touchofdawn
touchofdawn
Diluc, of Mondstadt. Pleased to make your acquaintance.
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Kaeya and Diluc. Knights of Favonius
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Don't you dare die on me, stupid brother.
Diluc's near death experience.
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A starting point. How long the road stretched before him, the destination so distant that it fell beyond the edge of the horizon and into the breaking dawn. But, for now, just maybe, he could walk that long road with someone at his side.
Her kiss was warm and his chest grew heavy with longing for another and another and another, but he settled for holding her closer again, tucking his head into the corner of her neck and shoulder. He could not lose her, could never blame himself enough or punish himself enough, if she was hurt by him—or worse—but she would be her own defender now, as she was for all of Mondstadt.
As much as he disliked it, Jean was one of the few people he still trusted. If she said she would keep herself safe… then she would.
She pulled back to make a suggestion then, and he tilted his head in consideration, his brow furrowed in thought. An uninhabited place with high cliffs and monsters to fight would be ideal. The wolf could run free with minimal chance of casualties and there would be plenty of space for her to surveil him safely.
Except…
“That sounds ideal, but the storm barrier’s winds have kept everything out of Stormterror’s lair for years,” he replied. “Unless that changed while I was gone, it won’t be easy to get into Old Mondstadt. And even a wolf is a poor match for a dragon.”
He was hesitating. Jean could see the slight tremble in his lips, as the two sides of him seemed to have him in a tug-of-war. Yet he was stronger in will than she was (marginally, she’d wager) and refrained from succumbing to their more wanton desires, electing to deprive her of another kiss and hold her close instead.
Her head rested on his shoulders, eyes lulling shut and momentarily trying to imagine if this was what it would be like to wake up in his arms, to be tangled with him in rest. Despite it all, she still felt safer in his arms than anywhere else in the world. Despite his refusal to return her physical affections in the same way, he still held her close as she spilled her secret. And, in a way, it felt a little relieving to finally say it. Of course, she figured that he knew how she’d felt. Diluc was not an idiot; she’d spelled it out for years.
And yet, what somehow surprised her, was that he echoed her verbal sentiment. He had to gently chide her, of course, but the moment he said those words she felt her heart leap from her chest. He loved her. He loved her, and always had. She held onto him just a little tighter, as if he would push her away yet again if she even dared to lighten her grasp. “But… you are keeping control. It’s a starting point.”
She mirrored his slight movement, reaching up to tuck his own stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I know you don’t trust the beast that dwells within you. I would never put the responsibility of my safety on your shoulders. But I need you to trust me to keep myself safe.” She rocked up onto her toes to press a kiss to his forehead, an attempt to soothe him at least a little. “I will fight for our right to have a chance at a future together.”
She loosened her hold, just a little. The sun was now fully rising over the cliffside, painting the valleys in warm hues of gold and red. Dawn had broken, and the Werewolf and the Valkyrie were now a most unassuming pairing. “Perhaps, the next time you feel as though a transformation will happen… rather than go deep in the forest, where people are known to hunt, venture up to Old Mondstadt.” There were no people up there, and a slew of monster camps. It was something of a best-case scenario. “Fewer casualties, and yet plenty of opportunity to satiate the creature’s bloodlust. And the cliffs and ruins keep everything perfectly contained. And, of course, plenty of ruins for me to be able to perch on.”
#;threads#dawndelion ✨ {dandelicnfang}#(I realized that in this au he wasn't involved in the archon quest)#(bro has no idea that's even an option)#unleashedthread
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Pilot Diluc (and blushing Jean) commission for soichi on twitter.
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Of course. Water first. Though, it was clear from the start that it would be quite the chore.
Injured, exhausted, and beached as he was, Diluc was little help, but what strength he had he lent to assist. The wheel (as he learned it was called) kept sinking into the sand with the weight of the metal, and filling it with water and then with himself would only make it heavier. But they found that wetting and packing down the sand, as well as packing in some rocks and sticks, made the affair somewhat sturdier and, eventually, the bird got the cart to the water’s edge and filled what he could.
“It’ll have to do,” Diluc replied with a nod. He could hardly claim to be excited for the opportunity to be pushed around in a cart, but if the alternative was drying out on the beach or dying at the hands of those beasts in the water, he would take his chances with the weird bird and the cart.
… If he could get in.
He tried himself first, putting both arms into the cart and grunting as he heaved himself up, but the weight of his tail was too great out of the water and, when the bird offered to help, he could not reasonably decline. With a face as red as his tale, he replied, “... Alright. If you help lift my tail, I think I can do it.”
"Let me put some water in, first." Dragging the thing across the dry, soft sand was an awful task- eventually, Venti took to beating his wings to hurry it up. At least the waves and tide made it easier to get some water in the wheelbarrow without risking having to get into the surf- he wasn't sure how close to the shore those chasing after this mer creature would come, and he wasn't going to stick around and find out.
It was easier to wheel on the wet sand, with how much more packed down it was, and that was a small blessing. Venti wasn't sure how much water would be left in this thing by the time they were off the beach, but surely it would be better than none, right?
"It's the best I could do, I couldn't find anything bigger." He set it down on the back pegs, hesitating- it would be rude to just grab him to help pull him in, right?
"How do you want to do this?" He asked instead. "Do you... can I help? It'll probably be easier that way, right?"
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How strange it was to be discussing such matters as coming round for tea in a fortnight and how the grape harvest had been particularly large last year when not long ago he had been locked in an icy fortress, fighting for his life That he could return to such a brilliant life of ballrooms and pleasant conversation over biscuits went beyond comprehension. Every so often, he thought that he might awaken from the dream, blink and be returned to the iron bars and chains he thought had broken.
Yet, if it was a dream, he reasoned, Jean would certainly not be promised to another—and certainly not to a Snezhnayan. But if it was, instead, some nightmarish fright, then he would still prefer it to the life from which he had escaped.
He moved through the crowd, making polite conversation and accepting what were dozens of invitations for tea and visits and trips, until a pair of hands came up from behind and were placed over his eyes. With a soldier’s attention, he froze in place, but it was the soft gloves that kept his ready hands from reaching for his attacker.
“Jean.” He breathed out her name like a relief and pulled her gentle blindfold away as he turned to face her. “You might mind how you approach a man who has seen war,” he reminded. “But it is good you are here. I was beginning to believe you might not come.”
He offered her his arm and guided her to the side of the room as a few guests made to hurry past to join the dancing in the center of the ballroom floor. “Will you be dancing this evening?” he asked as they came to stand beside a table littered with little tea cakes. “Here. I asked Adelinde to make your favorites. If you do not try one, she’ll be quite disappointed. As will I.”
IN A PERFECT WORLD, Jean wouldn’t have let him cut short his return to her side. But then again, perhaps in a perfect world he would’ve been more inclined to stay beside it if she hadn’t been the bearer of bad news to begin with. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t trying to make this easier for him. By offering the olive branch of light hearted teasing only to be shot down at the final hurdle, as if they were still strangers. Yet in all this, still Diluc contradicts himself - in one breath he spurns her humour,, but in another urges familiarity. Why must it be one or the other? Why can’t he embrace both, or neither at all?
The question blisters on the tip of that decorous tongue, but like any good daughter of Mondstadt she has long since learnt her place. There’s no use in arguing with him, at least not today. Certainly not like this. Maybe it’s fortuitous indeed then that on swift wings an escape has been afforded to him, stealthy messages exchanged in the claws of a falcon with enough cryptic subterfuge even Jean can’t deny it carries an ominous weight.
Yet before that too can be uttered aloud, the red-haired nobleman has once again taken his leave, a clipped departure devoid of the warmth it ought to have carried to leave a dandelion wilting in his wake. Perhaps in time things will be easier. When the shadow of the war has stopped peering over his shoulder and normality, as tame and trite as it can be, is not just some phantasmic illusion destined to be snatched from his hands. Jean watches him leave with earnest concern, the familiar silhouette growing smaller and smaller until at last it vanishes completely.
❝Take care, Mr. Ragnvindr… ❞
—-
She doesn’t hear from again in the days that follow; no letters exchanged nor messages passed on, until at last that gilded envelope arrives with the Dawn Winery’s distinctive wax seal. It shouldn’t amuse her quite so much that despite Diluc’s protestations to the contrary, Adelinde has still managed to have her way and celebrate his return with the grandeur and enthusiasm befitting Mondstadt’s most cherished son.
Who wouldn’t want to celebrate the safe return of a man from the war? Particularly one whose business was part and parcel of the lifeblood of her fair city? It was an inevitability asmuch as it was a blessing, and maybe in it’s own insufferable way, it would be good for him to be reminded of just what he had spent the last few agonising years fighting to protect. To give meaning and perspective to the ghosts of whatever trauma he was shouldering alone.
Suffice to say, there isn’t a force on Teyvat that could keep Jean from attending that banquet. From the moment the invitation had graced her hands the cogs of careful thought had been whirring within that blonde crowned head, scrutinising every intricate detail of just what she would say and wear to make it a happy memory and not just another bittersweet burden to weigh him down.
In the end it’s a gown of mint green that swathes her figure, dainty embroidered dandelion seeds littering the entirety, as Jean makes a subtle arrival into the home that has long since mourned his absence. It’s good to see Diluc among the company of friends, even if only from a distance. Just like it had been good to hear the familiar lilt of his voice as he went through the motions with a welcome speech that harkened back to memories of those that had once been uttered by his late father.
For the longest while, despite her presence the eldest Gunnhildr takes great care not to disturb or distract him from his obligations, but when at last an opportune moment presents itself, even she can’t help herself from indulging in a taste of nostalgia. With the utmost stealth she tiptoes behind him, gloved hands rising to settle over his eyes as if this is a long forgotten game of hide and seek resurrected from the depths of their childhood.
Guess who.
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Diluc pushed himself up off his knees with a groan, holding a hand to his aching side that was soaked through with blood. He’d be lucky if he made it home without collapsing… If he got home at all.
Suddenly, the ground began to tremble underfoot and Diluc fell heavily against the side of a tree, grunting in pain as deep cracks carved their way through the small clearing. “Now what?”
All at once, the clearing was aglow with golden light as a man emerged from thin air. No… Not a man—a god. His eyes and even the tips of his hair glowed with power as he growled and embraced the fallen harbinger, holding him with all the tenderness of a lover.
Oh… shit.
So this was how he would die, Diluc thought. Destroyed by a god for killing his lover… Diluc liked to think he might have been able to put up a good fight in his defense, but he couldn’t deny that his fight with Tartaglia had taken a toll, and his beaten body could barely stand, let alone fight a god. He reached for his claymore once more, but his aching fingers, slippery with blood that might have as much belonged to himself as Tartaglia, could not lift it.
The god addressed him and Diluc struggled to his feet, using the tree for support with one hand. The ground trembled again, but he held fast, meeting the god’s gold-burning gaze with weary resolve through his messy red curtain of hair and blood.
“A letter,” he rasped, withdrawing the paper from his coat pocket. His voice scratched painfully as he coughed before he continued. “For his family. He asked that I deliver it to them… but it may be better coming from someone that didn’t kill him.” He held out the letter toward the god.
“… He fought well,” he added, glancing down at Tartaglia’s body that had been so carefully arranged with the god’s coat. …I guess I’ll be joining him soon… “He said someone would come for him, but I didn’t know what he meant before... So, tell me, what god pairs himself with a Harbinger?”
Zhongli knew.
It was sunny, in Liyue, with clouds only just rolling in from the Mondstadt, over Dragonspine's crest. The night would bring rain, and the sun would only just outlast the day. Those who looked to the stars and predicted the weather would say the festivities of the Lantern Rite would be spared from the overcast of a storm.
But they would be wrong.
The Consultant had been allowing the persistent ebb and pull of warning in the back of his mind to go unanswered. He and Ajax had discussed this, even quarreled over it in a mild way: Ajax thirsted for the test and danger of battle, and while his complaints at being suddenly shielded from a serious blow were endearing, Zhongli had respected his point and his wishes. He was not to 'spoil the fun', or intercede at every alarm of danger he felt pull at his aura.
Trusting in Ajax's abilities was not difficult, despite how often he would return, a fresh scar healing, or blood staining his cloth.
But this time-... it was the same, as it ever was. The warning, the pulse of danger. Steady, consistent, and then-... nothing. The tea cup rattled off the plate from Zhongli's hand and shattered on the stone. The feeling of tearing rent through the former archon's chest, striking him breathless. He staggered, fingers sinking hard enough into the wood of a nearby table to splinter the wood.
With a shimmer the Consultant vanished.
A storm split over Liyue's sky, clouds gathering, and racing across Mt. Tianheng, pulling down over the city like a curtain.
It had been centuries since the Lantern Rite had seen rain.
Into a forest clearing near Mondstadt Zhongli materialized, golden geo energy glittering and then dissipating from around his form. Golden eyes, aflame, searched, searing in their intensity. There was scarred earth, burned underbrush, signs of electric wounds cut into soil and-... Ajax.
Ajax. Soaked in blood, laying motionless, with what would seemed to be the one who had wrought his end standing over him still.
"What have you done?" Zhongli's voice was a low, baritone growl as he stepped closer, sparing only a harsh and scathing look before he circled around and knelt beside Ajax's body. The god drew the lifeless form of his mortal lover into his arms, heat rushing into amber eyes. Fingertips carded through soiled ginger hair, and framed a now-pale, freckled cheek.
How....? How could he have let this happen?
It was small comfort now, to assuage the howling, shrieking grief when Zhongli told himself I was honoring the wishes of the man I Ioved.
Honoring? When now he could honor no more than his memory?
Zhongli's teeth bared, the air around him seeming to darken and twist, the ground cracking beneath where he knelt. The life of any mortal was finite, bound to end in blood, capable of fading in what felt like a harrowing breath. But he might have stopped this. He might have saved him.
Zhongli wanted to roar. He wanted to scream. He wanted-... he wanted-..
Glowing, cor lapis eyes turned on the one who stood here still-.... the one who also was covered in the marks of battle, in blood, and who wreaked of ash and cinders.
"You have taken him from me, and though he might easily forgive a death of this nature, he and I are not alike. His siblings shall mourn after him; looking to his coming on the ship from Liyue and be met with the gravest of tidings." Zhongli shrugged free from his coat, wrapping it around the prone figure of his lover, and pillowing his head with it. Unfolding to his proper height, Zhongli blinked and a single track of tears coursed down sharp features - a contrast to the fierce light of his gaze.
Distant thunder, over Dragonspine, split and rumbled. The ground trembled.
"What were his last wishes?" The god breathed.
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Lakewater washed over him, pushing through his clothes that greedily drank in the dark chill, and pulled him down, dragging him far from their sinful thoughts.
Whatever—or whoever—had upturned their boat was the least of their problems. He kicked and moved his arm through the water toward the surface with little progress. His feet tangled in his cape as they touched the sand below and he kicked himself up to drink in a gasp of breath before his soaked clothing pulled him back down like a heavy weight.
Jean—! Where is she?
As he tore at his cape and coat, shoving at them and all their fastenings as quickly as he could with only one hand and limited air in his burning lungs, and he peered through the dark water for a glimpse of her.
There. Above and a bit further toward the shore, her feet kicked below the shadow of the boat, her dress rippling out around her. She was safe.
Finally freed from his extra layers, he kicked desperately against the bottom once more and pushed himself toward her. He broke the surface with a sharp inhale and tried to take hold of the boat beside her, struggling to keep a grip with only his one hand. “Jean–!” he coughed, quickly looking her over through the sheet of red hair plastered over his face. “Are you—" he coughed up water and wheezed another breath. "—alright?”
Could he see the flush of her cheeks in the pale moonlight? Could he feel her heart beating out of her chest as their tongues danced, their breaths shared in the heated air between them? She felt as though she was burning alive, but in the most incredible way that she welcomed with open arms. The way he was grinding against her made her feel feverish, how badly she wanted to tear down the physical barriers between their bodies…
Unless someone was looking down directly into the boat from the top of the city walls, there was no way anyone could see them canoodling in the boat. Maybe Jean could slip his clothes away just enough to allow them to join; perhaps they could throw caution to the howling winds and allow their passions to blaze. Their stations be damned, they were betrothed to one another. They had already pledged devotion to one another for the entirety of their lives. What was one night of risk?
His desire was whispered against her lips like a prayer, and yet in an instant he was tossed off of her. A wave, perhaps, crashed against the fishing boat and knocked him away. She reached for him, trying to cradle his head and feel for any welts from how hard he hit it, but with another sudden gust they were both thrown over the side, his voice echoing with her name just before she hit the water.
Fortunately, she was quick to push herself up off the floor of the lake; they must have drifted off towards the shore, not noticing due to their preoccupation with one another. Jean broke the surface with a gasp, and the gale that had targeted them seemed to dissipate. Holding onto the side of the now-empty boat as support, her gaze scanned the water. Diluc had been dressed to the nines in a heavy cape and suit. With his injury as it was, swimming would be even more taxing on him than normal. Archons above, where is he?!
“Diluc!” she called out to him, seeking his figure out from under her soaked flaxen hair. “Diluc, where are you?”
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You have to remember that I’ve been lonely for a long time. Loneliness is like ice. After you’ve been lonely long enough you don’t realize you’re cold, but you are … I don’t know, maybe at the center of me there’s some ice that never will melt, maybe it’s just been there too long. But you mustn’t worry. You didn’t put it there.
Larry McMurtry, from the novel The Last Picture Show
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you're my best friend
today, i overcame something i've feared for so long, and i couldn't have done it without my sibling. he means the world to me, and i wanted to portay that somehow.
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;; busy with thanksgiving travel preparations and the like, but replies for all my threads will be posted shortly after I return home ❤️✨🫶
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What wonderful temptations flooded his mind as their bodies entwined and lips pressed and hands wandered. He groaned against her lips that opened for him and rolled his hips against her where her skirt had been pushed up, hesitant to admit to himself what he imagined. Even without the power of his vision, his temperature seemed to climb and pulse rush, excited only more by the scandal of their forbidden touches.
If it were not for their status as nobility and the expectations placed upon them, he thought, he could devour her then and there, throw aside their bindings and simply love as any folk might, consequences be damned. He growled into their kiss, “If only we could—”
A sudden gust of wind rushed over him and the boat alike, shoving him off of Jean and against the side of the boat that rocked angrily against buffeting waves. He hit the side of the boat with a grunt and hurried to grasp the edge of the boat for balance. A storm? Had the lake not been smooth as glass before? Chilling water sprayed against his face as he glared up at the eye of a rapidly forming storm.
Regular storms don’t come so quickly.
“Jean—!” was all that he could cry out before the boat was shoved hard by the next wave and wind and he reached out his hand for hers as the boat flipped and they both were sent into the dark lake below.
The moment her legs were gently pushed apart, Jean’s breath hitched with the slightest moan. Diluc could have drank from her lips until she shadows nothing left to give and she would welcome it with open arms. Her hands cupped his face as they kissed, holding him close as her bodies began to entwine. The wind picked up a bit, ever so slightly blowing her lover’s luxurious mane, maybe it was even making the boat drift towards shore a bit more, but she could not be bothered about that now.
All that mattered was the man in her arms, between her legs, and within her heart. Though his own physical touches were limited by his amputation, she could have sworn that she could feel both arms wrapping around her. Her dress was beginning to hike up a bit over her thighs, and she softly cursed herself for not wearing some rather alluring undergarments to be on display for him.
She took a moment to catch her breath, a slight trail of saliva still keeping them connected, and the look in his eyes ensnared her heart. This was the man who was going to (hopefully) going to father her children. There was a chance that they would actually be able to grow old together, see his hair turn from fire to a snowy silver and hold her hand while their children grew up and had children of their own.
There was no one else that Jean could imagine living out her life with. There was no one else she could live alongside as a partner. Her heart was in his hand for as long as he desired to have it, and she would not have it any other way.
She returned his impassioned kiss with equal - if not greater - fervor. He was more intoxicating than any substance, made her heart beat faster than adrenaline could possibly trigger. His body fit so perfectly against hers in every way, very much two pieces of the same puzzle, complete with her topmost leg lifting slightly to welcome his knee and thigh to hook him against her. One hand drifted down from his face, along his neck, fingers dancing along the buttons of his dress shirt and tracing along the muscles of his chest.
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A fighter? That explained things, Diluc thought as they stepped forward and back and switched, Diluc taking the lead in their waltz. “It’s no criticism; merely an observation,” he added, although he sensed that the little blow had already been dealt to his partner’s pride.
Next time. There was that confidence again—so certain. As Diluc guided them into the next step and turn, he had to wonder whether it was skill and experience as a fighter that made him so confident or it was merely misplaced bravado. Diluc was more than familiar with the latter, showy would-be suitors that sought him out at every event.
The song had barely begun its final chords when the young man’s hand suddenly left his shoulder and took his chin in a remarkably forward move. Diluc stiffened on instinct, their dance paused as heat rose all the way to his wide eyes that were locked on his dance partner who looked back at him as if he was something to be devoured.
—Conquered.
His heart leapt into his throat and, for just a moment, he was caught between the instinct to fight or flee.
“Defeats the point of a masquerade, don’t you think?” he finally replied, tilting his head coyly to one side so that the lights glittered on the painted gold that decorated his mask. He looked daringly back into the young man’s eyes, accepting his unspoken challenge and issuing one of his own.
As the song ended and the dancers on the floor began to mill and shift, he placed a gloved hand around his partner’s wrist and guided that treacherous hand away from his chin. “The anonymity is half the fun. And leaving too early might insult our host,” he continued with a smirk, adjusting the glove on his hand. Then, he nodded his head toward one of the ballroom’s massive archways that led out to the gardens. “But the gardens are open, if you'd like to take a walk.”
He almost pales at that answer. Archons was it that obvious how bad he was? Yes he was taught to dance but that was it. Only a few lessons before this whole thing, he wasn’t really the favorite of many so a few lessons here and there, the less time the better. Only Capitone likes him he supposed, he was much more gentle than the rest. More kind to him… much like the one before him.
“Please is it that obvious? I’m a fighter, I only had a few dance lessons” he says while switching their hands. Diluc’s now on his hip as he placed his own on his shoulder. “By all means please take the lead” he sighs softly. “Maybe you can teach me more next time” he says meeting his gaze. Looking into those bright red eyes as he looks him over. He wants to know his name, to meet him again. He wants to see that pretty face fully in person and he knows he must be pretty under that mask just by how his voice sounded and how sharp that jaw was. He’s everything he wants to be.
“Employer sadly, though I wouldn’t mind sneaking out if you’d like? Maybe get to know one another a little better” he says as the hand on his shoulder soon caresses under his chin. Having him lean in a little closer so he can really look into those eyes before those ocean blues betrayed him and glanced to his lips. Hes perfect. “I really wanna see that pretty face of yours…” he mutters gently rubbing his jaw.
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| Starter for @galactia
The Harbinger clung to life far longer than Diluc expected. He was a resilient one and strong—possibly the strongest single opponent Diluc had ever faced, proved by the many injuries they each owned—but their long fight had to end eventually. What Diluc didn’t expect was to feel so bittersweet.
He knelt on aching knees beside the dying Tartaglia—Ajax, he said was his real name—and took the bloodstained letter and flickering Vision that was offered to him by a trembling hand. Perhaps he could have removed the blade of his claymore from where it was sunken into Ajax’s side and let him bleed out more quickly, but it seemed an unnecessary insult to cut short what limited time he had left on Teyvat.
They weren’t too different in age, he supposed. Two young men doing what they believed they must. Safety for Mondstadt and money for a struggling family in Snezhnaya (or so Ajax claimed). The area all around them was scorched and broken, steaming with the memory of their days-long duel, and Diluc was certain Tartaglia could have kept enthusiastically on for another week were it not for the ground giving out and shifting beneath him when it mattered most. He’d never met someone so excited or so quick to offer compliments and make small talk in a fight to the death.
A strange one, to be sure. All Harbingers were.
“Tell them…” Ajax choked, blood dripping down to his chin from a crooked, red smile. “…not to be sad. I’ll see them again…” He paused to wheeze, clutching at his broken chest with a pained expression.
“Easy. No need to push yourself,” Diluc replied, tucking the letter into his coat with care not to crinkle it. “I’ll deliver it to them.”
Ajax grinned again, but his eyes were focused somewhere far away as he went on, saying, “You really didn’t disappoint. I had my doubts…” He sighed and let his head fall back against the tree to which he was pinned. “It’s a shame I won’t get to train and challenge you again.”
Hmph. “Maybe in the next life.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
For a long time, Diluc stayed at his side, listening whenever Ajax had the strength to speak and sheltering them from the rain that had begun to lightly fall. More than once, Ajax mentioned someone else that might come, but, when Diluc pressed for details, Ajax hadn’t the breath or clarity of mind to expand and Diluc let it go. He draped his coat over Ajax when he began to shiver and complain of the cold, and tore at his shirt to staunch and patch his own bleeding wounds as the sun slowly rose over the rolling hills of Mondstadt, throwing a warm glow over their scarred battlefield.
Another hour passed and Ajax was cold and silent, his eyes gone dark, and his chest stopped straining for breath. Diluc finally pulled free his claymore and laid him down in the charred grass.
“May Her Majesty the Tsaritsa welcome you into her benevolent arms, and may you find peace beyond this world,” he whispered, taking his bloodstained coat and pulling it back onto his own drenched and aching body. “Or I suppose it would be more fitting to wish you may find eternal dueling partners.”
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Her falling feathers caught the breeze and landed upon his shoulders like gentle snow, and his eye drifted to the fluttering white shapes for the briefest moment. The wind pushed through the grass and the branches of the nearest trees with a soft rustling melody as the sun broke over the horizon to warm his tired husk.
It would be too selfish to kiss her, he thought, although their lips were barely a breath apart. How easy it would be, how satisfying, how his soul cried out for something so gentle and warm after so many years of cold desolation. If they kissed now, perhaps, when he was prepared for it, he might not be driven to nearly losing himself, as he had before. But he kept himself still, in the end, driving back the temptation in his mind as she rested her forehead against his, determined to wait a bit longer.
Small steps. Control. Keep a level head. Breathe.
If he truly cared for her, if he wanted any chance of a future with her, then he had to first ensure he would have a future at all.
When she spoke again, Jean was quiet, speaking her secret only so loud that he alone could hear it and ache. His chest tightened and his heart kicked against his ribs, demanding to be freed to leap into her arms, but the closest he could get was holding her close, wrapping his arms around her waist in kind and squeezing her tight.
“There will be no convincing you, will there?” he asked in a voice that was equal parts amused and defeated. “I don’t know why I expected anything else; you’ve always been too stubborn and selfless for your own good…”
He loosened his hold enough to pull back and look into her eyes. “I have to keep you safe, Jeanie, because… I love you, too. I always have.” He gently tucked some of her hair behind her ear and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. “... but I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, and his breath caught in his quiet frustration. “I barely have enough control for this.”
The sky was continuing to lighten, and much like the trees when autumn turned to winter, her feathers began to fall from her wings. Fortunately, the transformation in the mornings were far easier than the emergence of the wings in the evenings, and she would not have to mask the pain and weakness of that aspect of it.
Despite everything he had endured, or perhaps due to it, he had continued to show her such incredible kindness. He deemed himself a monster, but his touch against her feathers and skin alike could only be described as gentle. The idea that helping her preen would be a small light in his personal darkness warmed her breaking heart.
It was a little laughable, in a self-deprecating way; Diluc turned her affections away, citing that he would hurt her, seemingly blind to the fact that the mere act of pushing her away caused her far more pain than any physical harm he could unleash. And yet, it appeared that he also craved the softness she offered - holding her face so tenderly in his hand, as one simply would with a lover. Were they lovers? Was he merely trying to satiate her own selfish desires? What she would have given to alleviate the burden he carried, to wake up in the mornings wrapped up in his arm like a normal fucking couple, and-
The blinding light of the sun began to peek over the cliffs around them, though with her wings blocking the glow she was still allowed to keep her lovelorn gaze on him. Those beautiful garnet eyes, the light freckling that dotted his nose and cheeks, the Phoenix-red crimson hair that framed his face… Diluc had grown into an incredibly handsome man, and how she wished she could say, with confidence, that she was truly his.
The wind around them picked up as he held her by the chin, sending the feathers flurrying about them like a blizzard. And yet, the air between them was still; the eye of a metaphorical Hurricane. While she would have loved to follow his lead and grace his lips with a kiss, she recalled his reaction to such an instance the previous morning. Rather, she closed her eyes and leaned forward slightly, resting her forehead against his while her arms wrapped around his waist again.
She could not believe the words left her lips so easily, but in the softest of murmurs she found herself telling him what weighed in her heart for the last several years. “I love you, Diluc.”
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hoyo needs to quit starving me and let them interact and be silly again ITS BEEN LITERAL YEARS!!!!
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