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fanchitties · 1 year ago

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Porcelain Doll

Pastel’s note: okay so, last night, when i found out that ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IS FUCKING HACKED, i didnt know what the hell to do. so i opened my laptop and wrote... something. its been so long since i wrote something, and this one is in very different style than i usually did back in the time where i was pastelbear12 lmao.

this one is about two of my OCs in my genshin self insert delulu ( @aly-kurta knows what i mean LMAO). and i decided to post it here. whatever. enjoy.

TW/CW: mentions of torture, obsession (we love them obsessed), first POV, stockholm syndrome (i think?), does this count as yandere? hes canonically a yandere but, whatever, i forgot how to tag LMAO, maybe alternative universe cause in my original plotline, they didnt meet like this, and this is genshin visionless AU

word count: 2500+

I remember it vividly like it was yesterday. Like my sole purpose in life is to hang that memory prettily, in a silver frame with fancy carvings, in my mind. Etched in my mind like a nagging thought.

It was the coldest day of winter, three years ago, in the heart of December.

I was just from the neighboring city to buy things, walking through the blizzard, when I found a deserted house. I thought it would be nice to catch a break, napping for an hour or so hoping the blizzard would come to an end soon, or maybe eat the steam bun I bought in the town to warm up my stomach. I envisioned a wet fireplace, tattered couches, and icy floor. Truly, I expected everything, other than one thing.

Within those forsaken walls, I didn't expect I would find a woman here.

She was on the brink of death from a long list of illnesses, and the horrible state she was in was laughable. And so, I laughed. Out loud. She could barely look at me, barely even breathe. She fainted some seconds later—she wasn't dead, I noticed her still breathing, barely—and I crouched down beside her body on the sofa. Examining her face. Her body. Her condition. Her, in general. I looked at her.

I deemed her the most captivating being my eyes had ever beheld.

I wanted her. I always like pretty things, so, she seemed like she wasn't owned by anyone, so I just carried her from that cold house and rushed through the blizzard, my plans to take a break soon forgotten. She felt weightless in my arms. So light I had to look down at my arms ever so often to make sure she hadn't been whisked away by the tumultuous wind.

I reached the nearest town there and found a fireplace also. I put her down on the floor of another abandoned abode, but this one had a dry fireplace. I lit the fire. The crackling flames cast an orange glow upon her pallid countenance. The snow on her face melted on her cheeks. I wiped it away. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

It would be so, so easy to kill her, I could just trip and fall on her body and she would die dead, and that fact made me laugh again. Really. She was the puniest person I'd seen. And also, the most beautiful one.

I wanted her to be mine. I collect pretty things myself. She could be my next item on the list.

She woke up a couple of hours later. Her confusion evident but I assumed she recognized me. The man who laughed as she teetered on the edge of death. Funnily, she thanked me, and I couldn't help but laugh again. Not because she was funny, no, because she was stupid. My first thank you in such a long, long time. Little did she know, that her beauty was the only thing stopping me from throwing her frail body to the fire, pouring gasoline on it, and leaving her as such.

I didn't tell her any of that though. I just smiled.

"What's your name, love?"

She seemed confused about things. Myriads of whats, whys, whos and hows going in her pretty little head. I understood.

"I don't have a name."

That surprised me. This woman managed to surprise me twice, in a day.

The next hours were spent on her telling me all about her, and it was so reckless and naive of her to say these things to a man she just met, particularly one such as me—a murderer. It was her unlucky day to meet a murderer like me. But she looked grateful for my presence there and I didn't wanna ruin her fantasy. So I just smiled, pretending to be a decent man, just cause I loved seeing her talk. She was so beautiful.

And then I found out that she was dumped by her supposed-to-be family. She never got the luxury of a name. People called her 'Nameless Girl'. Shame. So I offered her a name. She was painfully obvious with her excitement even when she tried to hide it. She couldn't hide anything from me. She was adorable. I told her, that from then on, her name would be Anastasia, or for short, Tasha. Without any particular meaning attached to it.

She liked that, I could tell.

"Do you have a name?"

She looked curious and apprehensive. I didn't see why I should lie.

"Yes."

"Can I have it?"

I snicker, thinking of something that might trigger an amusing reaction from her. I wanted to see that reaction.

"Have my name? Do you mean it as wanting to know my name, or have it, maybe, for your last name?"

She blushed. It was a sight for sore eyes, making its way to a hidden corner of my heart I never knew existed.

"I was joking. My name is Makoto."

She looked at me with wonder. Maybe she was considering whether to address me as her first friend. She then tasted my name on her tongue, the sound cascading like a sacred mantra, sending a shiver down my spine.

I liked how she said my name. I liked my name better after I heard her say it. 'Makoto' never sounded so delightful before.

I was thoroughly amused by the whole situation, so to make things even more interesting, I decided to give her a little 'shock'.

"Tasha. I'm actually a murderer."

Tasha widened her eyes. Yet her calmness returned far more swiftly than I had anticipated.

"Okay." She had said. It almost disappointed me that she appeared unfazed by my revelation. Such ignorance.

"Aren't you afraid? I could kill you anytime."

She shook her head.

And after that, I found out that this woman was even more pathetic than I had surmised. She had a heart problem. She got sick easily. She was weak. The word "weak" fails to adequately describe her fragility. It explained her ignorance of the predicament in which she found herself—alone in an abandoned house with a serial killer—cause no matter what she did, she was gonna die anyway. Should she attempt to escape? Her heart would fail her. Should she remain here? She'd die cause of her own foolish decision to befriend a murderer. Lose-lose situation.

Nobody could ever fathom the itchy feeling coursing through my veins the whole time. I wanted to try, to hurt her. With my hands. The temptation was so overwhelming my hands started to shake.

But I didn't hurt her. It was a blur afterward, and suddenly, I found her sleeping soundly by the fireplace. And I observed her again in her slumber.

The next day, I brought her a gift. A bloodied corpse—an innocent man who had the misfortune of crossing paths with me as he wandered alone down an alley. I threw the lad before her. Carved my initial on his left chest before her eyes. I did it all to let her know who I was.

Dangerous. Cruel. One wrong move, and I'd do the same to her.

She looked at me in horror as I kicked his face into an unrecognizable mess. She threw up when I hung his body with cuffs, blood dripping down the cuts I meticulously made all over his body. She slept in my arms peacefully that night. The same limbs that just tortured an innocent man, wrapped around her waist securely, warmly.

It was sickening. Disturbing.

From that point, she's always been with me, in my journey everywhere. Anastasia is the witness to my cry for joy, my cruel homicides, and my explosive anger. She is always unfazed. She always looks at me as if I were an enigma she was determined to unravel. The way she looked at me unsettled me. I'd beg for her to keep looking at me like that.

Ugh, she's annoying. Insufferable. Burdensome. I wanna kill her.

She coughs blood whenever we walk more than five kilometers in one go. She can't run. Can't swim. She gets a fever every two weeks. She faints all the time. She's really weak I don't even know why I'm keeping her with me. Maybe because I like pretty things. And she's pretty. Beautiful. So beautiful that I just wanna kiss her sometimes.

So, last week, I did.

It was an accident. I love accidents. Or maybe it wasn't an accident. Pretty sure it wasn't, no way it was. I don't repeat accidents; I learn from them. And last week, I kept repeating the 'accident'. And I've learned nothing from it.

We were in the Fatui headquarters, her in my room, and I was just back from a mission from the Balladeer. He’d seen her, and never understood why I'm so stubborn as to keep her by my side. I question the same thing, and that's why his queries are never met with a clear answer. I want Anastasia by my side, end of question.

Scaramouche, my father, scoffed at me. Stella, my sister, rolled her eyes. The Tsaritsa looked at me, half disappointed, half intrigued. Arlecchino and Sandrone just didn't care. Pierro narrowed her eyes. Pantalone forgot where he put his glasses. I couldn't understand Columbina’s gaze. I couldn't see The Capitano’s face. Pulcinella just looked at me, then Anastasia, and walked away. Tartaglia laughed. La Signora laughed even harder.

I would do all of the things aforementioned to myself too.

And so after all of that, I approached her. She was beautiful, and frail, like a porcelain doll. She heard my footsteps and turned to me. She smiled. A mistake. For it drew my attention to her lips. Her dry, chapped lips.

I got the urge to moisten it.

And so that's how I kissed her for the first time.

I could feel her sharply inhale a generous amount of oxygen from her nose, tensing up beneath my touch. But true to form, just as in every situation where I managed to surprise her, she quickly regained her composure. And so she didn't fight back. She allowed me to kiss her lips, so feverishly, to push her further until her back met the window frame. Let me put my hand behind her neck.

I pulled away, just to kiss her again. This time, she kissed me back. Tried to kiss me back. I almost laughed at her poor attempt. It was cute.

I relished it.

And I struggled to make sense of the situation, to decipher its meaning.

I still do.

"What are you doing?"

Now, back to the present, she's now sitting on the window frame. Like how she did last week. Of all the designer-made clothes and dresses I had purchased for her, all with perfect measurements, she chose to wear mine. A pair of jeans, and an oversized shirt. She's practically drowned in that shirt, it was ten times bigger than her. Her hair, just like when I first saw it in the abandoned house, was jet black. Before, it was shoulder length, but now, it has grown to her waist. Slightly wavy. Pretty.

I caress her hair absentmindedly.

"Nothing," she says, and she flashes me a smile. "I was doing something though."

"Care to share?"

"Mhm." She says it like a sing-song. Melodious. I like it. "I was waiting for you, that's all."

I join her, sitting on the window frame. Studying her features. Beautiful.

"That's all?"

She nods. I take her hand. And she lets me. On this spring night, it was quite warm. I can feel her bones beneath her thin skin. I'm afraid I might crush them if I held it too tight. But I'm also afraid I might lose her if I didn't.

How should I hold her hand? Neither are good ideas. What is happening to me.

Dilemma. The realization mortifies me, and I immediately slap her hand away. Regret it in a second when I hear a small cry of pain from her.

"That's alright," she says, reassuring me. "You seem troubled."

You're troubling me, woman.

But I don't say what's on my mind. Instead, I shake my head. "I don't think I am. But you? Undoubtedly."

I'm met with confusion, and she asks me why I think that.

"Because don't you feel so useless? Empty? All you do is wait for me sitting silently and not doing anything until I arrive. When I do, all you do is just talk. You can't do anything without me, can you?"

She doesn't look offended. She just smiles into the distance. To the moon, perhaps. I wish I was the moon.

"You're right. I can't."

I look at Tasha’s profile. She's like a sculpture made by Aphrodite herself.

"And? Have you done anything to fix that?"

She shakes her head. "No, I haven't."

She's making me exasperated. I let her know of that. She smiles, sadly this time, her gaze isn't on the moon anymore. Now, is to the Snezhnaya cityscape beneath us.

Why won't she just look at me? I feel dumb for getting jealous of a mere cityscape.

"Is it the time? The time when you finally find me a burden to you? When you realize I'm just holding you back?"

Of course it is. It is always the time. She's a burden to me. She holds me back. I don't hide it from her, I let her know even.

"Yeah. You've been a burden to me. You've been holding me back since the day I found you, Anastasia."

Finally, she looks at me. I grow breathless. My heart is racing. I hate it. I've never wanted to tear out my heart so badly before.

"Then, should I leave?"

"Where?" I grit my teeth. Where does she think she can go? I wager my entire fortune that she'd die in her first kilometers from here. Or cough blood as she descended the stairs. And die as a fool.

"Somewhere."

How vague. She hasn't even decided where to go. She knows so little about this wretched world.

"Somewhere where I can ensure I'm nowhere to be found by you."

"No."

She looks at me, looking confused.

"Why not? You said I'm a burden."

"Did I ever say I would allow you to leave?"

Her breath catches. I lean in, furious, angry, sad.

"You're not allowed to leave. Ever. Understand, Anastasia?"

"Yes."

Her eyes reflect the moonlight and the stars and my whole world. I love her eyes. I love them even more when they gaze at me, and only me.

"Then... I'm sorry."

Yeah. Be sorry. Be so sorry to me. Cause she has no idea how much she has wronged me. How she's disrupted my mind and stirred my emotions, making it difficult for me to restrain myself from kissing her—

No. Don't look away. I'm terribly upset.

So I grab her chin and force her to look at me. Like this. This is better. She looks at me, bewildered, and I lean in closer.

Our breaths mingle.

Her hands on my arm and chest. I worry the fast tempo of my heartbeat would hurt her frail hand.

I look into her eyes.

And hers into mine.

"You're a burden. You hold me back. Never question that ever."

I whisper.

She ceases to breathe. She's holding her breath.

The blush on her cheeks says hello to mine.

"And I want you to hold me back more. Hold me back as much as you can. Be more of a burden. Cry, whine, fall ill, and scream. Do it. You're stuck with me until the day you die, and you have no other choice."

There. I've said it.

Her lips part.

"Makoto..."

My name. Coming out of her lips. Pure bliss.

"Yes." I pant, the feeling inside my chest suffocating me, something is punching my heart and I revel in every second of it. "Yes, I'm here. What do you need?"

She smiles and kisses me. And dear God, I don't object to this. I want nothing anymore.

A sinner just finds himself in heaven in this godforsaken world.

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what a plot. LMAO, im disappointed of myself