#(read 333 it's so good)

[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.

[sk-yay-sk]

I've gotta say I'm not a huge fan of putting Dragonese into the HTTYD movie franchise. The concept of a full-on dragon language they all share, that can just easily be translated into English, just really doesn't fit imo

I imagine they're a lot more like Orcas

There are universal ways to communicate with strangers of different species, like it's pretty easy to signal things like "i want to fight you" "i want you to leave" "it's dangerous here" "i'm in pain" etc. by just body language and vocalizations- but ways to communicate more complex ideas have to be developed and learned as unique dialects by different groups, especially flocks of dragons consisting of different species.

I imagine a terrible terror flock or a group of Speed Stingers have a lot of an easier time communicating with each other than a Thunderdrum and a whispering death do.

Dragons with their own dialects, cultures, and habits depending on location and group is really cool- I just don't think it should be a direct translation of how humans do these things, such as straight up language or mythologies or such.

[u3pxx]

my only criticism of your swap omens designs is that aziraphale lost his gay little bowtie 😔

[bad omens] that's a very good point, anon, but don't worry! a crow demon can have a minor outfit change every now and then! >:^P

[graementality]

My Soul design + a little biblically accurate Heart, as a treat

And a tiny Harmonia bcus I'm working on a cool HMSW piece rn and needed to work on his design!!

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

*sighs* precious baby version of night and his mentally drained brother/dad got me dropping everything for a quick doodle<333

au by @dreemurr-skelememer

[undistortedworld]

read @evilhasnever's wonderful meryao series last week and meryao has not left my mind since, i am obsessed with him!!!! the mental image of him peeking menacingly out of the bathtub is especially important to me sdnjhfshj

bonus lil sketch under the cut :3

[thenamessparkplug]

I CAN POST THIS NOW THAT IVE FINISHED THE GAME!!!!!

chat lookouts was SO GOOD i HIGHLY RECOMMEND

its about two trans gay outlaw furries i do not know what more you could want

[nyaskitten]

This is such an insanely good scene To Me and we genuinely do not talk about it as often as we should even though it makes me so autistic... So I'm just gonna analyze it, looking mainly at Ras' manipulation tactics.

First, you have Ras, pissed off in an alley, angrily complaining about his woes, when suddenly Beatrix approaches him with an offer. (This scene will later be paralleled in the finale, but Jordana takes the initial role of Ras, and Ras takes the role of both Beatrix and himself, the Approacherrr and the Manipulatorrr.)

Ras stops, because he hears Beatrix's footsteps before her shadow appears on-screen, and based on the lighting the shadows appear to be pretty long, this scene occurs either early in the morning or late in the afternoon. We're gonna go with early in the morning, as a reverse parallel to Jordana's scene, which is pretty late at night, so already you got an additional parallel.

Ras turns around to see Beatrix approach, he gets her name right the first time, but then proceeds to ask if she could be Zeatrix instead in a slightly fake tone. She reacts angrily, of course, and Ras feigns surprise at getting it wrong, and bows respectfully, as a means of apology. This was the immediate start to his manipulation, in "confusing" their names, he was feeding into Beatrix's anger, which he continues to do in this scene, and then later on with Jordana, both in the s1 finale and in season 2!

When Beatrix says she's interested in Ras' offer of unlimited power, he seems like he may be genuinely shocked at her willingness to join him, however given the tone he takes on, this may be another tactic to further play into her anger, asking her why she'd do it so she could explain, and just get even angrier.

When Beatrix vents about how Zeatrix's birth robbed her of elemental power and Levo's father, Ras says elemental power is a cheat, and someone who may not deserve it gets it anyway, this time wearing his manipulation on his face with a smirk, he Wants her angry, he wants her rage.

Ras then fakes a scoff and waves his hand around, asking a question he likely already knew the answer to, about Zeatrix being the future Empress of Imperium, and getting Beatrix even Madder as she explains she will be left with nothing, while Zeatrix gets everything.

Ras smirks yet again, and claims it to be a waste of her "true potential." Now, I have made a post about this specific line before (which I can no longer find) but basically, I think him putting emphasis on the "true potential" is Also meant ot anger her. Why?

Aside from real-world usage, in Ninjago, ones True Potential is, as we all know, them unlocking their element properly, so in saying it's a "waste of her True Potential," it's like Ras wants to rub in the fact that she lacks powers, that she can never Have that moment like her sister, where she finally figures out what holds her back, and unlocks her powers, because she's powerless.

Beatrix asks Ras to help her in seizing the throne, offering him the resources he needs to capture a Source Dragon, and in response, Ras bows to her, as he did earlier, and he goes "As you wish, Empress Beatrix," and he smiles yet again, he's succeeded, he's manipulated Beatrix, he's gotten her angry enough that she's willing to trust him, and murder her father to seize control.

Everything Ras did in this scene was to feed into her anger, hell, the way he glances at her at the end of the cold open, part of me thinks he Knew she was gonna follow, maybe he was anticipating it, hence, the glance. Ras was angry only until he needed to manipulate, in which case he became this instigating force, there to listen to Beatrix's rage, and make her even worse.

[losersimonriley]

At the tail end of a long, grueling mission that had them run around half of Eastern Europe, Laswell had given Ghost and Soap three days of leave before they'd be flying back home. She'd even booked them a hotel in a tiny spa town for two nights. Yet even though they arrived early in the day, Soap was still exhausted enough from the mission to just let Ghost handle the check in.

Something was off, though, when Ghost returned to him. He could tell by the square set of his shoulders and the slight frown on his brows. Even without his usual balaclava, his hood and face mask hid most of Ghost's expressions from inexperienced viewers.

"Good news: Laswell's paying for two dinners each at the in house restaurant. It's supposedly very good," Ghost reported.

"And the bad news?"

Ghost subtly shifted his weight. "Only had rooms with double beds left."

"You mind sharing?" Soap raised his eyebrows.

"Nah. Thought you might."

"Nah. Let's get up to our room then. I'm right knackered from the trip."

Ghost rolled his eyes at the phrasing, but didn't comment on it. When Soap punched his shoulder to signal go time, he obediently followed to the elevator.

As forewarned, the room only had one bed. But at least it was the softest, most cloud like bed Soap'd ever had the pleasure of sitting on. He wanted to immediately lie down and never get up. First things first, though.

"Mind if I take the first shower?"

Ghost shrugged. "Feel free. Thought I'd have a look around town. Find the spa. Try the public fountains. Look at the local attractions. Tourist shite."

"Have fun. I'll cover home base while you're out on recon, then."

Ghost huffed out a small laugh as he turned to leave the room.

Soap hopped into the shower for a quick wash, dried himself off with extremely fluffy towels and then got himself comfortable in the bed. He'd planned on a quick nap, but when he woke up again, it was because someone had chucked a paper bag at his head. It smelled deliciously like baked goods.

"Got you lunch, Sleeping Beauty."

"I'd be so mad at you for waking me like that," Soap said as he sat up and bit into the bun that'd smacked him in the ear. "If this weren't so good."

"Up for an afternoon trying all the healing springs? The park is twenty minutes from here and has at least ten different fountains with different properties. Maybe one can cure stupid."

"Maybe one can cure being a dick."

"You'll never know."

They spent the afternoon together trying the water from every single fountain in the park. It had clearly been built sometime in the nineteenth century, Soap pointed out, citing the architecture and decorations. The water was various kinds of salty. More than half the fountains were claimed to have uranium in the water, a fact that led both Ghost and Soap to come up with more and more outrageous movie mutations caused by too much of the spa water. Dinner at the hotel's restaurant was fantastic. The chef didn't skimp on the fat, nor on the herbs and spices.

Soap had almost forgotten about the bed in their room by the time they got ready for bed. "I can still sleep on the floor, LT."

"Why?"

"Dunno." Soap shrugged. "Thought it might be weird to you."

"'s not." Ghost took off his boots, stripped down to his undershirt and briefs before he slipped under the covers. "Fuck. 's like a cloud in here."

Quickly, before either of them could change their mine, Soap undressed and got into bed as well. His hammering heart forced him to keep a fair distance between himself and Ghost.

"Figured you'd be a cuddler," Ghost mused.

"That an offer?"

"Mh." Under the covers, Ghost reached out to pull Soap closer to him. "Don't mind if it's you."

Soap swallowed. He let himself be pulled against Ghost, head resting on a broad chest, hand over a heart that was beating it's staccato rhythm in tandem with Soap's own.

"G'night, Simon," Soap whispered, not trusting his mouth to say more.

"Night, Johnny."

When he woke up the next morning with his Johnny sprawled out on top of him, with his breath hot against his bare neck, Ghost was immensely glad he'd convinced the hotel clerk to give them a room with a double bed. Even if it was just for one more night, he'd treasure this closeness for the rest of his life.

This felt like getting tucked into a comfy warm hotel bed of my very own <3 I hope everyone else enjoys this cloud bed as much as I do god BLESS

[nullbutler]

@cosmiclion. Hiiii sets this down

[wingsofhcpe]

I'm kinda on the fence about Yennefer & Tissaia as a ship (I don't hate it but I feel way more drawn to the mother-daughter relationship established in s3) but I find it really cute and thematically fitting that their ship name, Yennaia, looks a lot like the greek feminine adjective for "brave".

(ofc in greek the ai-αί sound is more like "eh" and that in "Tissaia" it's something between that and "ay/ey" but visually it looks the exact same, so. Fun coincidence.)

[angryducktimemachine]

Might re-read Annihilation.

[fizzytoo]

harvestfest!

[lunarharp]

spontaneous drawing to a new hozier song ("too sweet") & things relating to new chapters <3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

this is so sugucoded i’m gonna be sick

[acaciapines]

rereading random bits of descendants of olympus (as one does) and. vera <3 still soooo obsessed with how she takes lupa's divinity. like MAN.......there is something to how shes had to scrape and claw her way into every single good thing shes ever had. that she's never just been able to KEEP these things, that she is always always always fighting for them. and so of course she takes divinity. she wants to LIVE. and in this world where the fates themselves are trying to control her, its like--yeah. maybe you do need a gods power to finally get like, at least a year of the life you want. the life you werent supposed to have. forever thinking about vera's one line in her chapter thats like 'of course the fates are losing power. because they'd never let someone like leo into my life.' YELLS. FOREVER.

also have we talked enough about minnie I THINK WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT MINNIE--