New TGCF Donghua Art From The Online Lottery Event Merch 🦋💖

HE ALREADY HAS AN INFERIORITY COMPLEX LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!!

can’t believe shinji got beat out by a honest to god squid

thats the appeal. he looks like a wet cat.

@yotasxke GET OUT I WILL BLOCK YOU

i have your ip address and i know where u live

compilation of REAL photos of vinny

(compiled by my beloathed @//yotasxke)

ok so what if he has a bowl cut. he looks good in it.

@yotasxke GET OUT I WILL BLOCK YOU

im in love

in full bloom.

beautiful, the whisper and wonder of it all fit diluc ragnvindr in his entirety. (you, diluc, and the language of flowers in the city of mondstadt.)

pairing. diluc ragnvindr / gn! reader genre. fluff, slice-of-life romance, non-linear narrative word count. 3,089

note. reposted from my old blog and cross-posted on ao3 in honor of his skin (i know it’s been weeks but i cannot get over his skin. i haven’t even played his quest yet.) definitely one of my faves. i swear i am not a diluc kisser.

You almost miss it—the hushed word that rolls off his tongue as you pass by Flora’s display of flowers.

“Beautiful,” he says to no one in particular. You wonder if he really intends to say it out loud or at all, eyes bright and glancing over to each potted plant, lingering for a moment longer on the Cecilias.

It is but a fleeting moment, and maybe it’s just a trick your senses had chosen to play because before you could even begin to think about what it means, he takes a step forward and continues his walk; neither confident nor modest, not standing too proudly but not hunching either. He walks as if he’s thinking of nothing else but the way the pavement beneath his feet carries him as he strides across the Mondstadt streets.

He exudes what you would expect Diluc Ragnvindr to exude: an inexplicable presence that definitely would make the second of awe he had of the blooms dancing with the wind seem like it was only a figment of your imagination.

Diluc stops in his tracks, slowly turns on the balls of his feet and raises his brows at you, not of authority but of just genuine curiosity.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you only realize that you’ve been standing in the same spot for a time now. You feel the heat creep up your face.

“Yes,” you cough. It’s unsure, and definitely embarrassed. You hurriedly catch up to him, jogging a few steps before repeating, “yes.”

Diluc nods, and you try not to think about it again.

“Is this fine?” you ask, cautious and patient as you squat down and pat the grass at the edge of the lake. You watch Diluc as his steps stutter for a moment only before nodding and settling down beside you.

Diluc accompanies you to your travels the week after the little encounter at Floral Whisper, and he remains silent for most of the time. Unfortunately, you did think about it; the quiet whisper of beautiful and the even quieter wonder his eyes had shown. You did think about the possibility of seeing that Diluc once more, childlike and sunny, for maybe a second longer next time.

Your gaze wanders across the lake, then to the small bed of rock where a waypoint stood, glimmering shyly in blue. There are frogs jumping around and lizards crawling everywhere.

“Are you afraid of them?” you wonder aloud before you could even bite your tongue. Ah, you think, oh no.

After adventuring all morning to purge nearby hillichurl camps and jump around collecting crystalflies, Diluc had suggested finding a place to rest. A quick dip in cool water has always been pleasant, so you led him to Springvale. The chatter of the hunters in the town just behind you and the swishing waters of the waterfalls seem to be enough white noise between you and Diluc, and you’re both tired, of course Diluc wouldn’t interest himself in such idle chit-chats.

Diluc shakes off his boots and rolls his pant legs up, sits on the edge, and dips his feet in. It seems methodical but you wonder how much of this is his routine. He is a renowned adventurer, after all. He says not a single word and you don’t really mind. Maybe you could just pretend that you never asked the question at all, as embarrassing as it is. This is Diluc and you know him, not interested in small talks and whatnot.

But he hums, and it’s quiet, before he snorts, “No.” The small smile playing on his lips stupefies you and it is the second time that you doubt your senses; did he just laugh? Was that even a laugh? Or did he just find my attempt at a conversation pathetic and he thinks I’m ridiculous and– “I’m not afraid of them, but they are bothersome.”

It feels as if the weight has been released off your chest. So it was a laugh, huh. Who knew.

You soon follow suit, submerging your feet in the cold waters of the lake, watching as the surface ripples. You lean back, not being able to stop the sigh of relief that escapes your mouth. The silence covers you like a blanket and it’s actually a delight. There is nothing but the waters washing away the soreness of your feet, and the fiery red man sitting beside you, and the Calla Lilies behind you, and the boar across the lake.

(You wonder if Kaeya were here and would agree on making an ice bridge just to catch the boar and get a few pieces of raw meat because you assume that none of you would want to swim.)

(Oh, speaking of Kaeya.)

Your hand reaches to pluck a Calla Lily out of the grass and you bring it close to your face, fingers twisting and eyes scanning the flower carefully as if you’re trying to pry its secrets apart. You’re not, and the flower probably holds no secrets anyway. You’re just thinking about how the Calla Lily is actually more known as the chubby lotus of Mondstadt and you want to giggle even more because — “Isn’t the Calla Lily Kaeya’s favorite flower?”

Diluc stops swinging his feet to turn to you, and he snorts. It’s a laugh, and you’re sure this time.

“What a silly thing to ask me,” he says.

“I had a feeling you’d know what his favorite is.”

Diluc nods, and he props his arm against the grass bed to lean back, watch the afternoon clouds. You don’t know if the nod is an affirmation of the Calla Lilies being his brother’s favorite flower, or of the fact that he knows. Maybe both.

The blanket returns and the silence stretches until the sun starts to set. You wonder if you should ask Diluc to go back to the city now, or to wait for him to ask instead. You watch the side of his face and gauge the next words to say, but nothing comes.

Diluc notices this, probably, because he breaks the silence instead. “Do you like them?”

You furrow your brows instead of giving him a proper answer so he clarifies, with a shade of pink tinting his cheeks, “The Calla Lilies, I mean.” Diluc clears his throat and looks away, the water splashing when he kicks and you wonder if this is another glimpse of the childlike, sunny Diluc you saw last week, in front of the flower shop inside Mondstadt’s gates.

“They’re okay,” you answer meekly. “They’re pretty, but I don’t like the way they taste.”

You continue to describe how the taste of the chubby lotuses feels absolutely repulsive on your tongue and how you were forced to drink Calla Lily medicine when you were a kid, when you get sick. They work, but that doesn’t take away the fact that these cute, orange flowers are better off to be admired than to be consumed. Diluc listens intently and the sun is now nowhere to be seen. The night has fallen and the Calla Lilies around the lake of Springvale bow as if to nap, and the story-telling of how you have a love-hate relationship with the flower has come to an end.

“Yeah,” Diluc breathes, maybe as an affirmation to everything you’ve said; an assurance to say that he did listen to every word, so he repeats, “yeah. I don’t either.”

Diluc had told you that he doesn’t get the appeal of Dandelions. They’re just bulbs of tiny seeds, he says, and he doesn’t think that they’re on par with the beauty of the rest of Mondstadt’s flowers.

Maybe he just doesn’t know how the Dandelion seeds spread their wings.

The moment you both had the opportunity to wander around, no commissions or duties whatsoever, you grab his wrist and pull him outside the city walls—Diluc’s well-kept and upheld image and presence be damned. The winds sing of freedom and the Dandelions sway to its tune.

“Dandelions,” you start, letting Diluc’s wrist go to allow you to crouch in front of a stem of one, “ride on the wind. Even without its feathered wings, it still holds the hope from afar within.”

You glance at Diluc, his presence still alluring as ever, and you wait for any sign of agreement or, at the very least, acknowledgment from him. He sways on the balls of his feet, brows knitted, before adding, “In a sense, the Dandelion represents the romantic spirit of love and freedom.” There is a hint of mischief in the corners of his mouth. “Right?”

Right. You could only roll your eyes at the red-haired man before turning your attention back to the Dandelion once again. You scoff at him—at the very obvious fact that of course he knows that. “Someone has the Mondstadt library archive entries memorized,” you tease.

Diluc imitates your position with his legs squatted and elbows rested on his thighs, except he’s an arms-length away from you and the Dandelion so you don’t really consider that as making a ton of progress.

You carefully pull the stem of the Dandelion and take a few steps toward where Diluc is, still crouching and all. He watches you move closer and there is evident confusion in his eyes, but he does not dare to move.

“I learned about Dandelions because they’re used in winemaking,” he retorts to your earlier jab that, to be quite honest, you’ve already forgotten.

You raise the bulb of Dandelion to his face, between you and him. You sway it carefully, only letting a few of its seeds fly away. Diluc remains confused, and he does not even try to hide it.

“I used to make wishes on Dandelions,” you beam, voice just as bright. “I believe that they could carry my desires to Celestia when they fly with the wind.”

The inexplicable presence that Diluc Ragnvindr carries falters for a second when it sinks in that your words are not a story, but a suggestion. You should try it, you mean to say. Make a wish. You only chose to word it that way because you know that Diluc wouldn’t hesitate to decline if you didn’t.

A sudden gust of wind blows, and a number of dandelion seeds fly—to you, to your left, towards the water, to the bridge, and to–

Oh no.

The inexplicable presence that Diluc Ragnvindr carries falters, completely now, when his nose crinkles and he sniffs and sniffs and he tries to rub away the itch in his nose but… well, he sneezes and it blows the rest of the seeds on the Dandelion bulb away.

With eyes wide, you watch as his cheeks and ears turn bright red. You would joke about how you almost don’t know where his fiery red hair starts and ends if you aren’t so shocked with it either.

“I…” he trails, then he sneezes again. “I made a wish before it all flew away.”

This time, your mouth drops. That’s… unexpected, isn’t it? I made a wish before it all flew away. Perhaps this is another glance at the childlike and sunny Diluc you’ve been wanting to see again since.

Diluc smiles sheepishly. “I like Dandelions, but they make my nose itch.”

The laugh you’ve been trying to hold back now comes in full force. It starts with a chuckle, and then it turns into small chortles, then it’s now just good, good laughs. Diluc, without a hint of the authority he always embodies, laughs with you.

Visible winds are what the citizens of Mondstadt call the plant that adores the wind—the Windwheel Asters. In Stormterror’s Lair, its petals spin and spin and you remember that Vind once told you that Windwheel Asters cannot grow in places with no wind nor plagued by strong storms. The orange flowers find rhythm in winds of gentle and nourishing give.

“It’s unbelievable, almost,” you tell Diluc with the raise of your fingers, a gesture to exaggerate your disbelief. “These asters seem out of place in Stormterror’s Lair.”

“Yes,” he affirms, then bends down and picks a flower by his feet. Its petals still spin in all its beauty and the contrast of its vibrance against the backdrop of the ruins, dark and alone, emphasizes the very purpose of it. Visible winds.

Diluc walks forward to hand you the aster, then he trudges back to pluck himself another one. He continues, “But they only grow where there are tender winds. It only means that the lair is not as desolate as the citizens believe it to be.”

You know what Diluc means. That Stormterror is still Dvalin; that he is still one of the Four Winds, the entities that the Anemo Archon entrusted the safety of Mondstadt to.

That there are still protectors of Mondstadt even if they are nowhere to be seen, impalpable but still ever-present, like–

Wind. This is, after all, the nation of wind.

Diluc probably does not mean refer to himself with his words at all, but you do. You fiddle with the Windwheel Aster in your hand and you watch its petals make the presence of the gentle winds known. An invisible force that guides the city of Mondstadt. Then you recall the gloved hand that holds the heavy claymore, the red hair that slashes through the breeze. Each move in a battle, calculated and done with grace.

You remember the legend of the Darknight Hero and how Diluc doesn’t want the people to know his name. You remember Diluc and you believe that there are still protectors of Mondstadt even if they are nowhere to be seen.

At late noon, the surrounding areas of Wolvendom become clear of any threat of hillichurls and Ruin Guards.

Diluc looks as if he isn’t tired at all, the sweat trickling down the side of his face seeming like a mere ornament. The sun is starting to set and the oncoming night paints the road up the territory of the Wolf of the North. The fiery red man props his claymore on the ground, steadying before he leans against it. You’re spread out on the grass, not even bothering for shame and modesty anymore.

“Unfair,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at Diluc. “How are you not exhausted after all that?”

Diluc gives you a small laugh, and he looks at the row of Small Lamp Grasses across. “It has become routine to me.”

You follow his trail of sight, propping your elbows against the ground to sit up slightly. The wildflowers sit in silence and you almost hear crickets deep in the woods of Wolvendom, empty in the slowly unfolding night.

“We don’t have anything else for today, right?” you ask, the question lingering on your tongue. Diluc hums. “Then…”

“Then?”

“Would it be alright if we stay here until nighttime? Just until the lamp grasses light up.” There is heat growing on your ears, so you supply almost immediately with, “It’s alright if you don’t want to! I just want–”

“It’s fine,” Diluc cuts you off. He settles his claymore down and sits at a safe distance beside you. “They don’t show their wonder until night, after all. I want to see them light up, too.”

Diluc walks as if he’s thinking of nothing else but the way the ground beneath his feet carries him as he strides across Mondstadt.

He exudes what you would expect Diluc Ragnvindr to exude: an inexplicable presence that definitely would make the second of awe he had of the blooms dancing with the wind seem like it was only a figment of your imagination.

You know this. You’ve seen it for so many times and it still churns something in you. The thing is, though—the childlike and sunny Diluc Ragnvindr is not a figment of your imagination, after all.

At the base of the Starsnatch Cliff, a lone Cecilia sways with the breeze. You think there’s nothing special about it, for there are probably several more of the flowers on the way up. Diluc thinks otherwise, however.

Diluc asked you to come along with him somewhere. That somewhere, you find out now, is Starsnatch Cliff. The lone Cecilia comes into his view and he wastes no time to stride towards it. He crouches, removes his glove, then traces the petals of it with a nimble finger.

This is Diluc, still. You know this. You’ve seen it for so many times and it still churns something in you. This is not a figment of your imagination.

Mirth swirls in his fiery red eyes and somehow, he looks younger. Boyish, and unlike how he usually is. He turns to you and ushers you to come closer, so you do. This is the Diluc who stood in awe in front of Floral Whisper that day.

“Cecilias are my favorite,” he begins this time. “I don’t know why, but I’m just so drawn into them. They’re beautiful.”

Beautiful, the whisper and wonder of it all fit Diluc Ragnvindr in his entirety.

Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have done this. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? You’ve knocked on the large wooden door of the Dawn Winery manor and you’ve heard the footsteps of the young master growing louder at each second. Maybe–

The door opens and it reveals the embodiment of beautiful and you’re speechless. Maybe this is a mistake, but maybe you don’t mind making this mistake.

“Sorry,” you apologize as soon as you come to your senses. Diluc looks down at the bouquet in your hand, an arrangement of Mondstadt flowers with Cecilias in its center. The embarrassment washes into you now and words immediately escape your mouth, “Are these flowers okay? I’m sorry if it’s an overkill. You don’t have to accept it. I know Cecilias are your favorite so I asked Flora to make them like this. Ah, I should’ve asked if you wanted something like this at all. I’m sorry–”

Diluc propels to you to take the bouquet and set it aside. He pulls you closer, holds you by your shoulders then decides to hold your face between his warm hands instead. It sets your skin on fire but it doesn’t hurt, because Diluc protects and never intends to hurt anyone in any way.

This isn’t a mistake, because Diluc Ragnvindr will never be a mistake.

He puts his lips to use in the absence of words, planting a kiss against your forehead, childlike and sunny; beauty and all.

i can confirm he actually looks like this

compilation of REAL photos of vinny

(compiled by my beloathed @//yotasxke)

Happy Family

no because someone on tiktok said ''should've been me'' by mitski fits kazuha and tomo very well. im going to start violently crying.

This show will d¡e when I d¡e dammit