☆ from gold, i am undone
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts
{☆} word count 0.9k
You weren't meant to be here.
You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.
You are changed, and you are whole.
But you are so unbearably broken.
A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.
Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.
All you see is a monster.
Something new, something old.
A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.
But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.
You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.
But you know it will not satisfy you.
Nothing does anymore.
You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.
And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.
There is nothing left but absolute authority.
You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?
Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.
Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.
You welcome it.
It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.
Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.
You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.
For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?
Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?
Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?
Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.
For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.
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Lisichka
Request: Hii ! I hope it's okay to request Tartaglia and (a very shy) childhood!reader reuniting after many years and pining for one another? Reader knows him very well so they're not rlly shy around him...until they developed a crush on him. Which makes them timid and mildly awkward around him, and it really shows more and more. I had a thought of what if Tartaglia also has a crush on them around the same time? I hope this is okay and have a good one! ♡
Summary: Tartaglia returns home after fighting the narwhal. You try to avoid him, unwilling to face your crush after so many years, but he manages to meet with you anyway.
Note: Lisichka means little fox
cw: none
Word Count: 1081
Tartaglia x gn!reader
“Have you heard? Ajax is back.”
You’re walking around the local market when you catch wind of the first rumors. The speaker--one of the old women who spend every market day discussing everything from local drama to the contents of this month's delivery of various newspapers--speaks in a hushed voice.
“That’s only news, Marya. My husband has already been to Lev and Anya’s place. Ajax looked pretty beat up.”
If Marya’s question hadn’t caught your attention, the second speaker would have.
You lift your groceries and approach Marya and Elizaveta.
“Ajax is back?”
Elizaveta gives you a measuring look. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. You spent so much time with the boy before Lev sent him off to join the Fatui.”
“You mean until they started avoiding him.?”
“Yes, yes. And blushing like---”
“I’ve been helping around my grandparent’s house,” you blurt. “So no, I hadn’t heard.”
Elizaveta chuckles. “In that case, yes, Ajax has come home. You should go visit him. I’m sure you’ll make his day.”
“I’m not sure he’d remember me.”
“Nonsense. I’d put money on the opposite being true.”
You sigh and tighten your scarf around your neck. “I’ll think about it. But I still have shopping to do. Have a good day, Mrs. Marya, Mrs. Elizaveta.”
Several days later, you walk up the path to Ajax’s home, a heavily wrapped pot of soup cradled in your arms.
A boy with a shock of red hair sits on the porch with a toy ruin guard in hand.
“Good day, Teucer. Is your mother around?”
Teucer looks up and grins. “Big Brother! Y/N is here!”
“Teucer,” you groan, “I’m not here to see Ajax. In fact, please give this to your mother. Tell her Katia sends her regards and that we hope Ajax gets well soon.”
You place the soup next to Teucer and hurries back down the path.
This was such a bad idea, you think to yourself. I can’t ever keep a straight face when he’s concerned.
Ajax steps out of the house, smiling into the collar of his thick, woolen coat.
Unbeknownst to you, the young harbinger watched the entire thing.
He picks up the soup and looks down at Teucer. “Did you say thank you?”
“I didn’t have a chance,” Teucer pouts. “Why are they acting so weird?”
Tartaglia laughs. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
A few days later, you find yourself sitting on the bank of a lake.
You keep your eyes trained on the hole you made and the line disappearing into the water.
This is the only place in town where there aren’t curious looks and questions about Ajax’s health. It’s the one place where you don;t have to be reminded that after so many years of being his friend, you’re now too cowardly to meet him face to face.
You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t hear the snow crunch behind you, though the footsteps are soft enough that it could be any small animal.
“Lisichka, Lisichka. Are you done running from me?”
The familiar nickname startles you out of your reverie.
You turn, ever so slowly, to find a pair of bright blue eyes twinkling at you.
“I never ran from you.”
Ajax sits next to you. “Are you sure about that, Lisichka? I recall that before I left to join Fatui, you wouldn’t look me in the eye. And I saw you run from my house the other day.”
“I---”
“Got a bite yet?” Ajax changes the topic of conversation, much to your relief.
“No. Not yet. Though I might not, now that your pretty face is here.”
“If a pretty face is all it takes to scare off the fish, you must never catch a thing.”
You open your mind to reply, only for your brain to finally register your words and his reply.
“I--- How are you feeling, Ajax? I heard you were hurt.”
This time you’re the one to change topics, though you’re certain he’s aware that it’s a desperate attempt to keep from addressing the proverbial bear in the room.
Tartaglia holds out a hand and you frown at the clear tremor. “Fontaine was a little rough,” he admits. “I don’t recommend fighting a whale for a couple months.”
“A whale? How do you fight a whale?”
“Not easily. And I lost miserably. I don’t like Fontaine’s Iudex--though I want to fight him again one day---, but I’m not sure I’d have survived if he and the traveler hadn’t intervened.”
“You were never careful with yourself,” you comment. “Even less so after your three day disappearance.”
Ajax huffs. “This wasn’t my fault. There was a lot of weird stuff going on.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure. You know you go looking for trouble and when you aren’t it has a habit of finding you.”
“You know me so well, my Lisichka.”
“I thought we were too old for pet names like that, Ajax.”
“Says who? You were my Lisichka when we were kids. Why can’t you be now?”
You raise your eyes to the sky, where the constellations lay hidden.
“Because if you keep using pet names like that, I’m going to get the impression that you’re not just a childhood friend.”
Ajax reaches over and cups your cheek, turning your face so that your eyes meet his. “If you did I would be awfully happy. I’ve been trying to get your attention for years.”
“You mean…”
“Silly fox, I have liked you for a while now.”
“I bet I’ve liked you longer.”
“You wanna bet?”
Tartaglia tosses your fishing rod to the side and opens his arms to you. “Will you be mine?”
You let him pull you close, brows furrowing when the movement makes him stiffen. You rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bandages that deform his sweater.
“Of course, but please, please be more careful.”
“I love you, Lisichka, but I can’t make that promise.”
“I know. It was worth asking.”
As you start to doze in the safety, you can’t help but ask, “Why Lisichka?”
Ajax laughs, smiling into your hair. “Because, a teenage me had no other way to flirt with his best friend and you looked so cute playing in the snow.”
You join him in laughter. “I guess you win.”
“Oh?”
“I started running from you because I realized that I wanted it to be more.”
You yawn, eyes fluttering shut.
“Sleep, Lisichka. I will be here when you wake.”
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