I do still play but not very often so i might not be super up to date on quests involving lore
i have a top 3% diluc
I’m a fanfiction writer, my acc should be linked. this blog is purely diluc focused but might reference characters from other fandoms or discuss his relationship with other characters. But it’ll always be diluc centric, diluc whump.
WARNING: this is whump, it’s sad.
Also, I sometimes post diluc agere. don’t like, don’t read. just block the tag #diluc agere, and you won’t see it. it’s sfw angsty agere, but i’m sure it makes some ppl uncomfortable.
No DNI - i regulate my own content ❤️
my tag:
#CHVR chats - for anything that isn’t diluc related (rare)
please interact! i love requests, i basically do everything creative and im always happy to make things for my beloved diluc. send comments, send asks, i dont mind!
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Uhhh could u write a diluc sickfic? You can make him suffer as much as you want. Make. It. HURT.
Uhhh pretty please with a cherry in top, thank you!!
I do have a sickfic WIP, but it's not angsty enough.
Diluc wakes up cold.
No - shivering.
Diluc wakes up shivering, curling over himself to conserve warmth. His hair sticks to his forehead, tears pricking at his eyes from the sheer pain of it all, and for a moment, he can't remember where he is.
;-;-;-;
His nose stings with the cold. Diluc's eyes ache, raw from the constant battering of the icy wind. His skin burns with the cold. Trudging forward, one foot after the other, he realises something:
Diluc isn't going to get out of this alive. He can't feel his toes, his joints ache, and his eyes can barely open.
But when he raises his jaw, and looks to the smoky horizon, a never-ending canyon of smoke and ice, he's so scared he forgets his fate. It hardly matters where he ends up, because the fate that awaits him if he slows by even a millisecond is so, so much worse than death. If pure, unadulterated terror is the only thing keeping him going, the only thing protecting him from Dottore's clutches, then Diluc will cherish it like the fucking gift it is.
;-;-;-;
The only reason Diluc doesn't completely fall victim to the sufferings of his illness and hallucinations; is the warmth. There's currently a hot pile of embers burning in his skull, which, while incredibly painful, serves as an exemplary reminder that he isn't back in Sneznaya.
Not yet, his mind thankfully reminds him. Dottore will come back for you any day now. It whispers the truth like a soothing melody, salt on a wound.
Diluc tries to remind himself that he's not in Snezhaya. He repeats it like a prayer, even as the panic curls in the back of his mind, turning thick and poisonous.
He forces his throbbing body from the bed, and nearly whines at the pain of it all. He doesn't mean to, doesn't mean to be a baby, but it's just so cold, and he was so warm, and everything hurts and he feels too small for all of it. His wrists curl in, arms tucked into his sides as Diluc childishly scrunches his body against the floor. The foetal position is supposedly soothing, but the floorboards' chill brings nothing but pain. Everything hurts. The young master doesn't understand why or how his body could betray him so horrifically (even if everything else had, Diluc thought there was something he could trust). His brain is mush and the little urge to cry is so strong that, just for a moment, Diluc gives in to the weakness and lets himself sob for just a second.
Predictably, it serves to make the situation significantly worse. Now that he's started, he can't stop, and now Diluc is lying on the floor, curled in the foetal position, sobbing endlessly while snot drips from his nose.
He feels so small, or maybe he's alone, but it really doesn't matter if someone finds him anymore. They'll take one look at his disgusting form and leave. For that reason, Diluc screams louder. He wails, body shaking from the force of his cries. His throat hurts. His eyes are stuffy from the tears, and it stings to open them. Scrubbing a closed fist at his puffy face, Diluc blearily opens his eyes once more.
He half-expects to see the wintry landscape of his once-prison. While a pleasant surprise to see anything else, Diluc does find himself confused by the sight that greets him.
The wood is soft, the faded beige of sandpaper bark - ornate furniture so dissimilar from his memories he can hardly process it. His head is pulsing. Archons, his head is tremoring a frequency separate from the rest of his body, vibrating in rebellious discord. He's tempted to blame the strangeness of his surroundings on the pounding of his head, but he knows better than to ever assume the best of a scenario.
Diluc reaches for his claymore. His hand catches on air, and his stupid, disobedient body loses its balance, sending him tumbling to the floor. He feels a sharp spark of panic that's quickly buried under the numbing chill of the air around him. Or maybe the cold is his? As a pyro user, he's used to having a high temperature - but maybe the warmth is coming from outside, combatting the endless wintry landscape inside his chest.
He can hear a voice whispering behind him but despite the pain, he can't find it in himself to feel that usual spark of terror. Somehow, it almost feels safe. His nose is still clogged, his eyes still blurry, yet his shoulders lower slightly, just enough to reveal his soothed demeanour.
There's a weight on his arm that wasn't there before. Something is touching him. Diluc flinches, startles, but the warmth doesn't leave. A whimper catches in his throat. Whispering, the same as before, but louder now.
It catches his attention.
The crooning, of a heavy, calm voice. It reminds Diluc of a thick duvet. Not saying anything, not demanding anything of him (and isn't that such a contrast from his everyday), it practically caresses him.
The voice picks up. Tuning into a frequency that matches the ever-present burning fire in Diluc's head, Diluc can finally catch the whispers that have since turned into words.
Someone - Diluc feels like he should know the name - murmurs, "Diluc?". Diluc wants to ask, still unsure of the location, still scared as to why he feels so safe, but the anxiety has drained the energy from his body, sucking it into the air like a sponge to water. He hums. "Are you back with me yet?" He feels present - at least, more present, so he nods in assent. "Do you remember who I am?" the voice asks. Diluc pauses. He doesn't want to admit to the failure, doesn't want to lie and be caught. The voice fills the silence for him. "That's okay. Do you remember who I am if I say I'm Zhongli?" Diluc feels a spark in the back of his mind, the nerve finally igniting.
Something else in his mind settles. He can barely remember anything, his head is still pounding, his nerves still aching like an unkept fire, but Zhongli will handle it. He can't quite put his finger on why, not just yet, but Zhongli is his safety net. He's safe now.
----
ok so this took me like three hours, barely proofread because i still don't have a beta reader and I'm tired. Ik it took a while for such a short fic but i swear, this was a BATTLE to write.
alpha diluc that craves pack so badly, but holds himself back. alpha diluc that doesn’t feel strong, isn’t a protector, feels like nothing more than a useless pup :(
Diluc is stronger than that. His resilience was not formed by choice, but it was formed nonetheless. He doesn't need to have felt a warm, loving touch to know that such coddling would only make him weak. And as a Ragnvindr alpha, he has no place for weakness in his body. The pathetic whimpers bled out of him years ago, carried out in his blood, sweat and tears. It hurt at the time, sure, but his training has made him strong.
Diluc may be strong, but he is still packless and cold. Always alone, the sickly, weakling alpha.
let's say it's time to torture Diluc a bit. gently.
Diluc falls asleep and wakes up to the sunrise. he stands up, stretches, his morning routine is slightly shifted from the usual one as his home welcomed long forgotten visitor and Diluc can sense the house feeling more welcoming, friendly, less hostile to him. even lights seem to shine brighter.
he walks down the corridor, takes a sharp turn to the left and lingers on the threshold, stricken with doubt and awkwardness of having something familiar so close yet being unused to it as time has passed without it anyway.
he pushes the door.
his mind instantly freezes. fear grips him tight, but Diluc can't understand why. he sees the window, the... oh, Kaeya, right. he was injured near the Stone Gates, barely gotten to the Winery in time. they patched him up and left foe the night.
Diluc walks up to him and something strikes him wrong. it's lightning on Kaeya's face oe the way he lies? what's wrong exac—
Kaeya is not breathing.
Diluc feels his heart skip a beat and then hammer like horse's gallop. he rushes to lean closer, checks the pulse, and realises, with sinking horror, that Kaeya's skin is cold.
Kaeya's dead.
just like that. left unattended, died in his sleep, his heart simply stopped beating, slowing its rhythm and eventually dying out.
Diluc's hands shake.
he wakes up with a start. his eyes see the ceiling of his room. it's night. his heart stammers and curses, images are still way too fresh in his head. Diluc recalls the previous day and almost immediately rushes into the room where Kaeya's staying.
he bursts into the room, and there's a glimmer of black on the floor and the sheets, and Diluc tumbles and almost slips on it, his fingers reaching for the pulse on Kaeya's neck. it's almost pitch black, lonely moon ray falls exactly in the gap between the curtains and the window frame.
there's no pulse.
Diluc realises all the liquid on the floor is blood.
bile rises up his throat and—
he wakes up. his head feels like he was hammered into the wall for hours straight, his muscles sure and tight. Sun shines into the room with blinding rage. Diluc turns on his side and falls from the bed, shaking. he barely gets up to the feet before he sees that Kaeya come to his room all by himself.
sitting there, quietly. face slack. chest unmoving.
Diluc closes his eyes and wishes for the nightmare to finally cease. his mind wail at the thought of losing his brother, the weight of the world without him in it seems unbearable. oh, Barbatos. Diluc cannot fathom Kaeya leaving first.
it's impossible. Diluc's older, after all.
Diluc ignores many things and wants to be oblivious to one more. so, please, please, please, let it cease and be over with.
Diluc feels a cry ripping out of his throat, and he hurries to Kaeya's body, hands hovering above, then falling limp along his sides. Diluc whimpers, quietly, as he brushes Kaeya's hair off his face. then he closes his eyes and—
he wakes up.
he drops the book he was holding, lights dim but familiarly warm. there's a chime of sounds downstairs, there's smells of herbs and soup Adelinde always does when one of them is sick. he sits rigid, scared, his frame shaking.
he's terrified to lift his gaze and see Kaeya's lifeless form. he cannot bear it. he didn't say so many things. he didn't apologise for so many things and reasons. he didn't thank his brother for so many things.
goodness, he's such a fool.
"'luc?" the voice is rough, raspy. Diluc doesn't move. "are you okay? hey, 'luc, c' mon". he hears a harsh coughing.
Diluc lifts his eyes and his heart stops for a moment. pale skin, blue shadows under Kaeya's eyes, thin layer of sweat, damp hair. for a second, Diluc believes he's hallucinating his brother alive, but then Kaeya tilts his head, like a bird, and Diluc lunges forward to encompass his little brother into his arms.
"I thought I've lost you."
"you didn't, 'luc. just bad cold. and stitches."
***
Alice laughs warmly, watching brothers from her orb. good. Klee was immensely distraught by her favourite guardian for being so upset and hurt by none other but dear Nicole's lost acquaintance. and Alice, well, would do anything for her daughter.
even if includes a little bit of torture to push things forward. oh, well. things we do for ones we love, huh?
Diluc was a crybaby. Kaeya still carries decades of unwanted grief. Jean jokes, yet bitterly, that they haven't cried in years as if turned into a stone.
but somehow, something soft in the evening turns even the stones into mush and melting snow.
Kaeya breathes shallow, small breaths, golden light just making it obvious how pale, how ashen his skin is, usually warm bronze. he's holding a book, but Diluc knows he's not reading. it's winter, and the fireplace crackles and clicks with wood being devoured by flames.
they sit in the room Kaeya once called his own.
Diluc shuffles the papers, quiet, his head heavy with thoughts. he's tired, but is afraid to fall asleep. it's showing, too.
Adelinde comes in the room with bowls of soup and warm drinks, silent. she lingers by Kaeya's bed, caresses his hair, smoothes out the perking strands, cups his face with her hands, gentle. even without looking, Diluc knows that her eyes are full of sorrow and that she's looking her age. Kaeya smiles and leans into the touch.
she leaves just as quiet as before.
it makes the weight on Diluc's chest somehow feel even worse. heavier. present. undeniable. and it does what it does the best — breaks what has been sealed under the years of resentment, grief, and cold.
Diluc starts crying. it's quiet.
tears smudge the handwriting, wet the paper, and he cries for everything he has ever lost and what he's about to. he cries for his father. he cries for the years he spent never calling Kaeya brother again. he cries for himself, the boy with eyes full of hope and joy, laughing and joking.
he cries for Kaeya, who stands beside him and squeezes his shoulders with little strength what he's left with. he's not saying anything. he's just there, holding him.
steady. strong. his little brother.
winter comes with grief hand in hand. Diluc wonders how Kaeya can carry it for so long without ever breaking.
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Varka, seeing the boys of Crepus destroying themselves in the name of Mondstadt, and feeling so much guilt. because he had failed them, too. just as much as he had failed his dear friend, he had failed his sons as well.
but he doesn't want to dwell on it, determined to change what he can while he's back home.
with Diluc, it's quite simple. it doesn't take much for Varka to understand who hides under the guise of Darknight Hero, so he comes with quite a simple, foolproof plan. he takes Diluc with him to spar. well, they're competing, and Diluc is still the kid who likes challenges and refuses to back up. they wipe up almost half of the hilichurls camps, Varka is just a tad ahead in body count than Diluc.
they finish late and Varka drags absolutely boneless and limp Diluc back to the Winery and hands him to Adelinde. Adelinde sends him back to the city with her apple pie and countless amount of grateful words as Diluc finally sleeps for 10 hours straight in like, a month.
Varka make sure to repeat it at least twice a week.
with Kaeya, though... it's much harder. he's taken much more from Crepus than he himself wants to admit. and not all good qualities. he's secretive and elusive, charming to a fault, avoidant. Varka feels like both ripping out his hair and aging thousand years at a time with how strong his frustration is.
he invites him to a drink. Varka is almost wasted while Kaeya still jokes and nowhere near to passing out and having at least a nap. (Diluc dilutes Kaeya's drinks out of spite).
he takes him to the missions. Kaeya finishes the missions with such ease that him and Lohen became best friends. he spends next to none energy, so of course, at nights Varka watches the kid walk in the Treasure Hoarders camps.
he sends him to a week long vacation in Nod-Krai. the kid finds the informants, saves the day, brings a ton of souvenirs, and, by the way Nefer talks, impressed her just enough to almost keep to herself; Varka is very against it, because it's his kid and he refuses—
he does almost everything he can and can't find a way to get the kid to rest. Jean once catches him, after observing the whole commotion and his very exasperated grunts and complains, and sits him down.
she says, simple, to let Kaeya wear himself out.
Varka feels as if he's delirious and seeing hallucinations. Jean repeats her words, and Varka recalls, from the days back, that Crepus was a workaholic worse than anyone he ever knew. he had to work himself to the bone as he wasn't particularly impressive in any fields. he was a good man, but a man of very few talents. painting was the one. another was being a good father.
then it clicks.
he gathers Klee, Bennet, Fischl, Durin, Diona, and basically all the kids of Mondstadt and gives them one mission — to keep Kaeya busy.
he watches from afar as Kaeya doesn't get a chance to get a sip of wine, runs around with the kids, has to sit countless picnics and eat, gets to teach them his techniques and tricks, and how a happy heap then sleeps, with no worry in the world.
yeah...
Varka smiles.
Kaeya would be a great father if given a chance.
(after a while Varka throws Diluc in the heap of kids, so now these two babysit the whole future generation of Mondstadt and are finally, finally, sleeping and eating well.)
Give me loud wailing and sobbing and clinging to a trusted person. Give me begging to "go home" whether that home is real and reachable or not. Give me crying for parents and siblings and grandparents and *anyone* who feels safer than the present situation.
Give me stress regression. Give me trauma response regression. Give me regression as a result of someone's self-soothing ability completely imploding.
Give me the gross parts of it. In writing, in drawings, in headcanon ramblings. The tantrums with snot and spit and red faces. The potty accidents. The bedwetting. The lashing out and yelling and hitting. The physical symptoms of feeling like you're no longer in full control of your mind and body. Let me see the MISBEHAVIOR that comes with feeling like a child in a body that's too big for you when everything is SCARY. The behavior you REGRET later.
Seeing the cozy, comforting, voluntary end of agere is so important when you're using it to comfort yourself.
But the embarrassment of it goes beyond "I use pacifiers and stuffed animals to self soothe after a hard day." for a lot of people. Acknowledge and accept that, too. Please.
I have a lot of thoughts abt Papa Varka and small Diluc :> do you maybe have any hcs? (I know I've requested a lot recently so feel free to reply later!)
PLEASE NEVER STOP REQUESTING..I'm going rabid and only have like 2 requests rn </3 !!! I don't care if you're requesting a lot, you could send in like 20 asks and be the only person and I'd be ecstatic.
ANYWAYS OFC I DO ＼(≧▽≦)／!!
-> Varka always sends Diluc letters when he's away, there's always two of them - one titled "for Diluc" and the other titled "for Cub" for whenever he's small and missing Varka. The letters for cub are always embellished stories and ramblings of cute things Varka saw or new people he met that he thinks Diluc would like. They always end with a little message about how much Varka misses him and that he hopes to return soon.
-> Diluc is always the first person Varka runs to personally see once he finishes official business, he knows the boy misses him dearly and typically Diluc drops right then and there as soon as Varka appears. It’s why officially festivities are asked to be pushed back a bit upon returns. Sure the other troops may need a moment but it’s asked for selfish reasons too, he misses his son and his son missed him.
-> This one is so just a personal thing but it’s not weird for Diluc to “accidentally” call Varka dad in public. Everyone in Mondstadt already knows/assumes that Varka took on a fatherly roll for both Diluc and Kaeya after The Incident so nothing is thought of it.
-> Speaking of the public, Diluc HATES being small in public - it freaks him out and he has really bad Invisible Audience Syndrome so he constantly is paranoid he’s being judged. Varka makes sure it’s super rare that they have to go out but if they do he always covers Diluc up in a big jacket of his so they can’t see his hair and eyes and zips it all the way up <3
-> Varka is the silliest papa of all time..he is constantly searching for ways to make Diluc laugh and half the time it ends with Addie also quietly snickering behind her hand as she busies herself around the Winery. He’s done classic gags of silly faces to fully dousing himself in flower and water (Like the MLP:FIM pinkie pie gag) (he cleaned up his mess!! Adelinde tried to help but he told her it was his mess and he’s a responsible adult then sat her down with a snack and made her relax).
-> Adelinde is Varkas top babysitter for when he’s out, if for whatever reason she cannot watch him Varka 100% trusts her to find a suitable and safe caregiver. The two are also in constant communication while Varka is out on his trips!
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Diluc & Varka (Genshin Impact)
Characters: Diluc (Genshin Impact), Varka (Genshin Impact), Diluc's Bird (Genshin Impact), Illuga (Genshin Impact)
Additional Tags: Written Before Snezhnaya Release (Genshin Impact), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Angst, Addiction, Written After 6.3 | Luna IV Update (Genshin Impact), 6.3 | Luna IV Update Spoilers (Genshin Impact), Wild Hunt, Diluc Has Issues (Genshin Impact), No he has ISSUES, Diluc Has Trust Issues (Genshin Impact), like seriously though, its a key point of this actually, Diluc Has a Bad Time (Genshin Impact), Diluc Has a Delusion (Genshin Impact), Diluc Has Mental Health Issues (Genshin Impact), Hurt Diluc (Genshin Impact), Diluc is Bad at Feelings (Genshin Impact), Diluc Needs a Hug (Genshin Impact), Bad Person Kaeya (Genshin Impact), Spy Kaeya (Genshin Impact), Diluc-centric (Genshin Impact), Diluc Has PTSD (Genshin Impact), Diluc Has Anxiety (Genshin Impact), Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Sacrificing Diluc Ragnvindr, Self-Sacrifice, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Diluc (Genshin Impact), Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Parental Varka (Genshin Impact), Parent Varka (Genshin Impact), Varka is Good At Feelings, Varka is Diluc's Parent
Summary:
Truthfully, Diluc didn't mean to. He'd fallen far from where he once was, Archons, he knew that much, but he really means it when he says he never meant for it to end like this.
But also, he didn't ask for it to start like this, either. He didn't ask for betrayal on a rainy night, he didn't ask for secrets to be spilt alongside blood and tears.
He didn't ask for any of this.
Or; an AU where diluc is never captured by the fatui, and therefore never leaves schneznaya. Set in the Nod Krai arc.
Diluc is as he has always been. Different. His emotions overwhelm him and everyone else.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Red hair - long, straight, rarely messy. He takes good care of his appearance, painfully aware of how damaging it would be to his reputation if he appeared unkempt. Diluc doesn’t want to create any more reason to dig into his past. His skin is pale but scarred. Wiry, raised scars form webs along the skin of his arms and back, stretching with the firm muscle. There are burns, frostburns, but - most noticeably - circular scars surrounding veins from injections. Master Diluc is far from the height rumours mention - standing at 5'10 rather than the 6'0 the more infatuated individuals imagine him to be. He is lithe, muscular but otherwise less strong than the average claymore user. Unsurprising, given his nightly duties leave little time for such trivial things as rest and nourishment. Despite his lack of time, the Darknight hero somehow finds the time to stay clean-shaven. However, his hair does not receive an equivalent level of care, uncut for the last year.
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Those who do not know the bartender well describe him as quiet, and nothing else. Diluc is careful to share his personality only with those who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut. Even those only know him as cold, blunt, awkward Diluc, unaware that what they see and discuss is nothing but the mask held in front of people to protect them from ever looking further. In truth, Diluc is anxious, averse to loud noises and sudden movements unless fuelled by adrenaline and holding his claymore. His social skills have rotted and withered away in a cruel caricature of the relationships he once had before fleeing Mondstadt. Despite this, he is honest, loyal, and would be considered humorous if he was not plagued by anxiety and trauma that buries all emotions six feet underground, next to the casket that holds his beloved father.
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Following Ursa the Drake's attack - which resulted in the traumatic patricide fuelled by mercy causes - he found himself possessed by rage after the community of knights he had trusted for so many years betrayed him in preference of their reputation. When Kaeya admitted to being a spy - therefore severing the trust Diluc had with his only remaining family member. Diluc ran from Mondstadt, unable to face the pity of the knights who had stepped away from what was right. He sought to bring justice to those who killed his father. For two years, Diluc fought in Schneznaya, using only Crepus’s delusion (with nobody to mourn him, Diluc was free to place his life on the line to achieve justice). The death toll racked up with impressive haste - reaching a level where the harbingers were dispatched to prevent any further bloodshed on the side of the fatui. Aside from the obvious reasons for intervention - The Doctor took a particular interest, individuals with immunity to the effects of delusions were not yet documented. Diluc was apprehended. For weeks, he underwent cruel torture, experiments, until Dottore deemed him appropriately punished, dropping a (still bleeding) Diluc on the borders of Schneznaya, with strict orders that if he was ever seen in Schneznaya again, Dottore would not be so merciful as to let him go.
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Safely returned to Mondstadt, Diluc busies himself with work, trying hard not to think of the things that happened to him. Haunted by his actions, (namely, what he was forced to do in Dottore's chambers), he turns to vigilantism, repeatedly throwing his life on the line to repent for his sins, not leaving any time to recuperate - that is a luxury only given to those deserving of healing. He believes he deserved everything Dottore did to him, that the pain he faced was punishment for thinking himself righteous enough to deliver justice onto the fatui. Despite living in the city of freedom, Diluc is chained by his guilt, and will be forever trapped on the ground until he can accept that perhaps, he is worth more than whoever finds themselves trapped under the heavy, metallic weight of his claymore.
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So, this is how I see diluc, the storyline you'll most likely see referenced throughout my writing
Because…
Because Kaeya is perfect, and flawless, and healing. And Diluc is so happy for him, he’s happy that Kaeya’s getting better. He deserves it.
But he can’t lie, and when Diluc wakes up at 1am, struck with nightmares of everything that happened, again, desperately reaching for some sort of human warmth, only to find that Kaeya is off sparring again..
It kills him inside.
Diluc is a creature, an amalgamation of charred flesh and peeling skin, and day by day, he struggles to resist the temptation to grab at the cavernous ladders in his wrists and pull until he finds some semblance of something human within him. Or at least, to prove to whoever still watches him that there is nothing human left.
There are no mirrors left in his house. He shattered two and lay in the shards until something red, something human came out. He woke up the next morning (or rose from a sleepless night where whatever is left of his heart beats in an insane staccato, threatening to forcibly remove itself from his chest) to find Adeline had removed the rest of the mirrors in the house. He appreciates it but can barely look her in the eyes to say thank you. He mumbles apologies nervously at the hardwood floorboards, eyes zeroed in on the slight blemishes and marks from his childhood.
He looks down like a trained dog, with obedience, fear and reverence whisked together into an emotional hurricane. Diluc feels like a trained dog sometimes, or a frog in a pot of water, slowly feeling the heat rise but refusing to jump out. It disgusts him; his actions disgust him, yet he still repeats the same motions.
You can find the rest of this fic, When I See My Reflection, I Don't see myself, on ao3! User @ unaffected
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collage inspired by the fanfiction; "When I see my reflection, I don't see myself" by user unafffected on ao3
However long he spends wasting away in self-hatred, he still makes it to the Tavern before it opens. It's uncomfortable to walk through the streets of Mondstadt, feeling predatory eyes follow his every move, tracing the veins on his arm with appetite. Greed follows the people of Mondstadt, eyeing him down either for his wealth or his body. It's disgusting, how so many view his life as a commodity, but he can't say he disagrees. It's difficult to be against objectification when you barely see yourself as human.
And he's not human, not really. Not anymore.
Either way, his neck is dripping with sweat by the time he reaches the tavern, muscles tensed and ready to go. Unlocking the tavern door feels like baring his neck to the wolves, so he ducks behind the bar and enters through the back door to avoid prying eyes. It's cowardice, but at least he's granted some protection for a bit longer.
He has about an hour before the tavern opens, so an hour in silence, trapped in his thoughts. Rather than waste time on such pointless worries, he prepares himself for the night ahead. His head still pounds, and he chucks back a few painkillers that do practically nothing, wincing every time the glass bottles click against each other. The noise is brutal, echoing and aching around the room with a sharp, vibrating tone. The air in the bar is still, unmoving, and stale.
He hums something quiet under his breath. His voice sounds weak, and it makes him so uncomfortable he stops. The silence is better than whatever discordant noise escapes his mouth.
Diluc pulls out bottles from the storage cupboard behind the bar. He places a variety of glasses under the bar table for easy access. He wipes down the tables, wipes down the glasses, puts on some gloves and ties his hair back. The atmosphere is stale, and he feels vulnerable despite the preparations he's made. His gloves are flimsy, barely protecting him.
He shouldn't be scared.
He doesn't want to feel afraid.
He doesn't want to think about how vulnerable he is here.
He doesn't want to keep an eye on the tavern windows, watching for anyone that could try and hurt him. He doesn't even understand why he's so concerned about that, when it would be in his favour for someone to kill him, get it over and done with.
He doesn't want any of this, but when has he ever gotten to choose?
