#raytm

@raytm for caelus! - starter call of smol!

i  want  you  to  see  how  you  look  to  me.  // @raytm

ㅤㅤㅤ𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔  𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆  𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔  𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇  𝒕𝒐  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕  pleasant  ambivalence  of  delicate  features.  he'd  never  been  particularly  expressive,  and  certainly  not  honest,  in  both  words  and  visage  -  but  for  some,  fyodor  would  let  the  holy  core  of  him  leak  through  the  veneer  of  his  carefully  formulated  mask.  for  his  part  -  there  were  none  in  the  world  he  trusted  to  feel  anything  with,  none  who  he  would  bare  the  rotten  bits  of  his  heart  to.  for  over  five  hundred  years,  this  had  been  his  guidance  and  prayer  both  -  a  beacon  in  the  dark  of  his  forever  exhausted  existence.  fyodor  did  not  mind  the  path  he  walked,  he  did  not  mind  the  goals  that  permeated  each  act  of  violence,  each  careful  stroke  of  his  pen  -  for  he  was  simply  a  creature  of  god,  purifying  a  world  long  since  submersed  in  the  horrors  of  darkness.  

ㅤㅤㅤbut  he  would  admit  the  confusion  of  what  nikolai  did  to  him.  

ㅤㅤㅤsuch  violent  devotion  from  a  man  who  was,  by  all  accounts,  as  dangerous  as  him  was  a  new  experience  for  fyodor  -  who  in  his  long,  long  life  had  assumed  himself  to  have  lived  most  things  on  a  superficial  level,  though  not  really  feeling  them.  but  here  and  now,  svelte  frame  pressed  back  to  chest  to  the  jester,  with  their  gazes  locked  in  the  mirror  -  the  russian  finds  something  new  in  a  gaze  riddled  with  both  longing  and  madness.  

ㅤㅤㅤhow  quaint.  how  charming.

ㅤㅤㅤfyodor  cants  his  head  to  the  side,  raven  black  hair  spilling  against  the  snow  white  of  the  other's  garb.  he  does  not  remove  his  gaze  from  the  younger's,  does  not  let  the  cold  violet  of  his  drop,  barely  a  blink  befalling  him,  before  cool  lips  cut  his  face  into  something  of  a  bemused  smile  -  as  if  he  were  merely  tolerating  the  other's  antics.  ❝  like  this?  ❞  he  echoes  in  the  dimly  lit  room,  sweet  tenor  almost  demure  beneath  the  silver  cross  on  the  wall  and  the  way  their  eyes  clashed  in  sacrilege.  fyodor  casts  his  gaze  in  the  mirror  up  to  nikolai's  handsome  features  then,  peering  at  the  strangeness  of  his  revealed  eye,  the  impish  curl  of  devilish  lips.  sin,  he  thinks,  might  curl  between  them  -  and  for  once,  he  drinks  it  like  a  fine  wine.  perhaps  his  old  age  has  made  him  indulgent,  perhaps  he  is  finally  interested  in  the  paradox  that  is  the  jester.  

ㅤㅤㅤ❝  nikolai.  ❞  he  murmurs  again,  the  name  a  prayer  -  almost  like  a  reward,  ❝  i  look  at  you  like  one  might  look  at  an  interesting  piece  of  prey.  but  you're  not  that,  are  you?  ❞  his  head  cants  a  bit  more,  and  fyodor  sees  then,  the  way  the  void  of  his  gaze  consumes  nikolai's  own,  the  self-satisfied  hunger  there  that  lures  them  both  into  a  collision.  ❝  sweet  kolya,  you  are  my  most  devoted  worshipper,  my  most  devout  killer.  you  have  my  gaze  now.  ❞  his  next  question  is  riddled  with  meaning,  and  he  breathes  it  out  in  their  native  language  of  russian:  ❝  what  will  you  do  with  it?  ❞

( ✨ ) THERE'S NO ONE in the angel's share bar the two of them , the hour late with the blunette nursing a drink that would be at least his third of the night. the reality of what he wanted to say swirled in his mind and . . the vulnerability of being so open was frightening to say the least ; not that the captain showed it. the last time he was open about . . who he was and where he'd come from it didn't go down well.

❝ CAN I TELL you something ? no bullshit or . . anything. full honesty and the truth. ❞

Diluc fumbles with the small collection of dandelions in his lap, sitting cross-legged upon the grass. With another stalk split too short, he attempts to compare his flower crown with Thoma's recently-completed exemplar... And finds that his own efforts literally fall to pieces between his hands.

It isn't fair -- not when his friend is clearly so much better at this, despite his best attempts to explain and guide the young master on what to do. Diluc is simply too heavy-handed with the precious, delicate blooms at this young and clumsy age, and his sulking is evident as he enviously spies the crown of flowers which presently sat atop Thoma's head. He is gloriously decorated, a halo of flowers making him as resplendent and graceful as the divine angels he saw depicted in the city church.

Yet his is a sadness not meant to last; for when Diluc's head droops in shame, a second crown is gently placed upon his head.

In an instant, the stormclouds growing overhead part ways and allow for sunshine to fill his youthful features.

"What do you think? Does it make me look like an angel? Or maybe a crown prince?"

The young princeling rises 'pon scuffed knees, standing tall and triumphant as loose, fiery curls fell about his shoulders. He'd played this character often -- the role of the knightly royal, protecting the great land of Mondstadt with tree branch in hand.

Thoma was his trusty knight captain, ever at his side to support him no matter the catastrophe that befell the lands. Last weekend, it had been an almighty and wicked dragon that prowled the streets of the city. Today, he sought to vanquish the sirens that ruled the docks of Starfell lake.

"He is a big boy. He can handle himself if he gets in a relationship!"

Also Serval about Gepard:

"I just need their contact information in case they break my brothers heart. Giving me every right to rearrange their face with a guitar case!"

❝ Thank you for taking me out here, Nari. You were right, I really needed this, ❞