Raise inferno for the living
Mar. 21st, 2026 01:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravensilversea Fandom: Genshin Impact
Relationship: Diluc & Venti
Rating: T
Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Wound Care, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, diluc and his complicated relationship with his archon
Summary: Diluc seems determined to run himself into an early grave. Venti wouldn’t be a good god if he said he wasn’t worried
Originally Posted: December 12, 2025
Prompt: June of Doom 2025 Day 2: “I’m worried about you.” |Infection | Protective | Confession
Notes: Title is a line from Fire & Forgive by Powerwolf
Ao3
Venti lifts a bottle of dandelion wine from the rack and weighs it in his hands thoughtfully. Maybe…? No, not this one. He sets it back and instead reaches for another bottle further down. Behind him, the old grandfather clock ticks ever closer to the hour, and the candles burn steadily shorter.
Diluc’s late coming back from the tavern, he thinks with a thoughtful frown. He’s been doing that a lot recently. The dark circles beneath Diluc’s eyes grow darker every time Venti visits Angel’s Share, and he wouldn’t be much of an Archon if it didn’t worry him. Sighing heavily, he sets this bottle back as well.
The manor continues to sleep as he finally makes his selection, carrying the bottle over to the table with a glass. If Diluc isn’t here to stop me, he can yell at me when he gets back. It’ll serve him right for working so late. Venti chuckles in anticipation of the vintner’s displeasure.
Just as he’s about to pop the cork and pour the wine, the manor doors burst open with a BANG!, and Diluc stumbles in, hand clutching his side.
The wine drops from his hands. It rocks, spinning in place before settling. A brush of wind, and Venti’s at Diluc’s side, demanding, “What happened?!”
Diluc huffs and shrugs him off. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” It looks like half an arrow sticking out of Diluc, but what would he know? He’s ‘just a bard’ afterall.
He tries again to help the stupid, aggravating man to a chair, the footlocker, the stairs, anywhere he could sit and get that wound tended to, but Diluc continues determinedly limping out of reach. He finally stops and glares over his shoulder with a snarl, “I said it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Go back to stealing my wines or something.” A grimace flashes across his face as turns away with a sharp flick of his free hand.
Venti breezes around Diluc and hovers in front of him, arms folded and a disappointed expression on his face. I can’t leave you like this, he almost says. The wine would turn sour if I did.
Diluc sighs and closes his eyes in resignation. “Fine,” he says.
Venti can’t help but grin in triumph. He guides Diluc into a chair, then follows his directions to the medical supplies locked away in the hutch nearby. Their well-stocked existence ties a weight around his heart, just how long has Diluc been coming home injured like this? How has no one noticed? Diluc certainly expected to patch himself up, which… is Diluc for you, he had to admit.
Setting the supplies on the table beside his patient, Venti begins poking the wound. Blood slowly seeps around the arrow shaft, and the singed fabric surrounding it smells like ozone. Diluc sucks in a sharp breath as Venti begins wiggling the arrow out.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve come home injured.” The words fall like Focalors’ gavel. With a jolt, the arrow pulls free, tearing skin anew.
“Nope,” Diluc hisses through gritted teeth.
“This isn’t from a bar brawl.” Eyes deep as the Monstadt night stare unwavering.
“No. It isn’t.”
Venti nods and finishes packing the wound with a poultice and begins wrapping it with bandages. “What is it from?” he asks. Carefully. Lightly even. Like the answer isn’t obvious.
Diluc’s lip curls. He lifts his head and glares up at his archon. “Protecting your city because you can’t be bothered to do it yourself.”
The words cut through to bone, ringing with a truth Venti can’t help but flinch from. His hands slow. He opens his mouth, then closes it again with a shake of his head. Dearest, doubting, daring Diluc, he thinks. You really don’t mince words, do you?
“What? Nothing to say to that?” Diluc scoffs, shaking his head. “How terribly surprising.” He leans over and snatches the remaining bandages from Venti. “Give that here, I can finish dressing it myself.”
Stepping away, Venti watches Diluc expertly wind the bandages around his torso and tie them off. A sinking feeling swoops through his stomach as he pictures Diluc doing this over and over and over again until one day…
The feeling builds and builds and builds until words fall from his lips softer than a psalm. “I’m worried about you.”
“Oh now you’re worried! How gracious of you!” Diluc throws the remaining medical supplies back into the box. He stands, wavering in place for a moment before he lifts the box under his arm and carries it back to the hutch.
“Do you really think you can keep doing this without someone watching your back? If I hadn’t been here tonight, how long would it have taken to patch yourself up? How much blood would you have lost? When you die, and you will die because this will kill you one day, where will Monstadt be then?”
Every words sees Diluc’s shoulders stiffening more and more until they’re tied up like a marionette on a string. Slowly, silently, he turns the lock on the hutch, then he stands and turns on his heel with equal slowness. Moonlight filtering in through the window shines against the finger he holds up as he says in a low and dark voice, “But not worried enough to actually go out and be a proper archon.”
Venti holds out his hands helplessly as Diluc continues, “Maybe I will go out and get myself killed.” He stalks towards his archon, taking a step with every word until he’s towering over Venti, a dark shadow backlit by candlelight. “Maybe that will finally give you the kick in the ass to be the archon Monstadt needs instead of yet another bard determined to steal my wine.”
“You really don’t get it do you.” A whisper on the breeze.
“Then enlighten me.” Arms folded and a judge’s fiery gaze.
“If I was a ‘proper’ archon, what would Monstadt be like, Diluc? What does a ‘proper’ archon look like to you? Rex Lapis, who descends from the skies to lay out every detail of Liyue’s business in iron pen? The Raiden Shogun determined to freeze Inazuma in a single moment of time for eternity? Rukkhadevata who sacrificed herself for the good of Sumeru? Tell me, Diluc.” This time it’s Venti who steps forward, crowding Diluc into taking a shaky step back. “Would Monstadt still be the land of freedom if I was a ‘proper’ archon like them?”
Diluc sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I fucking despise you.”
“It’s a good thing you’re free to do so then!” Venti grins so wide it shuts his eyes for a moment. It’s a shame tho. I quite like you, Diluc. He opens his eyes and focuses on Diluc again, who seems to be better than he did stumbling into the manor. More color to his cheeks, steadier on his feet, and face no longer taut with pain.
Clapping his hands together, Venti takes a step back with a smile, “Well! I seem to have overstayed my welcome, so I best be going.”
Diluc shakes his head. “Absolutely not.” He points to a pair of glasses on the shelf, “Grab those. We have a bottle of dandelion wine to deal with.”
“Oh ho? I thought you didn’t like alcohol?”
“I don’t, but tonight’s one of those nights where you just need a drink.” Diluc walks over to the table and picks up the bottle Venti had abandoned, humming as he reads the label. He looks back towards Venti, who hasn’t moved an inch. “Well hurry up,” he says.
Venti flies for the glasses while Diluc shakes his head at the sky and mutters, “Barbatos help me, he’s in my wine racks digging for wine, but freedom forbid, I offer him any.”
Chortling at the prayer, Venti brings the glasses over and delicately sets them on the table. After the wine is poured and the appropriate breathing time has passed, they each lift their glass and clink them together.
“To Monstadt,” Diluc says.
Venti smiles. “To Monstadt.”
Relationship: Diluc & Venti
Rating: T
Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Wound Care, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, diluc and his complicated relationship with his archon
Summary: Diluc seems determined to run himself into an early grave. Venti wouldn’t be a good god if he said he wasn’t worried
Originally Posted: December 12, 2025
Prompt: June of Doom 2025 Day 2: “I’m worried about you.” |
Notes: Title is a line from Fire & Forgive by Powerwolf
Ao3
Venti lifts a bottle of dandelion wine from the rack and weighs it in his hands thoughtfully. Maybe…? No, not this one. He sets it back and instead reaches for another bottle further down. Behind him, the old grandfather clock ticks ever closer to the hour, and the candles burn steadily shorter.
Diluc’s late coming back from the tavern, he thinks with a thoughtful frown. He’s been doing that a lot recently. The dark circles beneath Diluc’s eyes grow darker every time Venti visits Angel’s Share, and he wouldn’t be much of an Archon if it didn’t worry him. Sighing heavily, he sets this bottle back as well.
The manor continues to sleep as he finally makes his selection, carrying the bottle over to the table with a glass. If Diluc isn’t here to stop me, he can yell at me when he gets back. It’ll serve him right for working so late. Venti chuckles in anticipation of the vintner’s displeasure.
Just as he’s about to pop the cork and pour the wine, the manor doors burst open with a BANG!, and Diluc stumbles in, hand clutching his side.
The wine drops from his hands. It rocks, spinning in place before settling. A brush of wind, and Venti’s at Diluc’s side, demanding, “What happened?!”
Diluc huffs and shrugs him off. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” It looks like half an arrow sticking out of Diluc, but what would he know? He’s ‘just a bard’ afterall.
He tries again to help the stupid, aggravating man to a chair, the footlocker, the stairs, anywhere he could sit and get that wound tended to, but Diluc continues determinedly limping out of reach. He finally stops and glares over his shoulder with a snarl, “I said it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Go back to stealing my wines or something.” A grimace flashes across his face as turns away with a sharp flick of his free hand.
Venti breezes around Diluc and hovers in front of him, arms folded and a disappointed expression on his face. I can’t leave you like this, he almost says. The wine would turn sour if I did.
Diluc sighs and closes his eyes in resignation. “Fine,” he says.
Venti can’t help but grin in triumph. He guides Diluc into a chair, then follows his directions to the medical supplies locked away in the hutch nearby. Their well-stocked existence ties a weight around his heart, just how long has Diluc been coming home injured like this? How has no one noticed? Diluc certainly expected to patch himself up, which… is Diluc for you, he had to admit.
Setting the supplies on the table beside his patient, Venti begins poking the wound. Blood slowly seeps around the arrow shaft, and the singed fabric surrounding it smells like ozone. Diluc sucks in a sharp breath as Venti begins wiggling the arrow out.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve come home injured.” The words fall like Focalors’ gavel. With a jolt, the arrow pulls free, tearing skin anew.
“Nope,” Diluc hisses through gritted teeth.
“This isn’t from a bar brawl.” Eyes deep as the Monstadt night stare unwavering.
“No. It isn’t.”
Venti nods and finishes packing the wound with a poultice and begins wrapping it with bandages. “What is it from?” he asks. Carefully. Lightly even. Like the answer isn’t obvious.
Diluc’s lip curls. He lifts his head and glares up at his archon. “Protecting your city because you can’t be bothered to do it yourself.”
The words cut through to bone, ringing with a truth Venti can’t help but flinch from. His hands slow. He opens his mouth, then closes it again with a shake of his head. Dearest, doubting, daring Diluc, he thinks. You really don’t mince words, do you?
“What? Nothing to say to that?” Diluc scoffs, shaking his head. “How terribly surprising.” He leans over and snatches the remaining bandages from Venti. “Give that here, I can finish dressing it myself.”
Stepping away, Venti watches Diluc expertly wind the bandages around his torso and tie them off. A sinking feeling swoops through his stomach as he pictures Diluc doing this over and over and over again until one day…
The feeling builds and builds and builds until words fall from his lips softer than a psalm. “I’m worried about you.”
“Oh now you’re worried! How gracious of you!” Diluc throws the remaining medical supplies back into the box. He stands, wavering in place for a moment before he lifts the box under his arm and carries it back to the hutch.
“Do you really think you can keep doing this without someone watching your back? If I hadn’t been here tonight, how long would it have taken to patch yourself up? How much blood would you have lost? When you die, and you will die because this will kill you one day, where will Monstadt be then?”
Every words sees Diluc’s shoulders stiffening more and more until they’re tied up like a marionette on a string. Slowly, silently, he turns the lock on the hutch, then he stands and turns on his heel with equal slowness. Moonlight filtering in through the window shines against the finger he holds up as he says in a low and dark voice, “But not worried enough to actually go out and be a proper archon.”
Venti holds out his hands helplessly as Diluc continues, “Maybe I will go out and get myself killed.” He stalks towards his archon, taking a step with every word until he’s towering over Venti, a dark shadow backlit by candlelight. “Maybe that will finally give you the kick in the ass to be the archon Monstadt needs instead of yet another bard determined to steal my wine.”
“You really don’t get it do you.” A whisper on the breeze.
“Then enlighten me.” Arms folded and a judge’s fiery gaze.
“If I was a ‘proper’ archon, what would Monstadt be like, Diluc? What does a ‘proper’ archon look like to you? Rex Lapis, who descends from the skies to lay out every detail of Liyue’s business in iron pen? The Raiden Shogun determined to freeze Inazuma in a single moment of time for eternity? Rukkhadevata who sacrificed herself for the good of Sumeru? Tell me, Diluc.” This time it’s Venti who steps forward, crowding Diluc into taking a shaky step back. “Would Monstadt still be the land of freedom if I was a ‘proper’ archon like them?”
Diluc sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I fucking despise you.”
“It’s a good thing you’re free to do so then!” Venti grins so wide it shuts his eyes for a moment. It’s a shame tho. I quite like you, Diluc. He opens his eyes and focuses on Diluc again, who seems to be better than he did stumbling into the manor. More color to his cheeks, steadier on his feet, and face no longer taut with pain.
Clapping his hands together, Venti takes a step back with a smile, “Well! I seem to have overstayed my welcome, so I best be going.”
Diluc shakes his head. “Absolutely not.” He points to a pair of glasses on the shelf, “Grab those. We have a bottle of dandelion wine to deal with.”
“Oh ho? I thought you didn’t like alcohol?”
“I don’t, but tonight’s one of those nights where you just need a drink.” Diluc walks over to the table and picks up the bottle Venti had abandoned, humming as he reads the label. He looks back towards Venti, who hasn’t moved an inch. “Well hurry up,” he says.
Venti flies for the glasses while Diluc shakes his head at the sky and mutters, “Barbatos help me, he’s in my wine racks digging for wine, but freedom forbid, I offer him any.”
Chortling at the prayer, Venti brings the glasses over and delicately sets them on the table. After the wine is poured and the appropriate breathing time has passed, they each lift their glass and clink them together.
“To Monstadt,” Diluc says.
Venti smiles. “To Monstadt.”
