☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood, violence
{☆} word count 0.8k
You are dying.
Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.
It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.
You will die.
"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."
A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.
"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."
They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.
"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."
Silence.
You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.
It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.
In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.
They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.
And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.
And alone, the cold remains.
Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.
But the cold remains, bathed in gold.
It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.
It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.
Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.
But you are yourself.
And you are where you belong.
They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.
All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.
One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.
Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.
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❤️💘💟💜🤝 - @umbrellamedic
RELATIONSHIP TYPES! (❤️ committed, romantic relationship + 💘 friends to lovers + 💟 developing sexual relationship (may include romance) + 💜 friendship + 🤝 coworkers)
Slipping this under the cut because I don't want to clog up the dashboard with my rambling asdfghjkl
This right here? Strap yourself in because I am 100% on board with everything you've sent!! I am totally down for all of it and it's funny because even though these two have only just started interacting, already they have developed such a strong relationship and I honestly never saw it coming because DC and Resident Evil aren't series you'd expect to see together? I am glad that it happened though, because so far I have really enjoyed these two to the point of getting OBSESSED. The way you write BERTHA, her past with Umbrella and Raccoon City - everything about her character is captivating and Copperhead's in deep, whether he likes to admits it or not.
Their friendship is off to a good start already. These two really aren't nice people at all - they're cold, cruel, exacting in their work and utterly ruthless as to the lengths they'll go to in order to accomplish what's necessary. Together? That coldness melts away, these two very damaged people finding common ground, even solace in one another. It's ironic in the most *chef's kiss* sense that these two people, barely distinguishable from the monsters around them can be so gentle, dedicated towards each other in ways they'd never be for others?. That blooming into a committed relationship? Sign me the fuck up because I am SO invested in what these two have already and want so much more, to see where this goes, have their feelings grow because fuck, these two need it, they deserve to be happy together???
There is a ton of potential either way, coworkers standing together as BERTHA now finds a way to move on, keep herself alive since Umbrella became defunct. Copperhead wouldn't be any more repulsed by her condition anymore than she is by his appearance and it becomes easier for the two of them to grow closer the more they discover how much they have in common. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside that even though these two can be so callous, there's a genuine devotion at work here, and it becomes even more interesting taking a RE!Verse into account where Copperhead is a BOW working alongside BERTHA?
I don't want to go on too much because this is already getting long but yes, yes to all of it, their feelings growing stronger over time the closer they get. The tension would be sublime, toxic in the very best way because for all their faults they can raise hell hand in hand, in a twisted Beauty and the Beast sort of way except BOTH of them are happy being monsters together. Love that for them!!! ♥
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