Nahida.

" You're not going to learn anything by skipping class." The older girl spoke. He rolled his eyes trying to walk away only to be stopped by her again.

"I'll do something for you in return." A small smile grew on her face as she handed him his backpack. 

"Who is singing?" His classmates looked around at each other before shrugging to the professor.

The professor's focus remained unfazed as he carried on with his lecture, seemingly unaffected by the distracting melody. The woman's voice echoed through the classroom, captivating some students while leaving others indifferent. 

Masha was already bored enough. However, the strange contrast between the professor's dull voice and the woman's song made him even more so. He looked at the other students and saw that some of them had their eyes closed and others were taking careful notes. This made him even more tempted to leave the boring lesson.

A bright light blinded the classroom as the students looked around in surprise.

The vision symbols slowly loaded onto the screen of your game. The game was updated to version 3.8.

 You were excited as this would be the first time you would go on a summer adventure with the characters, after missing it the previous year. The symbols started loading quicker as it reached  the geo and cryo symbols.

Masha’s classmates and professor began freaking out. Some ran away while others disappeared within the light. Masha didn't have time to think, before he was engulfed as well.

The timer in the other room dings distracting you from the game momentarily. You get up exiting the room leaving the load up screen.

The music and the loading screen distort.

  Pins and needles prick Masha as he tried to stand gaining awareness of his surroundings.

On his back he saw the sky much closer than before. Looking around all he saw was the sky and columns.

He gets halfway up when his knees buckle, dragging him down again. Eventually, he stands noticing his location. Instead of the Akademiya, he was on a floating island midair.

Trying to stand he notices the joint between his knees were loose causing his legs to act wobbly. Limping, he tries walking along the path to find an alternate way down.

As he walks down the road, he finds a random door at the end of it. As he gets closer, he looks at it very carefully.

 The roads create itself ahead of him as he follows the path down. He tripped every step from the loose knee socket injury. A white door appears stopping him in his tracks. As he gets to the door, he tries to open it but fails.

 No matter what he did, he could not get the door to move. He turns back the way he came to see a room. He pauses thinking over what happened, before continuing forward. His bell floats next to him as he continues forward investigating his new surroundings. 

"Yes, I'll see you later." The phone dings as you went to put it down. Soft music fills in the quietness of the house.

"Now we wait." You lean against the countertop, checking your social media. New videos regarding the newest game update pops up as you watch the trailer. "More desert areas?"

"First the desert was fine as a new mechanic, now it's irritating to even look at." You press play listening to one of the new theory videos that one of the players of the game released.

The floors creak from the upstairs. You strain your ears listening for any other movements. The house became quiet, except the music you have playing.

A pang of dread overtook you as you hastily retrieved your phone.

Should you call the police? Or should you just make sure it's nothing before you make the call.

The floorboard remained quiet after the first creak of footsteps. Taking a deep breath in, you grab a steak knife, slowly make your way upstairs.

Opening the next door, Masha finds a bedroom with a poster of the Anemo Archon and a doll of him? He walks in further picking up the doll looking over it. 

He pauses, hearing footsteps approaching the stairs that he passed. Peeking out the door he catches you, armed looking around annoyed. 

He watches you try to find him by opening all the doors and checking the room. Getting close to the one he was in, he sat in the closet waiting for you to approach.

The door to the room he was in opened soon enough. He heard rustling until you turned to look at the closet. When the closet door opened, you saw only your clothes and no one else. Before you close it, you check it carefully.

"Probably just the house settling." You turn to leave when you knock into something hard.

"What the heck? ", Looking up you see a man who look eerily similar to Masha staring you down. Your eyes wander, as you see his outfit resembling him almost identical. He must be a huge fan like yourself.

“Uhm.”

He says nothing , as he listens in on you.

"Are you a cosplayer by chance?" He stares at you blankly.

"What's a cosplayer?"

"The person you're cosplaying as, he's Scaramouche from Genshin." His face scrunches up hearing the name. He glances at his outfit, turning back to you.

"Look, I don't know what cosplaying is, but why did you bring me here." A familiar looking bell appeared in his hands. Wind blasted in your face coming from seemingly nowhere. A stone on his chest lit up briefly before dimming again.

“Wait who are you?”

“Bring? No, I don’t have the power to bring anyone anywhere.” You laugh slightly, only aggravating him more.

“I don’t have time for you.'' As he passes, you take a step in front of him. He lifts his hand pulling you up with the wind.

This must be a very expensive prop that some rich cosplayers had, or your character really crawled out of the tv, like the ring girl.

A cosplayer wouldn’t just break into your house trying to attack you. I mean some cosplayers are un hinged that they have done that. You doubt he would be doing this for viewers or to get famous.

If he really was Wanderer coming out of the game like those Isekai Anime, that would be a bad situation. 

Calming down, you out your hands up, hoping he wouldn't smack you against the wall.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” He remains silent looking over your form.

“I go by many names, but all of them are water under the bridge to me now.”

That's a line that Wanderer says from the game.

“Is there a specific name that I can call you?”

“Masha. That’s also what I go by.” He shrugs, focusing his attention back onto the television.

Masha?

What the hell?! You start freaking out, Genshin was a real world and wasn’t just some game some people thought up?

You begin thinking of the hilichurrls  and the people you killed to gain items to level up your characters. The smaller characters like Klee or Nahida, how did they react to killing others?

“Uhm, when you entered my house where exactly did you come from?” He points at the last door at the end of the hallway. You look towards it nervously as you approach the door. 

If Masha was the first to come through the game, would others come through it as well?”

You walk to the door making you way to your room. The load up screen was shown with red blocks tainting the grounds of it. Looks like they were aware of someone leaving. You quickly shut off the game, hoping that the Heavenly Principles wasn't aware of you exiting the game.

You already have Masha to deal with. Heavenly principles would make things worse.

“What the hell?” The game exited, before booting up again without your consent. The logo of Mihoyo appearing glithcy as the scene of Celestia glitches. The pillars were broken, and the music was vacant just leaving the wind alone.

The screen goes black before the game transitions into the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

The scene zooms in on Nahida talking to Traveler with a worried expression.

“I haven’t seen him since they entered Teyvat.” Lumine spoke.

“Usually, he goes on Adventures with them and return to Sumeru, however the students in his class went missing as well after they returned.” 

“Is there anything you can do about it, Traveler?” She shakes her head.

“I only have access to changing the time, not anything like that.” Nahida frowns.

“Thanks for your help. I know you have to continue to Fontaine, if you do see any of the missing students, please let me know.” Lumine nods making her exit from the room.

Masha’s disappearance from Genshin not only caused Nahida to worry but for students to disappear?

Nahida continues walking around the Sanctuary nervously. 

‘’Is that Buer?” Masha’s voice comes from the side of you. 

“Hey! Don’t do that.” He rolls his eyes before focusing on the screen. He gives it a weird look turning back to face you.

“So, you are the one who brought me here.” His weapon was summoned at his side immediately.

‘’ I already told you! I didn’t bring you here.” 

“Then why do you have access to Teyvat?” He glances at the party to the right of the screen.

He reads the names of each person getting to the top one. He sees his face blackned out while the others were full of life.

“Is that? " He cuts off. You look at his face on the game in shock.

“Wait why is that blackened out you’re alive not dead.”

“Is that what you’re really worried about right now?” You click his picture only for an error message to pop up again.

“Character cannot be healed.” You have revival food but it’s not working on him. Is it because he’s outside the game?

Clicking back, the camera follows traveler who disappears into the teapot. 

Taglist

@akirasgalaxy @iruiji @pyrce @d4y-dr3am3r @shizunuxie @sarah-saystuff @magica-ren @teyvattales @bigcandlesmolbrain @etherisy @y2k-apocalypse @sparklygardenzonkclam @swimminginthevoid @yuumaofc @endlessmari

(anyone else that wants to be tagged for the series, follow this tag #scara sentient

[lillxart]

The Men Who Married A God:

Translated by Thomas Patharius  

By Thomas Patharius

II

There was once an Imperial Praefect named Sindarius Mattius. He was a fair looking man with dark hair. He was practical, a good soldier who followed orders, and served the First Empire with loyalty. He had friends, but no lover, and while his life was simple he simply enjoyed it. He lived in a house left to him by his father on the corner of the market, he only spent one month of the year at his house because his duties took him across Tamriel to help keep the local peace between the settling nations and the empire.   

One day Praefect Mattius was walking the streets of Blacklight, and there, illuminated by the blue lights of the waypoints was a woman with stark white hair and pale skin. He would not have been so shocked by her appearance if she were a Dunmer, as they do have white hair, but it was her pale skin that caused his surprise. She was human, and not an old woman but a young and beautiful sorceress. Before he even realized she was there she fell into the crowd and disappeared. The girl became a passing thought. A curiosity in a curious and perhaps even enchanting city. But as his fate would have it he ended up meeting her again not long after.      

When he saw her next she was singing and dancing at a corner club. Her attire was appropriate for her type of performance, and her movements were fluid while her voice carried to even the back. She danced around like a fairy, lighting up the atmosphere with her music while the patrons of the bar sang and danced along with her. The once heavy mood he and his soldiers felt was dispelled, almost like magic. For a brief moment Mattius wondered if the woman was truly that talented or if she actually used magic. When her performance was over Mattius saw her approach a Dunmer sailor, and they disappeared into the cornerclub together. 

The third time Mattius saw her was when he was sent for important business. She was in the company of House Redoran, there to help clean up a few issues that had been plaguing the house for quite some time. Her current summoning there, along with him and some of his men, was acting as a guide through Morrowid to deal with an insane Telvanni Magistrate who was encasing the roads between Veranis and Bodrum in a toxic mist for some unknown experiment. 

Mattius was more than surprised to see her with her hair up, wearing dark battle armor with a weapon at her hip. Once the formalities were finished, he approached her as if he knew her, despite that not being the case. “I didn’t think you were a mercenary.”

She turned to him, and the Praefect admitted she was far more beautiful up close. “Many people have their own opinions about me, what matters is all the fun ways I can confuse them over it.” And he had instantly decided he liked her. 

With something so dangerous plaguing the two cities, Praefect Mattius would have thought they would rush to the area where the mist was harming the innocent citizens. When he asked her why the lack of urgency, she responded with a merry smile. “Dunmer are not fools. Those who choose to ignore the warning and go through the mist regardless get what’s coming to them, that’s the Morrowind way.” 

Mattius had never heard such a startling statement. Yet, in his time in Morrowind she seemed to have grasped something that he could not. The people of this land, not just the Dunmer, were far harsher and full of callous grit than he had expected. The Imperial is not above saying that he never understood Morrowind’s customs, the dark elves are truly different compared to the Imperials. However, despite his lack of understanding of the Dunmer people the longer he traveled with the white haired woman the more she helped him understand it. The more he understood it, the more his men were invigorated to risk their lives for them, despite the people not feeling any gratitude back.

Perhaps, he later thought, that was her plan all along?

The fourth time they met he was lost in House Redoran. The place was a maze to him and he somehow found himself in the desolate private quarters of a certain council member. While turning a corner he bumped straight into her, knocking them both to the ground. She was wearing nothing but a thin red silk robe, body smelling of fine oils. “Lost?” She was not deterred by his presence and seemed to take him in stride. 

Mattius, though, was redder than a pomegranate. “Forgive me for encroaching!” He got up and turned away. 

This only seemed to peak her playfulness, running her hands up his back. “I do not mind. I was just finishing up, I could guide you to the exit if you’d like~” Instead of responding to her, he merely fled from embarrassment. He thought about the feelings of her creeping hands many nights afterwards. 

And so more and more their time ended up entangled, while they were fleeting increments, those increments left imprints on Sindarius Mattius’s mind. They spoke in taverns, exchanged words on the street, sometimes they met in similar awkward manners when she was with a lover, and sometimes he put his life in her hands when they fought enemies in the area. He found himself believing her to be one of the most unique, and perhaps in her own way, compassionate people he had ever met. 

One day he came to her, heart on his sleeve, and asked her to grant him the joy of her hand. 

For the first time Sindarius Mattius looked at her face, and it was an expression of mourning that did not match her. “Mattius…you know not what you ask.”

“Is there another man?” He knew, even now, that she had just come from another man’s bed (or perhaps it was an Argonian this time?). Perhaps monogamy was not something she was accustomed to? 

She laughed. “No, but I’m afraid it’s more complicated than my flights of fancy. Meet me alone at night, so that I may answer your feelings properly.”

So Sindarius Mattius met her at night alone in a clearing. He was prepared to have his heart broken. She appeared before him in a lavish dress with a blanket of stars falling over her shoulder. She wore a black crown and her eyes were filled with the power he had seen her display many times during the times he’s fought beside her. “I am not mortal.” She revealed herself to him as The God of Cruelty, the Harbinger of Evil wishes. And when she revealed this truth he knew it in his soul.  

The mortal fell to his face, bowing before her as he would any of the other Divines in the pantheon. “I have nothing worthy to offer a God.”

“I know, and so I shall marry you.”

And so Sindarius Mattius took her hand in marriage and she lived as mortal. They returned to the Imperial capital and he lived out the remainder of his life with the warmth of a home and the love of his wife and children, as he desired with her.                                                                             

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Tic-Tac_Toe (Part 1)

Throughout the website, we have found instances of Tic-Tac-Toe games, so I decided to write about it, to see if I couldn’t find some reasoning for the inclusion of this, beyond Julie’s love of games. 

(I have separated this into 4 posts because I write very long things that are bad for morale.)

Rules of Tic-Tac-Toe

It seems like this is something that everyone knows (though sometimes under a different name, like noughts and crosses or x's and o's).  We will look, though, in case it gives any clues.

Of course there is a wikihow.  Draw the board (9 spaces).  First player goes and can choose to be x’s or o’s (but it do believe there is a rule that x goes first).  The first recommended move is to take the center, as it gives more options in getting three in a row or diagonal (winning).  Second player goes. They go back and forth until someone wins or the board is full, which is a tie. 

Ancient Origins of Tic-Tac-Toe

Huh, the game dates back to Ancient Egypt, called “Three Men’s Morris” and consisting of each player having three pieces and trying to put them all on one line.  The board looks like this:

The Roman version was also played with three pebbles.  (Roman version is called “Three Pebbles at a Time”?).  https://www.coolmathgames.com/blog/tic-tac-toe-history-three-in-a-row-thru-the-ages  It is also found in Middle Eastern and American Indian culture.  From what I can tell, this version in ancient Rome was circular, with an unknown name, but we call it “Rota” the Latin world for “wheel.”  These gameboards can be found in the streets of Roman cities.  https://mythologycrafts.com/rota-a-game-of-roman-tic-tac-toe/

“Rota is a very fast and simple game and you can play it almost anywhere. Each player moved three pieces around on a circular board until they got three in a row. The reason that Rota is called Roman Tic-Tac-Toe is that it is played on a board that has nine spaces and the main objective is to get three pieces in a row. However,  these two games are different because Rota takes longer,  you can move the pieces from their original positions, and unlike Tic-Tac-Toe it cannot end in a tie."

According to the coolmathgames.com website, the most comparable thing about these games is a 3 x 3 board.

The American Indian version (Zuni or Pueblo) looks like this:

Other versions:

Tant Fant:  India

Nine holes:  England

Achi:  Ghana

Shisima:  Kenya

Dara/dili/doki/derrah:  West Africa

Wali:  Africa

Dama Tuareg:  North Africa

Tria/Tris/Grisia:  Italy

Each version in the top half is pretty recognizable as tic tac toe, but the second half are further away.

Just a note to include that humans attach a lot of importance to the numbers 3 and 9, but especially 3.  Humans can process around three things in our short term, it has become a waypoint in writing or speaking (example:  x, 1,2,3 essays), and in symbols.  Symbols relying on the rule of three:  heaven, earth, hell; the father, the son, the holy spirit; birth, life, death; youth, middle age, old age; mind, body, soul.  Because of this human tendency, lots of things have been categorized by threes, but importantly, it has achieve a mystical significance in magic and luck.  In the European tradition, three is used in casting spells (bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble).  Also, how many times have we seen three witches as a storytelling device or focus?  In numerology, 3 has an association with Jupiter.

The History of Tic-Tac-Toe after 1884

The first instance of the name “noughts and crosses” is from 1858, “tic tac toe” is seen in 1884.  Tic Tac Toe is a game used to test artificial intelligence.  From Wikipedia “Arcade games with tic-tac-toe playing chickens were popular in the mid-1970’s. Apparently this comes from an appeal for a mentally ill murderer in which they introduced chickens playing tic-tac-toe as evidence that it doesn’t prove someone is mentally sound." From r/todayilearned, “TIL that in the 1960s there were coin operated machines with live chickens that would play piano, ring a bell or play you in tic tac toe when you dropped in a dime.“

This would have been during the time of the show, but what it could mean is curious (I wonder if Mama Beagle plays tic-tac-toe.)  I thought they meant a graphic of a chicken playing this game, but they really mean live chicken:

There were several game shows that used the game as their format, notably “Hollywood Squares,” “Tic-Tac-Dough,” Secret X from “The Price is Right,” and “Minute to Win It.”

There is a connection between Muppets and Hollywood Squares.  It seems that Kermit, Big Bird, Elmo, Piggy, and Zoe have all been on Hollywood Squares.  Also, Bear from Bear in the Big Blue House.  I love Bear. 

There is a cipher related to Tic-Tac-Toe.  There is a letter associated with the placement of the symbols.  They use the grid to denote the position of the letter. 

[sgiandubh]

Waypoints, Take 1: POV Complete Outsider

A little something, before we begin. In the history of this fandom, S's book was a critical juncture point. To explain my speculations and findings, it felt appropriate and fun to split it in two parts: the first, written from the POV of a complete outsider who happens to stumble upon Waypoints. The second would be a shipper's view, simply because this is who I am. Under no circumstances should it be understood that I recently took a flight to Bangkok, as I will immediately tell you (I wish I had!). Last time I used this rhetorical trick it went in flames, and I had to explain myself at length: you have been warned. Here goes and I apologize already - this is going to be LONG:

Hi, I am Sgian-Dubh and I have just boarded the LHR-BKK twelve -hour flight, after four years of forced COVID abstinence. I am brimming with anticipation for five o'clock tea at the Mandarin Oriental's Author Lounge, the speedboat transfers on the Chao Phraya and the first real Thai mango sticky rice.

Lo and behold, somebody has forgotten a book in the pocket in front of my seat, undetected by the cleaning ladies. It is written by a certain Sam Heughan. I have no idea who that guy is, but I am quickly informed about its topic: My Scottish Journey.

Ok. A travel book. Favorite genre. This guy is no Pico Iyer. No Robert Byron. And certainly no Freya Stark. But I've got roughly ten hours to kill: where's the harm?

The cover intrigues me. Not my type, but a very good-looking gentleman, with a rather determined, almost stern attitude and a dram of whisky in his left hand. Is he a unicorn entrepreneur? An inventor? The next UK astronaut? Impossible to tell. But hey, never judge a book by its cover.

It quickly becomes apparent that Heughan is the male lead in that lengthy Outlander series of already cult-ish reputation, that my mother watches with gusto ("call me in half an hour, I am watching The Wedding": might I add, for the 455th time in documented history) and The Guardian TV critic calls raunchy.

Six hours later, roughly by the second round of refreshments, I have questions.

The beginning is peculiar. This guy has a busy-busy-busy life and lives in a large country house all by himself, with a hissing coffee machine he just bought. There is something havishamesque about this premise, clashing with the self-assured, conqueror pose on the cover:

But there is hope: a decision is made on the spur of the moment to skedaddle and walk the 96 mile West Highland Way, rather than brood in front of the telly with Chinese delivery food and more alcohol, Bridget Jones style. Fair enough. Adequate equipment is immediately acquired in a frenzy and outside it is nasty raining. The new tent is mounted and dismounted in the living-room (who does this? who eats scrambled eggs with ketchup?).

Pitter-patter. And more pitter-patter. Damp, but heartwarming overnight stops in cozy hotels along the way and short conversations in Halloween-themed bars, surrounded by Highland zombies and banshees. Parritch and grit. The harsh encounter with homelessness along the way prompts the Good Samaritan reflex:

More pitter-patter. Entwined with the self-reliant feat, we start to follow a parallel trail to the narrator's past, by far the most interesting part of the book. Challenging beginnings, in a single parent family surrounded by love and dignified penury. A real shyness due to truly heartbreaking, unfairly absurd, almost debilitating circumstances:

Details like the above quickly grab the reader's attention, and how could they not? There is a lot of sensibility in there, rather aptly balanced with a whiff of Dickensian morality (stay true to your self) and of course, with one of the favorite Victorian refrains: play up, play up and play the game. Obstacles are patiently conquered with uncommon resilience and a true stubbornness, but for a very long time, life is a haphazard succession of opportunities and rebukes.

For such a good-looking man, women are sparse and far between. Ae fond kiss and then we sever at 10. Stage partners. A stage production assistant. The one who didn't last more than one week once moved in together. No explanation is provided and we sense this is an uneasy topic. I wouldn't insist, as a casual reader, but my curiosity is piqued.

At this point in time, breakfast is served. I have long lost track of the zip-a-dee-doo-dah trekking part of the book, involving a sulking, but nice bearded guy and his wife, chance brief encounters and mushrooms. But the Underdog Tale surely got my attention, even if we spend an extravagant amount of time between the London neo-slums and the glitter of Tinseltown: skipping to the essential, it eventually paid off.

With instant fame comes exposure and the lottery winner syndrome. What to do. How to cope. Women multiply as by magic, but only one is singled out and discussed in a strange, contrived, almost lackadaisical manner:

If this made me, the assumed Complete Outsider, stop in my tracks and scratch my head, I can only imagine what would happen to these people's fans. Why address folklore and conflated nonsense, at all? Why give space to hearsay? Why "it", when it should logically be "them"? Why the ambiguity? Why the uneasiness, spinning like floating wood in a sea of positivity? Why worry about that, when you drum the march of success and explain your bachelorhood by an unsolved Oedipus complex, thwarting any potential pairing?

I sip the horrible airline drip coffee and I ask:

Who is Caitriona to you, Mister Heughan?

You wrote a +150 pages long book beating around this bush. There are no such things. You are either life-long friends and this is a non-existent topic, or you are lying to yourself, lying to your readers and hiding in plain sight.

Time to disembark. I am keeping the book. I am not buying the whisky (naïve product placement on top). But hell I am going to watch that series on Netflix!

[failedinsomniac]

Today, Christmas Eve, would’ve been my husband’s 80th birthday. Seven months & nine days he’s been gone, which I’ve mostly spent trying to figure out how to grieve. Or even what to grieve for—him, or me? All the lost memories & time? Did I already grieve enough in the last few years while he was slipping away? Should I simply honor him by living my best life going forward?

Trivial as it may seem, the Good Omens fandom has brought me so much joy the past few months. The community, the art—so much beautiful art!—the fanfic has kept me going, given me laughter & angst along with inspiration & frustration. Frustration because, as with my grief, I don’t seem to know how to express myself any more. Where do I even start trying to make art, to let out my sadness & loss & hopelessness so I can move on?

After the renewal announcement I started thinking about the long wait we have until our final season. To the young members of the fandom (the vast majority) it’ll seem like eons. I, however, just turned 64; years race by me like caffeinated greyhounds. How best to spend that time when realistically I may not have that many more good years left?

A plan has begun to percolate. Not a bucket list exactly, but things I need to do for myself—to achieve the best possible version of myself for my remaining time; to give back to others; to make a difference, even if it seems inconsequential. The smallest act of kindness can create many ripples. I will measure the time by waypoints to Season 3: scripts finished, new casting, hair colors revealed, filming, etc. Along the way I hope to set some milestones of my own: run a 10K, travel abroad, finish my Good Omens powder room, learn to paint/make prints/animate/edit. Maybe finish a long-neglected novel? Make a Good Omens quilt. Build furniture. Landscape my back yard. Read, read, read! So…much…to do…

And a terribly finite amount of time.

Merry Christmas, y’all.💙