#canon divergent genshin impact

[stcrfeesh]

the complexities of simplicity

(and the friendships built with sandwiches)

No warnings apply; Safe for work.

The retelling of the roundabout way Al Haitham tries to become friends with you.

Or, how not to be spies with covers as employees in the corporate world.

Al Haitham was such a conundrum. Unlike everyone else, he was different.

Despite the field he was working in, one where he was required to lie, he was still never one to engage in false pleasantries and hollow compliments. He’d openly refuse to take time out of his day to chat about the weather to get the information he needs—the twists and turns were unnecessary to him.

If he could walk into an establishment to steal information, then he’d do just that. It was simpler to walk in and then walk out without being detected anyway. It wasn’t like anyone would suspect some feeble man for information theft. Why would they? After all, he was just another paying customer using the washroom after trying out a new coffee blend.

Al Haitham gets what he wants and what he needs, in a roundabout, but oddly efficient way. Why aim for the straight path to his goals when he could simply jump to his goal? It would save him so much more time and effort—save him his breath and thoughts.

The path between point A and point B was, indeed, already simple. Even a pigeon would understand such simplicity. But in his mind, anything that was already efficient would always have something to make it even simpler.

The simpler it was, the less work he’d have to do, and the less work on his plate, the better. It was like dealing with fractions in math—always answer with the simplest form.

He was a conundrum in the way he contradicts himself. The lengths he’d go to for certain things; an extensive plan on how to steal intel without having to talk much with anyone, or perhaps, commissioning someone to fashion a device for him so he wouldn’t have to water the plants outside every single morning himself.

Al Haitham in all of his contradictions, turns simplicity into complexity, and sometimes, it made your head spin in confusion.

You would always see him enter the building at eight in the morning—on the dot every day. It was the same routine for the most part; a cup of coffee in his hand, and his coworker? Friend? You weren’t sure, but the guy would always be complaining behind him as he rubbed the sleep off his eyes. Then, Al Haitham leaves at four in the afternoon. At that time, though, without his partner—who you’d usually see cursing his very being—in tow.

In all the days he’s passed by you, you’d give him a smile—not the same one you give everyone else, though. This smile was reserved for him alone, you thought that perhaps, he needed a little more kindness in his life—so, you’d smile at him every morning and every afternoon to greet him. Much to your dismay, however, he never greets you back. No “good morning” or “thank you”, and especially not a single glance towards you. And so, you have come to a conclusion.

Al Haitham was not nice. Though, of course, not in the way where you’d call him an absolute prick. He wasn’t a dick, per se, he was just… unsociable. Well, maybe he was a little bit of a dick for never greeting you back, but it wasn’t like a greeting less affected your entire life. He was just some sleeper agent working on the top floor of the same company you’ve been stationed in, who, also happens to not like making small talk.

Yes, that was definitely it. Perhaps he liked being in his own little world where nothing bothers him, and you could get around that. That much was understandable. After all, with years of undercover work at the front desk of a company where the rudest people in all of Teyvat would barge in with their incomprehensible demands, you too would like to be in your own little world.

Alas, such is life in the world of espionage.

Al Haitham wasn’t an important part of your life—okay, maybe he was, but that was if, and only if your covers were to be blown. You weren’t high up in the ranks to have had the immediate clearance to know his codename, it even took you half a year of running errands for headquarters to figure it out yourself. Turns out, Al Haitham, the quiet man who’d never greet you back, was the Agent Vulture everyone either feared or idolised. Or both.

Should your covers be blown, you’d trust him enough to get the both of you out of trouble. That was assuming he’d even lend you a hand.

You wonder then if he knows you were just like him—a sleeper agent, which you now begin to doubt he does 1. He probably doesn’t even know your name despite the gold name tag pinned onto your uniform. Does he even see you greet him? You’ll never know, to be honest, nor do you ever plan on knowing.

That thought changes, however, on one unsuspecting morning.

You watch him enter the front doors. On the dot at eight in the morning. His companion mutters curses under his breath as he follows behind him. Today, you manage to make out what the blond man was complaining about.

“Oh, I don’t know, Al Haitham,” You heard the blond whisper sarcastically. “Maybe a ‘Thank you so much for helping me out, Kaveh’ would do!”

You watch Al Haitham inch closer towards the front desk, probably to clock in. He hisses at his companion, “Why should I thank you, oh great Kaveh? I pay for your share of the rent. Isn’t that a ‘thank you’ enough?”

Kaveh, you let the name resound in your mind. So that’s what the blond guy’s name was. The name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t pinpoint why or how. Not that it mattered.

When they were near enough, you put on a smile to greet them, “Good morning,”

The blond guy, whose name you now know was Kaveh, stops ranting furiously at his companion and flashes you a toothed smile. “Yes, hello, darling, good morning.”

Al Haitham presses his hand against the clocking device, and it makes a little ding sound, signifying that he’s successfully clocked in. You already assumed he wouldn’t pay you any mind like always did, that he’d walk away, but he doesn’t. He stops in his tracks, to look you directly in the eye.

He doesn’t glance at your name tag, but somehow, he says your name as if he’s known the entire time. You hadn’t expected him to know your name, quite the contrary, actually. You believed he didn’t even know your face. So, when he says your name, your jaw drops the slightest in shock, and then you snap it back shut when you realise you must’ve looked like a fool.

“Yes?” You answer simply, testing the waters. “Is there something you need?”

He shakes his head letting you know that he didn’t, and then hands you something wrapped in wax paper, “You left your lunch, so I bought an extra sandwich for you instead.”

Now you’re just confused. What in Teyvat was he even saying? What does he mean you left your lunch at home? You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if he was a double agent out to get you, but his expression remains as stoic as ever. Had it not been for his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk, you would have believed what you wanted to believe.

Message, you managed to gather from his tapping. You nod, getting his message as you take the item from him. “Oh… I was in a rush earlier, and I forgot to make lunch for myself. Thank you, you didn’t have to trouble yourself.”

Al Haitham nods one last time before he and Kaveh disappear into the hallway.

When they were finally out of earshot, your front desk partner playfully bumps your shoulder. She grins at you, and you immediately knew she was up to no good, “I see you have someone bringing you lunch now… I wonder who he might be. Boyfriend, perhaps?”

When she says that, you couldn’t help the snort that comes out of you. You? A boyfriend? And the best operative in Sumeru, no less? When Shroomboars begin to fly.

“He’s just a friend,” You lie—or, maybe, it was a small little white lie. Al Haitham wasn’t your friend, you didn’t even know his favourite colour, but you knew him just enough to get your lie to work. Plus, you certainly weren’t lying when you denied being in a romantic relationship with him.

You are a spy, an asset specifically placed in this specific company in case someone from your faction needed immediate help. Dating was far, far off the list of things you needed to do.

“Just a friend?” She asks you, her voice full of doubt. “Dear, you can’t expect me to believe that. Friends don’t just bring each other lunch because they’re friends.”

You frown at her mindset, that was untrue. Friends do bring each other lunch from time to time. You flick her forehead. “Not everything is about romance, you know?” You stare at the wrapped food in your hands. You knew better than to play with food, but you were curious, so you squish it lightly—it was probably a sandwich.

You cough, clearing your throat. The next thing you say, now this—this was a lie, “I need to put this away. I’ll be real quick.”

“Be quick,” Your desk partner reminds. “The front doors will be opening soon.”

And that’s what you did. Quick on your feet, you find yourself in the break room in no time. When you notice that the room was deserted, you carefully unwrap the wax paper. You find a small card tucked between the wax paper and the sandwich (you were right).

Report to headquarters at 6 PM.

You flip the card around to find nothing else. You stare at the card for another moment longer. Not only did he actually know your name, but he also knew who you were—that you were an operative like him. Which now begs the question, was he just being a dick the entire time?

You shove the card in your pocket before placing the sandwich in the fridge.

Seriously. You thought to yourself, was it so hard to just tell me this in person?

Al Haitham giving you homemade sandwiches did not stop that one time.

The next morning, he gives you another one. Using the same excuse as the day before, but this time without the message from headquarters. He does it again every single day for the next week, and then the next two months. Throughout it all, he uses the exact same excuse over and over again, “You forgot your lunch again,”

On one of those mornings, you raise a brow at Kaveh. A silent question of why. What was his companion planning? Why must it be you, in particular? But, when Kaveh furrows his brows, you realise then that even his own companion had no idea—the poor guy was even confused.

“Here,” Al Haitham says, handing you the sandwich. He stops to look at you for a short moment, and begins to tap his fingers against the desk as he speaks, “It’s cheese and turkey.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap—A message.

“Oh,” Is all that you’re able to let out, despite all the thoughts racing in your mind. “Thank you again, Al Haitham.”

As he was about to leave, you stop him, “Hold on!” You pull out the box hidden in a cubby behind the desk before walking towards him, “I was making cookies last night, and I made a batch too many. So, uhm, these are for you.”

That was a lie. You made the cookies for him, and you were quite certain he knew you were lying. But, if your lie works, then it works. He didn’t need to know the truth.

He raises a brow at you, and for a glimmer of a moment, you swore you saw a smile grace his lips. It was small and subtle, but you swore you saw it. Maybe you were imagining things, maybe you were not—you were leaning toward the latter, though—but regardless of whether it was real or a mere trick of the light, you thought that smiles suited him. It made him look nicer.

“Al Haitham!” Kaveh called, letting out an annoyed groan. “Come on! What are you still doing over there?”

“Thanks,” Was all he tells you as he takes the box from you. You hold your breath for a moment, afraid his hand would brush against yours, but it doesn’t. Not even the slightest bit, and you almost let out a snort in front of him. Thankfully, you were able to stop yourself.

“Thank you,” You reply, like the fool that you are. You cough, pretending something was just stuck in your throat. “I mean, yeah, sure. No problem.”

Al Haitham nods, following his companion further down into the hall. When you were certain he was gone, you let out the breath you were holding. What the hell?

Of course, it wouldn’t, you think to yourself. Why should it? You weren’t some protagonist in a cliché romance novel scene.

You return to the front desk, peeking inside the wrapper of the sandwich he had made for you. You discreetly slip the note out, stealing a glance before shoving it into your pockets. Eyes darting towards your desk partner, you let out a sigh of relief. Good, she didn’t see.

Meet me for lunch, if you’d like, was what was written on the note. And you do, you meet him for lunch a few hours later. You find him waiting for you by the front doors, in his hand a brown paper bag—which you assumed was his packed lunch.

“Hello,” You greet politely. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I didn’t. Let’s go?” The man begins to walk, and at first, you assumed he was going to leave you by yourself, but he doesn’t. He looks back at you, waiting for you—again. That was embarrassing.

Despite the heat that was evidently creeping onto your cheeks, dusting them with a shade of pink, with your whole chest and whatever arrogance was left in you, you decide then and there that Al Haitham wasn’t the dick you thought he was. Of course, he still wasn’t nice in your books, but he was a decent guy.

You jog up to him—at least, with your heels, you attempt to. “Thanks for the sandwich again, Al Haitham.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me every time you see me, you know?” He chuckles. You immediately look up at him in surprise. He chuckles. You’ve never heard him chuckle before. Holy archons.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me a sandwich either,” You tell him. “Actually, why do you give me a sandwich every single day? Are you trying to condition me or something?”

If you thought a chuckle was surprising enough, then you weren’t prepared for the laugh he lets out. Al Haitham laughs at your words—at the notion of you thinking you were being conditioned by him.

“I’m not, don’t worry,” He says, still laughing. “I just find making an extra sandwich for a friend therapeutic.”

At that very moment, realisation finally dawns on you. The sandwiches were because he wanted to be your friend. Al Haitham wanted to be your friend. The twists and turns he went through all because he wanted to be your… friend. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at that.

In the little moments you had been allowed to catch glimpses of him beyond the stoic exterior, you learn that he was one contradicting and ironic man. He was a man that made the most simple of things complicated, and a man who was too honest, despite the life he leads as a spy.

Al Haitham was not nice, you were definitely certain of that. He was not someone who engaged in false pleasantries to get into the good graces of people. So uncharacteristic of an operative—or, at least, that was what you think.

He was blunt—a little too honest, but you realise then that in a life where everything around you was a lie, you didn’t mind having an insanely honest man for a friend; even with all the contradictions and irony.

“Friend,” You repeat, smiling at him. “Well then, friend, would you like to have lunch with me every day from now on?”

“I see no reason as to why not,” He replies. “Friend.”

Who knew sandwiches were such a good, albeit roundabout way to make friends?

This is me experimenting with insert-reader fics. Please take my silly interpretation of Al Haitham. He's a funny guy. I am also sorry if this doesn't make sense. I'll probably rewrite this some day. I just needed to get the brainrot out of my head to continue writing off the precipice. I hope you enjoy, though!

A sleeper agent, also called sleeper cell, is a spy who is placed in a target country or organization not to undertake an immediate mission, but instead to act as a potential asset if activated.

GENSHIN MASTERLIST  |  KO-FI SUPPORT

© stcrfeesh 2020-2023 — reposts, translations, and any other form of reproduction of my work is prohibited.

[stainedglassthreads]

AU in which everything is the same except Melus and Silver decide to just keep acting as Navia's bodyguards, since they technically haven't actually died or retired, just undergone an abrupt change in species. So now Navia just has two Oceanid bodyguards following her everywhere.

Things are certainly different, but Navia has to admit that even having them like this makes things much easier for her.

[intensely-reading]

Honey, you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

Word Count: 25.3k words (1/1 Chapters)

Relationship: Alhaitham/Kaveh

Tags: Canon Divergence (as in, they are not roommates in this one), Exes to Lovers, Relationship Study, fluff and light angst, lot of reminiscing and remembering—revisiting habits of what once was, I'm very heavy with my random facts as metaphors in this one

Summary:

When Kaveh first agreed to let Nilou set him up on a blind date, he didn’t think it would end up like this. Him, sitting in Puspa Cafe, fingers lightly tapping the side of his cup—and Al-Haitham, the Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya, a decade older than Kaveh remembers and a decade more unfamiliar.

Read it here!

Author's Comments:

Before writing this story, I was reading a lot of childhood friends to lovers stories (for a different ship in a different fandom) and it reminded me of how specific the atmosphere of a story is when the two characters have known each other since they were young. I wanted to emulate that in this story here.

There's a certain style of writing that I enjoy reading where the author drops little facts one character knows about the other (sort of throwaway lines) whenever something small happens. Those lines end up speaking volumes of how well these characters know each other. I wanted to try and mimic that too. A lot of the times my stories focus on the present (i.e. what's happening in the plot), so this time around, I wanted to write about the present in the context of the past.

There's a lot of random facts in here that I was trying to link together to make the whole story feel a little more nerdy, but I'm not sure how well I accomplished that. One of these days, I'd like to try that again. I really liked adding those little details to it 🥺

[euria-stratos]

Part 2: The Things They Usually Mention in Passing (2)

Please note that this is going to be multi-part series of AU notes and flash fictions depicting a “what-if” scenario:

What if the Cataclysm was stopped earlier and Khaenri’ah was spared from Celestia’s wrath, despite their sins 500 years ago... for a price?

------------

Excerpts from an old, torn journal with a label "C. Alberich" recovered from the outskirts of Dragonspine, Mondstadt. Currently stored in the archives of the Knights of Favonius Investigation Team:

"...been ages since I've written down my day-to-day experiences here. But I suppose being homesick has a way of making you return to old, familiar habits. It's funny, too, that where I am now is also my home, for better or worse. I just hope it won't return to how it was when Mama left it..."

---

"...currently staying in this eternally freezing mountain just south (or southwest?) of the city Mondstadt, conducting alchemical research with the homunculus alchemist Albedo. It has been a successful endeavor so far and we've manage to find some fine specimens for study! Like that Cryo mitachurl just a few paces down the mountainside where our current camp is..."

---

"...sometimes, I wonder if Papa would ever forgive me for settling here. I know that things would've been more comfortable for me back home, at least, money-wise. But I don't think he understands what I saw there everyday..."

---

"...could feel their eyes still watching me, always waiting for something to happen. Whether it was because of my so-called dirty blood or my "insufficient" devotion to Lord Purson compared to everyone else, their dead-eyed stares still bore into me and constantly doled out judgement. I'm sorry, Papa, I just couldn't..."

---

"...if someone said to me before that I would be working with the creation of our homeland's biggest persona non grata in a foreign nation that Mama ran away from, I'd have laughed at their face and tell them to cut back on the mead. But here I am, a good 15 years in, having just enjoyed a great dinner at Good Hunter with my family and the rest of the Investigation Team. I still don't know how I managed to make a life for myself here without much trouble nor worry. But I suppose I can't help but be grateful to the Knights, to Albedo, to my one and only Elise, and strangely enough, even to..."

---

"...I can only hope that things are still good with Papa back home, even if he does take longer to respond to my letters..."

Previous | Next

[minhxiao]

if a tree falls scaramouche/aether | rating: T | 2.1k words The night before Jnagarbha Day, when Scaramouche is to complete the final stage of the God Creation Plan, Aether finds him alone in the Apam Woods.

Even at night, the Ashavan Realm is a humid, verdant green. In another life, Scaramouche might have found it beautiful. 

His presence is like an aberrated ink blot on canvas. Even the local flora and fauna seem to bend away from his vicinity, the mythical Aranara making themselves scarce in his company.  

It’s hardly a surprise to Scaramouche. After all, these days, he's only the specter of a person. 

But not for long.

What does come as a surprise, however, is the sudden prickling of awareness that arises at the base of his neck, the sound of rustling grass and footsteps behind him. A draft of warm life fills the air and somewhere, a lotus blooms. 

He hadn’t expected him to show up, to find him here on the night before his ascension as a new god, but Scaramouche doesn’t mind surprises. What he doesn’t like is the feeling of being cornered. 

But he displays none of this current unease, barely even flinches or startles at the traveler’s presence. He only digs his heels into the dirt when he hears Aether come to a stop just behind him. His floating companion is mysteriously absent. 

A divine intervention, then. Scaramouche almost smiles. For a moment, it’s quiet and the wind cradles the veil of his hat like a gentle touch. 

Aether speaks first. 

“You don’t want to do this.” 

Scaramouche had strangely expected him to start with something pleasant, like “what a beautiful view” or “the sky looks lovely tonight,” but quickly realizes the absurdity of that thought. They had never been friends. Even the word “acquaintances” is far too generous. Perhaps it’s merely the strange, unsettled feeling in Scaramouche’s body tonight that is making him more prone to things like sentimentality. 

It is an immense relief knowing that tomorrow, he won’t have to deal with such things anymore.

“You seem to think you know a large deal about what I want,” Scaramouche says, still not turning to face him. “What, one look into my consciousness is enough to have me all figured out?” 

“You… You said you care for Haypasia,” Aether hesitates and oh, Scaramouche loves how he can make someone like the staunch, unwavering traveler stumble over his words. “Someone who cares for their mortal follower wouldn’t willingly throw away their humanity for something like this.” 

“Humanity…” Scaramouche muses. He really is growing sentimental on the night before his rebirth and the feeling itches in the way that he imagines a scar would feel. So Scaramouche only ghosts his fingers over the gnosis in his chest, listens to it tick like a clockwork heart. 

“You already know that I think that’s hardly something worth fighting for.” 

“And divinity is?” 

“... Divinity is my purpose. That’s all there is to it,” Scaramouche stands, slowly dusting the dirt off his trousers. “I have to say, you’re even more delusional that I had initially thought if you really hoped to achieve something with this conversation, but fortunately, you caught me in a good mood, so―”

“I don’t buy it. You’re throwing your life away just to become the Akademiya’s next puppet. You can’t tell me that that’s something you truly want.” 

Perhaps it’s the word “puppet” that sends an irrational flicker of rage and resentment through Scaramouche. His face immediately darkens as he finally turns to face him. 

And there he is, sickeningly golden like the touch of the sun’s last light.

He who has received the favor of the gods. He who had been privy to Scaramouche’s deepest memories, had witnessed his past that still bled like a raw, open wound.

He who has everything that Scaramouche does not. 

Aether.

Even a name is something that Scaramouche does not truly possess, and Aether's is something beautiful, light and free of burden like the wide expanse of the sky.

There is already a sword unsheathed in Aether’s right hand and Scaramouche realizes suddenly that Aether had come despite knowing that his words would be useless. He had approached him all alone, prepared to fight.

Anything Scaramouche had planned to say immediately sours in his mouth.

What a fool.

"You know nothing about what I want."

A sick feeling, vicious as a scythe, twists its way up Scaramouche’s hollow limbs and he decides that he’s no longer feeling generous enough for conversation. He’s moving before he even realizes it, flickering towards him in an arc of lightning. 

To his credit, Aether only wavers for a moment, his eyes briefly widening, before he meets Scaramouche’s blow with the edge of his blade. Electricity sings down the metal into the pommel in his hand, but Aether doesn’t drop his sword. 

He only winces before summoning a snarl of Dendro, bending the earth to his will as vines sprawl to curl beneath Scaramouche’s feet. The irony is not lost on him that Aether is using Rukkhadevata’s power against him, the essence of the energy overflowing with growth, vitality. The thorns nick against the skin of his calves, but he doesn’t register the pain.

Scaramouche singes all of the thorns to dust. 

In a flash, he has his fingers around Aether’s wrist, sending a bolt of lightning lancing up his arm, strong enough to shock the weapon from his hands. 

Aether jolts with a stuttered gasp as he drops his sword, the static making his hair rise as his veins bloom with electricity. His lips are parted in surprise. This close, Scaramouche can feel how harshly his breath leaves him. 

But Aether recovers quickly enough to yank Scaramouche’s robes and drag him bodily to the ground. His hat tumbles from his head with a soft clink. Teeth gritted, Aether arches his knee to drive it into Scaramouche’s stomach, but the Balladeer only twists out of the way and slams his elbow into Aether’s ribcage. 

Scaramouche normally doesn’t fight like this. He never understood the point of getting his hands dirty. But for the first time, he finds there is some physical delight in feeling how his fist connects with Aether’s jaw, how skin meets skin in a moment of perfect, intimate violence. 

Maybe it’s the stark knowledge that this is the closest Scaramouche will ever come to touching something truly holy. 

Aether spits out blood. It splatters crimson across Scaramouche’s knuckles. 

He grabs a fistful of Aether’s hair and tilts his face to look at him. 

The traveler glares at him, chin lifted. Every part of his expression is so devastatingly human that Scaramouche finds himself observing him for a moment. And he’s unbearably easy to read, every feeling that flashes across Aether’s face is as clear as the heart he wears on his sleeve.

“Look at you,” Scaramouche digs his knee against Aether’s hip. “So worked up over me. I should feel flattered.” 

Aether’s brows furrow. He twists to kick his legs, but it’s hardly a struggle to keep him pinned there on the ground. 

“I could say the same for you,” Aether’s voice is low, controlled, though his eyes cut with an unspeakable venom. Oh, he’s angry, and Scaramouche likes that― likes seeing the way he tempers his anger, hones it mid-swing like the arc of a blade just before release.

Anger had always been too tame of a word for Scaramouche― no, what he felt was always something much uglier. Hideous. So there was a strange satisfaction in being able to see that feeling perfectly mirrored in Aether’s own face. 

It’s comforting, in a way. Knowing that even he was capable of such an unsightly feeling. 

Aether’s chest glows green and gnarled tree branches twist along Scaramouche’s legs, rooting him in place. Scaramouche lets go of Aether’s hair just as a vine darts out to snake along his forearm, squeezing tight enough to bruise.

“I’m only indulging you right now since I have the time,” Scaramouche answers, eyes catching on the Dendro energy swirling through Aether’s form. He hates that it’s mesmerizing, that a part of him wants to reach out and dip his hands into that pure, sage green light. “Wanted to see how you’d play the hero.” 

What he doesn’t say is that he really just wanted to see Aether fight for him. 

To see just how desperately the traveler would try to sway him so that maybe, Scaramouche could vainly hope for one second that someone like him was really someone worth saving.

“I’m not trying to play anything.” Aether’s vines curl their way up his shoulder.

“Really? Then why are you here?” Scaramouche lets them constrict and wrap around the length of his torso. “Don’t tell me you thought you would actually be able to convince me.” 

Scaramouche doesn’t miss how Aether’s eyes flash with something raw and honest before it quickly settles back into a heated glare. He falls impossibly still in realization. 

He really did think he could convince me. 

The idea is so absurd that Scaramouche actually goes silent, stunned speechless. 

Aether must see this, because in his momentary distraction, the traveler pulls back his fist and swings it squarely into Scaramouche’s face.

It stings, but only because Scaramouche’s not expecting it. His head snaps to the side, mouth opening.

“I don’t know, maybe I did,” Aether pants, eyes glowing. “ Maybe I thought more of you.”

Something in Scaramouche’s chest stirs with heat and he mistakes it for the stolen gnosis between his ribs. His jaw aches.

Those words almost make you sound like a friend who truly cares.

And Scaramouche looks down at Aether then, his golden hair splayed around him like sweet flowers in the dirt, his fingers slightly shaking in his clenched fist. He sees how the sharp Dendro tendrils are poised around Scaramouche’s neck, paused and waiting― how he’s too merciful to strike him unaware, even now.

In a brief, terrifying moment, Scaramouche wonders if he should just let Aether kill him. But his resilient, infallible body is incapable of death, even at the hands of someone greater. 

How honorable, to be a hero. To carry a title as liberating as “the witness”, “the traveler.” In another life, Scaramouche might have loved to have been the same.

But Scaramouche has long forgotten about things like “honor.”

His voice comes out hoarse. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He sends a current of Electro straight down through the blooming vines until they snap like dry, brittle bark. 

Aether flinches when Scaramouche lifts him up by the scarf and arcs his hand back to strike. 

The palm of his hand crests with a surge of Electro energy, a blinding violet. His power, her power. 

Scaramouche knows, in a moment of heightened clarity, that he could kill him. Right here, in the middle of the forest, with no one else watching― he could kill him so easily that it would be laughable. No one would even know who did it. The entirety of the traveler’s unfathomable, mundane life all within the palm of Scaramouche’s hand. 

In that split second, he sees Aether’s eyes widen with the same realization. Aether’s lips part in a soft intake of breath. 

When a star dies, does it make a sound?

Scaramouche remembers then, that death is a soundless, lightless thing. How it does nothing but leave you and leave you. Even if he were to become a god, he has a feeling he would always remember this death, the way an axe always remembers the tree.

And maybe it’s a moment of weakness, maybe it’s the slight breeze in the woods that reminds him that the forest is watching him. Or maybe it’s Aether’s expression, full and alive with something intangible.    

But he can’t bear it. 

All of Scaramouche’s power leaves him in a split second, his body draining into a hollow vessel. His hand falls limply atop Aether’s chest, right over his stupid, beating heart. He feels it thrumming wildly beneath his fingertips, his pulse warm and rabbit-like.

It's nothing at all like the sound in Scaramouche's chest.

Aether’s breath returns to him in sharp bursts, his hand instinctively rising to curl loosely around Scaramouche’s wrist. His head falls back against the ground in muted relief, the tension slowly bleeding from his body. 

He sees Aether’s mouth open, his gaze swirling with intensity, but Scaramouche suddenly feels exhausted. And he doesn’t want to stick around any longer to hear what Aether has to say. 

So he tugs his wrist from Aether’s grasp and pushes off of him, reaching over to grab his hat. 

The moon peeks out between the clouds, painting Aether’s figure in an incandescent silvery light. Part of his braid has come loose. His lip drips blood in a line straight down his chin. 

(But even bloodied and bruised, he is a vision of everything Scaramouche is not.)

He can’t stand it. 

“Scaramouche, you―”

The Balladeer turns to leave, not intent on hearing the end of Aether’s sentence. His veil rustles as he tips his hat to shield his face. He raises a useless hand in farewell, hoping that the gesture feels mocking.

And if he spends the rest of his night thinking about Aether’s expression right before he could have killed him, no one has to know.

[ereana]

Alhaitham/Cyno - in a rush of adrenaline

They’ve done it.

They’ve done it.

Cyno feels numb as he pushes himself to his feet, the last few images of the traveler striking down the sages’ new god fade away as his Akasha earpiece goes dark. 

His feet start to carry him towards the Divine Tree.

Against all odds they’ve done it.

Azar has been deposed, Lord Kusanli has been freed, and the mad plan that threatened all of Sumeru has been foiled. All in all not a bad outcome for a group of strangers thrown together by unfortunate circumstances.

Around him noise breaks out as the people of Sumeru City try to understand what has happened. Everyone had heard the Dendro archon’s voice, resolute and honest, as she’d pleaded for their aid. If Cyno could think properly past the numbness that urged him forward he would spare a thought to the howl Hermanubis let loose in response to her request. It had sunk into Cyno’s very soul, rallying him to action. 

His archon had called for him and he had answered.

But that is not what urges him on now.

Cyno can’t name the sudden pounding his chest as he breaks out into a sprint. His surroundings blur into a mix of green and white, the odd startled shout ringing in his ears but he pays no heed to them.

What will happen now?

Will he be asked to take back his position?

Will Lord Kusanli admonish him for taking so long to rescue her?

Are the rest of his unlikely allies well? 

He could swear that he hears Dehya’s boisterous laugh as he continues to ascend the tree, swiftly leaping from branch to branch when it becomes clear the pathway is too crowded to move at any speed.

Nilou is a flash of red and white in his vision as he nears the House of Deana. She has bowed her head over her clasped hands, a watery smile on her face as the guards around her squabble over what to do now.

Lumine and Paimon are with Lord Kusanli herself, the last image of their fight had shown a few minor scrapes but no serious injury.

Candace was safe in Aaru Village. Honestly, any forces the sages had sent to recapture the village keepers were in more danger than she was if they dared to show up at her door.

That only left-

A figure clad in a familiar green pushes past the library doors, shaking his wrists and looking completely unconcerned by the chaos erupting around them.

Cyno doesn’t stop moving. The numbness shattering in a sudden burst of desperate relief that threatens to bring him to his knees.

They’ve done it.

They’re all alive.

Alhaitham sees him. His eyes are still tinted that ghastly red from his little scheme with the Knowledge Capsule and Hermanubis rears back with confused horror. But Cyno has no time to spare for his spirit.

Not now.

Alhaitham’s eyes widen when he realizes that Cyno has no intention of stopping. His usual grace abandons him as he clumsily drops his book to open his arms.

An invitation Cyno seizes with both hands.

He crashes into Alhaitham with the force of a stampeding Sumpter Beast nearly sending them sprawling to the ground. Alhaitham’s breath leaves him in a gasp as Cyno wraps his arms around his waist in an iron grip. 

There’s a joke to be made about finally catching his target but there are no words in Cyno’s mouth. There is nothing but the comforting thump of Alhaitham’s heartbeat ringing in his ears as he buries his head into the scribe’s chest.

For a moment they stand in frozen stillness before Alhaitham hesitatingly, unusual for the man who has never been unsure of his actions, returns the tight hug that Cyno has trapped him in. 

Cyno lets out a shuddering breath of his own at the feel of Alhaitham’s hands and looks up to meet his gaze.

Hope. Confusion. Relief. Worry. 

It was all there for Cyno to see, etched into the lines of Alhaitham’s face in a language Cyno had mastered in Aaru village. He wonders if Alhaitham can read him just as easily. Perhaps he knows how to explain the rush of elation in Cyno’s chest as he holds Alhaitham in his arms once more.

It was meant to be a distraction. Nothing more.

A night where they could forget the cruel, uncertain reality which faced them on the morrow. A night to find comfort in the most unlikely of places, though truthfully not so unlikely after spending so much time together. 

Cyno doesn’t care.

He reaches up to clasp Alhaitham’s neck, sees the hope burn brighter in his eyes, and pulls him down into a searing kiss.

Alive.

Alive.

They’re both alive.

Cyno tastes the blessing of life on Alhaitham’s tongue, he hears it in their shared sighs of relief, he feels it in the sting of Alhaitham’s nails as he digs his fingers into Cyno’s skin.

The battle has been won.

To the victors go the spoils.

[chipperfoxx]

“Do I get a name, mystery knight?”

Rule number one of travelling worlds: keep your cards close to your chest. Travel under an alias, and don’t reveal the entirety of what you’re capable of until there are no other options, or until you know you’re safe. With how they’d gotten to Teyvat, and what she’d already had taken from her, she couldn’t know for certain if she was safe. She and Aether had both learned those lessons the hard way.

“Do I get one from you?”

He paused, and she watched him consider before smiling at her once more. “You can call me Ajax.”

---

Wherein Lumine gains a second travelling companion who isn't quite as honest as she would like him to be (but she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.)

—-

My first Chilumi fic! They’ve taken over my brain, so this is probably going to be a long one :D

[gierosajie]

I feel like I should note that almost every version of Venti in my AUs are slightly different people because of the circumstances in their respective universes

Like, HSR au Venti is more on the side of not quite there, Madoka au Venti is 16 and full of hubris, Cryo Archon Venti never let go of his grief and it continued to break him for centuries, Cecilia Garden Venti keeps justifying everything he does and doesn't. handle failure very well, Cloudy Days Venti just stopped caring at some point, Clear Skies Venti willingly eats cheese, etc

[someuncreativi2]

[] What my Tsaritsa thinks of the Harbingers [] PART 2

Pulcinella

“If I ever have to oversee anything outside of Snezhnaya, the first person I ask to take my position is Pulcinella. Though out of his physical prime, his leadership abilities are certainly remarkable; honestly, he sometimes does a better job at making financial decisions than me.

Also, I know I just said he’s a good leader, but in actuality, he reminds me of an elderly neighbor more than a mayor- the kind that would bring home-baked goods to a solstice dinner and laugh like a character from a children’s book. Well, he actually does that ‘ohoho’ laugh, so maybe that’s part of why I get that feeling from him, but you get what I mean.

This may be a bit of a side tangent, but when I was assigning his position, he seriously suggested we call him ‘the Rooster’. I questioned why he’d want that and he said, ‘because how else would you recognize this old geezer?’ before doing his ‘ohoho’. He really does act like an old neighbor sometimes.”

Capitano

“I truthfully never really connected with the Captain; not in a bad way, but more like we never spoke. I’ve seen him take on monsters ten times his size and come out without a scratch, so I can more than speak on his physical strength. Honestly, it’s a wonder how he only got to the position of Fourth and not higher.

In terms of him as a person, however, we’ve only ever spoken casually a couple of times. Each time we did, he kept his questions and answers short, like, ‘I’m fine’ or ‘it is a shame’. A man of few words, I suppose.

Maybe it’s rude to assume this of him, especially considering his more polite tone, but maybe he doesn’t see reason to speak to me. He’s the only foreign Harbinger that keeps ties with their Archon; in fact, he’s the only decent link I have to Murata… er, by ‘decent’ I mean ‘friendly rivalry’ and not just ‘hatred’… a step up, all things considered.”

Columbina

“You want to know about the Damselette? I’m sorry, but whatever you heard from the others is all I know as well, especially the part about her rank. I know, it’s crazy that I don’t remember why I put her where she is; I get it.

When I ask her about it, thinking the Divine Priest would remember the single most important day in her career, she just smiles and says ‘The Gods brought me here’, and I can’t disprove her ‘claim’, if you can even call it that… every time I try to think about a reason, my head starts hurting, almost like my brain is trying to make me forget…

With that said, despite being physically weak, I don’t have interest in ranking her down. She’s sweet enough, and she gets her job done well enough, so I am truly in no place to tell her off.”

Dottore

“Dottore, Dottore… where do I begin with Dottore?

Let me make something clear: the word ‘brilliant’ does not begin to describe this man. In my centuries of living, I have never once met a medical expert with half as much wisdom as him…

…but that’s the problem. He’s a genius and he knows it. Genius leads to boredom, and boredom leads to innovation… and I don’t think I need to tell you why that’s a problem when out in relation to the man who’s already done every experiment under the sun, and yet strides to find one more.

He hails from the Sumeru Akademiya’s hallowed halls. I’m those halls, there are six cardinal rules; don’t interfere with human evolution, don’t toy with life, don’t go beyond the universe, don’t see into the history of words, don’t revere the gods without devotion, and don’t partake in what is forbidden and feared. My personal theory is that his thesis was how to break every one of these rules, which landed him the cushiony title of ‘expelled’.

I don’t think he’s mad about it, though. Less restricted experimentation seems like a blessing to him, so he probably thanks the Akademiya for his exile. A sentiment I’m sure nobody else even thinks of sharing.”

Pierro

“Oh… him.

Well, he’s… he’s strong, I’ll give him that, and… a-and he knows his way around things, that’s something.

What else, what else… he’s ah… he’s very…

…whatever. Forget I said anything about him to begin with. Please.”

[nishicchikouchi]

RAAAAAAAH I NEED SOME GOOD TRAVELER LORE FICS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

[genpact-kinfessions]

Seeing myself in game is so weird sometimes. Wdym I don't have horns and a tail and wings and scales. Same thing with it only being me and Paimon that travel around, where's the weird ass group of Lumine(me), Diona, Yanfei, Kazuha, Paimon, and Yae Miko whenever she felt like showing up???? -🐉✨

.

[dreamylaa]

hoyoverse are fuckin cowards so here, emotes with diluc's red dead of night outfit, both canon and headcanonified

(bonus with the ocfied version of diluc)

[euria-stratos]

Benevolent Assimilation AU

Author’s note: okay, so I’ve been into Genshin Impact and its story/lore for a while now. And honestly, I’m surprised that I hadn’t even tried writing fan fiction, unhinged analyses or even just AU what ifs and notes for it yet! So, here’s my first post on it lol 😂 (please be gentle since this is the first time I’ve written fanfiction in a very, very long while and my first posting of such here. I’m a bit rusty 😅😭)

Please note that this is going to be multi-part series of AU notes and flash fictions depicting a “what-if” scenario:

What if the Cataclysm was stopped earlier and Khaenri’ah was spared from Celestia’s wrath, despite their sins 500 years ago... for a price?

———-——

Part 1: The Salvation for a Godless Nation

- There were 8 nations that existed in Teyvat a few centuries ago. Seven were ruled by powerful Archons appointed by the Heavenly Principles and one was lead by humanity alone, deep beneath the earth.

- The Seven Nations above were blessed by their gods to varying degrees of prosperity, enlightenment, and fulfillment.

- The Nation Below claimed their own through their merits, sacrifices, and ingenuity in the face of a barren land.

- The realms on the surface and the depths were starkly different yet progress all the same regardless, though the Nation Below had nigh reached the peak of technological advancement and civilization.

- But alas! A great Cataclysm struck the Nation Below, the darkness of a long-buried, festering power burst forth from a tear on the Veil of Sin. Forbidden knowledge wreaked havoc the kingdom and its people.

- The Heavenly Principles, after millennia of merely observing the arrogant kingdom develop down below, intervened before the darkness leaked into the surface.

- There, they graced the kingdom with a choice: surrender (by letting itself be ruled by a god) and allow the heavens to rid the nation of forbidden knowledge or die and fall into the Dark Sea.

- The people, the sinners, were outraged at this, for they had neither needed a god nor wanted one, especially not after the countless callous and cruel actions the gods took all the way back from when their ancestors first plummeted to the depths.

- But as they saw their fellow countrymen and loved ones fall in agony by the disease and monsters brought by the Abyss, their machines rendered ineffective in the onslaught no matter what they did, it was clear that there really was no choice.

- And so, a sacrifice was made and the power that once nearly tore them asunder was finally cleansed from their land.

- Khaenri’ah, the once godless nation below, was welcomed into the light of the Heavens and the embrace of Teyvat...

... All with a god of their own.

Next

[vexedstars]

WALKING IN A WINTER WONDERLAND - CHILDE/KAEYA

Summary:

“Fancy seeing you here Captain,” Childe tells him, as he reaches out to grasp Kaeya's hand.

Kaeya glances down at their joined hands. He can barely feel Childe under the layer of his glove as well as Childe's but he finds it somewhat endearing how Childe naturally sought for his touch.

Kaeya raises his brow. “You've known about this for a while. Did you not receive my letter?” he asks.

Child hums. “I did, but can't you just let me be excited about seeing you after all this time?”

Kaeya laughs. "How unbecoming of you Harbinger.”

Kaeya is sent on a mission to Dragonspine to bring snow into Mondstadt just in time for the celebration of winter. He comes back with more than what the mission calls for.

Genre: canon divergence, domestic fluff, established relationship, romance, winter antics, banter and sweetness

Rating: N/A

Word Count: 10k

[lollipopmixclo9]

Day 17: Fangs

Of course me being a fan of the Harbingers Apprentice by @cosmoddino, I gotta draw my rendition of Dottore in that fic 🙈 cuz I wuv his shark teeth from the manhuaaaa

[snarkyscribe21]

• Aether falls into the Underground while doing a Commission on Dragonspine. Clearly lost and with Paimon mysteriously missing, he does what he’s good at: Exploration. But why does this feel like it’ll be his strangest adventure since landing on Teyvat?

-----

I've had this prompt I came up with sitting in a word document on my phone since April of 2022