☆ love; heretical and divine
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood
{☆} word count 0.8k
To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.
To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.
To love a God is to sin.
The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.
But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.
She loves a God like a lover should.
A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.
She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.
No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.
The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.
It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.
For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.
She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.
She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.
But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.
Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.
There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.
To love is to be human, and they are no God.
Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..
She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.
To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.
Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.
An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.
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I’m back Michie girlies and this has been on the dome for a while but I’ve been seeing people mention it and at least one fic has executed this idea (“I once was his tutor” I salute you 🫡) but I need to just present this idea anyways because it has COOKED for a while-
I think it would be absolutely fucking hilarious if Max had started treating Richie the way he did Grace. Like the whole, dumb himbo act where he laughs real hard at non-jokes and tries to rizz Richie up as he’s going to class.
In my head- this is connected to the “Richie tutors Max” universe, so in my mind- Richies been helping him out and he’s been getting to know the guy, Max either: 1) eventually realizes how much of a capital P Prude Grace is OR (the funnier option I think) 2) Grace, in her want to get thoughts of Max Jäegerman out of her head, goes so far in the opposite direction that she somehow accidentally sleeps with a woman and is no longer “forbidden fruit” as Max puts it. (Insert side story of Grace battling internalized homophobia as she developed a friends-with-benefits turned maybe actual relationship with…. idk Deb or Alice or someone.) Cue Max looking at Richie and being like “I can totally seduce this nerd, my skills aren’t lacking just because I couldn’t get Grace.. this is 100% not me subconsciously really liking the dude and wanting to genuinely date him and knowing no other way to outwardly express this”
ANYWAYS- point is I need Max to try to flirt with Richie in that himbo way that he did with Grace-and I need Richie “This projects on thermodynamics… what the fuck are you talking about???” Lipshitz to just be constantly confused on what’s happening to him.
AND THEN when he finally realizes that Max is trying to get with him, I need Mr. Richie “has definitely never been with or slept with anyone and is just as unhinged and horny as Ruth (need I remind you she said Stephanie was the object of both their sexual fantasies)” Lipshitz to look at Max, really debate over it, before going “I may not have standards but I, unfortunately, have morals” and that he couldn’t do anything with Max since he was… well…his and his friends bully for years.
Boom, kick start the redemption arc that starts with Max just wanting to sleep with Richie but shifts to genuinely wanting to date him and trying to open up/clean up his act.
(Also- to add to that ‘“Dirty Girl Soup” Richie version’ concept that I’ve seen somewhere- I think it would be so fucking funny if Max’s equivalent to this, scandalous, forbidden, sexual fantasy was just Richie being the most supportive, understanding and healthiest boyfriend ever. Just accidentally fantasizing them in the most domestic situation ever (you know, because it goes against his Literal Monster persona). Like Richie’s, i don’t fucking know, holding his hand as they get coffee together and is just so understanding and calming when Max attempts to bully this fantasy Richie, and Max-who is just swimming in toxic masculinity (but is super ok in knowing he’s bi. As people say- he’s an actual asshole but he will bully you using your correct pronouns damnit)- is just like “NO, what are these feelings??? Why do I feel like this??? This is so wrong… but why does this feel… actually nice???” Yeah… funny shit)
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