✧ @selenorites Asked: Dain Kisses Luna So Softly It Almost Doesn’t Feel Real. “…I’ve Wanted
✧ @selenorites asked: Dain kisses Luna so softly it almost doesn’t feel real. “…I’ve wanted to do that since forever.”
Long ago has it been since Dáinsleif has given up on love, or so he thought. Contrary to what many would think were he verbalize this openly, it is not out of a bad experience from which he has not healed yet or if he did, that it touched him forevermore in such way that he doesn't want to subject himself to it. Nor it is not because from some ill belief in love either as a result of bad experiences that did not exist to begin with or because of however his character is. In fact, to this day, he is struck with longing which then morphs into melancholia in few moments when he is witness of the love shared betwixt other couples.
Unlike his peers whom have long since forsaken attributes that makes them human like love, believing themselves to be above it, he is not immune to the yearning of the warmth of a gentle hand in his. Of an embrace to share a sad or happy moment. Of lips dancing with his own for minutes that feel like hours. Of tender touches that lead to gentle love-making. No— to the positive surprise of some or the disappointment of others, he is not above these.
Alas, these acts pale in comparison to a bigger desire yet that was never fulfilled: intimacy. Physical intimacy is soothing and gratifying in more ways than one, but it all ends in the superfluous surface of the waters at best. That which he found out with time that he lacked all along is the growing necessity to speak up his mind unbound by the shackles of the societal context they live in, muted and frozen with the passage of time out of reluctant resignation. To be the safe haven of another who can do the same. To connect sentimentally and spiritually with. To not be ashamed when moments of vulnerability rear their ugly head neither him or his partner.
When he believed he has given up on love, then she came to bring light to his dark night.
Like the moon that no longer hangs in the abyssal sky, she showed him the way to a path he did not consider once to be necessary. One of self-acceptance, of ceasing to look up to others above himself when he, too, shines with a light he's still in disbelief he has —he has been doing better on believing more in himself, he truly has—. Amidst that way, he took notice of the selfless care she poured on him. It was unsolicited, but much eye-opening and needed when thinking about it in hindsight. Lunafreya shared her pale light with him, but just as the moon reflects the light it absorbs from the sun in essence, so, too, she was in need of light. A light that emerged from the humble mote of light he began to believe himself to be in times of need of serious reflection, of finding herself in moments of doubt, of seeking answers to understand her place in this world. A light that, to his own surprise, was more than enough to her.
Upon realizing that he's found in her what he used to long in the yesteryear, he did not pursue her love. Instead, gathering a habit that should've been discarded long ago and in direct opposition with the foundational belief of this kingdom, he became more than her knight— he became her silent devout. Dáinsleif was happy of standing in this position, looking for her closely, being her guide when she needed one. Until one night, that contentedness has begotten something else, fuelled further still with a courage he didn't think he would dare act upon.
Moments of silence are sometimes regarded as moments to be avoided, as they may breed discomfort and awkwardness. It was never so between them, rather finding comfort in it and their mutual company when there is naught to say at that time. Cornflower eyes are locked to the eclipse that now reigns supreme the Khaenri'ahn skies, her semblance neither betraying any thought or sentiment she might feel. Sometimes, when she does that, he wonders if she seeks to find answers that only the moon would give her. Under the dim light that now illuminates the slumbering kingdom and whatever little light reaches from behind them, he marvels in her beauty, star-shaped pupils quivering within sapphire depths.
It is when she looks at him out of the corner of her eye and realizes that he's been staring all along that his heart skips a beat at the mesmerizing sight before him. Surprise melted into happiness, as if she herself is revelling at the notion that he was looking at him. The rosy glow on her pale cheeks and the smile sat upon her soft-looking lips make his own eyes soften in an indescribable look. At that moment, for reasons he didn't stop once to consider, she ceased to be the oracle, the saintess he devoted himself to from strict quiescence. At that moment, he knew: he belongs to her.
Driven by a kindled sentiment does he step forward, eyes unable to peel off from her to engrave that smile in his mind. He wants to protect it. Onyx-gloved hands reach out to cradle her face as delicate as he can get, —for he is just a warrior, after all— and, before confusion has an opportunity to cast its shadow, he allows himself to cave in that which his heart wished to fill in, to dispel the longing that has made home within him for many years. Thus he emboldens himself to lean his face closer still, dares to close his eyes until even more audaciously still, he kisses her. It is just a simple press of lips, lacking in ulterior intentions that aren't that of allowing himself to feel once more, to act upon his own desires as she had always encouraged him to do despite his fruitless denial that he has none.
His forehead presses against hers when the gentle kiss concludes, thumb tracing gently her cheekbone with newfound tenderness he had forgotten that existed in him. And ultimately does a confession slip past his lips, from a man who would sooner bite and swallow it before admitting it aloud not out of sense of pride, but of self-sabotaging thoughts of how worthy he is of her (were she know about this, he would get a scolding, he knows).
◜…I’ve wanted to do that since forever.◞
More Posts from Selenorites and Others
MAKE YOUR MUSE AS A BUNNY ! ( lunafreya and selene )
tagged by : @oniriqe tagging : honestly if none of you will steal this i will judge you so hard
" 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; considering the implications. i shan't hold it against you if you ever decide to withdraw from our deal. i wanted you to know that. " // @hellseng ( dante. )
👕 ─ go out wearing matching christmas sweaters ( i dare you )
↳ from @moonichor
❝ C'mon – I think it looks cute! And imagine the look on Noct’s face when he sees this! ❞ Prompto practically squealed with laughter. The joke was devious, but funny nonetheless. Lady Lunafreya didn’t need much convincing to participate; all the same, he was grateful for her good-spirited comradery.
In their Christmas sweaters, both of them looked festive. The bright red one read ‘I’m with stupid’ and an arrow pointing. On the other, a bright blue background with snowflakes and a captioned picture of Noctis wearing reindeer antlers, which said, 'I’m stupid.’
❝ I can’t believe we’re gonna pull this off – 'cause he can’t murder both of us…. One of us is gonna have to take the fall… and I’m sorry to say, Luna, buuut, I think his Majesty is about to save his right-hand man, his best bud, his dashing partner in crime– ❞ Chuckling as they walked, not realising they were indeed within earshot of the royal they were speaking about.
｡:*• ─ IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME ! › ( Accepting )
what are your honest thought about your muse’s canon?
what’s the best inspiration ?
how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood ?
* MUNDAY ASKS .
29. what are your honest thoughts about your muse’s canon ?
anyone who has talked more than five minutes with me knows that my opinions are critical on her wasted potential. i think the basic concepts are interesting, i already liked her KG counterpart and i connected with her through those 30 minutes in-game screentime she had more than any other character, and that's exactly why i was so saddened that she was so awfully neglected. she could have been impactful, and not an subject of memes about how 'clingy' she is about a boy she met once. so in short : beautiful character, awfully handled, deserved a yuna arc.
38. what’s the best inspiration for your muse ?
aside from music, classical paintings and mythology, a big inspiration is the expansion of the lore ( with a little fnc and pitioss tied in ) i made years ago with a few friends back when i wrote leviathan more actively. although i don't have contact with most of them anymore, it's still a very important part of my ffxv character portrayals, and probably will be for as long as i write them.
40. ask anything // how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood ?
by the way, guys, for those who only watched a playthrough of ff16 or those who don't want to constantly boot up their ps5 to re-check the lore, someone assembled the archive entries here. i notice it is still incomplete in some areas, but it's better than nothing and helpful if you want to have a read.
munday asks!!!
at what age did you start RPing?
do you RP anywhere else, other than tumblr?
on what platform did you start RPing?
what made you choose this muse?
is there any other muse in this fandom you RP?
is there any other muse in this fandom you’d like to RP?
is there a muse you played on more platforms or in different moments of your life?
did you have a muse you tried to play, but didn’t feel connected to?
did you have muse you tried to play, but ended up dropping for various reasons? (the rpc wasn’t active, you lost interest, etc)
would you be interested into playing a crossover? if yes, do you have any limits?
would you be interested into playing with doubles?
what do you think about AUs?
what do you think about OCs?
what do you think about roleplaying with personals?
what do you think about roleplaying with anons?
what’s the best way to approach you to start playing together?
what was your first muse?
did you ever play a muse for more than a year?
do you have ship bias?
what’s a ship you don’t want to roleplay at all with this muse? (except Bad Illegal And Gross Stuff, of course)
what do you think of your muse’s popular fandom ship?
what do you think of your muse’s canon ship, if they have one?
would you play a OC x canon ship?
would you play a crossover ship?
do you play smut? do you play it only with characters you’re shipping with, or are you open for “one night stands”?
are you multiship?
are you interested into poly relationships for your muse?
is your muse canon divergent in any way?
what are your honest thought about your muse’s canon?
what are your favorite RP tropes to play? (angst, hurt-comfort, etc…)
do you regularly play crack?
do you regularly do dash commentaries?
what are your thoughts on dash commentary?
what are your thoughts on reblog karma?
if you aren’t a native english speaker, do you play in your first language too?
do you feel similar to your muse in any way?
do you feel different to your muse in any way?
what’s the best inspiration for your muse?
what’s a song that reminds you of your muse?
[ OBLIGATORY FREE SPACE!!! Ask anything you’d like! ]
Victoria Chang, Obit
* 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 : feelings.
𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒. being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laughter lines. childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping.
𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒. tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.
𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑. furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. avoiding eye contact. sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice. going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑. wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs. images of what-could-be flashing in mind. uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability. keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks. exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of color. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering. flinching at noises. pleading.
𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes. mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness. denying they’re tired. slow blinking. trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “I’m awake, I’m fine.”. shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.
Tagged by : @reginrokkr Tagging : @asterites / @asteriskheart ( aera uwu ) / @entropyes / @battleshot + anyone who wants to and has the time
* 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 . // @re-no
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐓 , 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐒 , 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒. it was always the trails of her fingerprints, evidence of applying the remedies upon open wounds crying another resin’s ooze. always sitting close and being accompanied by herbal scents or alcohol bottles. nursing was her own love language. adore her, adorn her with the stains of your regret, the dried smear of radiant spider-lily bloom. by her sneaky beneficence did honey-gold glisten all over the sullying hues, forced itself onto your pallor with a warmth that, she had forgotten, would prompt your outlines to instinctively jolt. ‘ ey, luna ! ‘ you blurted out, your treated shoulder flinched, your spine tensed up in a straight line, your brain rang the alarm for what careless thing she attempted. ‘ i told you not to do that. ‘ and she blinked thrice, pursed her lips in surprise, chuckled then, picturing your pout turned towards the wall, away from her, away from the selfless creature she was supposed to portray.
and it’s been difficult to look at, has it not ? difficult to refuse it, to disdain it. that terrible, angelic, woe-devouring thing that would conveniently not memorize your wishes. you, at her mercy, and she possessed too easy an unspeakable power, unnatural but right just how it should be and how it always was. it was always the patching, the undressing and dressing of a burning spot, the mercy at which the beast growled beneath her hands caressing the beauty marks. “ oh, pray forgive me. a force of habit, you know. it is not easy to keep in mind that you’d prefer to suffer and complain. ” all the remark in good jest, but it failed at convincingly delivering the actual apology. ( please, turn to me again when all is said and done, i did not mean it. )
would you keep your anger in your mouth for the next hour, for the rest of the day, had she succeeded to take your pain ? why were you so greedy with it, what did you hoard it for ? hurt was no treasure, it was just hurt. or was the treasure golden and you did not want it ? never one to be able to rationalize the agreement between you and her, the side-note embedded between the lines, she simply sighed and kept tending to the cuts serving as the cause of refuge sought in the most empty inn to be booked within the next radius of a mile. the sun now hung low to the point it dimmed out the reminders. she raised from the couch and played god, the candlewick on, the darkness off. she sat back again behind the subject who did not ask for more miracles, and after brief inspection of her hard work would a larger band aid be seized, planted over the marrings. the long pause nestled within the dialogue fell apart with a delayed answer, whispering ‘ it’s not about that. ’ and she, smiling, said : “ i know … i know. ” of course. of course, it's not about that. it's you not wanting her to hurt. it's you wanting the hurt to be a one-way-street.
we have known it as second nature to this woe-devouring thing for her to adore and be adored. in truth, it frightened her to not see the limits of it. it frightened her to have seen it in the spilt blood she dreamed of, it frightened her to see so much red that was both hers, on paper, and not. it frightened her so much she would let her lips sink to your pain and hurt and ached to still take it but — she kissed it worse, instead. she hurt you more, and would keep hurting you and realized what she had done, realized that the stain of regret would've always been red, oozing from the patch, limbs stitched together, her cold cheek pressed against your shoulder-blade, her heart slipping from her open mouth. “ it won’t happen again. ”
please, turn to face me, will you ? even when i lie.
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