You and Scaramouche head over to ask the Traveler for some groceries
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Notes: SAGAU without cult shenanigans, mostly filler chapter. sorry for the long hiatus!
WC. 1.5k
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As much as you enjoyed spending your time running around Teyvat in-game, nothing quite prepares you for how vast it actually is.
Of course you’ve known that, logically speaking, it’s impossible to correctly scale an entire city using a limitation such as video game engines. You are still knocked completely off your feet at the sight of the sprawling verdant domes and alabaster walkways of Sumeru City.
You jog down from the Sanctuary doors and lean over the railing, eyes tracing the knotted branches of the Great Tree where they mesh flawlessly with the infrastructure of the city. The scale of things is easily dozens of times bigger than what is shown in-game, and despite the beautiful graphics it has, the game definitely cannot do justice to the sheer variety of buildings and people that make up Sumeru City. Unable to help yourself, you make wordless noises of awe as you take in the scenery.
“You’d think you’ve never seen a city before,” Scaramouche’s deadpan voice states from a few paces behind you, where he’s lazily following you down the ramp. You turn and face him, taking note of how he’d removed the colourful belts, ropes, and other identifying markers of his outfit, leaving only his bodysuit and black jinbei. He looks deeply annoyed by this state of undress, so you wisely choose not to mention it.
“I mean, I’ve never seen it like this before,” you agree, gesturing to the skyline with a wide sweep of your arm. “Like, I’ve seen some of it from a certain, uh, distance? But seeing it in person… Wow. Just doesn't compare.”
Scaramouche says nothing as he finally comes to a stop beside you, arms crossed as he surveys the view. After a few seconds he snorts derisively. “Looks the same as it always does, to me.” He scoffs. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”
You let him drag you down the rest of the ramps until you both meet the pale bricks of the main road. You follow him as he leads you, presumably, to wherever the Traveler is staying. Your eyes wander aimlessly, taking in the sights.
Something tugs at the gem of your shirt and you stop walking, surprised. When you look down, you see a small child with dirt stains on their hands and knees, and a streak of dirt across their face. The child beams up at you, holding out their closed fist and shaking it at you.
“Oh, hello. What’s up?” You ask, crouching down beside them. You hear a noise of disgust from Scaramouche, which you wave off in favor of giving the child a smile. “Anything I can help you with, buddy?”
The child shakes their fist again and you finally get the message. You present your own open hand, palm upturned, and the child drops whatever they’re holding into it. They scamper off quickly before you can say anything, so instead you peer at the tiny object in your hand.
It’s a small stone, with a very simplified carving on it. It appears to be some writing, and an angular leaf shape. The marks are gibberish to you, but surely it has significance of some kind, so you pocket it and stand back up. You give Scaramouche an apologetic grin, to which he simply rolls his eyes and continues on.
The walk is, understandably, much longer physically than it is in-game, and you find yourself a little winded by the time you’re anywhere near the Grand Bazaar. You do eventually get to a building that you (very, very vaguely) recognize as the inn the Traveler and Paimon stayed at during the Sabzeruz Festival arc, and you huff a sigh of relief that the long stroll is finally over. Before you can even approach or knock, you’re bowled over by a flying white mess of limbs.
“Creator! You’re here!” Paimon squeals in your ear as she tackles you to the best of her ability, and you wince as she excitedly hugs whatever part of you she can reach. “I’m so glad that stupid mean puppet didn't kill you yet!”
Scaramouche makes an offended noise at that last remark and flips Paimon the bird.
“Yeah, here I am!” You laugh after untangling her from around your head and pat her head as the Traveler joins her, looking a little worse for wear. Their outfit is a little stained in places, and bears some signs of scorch marks at the edges.
“Good timing, we just got back from our morning commissions,” they say with a wave. “I didn’t think you’d be out and about so soon, is there anything you need help with?”
“We want your ingredients supplies.” Scaramouche blurts out, interrupting any of your attempts to phrase it in a nicer way.
“All of them?!” Paimon gasps, absolutely devastated. You quickly step in before Scara can say anything else.
“No no! Just a little bit,” you reassure the sprite, then address the rest of your request to the Traveler with an affable shrug. “If you have anything to spare we’d really appreciate it. We don’t exactly have a lot of food in my teapot yet. Or, uhh… Any food, at all.”
“Oh!” The traveler smacks their forehead with the heel of their palm. “I didn’t think of that, Your Grace, I’m so sorry!”
“You really don’t have to call me that,” You laugh awkwardly at the title and volume at which the Traveler said it, conscious of the curious glances your little group has attracted. All around you you begin to hear indistinct murmuring, and you frantically hope they’re not talking about you. “And, uh, don’t worry about it! It’s a bit short notice, I get it.”
“As long as you leave some for us, it’s no problem!” Paimon says as she recovers from her shock. The Traveler turns to her with a sly grin.
“As long as they leave some for you, you mean?” They tease, to which Paimon splutters in protest. The Traveler gently pokes her cheek while she throws her tantrum.
“Can we take this inside?” Scaramouche asks waspishly, stopping the pair’s bickering for a moment. “Or literally anywhere else? Maybe you two enjoy being ogled like zoo animals, but I personally don’t appreciate being eyed up by the unwashed masses.”
“How rude! You haven’t learned a single thing, have you?!” Paimon scolds, turning her wrath on the harbinger.
“Actually, I agree,” you give a halting laugh as you step closer to the building. More and more eyes are turning toward you. You give the crowd an awkward wave, and suddenly the murmurs turn into a clamor as people begin to understand your identity.
“Oh, whoops,” the Traveler says, grabbing both your hand and Scaramouche’s bicep. Paimon quickly gets the idea and grabs onto the sleeve of their outfit. “Time to go!”
-----
You spiral back into existence high above the streets of Sumeru, close to the Akademia front doors, having been forcefully teleported as a group with the Traveler. They set you down gently, while simultaneously dropping Scaramouche like a sack of potatoes.
“Ow! Hey, watch it!”
“Are you alright, Your Grace?”
Three pairs of eyes watch as you dust yourself off and give a cheerful thumbs up. “All good!” You announce. “Let’s talk groceries, shall we?”
In the end, the Traveler decides to give you and Scaramouche three bags of dry products—things like fruits and veggies, rice, sugar, coffee beans, and cured meat—and promises to stop by your teapot sometime later in the week to deliver cold foods and more fresh produce.
“I’m sure some of this probably isn’t what you’re used to in your world,” the Traveler says apologetically, giving you a wry smile. “If you have any questions about it, I’m sure you can ask Wanderer. He’s been enrolled in some cooking classes for the past few semesters, so he’ll know what he’s doing.”
“Hah! As if.” Scaramouche snatches the last bag of groceries out of their hands with a sneer. “That weakling is going to be out running errands for Buer’s every whim. Do you really expect him to be around long enough to cook adequately? I’ll handle this.”
The Traveler only raises a single eyebrow at the declaration, then shrugs. “Suit yourself,” they chuckle. “Just don’t poison the Creator, I guess.”
“Can the Creator even get sick?” Paimon asks, hovering around you and inspecting you closely enough to make you ticklish. “I’m not sure gods are supposed to be able to get sick, you know!”
“Well, we don’t want to find out!”
“It’s fine, a little food poisoning won’t kill me,” you reassure the three of them, knowing you’ll be having a rough go at it for the foreseeable future given what you know about Scaramouche’s current cooking skills.
“So, what? None of you have any faith in me?” Scaramouche frowns and crosses his arms as best as he can around his grocery bags.
The response comes from the three of you at the same time.
The creator descends to Teyvat, but the information they know VS the information that Irminsul retains causes the tree of knowledge to glitch out and ‘branches’ the current known state of Teyvat, and the information that was erased blooms into existence once more
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Notes: SAGAU, Reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. there ARE shenanigans of a different kind though. No romantic relationships in this one despite aforementioned shenanigans
WC. 3.8k
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“You’re just mad because I’m the Creator’s babygirl, and you’re not.”
You’ve never heard such an absurd sentence in your life, but the hands on his hips and smug expression on the Wanderer’s face is unmistakable. Across from him, just barely restrained by Lord Rukkhadevata hooking her arms under his shoulders, is an apoplectic Scaramouche.
Nobody is entirely sure what happened to Irminsul, yet, but the Tree of Wisdom continues to cheerfully cast its divine light on the scene below without a single care for the chaos it has caused.
“Now now, let’s all settle down for a moment,” Nahida grasps at Wanderer’s sleeves, trying to pull him back from the increasingly tense situation. You can’t help but think of two dogs pulling at the end of their leashes to bark at each other. “I’m sure there is a perfectly logical reason why this is happening.”
You think it might be because of you, considering this all happened when you made your inopportune arrival in Teyvat and accidentally cut your hand on the stem of a Leyline flower, your blood glittering strangely as it was sucked into the plant.
“There’s no way you’re the Creator’s favourite,” Scaramouche sneers, ignoring Nahida in his effort to escape from Rukkhadevata’s grasp. “You’re just a glorified errand-boy for your betters. I have the power of a Fatui Harbinger at my fingertips! Countless soldiers, ready to live and die by my whims!”
“Ha!” Wanderer brushes off Nahida’s attempts to restrain him. He moves her to the side, far more gently than you expected him to, and strides up to where Lord Rukkhadevata is holding Scaramouche. He pokes the Balladeer’s cheek and smirks when he nearly gets his fingertip bit off. “And what has that gotten you so far? You still haven’t gotten to be a true god. On the other hand, I’m on the Creator’s main exploration team, along with the Traveler and other equally powerful Vision wielders. At least I have proof that I’m favoured.”
The light from Irminsul glints off the polished metal of Wanderer’s anemo Vision, and Scaramouche’s frown deepens.
“That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone and their mothers can get a Vision these days.” He waves his hand dismissively as best as he can. “Need I remind you of the Vision Hunt Decree project that I—oh, sorry, I mean you—spearheaded? Those things come a mora a dozen.”
“I think you’re both wrong, clearly the Creator likes me the best!”
The two incarnations turn toward the new voice so quickly you’re nearly afraid their heads might snap off. Picture this: you, sitting sideways across Kabukimono's lap with your arms around his neck in a hug as he rocks the two of you back and forth. You wonder if Kabukimono is aware of the effect his words have on his other selves, but judging by his ‘cat that caught the canary’ expression he most definitely is.
The look Wanderer gives you is nearly scandalized, and you can only shrug at him with a helpless smile.
“Sorry guys… but look at him! Isn’t he just the sweetest thing?” you bring a hand up and pinch Kabukimono’s cheek, causing him to giggle and kick his legs in surprise, nearly dislodging you from your spot.
“He’s kinda pathetic, really.” Scaramouche deadpans, finally having stopped struggling in Rukkhadevata’s hold, and attempts to cross his arms.
“He’s you. You don’t have to like him, but at least be polite.” the Greater Lord scolds, making him yelp by shaking him like a sack of rocks. She then changes to a more matter-of-fact tone as she shakes her hair out of her face, and adds: “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
“I agree, let’s talk this over like grown-ups, and get to the bottom of this mystery so we can send you all back home to your correct timelines!” Nahida claps her hands together, interrupting any argument that might break out at Rukkhadevata’s statement. Her smile is starting to look a little strained at the edges and you can’t help but feel a little bad for the tiny god.
“This might be the only correct timeline,” the Traveler mutters, chin resting in their hand where they sit propped up against one of Irminsul’s invisible walls.
“That’s right!” Paimon nods and shakes her finger at Nahida. “We assumed only the Descenders’ memories would remain intact when someone erases themself from Irminsul, but clearly the Creator’s memories still exist too!”
Lord Rukkhadevata drops Scaramouche at last, letting him land on the ground with an annoyed oof, and turns to you consideringly. The taller god glances between you and Irminsul, worrying her bottom lip as she thinks.
“If that were wholly true, then wouldn’t I have reappeared in my last known state, diminished to the form of a child due to having depleted my power?” she wonders. “And for that matter, why have two versions of the Wanderer appeared, when the previous erased timeline only contained the Balladeer?”
The Traveler hums as they begin to think out loud, and your attention shifts to them when they address you. “When we found you, your Grace, you were recently injured by a Leyline blossom, correct?”
You nod in agreement, not bothering to speak as you settle more comfortably into Kabukimono’s arms, the long sleeves of his kimono wrapping over you like a blanket. Whatever mechanism is inside him causes his entire chest to vibrate against the side of your head, as if he’s purring.
“And you did mention that your blood was absorbed into the flower, which we know is an extension of the Tree of Wisdom…”
“I think I can see where you’re going with this, Traveler,” Nahida interrupts. Using her power, she draws two green puzzle pieces in the air and slowly pushes them together until one of them overlaps with the other. “If the Creator’s memories are intact, then it stands to reason that, should their memories somehow be introduced into Irminsul, then the information with the greater priority will overwrite the previous existing information.”
“That still doesn’t explain why there’s three of me.” Wanderer crosses his arms and kicks Scaramouche, who has yet to get up. The Balladeer crosses his own arms, pointedly ignoring his newer incarnation.
“I believe I can answer that, now.” Lord Rukkhadevata jerks her thumb toward the Tree of Wisdom. “Having known Irminsul my entire existence, I can sense that there have been deviations in its growth. Where normally the trunk and branches originate from a single organism, there are now several branches that seem to be… grafted, for lack of a better term, onto the main plant. Likely a result of the Creator’s mishap.”
“So instead of overwriting or restoring knowledge into the correct branches, it just got added on to the side?” Paimon asks, floating closer to the tree before the Traveler grabs her by the back of her cloak and pulls her back before she can accidentally touch any of the sprouts.
Nahida claps excitedly. “Correct! All available information is now running concurrently, meaning that all states of being have been altered to allow the five of us to exist at the same time!”
“Oh!” you exclaim, startling Kabukimono out of his contented state. “Like a glitch in the matrix!”
Seven pairs of eyes turn directly toward you, varying degrees of bemusement on each of their faces. You chuckle a bit and sink further into Kabukimono’s lap out of embarrassment. He dutifully wraps his arms tighter around you, obscuring you with his long sleeves.
“So we’re just going to let you not elaborate on that at all?” Scaramouche drawls, throwing a hand in your direction. “By all means, keep us in suspense. It’s not like we need to know what our situation is or anything.”
“It’s really not that helpful, I promise!” you tell them, muffled by the kimono’s fabric. “It’s just… a figure of speech, I guess? It’s just something we say when something unexplainable happens. It’s based off this story where, like, the world is fake-”
At this, Scaramouche and the Wanderer share a brief glance, unnoticed by the rest.
“- and everything is programmed to be a certain way. So when something unexplainable happens, like if you see a black cat walking past you and then a minute later the exact same cat walks past you again! It’s an error, or a glitch, in the programming of the world.”
Nahida and Rukkhadevata head over to investigate the new growths on Irminsul, discussing what you’ve told them in hushed voices, leaving the Traveler to mitigate the situation with the three puppets. Kabukimono clings to you as Scaramouche attempts to pull you out of his lap, the two of them making you wince as you’re forced to withstand their tug of war.
“No! The Creator is my friend now!” Kabukimono protests. “Stop pulling, you’ll hurt them!”
“Then let go and it won’t hurt them anymore, stupid!”
“Niwa told me you have to be nice to people if you want them to do things for you.”
“I know for a fact your precious Niwa also said I’m allowed to take whatever the hell I want, so give!”
“I really don’t think that’s what he meant by that,” Wanderer interjects, coming between the two of them and forcing them apart. “Besides, does the creator call you guys babygirl? No? Didn’t think so, so I’ll be taking my leave now.”
Taking advantage of their surprise, Wanderer scoops you up and launches into the air, anemo power whirring behind him, putting you both out of reach. You shriek at the sudden movement, holding onto the front of Wanderer’s outfit for dear life.
“What, this again? I’m not sure if you want me to be jealous of you, or pity you.” Scaramouche scowls up at where you two are hovering. He tries to look unaffected but you can see him clenching his fists at his side.
“I still don’t actually know what that’s supposed to mean…” Kabukimono wrings his hands and looks between you and the Traveler, who supplies an explanation for you.
“It’s just a term of endearment from the Creator’s world,” they say. “You wouldn’t believe how often I had to hear it when they were possessing me-”
“Hey, what are you doing?!”
Everyone turns to look at where you and Wanderer are. The puppet is trying not to drop you while also batting away your attempts at removing the outer layer of his outfit.
“Hold still!” you grumble. “I’m just trying to figure out if you can purr, too, but I can’t hear anything over the sound of your anemo ability.”
“What are you talking about?! I don’t purr!”
“I do!”
The four of you turn to Kabukimono as he demonstrates the ability, the mechanisms in him working overtime to produce a loud rumble from his chest. The Traveler and Paimon are particularly impressed, and Kabukimono preens under their attention.
“Cut that out, idiot,” Scaramouche smacks the back of Kabukimono’s head, successfully cutting off the noise. “You’re just going to overheat, and then we’ll be stuck carrying around your powered-down body until you start up again.”
“You know how he does that? Does that mean you can do it too?” Paimon asks, her face scrunched up at the idea of the Balladeer doing anything that could be seen as endearing.
“Absolutely not.”
“We can all do that,” Wanderer says at the same time, earning a betrayed look from Scaramouche. “It’s not purring though. You all remember that we’re puppets, right?”
“Yeah….?” The Traveler nods along with Paimon.
“Well, the prototype machinery inside us is what makes that noise.” Wanderer explains. “We can control the speed and make it as slow or as fast as we want, so making it run extra fast makes it louder. However, it also makes the machinery heat up, and if it gets too hot then the failsafe kicks in and shuts off the entire system.”
“Does that mean the Raiden Shogun can purr, too?” The Traveler wonders out loud, successfully distracting Paimon with the absurdity of that mental image.
“What happens to you if it overheats?” You ask, wondering if you should feel bad for enjoying it when Kabukimono purred.
“It’s like fainting for humans,” Scaramouche adds. “Which is why we don’t do that. Nobody likes having to carry around a useless burden.”
“But it’s not dangerous, is it?”
“No, it’s just a lot of trouble. Same as for humans, but no. No lasting damage.” Wanderer then sighs and makes a face even as he pulls you into a semblance of a hug. “Here, I’ll allow it this time, because it’s you...”
Your eyes widen as Wanderer begins to purr as well, audible even over the sound of his anemo power. With a delighted gasp, you throw your arms around him and listen happily, unaware of the glares Wanderer is receiving from below. The Traveler rolls their eyes when Wanderer points at your back and mouths ‘favourite’ at Scaramouche.
“Wanderer, if you’re done being jealous could you please bring the Creator back down?” Nahida calls, and you peek down to see that she and Lord Rukkhadevata have finished their discussion. They wait below, where Scaramouche and Kabukimono were earlier. The two puppets are now a little bit further away, bickering while the Traveler supervises them.
“I’m jealous?” Wanderer scoffs, hoisting you up so you can rest on his hip as he holds you with one hand, the other used to gesture down at Nahida rudely. “You even dare to imply-”
“Please bring the Creator down.” Rukkhadevata repeats, hands on her hips. “Don’t make me come up there and get you.”
You have to stifle a laugh as Wanderer slowly brings the two of you back down, making sure your feet are firmly on the ground before letting you go. You don’t bother to mention how you notice that Wanderer’s body actually is noticeably warmer after purring. You smooth the wrinkles of your clothes and turn to the two Dendro Archons with a smile.
“You guys give off such mom energy,” you tell them. “So, what’s up? Did you figure out anything else?”
“You forget that I was a queen before I was a god,” Rukkhadevata points out. “I know what it’s like to stymie conflict before it becomes a problem. Diplomatically, of course.”
Nahida nods in agreement. “Of course. And yes, Your Grace, we did come to some conclusions! Though, not all of them are final, mostly regarding Wanderer and his counterparts. There are some hypotheses we will need to investigate before we can say for sure…”
“Still kinda wish you wouldn’t call me that,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. The lofty title is uncomfortable to hear, when you still feel like any ordinary person. “But let’s hear it then. What did you guys come up with?”
“For the most part, exactly the same conclusion that we came to earlier.” Nahida says, drawing in the air with glowing green lines. She draws a tree, and then draws some branches in a different shade. “Your arrival in Teyvat brought a ‘backup’ of knowledge which, when reintroduced to the Leylines, conflicted with the current state of things and instead created additional information that now exists at the same time as the current timeline.”
“That being said,” Rukkhadevata adds her own glowing lines to Nahida’s drawing, in a deeper and more intense green. She circles one branch, and says: “I believe that this timeline’s Dendro Archon remains Lesser Lord Kusanali. Irminsul seems to have resolved this conflict by making it so that my sacrifice to eradicate Forbidden Knowledge was not my life, but rather my godhood.”
“What does that mean for you?” You ask.
“It means that I am now happily retired!” Rukkhadevata exclaims, smiling brightly. “And from what I’ve seen of the information recorded in Irminsul, I have an old friend in Liyue who also recently finds himself with a wealth of spare time. It’s been a few centuries since I last saw him, perhaps I should pay him a visit.”
“Wow, congratulations! I’m sure Zhongli would be glad for the company.” You hug her excitedly, and she returns the gesture with a bright laugh.
“Is that the name he’s going by, now? It would certainly help to have a less recognisable name, I suppose…” Rukkhadevata ponders, and you can hear her humming as she thinks. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just use my old name. From now on, please call me Aranyani!”
Nahida joins in on your hug, practically bouncing with excitement, and you pick up the tiny god so she can see you both. “I’m so glad for you, Aranyani! I’ve always wanted to meet you,” she exclaims with a shy smile. “I have so many things I want to ask!”
“And you are always free to share in my knowledge, little sapling,” Aranyani coos, patting Nahida’s head affectionately before you all release each other, letting Nahida back down gently.
“So what are we going to do about those two clowns?” Wanderer says and you jump a little in surprise, forgetting he was still there.
You turn to where the rest of the group is. Kabukimono seems to have finally had enough and is tousling on the floor with Scaramouche. The Traveler is attempting to haul the Balladeer away, while Paimon grabs onto the back of Kabukimono’s veil and is yanking him in the other direction. To a very small degree of effectiveness.
“Both of you, please stop!” Nahida rushes forward, and the two puppets spring apart like the other is on fire.
“He started it!” Kabukimono points at Scaramouche accusingly and the Balladeer moves to grab him again, but is easily stopped by the Traveler pulling him back by grabbing his wrists.
“It doesn’t matter who started it,” you sigh, putting your hands on your hips. You put on a stern face and your best ‘disappointed parent’ voice. “I sort of expected more from you two…”
Kabukimono’s devastated expression is enough for you to drop the pretense. You sigh and open your arms and beckon, and Kabukimono happily throws himself into your hug.
“Fine, fine!” You grumble, patting the top of Kabukimono’s head. “As long as you guys aren’t, like, maiming or seriously injuring each other, I guess it’s okay.”
“Yay!”
That’s about as far as you get before Nahida takes Kabukimono’s hand and leads him away, and begins informing him of the history of the world and catching him up to speed on the current timeline. Wanderer and the Traveler chime in every so often, adding in some details that the archon might have missed. Aranyani seems to have already taken her leave, leaving only you and Scaramouche behind.
You pretend not to notice as the disgruntled ex-Harbinger shuffles closer to you, until he bumps his shoulder against yours.
“Hey,” he begins, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but all these annoying idiots kept interrupting me…”
You wait for a minute, until it’s clear he isn’t going to continue until you say something. “Yes? What’s the matter?”
He exhales through his nose and refuses to make eye contact with you. At the edges of your vision, you can see him fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” he finally spits out. “I mean, clearly I don’t quite fit in with the rest of these happy-go-lucky morons. I can’t imagine you intended for someone like me to show up.”
“Why not?” You blurt out, more out of surprise than anything else. “I like having you here.” It’s clearly the wrong thing to say, as Scaramouche begins to close off again.
“Don't bother lying to me,” he snaps, facing you with the full brunt of his annoyance. He crosses his arms and sneers at you, looking at you down the bridge of his nose. “I’m not some sad, weak little puppet who needs to be coddled by the likes of you. So save your meaningless placations for someone who would actually feel better after hearing them. You’re only wasting your time, and mine.”
“Okay, no lies then,” you nod, and watch as he braces himself for whatever you’ll say next. “I’m glad you’re here, in a world where every part of you can exist at the same time. And I’m glad I can be here with you to remind you that you’re the sum of all your parts, good and bad, and that I do want you to be here, in all your entirety.”
Scaramouche’s face is carefully blank, and you wonder for a second if he somehow shut down without you noticing. You wave a hand in front of his face, watching as his eyes track your palm. You’re about to say something else when you feel a hand come down on your shoulder heavily.
“Simp.” Wanderer states, patting you with a teasing look on his face.
“What?!” You jump away from him with an indignant squawk. “I am not-”
“Absolutely down bad.” The Traveler adds, and you reach clumsily to slap at the two of them. You miss both by miles.
“I can’t believe I taught you guys words from my world and this is how you repay me!”
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace!” Nahida looks properly apologetic at the treatment you’re receiving. “We were just discussing what to do with all of the new people. The Traveler has kindly offered to introduce you to their friendly teapot adeptus in order to have a realm created for you, and Wanderer’s incarnations can stay with you in the new realm!”
“That’s perfect!” you say quickly, eager to escape any more teasing from your team. You avoid Scaramouche’s probing gaze and turn your heated face away from him to look at Nahida and the Traveler. “When can we go? Can we go right now?”
The Traveler nods and holds out a thin tab of wood that you recognize as their realm dispatch. It’s strange to see it in person, for some reason you expected it to be bigger than it actually is. The entire thing can fit in the palm of one hand, like a credit card. “We can go as soon as you’re authorized, Your Grace!”
You’re giddy as you take the dispatch into your hands, rubbing the engraved surface with reverence. You feel a strange sensation, like pins and needles, as the magic in the dispatch settles over you. “This is so cool, you guys. I can’t wait to meet Tubby! Do you think she’ll make me a teapot, too, or something else?”
In your excitement you grab onto both the Traveler and Wanderer, silently begging them to come with you. Just as the three of you touch the surface of the teapot, Wanderer turns to Scaramouche with a pointed look and grins.
man idk why but i just kinda want to make creator! reader's backstory SAD like they were tortured (?) just to keep the rest of humanity/teyvat safe.. like i am a SUCKER for sad/traumatic backstories!!
just a little brainrot i need to get out!!
i'll keep this short and sweet i told myself. lmao. i forgot i'm a sucker for easy angst
Blood of God
Notes: Sagau cult au, cut-based injuries, blood sacrifice. bunch of fun stuff. Reader is the Creator, golden blood, etc. read at your own discretion
WC. 976
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When you first descended into Teyvat, You were initially met with praise and celebration. Countless festivals were held in Your name. Your beloved characters, Your acolytes, were the first ones in line to beg for Your blessings.
That's when everything started to go downhill.
With the realization that Your physical presence in the world meant no more divine guidance, Your acolytes grew desperate for Your blessings. Blessings that You, as a mortal human being, could not grant. Not to the same degree that You used to, when You played the game and bestowed buffs and upgrades aplenty to all Your teams, and generously ascended even those You didn’t have plans for.
But now, even as You stand before them in flesh and blood, Your godlike abilities have been reduced to mere party tricks. You spoke to the animals, and twisted the breeze. You made flames dance with a single gesture, and grew pretty flowers in your footsteps. None of this helped the acolytes, though.
Interest in Your well-being, in You, dwindled. Your acolytes wished You well, the rare few even questioning Your divinity, and sent You on your merry way.
Abandoned and unarmed in a world full of hostile creatures, You took up jobs with the Adventurers Guild. First, it was fetching and delivering goods for the city citizens. Then, it was carrying messages across the countryside from town to town. Lastly, it was picking off monster camps that strayed too close to civilization.
This is where a few of your acolytes found You, injured and bleeding brass-coloured ichor into the dirt and swinging wildly with Your adventurer’s sword.
Deity or not, Your acolytes were not ones to stand idle while another was put in harm’s way. Into the fray they jumped, and fought by Your side despite their reservations about You.
In the heat of the battle, the acolytes noticed something strange. Those sprayed with Your blood were given increased strength and capability for a short while, until the stain dried and wore off.
Encouraged, they investigated further. Using some of Your blood as war paints extended the duration of the blessing by nearly double, coating their weapons with it would increase the effectiveness of their strikes, and a brave few discovered that ingesting it would boost them all-around for the entirety of the day.
Harken, and rejoice! For irrefutable proof of the Creator’s benevolent presence has been revealed! And You, desperate for their love and acceptance, gave it to them without question.
A beautiful, elaborate temple was built in Your honour, with ceremonial blades scattered throughout the decor and deep channels filled with ever-flowing ambrosia running across the floor. As Your holy blood continued to be spilled, the hue of it began to run a shimmering gold.
Those who sought Your blessings need only visit you in Your temple, bringing offerings of kill trophies and unearthed relics. Then, they would partake of Your divinity by their choice of method, dipping their reverent hands in the rivers of ichor that pulse across the temple grounds.
You haven’t stopped bleeding in months.
It was bearable at first, when the first time the channels were filled You were pleased to discover that they would not run dry for some time. When the acolytes came for lessings, you would only need to refill the trenches every few days.
You asked if they could bring You softer offerings, of sweet foods and thoughtful bouquets. Such shows of softness were dismissed with a laugh. What need did you have for plants, when the strength you gave them could afford you even the rarest and most difficult trophies to obtain?
But the Abyss came. Celestia’s wrathful gaze descended. Your acolytes were fighting a war on two fronts.
They came on their hands and knees, emptying your stores quicker than you could refill them. Eventually, you took to sitting in the golden throne with your preferred blade, sluggishly carving yourself open to ensure the continued survival of your beloved acolytes.
It wasn’t enough.
Please, they begged. Give us the strength You once were able to grant. Show us the stars in your eyes and in your blood once more, that we might fight and win in Your name.
Filled with fear, and hurt, and love, you gave them everything you had left.
Their lips and teeth stained with brilliant auric gore, they took to the fields once again. The Abyss fell before them, the cursed beasts of the land fell into disarray and fled into the winds. Celestia conceded victory.
The acolytes cheered and danced in the aftermath of their slaughter. Eager to show their renewed devotion, they returned home to You.
But Your temple had crumbled, and the deep wells that once held Your pulse have turned to dust. Your blessing was but glittering sand in their mouths as they sort through the rubble to find any traces of You.
There was no way to know who broke first. Your acolytes realized too late the price for Your continued generosity, and squandered Your love on chasing strength and war.
Your temple was rebuilt with petals replacing every blade. The grooves filled with the soil that was steeped with the blood of the fallen, and flowers of all shades of vibrant, terribly human red grew there.
Dendrobium and Mourning flowers. Even the azure Sea ganoderma bloomed in rare patches where water pooled deeper.
Had they loved You as a human and not as a seemingly bottomless resource, would You have stayed? The thought of such a question shamed them. You asked for their love and they’d given You their blades. You asked for sweets and they’d brought you the bones of their enemies.
And yet, You wanted to stay. Even as they literally bled You dry, You had only ever wanted their happiness, no matter the cost.
Nahida has called in the book club to try and start discussions about the Creator's situation. Cyno actually kinda knows what he's talking about and Alhaitham is... mostly there for moral support...
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Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. Separate warning for my writing being all over the place on this one. all relationships are currently platonic!
WC. 2.6k
----- ⚘ -----
There’s not much to do except wait for Alhaitham and Cyno to show up, unfortunately, so you have taken to chatting with Nahida and Aranyani about some of the games and toys that exist back on Earth. Aranyani seems to be interested in the mechanics of each, comparing them to existing games in Teyvat, while Nahida is more interested in trying them out for herself, someday.
Scaramouche doesn’t seem interested in the conversation, but he sits with the three of you anyway and watches the shadows of birds moving beyond the stained glass windows.
You’d just been explaining the concept of the rubix cube and algorithms to the two gods when a sure knock is heard on the sanctuary doors. Scaramouche takes the opportunity to make his escape from the conversation, shuffling to the door and opening it for the newcomers.
Cyno steps in, followed by Alhaitham, and the two of them hold each other at a polite distance as they walk down toward the dais, where the rest of you stand to greet them.
“Hello, my friends!” Nahida exclaims, smiling brightly and clasping her hands together even as she and Aranyani take a gracious step back to allow you and the newcomers space. “Thank you so much for being here! We have a lot to discuss!”
“We came as soon as we heard,” Cyno replies, nodding. He then turns to you with a little salute. “Your Grace, it is an honor to be in your presence.”
You put your hands up placatingly. “Please, there’s no need for formality…” you say, shuffling awkwardly on the spot as everyone looks at you. You clear your throat and gesture for the newcomers to continue.
“We heard about the circumstances after your arrival in Teyvat,” Alhaitham states, stepping around Cyno, stopping at his side and crossing his arms. Straight to the point. “Do you remember the circumstances that led up to your descent? It might help point toward the root cause, and shed light on the ‘how’s and ‘why’s.”
“Uh, good question,” you mutter, scratching your head about it for a second. “I was probably hanging out in my room or something, really. Playing, uh, games on my phone.”
You wonder if it’s too early to mention that said game was Genshin, AKA. controlling their world. You know they’re marginally self-aware, but the extent of which still escapes you.
“Alright, and did you do anything different while you were playing on this ‘phone’? See anything strange?” Cyno picks up, pulling out a small notepad and quill. “Anything out of the ordinary, things that you don’t normally do or notice.”
“Well, my phone has been glitching a lot when I play games, lately,” you muse. “And I kept getting these buggy screens while I was in-game, but I figured that was just because my device was overheating or something. You know, they build them faulty on purpose so they can sell you a new one every few years? Apparently in France or something they made companies give people the right to repair their own phones, but we don’t have that where I live…”
Cyno writes down most of the first half of what you say, but you seem to lose the crowd as you ramble. He looks up from his notepad to fix you with a level stare, though you can tell there's just a hint of confusion behind his expression.
“Can you say something that makes sense to people who live in this world?” Scaramouche interjects somewhere in the middle of your rambling, the first time he spoke since you guys first teleported to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “Or at least stay on topic, or something.”
“Oh,” you reply, blinking. “Right.”
Cyno nods to you again, though he keeps glancing at Scaramouche out of the corner of his eye. Alhaitham doesn’t bother with subtlety, fixing the Balladeer with a level, analytical stare. Cyno clears his throat after a few seconds of awkward silence, preparing his notepad once more. “So, you were saying you played on this ‘phone’ device, aside from the problem you noticed, was there anything else you did differently?”
“Not really,” you shrug. “I was playing the game like I normally would, doing commissions and stuff. No, wait, actually I did do something a bit weird.”
This causes Cyno to perk up, and he leans forward onto the balls of his feet as he listens attentively.
“Because the game was overheating my phone, my ping was super slow,” you explain. “So I was lagging pretty badly. I was doing one of the leylines in the jungle and I was spamming the interact button on the flower because I was getting impatient…”
“And then?”
“... And then I think another dialogue box popped up, but I didn’t notice what it said.” You finish, sighing. “After that, I just remember waking up beside a leyline thingy right here in Teyvat.”
“Do you remember the exact location of the leyline?” Alhaitham asks, to which you shake your head.
“The Traveler and Wanderer found me not too long after that, and took me straight to the city. They probably have a better idea than I do, honestly. I didn’t really have a chance to figure out where I was, at the time…”
“Do you recall any distinctive landmarks? Anything that stood out in an otherwise unremarkable location?”
You shake your head again, trying to remember what you saw. “No, uh, I was a little bit distracted by discovering I was suddenly in- uh, in Teyvat, and-”
“So you were not already aware of your location when you descended?” Cyno clarifies. You nod quickly.
“I only figured out it was Sumeru when the Traveler started bringing me closer to the city,” you agree, wringing your hands nervously under the general’s gaze. “The few little houses and tents that started popping up, the architecture kinda gave it away…”
“Were there any inconsistencies you noticed between your knowledge of Teyvat and the actual Teyvat when you arrived?” Cyno asks, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Just to make sure you’re in the correct version.”
“Well, funny you should mention that,” you figure it wouldn’t hurt to share this, given the result of it sitting right next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, Nahida is giving you a thumbs up. “I got hurt touching a leyline, not the same one as when I first got here, though! I got a little cut on my hand, because the leaves are a bit sharper than I was expecting…”
Alhaitham’s attention shifts from the Balladeer back to you. “What happened when you were injured?”
“I, uh, I accidentally made Irminsul recover some deleted information.” You simplify as best as you can. “And now there’s several things that were added back to the world that aren’t technically supposed to be here...”
“I’ve never heard of leylines doing that, before,” Cyno remarks. “Then again, it’s not every day the Creator descends to Teyvat.”
“Have you tried going back to the same location to see if it yields reverse results?” Alhaitham wonders aloud, seeming amused by the strange predicament.
“And what is that supposed to achieve?” Scaramouche interrupts again, snorting as he crosses his arms. “Besides going for a leisurely stroll through the jungle, I mean. Irminsul already recovered the missing data, and the location itself doesn’t matter, if you haven’t noticed already, since you can find a leyline just about anywhere.”
“It’s certainly an unprecedented behavior for leylines,” Cyno agrees. “But again, the Creator has never descended before-”
“We heard you the first time,” Scaramouche deadpans, earning him a smack upside the head courtesy of you. “Ow! Do you want to figure this stuff out or not?”
“Be nice,” you grumble, though you do feel slightly annoyed at the repetitive line of questioning. “He’s just ruling things out, right?” You turn to Cyno, nodding encouragingly for him to continue.
“Ley lines are a complicated but fascinating subject to study,” Cyno states, crossing his arms and tucking his notebook under one elbow. “However, I’m afraid interdimensional travel is a little bit outside Spantamad’s realm of expertise.”
“Honestly, that’s fair,” you give a resigned sigh, but Scaramouche cuts you off.
“But how’s that supposed to help you?” He sneers and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s like you want to be stuck here forever with no explanation for how you got here in the first place.”
“Can we just chalk it up to magic or something?” You ask sheepishly, a little embarrassed at having taken the time out of two of Sumeru’s most important figures’ days.
“I was looking forward to hearing about how you got into this predicament with your own two idiot hands, honestly.”
“What I want to know,” Alhaitham suddenly interjects, surprising everyone else with his initiative. “Is how the Creator and the Dendro archon are here, cozying up to a Fatui harbinger?”
Four pairs of eyes blink at him in surprise, while Cyno nods in agreement.
“I think that’s the more pressing matter, here,” he agrees, and you can sense the tingle of static in the air as his previously-relaxed grip on his notebook starts to tighten.
“Okay, see, that’s one of the things I was talking about!” You say quickly, the words leaving you in a rush in hopes of stemming the building tension in the sanctuary. “He was a harbinger before, but he’s all better now!”
“You say that like it was an illness,” Scaramouche snorts, to which you can only laugh.
“Yeah? As if you didn’t act a little bit sick in the hea-”
Nahida, who up until now has been doing an excellent job of pretending to mind her own business, decides to chime in before the general can come to his own conclusion.
“I apologize for not warning you two earlier, but I do have it on good authority—that authority being myself,” she hides her giggle with the palm of her hand, “that the Balladeer poses no harm to either of you, or the Creator!”
“It’s also kinda my fault that he’s here, so I mean…” You trail off and give an apologetic shrug.
“How did you know I was a harbinger?” Scaramouche’s eyes narrow at Alhaitham and he crosses his arms as well, mirroring both the scribe and Cyno. “As far as I've been told, the memory of ‘me’ was erased from Irminsul.”
Cyno shakes his head. “No, there is recorded evidence of the Balladeer’s involvement with the sages’ god-creation plan,” he corrects, relaxing very slightly after Nahida’s reassurance but not dropping his guard completely.
“I was present at the time of the Traveler’s investigation of the Joruri workshop, where they confronted the mechanical false god,” Alhaitham adds. “The person who fell from the machine indeed bears striking resemblance to you, but was confirmed to not be the Balladeer himself. However, Lord Kusanali’s own interjection confirms that you are indeed the Balladeer.”
“He’s been reformed,” you say cheerfully, but your mind is running a mile a minute. Evidently Nahida and Aranyani are on the same page, because the two goddesses drift closer with curious looks on their faces.
“So Irminsul has already started patching the holes in Teyvat’s history,” Nahida muses, hands on her hips. “It’s much faster than I anticipated, given the circumstances.”
“Not as surprising as you would think, little sprout,” Aranyani pats her head. “Irminsul is capable of very rapid computation, but the problem lies in resolving as many conflicting histories as possible. Two is faster, but three will cause some things to be shuffled around for a few days, still. The justification of the existence of multiple incarnations of the Balladeer may yet be subject to change.”
“So you’re saying that what we currently perceive as fact, is instead false?” Cyno asks, having retrieved his notebook once more. As the goddesses continue to muse on the subject, he writes down their theories and makes some notes of his own.
“I’d say sorry for that workshop fight,” Scaramouche says, addressing Alhaitham with a smug grin. “But I honestly didn’t even remember you being there. I guess you just weren’t that noteworthy to me at the time. No hard feelings, right?”
Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to grace him with a look, much to Scaramouche’s annoyance. Instead, the scribe quietly listens in on the Irminsul discussion.
Meanwhile, you try to remember what team you had when you took on the Archon quest fight. It’s been a while since then, and you’re not sure if you’re thinking of the right fight. Maybe you used Alhaitham in one of your weeklies? Speaking of which, do those boss fights exist in the world of Teyvat, or is that just for you as a player of the game? If they exist, how do the characters feel having to go beat up the same people on a weekly basis? What about the characters who are weekly bosses, like Wanderer, Childe, and Ei?
Thinking about it is starting to give you a headache.
You decide to tune back in as Nahida and Aranyani finish bouncing ideas between themselves, with Cyno furiously scribbling annotations in the margins of his notepad. What was it they were talking about again? You get the sense that maybe you should've paid a bit more attention.
“- that’s the case, then we should contact Inazuma and see if there is a new history that came up.” Cyno offers, to which Nahida shakes her head.
“If we ask directly, the answer we will get is the same.” She explains, wringing her tiny hands. “To them, this knowledge will have always existed. They will perceive it as an unchanged fact, in the same way you and the Scribe believe the circumstances of the Balladeer to be a fact. The better people to ask would be the ones involved in the anomaly.”
“Alright, and how do we find them?”
“See, that’s the funny part…” You begin, only to be interrupted by a sudden swirling pressure in the chamber.
It’s strange to see the teleportation from an outside perspective. You watch as Wanderer shimmers into existence, adjusting his hat. The metal charms on the ends of it chime as they settle. He looks up, catching sight of you first and raises a hand to wave, only to stop short when he sees the other guests.
“... Looks like I’m late to the party,” he remarks, drifting over to Nahida’s side. “Wanna catch me up to speed? Not that I care, but I might as well get the full picture so I can correct you where you're wrong.”
“I asked for the General and the Scribe to come visit so that we could get a better grasp on the Creator’s situation!” Nahida explains, smiling brightly at him.
“Great, and how did that go?”
Everybody chooses to look in different directions, unable to look Wanderer in the eye. You hear him heave an annoyed, but resigned, sigh.
“And you might’ve gotten the groceries like you guys said you would, too, but here we are,” Wanderer crosses his arms, pinning you and Scaramouche with a pointed look.
You wince and turn around, subtly leaning over to Scara, whispering: “I actually forgot about that…”
“Me too…” he replies, not quite as quietly as you. You both startle as hands come down on both of your shoulders, Wanderer’s grinning face appearing between the two of you.
“Isn’t this just a splendid opportunity for you two to go find the traveler and restock our pantry, while Buer and I go over the details of what you clowns didn’t explain right?”
Scaramouche wastes no time wresting his shoulder out of Wanderer’s grasp with a noise of disgust. “Who do you think you are to order me around, teacher’s pet? I’ll go when I feel like it.” He sneers, stalking off toward the doors of the sanctuary.
You offer a light chuckle and a wry grin of apology to the others, who watch unimpressed at Scaramouche’s display, while Wanderer dismisses you with a shooing motion.
all three of these were requested by the lovely @littlemistermedly 😊
🩵 Check out my other event requests! 🩵
"The ways that they love you"
Spinoff of Glitch!AU but can be read as standalone. fluff and smut. everyone involved in this is AFAB yes even the puppets, he/him still used for all three of them though
1. Kabukimono | pillowfort building / frottage, clothed sex
2. Wanderer | falling asleep in class / sub!Wanderer, toy usage. reader wears a strap
3. Scaramouche | PWP, oral (reader receiving), brat!Scara for like 2 seconds
🔞 18+ below the cut!🔞
By clicking "Read More" you acknowledge the above tags/warnings and agree that you are both over 18 and accept responsibility for your own media consumption.
----- ⚘ -----
Kabukimono: Man on the Moon
The sweet puppet holds you gently, sitting with your back leaning against his front as the both of you are squished together by a mountain of pillows and blankets that were generously provided to you against your other roommates’ wills. The pillow fort you’d constructed with the pilfered cushions hide you and Kabukimono from the rest of the world, fitting you both into a little bubble of quiet intimacy.
His chest thrums with the vibrations of his voice box as he hums a little song in your ear, gently smoothing his hands up and down your arms and shoulders.
As his song comes to an end, he wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your head, sighing contentedly.
“That was a nice song, Kabu,” you tell him, putting your hands over his. “Where did you learn that?”
“It’s a nursery rhyme that the aunties in Tatarasuna taught me when I watched the village children!” He smiles gently, chest warming as he closes his eyes and purrs at the memory. “I don’t remember the words anymore, but the tune always makes me feel better.”
“Aww,” you coo, reaching up and running your fingers through his hair. “That’s so cute, Kabu! You must’ve been the favourite of all the aunties.”
“I- I wouldn’t go that far…” You can feel Kabukimono’s temperature rise again as he fights off the flustered expression he makes. You tilt your head back and look at him, catching a glimpse of his shaky smile.
“I’m sure you had mobs of aunties offering you their sons’ and daughters’ hands in marriage,” you grin, poking his cheek as he pointedly looks away, covering his mouth with his hand. “Am I wrong? You’re so pretty, I just know everybody wanted a piece of this.”
“Stop it! Now you’re just teasing me.”
You wriggle around so that you’re facing him, pressing down into his rumbling chest with your entire body. It’s a shame the puppet bodies don’t blush in the same way as humans, because you’re sure he would be beet red right now.
You lean in close and squish your cheek against his, nuzzling into the soft hair that frames his face. You begin to hum, doing your best to imitate the song, a little bit off-key and not quite as confident as Kabukimono’s version, but recognizable all the same. Kabu drops his hand from his face and his smile widens, a touch of softness easing the corners of his eyes.
“That was perfect,” he says to you quietly. “Just the same as I remember.”
---
“Okay, so, I read about this one in a book,” Kabukimono tells you, and you can’t help but be endeared by his excited nervousness. You and he have mostly undressed by this point, only left in your underwear, your other clothes long since discarded as you’d indulged Kabukimono’s growing curiosity.
You let him manipulate you as he takes your legs and parts them, settling in the space between and pauses, eyes darting back and forth in a way that tells you he’s searching his memory for the next step.
“We can just keep doing what we usually do,” you tell him, using your heel to knock against his lower back. “It doesn’t have to be complicated or anything.”
“But I want to try other things!” Kabukimono protests. “How else am I supposed to expand on existing knowledge?”
“Okay, we’ll do it your way,” you let him manipulate you again, this time moving so he’s partially straddling you, slotting your legs together. Suddenly, you have a feeling you know where he’s taking this.
He drops his clothed crotch onto yours unceremoniously, face scrunched in concentration. For a second nothing happens, and he looks like he’s about to be incredibly disappointed, so you take a bit of initiative and cant your hips just a tad.
Kabu freezes and a cut-off squeak escapes his mouth as you grind your clit against his. You do it again, and his eyebrows climb into his bangs.
“Oh!” He exclaims, rolling his own hips experimentally. A grin of delight comes over him as he comes to the realization.
You’re unprepared for how quickly he takes to it, bending toward you to roll your clothed cunts together, and you sink further into the pile of cushions from the force of it.
“This is great,” he gasps, wonder playing on his face. You laugh breathlessly and reach up to stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Ah- I can’t believe how good this feels, how good you feel.”
You briefly lament the distance between the two of you due to this position, wishing you could wrap him in your arms and eat his pleasure whole. He’s purring so loud that you can feel the vibration of it where your bodies connect.
It doesn’t surprise you too much that Kabu comes first, his thighs tensing around yours as he soaks through both layers of underwear between you. He whines and bites back a sob as he continues to grind against you, overstimulating himself as he chases your peak.
The wet friction of the cloth and the sight of him biting his lip to stifle the rest of his noises is what does it for you. You tumble headlong into your orgasm, and you feel him give a valiant twitch against you again.
You give in to your desires and pull him down into your embrace, and he follows along gladly. He collapses onto you, causing you both to exhale with the impact, and wraps his arms around your torso. He buries his face in your shoulder as you bring one hand up to stroke his hair.
“Is that what you were hoping for?” You ask him, your heartbeat racing as you come down from your high. He nods against you, cheerfully sucking a mark into your neck.
“Mhm,” he agrees wordlessly, and after a minute or so he props himself up on his elbows, his body never leaving yours. You hook your ankles over his, holding him in place.
He looks down at you, considering. “So there’s this other thing I read about…”
----- ⚘ -----
Wanderer: Pick up the receiver, I'll make you a believer
The lecture is so indescribably boring that you’ve begun doodling all over your notes, filling every empty space with little cats and plants and stick figures with swords.
Beside you, Wanderer rests his head in one hand, elbow resting on the desk, his other hand lazily flipping his pen. He watches you out of the corner of his eye, holding back a snort as your eyelids and your own slowly begin to droop. He glances around quickly, ensuring nobody else is looking in this direction, then reaches out to you with his mind.
It takes no effort at all to impress the subtle thought of taking a nap into your tired brain. Within moments, you’ve begun to slump over, eyes closed and breathing softly.
Wanderer’s arm reaches around you and pulls you just enough so that you are leaning on him as you sleep. With his other hand, he takes your pen and puts it aside before it can leak all over your notes. Curiously, he peeks at your drawings.
Wanderer doesn’t laugh, but it’s a near thing. There's stick figures of himself, Kabukimono, and Scaramouche in little scratchy renditions of the trio’s daily mishaps. He didn’t realize Scaramouche ended up the most unfortunate of the three of them, having been the butt of the joke most often.
Taking his own pen, Wanderer decides to add a bit of embellishment to some of the doodles. Satisfied with his work, he sits back and listens to the rest of the lecture.
You wake up an hour later thanks to the cacophony of the lecture hall as students pack up their belongings, announcing the end of the lesson. You push off of your temporary pillow with a half-coherent noise, feeling the indent his clothes made on your cheek.
You grab your own notebook, intending to put it away as well, when you notice the new addition to your drawings, and you laugh loud enough to scare yourself fully awake.
Wanderer had drawn giant cartoon dicks onto your stick figures of him.
“What,” Wanderer says, smirk audible in his voice. “You don’t like it? I think it suits me.”
“You are SO lucky this wasn’t the notebook that we have to hand in to the professor,” you wag your finger at him playfully. “Do you know how much work it would be to recopy all of my notes into a fresh book?”
“Maybe don’t fall asleep somewhere where I can draw in it, then,” Wanderer counters, slinging his book bag over his shoulder. He takes your hand as you finish packing your own bag, and you begin the journey home together.
“Thanks for letting me nap, by the way,” you smile gratefully at him, swinging your clasped hands between you.
“No problem, you can just pay me back later,” Wanderer shrugs. You squint at him suspiciously.
“How do you want me to pay you back?” you ask, already not liking where this is going.
Wanderer’s smirk widens at your predictable reaction. “How about you top, tonight?”
“Nooo!” You wail in despair, dropping his hand like it’s on fire. You stomp ahead, and you can hear Wanderer’s cackles behind you. “This is why I never ask you for anything!”
“Come on, you always make me top, though,” Wanderer needles you in a sing-song voice as he jogs to catch up.
“You do that out of your own choice, bossy!”
“Can’t you do it for one night?” He asks, giving you puppy eyes that you definitely don’t melt at.
“But I wanna be lazy…” You pout and cross your arms, denying him from taking your hand again. Instead, he puts his hands into the pockets of his shorts and nudges you with his shoulder.
“Should’ve thought of that before you took a nap,” he states simply. “Since you’re sooo well rested, now, I guess you have more energy than I do. Especially since I took all the lecture notes for today, and maybe I’ll share them with you if I’m in a good mood.”
You don’t drop your pout, but you do lean into him as the pair of you walk.
“Fine, I guess,” you relent with a sigh, not really as disappointed as you’re pretending to be. “Can I use the purple toy?”
“Sure,” Wanderer leans over and gives you a quick peck to your cheek. “Whatever you want, babe.”
---
Whatever your hang ups with topping, it’s all worth it to see Wanderer shaking and moaning under you so prettily. With his elbows braced against the table, head resting on his forearms, the view of his toned back flexing with every movement you make against his sweet spot is incredible.
You run your fingertips over the fabric of your strap where it connects with the purple toy you chose, marveling at just how wet it is. You push into Wanderer again, grinding your own clit against the back of the textured material.
“Maybe you’re right,” you pant, smug as you pound into his greedy hole. “I should top you more often, this is awesome. Who knew you could get this loud?”
Wanderer makes a valiant attempt to look over his shoulder and scowl at you, but another snap of your hips has him swallowing whatever snarky remark he was about to make at your expense. Another loud whine pulls from his throat, and he bites his own arm to stifle the rest.
You have no idea how many times you’ve made him cum, though you count at least twice based on the growing puddle beneath you. Maybe three. (Very, very distantly, you hope you don’t slip on the wet floor. You’re not sure you could take the embarrassment.)
Another full-body shudder runs through him, and one arm reaches behind himself to grab at your fingers where they’re holding his waist in a grip that would bruise if he were able to. With an airy laugh you bat his hand away.
“What’s wrong? You asked for this.” You remind him, using both hands to pull him backward onto your toy. You hum lowly as the movement causes the base to rub against you, urging you closer to your own orgasm.
“Ugh, if I’d known-” he cuts himself off with a reedy cry. You take pity on him, allowing him to slump onto the table. You press into him one more time, remaining still as he fights the overstimulation, twitching around the toy buried inside. “ Ah- if I’d known you’d be this into it, I would've made you do it a lot more.”
“Sorry, did you say more?” Your smile turns devious as you pull out, to his weak protests, and push back in slowly, building your rhythm again. The squelching noises leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, if anyone were to walk by your room right now.
Wanderer thinks he might be in for a long night.
----- ⚘ -----
Scaramouche: Moment’s Silence
Out of the three of them, you would've expected Scaramouche to be the least tactile. As it turns out, you couldn’t be more wrong. He just doesn’t show it well. Or nicely.
During the day, and in front of anyone else, he remains the grouchy, taciturn puppet you’ve come to know and love. However, when the lights dim and everyone retreats to their respective rooms, his clingier side comes out to bother you.
Which is why you’ve been here for the past thirty minutes, splayed out on your back in the middle of your bed, trying to read one of the many books in your inventory, with the Balladeer on his stomach between your legs doing his utmost to distract you from getting into the plot.
Another jolt of pleasure shakes your concentration, and you lift the book to give a halfhearted glare at Scaramouche, who’s tongue still flicks lazily against you.
“Do you mind?” You huff, nudging him with your leg, to which he responds by grabbing your knee and pushing it back down roughly. “H- hey! If you’re not going to get on with it, can you at least let me finish reading?”
“Shut up,” Scaramouche snaps at you, baring his teeth irritably. “This isn’t about you.”
Despite his harsh demeanor, the next swipe of his tongue is heavy and languid, dragging up the cleft of your sex. You gasp and arch under his touch, and he takes advantage of the moment to slide his hands beneath your back, holding your hips to his face.
“I would say- ah- that you’re eager to please,” you tease him, reaching down to stroke his hair, fingers curling in his indigo locks. “But you always look like- hah- like you have a gun being held to your head when you do this.”
In retaliation, he gives a harsh suck to your swollen clit, quickly followed by him turning his head away (you have to hold back a whine at the loss of stimulation) to bite into the meat of your inner thigh.
“Ouch! Why?!”
The glare Scaramouche gives you could freeze a hot spring.
“In what universe would I do something like this if I didn’t want to?” He demands, pulling one of his hands out from beneath you to pinch your sensitive nub, rolling it between his pointer and thumb as you fight and fail to snap your legs closed around his head.
Without waiting for a response, two of his fingers breach your entrance and slowly spread apart, baring your soft insides to his scrutiny.
“Why shouldn’t I take advantage of everything you present to me?” He asks, tone reverent as he leans back down and his tongue delves into your cunt. You shiver at the feeling of him licking every slick crevasse, the noises that reach your ears causing you to flush with embarrassment.
He groans into your skin as he feels you clench around his tongue, the vibrations causing you to squeal and thrash in his grasp. The sheets beneath you are positively soaked with your fluids and his saliva. He twists his fingers inside you just so, and you drop your book with a choked gasp.
“You taste amazing, I can’t believe you think I don’t want this,” he mutters, his hot breath tickling the insides of your thighs. Your hand in his hair tightens, and you’re not sure if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.
“I… I…”
Your lack of response seems to amuse him and he chuckles against your wet hole. He gently takes his fingers out and uses his slick-damp hand to hook behind your knee and push it up, opening you more to him.
“Such a good boy. Are you close?” He looks up at you through his lashes, licking a heavy stripe from your hole to your clit, sucking the twitching bud between his lips teasingly. “Cum for me, pretty boy. Show me how well I did.”
You’re unable to formulate words as he pushes you over the precipice, throwing your arms over your face as you cry out, hips jerking against his clever tongue. Never once have his eyes left your trembling form.
You’re panting like you’ve just run a marathon, still spasming with the aftershocks, when you feel Scaramouche crawling up the length of your body. You watch through your post-orgasm haze as he licks the mess from his lips and hand.
“Is that it?” He teases, caging your head with his arms as he leans down, breathing into your space. “I thought you wanted me to ‘get on with it’.”
Your brain is still in the process of rebooting, and he laughs mockingly at your fucked out expression. Your head falls back as you try to catch your breath, and you feel more than see him as he shucks his own shorts off, grabbing the headboard with both hands as he straddles your shoulders.
“Come on, where’s your manners?” He croons, voice hitching as your eyes finally come into focus, greeted by the sight of his own slick, fluttering hole. “I think you know how to say ‘thank you’.”
No need to be told twice. Your hands come up to hold his waist, thumbs rubbing circles into the divots at his hips. You watch with rapture as his expression changes as you slowly pull him down to your mouth.
It's been a while since I made a request to a blog, but I really enjoy your writing, and your AUs got my brain going with ideas (especially the Glitch AU). It has me thinking about how our favorite little Puppet boys would react to some of the... interesting hobbies I have: two of those being things like Doll making/repainting, and cosplaying/ general fantastical costuming.
I feel like both of these hobbies have the potential to lead to both hilarious situations and moments of being a bit... perturbed at best (especially doll making: the random assortment of doll limbs being places, or having naked dolls that are precariously hung from the ceiling to finish drying from paint jobs).
I do know that at least Kabukimono and Wanderer (Scara might have forgotten since he hadn't used the skill in a long time, and Wanderer likely relearned it) know how to sew, so the sewing part could be cute bonding time.
Could be platonic or romantic in nature: both would be fine. And also, fully understand it will probably take you time to get to this, of you even get to it at all. I just appreciate you taking the time to read this request~! Can't wait for your next bits of work: hope you have a wonderful day~!!! 💕💕💕💕
hey!! thanks so much for your request!! this was a funny idea bc i can't imagine any of scara's iterations being any good at collaboration but for all separate reasons lmao
I'm not too knowledgeable about doll making but hopefully you like this anyway :D i wrote it as a bit of a glitch!AU spinoff in my mind, but feel free to imagine any other scenarios these three clowns might come together for hahaha
WC. 1.3k
----- ⚘ -----
When the three puppets were told not to enter your room and disturb your hobby workstation, this isn’t what they had in mind. Wanderer thought maybe you did something embarrassing as a hobby, Scaramouche thought it might be something potentially dangerous especially if you intended to keep it a secret from them, while Kabukimono was certain that you did some sort of artistic craft that you preferred to keep hidden until the end product was finished.
All three of them were right, in some way or another.
The three of them stand in your workshop, staring in horror at the dozens of separated doll components you’d strung up around the edges of the room. Scraps of tiny, doll-sized outfits were scattered around your desk, and a half-painted doll head was mounted on some sort of device in the middle of the chaos. The doll’s single painted eye watches their trespassing with silent judgment.
You’re glad you find them out so soon, and you have exactly three seconds to stop them from touching anything in the workshop.
“WhatareyouguysDOINGinhere?!” Nailed it.
Kabukimono leaps a vertical foot into the air out of fright at your sudden and shrill outburst, while the other two react in more subdued manners before turning around to face you, standing in the doorway behind them. Your arms are outstretched, palms forward, and you’re braced as though you’re anticipating some sort of impact.
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” You warn. “Not all of these are dry, and if you smudge anything I’ll have to restart them.”
“Why do you have a bunch of dismembered doll corpses?” Scaramouche asks, jerking his thumb at the precariously hanging doll components.
“A seller in Inazuma asked me if I could help him finish a few dolls, since I told him I used to do it as a hobby back in my world.” You explain, not dropping your guarded position. “If any of you want to eat dinner this week, I suggest you step away from the dolls. Slowly.”
“Can you not call them that?” Kabukimono complains to Scara as the trio carefully shuffle out of your workshop. “They’re not corpses, they just haven’t been put together yet.”
“Well, they aren’t alive either, so what’s your point?”
“If you need some help completing them, I can pitch in.” The three of you look wide-eyed at Wanderer, who seems to immediately regret making the offer. He shrugs and looks away quickly. “Or not. Whatever.”
“I’d love some help,” you start hesitantly. “But what did you want to help with?”
“I can sew the clothes, I guess.”
Scaramouche’s nose wrinkles at this statement. “You can sew?”
“Why is that so surprising?” Wanderer counters, reaching into the inner lining of his haori and showing off a small, familiar cloth doll. Instantly, Kabukimono is patting himself down with a frantic expression, before pointing at Wanderer accusingly.
“Where did you get that?! I lost it a long time ago!”
“Heh, of course you did.” Wanderer smirks. “I made mine. What, are you telling me you never thought of making yourself a new one?”
“I was never good at doing the small stitches…” Kabukimono pouts, crossing his arms and eyeing the doll jealously.
“That aside,” Wanderer continues, turning to you. “I can help you finish the clothes for your project dolls. The faster you can finish them, the faster you can retrieve the commission for them, right?”
“That’s true, I guess,” you acquiesce, already running the math in your head. If you could get the commission for the dolls early, you might not have to budget as hard this week.
“I wanna help too!” Kabukimono declares, raising his hand (a bit redundantly, given he’s standing right next to you).
“Whatever,” Scaramouche snorts and waves dismissively as he begins to walk away. “If that’s what you nerds want to waste your time on, be my guest. As long as you don’t make it my problem, I don’t care what you do in your free time.”
“Party pooper,” you say, sticking out your tongue at his retreating back. “Well, what do you say, guys? Let’s get this bread?”
“Sure,” Wanderer nods, heading back into the workshop.
“What does bread have to do with dollmaking?” Kabukimono asks, even as he’s herded into the room by you.
“I’ll explain later, let’s finish up these bad boys first,” you promise, and the workshop door closes behind you.
----- ⚘ -----
“I made another sword!” Kabukimono declares, hurrying over to your workbench and showing off the tiny doll-sized sword he’d made. The fifth one, so far.
“That’s great, buddy!” You give him a pat, to his delight. “I think we’re okay on swords for now, though, d’you wanna try making something else this time?”
“Okay!”
Wanderer looks up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few pins sticking out of his mouth as he uses them to hold his patterns in place.
“Did your toymaker guy say what kinds of dolls he wanted?” He asks, holding up another utilitarian-looking outfit. “I can’t imagine this is what he had in mind when he asked for your help.”
“I mean, these are kind of edging into action figure territory,” you shrug. “But that’s probably fine. There’s a market out there for everything, nowadays.”
“Make a kimono that looks like the Shogun,” Kabukimono suggests, handing Wanderer some purple fabric. “Everybody likes the Shogun, right? She should be pretty popular.”
You and Wanderer both wince (for different reasons) at Kabukimono’s well-meant statement. However, Wanderer does take the purple fabric and sets it gently aside, and you wonder if he’ll take the suggestion after all.
“Are you losers done in here? I’m tired of doing the dishes for two days straight,” Scaramouche kicks the door in, uncaring of the delicate work you three are doing. Thankfully, the risky parts are all done, so nothing suffers any damage with his sudden entrance. Scara drops three bowls onto your workbench, each piled with fried rice and vegetables.
“Ha, you’d make a great housewife,” Wanderer snickers, earning himself a smack on the back of his head. “Ow.”
“Thank you!” Kabukimono takes his bowl and brings it to where he’s working on something, hopefully not another sword.
“Thanks,” you say as well, giving Scara a genuine smile. The puppet scowls and leaves as quickly as he’d come in.
“Don’t bother! It doesn’t benefit anyone if you drop dead from starvation, you know?” he sneers over his shoulder as he slams the door shut.
There’s silence as you three eat the lunch that was generously provided, stacking the bowls and putting them beside the door for when you guys go for your next break.
“I think I’m done after I finish this last outfit,” Wanderer sighs, holding up the unfinished garment. It looks hilarious in his hands, a cheerful pink and purple kimono in stark contrast to his deadpan expression.
“I’m almost done too!” Kabukimono adds, holding up his latest project: a doll-sized armor set. You smile gratefully at the both of them, even as you rub your temples with a sigh.
“Okay, great, I’ll put these together and bring them to the toymaker later this afternoon, then!” You say, hoping you sound enthusiastic about it. You think about the mismatched collection of outfits and sword accessories, wondering how you were going to sell this to your temporary employer.
----- ⚘ -----
As it turns out, if there’s one thing Inazumans like, it’s swordsmen. The toymaker looks in awe at your half dozen tiny samurai, handing you a pouch of mora with a pleased word of thanks.
As you’re headed back home, you get a telepathic message from Wanderer.
KABUKIMONO WANTS TO KNOW WHEN WE’RE GETTING MORE DOLLS.
‘He fired me, we’ll have to do something else,’ you think back, hoping you don’t sound too guilty in your head.
As much as you love these guys, you aren’t sure you could take another two days straight of having to collab with them. Hopefully buying some treats on the way home will placate them.
—– ⚘ —–
^ reader trying to juggle all three scara iterations without breaking any of the dolls LMAO
'Just how close to divinity does the god-machine get?'
Pretty darn close, as it turns out. The rest is entirely up to you and Scaramouche.
[p1] [p2 - you are here!] [p3]
Notes: Genshin SAGAU, cult au, mostly confusion and miscommunication in this one. mild swearing. still pre-3.2 plotwise!
WC. 1.6k
----- ⚘ -----
Three days and three nights. That’s how long Scaramouche waited to hear Your voice again. The more the hours drew out, his temper became increasingly volatile every time the nervous technicians would open the Shouki no Kami’s cockpit to check up on him.
Each time he would kick them out and slam the cockpit shut, even nearly taking off a mechanic’s arm with the face plates. His patience runs thinner with every passing moment.
Nearing dawn of the fourth day, finally he feels that strange buzzing connecting behind his ears. He stiffens and pulls himself upright, blinking weariness out of his eyes.
“Your Grace?” he mumbles, the sudden drop in pressure in the cockpit makes him dizzy. “Is that you?”
Your voice crackles over the connection, sounding a little farther away. “Hey, yeah, it’s me again. How're you holding up?”
“What took you so long?” is what he replies, the words coming to him despite his head warning him that You are the Divine Creator. “Do you know how much work I could’ve gotten done in the time you took to get back to me?”
“What? It’s been, like, an hour at most.” You reply, sounding skeptical. “Don’t tell me you’re the impatient type.”
“An- an hour?!” Scaramouche runs the math in his head quickly, frowning. “Is there such a time dilation between your realm and mine?”
“What do you mean?”
Scaramouche growls with frustration, rubbing his temples as he feels a headache coming on. “What are you not understanding here? I didn’t think the Creator would be so ignorant of their own creation.”
“... what?”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse? Are you even who you say you are? You wouldn’t be the first to have delusions of grandeur to bring some sort of momentary excitement into their pathetic, insignificant lives.”
“Woah, calm down, buddy,” you say, a warning in your voice. “Let’s just take it from the top, okay? Hello, my name is,” you repeat your name for him. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Scaramouche takes a breath and rolls his eyes, then reluctantly complies with the direction you’re taking.
“Hello, I’m Scaramouche, The Balladeer, Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, and I’m currently dealing with an idiot problem.”
“I’m gonna let that one slide for now,” you respond curtly. “Now tell me, ‘Scaramouche’, why did you call me today?”
“You say it as if I somehow did it on purpose.”
“Didn’t you?” The raised eyebrow is audible in your tone.
“Of course not!” Scaramouche snaps, patience waning. “Dottore’s stupid god-machine did something to my head, obviously, and now there’s some kind of connection to you that I have no idea how to control.”
“... god-machine?” you ask, sounding genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“The god-machine that the sages commissioned,” Scaramouche explains slowly, smugly, as if he’s talking to a child. “If the gnosis’ connection to divinity is successful, I will be named the new deity of Sumeru and take over the position of that pathetic little god, Buer.”
“You’re going to what to who?” you question again. “Hang on, is this spoilers? I didn’t get that far in the story yet…”
“What do you mean, ‘story’?” It’s Scaramouche’s turn to be confused now.
“Y’know, ‘cause you’re RPing that guy from the game, right? I’m not at that point in the questline yet so, uh, thanks for spoiling the story for me, I guess.”
“This isn’t a game!” His temper flares and he pounds his fist against the face panel of the cockpit, the clang resounding in his ears. “Damn you, is that how you see us, then? As some kind of sick game for your personal amusement?”
“Wow, you’re really taking this personally, huh? It’s not that serious, man, you need to calm down for a sec-”
“I will not be calm!” Scaramouche thrashes about in the cockpit, kicking and punching the interior and creating a hellish metallic sound. Behind him, the tubes slap and rattle around, threatening to disconnect from his sockets if he continues his tantrum. “The Divine Creator just told me that they view our existence as a game!”
Your voice takes on a tone of annoyance, though you appear to be trying to suppress it. “Listen, I looked it up on the wiki, and there's nothing there about this supposed ‘Creator’ character, so I know you’re full of shit. Just cut it out, okay?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Scaramouche shouts into the empty cockpit. And that’s the root of the problem, isn’t it? Clearly he and the Creator aren’t seeing eye to eye on something, here, and it’s causing a terrible miscommunication.
With a great heaving sigh, he tries to reign in his temper.
“What can I do to prove to you that I’m serious, right now?” He asks through gritted teeth.
There's a sound like static that fills his head and he cries out in pain, clutching his ears as if that might stop the noise.
“Hypothetically, let’s say you’re Scaramouche from the game,” Your voice filters in through the static. “Like, the actual NPC or something. The only way I’d believe you is if you do something in-game that’s out of the ordinary. I’m logging in right now, so if there’s something weird happening I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Scaramouche’s thoughts race through his head, though he has no idea what half of the words you say mean, and he wracks his mind trying to think of something he could do to show his presence.
“Where… where are you right now?”
“I’m doing the quest in Pardis Dhyai,” you answer, and sure enough Scaramouche feels a faint tug that he’s come to associate with the Traveler’s presence coming from the direction of the laboratory. “I’m fighting with some Eremites right now.”
Pardis Dhyai, where he knows Haypasia is being kept. The woman had connected with his consciousness briefly during one of the early god-machine tests Dottore had forced him to do. It very nearly put him out of commission for a week, but sharing his consciousness had been proof irrefutable that he could channel divinity, at the time.
“Okay, stay there, I’m going to try something.” He says, and attempts to concentrate on the location. In his mind, he conjures the feeling of static and ozone and aims, internally cheering when he feels the power connect with bodies. “Did you see that? Did I get them?”
“Get what?”
“The thunderbolts!” He says, incredulous. Surely there was no way to miss that, right?
“That’s part of the quest, I saw the walk through of this part,” you huff. “You’re really not convincing me, here.”
Frustration bubbles up and Scaramouche chews his thumb as he tries to think of something else, and that’s when he feels it.
The Traveler touches Haypasia.
A bolt of energy courses through his head, and in the distorted reflection of the metal cockpit he sees his eyes flash again.
He follows an instinct, reaching out to Haypasia’s consciousness and, by extension, the Traveler. He grabs the tether in his mind and pulls, feeling himself travel across time and space, until he’s in Pardis Dhyai.
He blinks and looks around, the faded scenery looking exactly as it had when Haypasia had contacted him. There, standing beside his follower’s unconscious body, is the Traveler.
“Where are you?” Scaramouche asks through the connection, trying to sense if you've left him once again. “There’s nobody else here.”
“... Huh.” Your voice comes through the connection in his head, but also through vibrations in the air. “That’s definitely not part of the cutscene.”
“What the hell is a cutscene?” He demands, still looking around for the source of your voice.
“Right, that’s creepy. Is this a glitch?”
“If you tell me what your words mean, maybe I can tell you.” Scaramouche growls, then points at the Traveler. “You, where is the Creator? I know they’re around here somewhere, I can feel it.”
“No way.” You say, incredulously.
“Huh?”
“Scaramouche, jump up and down three times.”
He looks around again, before settling his gaze on the Traveler. “Why should I do that?”
“You’re trying to prove that you're in the game, right? I can see you right now, so if it’s really you I want you to jump up and down three times.”
Feeling supremely foolish, but willing to humor you on the off chance you aren’t lying to him, Scaramouche gives three halfhearted hops, and immediately crosses his arms.
“Happy now?” he growls.
To his extreme surprise, and slight horror, the Traveler jumps three times as well.
“Oh my god, you’re actually in the game? Like, you’re the character in the game?” You ask, breathless, a tinge of hysteria creeping in. “No way. This doesn’t happen in real life. Games don’t just become self-aware like this. Am I dreaming?”
“Whatever you’re talking about, you better tell me really quick or else…” Scaramouche trails off for a moment, unsure of what he could really do to you, given the metaphorical distance. “Or else I’ll be really angry with you,” he finishes lamely. In front of him, the Traveler’s eyebrows furrow slightly.
“You’re not supposed to, like, know about me,” you continue, raising in octave slowly. “You’re not real! Is my life just a creepypasta right now?”
“Would you cut that out?!” Scaramouche half-shouts, in an attempt to be heard over your frantic voice. He can feel the connection between the two of you waver with each passing second. “Whatever you’re doing, stop panicking!”
“I think I’d like to panic, actually,” you say, and the connection goes dead.
Empty air fills the space behind Scaramouche’s ears, and he snarls in frustration at having been left hanging once again. For a second, he almost forgets the presence of the third party in the room. He looks up and stops his muttering at the sight of the Traveler’s dumbfounded, and slightly scared expression.
You, the Creator, experience your first day with the world's weirdest roommates.
[< prev] [Blog tag] [next >]
Notes: SAGAU, reader is the Creator but no cult shenanigans. mild swearing. very gentle puppet bullying, it's probably the cain instinct or smth. all relationships are currently platonic!
WC. 1.8k
----- ⚘ -----
You’re not super sure what you thought telepathic communication was going to feel like, probably assuming you would hear the voice of the other person saying their message out loud in your head.
In reality, it ends up being more like receiving a text message. In all caps. In your head.
GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.
You sit up in your bed with a frown when the message suddenly crosses your mind. You check outside the mansion’s window, deeming it to be relatively early in the morning. Curious, you slide out from under the covers and shuffle your way downstairs.
Your curiosity quickly turns to irritation as you hear the sound of tools being thrown and voices arguing coming from the direction of Kabukimono’s room, the only currently inhabited room on the ground floor.
You slowly push open the unlatched door and quickly duck to avoid a flying object—what is that? a pair of tongs?—that was aimed somewhere in the vicinity of your head.
“- told you you can’t cook on the forge!” Kabukimono shouts, whiny and furiously stomping around, tossing loose tools around the room. Scaramouche is standing a little ways away from him, holding a bowl of ingredients with a bored look on his face.
“It’s a heat source, isn’t it?” The Balladeer asks, rolling his eyes. “If I can light it on fire, it can cook things.”
“No you can’t! I have to keep it way too hot to cook things,” Kabukimono scolds him, brandishing a metal poker in his direction. “And if you get food crumbs and oil in it, it might affect the quality of the metal! I won’t let you use it, and that’s final!”
“What else am I supposed to use, then?” Scaramouche growls, gesturing widely. “It’s not like this genius Creator of yours, in their boundless wisdom, made a kitchen.”
Whoops. Your eyes scan the room, surveying the damage, until your gaze lands on a terrified Cuppy hiding under a coat rack behind you, close to the door.
“Hey, buddy,” you whisper, inching closer to him. “D’you think you can turn one of the ground floor rooms into a kitchen really quick?”
The little teacup spirit nods frantically and disappears in a puff of smoke, presumably to fulfill your request as fast as possible.
You look around the room again and spot Wanderer hovering above the other two, one leg crossed over the other in a pose hilariously similar to Ei when she’d been meditating in the Plane of Euthymia. You wave to catch his attention, and he looks over at you with a wry expression before zooming over to where you are.
“About time you got here,” he snarks, landing delicately beside you. “These idiots have been going at it for about twenty minutes now.”
“I just asked Cuppy to make one of the rooms a kitchen,” you tell him. “I totally forgot about that, I don’t usually make a kitchen inside the Traveler’s teapot, so…”
“Yeah, you use the outdoor one, right?”
You nod, having briefly forgotten that Wanderer had seen your layout of the Traveler’s realm before. As you’re musing on this, Wanderer darts forward and smacks the underside of Scaramouche’s bowl, causing it to escape the Balladeer’s grasp and sending ingredients flying in all directions, much to Kabukimono’s displeasure.
“What the- why would you do that?!” Kabukimono wails, his argument interrupted. “Look at this mess! Niwa would have a heart attack if he saw this!”
“Half of this garbage is yours,” Scaramouche points out, expression thunderous as he picks up one of the smaller prongs on the ground and uses it to take a swing at Wanderer, who takes to the air and floats out of reach with a smirk.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Wanderer says with a shrug. “I was just getting so sick of hearing you guys whining like babies for no reason.”
“Okay, and you needed to waste perfectly good ingredients, why?” Scaramouche snaps, bending to pick up his now empty bowl and waving it at Wanderer threateningly, visibly restraining himself from flying off the handle.
“Because it’s not like you were gonna actually use them,” Wanderer snaps back. “I am you, and I know for a fact that you can barely make cup noodles if someone else did the preparation for you.”
Scaramouche quickly turns red in the face as Kabukimono laughs at him, so you step in before another argument can break out.
“Guys, come on, I think Cuppy finished making a kitchen,” you say placatingly, hands outstretched and palms up. The three puppets look at you with varying levels of skepticism.
You lead the way out of the trashed room, picking one of the other doors at random and hoping that it’s the one Cuppy chose. Mentally keeping your fingers crossed, you turn the knob and open the door, and freeze in the doorway, prompting at least two of the puppets to peer over your shoulder at the scene inside.
Cuppy did, indeed, choose this room. It’s one of the Mondstat-themed bedrooms, and what the teacup spirit did was put a single stove in the middle of the room and replace the bookshelves with jars and cupboards. Everything else about the decor, including the bed, carpet, and wardrobe, is the exact same.
Wanderer can’t seem to help himself about this, either, and bursts out laughing.
“You call this a kitchen?” Scaramouche asks, pointing at the lonely stove sitting beside the Mond-style bed frame.
“I think he did a great job,” you try, covering your mouth with one hand to hide your amused grin. Thankfully, it seems Cuppy made his escape as soon as he renovated, because he’s nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t get it,” Kabukimono says, and you can feel him pushing someone (Scaramouche) behind you to see the rest of the room, to the person’s (Scaramouche’s) protests. “What’s so funny? A good stove and a well-stocked pantry is more than okay.”
“And,” you interject through your repressed giggles, eager to defend your little teacup spirit. “Having a bed nearby just means you can lay back and relax while you wait for your food to cook!”
“Are you serious right now? It’s just a stove in the middle of a bedroom!” Scaramouche protests, pushing you aside and stomping into the room. He points at the stove, and then at the carpet it’s sitting on. “This cannot be safe, right? This breaks all kinds of safety regulations.”
“We’ll just move it aside, it’s fine,” you say, hoping to diffuse the situation.
“It’s understandable,” Kabukimono agrees. “It’s not like he’s seen a proper kitchen before, right?”
Even Wanderer stops laughing as the three of you stare owlishly at Kabukimono, who shuffles nervously under the attention.
“What?” Kabukimono asks defensively.
“I actually hadn’t thought of that,” you mutter, hands on your hips as you survey the room with new consideration. “He is pretty small, and who knows if he ventured outside of the realm before…”
The other two remain silent, seemingly contemplating Kabukimono’s words but not voicing their opinions on it.
IS IT BAD THAT I FEEL BAD FOR LAUGHING?
You hide your flinch well, the sudden message scaring you out of your own thoughts. You steal a glance at Wanderer out of the corner of your eye, where he’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look you in the eye, instead pretending to be very interested with the shelf of ingredients near him.
‘I think that's just normal’ you think, hoping he somehow receives your thoughts as well. ‘I didn’t think of it either, so we’re all kinda wrong…’
While you’re distracted, Scaramouche has already started lighting the stove, having kicked aside the offending carpet, and browses the shelves for ingredients. He knocks on a few of the jars with a frown.
“... These are all empty.” He finally evaluates.
“Yeah, that tracks, I don’t actually own anything yet,” you nod. “Everything I’ve ever collected is probably still with the Traveler.”
“Presumably they’d be willing to part with some of their stash,” Wanderer adds sarcastically. “I don’t think they really need several thousand of each ingredient they own.”
“I mean, you never know, right?” You chuckle nervously, thinking of all the bag space your farming must have taken up. How does the Traveler’s inventory work outside of a game-mechanic perspective? You suppose you’re going to find out soon enough.
“If you’re going out to get stuff, I’m coming with you,” Scaramouche declares, crossing his arms as if daring you to refuse his company. “No way am I staying in here with these guys.”
You shrug, and Wanderer doesn’t protest either. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. I’ll head out now so we have time to sort and put everything away before lunch.”
“Bold of you to assume we’re going to get anything done before lunch,” Wanderer mutters, herding Kabukimono out of the ‘kitchen’, promising the other puppet to help him clean up the mess in his room.
“Are you ready to head out?” You ask Scaramouche, ignoring the jibe. You hold out your hand, which the Balladeer reluctantly takes, and you will yourselves out of the teapot realm.
You materialize in one of the alcoves of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, briefly disoriented by the change in location until you see Nahida and Aranyani sitting on the central dais, seemingly having a quiet conversation. Nahida spots you first, waving cheerfully at you both.
“Your Grace! Balladeer! Apologies for relocating you, but we decided that the chamber of Irminsul should remain uninhabited for now,” she explains, hands clasped together. “After all, it’s too easy to stumble and damage one of the branches of information, and I would hate for any of you to blame yourselves if that kind of accident were to happen.”
“That’s fair, thanks for doing that for us!” you smile at her thoughtfulness. Still holding Scaramouche’s hand, you lead the two of you down to the central part of the chamber. “Do you know where the Traveler is? We wanted to ask if they could spare some of the materials I had collected from before I came here.”
“Yes, we saw the Traveler earlier, but they went to fetch some people that Nahida recommended,” Aranyani says, picking up Nahida under her arms and putting the small god in her lap. Nahida doesn’t react, still smiling as Aranyani begins to play with her hair.
“Recommended for what?” Scaramouche asks before you get the chance to. You elbow him subtly, a warning to watch his tone.
“To help us figure out how and why you’ve descended to Teyvat, Your Grace!” Nahida claps her hands together. “It will be good to know in case you need to go back home, or if you wish to return here from your world!”
You nod, grateful at the prospect of having that option. “Who did you call in for this?”
Aranyani cheerfully answers this for you: “The General Mahamatra, and a scholar named Alhaitham!”
You share a quick look with Scaramouche.
“The linguistics guy, and the cop…?” You ask, with a slight wince.
“I don’t think you’re figuring this one out anytime soon.”
