#◟༺✦༻◞ Should this farce cease; may you all reunite┊Lunafreyja → moonichor.┊

[reginrokkr]

[ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender brushes receiver’s hair :)

Sentiments of embarrassment seldom make homage in the abandoned seraph's heart, or any analogous emotions for that matter. Perhaps it is a result of the poor social life he has being the occupied man he is with more important tasks towards the kingdom, or perhaps because never once there was anything sufficiently strong to awaken feelings like these. Whatever the case may be, it is not the same in this moment when Aria's moonlight penetrates through nigh transparent and white curtains and illuminates the two figures standing in the middle of the room.

It is not usual to be summoned to lady Lunafreyja's abode unless higher orders make him stay by her side when certain dangers loom closer and protection is mandatory, so imagine the surprise upon finding out that he was called for nothing more than to spend tranquil time together.

Dáinsleif did not anticipate her insistence to brush his hair, either. In his mind, it should be the other way around, her silky and moonlight-kissed hair being the one to be tended with careful brushing. He takes great care of his hair, yes, albeit this... it's fluttering, to say the least. Even so, he does a great job staying still where he sits while she brushes her fingers on his hair, feeling it smoothness and length as it goes. Hair tending is a comforting self-indulgence of his own, but only now he discovers how vastly different it is when someone else touches his hair, let alone brush it as she does as soon as she takes the brush in her hand.

A wave of warmth permeates the luminary whole starting from his fluttering heart and he hums low and deep, albescent lashes fluttering close to focus on the nice feeling her hands and the brush give him as she goes. It must be that his senses are prepared for the touch when he does it to himself, he ponders. However, when it is someone else, even if he can see them through a mirror... there is an unknown variable that can manifest in any way that he cannot control. Maybe that is why the sensory information reaches to his brain differently than it does when he brushes his hair himself.

Part of him feels like slipping a small jest, something about him not expecting that his hair was in such a poor condition that it needed tending from a second person, or that he did not know that she liked his hair so much that she wanted to have a chance to touch it and brush it herself. But nothing comes, finding the silence that blankets them and the room they're in more comforting and meaningful than any poor attempt to say something to break the ice. Because truth be told... there is no need.

Instead, Dáinsleif's eyes open and he turns his head enough to meet her cornflower gaze without disturbing her hand motions to his hair. The edges of his eyes crinkle in a smile, serenity and joy reflecting in his own stellar eyes as a quiescent way to communicate non-verbally that he enjoys this, the moment— her company. His eyes close thereafter and so he returns to his initial position, praying to the great Irminsul that he doesn't fall asleep as a result of the sleep-inducing act uninvited. Praying that more moments such as this appear in the future, just the two of them.

@moonichor ✦

[reginrokkr]

Inteyvat anthers glow in the dead of the night, an announcement of their detachment from the shackles of their filaments to fly towards the nocturne dome specked with their companions-to-be: the stars, and the lonely moon that sheds its frigid, albescent light in the kingdom of darkness. Ever since his arrival to Khaenri'ah, this is the first time Dáinsleif has the opportunity to be on a vantage point like this with an even better company than his own solitude.

Glacial sapphires turn to look at the angelic figure beside him, what little and natural light that reaches Khaenri'ah imprinted on her like she's the source of this luminescence. ❝Many moons has it been since you witnessed this view, yes? Has it ever changed since then?❞

@moonichor ✦

[reginrokkr]

❝ i just wish there was more i could do for you… ❞

■    ■    ■    What wouldn’t I give for the stars to have hands and cradle your lunar form, to provide you with all the warmth and light you need whilst the distressing nocturne dome tries to make you fade with its faux blanket of hoaxes. Lunafreyja and him both are one of a kind, destined to shoulder the sorrows and agonozing aches of this dimming world lest a solution is found. Divine’s wrath and despair to maintain a false order with the pretension of permanence and the star’s blight threaten to make this planet collide, differing forces as they might be— yet in essence, both are born from the same source that spreads like wildfire under unaware noses.

For five hundred years, physical pain never subsided. Sometimes it may hold a semblance of intermittent evanescence only to return with the ire of a thousand tempests. It burns as if someone light a fire within one’s very being and forgot to extinguish it, forsaken to burn forevermore until naught but ashes remains of them. The crawling sensation is the most respiting of all until you learn that those whom wish to tear your skin open and escape the cage of your body are demons engendered by the poisonous void, the root of malice that predates the mourning songs of seelies doomed to never recover their essence or their memories.

What wouldn’t Dáinsleif give to spare Lunafreyja from all the suffering she bears and make it his own, so that at least one of them may have a more peaceful existence in this world for as long as their existence lasts. Such are the thoughts that cross his mind at the sight of her saddened face, pupils quivering within teal blue depths that reflect his pitiful stance as he lays this bed as if it were his deathbed. It isn’t the first time nor it will be the last, neither it would for the maiden of the moon.

Albescent lashes flutter close and open in a slow blinking meant to hold in tears, carriers of untold pains that remain better unspoken. His lament: not his physical pain or the mental wear, just utter grief for her affliction that does not encompass her own pain alone, but his own too. For them both in frustrated wonder as to why they must be punished so. The abandoned luminary reaches out to cup the side of her face, to caress with his thumb smooth skin of cheekbone’s linearity in quiescent worship and hushed sentiments that transcended millennia. His hand soon drifts smoothly to the back of her head so that his forehead may unite with hers.

❝Your presence here is everything I need.❞ Since when did Dáinsleif give himself the privilege to deign express selfishness of this caliber? He has forgotten, but regret as he might at a later date, it feels right to express so to her. ❝Despite all the wrong I may encompass... I am the luckiest man to count with your company and stay with you back.❞ Truer words could not be muttered and interwoven betwixt moonlight rays that make their presence in the room for now. There was a time when the Twilight Sword of old would’ve preferred to spend time in secluded silence and loneliness as he runs the high of this pain, but it has reached the moment when he is genuinely happy to have another by his side— no, to have her by his side.

Icy sapphires open to meet cornflower irises, their softness reflecting the semblance of a smile that roseate lips refuse to cooperate to form at the time being. It’s fine— this is enough. ❝Would you... sing for me?❞ And yet for her he would, even if the slightest twitch of his body is like opening a brand new gateway to hell. Trembling lips struggle to keep its corners upwards as his hand slowly moves from her nape back to her cheek, then to his chest. ❝Someone forgot that it’s her turn to comply, I believe.❞ Even jesting sounds out of character to him, but what else would they have left to soothe the heavy ambiance if not a bit of humor? Dáinsleif hoped with all his heart that Lunafreyja would take in the signals that weak and vulnerable as he currently may be, he hasn’t given up. He’s still fighting— he always will even if that means reaching the far end of the river of time to make this damned world a place where mankind can rest assured. A safe haven for her to cease chasing the plight of this dimming star away so she may find repose, too.

@moonichor ✦

[reginrokkr]

🔥? :^)

■  ■  ■ ❝Lady Lunafreyja?❞ He hesitates not to voice his confusion when questioned about what degree of attractiveness she harbors to him. All surprise fades from icy sapphire depths that lodge slightly quivering frozen astrals as they narrow. His heart races within the confines of his chest, a whirlwind of thoughts of multiple natures cross his mind one after another, unconnected. ❝Her beauty is unrivalled by any other I have ever witnessed, pale and cold as the lunar light albeit sufficiently bright to chase away the blackest darkness.❞

This is how Dáinsleif feels about her in more way than just bound to physical appeal. Many a times he has felt lost in this land that is so strange to him despite feeling at home somehow, plunged into a swirl of confusion that every time arose to find out new things about himself— or whatever it is that resides within him, he has considered that option too. ❝Her ladyship was put in a place that makes her unachievable to many, and not without reason... Alas, is it not the moon lonely in the darkness of the nocturne sky without her family? So she may feel, sometimes I think.❞

Fair brows knit in a frown as a new sentiment spurs within his heart, one of pity but of understanding too. For even if he may pay it no mind, he, too, isn’t any different as the oracle-priest figure to this kingdom besides the Twilight Sword. ❝While «attractive» is a phenomenal descriptor I can use for her, gratitude would be a more accurate sentiment I have for her.❞ Gratitude and an ancient love yet to be discovered, written in luminescent spirit veins to be made manifest in more ways than just a now unachievable romance of an even older entity, part of his being.

Rather than telling Halfdan about this, perhaps he ought to let her know personally. How much she means to him.

Send 🔥 to know if Dain finds you attractive → Accepting! || @moonichor ✦

[reginrokkr]

moonichor asked: [ CONSOLE ]  sender finds the receiver in the aftermath of a really bad nightmare, and pulls them into a spooning position to offer comfort and solace.

Silver lunar rays infiltrates in the quiescent room through flowing curtains, light shedding over the slumbering forms of two weary souls that struggle to exist for as long as their body permits it. Being vessels sentient to the fate of this world is the cruel punishment that anyone could receive, for they feel in their flesh and marrow the withering of this planet while others live their lives completely unaware of the eclipsing world at their feet. Such is the pain of the presumably immortals, the denial of death though not the negation of collapse if it becomes too much for them to bear.

Even the most cognizant ones of this world’s roots, ailments and suffering like Dáinsleif aren’t exempt from night terrors byproduct of a bleeding heart despite what they know objectively. A hundred years of endless repetitions of the same conclusion of a fallen kingdom sufficed to appease his mind in the acceptance that there was naught he could have done— yet it was not enough to calm his inner demons that torture him at the closest chance they have.

It hurts.

In such moments the pain of the curse heightens, it burns more than if he were standing atop the ashes of the inclement Mare Jivari. Whenever the abandoned celestial’s soul threatens to collapse under the weight of his countless sorrows do his empyrean roots flare up in an attempt to counter the darkness within, only causing more pain in turn. A pain that he is more than accustomed to. From his attempts in the past to rid himself of the curse by his own means to the most recent of moments when his will interposed against the wicked one of the Abyss Order.

Although those poor hilichurls that decided to draw their last breath in the depths of the Chasm will not have to suffer any longer as a consequence of the brute actions of those hypocrites, Dáinsleif’s mind resorts to wonder what would have happened if he failed. What would have happened in Halfdan’s resilient soul was lost in bygone centuries and he was indeed late to put a half to their suffering —more theirs than his own, but not any immune to the hurt—. His skin burns and breathing becomes a nigh impossible feat to accomplish amidst his ceaseless nightmares. The weight of his own self-chastisement threatens to suffocate him until he is no more, until there is naught left of him but a sorrowful soul forced to persist until it’s virtually nonexistent. No, he can’t permit it. If he does, all these people—

Dáinsleif flinches at the physical contact, waking him suddenly from his dream at once. At long last, he remembers how to breathe— no. Since when did he lose the ability to breathe that it felt no different than emerging from the depths of the sea after being submerged for whom knows how long? He pants for air to recompose himself, and it isn’t until he recollects his broken psyche that his attention shifts to the slender arms wrapped around him, to the even breathing that tickles the spaces of the back of his neck that aren’t covered by his long hair and the soft body pressed slightly against him just to feel the comforting physical touch.

Comforting it is indeed, for even if the burning sensation persists, her touch is as soothing as that of lukewarm water running down his body.

Lunafreyja, you… Albescent lashes flutter close again as he relaxes in her arms. Always so attentive to necessities that he would never dare to admit, the Bough Keeper will never stop wondering what he could have possibly done to be deserving of such blessing when everything that he represents is the most obscure darkness of this world. He dares not to mutter a single word, only to remain still for a few moments until his own arms surround hers. Until he gathers enough courage to reach out for one of her hands to gently take it in his own, to bring the back of her hand to roseate lips that press a gentle kiss.

Then he turns after a few moments to regard her with hazy, sapphire eyes. Blue hues mar the otherwise paleness of his under eye area, a crystal clear sign of lack of rest. Such is his exhaustion that he didn’t consider once that Lunafreyja should’ve been sound asleep on her own bed. Instead, they are joined despite his insistence to ensure her privacy even if they are to sleep in the same hotel room. He doesn’t react until she opens her arms once more, inviting. Nor is he currently strong enough to decline her offer as he’s coaxed to rest his head on her collarbone as his form is wrapped once more with one of her arms, whilst her other hand is occupied by brushing his hair with long fingers.

Naught but quiescence fills the room as he nestles his head against her in silent gratitude, his own arms wrapping loosely around her. His skin is burning with the weight of his sins still, but it has become more bearable now. Calming even, similar if not identical to the very few and so far in betwixt locations where he feels the same.

Stay, something coaxes him to, and stay he will as the last shreds of consciousness black out for a genuine slumber that is more likely to occur within his presence than in solitude.

[reginrokkr]

moonichor asked: it is gentle, careful :  the embrace of paled limbs and pressing fingers against the back, the soft whisper breathed via a smile  “ it is good to see you, at long last. “ this comfort is so simple — and she, at ease, forgets her own waning.

Pristine and pale skin that could reflect the very moonlight wither before icy sapphires with the strength of what any corruptible body possesses. What once seemed to be naught but frailness befitting to a maiden’s soul looks more like one of a poor phantom hanging to a life thread. For how long until all that fortitude vanishes from her body, Dáinsleif ignores. It is not a dreaming sight of an individual whom traversed the material plane unto a spiritual one, but one that suggests weariness of countless of bygone years and many more to come. It shows in her cornflower eyes, the exhaustion she must be shouldering with an underlying stubbornness for a duty that perchance should have never been hers— nor anyone that once was mortal. Subtle dark circles hint a necessity to rest, and rest the Twilight Sword would have suggested were it not for the inability to speak when her body crushed to his own like two meteorites willing to become stardust once again, to return to their origins.

Dáinsleif’s own weary heart pounds within the confines of his chest with an emotion akin to glee to meet Lunafreyja in the material plane at long last. Alas, there is a much bigger emotion woven with the throbbing of his heart that paralyzes him for a few moments, unable to make his hanging arms move to hold this body of hers that he longed to embrace were they ever have the opportunity to meet like this. Beware, for this darkness of mine could make you find your ruination at once— swallow you whole until no more sunlight could reach you to shine in the obscure night. I am corruption incarnate, less than dregs of the garden of the gods that was cursed to witness the cruelty of watching this world end by their hand if humans cease to act as marionettes to the puppeteers they are in their eyes.

❝It is good to see you, at long last.❞

And yet you would dare to brave into that dark night, unafraid of what may occur to you despite your waning existence in the mortal plane. Fair lashes flutter close, the whisper of mutual sentiments enough to shed light into his darkness and help him break free from his own paralysis to reach out and cradle her into his embrace, to hold her close to his chest where his heart has found peace to beat in a more natural rhythm. ❝It is good to see you.❞ He mumbles low and deep as his voice always has, an attempt to be as comforting as he can if only to force his undesirable presence into a respite. It is good to hold you too, to remind myself that even a monster such as myself can protect someone instead of destroying or devouring as those whom should have been my coequals are. ❝How long has it been? Since you and I could have met.❞ Long enough, the answer echoes within the confines of his mind. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, for what his eyes perceive denotes that life has not been treating her well.

Strong arms tighten their hold around her some more, albescent lashes flutter open at the sentience of her body molding to his own like perfect pieces of a puzzle meant to remain undiscovered. He wants to change that, as much as his nefarious nature lets him and as long as Lunafreyja allows him so. Loath as he is to indulge into this thinking, perhaps this has been preordained. For the two of them to meet at long last, for him to have a second chance to take care for someone and make her long lasting existence bearable to the best of his ability even if their ways may be forced to separate, each with their own calling.

Broad shoulders rise and fall in a long breath as he presses his cheek gently against the crown of her head, roseate lips that long ago have forgotten to smile curling in a phantom of one. The warmth she exudes is nothing short of a miracle, a reminder that against all odds she lives. And Dáinsleif is selfish in permitting himself to bask in it, in her scent and her embrace altogether before he recollects that she may need to rest. It is then when the abandoned celestial pulls away, sky blue eyes melting into blueberry ones with a gentleness that died with the fall of Khaenri’ah. His left hand reaches out to push away golden blond strands from her face to inspect her better, to confirm his doubts. ❝Exhaustion reflects in your eyes. Would my rusty singing help you to rest after we find somewhere to repose for the night?❞ May that be the case if it would, I pray— for I have been practicing, in hopes that my singing would have a better effect on you next time you asked.

[reginrokkr]

moonichor asked: " would you sing for me ? “ she asks serenely, while her fingers gently braid his strands.

Altered souls shall not enter that realm where life and death collide. There cannot be light without its chasing shadow, just as shadow cannot be without its light. Darkness is an inevitability irregardless of its inconveniences and one’s soul can be poisoned alarmingly easily. This is the reason why the Abyss Order succeeds in each one of their attempts at luring anyone whom is in a vulnerable position to give in to their own darkness, to let it dictate their mind and body until the root of malice becomes too much to bear.

For there are those with hatred in their hearts that may be able to take the lust for vengeance bequeathed to them by fate and channel it into a force for self-advancement. Alas, there are others for whom the passage of time does nothing to quell the poison spreading through their souls.

Omniscient as Dáinsleif may be, he is not exempt from this just as the gods cannot either. Such is the cruelty of passing time for those whom are no mortals, punctuated by a loneliness that can only be alleviated in the company of another whom can understand their dark world and whom can bring light to their life still. As for the celestial prince, five hundred years proved him that he is bound to perpetual solitude, destined to traverse the endless river of time on his own. Imagine his surprise when the personification of that which he adored even since bygone times when he was yet to be given birth graced him with her presence, her mercy and her warmth.

A soft hum passes through roseate lips the moment slender fingers card through the ends of long, nigh albescent tresses with the intent to ensure that there are no tangled strands. Light eyelashes cast a subtle shadow over high cheekbones with their closure as the Twilight Sword’s attention remains solely on her fingers and the mot welcoming presence he could bask in when the world grows so obscure.

❝Would you sing for me?❞

Her voice coaxes him to open his eyes, to turn just a tad whilst being mindful of her attention on his hair to regard her with quiescent disbelief that melts into slight bashfulness. You whom must have witnessed the most beautiful of voices and songs throughout the passages of time, why would you want to hear this broken voice of mine that has not any positive emotions to emanate from? His inner voice is muted when the realization that she must have witnessed his most naïve moments when he accustomed to sing in the choir of angels dawns on him, hues of rose dusting over pale cheeks as he turns his head anew to his initial position.

❝Long has it been since I sang for the last time, perhaps nigh as long as the entirety of my existence.❞ He murmurs to hide his embarrassment, a genuine warning of his lost experience regardless. May as he wished, how could he say no to her? Singing to the lunar maiden sounded too merciful of her for everything she has done to him— for everything she offered to him so selflessly. And thus he clears his voice in preparation and sings a couple of notes as a warm up that serves him as a moment of thinking what to sing for her exactly. Ultimately, broad shoulders rise and fall with the weight of a long breath to offer what she has requested.

                                       deus dormit et liberi                                        ignem faciunt nunquam extinguut.                                        amandum quae—                                        et nocte perpetua in desperatione                                        auroram videre potest mane                                        tempus expergiscendi.

The song of the ancients dies and Dáinsleif’s eyes remain shut for a few moments more, unbeknownst of the tranquil smile posing on his lips. It has been so long that he has completely forgotten how invigorating singing can be, one more lesson to learn from Lunafreyja. Pallid eyelids flutter open at last, head turning a bit to see her out of the corner of his eye. ❝My singing skills leave much to be desired, I fear.❞ Weary eyes soften and light brows curl downwards in an apologetic expression. ❝Your voice would sound much lovelier, I presume.❞ Though it is rare of him to speak without thinking, Dáinsleif did not regret what he said. His words harbor an invitation for her to try next time their meeting is as peaceful as this, bereft of the heaviness that their existences breed.

May that moment come soon.

[reginrokkr]

moonichor asked: “  the stars do not tell you where to go, only how to get there ”

Luminescent flowers glow brighter with every slow step, bright blue illuminating and cutting through the darkness to reveal a path further on the north— a beckoning not to fear obscurity with the promise of a protection that has always been cradling Dáinsleif to safety. Once upon a time he firmly believed that the acquisition of Ley Line scars on a significant portion of his body was one more penitence to suffer for the sins he committed —he did not—. How could he forget the agonizing feeling that all the monsters within him born from the corruption that took over him sought naught but to crawl out of his skin? Even five centuries later, that sentiment persists to this day.

Ley Line veins visible at plain sight react with the flowers and glow in synchrony with every beat of his heart, flora increasing in number the further the man advances towards his destination. Alas, it was far from yet another curse cast upon his disgraced existence— it was a blessing, a chance for a new opportunity to be reborn in life, a plea not to give up for even if the gods may not recognize his valiant efforts to make of this world a better place, it does.

As if patiently awaiting for him does the silver tree reveal itself in all its splendor, basking under the moonlight that seemingly adores it so. Moon and tree inseparable as two fated lovers, yet perpetually cursed by distance, death and grief. Every Ley Line covering Irminsul glows in response to his arrival and so do the ones that cover his body, which causes a wave of warmth like one mother would offer to her child. This warmth— this warmth lulled him every single time back into Morpheus’ arms whenever Dáinsleif’s mind was plunged into despair and sorrow with vivid dreams of a past he is condemned to relive one time after another.

If there is something that helped me go through the heartache of loneliness, that is you.

Unhurriedly does Dáinsleif close all remaining distance between him and Irminsul, right hand touching its pristine trunk in a slow and gentle caress seconds before pressing his forehead against it, moonlight kissed eyelids fluttering close. ❝I have returned.❞ As if sentient and aware of his voice does Irminsul respond with a beat of its glow, sending a welcoming warmth to its dear and accidental companion for centuries bygone— this was but a small welcome back ritual whenever Dáinsleif deigned to descend to the very core of this world and pay a visit, an unnecessary action per se when he can establish a contact with it through his dreams as one more extension of this lonely tree.

An unusual increase in moonlight’s brightness that makes Irminsul completely white with strikes of blue that adorn it beautifully so catches Dáinsleif’s attention in a phenomenon that preluded the sound of a delicate voice echoing in this lone and hidden Eden.

❝The stars do not tell you where to go, only how to get there.❞

For the briefest of moments, azure irises register the presence of flowing hair, a visage and a feminine-like body within its light. An angel descending from the hall of angels? Or perhaps— It mattered not what the source of the voice is, for in the blink of an eye it faded as fast as it revealed itself to him. ❝Even though stars are a faux construct of the gods?❞ He questions in a calm voice, expecting no answer to be given in turn as it has always been whenever an inquiry materialized within his mind, in no different manner than a child would despite carrying the weight of five centuries on his back. For even if he has knowledge at his disposition and hovering at the tips of his fingers, there are still so many questions that he only manages to conclude himself with a comprehensive analysis of everything he was given.

Roseate lips curl in a ghost of a smile that has long been forgotten how to born anew on porcelain features, hand slipping to his side from the trunk as cyan gaze lingers to the full moon above. ❝I know. And I will not rest until I find that place— where all sins begin and shall not spread further to the core of this world.❞

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump #3:

◟༺✦༻◞ May the moonlight have mercy on us┊Dáinsleif × Lunafreyja.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Warm me up with your imperishable fire ┊Dáinsleif × Diluc.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Illuminate the eternal night with your grace┊Dáinsleif × Kaeya.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Should this farce cease; may you all reunite┊Lunafreyja → moonichor.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Brave into the dark night to set all sins alight┊Diluc → gnaneisten.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Lunacy or reason? The choice is yours to make┊Kaeya → ecleips.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ May your soul be your guiding light back home┊Sora → valorxdrive.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Seraphs reminisce how to fly even without wings┊Aether → risingsol.┊