#fic: she will destroy you

[sweetnnaivete]

who wants me (writing a longfic centered around the evans sisters)

[hercarisntyours]

pain

[lovesickeros]

☆ 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.

[andorerso]

always thinking about Jyn choosing to die with Cassian despite not being critically injured instead of like… trying to find a way to survive. after like a few days of knowing him? their codependency is insane. idk what they'd be like if they actually had the chance to know and love each other, but I just know they wouldn't wanna live without each other

[twicearoundthebend]

worstie wolverine backstory thoughtssss

What if it wasn’t a group of anti mutants that stormed the mansion - what if it was weapon x coming specifically to take Logan back

I’m going to ramble and I’m not fact checking so like - ramble back and correct me if you want

Logan had fucked off to get drunk again. Scott had pleaded as he left, but it was getting easier and easier to tune his voice out. Logan didn’t want a family, he didn’t want to be a guard dog, he wanted to be left alone. The cold of the bar was comforting, familiar - much more familiar than the warmth of the x mansion. He’d settled down to numb his brain till his thoughts froze over, but didn’t reach that point.

Instead, a news broadcast started. The reporter said it was a ‘mutant hate group’ and looking at the carnage he didn’t blame her, but she was wrong. Those uniforms, those faces, he knew them. He’d escaped them, he thought he’d destroyed them, but here they were murdering the people who’d taken him in.

Weapon X.

-

He’d ran to the mansion. Heart in his throat and lungs burning, but he was too late. The x-men were all dead, and the group of scientists and soldiers had left the scene. He’d left them, they’d pleaded for him to stay, and he’d left them to get attacked by his own demons.

He searched through all the bodies, checked over and over for signs of life, but there was nothing. Just vacant stares and still pulses.

A few hours in, he heard a wheeze. He whipped around, scanning, hoping beyond all hope, only for his eyes to land on a Weapon X soldier with vines growing through his chest.

Within a second he was looming over the soldier, ready to do anything for information. But he didn’t even get the satisfaction of torturing the information out of him. The soldier spat the truth out at him, gloating at his pain.

Weapon X had come to the mansion to retrieve Logan. To take him back to be studied, torn apart and put back together over and over again. To take his DNA and turn it into anything they set their minds to. They’d tracked him here, but when they broke through the doors he was nowhere to be found. They hadn’t planned to kill the x-men, but when no one would reveal any information about Logan, they tried to torture the information out. None would give anything up.

“After we’d asked such incriminating questions, they had to die. Can’t have any loose ends, can we? You’re a top secret weapon, Wolverine, and one we desperately want back in our possession.” The soldier managed to sneer around his pain, still looking at Logan like he was less than human. “Death of filth like them isn’t death, it’s mercy.” His face contorted, and before Logan could lop his head off, his eyes went hazy, and his breath stopped.

They had been here for him. They’d murdered the x-men for protecting him. Their last breaths had been spent fighting for him, while he’d been getting pissed. Broken bodies all around him - he couldn’t find anything inside of him besides overwhelming guilt.

[astarlightmonbebe]

“when you play go, you pursue your desires in silence. you seduce, and you fall. you strip each other bare. and if your partner doesn't reciprocate, then it's just a game of go.”

go as an overarching symbol throughout the glory, both figuratively as a representation of dongeun’s revenge, and also as a metaphor for class and relations (between her and the men in her life, i.e. yeojeong and doyeong).

on a relational level, go is a game of seduction. it’s a mental sword dance, so to speak. dongeun learns it with revenge in mind - she plans to catch the interest of doyeong, the husband of the girl who destroyed her life. she uses go to approach him - she seduces him the very first time he sees her play, so much that he can’t get her out of his head. she uses go to entice him; she wins before he even knows that he’s playing.

dongeun learns go for the purposes of ensnaring doyeong, but it’s yeojeong who first teaches her go at all. and it’s go that becomes a cornerstone of their burgeoning relationship as well. throughout the seasons, go helps both of them, as something that centers them, tethers them to current life. for yeojeong, his sessions mentoring dongeun in go were the only thing that created a schedule for him in his most turbulent time (after his father died, etc.). it becomes their mode of communication - he asks her to make a play so that he can know she came by. a silent way of saying i’m alive.

and then there’s dongeun approaching doyeong to play go, then them meeting again at the park he designed. yeojeong also approaches doyeong to play go, also purposefully - the man who taught dongeun vs the man she learned to play for. 

but for dongeun, go is never about the men so much as it is about herself. go becomes something she loves for what it is, a game that builds territories, a game where the enemy can be slowly and methodically destroyed as you take all their territories, like how she plans to take everything from yeonjin. it reminds her of the dreams of being an architect she had before she had to drop out of school from the bullying/assault.

doyeong says that one of his go teachers tells him that he was born holding the black stones. when dongeun plays with yeojeong for the first time, she says she has to start with the white stones, since she’s the beginner. that’s how they play, for months. when doyeong meets dongeun after finding out the beginnings of the truth, he says that this game is more difficult than the ones he’s played in the past (and she beats him, the first time they play prior to that meeting). 

the black stones represent the upper hand, the wealthy. it’s a class metaphor, especially when related to doyeong. yeojeong also starts out with the black stones, maybe because of wealth, maybe because he’s learned it for far longer. maybe because life was kinder to him. dongeun starts at the bottom, with the white stones, because she has nothing and knows nothing.

but when she places her first stones on the go board, she plays with the black.

[dq9]

on one hand i do like eduarent bc theyre an interesting dynamic between the subtly obsessive freak and the naive arrogant fool esp in regards to how they interact and play around each others mere presences but on the other hand i think makoto should be allowed to skin laurent and eat his innards raw with zero legal repercussions

[hapticshift]

Yk, I used to have range, I used to read so many different genres and fandoms! Hell, the fist fic I read on ao3 was a Warriors reincarnation fic, I was like 7, and it was the best thing ever. Now? Fuck, all I read is Catradora! That's it, just SPOP fics. I READ LIKE A MILLION WORDS OF CATRADORA FANFICS LAST WEEK! Holy fuck I have so many recs, but I sound mad when I'm like "guys c'mon, here me out,,, magical realism, but it's lesbian, and their dynamic is great, it's only like 100k words, c'mon, what's the worst that could happen???" Fuck, I'm a goddamn junkie, but I just can't get enough of these weirdos.

[lunarharp]

"Found out" set in kind of a made-up chapter where the girls are in trouble, or something.

[ampleappleamble]

gave myself a haircut the other day and it made me so happy i had to spread the joy to my girl

and then i went ahead and made it canon!

feels good to finally figure out her hair and outfit timeline. only took me five years

[sweetnnaivete]

james and lily vying for mcgonagall's attention, only for sirius to become her favorite without even trying

[mixelation]

what if i just canonize itachi liking bad ninja fiction to plasticity. what if that's just a thing that's happening

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

One of my favorite hobbies to engage in is ignoring the canon course of video game romances

[aparticularbandit]

....

I should replay Stanley Parable just to have Junko quote it in the third fic at some point, huh

Because that relationship of "every road you travel, every choice you make or can make had been written in advance, and they all end with your death" is. that's Junko's theme in the trilogy.

It does not matter what you do or how you do it. The story ends with Junko's death. She will die. She is going to die.

Makoto's sacrifice doesn't save her. Mukuro and Matsuda following her doesn't save her. Kyoko's love will not save her, and neither will Mikan's.

It's all scripted, and it has been from the beginning, and every route ends with Junko's death because she wrote it that way.

She gave you the book, Kyoko. You read how it ends. But up against the Ultimate Analyst who knows you so well that she can predict your actions in advance, even choosing to go against what she wrote - she already knows how you will act.

And she is determined to die.

How do you fight that?

You can't.

Junko's going to die and that's the way the story ends and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

How do you wrestle with that? How does Kyoko wrestle with that? That inevitability while other people keep sacrificing themselves to stop something that cannot - will not - stop?

[nyxi-pixie]

rereading my kousano fic god i really ate it up. the metaphors THE METAPHORS. THEYRE IN LAYERS. ughhh