I had a thought for a creator but they didn't believe they were the creator and could influence others into believing it too.
The two characters are Sara kujou and yae miko
@mastadon64 here you go!
Gaslight, Gatekeep, Godboss - Kujou Sara and Yae Miko
Kujou Sara
Cw: Sexual innuendos
-Honestly, waking up in Teyvat, you had a hard time convincing yourself you weren’t dreaming
-(It took you tumbling down a hill and slamming into a particularly sharp rock to realize it was not a dream. Also, ow)
-(You ignored the way your blood was golden. You were pretty sure you’d never seen the Genshin characters bleed anyways. It was probably just censoring. Totally.)
-Some way or another, you ended up in Inazuma
-Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting
-Most of the creatures were pretty chill, and as long as you avoided the people, you didn’t get in much trouble
-And then you kicked a Tenryou commission officer in the face and got arrested
-You know, jail wasn’t as bad as you expected either!
-Your cellmates weren’t too bad either- one of them asked you if you were god, which was weird, because you didn’t look anything like the Shogun, but you gave him a stick of dango and he shut up
-(You might not have been a god, but the fact that you managed to keep your inventory from the game was the closest thing to a divine blessing that you could imagine. Who needs a gnosis when you have your own pocket dimension?)
-It’s about half an hour before you’re taken from your cell for questioning
-You walk into a small interrogation room, shock igniting in your chest as you spot Kujou Sara
-Wasn’t she important?
-Was kicking that guy in the face really such a grave offense?
-“Are you the Creator God?” She asks, deathly serious
-Why did people keep asking you this???
-You’re pretty sure you don’t look too godly, garbed in stolen clothes that you’re ninety percent sure you put on wrong, a fading bite mark on your arm from when you tried to pet a rifthound, leaves in your hair. Honestly, you looked pretty disheveled, and…
-“Is that your way of saying you think I’m hot? Like… godly or whatever?”
-Considering the way the Tengu’s face turns a vibrant red, you’re either very right, or very wrong
-It’d be funnier if you were right though, so you press on
-“I mean, not that I’m not into it, but I’m feeling kinda iffy about the power dynamic here- prisoner and cop is a cute trope and all, but not all that smart in real life, I mean I get it if it’s a kink or whatever, I know handcuffs are attractive, but as of right now it’s immoral-”
-“Shut up. Please.” Sara mumbled, covering her red face with her hand. Her hair has more volume than usual, tiny sparks of static dancing between the strands
-“… I mean after I get out of prison I’d totally be down to go on a date, and if you feed me well enough I might even let you handcuff me.” You add.
-The silence in the room is heavy
-“Get out.”
-“Yes ma’am. Hm. No. Yes Mommy? Yes Master-“
-You’re cut off by an electrically charged arrow striking the wall beside your head.
-“Out.”
-“Okay!”
-You’re released from prison three days later, now with a whole gaggle of new friends from criminals
-(You ignored the fact that some of them made really important sounding speeches swearing their fealty to you. Also the small shrine they were building in your honor. If you didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist)
-You were surprised that as soon as you left, you were met with a glaring Kujou Sara, who takes your hand in her own
-“Am I being arrested again?”
-“… I’m going to take you on a date. And then I’m going to handcuff you.”
-“Yes Mommy!”
-“I Will Shoot You Again.”
Yae Miko
-You had to admit, stumbling upon a small shrine that seemed to be dedicated to your doppelgänger was creepy
-But you had also just been Isekaied to video game land, so you were pretty adaptable at the moment.
-Or high on adrenaline.
-You pick up one of the Sunsiettas from the shrine, biting down and relaxing, until-
-“Your excellency?!” A voice squeaks, and looking up you see a very frazzled shrine maiden staring at you.
-“Uh. No?” You say, swallowing the Sunsietta.
-The shrine maiden starts sobbing. “Your excellency!”
-“Oh- no- I’m- uh- I’m like you? You know? I’m uh… a messiah? Priest? Prophet? Whatever gets you to stop crying?” You awkwardly pat her head.
-“You- you’re the Creators chosen one?” She blubbers.
-“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Stop crying.”
-“CHOSEN ONE!” And she’s crying again
-After a lot of crying, you’re led to the Grand Narukami shrine, where you’re introduced to the head shrine maiden as the chosen one
-“… Are you sure she’s not just the creator?”
-“You flatter me. I’m just gods favoritist and most specialist little princess.”
-The Kitsune likes this. Perhaps too much, but we’ll let her have her fun
-And thus, the war to get you to admit that you’re the Creator begins, hidden under the guise of her introducing you to chosen one duties
-She takes you on a pilgrimage all across Inazuma first, going to the most dangerous places possible just to put you in danger and save you at the last second, disappointed that you never use godly powers to save (read: reveal) yourself
-She meditates with you, and paints obscure markings on your face when you fall asleep, which you have to pass off as messages from the creator
-She takes you to meet the Shogun, but after leaving you alone for five minutes, returns to you teaching her poker and robbing her blind. You cited divine luck and she pretended she didn’t notice the cards stuffed inside your sleeve
-It ends pretty anticlimactically, actually
-She’s introducing you to the local foxes, when you trip over a rock and face plant into the floor
-And get a nose bleed
-Miko can’t help but doubling over in laughter at the sight of your pout as golden blood drips down your face
-“And how are you explaining this one, Oh revered Chosen One?”
-“Genetic condition.”
-The laughter doubles
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motherland
the woman that birthed me
sets her hounds on me,
teeth glistening in a light-reflecting stripe,
their claws blunt but in heavy paws.
i can not please her.
i am no jeweler, who could've
brought earrings and rings of precious metals
for her to pawn
instead of her house.
i am no farmer
with wheat fields to feed
her dozens of children, who grab at her knees,
begging and howling at her.
i am no nurse, not a doctor,
and i can not cure her
of what drains her insides till they are bloodlessly white,
matching her snow and the shroud
that some are preparing for her.
i am not a tailor of it.
i stay quiet,
silently praying for it to see use.
my love is abhorrent
to her,
the woman that lashes,
that strangles those who she wants
to make into her children.
i'm meant to produce
more worshipers of her,
blindly in love,
praying her hand strikes, missing their head,
those who pray for her downfall.
she's demanding, "come hither,
lay in my lap,
fall to the ground
as you bleed out for me
out of wounds i drank out of which",
a knife sheathed into her belt
painting her dress red.
i am no fighter,
i can not carry a sword,
caked blood on its blade heavier than me,
but i will be here
when it is raised.
i grab at the hands
that wield it for her,
praying,
and praying,
and praying,
"can you not see?
this bloodlust
can not be satiated.
when there isn't left anyone
for you to cut,
she then will eat you.
do you
want to be slaughtered
when she can not see
from behind the blood splatters
your collar,
your wolfhound stature,
when she cuts into her pack
for there is no more wolf
left to be hunted?"
they bite me,
ripping out what's left of my heart,
and feast,
cannibalism justified
with me being traitor,
a wolfdog,
an obscene insult to her godhood.
i crawl to the others,
the wolfdogs,
beaten and chained,
but still baring their teeth back
at insults and mockery,
and the shock collars
placed on their necks.
i pray,
"may the rains
wash out the blood
out of their eyes",
and the wolfdogs
howl with me.
"may the wolfpacks accept us",
and "may her throne crumble,
may rot
settle into the wood
she painted gold
as she scrapped the real pieces
and exchanged them for swords
that are now stuck in our hides."
"may her blood reign
come to an end,"
says one,
and another repeats.
we cry out,
praying,
and praying,
and praying,
as those breaking their chains
are thrown back to us
as bleeding corpses.
with each one,
we are more afraid.
there is no end
to the broken,
and twisted,
and mangled bodies
we, full of sorrow,
eternally crying their name,
continue to bury.
may her blood reign
come to an end,
for there is no end to us,
but there is death
that takes us
and feeds us to hounds,
and we mourn
each innocent soul
that just wanted to love
in a way
that is abhorrent
to her.
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