#using ajax

[121231212i]

Ajax

[korrioak]

A couple achaeans

[vyyper]

beating the heatwaves with childe (fluff, wc 0.8k)

ajax overheats easily.

you've noticed, when he unbuttons some of his jacket or rolls up his sleeves, even when it's nice out. good weather to you and most others is too hot to him. you guess it has to do from growing up in snezhnaya; him being used to cruel winters makes inviting summers too intense in their warmth. he complains on and on, stopping at stalls to get cool drinks or frozen treats, buying matching fans to beat the heat, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as you take shelter from the sun under a canopy of trees.

in bitter winter, whisked away to his homeland as he drapes his coat over your shoulders and holds you close, sat on the porch of his childhood home as his siblings run in the snow. when the spring breeze hits your face, and you hold on to him to surpass the brief chill. he manages it just fine, but somehow with you it feels more pleasant. in the fall when the nights begin to get shorter, you're as bright as the remaining day, as hot as the sun. and now, even in the blazing heat, even when he's too hot, he needs you to warm that place in his chest, to feel the soft rush of being cherished.

if there's water nearby, he usually ends up dragging you to the beach, pulling you knee deep into the sea despite your complaints about being wet as you walk around after. but you're never serious, and he knows this— knows the way you always end up rolling up your pants, knows the way your lips curl into a faint smile, petals blossoming.

ajax knows you like he knows the back of his hand; he remembers the exact way you kiss all the freckles on it, with so much care as if you're mapping the stars themselves. he knows the exact way you'll laugh when he splashes at you, that you'll splash him back, the way you'll smile as you walk home while the sun sets, hand in hand. he'd rather admire you than the night sky, would rather bask in your warmth than the sun's.

he'd keep trying to feel your warmth even when it's too much.

"it's so hot," he whines, you locked against him as his face presses into your neck. you feel his words against your pulse, changing from the smile he had there not long ago. you roll your eyes at his whining, at how well his alias fits his attitude sometimes. this is of his own doing, after all.

"because you're holding me like you're clinging on for dear life during a heatwave," you murmur, and he shakes his head. “if you wanna cool down, move back a little.”

"ajax..." you begin, with that exasperated tone he's gotten from you multiple times today, like he usually does on days like these. you're not actually mad at him, he knows; your anger is a different blaze to him, a different kind of ache than the sickeningly sweet one he feels now.

"i am holding on for dear life!" he whines. "after all, how am i s'posed to go on if i can't have you in my arms? don't be ridiculous, sweetheart."

ajax will always listen to you, but this is one of those times he just can't. you might be warm, but he can't forsake that.

"whaat, what? am i in trouble?" he grins, and you scowl even further. his heart thuds a bit faster, choppy ocean waves. you're so cute, he thinks, and the thought only makes him grin wider, which in turn makes you frown deeper. he loves you, all of you, even when you frown, even when you're grumpy with him, even when your tone is stern.

"i want to go to bed, ajax. so move to cool down, or stay and stop complaining. let me sleep," you say, yawn punctuating the sentence. the same thudding of his heart again, same ocean waves. the sound makes him grin wider.

"you're so cute," he says, softly against your pulse.

it's thudding the way his is.

you pause, and he knows that you feel flustered. you pretend not to when you huff, but he felt the hesitation. “that's nice. now be quiet. i don't think you're gonna find how annoyed i'll be tomorrow if i don't get enough sleep very cute.”

"but you're wrong," his turn to huff this time. "you're always cute, don't you get it?"

"do you live to embarrass me?" you groan, squirming.

"perhaps," he laughs, adjusting you both as he retreats from your neck, your eyes meeting his. they're the ocean you waded in earlier, the clear and inviting summer sky. you could spend forever in them. "but you don't mind though, do you? you love me, after all. like i love you." ah. those last three words fall from his lips like a reverent prayer, one he recites daily, with determination to prove his words. he's got you there, disarming you in a way no other person is able to. he says this whenever he can. because he makes sure you hear just how much he admires you, and because he knows you'll always respond the same way.

"yeah, yeah. i love you too," you mumble, and kiss the top of his head.

your heartbeats slow as you drift off together, twin flames flickering steadily, softly.

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus: demanding Athena take off whatever enchantment she put on him the second the situation ends.

Odysseus: who constantly reminds Athena that he has great plans to grow old and die with his wife so don't even think about getting any ideas.

Odysseus: side eye diomedes who has started fucking glowing he has so many enchantments on him: bro you should talk to Athena about getting those removed. You're going to end up immortal or some shit

Diomedes: who has been a solider since he was 5 who has intersting thoughts about his own personhood who has a much more traditional relationship with Athena and would rather literally stab his own eye out with a rusted sword than speak out of turn: I don't know what you're talking about

[anonbinaryweirdo]

While it may seem a bit of an uncomfortable scent to have to constantly breathe in, the smell of the sweat that was faded into his clothes; and the smudges of dirt scattered about in his hair, matching how dirty his outfit already was; it wasn't exactly what one would describe as a pleasant scent . But it was fine. His gloves may be a little—just barely—damped in both water and blood; almost completely filthy and battered, but you wouldn't want anything more than the feel of it. To feel the quarter of that palm, of that very same glove against your skin, in your hair, squeezing you tightly.

"shhhh.." he pressed his chapped lips to the root of your nose, his heart only further breaking at the sound of your quiet, hardly concealed sob. Childe gently cupped your face in his hands, bringing your eyes to meet his own blue ones. His eyes, they never did carry a certain spark like any other, not since he saw the light of the outside world again after three months of blood and darkness.

But, you were always an exception. Just seeing you would bring an invisible shine to his eyes—one that no one could bring about.

His eyes were almost like an ocean; still, but only on the outside. Gaze into it, and you'd see the same thing as everyone else. They grew fierce during a fit of rage, like the waves of water flowing aggressively in a storm. You never knew what you were in for, just by staring into the surface. You never knew what was beneath it all.

But if you got the special chance of diving deeper into the hues of thick blue, if you get the chance of exploring the one place everyone else wouldn't dare tread into, you would see that it was full of life. It would consist of some dangers, of course, yes, but there was a sparkle that was shamelessly present, compared to what was shown outside.

and Childe believes, with a full heart, that he wouldn't even have one if not for you.

"I'm here now." he reminds you, trying to calm you with his voice and full promises. "and i'm not going anywhere. I promise."

You sniffle, looking up at your lover with wet, red eyes. you want to trust his words — and you do — it's just...

you needed to be sure.

You bring up a weak arm, battered in blood seeping through the ripped cloth, and hold out your pinkie. Your hand shakes. He knows what you're searching for and smiles.

He locks his pinkie with yours, and takes a deep breath.

“You make a pinky promise, you keep it all your life.

If I break this pinkie promise, you throw me on the ice.

The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend,

The frost will freeze my tongue off so I never lie again.”

He doesn't let go of your pinkie, even after the chant is over. Instead, he brings your locked fingers to his lips, and presses a tender kiss to your curled one. "Is that better? Do you believe me now?"

you nod.

You've always believed him. He's never failed to be there for you, to protect you when you needed protection. and he's proved that, time and time again. He's proved that today. When your life was flashing before your eyes, when all the fight had left your body and you were helpless and surrounded by foes—all you needed was to blink and suddenly the grass was red.

You don't know how he did it. How he knew you needed him.

But you were glad he knew. You don't know what you would've done without him there.

And he wouldn't know what to do if you weren't here.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Baizhu design :V ? For funsies totally not going to draw him or anything

had way too much fun with this one hahah

[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.

[m0rninglatte]

Art/animatic frame whip because I'm missing the lighting boi and the EOD polycule as a whole :"]

[discarded-replica]

Horrible news: I need to actually post about my favorite character in order to be recognized as his fan (feat his ugly fucking girlfriend and his girl friend

[ilions-end]

guys against thebes can be found in sizes large, medium and small

i.e. hippomedon and polynices play a game of polis while tydeus takes a nap (he's not allowed to play board games anymore after what happened last time)

[miraku39]

wow, the archer class really is made up of archers

[iamnaanda]

Rip Cochise, you would have loved One Direction

Rip Cowgirl, you would have loved Britney Spears' songs

Rip Fox, you would have loved Pokemon

Rip Cleon, you would have loved Hamilton

Rip Ajax, you would have loved to fight with random people on twitter

Rip Rembrandt, you would have loved Studio Ghibli movies.

Rip Swan, you would have hated Tik Tok

Rip Mercy, you would have loved the Barbie movie

[mawlaeina]

BIRTHDAYS | SAGAU Childe

🍊 content: SAGAU! Childe x Reader

✦ content w: none! it’s fluff sorta

July 20.

It was the day that you looked forward the most every year.

Back then, July 20 was just the same as any other day for you—maybe another boring day of school, another day of work, or maybe even a local holiday. Whatever it was, it bored you (—unless it’s also your birthdate, I’m sorry).

That was the case until he came out.

He piqued your interest, even his story quest made you invested in him—more than you expected. You wished on his banner, joking about how you’ll get him first pull.

Your jaw drops—you got him at first pull.

You stared at the screen in disbelief—eyes glued, and jaw parted in awe as Childe came home in all his ginger glory. Eventually, you farmed enough resources so that you could main him through and through.

Moving forward to the present, you see a few tiktoks showing that other users had little to no crit rate for their damage showcases. However, that wasn’t the case for you.

Childe would always crit when you used him, especially when you played co-op with friends. Oh, how you loved it. In a way, it made you feel a bit special—though you later thought that you were just being delusional.

Then the clock struck 12am, a quick notification coming from your calendar saying that it was now July 20. You got out of bed, excitedly making your way to the kitchen with a smile as you hold a few sheets of paper and a pen in hand.

You take out a small cake from the fridge—decorated with orange frosting and a blue narwhal shaped decoration sitting at the top.

Some oranges from the nearby fruit bowl for good luck and prosperity.

A bottle of vodka and a shotglass—because you think Childe likes alcohol like a typical russian.

The mini speaker from one of the shelves so that you could play ed sheeran songs.

And lastly, his newly posted birthday art that you printed in high resolution just a few moments ago after it was posted on Genshin’s socials.

Now everything was complete. You place everything into position, lights dimmed as you used candles—the scented ones that smelled like the ocean.

It was your 4th time celebrating his birthday now, and you did this little celebration annually since his release, as if it were some kind of ritual.

Sure, it wasn’t anything too fancy, like the ones you see on social media where they fill the table to the brim for Childe’s birthday. But you were doing this out of pure love for Childe.

You set the pen and papers aside as you began to sing him a happy birthday song. You laugh awkwardly since you celebrated alone, and it wasn’t even your birthday. This was why your friends called you delusional, but you didn’t mind it—not when it made you happy, and how it was a way you could express the love you have to offer for Childe.

Now midnight had long passed, and ed sheeran was playing over the speaker. The cake had been eaten in half, an orange 3/4th finished, and the vodka nearly half. You cursed yourself for continuing to take shots earlier despite having such low alcohol tolerance.

Yet that didn’t stop you from finishing the last act of celebrating Childe’s birthday—his birthday letter.

You sat at the counter, head rested on one of your hands as your elbow sat shakily on the counter. Your other hand was busy scribbling lazily on the paper—handwriting coming off as an imitation of cursive, but it was readable still.

There were about two or more letters that you had already finished, and now you were writing another one as Photograph began to play on the speaker.

You wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

Expressing your heart out in sweetness, bitterness, and affection, all directed towards Childe alone. You wrote about your days and experiences after the last celebration of his birthday—you were writing to him as if he were real.

You finished the last letter, ending it with your signature. You sighed before chuckling sadly, knowing that the letters won’t reach him—and if they do, you knew he might not acknowledge them.

You were lovesick for someone who wasn’t real, someone who doesn’t share the same skies as you do.

On the other hand, inside one of the homes of Snezhnaya. Childe is woken up on his birthday by Teucer, who shakes him in excitement, reminding him that it was his birthday today. Childe smiled at his younger brother, ruffling his hair as he says that he’ll come down in five minutes to celebrate his birthday with his family—he needed some sleep, he had just returned home after a fatui mission after all.

Teucer agrees and exits Childe’s room, and finally the ginger makes a move. He sits up and stretches lightly, ruffling his hair a bit as he lightly pinches the bridge of his nose. He makes it a mental note to keep the promise he made with Teucer to go ice fishing the other day.

He sighs before he glances at his pillow. He wonders if there would be letters today as well since it was his birthday.

Ever since he started to receive letters under his pillow from his 21st birthday (2021) from an unknown person, he began to receive them annually. The number of letters always gradually increasingly, and always coming from the same person.

He remembered that he tried to track the sender of the letter down, only to come to a dead end every time. Eventually, he just found himself looking forward to receiving them, ocassionally reading them from time to time during his breaks.

Maybe it came from you? The one from across the screen?

He sees you, yet he can’t seem to communicate with you. He hears you as well, and he can’t help but recall the sounds you make when you have your little victories with him after boss fights.

He initially gave it some thought, and later came to a conclusion that maybe it did come from you—since you rarely ever come online when it’s his birthday, but when you do it’s usually at the last remaining hours of the day.

He slides a hand under the pillow, almost immediately feeling what seemed to be like three or five sets of letters. He chuckled quietly to himself as he took them out, revealing an actual number of 6 letters.

He reads them one by one, laughing a bit every now and then from the jokes you made, confused at some of the ‘references’ that you made—who was ed sheeran?

Then, there’s the part where you wrote down about how you felt towards him. His smiles fade into a poker face as he reads them with an unreadable expression—he’s unsure of what he’s supposed to feel.

He doesn’t think that he shares the same feelings that you had for him, at least, that’s what he believes. All that he knows is that you’re worlds different from him—existentially speaking. So, he’s never thought about it in the first place.

He’s thought of you as a comrade more than anything else.

Yet the letters he receives from you never fails to include such feelings—the same love and affection directed towards him, all written differently over the years.

“Ajax!” He heard his mother call him from downstairs, it seemed like they were growing a bit impatient. He looked at the clock on the wall, finally realizing it had been more than 5 minutes as he’d been busy reading your letters.

“Coming!” He responds plainly before he lets out a small yawn.

He stands up from the bed and leaves it in its messy glory as he approached a wooden box that sat idly on the nearby shelf.

He opens the box, revealing all the other letters that he received from you since his 21st birthday. He stores the newly received letters on top of the others, stacking them neatly so that it doesn’t look as messy as his bed.

There were now 15 letters in the box, and in his mind he was still counting.

He closes the lid as he took out a shirt from the closet, putting it on before he exits his room.

He somehow feels guilty, or rather he feels weirdly uneasy that he can’t return the favor nor your feelings. He silently hopes that you’d grow out of it, that it’ll pass in the end.

Yet a part of him also doesn’t want that to happen. He’s somehow conflicted.

He temporarily pauses in front of the window across his bedroom door. He looks up at the sky, fully knowing that celestia isn’t quite real—that it only existed in this confined world that he was living in.

He wished maybe the skies that you had in yours were brighter, fresher (and doesn’t lag).

Childe proceeded to walk away from the window and towards the stairs. A little smile plastered on his face as he comes down to greet his large family. He opens his arms as they swarm him with a loving hug.

He began to think.

Maybe it would be nice if you were here too.

✦ “delusional” oh you mean mentally unstable ^v^?

✦ childe it’s fine if you don’t love me back, i have enough love for the both of us TwT <3

✦ is it obvious that he’s my comfort character? what an odd guy, idk how he became my comfort character (i love him)

✦ he’s ed sheeran of Snezhnaya, change my mind

✦ i’m too emotionally invested in him, help

✦ btw that little ritual is personal experience, i do it every year for him and i’ll do it this year too :)

[cruel-hiraeth]

12/09/23

if i could i’d kiss your lips so hard your entire face would bruise write your name in blood on every wall, it would make the evening news i’d chain our feet together so that you could never leave i’d make you love me so much you’d have to ask permission to breathe

thank you to my dearly beloved manu @resibonin for this beautiful gift that i’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to share ❤️ i’m always in awe of both your talent and your kindness, and your friendship means the universe to me!

[bcb-brian-camryn]

Aias [Telamonian]: "You think you can take on Patroklos?"

Akhilleus: "Do I think I can take on Patroklos? I mean yeah, he's not that big." 😇

Aias [Telamonian]: "No, cousin, I meant at a Pankration." 🤨

Achilles: "Oh, that's a no then, he'd probably strangle me with his thighs until I pass out... Actually, on second thought I might just challenge him-" 😈

Aias [Telamonian]: "Achilles no-"

[ataraxixx]

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh