#&. ajax || ( replies. )

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[ehatnow]

genshin fans on twitter always make me feel so smart

like "arlecchino is the only competent harbinger!!!!!!" she got one gnosis that was basically free. like girl didnt do shit to get that.

signora got two and was executed before she got the third. childe successfully summoned a god, fought that fatass narwhal for who knows how long, and has the foul legacy. scara ERASED HIMSELF FROM EXISTENCE and also got the electro gnosis. capitano went against the god of war and was ready to keep fighting after getting punched in the heart (and he is definitely evenly matched with mavuika).

god i hate people on twitter and tiktok, they cant read

[yanderefarm]

I find the brothers very funny because like Ares and Ajax are quite similar in different ways but the biggest one is that they’re both the killers/person hurting in the relationship right but then Achilles, their older brother, someone who you would assume to be more violent is just like “yeah my man beats me up lol I love him sm I want him to skin me alive”

YEAH DJSNSKSNS THAT'S LITERALLY THEM

ok but imagine being surrounded by blood thirsty sadists your whole life. like he's 5 years older than ares he probably had to be the one who cleaned up baby ares messes. very stressful being a responsible big brother to a 5 year old who killed his play mate for taking his toy.

"my mans beating me is the most relaxing thing. i don't have to think, i don't have to worry about who's going to clean up all the blood, i don't have to pay people to be quiet.... it's what i imagine spas are like"

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

There was a joke in the Wriothesley Not-Birthday arc that didn't make the cut but it basically was someone being like "YOU WERE SKINNY??" when looking at Sigewinne's toddler pictures with her dad (Neuvillette is the one taking them, obviously). And Wriothesley is like "I was in the hospital for like a month. No shit."

[skelespidey]

the dms i will never reply to because i have no effort and dont wanna fucking talk to anyone

[ccaptain]

@predvestnik: Sniffs his armpit. Passes out.

  -to the surprise of absolutely no one, this is kind of what happens when your cavalry captain boyfriend gets home after a long expediction, and you don't give him time to have a warm shower with all of his scented products.

   ' Ajax??? AJAX??????? '

[inhumanheresy]

@inkbloodcd — for Zhongli

The match between Tartaglia and the Traveler this week is a quick one.

It ends with the tip of a crackling, surging spear against the Traveler’s throat, the golden figure groaning and wincing as they tipped their head back in acceptance of defeat. They’d gotten a few good hits in, Tartaglia admitted as he hauled them up off the floor, but their strength had waned sharply in the latter part of the fight.

“Letting yourself slip, Traveler?” “I’m tired, you ass, it happens sometimes.” “It’d take more than the usual adventurer life to tire you out, Goldie.” “Yeah, well, trekking through the desert kind of sucks. On top of that… have you ever run across an ‘Iniquitous Baptist’ in your experience fighting Abyssal things?” “Heard of them, but haven’t fought one. Are you saying…” “Come along, if the Tsaritsa gives you the leave. Your help’d be great against those pyro shields.”

The thought of a fight against an entirely new kind of opponent lends a spring to Tartaglia’s step even once he shifts back to human, binds up a remaining wound or two that he can feel bleeding, and salutes a jaunty, irreverent two-fingered goodbye to the Traveler as both of them teleport away from the Golden House to their respective destinations.

The one that he ends up at is the gate of an adeptal abode in Jueyun Karst.

He activates the entryway, stepping inside Zhongli’s domain with a wince as he rolls his shoulders. Pain seares with each step. His bones keen a familiar ache, the price of his transformation from a human form to an abyssal one, then back again, but it bothers him only a little more than it usually does. That’s not bad. Manageable, for sure.

A Liyuen-style home sits nestled in a cleft of rock made by two weathered karst spires much like the ones outside, stone steps carved out of the base rock leading up to the entry. Boots slipped off at the threshold and a nice breeze making its way in from the open-roofed courtyard rock garden, he pads inside to find his… friend? More-than-friend? Whatever definition that normal people might give to this thing between them that they’ve rebuilt and grown since the Gnosis Incident?

Zhongli should have tea water boiling by this point. It’s become a near-ritual after his weekly fights with the Traveler: bruised, satisfied, and with the thrill of a good battle still singing through him, he drags himself to Zhongli’s abode — some weeks more literally than others — and accepts a cup of tea as he slumps into a comfortable seat, distracting himself from the residual agony in his body by listening to the former Archon speak on anything and everything.

He finds Zhongli spooning out tea leaves for the pot with meticulous precision, his adeptal form looking more natural and at home in this realm than Tartaglia’s own human one does. Clawed Geo-gold hands act with motions so long-practiced that they have transcended ritual and become art, exacting intent in every movement.

Ajax grins at the sight. Though pain still courses through his body, almost-constantly weathering a new flare everywhere from skin to marrow, there’s an air of relaxation and comfort in a moment like this that he cannot help but succumb to.

“Hey there, you old lizard. What’s the tea you’ve chosen for tonight?”

[hamatos-talk]

Dunno, brain no work

-Ajax

That's fair. You want anything in your pancakes?

[lovesick-level-up]

Childe Reply Icons

nobody requested, self indulgent. happy birthday to me! i'm really the only one who cares about my birthdays around here. i'm pretty sure we already missed lynettes (it doesn't give a shit). anyway, i made these to use - if i will, i don't know. but they ended up pretty cool, right?

feel free to use with credit as long as you aren't on our dni, but don't claim as your own! like/reblog if you save or enjoy!

please don't tag as f/o, this is for a (very gay and taken) fictive.

[huxleaf]

Don't u guys love it when u get so anxious about people thinking ur annoying n egoistical to the point you accidentally filter yourself 🙏

[crossbackpoke-check]

"This extra space next to me belongs to you. I know where I end now. I won't get lost." -- shoot me (metaphorically) and leave me for dead (metaphorically) why won't you. To make this about Dylan and maybe it's about Connor, maybe it's about Brinksy, maybe it's about any journeyman in the NHL. My brain screamed Chris Driedger and his memorable (to me) Players' Tribune article:

And how can you mention Dylan and Zach (Za-ach, the way Dylan says it) without me having a breakdown about them? You simply can't. And for the younger dudes, maybe it's a little Bords/Briss, not yet steady in The Show, a little bit of distance, a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately... and then a blurry insta story in Vegas. Just like old times but somewhere else. Maybe it's not the same bed, maybe it's not the same set of forks, but maybe it's the principle of the thing.

Anyway, goodbye. Sorry for this, your tag walls make me break out in imagined scenarios.

Much love. xxx

please never be sorry for sending me messages <3 i love reading them i love getting them i think they’re beautiful and i love them i’m!!!!! [🥹💕🦋🫧✨💘😭 <- the best approximation of what my heart is doing]

ok NOW i am taking this step by step because every narrative here kicked me straight in the knees (metaphorically) i am w e e p i n g (literally): i knew tangentially about chris driedger going to seattle but i had never read his players’ tribune love letter to seattle & all i can say is oh. oh. and with the part about trains delayed but still being right on time—

sometimes a dream is a truth your heart knows long before you do. the space that the city and the team made for him (“you’d be the only guy on the team”)🗣️🗣️🗣️ !!! but the way that chris talks about needing to put in the work & leo not letting him quit,,, that’s chris filling up the teakettle with twice as much water, crowding one side of the bed (falling asleep against a bus window dreaming), becoming unburdened by the idea of not being their guy, not having the fallback being their draft pick to content and settle himself with. that’s chris betting on a future. that’s the train coming down the tracks, right on time.

(i am feeling unhinged about it)

SECOND. i know i was the one that said zach and dylan to start so technically i brought this on myself but also i have been ktfo by the mere mention of the way that dylan says zach’s name different from everyone else, stealing an extra breath, stealing as much time as he can get with him, which reminded me of a poem i just read:

The Need Is So Great, Jim Moore

^^^dylan still in love with zach even as he’s leaving, can feel himself losing him, and taking every sliver of the love in his smile that he can get. even if he knows zach doesn’t still feel the same way he’s drawing out the long goodbye & saying i love you in a thousand ways without ever saying it out loud (“i have been asking for a time but in ways that have no words” because he doesn’t want to ask too much, to ask for love) in the hope that zach will say it back OKAY I’M LEAVING i can’t do this

that was a lie because THREE. “maybe it’s the principle of the thing” please insert the most ungodly screech how could you just (lovingly) come in straight with the steel chair and bean me upside the head with that l i n e i think this story has the potential for such tragedy in it but also the most tender domestic longing because bords & briss have known each other for a long time (i think) and guys do sometimes lose themselves when they first get to the nhl.

it’s a big scene, you’re with big name guys, you’re finally doing the thing you always dreamed about, you’re no longer necessarily the best because everyone’s the best, you’re not sure how you fit in, you can get lost in the glitz and the glamor of it but you can also literally get lost in it, the slog of the season and getting caught up and down between teams and leagues and endless airports and buses and travel and ice rinks, losing your phone (accidental) and having new people hound you for quotes and fame and connection so you lose your phone (on purpose) and i think where i’m trying to go is: this could play out as the tragedy of borde going to the california coastline and briss shipping off to the vegas strip and both of them getting a little lost.

maybe there’s someone else, maybe i am steadfastly not thinking about ��a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately” as either a summer of them pretending things are ok after a year of barely speaking and now being completely different people they never were before OR a summer of them trying to pretend like they can forget about each other because maybe they didn’t think their relationship was the same thing, is all, when they were or weren’t together. maybe it’s nobody’s fault but for the fact that they were scared and tired and lonely trying to make it in the big times and didn’t know how to show it. and then borde shows up with takeout and plastic forks in vegas and it’s december and nothing like winter in ann arbor and still they fill up all the empty spaces in each other with the things they didn’t know they’d miss until they were gone and this is the real thing, not whatever they were trying too hard to be, to recreate their own nostalgia for the love in their memories. it’s the principle of the thing, is all, to always be true to the love they have right now & not what they think it should be.

sorry that i wrote you kind of an essay of an answer but i had so so so many thoughts because your ask was so lovely so thank you for sending it to me (you are always welcome to!! i love your imagined scenarios!!! cannot even explain how much!!!) & thank you for taking the time to read my walls of tags :))) <3

[ritzsartblog]

I got jumpscared by that ajax picture you made!....and then i reblog it.

👉👈

Saucy Ajax is a truly irresistible horror, ain't he?

Thank you for reblogging though!! I spent a lot of time on that but I don't think too many people saw it (though I guess the episode also isn't even out yet lol), I did have an idea to do kind of a pin-up calendar for other characters too, but I suppose the fire to commit to the bit™ sort of died- the idea is still on the back burner though!

[streets-in-paradise]

Thanks 👍

Love for this movie makes me spot silly details during rewatches. While many focus on what it got wrong, I like to appreciate what is on spot and that time I found the one thing it got the most right.

Here is another example:

They allways place Odysseus near Ajax almost on purpose, because it totally emphasizes the height difference.

The most accurate thing in the film is the height difference between Ajax and Odysseus

[skelespidey]

when you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers!! 💕 (you honestly seem so cool dude :33)

UHH UH okay wait yellow bus by bc13, twist the knife by that handsome devil, get it up by msi, killing time by she wants revenge, and my girl by primer 55 :3 YOU SEEM COOLD AS WELL WIUHEHFG

[frozenambiguity]

captivemuses asked:

Though he wasn't in Mondstat at that very moment, Childe was still missing the thought of laying in his bed back home there with his husband to be right beside him. Falling asleep listening to the gentle, even sound of Kaeya's breathing as sleep takes the Captain as well for rest they both need. One arm was reached out in his sleep, as if reaching for the lover he so dearly missed. So even if he's very far away in Sumeru, perhaps some of Childe's feelings will be blown by the wind back to the knight who managed to capture his heart. He'll come back to you soon Kaeya, Ajax always does.

Treasured notes.

Come back soon. The wind can only do so much to suppress his longing.

[crayonssz]

not replying to someone for 10 minutes save me please not replying to someone for 10 mi