#❝ ✧ ﹙ ᵈᶦˡᵘᶜ ʳᵃᵍⁿᵛᶦⁿᵈʳ‧ ﹚ ⋆ ⦙ it is a fire that consumes me‚ but I am that fire. ❞

[altarfates]

The hostile, gelid winds of snezhnaya were as belligerent as those in the midst of his smoldering ire. Unlike the convivial breeze drifting through the towering, verdant trees of mondstadt these were strange, ravening mouths. Recognizing him, an apoplectic apparition of blazing crimson and undulating black, as a trespasser to those desolate expanses of white, they besiege him. He is unperturbed by it, even as rime gathers at his lashes, restricting his vision, he trudges on, bracing against the vengeful, oppressive wind. Within that panorama of hibernal white Diluc’s perspective is a constricting, malevolent serpent, the pernicious echoes of his hatred tinging everything a gruesome sanguine. A solemn silence settles around him and with the practiced grace of a hunter tracking quarry he stills, the dark cloak fastened around his throat surges back and forth with the wind, billowing outwards, accentuating it. His penetrating gaze affixes to them, two inconspicuous silhouettes marching through the snow. Unlike him, they were acclimatized to these conditions, negotiating the glacial landscape is a skill indoctrinated into them from the time they could perceive the world around them. It had taken Diluc days to anticipate the cold smarting of ice as he laboriously dragged his boots through the snow, slightly longer to disregard it entirely. There was something about the incessant heart-beat of pain that augmented the fire within him, the thought of numbness partitioned from his other, more exigent thoughts and buried. His muscles keened, his eyes stung but all of his senses were sharp, fatigue and discomfort set only in the tense line of his jaw. It is only when they pass below him, their voices distant, swallowed by the wind, that he descends upon them. He is an incarnation of violence, a methodically devised approach at inflicting the most pain before the eclipsing darkness of death surged in. His claymore’s blade carves through sturdy leather and pelage intended to conserve warmth, the moribund gurgle of a mouth flooding with blood elicits a monstrous sense of gratification in him. Veering off the steep precipice into unconsciousness the fatui-subordinate, nondescript but abhorrent all the same, sinks to his knees. It takes exertion to wrench it from his contorted back, slick skin adhering to the blade, descending upon the snow like a death-knell his comrade, a coward, turns to flee. The precipitous act of desperately clambering through the snow, the loom of death casting long, preternatural shadows, forgoes all prior proficiency in navigating it. It’s auspicious for Diluc who, rising from the blood-soused snow, tracks him through the mantle of white. The unabating chorus of the delusion punctuates each laborious step, desiccated sticks and viridescent leaves cast into the fire of his incandescent rage, kindling for this single-minded purpose. There is no dignity for the fatui before him, writhing like a wounded rabbit caught in a snare, only the censorious gaze of fire boring into them as the weapon plummets down, down, down. The agonized screams grow quiet and for a long, stagnant moment there is nothing but the raucous beat of his heart and the acrid tang of death in the air. As if to offer him a reprieve or to compensate him for his tenuous grip on his lucidity the delusion’s whisper recedes into silence. In that moment there is only Diluc Ragnvindr an amorphous streak of crimson against white and the winds which shall never favour him. 

[altarfates]

Diluc listens to this rendition of past events and retains it for later, if their presence encroached too close to the city he would have to intervene. The tranquillity nurtured by mondstadt’s winds was not tenuous and yet, he was compelled to intercept any danger that lurked at their peripheries. It was as if this act of protecting was his expiation, owing it to someone else as much as doing it of his own volition. His hands are prudent as they peel back fabric slick with blood, disinfecting the wound and gingerly running a cloth over what remained. ❝ treasure hoarders did this ? ❞ the incredulous note to his voice remains apparent, not because he had determined their admittance deceitful but because tartaglia was a honed, lethal weapon and the prospect of novice treasure-hoarders ambushing them felt infeasible. He sets the cloth aside and withdraws a needle and a length of thread, his hands, which are now steeped in red, still manage to efficiently thread it. ❝ It’s deep but this should prevent it from getting infected.❞ His gaze ascends for a moment, taking in the other’s expression and giving a solemn duck of his head before he begins suturing the wound close. He’s attentive, listening closely to each sharp inhale, each shaky exhale. There’s the impression in their gaze that childe loathed moments like this, where they are vulnerable, showing the mortality which dwelled just beneath their confident facade. He pulls the wound closed, inspecting the final stitch before tying the thread off.

❝ How does that feel ? Can you move it ? ❞ Now he’s determining if their sustained injuries go further then the most prominent one, bruising, broken bones, rest is the verdict to bestow at least until dawn but he also isn’t in a position to tell a harbinger how to conduct themselves.

continued from [ here ] // @venstm

ㅤㅤyou're hurt , that almost makes them want to laugh - but instead they grin at him , head canting to the side as if to say ' really ? i hadn't noticed . ' they really shouldn't bite at the hand that helps them , but ... they had never been able to accept help easily .

ㅤㅤeven if they were the one seeking it out .

ㅤㅤthey allow him to lead them inside , most of their weight being leant against him as they walk . ❛❛ mhm , i might just need a bit of help . moving my arms right now .. hurts . ❜❜ dull eyes look up towards him , shakily exhaling at the feeling of his hand on theirs . they know they're shaking - and part of them hates it .

ㅤㅤhates showing weakness , that it hurts - they're a weapon it shouldn't hurt .

ㅤㅤ❛❛ ... treasure hunters got the jump on me , wasn't focused on my surroundings .. ❜❜ they were distracted by that familiar feeling of the abyss , it had probably been nothing but a mage and yet it had snatched their attention away and next thing they knew ..

ㅤㅤ❛❛ i was on the ground - don't think they realized who they were messing with so i managed to .. take 'em out , get away - just not unscathed . ❜❜

[altarfates]

Dark, ominous clouds enshroud Mondstadt, they lament as he has, burdened with the weight of a once immense flame as it fades. Distraught, his fingers are buried into his father’s hair, once a proud, undulating mane of crimson plastered to his pallid cheeks, sodden and lifeless. As he cradles his father’s head he’s attentive, not to the blood sousing his trousers, nor the torrent of rain that bears down upon him but to how his hands tremble, as if he might jostle him awake. It is the dissonance of his keening that is the most harrowing, a wounded, wretched sound. As if it were his skin lacerated and bleeding, his inert heart that was growing still. With his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, Diluc Ragnvindr is an inconsolable echo of the ebullient boy he once was. Everything around him is a dolorous grey, the outlines of the trees silent mourners. The life he had known was ravaged by the imminence of his father’s demise, of his inability to prevent it. Even as he senses others at his peripheries, a cacophony of voices closing in on him, he doesn’t raise his head in recognition and when hands that are not his reach for his father they’re met with the violent arch of Diluc’s hand fending them off. He sinks his hands into his wet, black coat and vehemently refuses to let go, as if he were reduced once more to a child, petulant and miserable. When he looks up, meeting Kaeya’s gaze across the desolate chasm between them, he is morose, rife with anguish. The two brothers meet at the diverging of two paths, revelations ice the blood in his veins, still, it seethes. Kaeya’s steady gaze is the blade by which he is impaled, withering to strange, tremulous diamonds as his brother is resurrected from the mire. Petrichor and iron pervade the charged distance between them, the sinuous, desiccated vines mourning the brothers as enmity burns and burns. Betrayal, it sets the raw kindling of agony into a fierce, ruinous flame. Dark sullied boots sink into the mud, his shoulder sags beneath the weight of his father’s claymore, lucidity seared away by ire he casts judgment over his brother’s sins, something more profound than he could understand in that moment. ❝Kaeya ! ..  you betrayed us. ❞ his guttural tirade eviscerates him long before the hungry, licking flames curl around his weapon. Unadulterated fear courts his brows, the limpid, benign blue of his eye becoming glacial, frantic. Diluc doesn’t give him time proper to stumble back, to create some distance between them, the incendiary assault streaks through the tenebrous night illuminating long, ravenous shadows. It’s only when the magnificent, devastating wings of fire descend upon his brother that his eyes widen and dread looms over his fury. For all the death he had endured was it not an abominable cruelty that Kaeya’s would come by his hand ? The hiss of vaporized droplets is silenced as the god’s take notice of his plight and the fire that threatened to devour him is vanquished by ice, it burgeons outwards, the melancholic sheet of rain suspended in hundreds of tiny, glistening droplets, as cold as the moribund last breath of their father. Across the insurmountable distance between them Diluc gazes long and hard, he doesn’t dare breach it, nor urgently rush over to tend to his brother’s wounds, he turns on the heel of his boot and stalks up the path ascending to the estate, hanging at his side his fists quiver, rage and terror coalescing into something sickening. He cannot look back but as he steps into the manor and adelinde stares at him with abject horror he mouths something silently, kaeya.. he’s hurt. the door swings open and then closed again with a thud of finality, still, he does not look back.

[altarfates]

" so ... you know , instead of threatening me everytime i enter the tavern . we could just have a fight and settle whatever this is like that . have a few rules in place , no one dies but you get to kick my ass and i get to have a bit of fun . it's a win win , right ? " @ diluc dsfkjla

Were it in fact an act of placation Diluc would have refused with the same vehemence he directed indiscriminately at all who ranked amongst the Fatui but there’s an audacious challenge laid before him and he bristles at the opportunity. As someone who favoured pretences of decorum  it was unusual for him to exhibit his animosity so openly. It wasn’t an act of benevolence that made him acknowledge it, as his eyes narrow upon the other’s blithe countenance he feels prickles of familiar ire prowling along the edges of his composure.

❝ losing would be a win for you ? ❞ he reiterates, peculiar as it was who was he to deny the harbinger their folly. He expels a breath before his decision is made. ❝ very well, I’ll accept your challenge.❞  there’s a distinct shift within him, as if the anticipation of it had fallen into place. ❝ Just know that when you lose I expect you to respect my decision to prohibit you from returning to angel’s share. ❞  hostility may not imbue his words but the intensity of his glare was penetrating.

[altarfates]

it was meant to be him. it should have been him. perhaps it had been an omen the moment his brother had wanted to come reconcile months ago -- the conversation awkward and uncomfortable but he could see that he was trying. its been weeks and he's only just really come to terms with it now , staring at the gravestone that sits beside master crepus . . father. the blunette's jaw is set , exhaustion setting in his bones as he knows he has to push on for everyone else.

put on a new mask and soldier on.

but all he wants to do is sit at his brothers grave and weep but he cannot even bring himself to cry as much as he might. he'd been brought up before being placed into the ragnvindr household's more than capable hands. he needed to be quiet and unseen to be what khaenri'ah needed him to be.

as the captain sinks to his knees it begins to drizzle. then grow harder with a low rumbling of thunder in the distance. of course. the heavens would once again mark a horrible day in his life with another storm. teeth grit as his forehead presses into the stone , fingers digging into the ground.

" you stupid idiot . . it should've been me. why'd you have to get in the way ? "

RIP DILUC ....

my muse has died. Send in your muse’s reaction. / accepting.

[altarfates]

they snicker, pressing yet another gentle kiss against his jawline before beginning to trail a few down his neck. they glance back up towards him, smirking right before they turn and dig their fangs into his neck in hopes to leave a mark that would last for quite a while . ( hi diluc your situationship likes to bite )

There was no need to disguise the way his breath hitched and yet he felt compelled to, Diluc whose decorum served as an impenetrable buffer between him and the rest of the world was allowing those meticulously woven strands to become loose.

it’s what guides him to incline his head to the side, permitting a pale column of throat for the harbinger to marr and if this is a display of vulnerability, trust or insanity he cannot say for certain. He’s done well until now to steady his erratic heart, to keep his pulse from rising to a cacophony, now, as those sharp canines sink into his skin it all ruptures at once. A hand is woven into their hair, fingers grasping firmly, it wasn’t punitive, no, was it encouragement ? It was such an obscene thing to consider but as his mind is effaced by the lance of pain that shoots up his spine he doesn’t manage to fully restrain a groan before his teeth sink ruthlessly into his bottom lip. He tastes blood, it’s good because he can ground himself there, experience the pain, acknowledge the pain but not permit his mind to get swept up in its surging current. ❝ Childe…❞ a breathless reprimand which holds no weight, loosening his grip but only slightly. ❝ Your teeth..❞ a reminder that Diluc still had to endure a diplomatic conference later in the day that the harbinger was also supposed to be in attendance for. ❝ Not where they will see it.❞ 

[altarfates]

forgive me .  i failed you . / from kaeya to diluc : ) : )

The slur of his words and the slump of his shoulders dispel the insouciance kaeya would usually employ, replacing the gallantry of a cavalry captain with something raw and excruciatingly sincere. Diluc’s gaze settles upon him and concern displaces any vestiges of exasperation that compelled his brows to furrow, his plaintive confession leaves his brother anchored to his task and the repetitive swipe of the cloth across glass does little to alleviate the disquiet he felt.

❝ Captain Kaeya.❞ he cannot trust his tone to remain unchanged by that ineffable sadness, by the way, if he paid close attention, he could envision kaeya far younger than he is now, shoulders trembling beneath the weight of the world. ❝ Drink this.❞ tentatively he sat the glass before him, the limpid water reflecting the misery in Kaeya’s gaze. ❝ ..There is nothing to forgive.❞ he retraces his steps and occupies himself with polishing another, already impeccably clean glass. ❝ Unless you intend to remain here, drowning your sorrows, then I shall consider it.❞ However transitory his glances are Diluc watches over him, reminiscent of their youths, intending to remain however long Kaeya needed him to, even if it were only ever at his peripheries. 

[altarfates]

shows what you know , doesn’t it ? (lyney to diluc!)

Once his animosity had become incendiary, compelling the fatui to answer his call to violence with their own. At that time he had been reduced to an incandescent blaze burning all who stood before him, he held no such delusion that humanity dwelled beneath their liveries. All that remained after the world was blighted with anguish and resentment were two opposing factions, Diluc and all who crossed him. He was different now, decorum sets his mouth in a tense line as Lyney informs him, rather derisively, that his purview was narrow, incomplete. It was less haunting when he determined they were enemies, not people, because whilst he could not recall their faces he remembered the blood, the gaping wounds, the moribund silence ushered in with death. To take a step back and view it retrospectively was to acknowledge that the destruction he wrought was irrevocable, the lives ruined or lost could never be reconciled. He meets the other’s stare and does not balk, the mirth that curled at the corners of his mouth wasn’t hostile but Diluc doesn’t mistake it for amiability. ❝ Acknowledging that I was ignorant or compelled by hatred doesn’t change what is done.❞ his cadence is even, an equanimity he conserves even when faced with such unspeakable truths. His concept of the fatui and the interwoven branches that constituted the organization as a whole were not entirely consistent. The fact was their malevolent deeds, when framed with these acts of compassion, shifted from black and white to a myriad of shades of gray. These children had been nurtured by the very adversaries he had sought to massacre, it was an indisputable fact.

❝ What is it you hope to achieve by making this known to me ? ❞ because there was an inkling that lyney was motivated by more than contempt, more than hatred and the reaction that flitted across his expression only solidified that for him. 

[altarfates]

are you saying i should be frightened ? - @/diluc :3

A pregnant silence lay between them, Diluc’s expression was a complicated rendering of the answer he was confronted with. He could not say for certain if he anticipated disquiet, it would have been justified, the clarity with which he remembers Kaeya’s terror is decisive, Diluc’s crime was unforgivable. As those dark, penetrating eyes meet his there’s no trace of loathing, nor dread, only the profound notion that childe had heard him and nothing had changed between them. this outcome wasn’t one he had foreseen.

❝ I don’t get to make that decision for you.❞ his tone is tempered to retain composure but he’s all too aware of how his expression betrays him. pinned beneath their gaze he felt vulnerable, enough so that he retreated, casting his gaze ahead of them rather than holding their’s. ❝ It doesn’t change the past.❞ the soft, unspoken thing that was conveyed as his gloved fingers shifted just close enough to rest between childe’s was that he hadn’t ever thought that answer possible. With only the undulating crimson of his hair to conceal him, his gratitude was almost as apparent as his soft, subtle smile. 

[altarfates]

[ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood ( for diluc also )

There’s morbid fascination in the way his eyes trace the way childe’s lips part, the way their teeth sink into soft, pliant skin, it doesn’t repress the slight furrow of his brow, the impression of a wince. It was a strange, intimate moment, and his breath is a tremulous traitor to any remaining decorum. It seems only fair then, doesn’t it ? that as their eyes flit up to him, silently appraising his marred expression, that he takes childe’s hand in his own, slowly bringing it up to his mouth and returns the gesture in kind. He does not confess to the simmering thrill that swathes it, nor does he miss the hitch in their breath as he pulls back, his teeth are tinted with a smear of red.

❝ I won’t be the only one marked.❞ his voice is soft, a seldom heard timbre, as if the rest of the world around them had grown still, quiet and each breath they shared was a euphony of hearts beating in tandem. ❝ that’s only fair, isn’t it. ❞

[altarfates]

the captain ensures not another soul is around. & only when satisfied that it is safe : he places his head on master diluc’s shoulder . ( my, almost reminiscent of the past. )

There are scarce opportunities where Diluc is allowed retrospect without it being blackened by his transgressions, at times it felt as if atonement was out of his reach, the ruin he had raised was irremissible. Then, there were vulnerable moments, where silence became tactile and Kaeya permitted him the reprieve of sharing in them. Is it that he does not want to be forgiven, that only when clutching regret and guilt can he allow himself to live. In moments of quiet rumination he’s lost within it, the vivid memories that emerge from the past casting their influence over his present and then he witnesses it, times like this. Kaeya is prudent, a cursory glance verifies that no one can witness them before his chin drops to Diluc’s shoulder. He doesn’t register his own tension, the rigid line of his shoulders, until a small, airy laugh leaves his brother’s lips calling him back from the steep precipice his own thoughts become.

❝ not comfortable ? ❞ his voice is reliable, decorum something he had harnessed as it became a requisite of his status, a tranquillity so unlike his once vehement rage. He cannot catch a proper glimpse of him but it evokes a memory of them far younger, Kaeya’s eyes fluttering closed as he listened attentively to something Diluc had said. he cannot recall what it was and for an inexplicable reason that hurts. ❝ The knights are working you too hard.❞ an incredulous breath, it’s impossible to discern if its an accusation or a question, his enmity remains unchanged. ❝ If this is where you choose to rest.❞ yet he does not refuse him, if anything, he takes meticulous care in allowing the stress to recede, offering him a more comfortable place to rest. He casts his gaze ahead of them and for a moment the past and the present coincide and the absence of pain is confounding. 

[altarfates]

they really should have just tried to make it back to the grand goth hotel, that would have been the better choice. their handlers were there - people who knew how to deal with them after a fight, how to bandage them up and make it known that they were safe and sound. but between the headache making everything spin , and the fact that they've already lost enough blood to soak through their jacket , sure it wasn't the worst state they had ever been in .. but still , they find theirself in front of his manor , eyes fixated on the door in front of them. slowly reaching out to knock against the door, taking a few steps back as they bring their hand back to press down against the wound on their side . the worst that could happen is he turns them away, right ? ( :). for diluc obvi )

It’s a gentle rap of knuckles against the door that forewarns of his arrival, before that the evening had unfolded like many before, whether dealing with documents regarding the winery or prowling the streets in vigilante justice Diluc was never quite at rest. It was a peculiar hour, where dusk had just begun to settle and the endless rows of vines were illuminated by striking orange and purple hues, their shadows long and starved. There’s something akin to foreboding that weighs upon his heart as he shakes his head at adelinde, her gaze alike his is fixed upon the origins of that resounding, yet quiet knock. What he hadn’t anticipated as leather clad fingers curled around the brass knob, inviting in both the brisk evening air and the scent of acrid blood, was the familiar visage of a fatui harbinger. His eyes narrow, suspicion coalesces with concern until the latter takes precedence. They were bleeding, the wound wasn’t shallow either.

❝ You’re hurt. ❞ he says, rather than interrogating childe as to the reasons they had chosen his residence to drag their beaten, bloodied body to he takes a cautious step forward, extending his arm for them to brace against, noting how unsteady they were on their feet. He casts a cursory glance over his shoulder ❝ Adelinde, get the medical supplies. I’m going to need them.❞ the concern drawing his brows to furrow and setting his mouth in a tense line doesn’t make it to his voice, commanding and with a perfunctory nod she leaves the room. He doesn’t ask them what happened, a penchant for battle smouldered in them so fiercely that it could have been anything, they were strong, Diluc knew this first-hand but that did not make them impervious. Gingerly he raises the other’s arm to his shoulder, sliding his beneath and using it to offer his stability to support them, each step forward is laborious, the sound of harsh breathing so close to his ear has Diluc vigilant. ❝ You need to let me look at it, can you take this off ? ❞ He preserves his composure by reciting the necessary steps in his mind, disinfecting the wound, how to secure the bandages without wrapping them too tightly. His hand rests atop childe’s for a moment, it was trembling, whether from the sharp lances of pain or adrenaline he couldn’t tell, when he met their gaze his is tender, full of an unadulterated concern. ❝ you’re going to be okay. ❞ with his tone firm reassurance sounded akin to an oath, his touch retreats only to begin meticulously peeling away layers of clothing steeped in blood, by the time he could inspect the wound the dining room held the pungent scent of iron. It would need to be stitched closed, he could determine that from a glance alone. As Adelinde proffers the medical kit he quietly thanks her, turning back to where he’s propped childe against the long, varnished table in the middle of the dining room. ❝ From the beginning - tell me what happened. ❞ somewhere else to cast their focus while he tended to the laceration, the skin jagged and inflamed, blood still trickling in thin rivulets across their abdomen. Diluc, whilst cleaning it, reserves enough of his awareness to respond concisely to each slurred or gasped word passed the harbinger’s lips. ❝ it’s going to hurt more when i’m closing it, breath evenly if you can. ❞ and Diluc, with the medical knowledge imparted to him during his knight-training, begins to suture the wound - it would be enough atleast until they could seek proper medical aid. 

[altarfates]

Whilst civility reigns over the bar’s atmosphere Diluc’s gaze verges upon withering, offering courtesy to the bar’s patrons was not extended so far as to grace the likes of the fatui. The hostility corralled within those narrowed, crimson eyes burns so fiercely that it emits the impression of heat, enough to deter any further provocations but he can already tell that they’re wholly unbothered by it. 

❝ stop talking and you’ll find you’ll finish your drink far sooner. ❞ his propriety is a brittle, tactile thing, it wouldn’t take much to see it leveled to reveal his animosity.  ❝ I will extend you the courtesy of that and that alone, don’t confuse it for kindness.❞ 

@venstm , liked for a starter !!

ㅤㅤ❛❛ aw come now , are you really going to kick me out ? and to think . i thought we would be able to get along master diluc . ❜❜ should they be playing games with someone who probably dislikes them ? probably not - but they had always been interested in paths that could lead to something interesting .

ㅤㅤ❛❛ i haven't even finished my drink , couldn't you at least allow that ? ❜❜