#gunnhildred

[darkbets]

She knows full well, who she wants to give a windblume to this year. Has been methodically working up the courage to do so for the past six months in fact. Yet while the official holiday may still be weeks away, another celebration from the continent has allowed the blonde to test the waters so to speak. It’s nothing exciting. Not really. Just something silly, and wholesome and ever so slightly loaded with a question and sentiment she isn’t quite ready to ask. But at least she’s made it this far, past the threshold of the Angel’s Share’s familiar wooden doorway to lurk so…skittishly beside the bar top. 

❝Hey Ragnvindr… ❞ It’s always the surname when she’s nervous; lest she trip over the syllables of a given name she knows all too well. But she has every right to be, she suspects, as she slides an envelope across the lacquered wood to present to the entrepreneurial icon himself. Is it a love letter? A romantic poem? Or crucial intelligence to bring down the Fatui and the Abyss order alike? No. It is a card featuring a comedically round owl and the iconic and undeniably immortal words: I think you’re a real hoot. 

In isolation, she might just get away with it; dismissing it as a whimsical act that harkens back to their childhood. But it’s her second act that gives it’s meaning weight; when the Acting Grand Master seemingly forgets herself and leans across that familiar wood to press her lips to the side of his jaw. It’s about as spontaneous as she’s going to get, but at least she hopes he can read enough between the lines to realise she is…reaching outside of her comfort zone. Reaching, as it happens, for the tiny flicker of a thread that could perhaps let her weave a future with him. 

❝…happy valentine’s windblume imitation day. ❞

It took mustering a great deal of courage for Jean to stand before him like this. Diluc recognized it in the flare of conviction corralled in her eyes, in the nervousness that settled at the corners of her mouth. Time had weathered his knowledge of her, leaving it as an amorphous yet poignant sentiment and yet — he knew these tells for certain. It urged him to take pause, to feel what it meant for the fervor of festivities to clamor just beyond that threshold while the two of them shared in a stolen, sequestered moment. He had to treat this with decorum, as if that would prove that he was taking her seriously. But when it came to feelings, the man who had accomplished such feats of valor and enterprise, was decidedly clumsy. Diluc never spoke his feelings aloud unless prompted, keeping those truths close and guarded, so whenever he reached for them, he became less assured in his grip. ❝  Jean. ❞  And while his greeting remained composed the unrest in his chest was anything but. Diluc’s gaze settles on the envelope, crisp— tidily folded closed, emblazoned with her wax seal and considers just what was weighing so heavily on her mind. It wasn’t unheard of for the knights to request his aid, much to his chagrin, but what was truly unprecedented was the way his austere expression thawed as his leather-clad fingers brushed over the owl’s feathers. ❝  .. I expected something serious was amiss for you to visit like this. ❞ Laughter left to be inferred caught on the quirk of his mouth, settled in the subtle furrow of incredulity between his brows. Jean doesn’t allow him the time proper to finish that statement, leaning across the lacquered bar to press a chaste kiss against his cheek. His skin prickled, flushed. All of the cheer that had filled the room became muffled, even the light that filtered in through the windows became muted, stagnant. There was nowhere for the steadfast composure he had for so long relied on to retreat to, the only path that could be forged was forward; ever magnanimous she was reaching her out hand to him in offering and waiting for him, as he had as a child, to take it in his own. Reluctantly slipping away from the card Diluc’s hand came to rest against hers, cradling it.

❝ ...happy windblume imitation day. ❞ He repeated but it came much softer than he had intended, with that receding conviction he brought Jean’s hand away from his cheek, brushing his mouth across the ridge of her knuckles so briefly that it felt —impossible.  ❝ ...and for the card, thank you. i mean that. ❞

[daybreakrising]

@gunnhildred in response to x

There is a fleeting moment, no longer than a heartbeat, where disappointment grips tight within his chest when she seems to not understand the question he's posed to her. Whilst he cannot claim to be an expert on reading everyone (he's not bad at it in most contexts, but he has far stronger skills under his belt), he doesn't feel wrong in claiming to be able to read her. And a second is all it takes for him to wonder if maybe he's misunderstood what he's picked up from her.

But then she asks, and he hears in her voice that note of uncertainty, but also of hope. He knows, then, that he hasn't misunderstood a thing.

And it's difficult - he knows it's difficult. He had tried, ever so hard, to move past the stirrings her face, her voice, her name summons within him, because it isn't something so easily chased. They are not like any other courting couple in Mondstadt - they are the Grand Master and his second in command. He's never been blind or deaf to the subtle insinuations that followed Jean upon her promotion, nor to the scrutiny she was subjected to that he doubts would have been forced upon someone older, someone more experienced, someone male. The very last thing he wants to do is undo the work she's had to put in to prove she has earned her place.

He's not chasing what he truly wants of her (or... is he?), merely the knowledge that it could be. Not knowing at all might be easier, he knows, but he's never been a man to avoid an answer he might not like. And I will not be the Grand Master forever.

How do you think about me?

It's easy, the way his mouth curves into that gentle smile. A soft laugh breezes past his lips - quiet, fond - as he idly sweeps the brush down the horse's flank. His gaze flits to her face, spies the telltale colour rising in her cheeks. She's always been one to blush deeply, and it's a well-kept secret of his that he is just the same. Must be a blondes thing, he muses in the moment.

"I think about the way your hand feels in mine." His gaze lowers as he speaks, to the palm of his own hand. His fingers curl as if closing around an imaginary hand that is smaller, slighter, than his. "And the way you fit so comfortably beneath my arm, almost as if you were made to. I think about how it was you, not just the city, that made me yearn for home."

She moves, and he fears for another moment that he has overstepped, that he has breached the sanctity of their cherished friendship, but it is not for the exit that she steps, but to him. She stands before him as she has done so many times, only closer, and when she leans up to speak beside his ear he feels a now familiar flutter within the pit of his stomach that makes him feel twenty years younger.

Because yes, sometimes I do.

The brush is discarded; forgotten. His hands catch at her shoulders (they itch, he knows, to hold her waist instead, but at least here his touch can still be seen as merely friendly), guide her back so he can see her face, so that his eyes can meet hers. There is a subtle pounding within his chest that he knows is his heart working overtime, but he doesn't feel nervous, doesn't feel unbalanced.

He caves, a little, to that niggling desire to hold her the way he yearns to. One hand glides higher, cups the juncture of neck to jaw, the pad of his thumb sweeping lightly, softly, across her cheek. "Ah, Jeanie..." If she were ever in doubt of the affection he holds for her, the sheer warmth in those two words should help to clear that doubt away. "What I wouldn't give to kiss you right now."

You can't, the voice of reason in his mind speaks up. As much as he sees her as his equal, officially she is not. It doesn't matter that his heart has found its home in her through their years of friendship, through the trust they have founded in one another.

Why can't I? his heart replies in earnest. He wants to throw all caution to the wind and take this chance at happiness - but it is not his decision to make, is it? He is not the one who would fall under the most scrutiny for his actions, as unfair as that is. This has been his dilemma ever since the long absence and the longer nights left him alone with his thoughts - the question he has asked himself over and over: we can't be together... but what if we could?

What if there were two grand masters, instead of one?

"I hope you can forgive this old wolf for his soft heart, but what I think of most when I think you, is... home."

[poswiecenia-archive]

@gunnhildred \ honesty burns.

( ✨ ) IT'S AGONY. BETRAYAL hurts more than the burns do --- he had trusted in his brother that even if he'd end up angry with him with what he would reveal it wouldn't come to something like THIS. he'd never been this sorely wrong in his life --- even with the abyss decaying his hands with every use of the abyss in combat and training .. it wouldn't matter anymore anyway. there was little to hide when his arms were marred by burns that still were in the middle of healing.

AND EVEN THEN he refused to cry ( alberich men do not cry ) in front of the man he believed was in the room with him. it'd been little over a week since the blunette teen dragged himself into town bloodied and burnt while clutching a vision that had not been on his person that day prior. celestia's gaze now upon the boy who resonated so strongly and attempted to shield himself from the flames that burned through and licked his skin.

FOUND AND CAREFULLY transported upon his collapse at the mouth of the city herself to the cathedral ( then eventually the gunnhildr residence for long - term care ) where the teenager wouldn't wake for days --- yet when he did the agony of his situation left him wishing he didn't wake. burns covered his back , his face , arm and hands ; a shadow of what once unmarked skin.

AT FIRST HE doesn't hear her , hear his best friend as his head lulled away from her face. his good eye only catches her approach with the rag , flinching initially 'fore hissing in pain upon the quick movement. his delerium breaks enough to seem to notice her rather than the red - head that was no longer even in the city.

❝ JEANIE .. ? ❞ he sounds horrid , hoarse , but he relaxes -- hurting far too much to question further. he could at least feel safe with her here instead of the ragnvindr.

[ilcapitanc]

      the days in mondstadt seem to be shorter , somehow . maybe it's the fact that he is there , with the intention of relaxing ( it's hard to do so when , for the past five hundred years , he has not done so at all ) , but . . . the way the sun shines through the leaves of the trees , or how the breeze makes them move . . .

   thrain has found himself falling asleep under peaceful shades more often than not .

   "" . . . hmm ? ""

   he can hear a voice , perhaps talking to him ? he blinks a few times , waking up slowly as he hears it . he recognizes it , how could he not ?

   "" ah . . . acting grandmaster . "" he remains sitting down on the grass , looking up at the blonde . though , by the way the sky looks more orange now , the captain soon understands that he slept through another afternoon . "" . . . i apologize for . . . this rather careless act of mine . "" it must be quite comical to have seen a man his size , with the title he carries on his shoulders , fast asleep underneath a tree near his temporary home .

|| @gunnhildred liked for a starter !

[supportingfire]

"so, acting grand master now, huh?" thoma tries to keep the conversation light, at least for the time being. he just returned to mondstadt, checking in with the current grand master before he gets settled at an inn, "pretty fancy stuff. but i'm not surprised, honestly. i doubt there's anyone better to keep mondstadt in check while master varka is off...doing whatever it is he does." // @gunnhildred liked!

[ildotore]

@gunnhildred replied to your post “question......... what does your muse smell like”:

How about a reverse uno card: what does Dottore smell like?

​i'm glad you asked! very.... sterile? he literally smells like the definition of pure cleanliness. think doctor's/hospital. that sort of metallic smell, it lingers around, and is rather potent when he enters the room. the smell of an incredibly sanitized lab or hospital room, there's no room for any uncleanliness on him, and due to his work taking up most of his life. he's very particular about making sure his work place is clean. sometimes there's a mix of random chemicals thrown into it, depending on what he has been doing through the day. and most definitely, the occasional smell of death lingers, but that's more when he's in his lab, and never really just on him as a person.

[diiluvies]

@gunnhildred: ❝ we are always not quite as good as we wish.❞

a solemn nod is all neuvillette could truly muster in the immediate response. in all his centuries in teyvat, and millennia as a whole existing, humanity will always fall on this endless scale of morality. not everyone is heroic, not everyone is villainous, yet seeing the acting grand master's situation and acts, it did surprise him to hear such words leave her lips.

though he was not fully clued in with the on goings of mondstadt - given how a certain someone lives amongst the people drunkenly and it bothers him - what he did know, he could follow that trail to the one responsible for fixing it. the acting grand master deserved more praise than given, and even if he does not know the true grand master, the iudex would rather have a meeting with the more... competent one, to put it bluntly.

"i believe you are selling yourself short, acting grand master. it is true, from what i know of people, they always wish to be better. yet you, in an acting position, have done a lot worthy of praise and admiration. as a foreigner to your land, i must give my heartfelt gratitude to your actions. your people truly are safe if you held the reigns."

[tenebriism]

Of all the people Jean has come to find gifts for, Tsuki is by far the hardest. There are so many things she wants to gift to him. So many simple things that he has been denied throughout the course of his long and perilous life. But while the novelty of an ugly winter sweater or a batch of homemade cookies may convey some of what she wants him to know, it still falls short of the gravity of compassion she wishes to bestow upon him. 

So this Winter, as the year draws to a close and the lantern rite looms on the horizon, it is an envelope that she gives to the former Wanderer. Just a small little thing, sealed with a wax stamp that bears the Gunnhildr family crest. Contained within that elegant paper is a simple key to the place she now calls home and a note that conveys a sentiment that perhaps carries more weight than the outside world can ever truly comprehend. 

---

Wherever the wind may take you; know that you will always have a home to return to for as long as you need it.

- J x

This, still, is a strange concept to him. The idea that a time of the year can seemingly shift an entire nation and beyond, in unison, and have everyone in an auto-piloted endeavor to shove it in each other's faces. This goes FAR beyond some annual festival, he's noticed. The decor stays up for weeks, mora passed around aplenty for materialistic trading, and where, normally, he may have been able to tuck himself into a tree for an extended spell of silence, he CAN'T, now, what with some fashion of festivities going on every single night.

Perhaps it's the ' most wonderful time of the year ' for those actually INVOLVED in it, but to him, it feels like it's more trouble than it's worth ( and, a right detriment to his already fragile nerves ).

So what, then, keeps him lingering outside of Mondstadt, in particular, watching how the town evolves day by day? Lights strewn and the Angel's Share more packed than usual. Gift exchanges at the Anemo Archon's statue, sometimes with tears ( a proposal, a baby announcement... alright, so ' gifts ' aren't always materialistic, then, he learns ). Holiday carols and seasonal plays at the fountain, whilst food and drink is passed around. He loathes the thought of admitting it seems somewhat NICE... that he would dare YEARN for something like this, even if he knows it would only end up overwhelming him.

The Acting Grand Master, though, is the exception. Though not a modicum of understanding exists in regards to why she endeavors, so fiercely, to take care of and INCLUDE him, he never turns her down despite it. Like a lost puppy, he follows her out of town, away from the hustle and bustle of Mondstadt as yet another party kicks off. She's come to know him relatively well, he fears, and it's likely why whatever she wishes to speak with him about will be done outside the city.

Away from interruptions, away from prying eyes, away from an atmosphere she knows he won't like.

" If you need help with something, just say so, moth--- ugh. Jean. " the Wanderer mumbles. He won't hesitate to, she should KNOW this, considering he's one of few people who even bothers to make sure she doesn't kill herself amidst all the duties she takes on. The envelope, extended towards him, then, earns her a sigh, like he'd had the audacity to forget the kind of person she was. Of course she would make sure to include him in her pot of generosity, no matter how much he may act like he doesn't want to be. It's why she continues to hold out the envelope to him with that... gentle, PATIENT smile of hers, and doesn't force him to accept it while he battles with himself over why he should in the first place.

Is it to make HER happy? Or, is it because he wants to know how it feels to be given something, when all his life, everything has been TAKEN?

Thumb glides against the fold, carefully separating it from the adhesive, and as he pulls both the key and the note from its confines, he shoots her a very confused look. " What is this? " Obviously, he could just read the note to find out, but forgive him for not being a fan of the unknown. As she gestures for him to read the note, he sighs and relents... and that's where the interaction stops for several moments.

He reads it once. Reads it twice. Flips it over to look for something else he may have missed, and when nothing is there, he looks at her. To the soft eyes that have only ever gazed upon him with kindness and adoration, and the even softer smile that he feels, deep down, he doesn't deserve to see.

Don't cry... no, don't cry.

He hasn't had a home in so very long. Not a proper one to go back to, at least, besides Lesser Lord Kusanali's domain. It doesn't matter that he, in a way, doesn't need one--- it isn't as if he functions off of food and sleep like mortals do, but he wanders largely because he doesn't HAVE one to return to. If he keeps on the move, keeps occupied, he needn't worry about everything WRONG with him ( and it's a wonder that's not ALWAYS on his mind, because there's a LOT. )

Tsuki ducks his head as he pulls the key from the envelope and squeezes it within his palm, as if he fears it may up and disappear, or get lost, if he doesn't clutch onto it as hard as he can. In a swift motion, he swipes his opposite arm against his eyes, growing in silent frustration at how futile his efforts were proving to banish his emotions. Eventually, though, he gives up, and slowly steps forward, leaning his face into her body with a stupidly childish hiccup.

He can't say thank you right now, or even BEGIN to verbally convey just how much this means to him right this very minute, but he hopes his inability to get himself together is proof enough that this is a gift he does not mind at all. Even if he's far, far older than her, she still feels like the mother he never had, but always needed, and maybe this is the gods' way of finally showing him MERCY, by giving him the one thing he has always wanted.

@gunnhildred ;;