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My newborn (wip) Dottore segment wishes you a wonderful new year!! 🎉

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Henlo. I have a question.. but are you still active here first?

on and off yes! do let me know nonnie 💓

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mihoyo give me xiao before i

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Um if you're acceptiing requests can you do one where childe has to kill zhongli because of erosion but zhongli just wanted to love childe and live with him but since he's a god fate doesn't let him and some how childe ends up immortal and watches over zhongli's reincarnations but zhongli is oblivious to it. I known its cliche and lots of similar ones have been done but i'd like your take on it cause i really like you're writing style.

Warnings: slight nsfw, violence, angst

His chest is quivering underneath his muddy boot, rising and falling rapidly, his amber eyes shining bright like gold. The red details have melted off, his eyes are fluttering as the light slips away from his grasp. Childe’s hands firmly clasp on his hydro twin blades, shaking, eyes wet with tears and lips quivering with something that couldn’t stray further from excitement.

Zhongli doesn’t think of anything, not with the way his mind has drifted, he just feels the wild gush on his neck, pumping out blood like the springs of Mondstadt. He looks into Ajax’s blue eyes, and he has never seen them more horrible, darker and regretful. He raises his free hand, and it keeps faltering mid air, but he’s going to reach for him.

The stone spears stand proud around their bodies, buried deep into the ground that’s about to absorb him all the same. Childe’s grip on the daggers tighten, and he’s ready to strike that moving arm down– but in the pouring rain, he realises Zhongli’s mouth is moving, voiceless, because Childe knows damn well he cut through his vocal chords. He didn’t have to do it, but he didn’t want to hear him speak, least he would make him reconsider.

The daggers disperse and his knees hit the ground, his gloved hand finds his lover’s mouth and nose and clasps down hard. The gushing becomes stronger, it’s painting the soil into fertile red. “I’m sorry.” He cries, he does, but he hopes the rain is masking it. “I loved you.”

Zhongli’s eyes are wide and desperate as life slips away, and at least, he gets to hold Ajax’s other hand through it.

Ajax watches him struggle for air for ten last, pathetic, seconds. Then the amber glow dies out and it dawns on him that it’s over, that the person he cared for the most is nothing but a cold object ready to be absorbed by soil. He can’t find it in himself to sob and mourn, his hands just clasp desperately at his face as he slowly turns to earth, leaving nothing behind for him, nothing other than dirt. Childe swears he can feel the mourning songs of the earth, and in a moment of weakness, scoops up a fistful of the ashy soil and stuffs it in his pocket. Like a kid bringing home sand from the beach. “You know,” he whispers, chest aching as the knot grew bigger. “You always find a way to hurt me.”

And as it happens, Childe gets his punishment. The divine kind. He lets go of the name Ajax, entirely, because Ajax is what Zhongli called him, what he whispered when he was thirsty in the early hours of the morning and what he scowled out when he would over-boil his painstaking tea. Those memories didn’t deserve to be soiled.

The years pass, by decades, even, and Childe mournfully discovers that he is still the same, glossy skinned man that tore his lover apart, condemned to facing the very same looking person in the mirror every time he wakes up in the morning. The Fatui couldn’t explain it, and he sat through every experiment possible, because, well, he still felt the need to be punished for what he did. It was a cruel game the Gods were playing, and in his dreams, he strangled the God of time every night, extracting his revenge for making him live through eternity without the only man he had ever loved.

The first time he saw him again, it was at Wangshu Inn. He was a vibrant waiter, smiling politely and explaining every menu entry, describing the origin of every ingredient and giving out the story behind each dish. He still had his long hair, done up into a topknot, and Childe found that the new style suited him. Of course, he didn’t dare approach, for he knew that a single step could cause calamity again. Instead, he just watched from afar, made sure that he got back into his room safely every night.

The second time he saw him, much later, he was a courtesan. That one hurt the most. The City of Liyue sure suit him better than the countryside of the Wangshu Inn, and watching him from afar, lining his lips with red darker than the one around his eyes was one of his guilty pleasures. However, when night fell and he dressed into this tight black and gold dress, his mood would always turn sour. Zhongli looked breathtaking in it, high neck, short sleeves, pale skin. Long hair, still, so soft that Childe went to sleep dreaming of combing his hands through it. His lover entertained men, lots of them, rich and with an upper class quality, but that meant nothing when the ginger’s heart bled bitterness. This version of Zhongli had a dragon tattoo on his side, spreading up his ribs and ending near his shoulder, and somehow, it felt all the more ironic, thinking of the glory he once had.

One version of Zhongli he found in Snezhnaya, almost as if the Gods were obsessed with tormenting him. Eventually, Childe grew tired of the never-ending pain of watching Zhongli be happy around other people, being so close yet so out of reach, so he left Liyue and went back home. Blood-stained home, the grave of his siblings, family, and everyone he loved. The handful of ashes was still stored in a precious box, so in a way, everyone was there. Everyone left and he stayed back in the freezing cold, by the side of the Tsaritsa.

This Zhongli brought tears to his eyes.

A little kid, small, hair dark as the night, eyes gold and calm, scanning a booth full of Liyuen delicacies, coin purse clutched in his hands. He was well dressed, so Childe knew he wasn’t an orphan, most likely the kid of traveling merchants. It was the first time that he dared to approach him.

“Hello, young man.” Childe smiled, voice playful. “Not enough coins for dessert?”

Zhongli’s little brows furrowed and he emptied his coins into his hand, then held them out to him. With his heart beating in his throat, Childe knelt, gently accepting them and counting them. “You don’t speak Snezhnayan, do you?” The empty eyes told him everything he needed to know, and a snort came out. So, Zhongli couldn’t understand the concept of money, even after all that time. “I’ll buy you whatever you want and wait for your parents with you, okay?” He said, this time in the language that he knew to be Zhongli’s, and watched as his eyes blinked in confusion, as if hearing something this familiar for the first time in months. Maybe he was.

The last time he saw him was many centuries later. Buildings scraped the sky now and people were busy. Visions were a well guarded secret, and everyone ran back and forth on diesel cars, from job to job and rode flying birds to other nations.

Zhongli was a dancer. He dances ballet, the art of his home, the art of what used to be Snezhnaya. He is wearing a sleeveless turtleneck and tights, practicing in his living room that happens to be right across his, in one of those sky scrapers. His hair is pulled back and out of his face, his expression is neutral, one of firm discipline. Childe watches every night, tries to figure what his show is simply from his movements. He uses the internet and all that to find the theatre where he plays, and eventually, realises that Zhongli is somewhat of a rising star in the ballet scene.

So, he goes to the play and cries through it, because his Zhongli is so, so beautiful, under the dramatic lightning and the heavy makeup. Yes, time had done nothing but tear old wounds open, almost as deep as the one that used to gush from his lover’s neck.

And as fate worked things out, Childe found himself panting over him a few hours later, holding him close by the waist as they both came down, soiled with sweat and post coital bliss. He was smaller this time around, less buff, on the skinnier side, as many Snezhnayan dancers had been in the past. He found him just as pretty, even if his eyes didn’t glow anymore, and even if he didn’t remember who he used to be.

“Did you like it?”

Childe blinked out of his stupor, opening his vacant eyes to observe that face, still flustered with exertion, waiting for an answer to this dilemma. “Haven’t felt this good in years.” He supplied, pressing a kiss underneath Zhongli’s sharp jaw.

“I meant the show.” There was a breathless chuckle, a honey-like melody that caressed the ginger’s ears.

“You were amazing.” Childe laughs out, only slightly embarrassed about his mishap.

“So,” Zhongli sat up slowly, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and popping one between his lips. Childe didn’t like that this Zhongli was cutting his lifespan short with this, but he couldn’t deny how beautiful he was, smoking under the golden hues of his bedside lamp. “You don’t expect me to believe your name is Tartaglia?”

Childe is dumbfounded, and yeah, maybe Zhongli has a point. It does sound stupid. “It’s Ajax.” The name feels foreign, forgotten, even, a weird twist of his tongue against the top of his mouth.

“Ajax. I like that. Ajax.” Zhongli hummed, trying the name out and liking the way it rolled off his tongue. Without putting his cigarette out, he slowly laid against the ginger’s side, his head resting on top of his shoulder. He smoked in silence and Ajax caressed his hair, just the way he had always liked it.

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when the mutual is nice to you #romance #soulmate

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Zhongli and Childe have a sparring session in Snezhnaya, Zhongli feels incompetent without his gnosis and misses home. Childe likes kissing him and cooking for him.

“You wouldn’t be able to lie like this in Snezhnaya, you’d freeze to death. Liyue is pretty in its own ways.” Ajax had smiled, leaning over and half obscuring the sun that had been caressing Zhongli’s face for the past hour or so. The archon had only hummed, his eyes shut with the gentle tingle of the wind caressing his face.

And yet, what a fool Ajax had been. There he was, in the land of ice and death, neatly curled into a pile of snow, breathing shallowly as the cold crept under his skin and froze his wet hair into chunks of crystal. His gloved fingers searched aimlessly, digging through the blanket of death to finally make contact with the earth, just to feel its familiar grounding again, but to no avail.

If he closed his eyes, he could hear the songs of these strange lands, take in the scent of its rich cuisine. He wondered what that dessert Ajax had bought for him was. Caramel flavour, that’s all he remembered.

“Come on, you’re being dramatic. Up.”

Ajax’s playful voice rang along with the tunes and Zhongli felt good again. A bit disoriented, but not terrible. He sniffled once, twice, the rich scent of blood confusing his senses, between the hand that was pulling him up and between the invisible grip the ice had on his trembling body, he sat up, Ajax’ hand patting hard between his shoulder blades, just the perfect amount of thud to bring him round.

“I can’t continue.” Zhongli breathed, reaching somewhere behind his head, to touch where the source of the trickling warmth on his neck was.

“You’re wet like a cat in the rain.” The ginger pointed out with a laugh, half thrilled to have won their sparring session, half disappointed to see how fast his partner had worn out.

Zhongli stood up with a low groan, his knees trembling for a good second before he found his grounding and straightened up. “That hit was good.”

“It sent you flying across the field. Of course it was.” Ajax boasted with a booming laugh, and Zhongli found it in himself to smile as they walked back into town. “What do you want to eat? We bruised each other pretty good.”

“Something warm.” Zhongli grumbled, pulling his coat harder around his shoulders. “Maybe drink something as well.”

“Do you want warm wine?” Childe’s walking halted to a pause, arm linked with Zhongli’s at the elbow. The ex-archon observed the stall and contemplated for a second, wondering whether the grapes used in their blend were of high quality or gravitated closer to vinegar than red wine. In the end, he just nodded, deciding that the cold he was experiencing was worse than low quality beverages.

A moment later, with two cups in their hands, they started to walk again, Zhongli humming as warmth washed down his chest with each sip. “I miss eating adeptus’ temptation.”

“Huh? Want me to cook that?” Ajax hummed nonchalantly, looking around for the overpriced stall of imported goods. “The ingredients won’t be top quality, but I can.”

“No use being difficult right now.” Zhongli shrugged, tipping his head left and right, pleased to feel that the throbbing wound had already disappeared.

They pondered away at the quantity of shrimp meat that they would need, as well for the best matsutake that the vendor had to offer.

Then they started the long walk home for once more.

Moments of silence spread thick, and Zhongli’s mind was drifting to other places, amber eyes scanning the otherworldly scenery of Snezhnaya. “Without my gnosis, I’ve started feeling my age.”

“Ah, quiet. You’re still immortal.” Ajax rolled his eyes, snaking his arm around Zhongli’s waist now that they were in a less crowded area.

“The wound from the bark of the tree took too long to heal.” Zhongli pointed out, intertwining his fingers with the ginger’s on his side. “I apologise for the inadequate sparring sessions.”

“You’re still the only sparring partner that holds out for that long.” Ajax pointed out, his feet drawing to a pause again, in the middle of the snow. He held Zhongli’s cheeks in his leather gloves and kissed him gently, uncharacteristically so. Then, forehead to forehead, he spoke: “But if you need us to relocate to Liyue for a couple of months, you need to let me know.”

Zhongli sighed, his expression falling, eyes half lidded. He thought of Jueyun Karst and Mt. Aocang, eating dinner with the adepti in front of the lake, surrounded by clouds and younger spirits.

Then he thought of Ajax’s home, of the little ones, Tonia, Anthon and Teucer, the hours of story telling while Ajax baked for them, the warmth of the fireplace and the knitted gifts they gave to each other.

“Tonia would hate that.” Zhongli offered, a gentle smile on. Ajax laughed, a tad bit sad, but agreed. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Is that a contract, then?” The ginger supplied playfully, but Zhongli just shook his head.

“It’s a promise.”

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bad news: uni starts and i wanna kms

good news: i feel like writing tartali again

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library date with zhongchi

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that’s the best one @passion-00 👩🏻‍🦲

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masanori marrying my chongyun and @passion-00 ‘s xingqiu not clickbait

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in all levels except physical im in the zapolyarny palace making out with the tsaritsa rn

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hello would anyone like to help me with some genshin quests ;( im AR 50 in EU server and i am stuck on three world quests that i cant for the life of me finish

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erosion is a fancy way for the genshin writers to tell us zhongli and azhdaha have dementia

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If you're still accepting a prompt? Maybe a little drabble of Zhongli getting hurt after he protects Childe but since Zhongli is a prime adeptus, he heals quickly so he's not even fazed but Childe still panics and fusses over him, getting angry at Zhongli for taking the blow for him. Meanwhile, Zhongli is confused why Childe is so worried.

always accepting prompts anon!!

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The arrow is still deeply seethed within his gut, sending electric jolts down his spine, his body doused in the residue of Childe’s Obliteration, hair dripping wet and body paralysed for those few seconds that it takes for his geo energy to blast the measly elemental power away, the warm power of his stone resonating deep within his chest. He takes a deep breath and drives the end of his polearm to the ground for support, his eyes searching for Childe’s form in the crowded battleground where they had been ambushed by a gang of treasure hoarders. His eyes are wide as saucers when he sees a man closing into the Snezhnayan from behind, and he almost acts on instinct, kicking the end of his spear hard enough to send it flying right into the mortal’s head, a deadly shot that sent the lifeless body tumbling a few feet away.

“Behind you!” Childe screams from across the field, and before he has any time to react, Zhongli feels a cold blade press against his throat.

“Fatui bastard!” The treasure hoarder screams, pulling the ex Archon flash against his chest. “Take another step and I’m cutting him open.”

Childe is approaching, slowly, warily, hydro blades clutched on both hands. “You don’t want to do that.” There is the telltale laugh, verging on the thin line between consciousness and insanity. “You can choose a dignified death.”

Zhongli regards him with a level nod, his amber eyes observing ten, maybe twenty, thieves closing in on Ajax from behind.

“Don’t you move an inch, Mr. Zhongli. I’ll take care of this.”

Zhongli watches him reaching out for his mask, and a part of him promptly refuses to let him go for that trick. With all caution thrown to the wind, he elbows the thief in the gut and feels him double over. The knife slides across his neck and makes a gush so deep he can feel the blood raining down his clothes, but it’s alright, it’s collateral damage. Chidle’s eyes darken and a tidal wave starts forming beneath him, emerging into the size of a colossal sea creature crafted out of the finest hydro powers. Zhongli runs towards him before the wave can crash against them, just in time to spread his arms out and form a protective shield around them.

When Ajax opens his eyes again, he is certain that the mortals have been crushed like insects underneath the tidal waves. There is a quiet serenity within Zhongli’s shield, knowing that outside the golden aura lay massacre. He lets his daggers evaporate and kneels down, next to the panting adeptus to inspect the damage done. “Take a deep breath,” his tone is low, serious, and Zhongli seems nonchalant, even as Childe tears the arrow out of his stomach. His chest is fluttering like a fish’ out of the water, and Ajax can imagine his lungs pooling with blood from his gushing neck. He presses a hurried hand against the ugly cut, gripping with an aim, his own heart overwhelmed with worry. “You’re in shreds.” The Fatui whispers, an edge of fury tinting his voice. “I told you to stay still.”

“I didn’t-“ Zhongli coughs violently, because, adeptus or not, his neck was still gaping open. “Want you to use that.”

Ajax bites his lips and tips his head forward, trying to suppress a violent reaction and a cry of frustration. “We need to find a doctor.”

Zhongli shakes his head, his lover’s hand already doing enough to constrict the flow of blood. Childe observes the pale skin on the ex archon’s face, the contrast it creates against the crimson lining of his lashes and the vibrant amber of his eyes. “You don’t know how long you can last without your Gnosis.”

“I will be alright.” Zhongli insists, not wishing to grace the Bubu pharmacy with his presence under any circumstances, not with the suspicious owner and the little creature that could probably sense the sheer adeptal energy vibrating off him. When he looks up, he sees Childe’s furrowed brows and twitching mouth, the fury evident in his barely restrained expression.

“Sometimes you should learn to listen.” Ajax glowers, gripping his lover’s neck tighter than he intended, the jerking motion enough to pull him forward and make him wince over the friction the wound in his throat received. “I’m worried,” The ginger gasps out, his chest throbbing with a confusing feeling. A mixture of care, unmeasured care, and the need to smother Zhongli in his weakened state. His brain hurts with the clashing emotions and there is nothing more he wants than to shut it up, more than he wishes to twist that beautiful neck and hear it snap underneath his fingertips. Childe feels the panic flare from within, not understanding the sudden urge to sincerely hurt his lover, so he chooses to blame it on the turmoil and the grip of the Abyss on his conscious.

“You know it takes more than that to kill me.” Zhongli whispers, feeling the murderous aura radiating off the ticking bomb that the Snezhnayan was at the best of times. “It’s already healing.”

“It’s not a matter of knowing.” Childe has to bite his inner cheek until it bleeds. “It’s a matter of chance.” He slowly withdraws his hand, watches the cut disappear quickly from the God’s skin. He throws his head back with a laugh, his eyes half lidded. “Morax’s spears rained down from the sky and built the earth.” His voice was laced with irony and malice. “Morax is sustaining wounds for a mortal lover.” Childe spits, his hand grabbing a fistful of dark locks to bring Zhongli’s stoic face close to his. “Only I am allowed to kill you, you understand that?”

Zhongli’s expression softens into a gentle smile in spite of the awkward angle his head is bent in. He thought that through the jumbled words and emotions that the human had just slurred out in his post slaughtering bliss, he managed to find some sort of meaning. “It’s only human to worry, Ajax.”’

Childe grits his teeth at the unfiltered grief in his gut. Feeling somewhat more level-headed, he pulls on a pained smile. “Stop reminding me of my mortality.” And finally, Zhongli chuckles, his eyes closing easily. Ajax grabs the chance to kiss him and apologise, his stained gloves caressing the already faded wound on his adeptus lover’s neck in gratitude.

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happy monday

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what if zhongli giving his gnosis to the tsaritsa is actually part of his erosion and there isn’t actually any proper gain for him in the end

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Zhongli is prosecuted for giving his Gnosis to the Tsaritsa, leaving him and Childe no choice than to flee to Snezhnaya.

Basically, some thieves cut Zhongli’s hair and Childe slaughters them because he really liked his hair.

Childe’s warm hand had felt comforting on his waist, even if he was hidden in a cloak under the warm sun of Liyue, being sneaked out of his homeland like the fugitive that he had become, like the land below him had forgotten the gentle rumbling of his energy and the security of his spears. He had fought back the urge to cry, thousands of years of protecting his safe harbour pointing their treacherous fingers at him. Yet, unlike Azhdaha, there was no bitterness, no disgust towards his beloved humans that had so willingly shunned him after news of his contract with the Tsaritsa had surfaced. In fact, the adoring citizens of Liyue had issued a warrant for him, for the Archon’s head that had wished to sign with the Fatui and sell out their safety.

Zhongli did not wish for the dominion of his beliefs, nor for acceptance, because mortal life was too brief and brittle to understand the gamble of him keeping his Gnosis when he could feel the claws of erosion leeching into his sanity. To their eyes, he had been their loving and protective God, who couldn’t be wrong, who would continue to reign for the millennia to come. The rusty floorboards had creaked underneath his feet, and he had caught the last traces of his homeland’s sun before he had been ushered to the basement of the ship for the first few hours, until they had been a safe distance from Liyue.

The adepti had weeped for this outcome, yet he had begged them not to rain down their vengeance on the mortals, to be gentle and understanding. He had entrusted them with the continuous protection of their harbour.

And the next air he breathed was that of Snezhnaya, the first light he saw was cold and fragile. He had emerged from his murky cabin in the early morning and had approached the railing that separated them from the freezing ocean. The rippling wind whipped back the hood of the heavy coat Ajax had provided him with, and now his hair waved in the wind, his eyes staring emptily into the distance as his skin itched from the cold. The Tsaritsa had accepted him as a fugitive asking for protection, and now, as his hands gripped the railing, he realised he hadn’t been that far away from home since the Archon War.

He looked up, feeling the soft tears that clung to his eyelashes freezing over, the sun obscured by a thick layer of clouds. How he missed the gentle breeze already.

The same went for Snezhnaya itself, it was cold enough to make his breath catch in his throat and his lungs ache. Ajax had taken his scarf off and wrapped it around his neck at the sound of his laboured breathing, then adjusted it to make sure it was covering his mouth and nose. Zhongli’s eyes had been curious as to why the ginger had been so gentle the past couple days, even the snark and edge having left his voice. Perhaps he felt for him. At least the gaze of the locals was gentle and welcoming, for the most part, offering him local delicacies and flowers before he and Childe could even reach his home. The Harbinger had been welcomed back like a hero, with huge bouquets and a massive meal prepared by his family.

Zhongli had been catatonic, at best, but at least, he had found some comfort in talking to the children, who were, as always, excited and easily impressed by his stories of dragons and extinct creatures.

He had stayed indoors for the first couple of days, too reluctant to go exploring on these foreign lands, but eventually, his confidence started building up again, so he picked up the small bag of money that Childe left for him every morning. -Zhongli had given his allowance of the two previous days to the little kids, since he hadn’t gone outside and concepts such as saving were nonexistent in his brain-

The attire, that he was getting used to. He wasn’t a huge fan of wearing boots, but he could say their smooth leather sealed him from the snow pretty well, and that the heavy coat felt strangely comforting around his shoulders. More than once, he had overheard people calling him the golden devil, which he considered to be quite endearing in its own, clueless way.

He stepped by a merchant’s booth with imported stones, including what they described as Liyuen Cor Lapis and Noctilucous Jades. He leaned in a bit closer for observation, and the merchant seemed to shift uncomfortably, which pretty much told Zhongli that these were, in fact, fake. He straightened up again, unable to resist teasing the merchant. “Are these imported straight from the chasm?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes seemed to go wide, and he quickly tried to dodge the question. Thankfully, for him, a whistle tore through their ears and made the young foreigner turn, his eyes narrowed.

“Lovely accessory you have there, good sir.” A young man smiled, accompanied by three others. “Looks like the real thing too.” The Snezhnayan man caressed the piece of jewellery that held Zhongli’s hair into a neat ponytail in a leery way. The ex archon didn’t move, only observed with caution, his piercing gaze saying more than words ever could. “Say, you aren’t, by any chance, the Tsaritsa’s guest from Liyue harbour?”

The other men chuckled and Zhongli glanced at the merchant, who started packing up his items hurriedly, seemingly intimidated by the gang. “Why, yes, I am.” He said neutrally, his voice a notch lower than friendly.

“Huh, you have nerve, saying that so openly.” The Snezhnayan’s fist twisted around the half-golden ponytail and pulled Zhongli’s head back. “You owe us, since we so willingly welcomed you here.” The stranger smirked, reaching behind his back for a folded knife. “I’m sure we could sell Morax’s hair for quite a fortune.” Another yank to the head and Zhongli blinked apathetically. “Aren’t you fighting back?”

“I have no interest in fighting mortals.” Zhongli shrugged. “My hair is my hair. Three years to grow them back is like the blink of an eye to me.”

The man’s eyes flickered with fury at the stranger, and he brought that dagger into his coal hair, severing the strands roughly. Zhongli’s eyes stayed unmoving, hostile, hateful, in a way. The lump of hair fell into the snow unceremoniously, and one of the others scurried to grab it.

“Yo,”

Zhongli’s eyes flickered from the thief to the source of the familiar voice. Relief washed over him at the sight of ginger hair and ocean blue eyes, that slender figure hugged in his winter attire that Zhongli rarely saw him in. A primal sense of grounding gripped him, almost like the essence of his home, which he had eternally bound to Childe’s smiling face. Unorthodox, he knew, but he was like an oasis of familiarity that the weather hadn’t manage to freeze over yet.

“Where is your Snezhnayan upbringing, picking on the Tsaritsa’s guests?” Ajax sighed, walking leisurely towards Zhongli. “I have eyes and ears where my hands can’t reach, and right now, mr. Zhongli is under my supervision.” His hand found its familiar spot on the God’s waist, his eyes scanning for any traces of harm’s way on him. His hand reached the back of his head before his eyes did, and they narrowed dangerously. “Ah, is that what you were going for? It’s a shame.” Zhongli felt uncertainty creep up his spine at the shift in the Harbinger’s tone, still wishing for no harm towards the mortals.

“Ajax,”

“It’s a shame,” Childe continued, cracking his neck to the left, then to the right with a relieved smile. “Because I happened to love his hair, and I don’t take kindly to things being taken away from me.”

“Ajax, let’s go home.” Zhongli grabbed his wrist, the whole group of thieves frozen in fear at the sight of the Fatui.

“No, no. We can’t do that. When someone kisses you, they expect a kiss back, no?” Ajax stepped forward and stretched his arm out, his hydro dagger appearing into his hand. “You might not want to shift the tides here, mr. Zhongli, but these rascals are my own.”

“Run!” The leader of the thieves screamed, but they didn’t stand a chance. Childe threw the dagger first, hitting the middle one between his shoulder blades. Blood gushed out in waves and Ajax laughed joyfully, running to the gurgling body to pull his weapon out, then join it into a larger pole-arm. A jump and a couple of spins and heads went flying, legs were severed, and the snow was painted an abysmal red. Childe leaned his head back, feeling the wind swipe his hair back and freeze his smile in place. The weapons vaporised in his hands, and he slowly lowered his gaze to Zhongli, stood meekly by the scene of the slaughter. Childe wrestled the hair out of the dead man’s grip, for the sake of retreating the luxurious clip that his lover favoured since he first met him. “Measly thieves. Someone has to be the sacrificial lamb, the subject to teach the others a lesson,”

Zhongli’s eyes eased shut when Ajax closed in on his space, leaning close to his face and pushing the small accessory into his gloved hand. “I love you.” Ajax whispered, pressing a gentle kiss into the corner of Zhongli’s brow. “And I intend to keep you safe here.”

“They wouldn’t kill me, Ajax.” Zhongli sighed deeply, leaning into Childe’s neck. “They wouldn’t be able to.”

“No one will dare to try anymore.” The Harbinger’s hand nestled to the small of the ex archon’s back, pulling him close to his body. He started to caress the back of his head with his free hand, trying to feel the roughly cut strands through the fabric of his gloves. “I’m sorry they touched you.”

“You’re more sad about that than I am.” Zhongli smiled gently and pulled the Harbinger’s head down to press their foreheads together. “It will grow back in no time.”

“I’m a mortal like they are.” Ajax whispered sadly, his eyes easing shut. Zhongli pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips in response, trying to ease the pain in his lover’s voice.

“And I’m eroding, so let’s try to outlive each other.” Zhongli chuckled, making Childe squeeze him close, a neediness evident in his touch. “I want to live like mortals do, with you, Ajax. That’s why I’m here.”

“Please, don’t say such things to me.” The Harbinger breathed deeply, trying to choke down a few stray tears. “I promise I will make your stay worthwhile.”

“I know.” Zhongli kissed his jaw quickly. “You can start by taking me somewhere, I’m freezing.”

“Right.” Childe laughed, reaching out to grasp the ex archon’s hand and pull him away from the bloodied grounds. “I’m taking you for lunch. I will tell some underlings to clean up the mess.”

“You could had been more clean about it.”