While On Another Quest For A College Recommendation Letter (something He Really Shouldn’t Need By This

“Why do you keep repeating this name, guys?”

My headcanon is that Venti doesn’t remember Rukkhadevata, but his winds do.

I mean, she existed and people were talking about her, but after they just forgot about her. However, people’s words are remembered by winds of time.

And we know that Venti can summon winds of the past, even if he didn’t hear personally some words, he still can find them in his winds.

I believe he forgot about her as well, but still knows about her and the whole situation, because his winds tell him that. Those sneaky bitches.

goddess of wisdom, master of war

I was slightly invested on the whole Alhaitham being Nadia’s familiar thing— so I came up with something… what if he is an Aranara that can be seen by humans and just refuses to use his real form 💀💀💀 /nsrs

Hope you like it!!

4.1

Scaramouche, Scaramouche will you do the fandango?

Kaveh ass experience my dad had, he took a whole ass baby bird while being dive bombed because he was worried

Girl that was his parents

Alhaitham ass experience I had getting him to return it

People I met for a few moments that live in my head forever.

Lineage Isn't My Cup of Tea

Alhaitham is a descendant of the Scarlet King, he never knew his father besides the many stories. Hundreds of years have gone by and still unknown to the followers of his father and the researchers in the Akademiya of his origins. Alhaitham lost interest in his own origins and barely looks back into his father's life.

(Maybe not the best song but it came to my mind)

Before the Archon War, Rukkhadevata, the Goddess of Flowers, and the Scarlet King had lived peacefully in Sumeru. King Deseret had the people of the desert as his followers. There was a rumor of an unknown divine being who met with the Scarlet King, people never talked about it openly, they spoke of how if he ever revealed this person they too would be revered.

King Deseret kept the divine woman a secret, he wanted her to have a peaceful life while having a relationship with her. Often she gave him her time whenever she could, him being overly bored, often appreciated her effort in their limited times to meet.

However these good times would not last.

When forbidden knowledge brought forth the violet sandstorms and breakouts of Eleazar, the Scarlet King, his majesty, made a sacrifice to his people for the mistakes he made discovering this dangerous piece of knowledge. The divine being also succumbed to the effects of forbidden knowledge, she was gone and nother fatality counted in the Eleazar Hospital.

What lay in a crib was an undisturbed infant. Cradled in a small blanket, resting while the sands blow.

Not any older than a few weeks, no mother or father to be by his side. The child was a boy and his crib had his name carved into it, the inscription read "Alhaitham." A newborn alone in the world to soon be lost to time.

The followers of the Scarlet King mourned him, paying respect to their god to venerate him. A follower of him looked into the homes of the deceased to collect their belongings and distribute it to their families. They came across a strange house, almost deserted in the sand dunes, they checked out the structure for anything of the sort. All they found was a trembling boy, almost 10 months old, biting down on his index finger in the darkness and clutching his blanket. Rushing to the crib they saw the little boy, cupped his cheek, and looked down to see the carving on the dusty cradle.

Brushing off the dust he read aloud, "Alhaitham?"

Part 1 Complete

Lineage Isn't My Cup of Tea Masterlist

Alhaitham has many things about himself he keeps secret, one of them is his direct relation to the Scarlet King. He soon will see the importance of the strength he hides and how he should honor it. Finding the true meaning of his would-be title, "Alhaitham, Firstborn of the King Deshret," impacts his morale and mood towards the life he lives in the modern days of Sumeru. All the books in the world can't answer the coming of his birth and purpose before the death of his mother and father.

TL;DR: Alhaitham has mini identity crises because his parents died a long long time ago.

(Enjoy the story, ciao)

Blood runs thicker than water.

lies of p paring: pinocchio x reader word count: 1159 cw: angst :], mentions of death, blood, beyond canon-typical violence i think, rage frenzy

a/n: welcome to my first real post on this account. i've been obsessed over pinocchio from lies of p since i started the game, then i started listening to chloe ament... you can probably see where this is going. hope you enjoy.

Emotions were not as elusive as they had previously been for the man-made puppet and yet, in this moment, he couldn't identify a singular one he felt. There had been a rush of worry, fright, and terror. But now it was an invasive mess.

His skin reacted to the slight breeze that blew past him, a shiver breaking him from his frozen stance.

Still, he wished for the sight before him to be one of the lies he'd thrown around.

Approaching the scene, Pinocchio would stumble, an imperfection to his typically faultless cadence. The ground below him squelched with wet mud as he did so, a distant sound to his eerily still mind. The loudest noise to him was the rising tempo of his mechanically heart, it rang in his ears, obscuring the sounds of pattering rain and squished mud.

Before him was you, pale as your blood had drained from your face.

You were posed on your knees, arms dangling loosely by your sides as a sword held you up, struck through your chest and into the muddied ground below. Pinocchio's glass eyes trailed the blade of the sword, every few inches was an extended notch of the blade, permitting the relatively upright position you'd been laid to rest in. A wooden sign hung with rope from the hilt of the blade,

Puppet Fucker. It read.

His hurricane of emotions came to an eerie calm.

The dark-haired puppet would take the rest of the paces to you, kneeling by your lifeless form. Pulling the sign from the hilt of the blade and tossing it into the muddied ground below, Pinocchio would do a once-over of your body.

Your shirt was torn, multiple wounds bedded into your skin, signs of struggle ripped across your hands. Your blade was broken in half, a few feet from your person. Your hair was matted and stuck to your face. He watched as the rain paved its path down your skin, some pooling in your stuck-open eyes before sliding down your cheeks. If he had known any better, he'd have guessed you'd been sad.

The puppet would reach forward, silently pressing the pads of his fingers against your top eyelids, pulling them down to finally let you rest your eyes.

A breath escaped him, fogging the air between you and him.

Slowly, Pinocchio would place a hand against your back, then his other between your thighs and calves. Bringing himself to his feet, you'd rest in the bridal position he held you in just a year prior. The tone of that moment was much more pleasant to bask in.

One step at a time, Pinocchio found his way back to the hotel.

He'd kick the door open with a lack of urgency, your fate had been sealed hours before.

Trekking mud, rain water, and dead city grime onto the shiny floors of the hotel, Pinocchio would approach the central Stargazer.

The first to notice him was Sophia, gasping in horror at the large, notched blade sworn through your chest. Antonia, from the other room, would advert her gaze, a solemn expression Pinocchio couldn't read overcoming her face. Eugenie had frozen, leaving Venigni to look around the corner of the wall. Shock was quickly present in his features.

Finally, Pinocchio's eyes would leave your form, his eyes coming into contact with Sophia's, a silent plead shifting his expression. No words were needed in the exchange, a nod coming from her as soon as she saw his face.

Your funeral was small, held in the garden of the hotel. The guest list didn't expand beyond the residents of the safe space, no one of your biological family lived beyond you.

Pinocchio stayed the latest of everyone, knelt by your makeshift headstone, fingers lightly tracing the dirt before it.

The calm of the storm hadn't passed, he'd been near numb to the entirety of it all, earning him a few concerned glances from Gepetto and Sophia. He knew the two of them shared their worries behind his back whenever they could.

He had given the sword to Venigni and Eugenie to inspect, perhaps find its maker, or better yet, who wielded it.

Venigni had an answer two days later. Pinocchio hadn't moved much until given the information he desired. Slowly, and in a fashion that near scared the philanthropist, the puppet rose. His glass eyes trailed the blade Eugenie held behind Venigni. He approached. Carefully, as to not hurt the woman, Pinocchio would take the sword into his palms.

The metal made a horrifying screech as it bent, Pinocchio's Legion Arm doing the majority of the work. When the sword was rendered useless, the puppet would move forward, back into the luxury of Hotel Krat.

He was working out his lack of emotions while he moved, it wasn't a numbness like he had before he began gaining humanity.

It was a silent, simmering rage.

The atmosphere surrounding the puppet was enough to alert Sophia, she started to interject as he approached the Stargazer, but his human-like arm had already reached the glowing center piece.

In a moment he was back to the creepily empty streets of the city, a new mission on his mind.

Pinocchio tore through any puppet trying to attack him on his path, his rapier tearing their arms from their torsos, or their heads from their necks. Oil and Ergo splattered against his clothes and face, nothing the rain couldn't wash away.

Eventually, Pinocchio would kick in the door of a luxurious-looking mansion, the wooden door splintering from its hinges and loudly clattering against marble floors.

Eyes scanning the foyer was nearly enough to send him into a rage. Weapons, all custom made lined themselves against the walls, a list of names under each of them. For some, names were crossed out, for others, the names laid untouched. Though, as Pinocchio entered further into the quiet of the mansion, he'd find his eyes traveling to the central stairs at the back of the main room.

Your name, printed in bold, crossed with a red line, lay under an empty sword mount. Next to your name, under a sword mount with a plain blade, was Pinocchio's, untouched.

A few claps would pull the puppet from his stare, as a man came down the upper level of stairs.

Pinocchio's mechanical heart beat louder, obscuring the words of the man before him, his eyebrows pinching towards each other as he'd throw the sword he'd bent onto the ground between the man and himself. It scraped across the marble floors, leaving a few scratches that would never be repaired.

Whatever the man was saying, Pinocchio couldn't hear. His breathing began to pick up, a trait he'd copied from you, his heart was raising in tempo again.

The man would grab the sword labeled with Pinocchio's name.

An invitation to begin.

Pinnochio found his way back to Hotel Krat, covered in blood that the rain couldn't wash away.

hope you enjoyed my first one-shot ♡

Genshin doesn't talk about this friendship enough