* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄

  *  //  𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐑​ .

Melancholia has cruel tendencies of engendering grief at its worst. While Dáinsleif insists that too much time has past for him to remember his youngest years, he is no stranger of that sentiment. Of times when he did not know any better and this world wasn’t as grotesque. Of times where fantasies of the acceptance of a romance long gone that do not pertain to him— alas, they still seeped through his senses as if they were his own. If only he reminisced any at all. ❝I would not.❞ The pain that emanates from the lunar sacredness before him failed to go unperceived by him. Though his soul would say otherwise, there is naught but sorrow all that comes from reliving the past— the memories. For better or for worse, Dáinsleif is an expert of reliving until shattering himself whole. ❝It is human to desire for something that was better in one’s life.❞ Ah, but the duality that is so palpable in her words pains him to the very core. Pray tell, child of the moon. Were you given a chance to choose, what would it be? Your past of that whom you are meant to be? ❝…Tell me. Would you find any solace if you could pursue any of that which you seek from your past?❞

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.    it waited patiently to cleave apart those dimensions and detach her from impossibilities.  yet, the waking dreams were unrestrained, and the wish as endless as the slumber of the cold aria moon.  lofty, and mystical, and strange.  she presumed it came with age, old and weathered as she was, a forsaken temple of paled limestone.  while, yes, we can call it all ‘human desire’, which at first it was — regardless, she must have been transcending such, if personal longings and conceptualizations of a wistful god fashioned her to a woman-clutter of contradictions.    “ solace ?  that’s very uncertain.  perchance, it could temporarily numb the sorrow with ‘what if’s’, but are such things not prone to repetition ?  do they not worsen it all ?  you know this better than any other. “    how long did it haunt her to intermingle and blend with other losses ?  where did they end and she begin ?  for how long would she wander both asleep and awake like an avatar, intoxicated by too much lunacy to bear ?    “ whether that which was lost could return to us, or we return to it, eventually we would lose it again.  i might not be strong enough to endure it many more times after piecing myself together.  i am... not like you, dáinsleif. ”

Anyway I am a fan of luna being angry and passive aggressive sometimes, so whatever verse I go with, she won't be nice to him.

lunafreya “ he stabbed me in the guts and slapped me in the face but i’m going to sympathize with him anyway “ nox fleuret

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘  i can offer you my heart, though i have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. ’    //    @fenrirch​

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 ?    mayhaps, because she was never meant for either ;  a woman too holy to stay    /    too holy for life.  promised to the dictated cause, engaged with demise.  she'd liked to make an exception.  just this once, if she may.  once in private where the night of the living enshrouded mene, clung and held her ever-tightly, and she, in her pure besottedness, let it all happen.  all over again which could lead to a second confession and a third, until the guilt out-wore itself like an ill-fitting dress stripped from her hips, finished and scrapped from the obligation list.  she let this happen :    your arms needy and desperate around her waist.  all the whispers which only dim lights would bear witness to, and all the touches exuding scandal, shielded by the generous curtains of the hotel room from a stalking, hierarchical gaze.  she begged not for forgiveness, she did not apologize for the single action that might have kept her alive in place, when, otherwise, she would have so effortlessly slipped away from our fingers.

“ plenty of them, i hope. ”    a laugh pushed through a forced sicle-shape, the embarrassed flush of her cheeks no less romantic in nature.  it’s grit teeth rather than amusement.  the jaw clenched briefly, the sinew of her tender neck tense against your comforting breath.  how could one think of it as anything other than torment, knowing she would take that warrior’s heart with her into the grave, instead of soothing its harrow grief ?  yes, confessions were this terrible.  and still, she had counted your battle scars, the magic trails, each flaw and scratch.  lithe fingertips followed worn tissue to the crux of a violent pulse.  her hand atop, resting, because ophelia wanted something else than to float in the pond.  it was too cold in there.  she'd rather crawl ashore and be warmed up by another foolish jest of yours.  her sweet, heedless soldier with an eroding hero-complex.    “ you are such a silly man  —  why must you be this dramatic ? ”    though not overdone, for she simply did not wish to admit it.  but a holy woman was not meant for confessions, or for clumsy dancing after too many a glass of wine, or for a tender peck after too sweet a girlish giggle.  so you said what you said and tried your hardest to not kill her with it.  because love, as always, equated to religion, and religion called for death.  of course, you’d never let her go this far, but she would and you would indeed go this far, and you both knew this.

❝ sometimes the monsters we least expect are the most dangerous. ❞

The saying finds itself holding a topsy turvy perspective within his mind. Through voyaging beyond the stars and across the countless chasms of reality, watching the many ways life flourished or corroded, where people involved within his particular journey as starseekers were thrust into the chaotic grasp of Darkness one way or another, it left him... confused.

For there were many who also heralded the ends days that could produce an instinctively deep fear, the sort that could squeeze and claw at the very matter of your being, Sora's lips thinned as a hum escaped. So where does Luna's words find their lot in this system of experience?

Monsters made through relationships lost? Sides of the self that were all too eager to crawl to the surface, casting away restraint in terms of desire fulfilled? Or, by chance she encountered threats that found pleasure and purpose in intentionally keeping out of sight.

"Heheh, I can't really tell if it's bitter surprises or what you can see deep down that winds up being the worst. ..I'm not sure what I can really least expect at this point anymore."

The day power found itself burning bright within his hands was simultaneously marked by a day of betrayal. Ruin surrounded him, childhood whimsy and dreams smashed against the sea glazed rocks of a calamitous stretch, all while a great darkness lorded above destiny islands. When it came to Riku, in some ways, ..that wasn't the least expected. There was a discomfort that wormed heavily into their gang at the islands.

His distance as a thirst for adventure and an unknown promise allowed the intoxicating sweetness of false promises blind him.

So how about another? When that same individual ripped that strength back to it's rightful heir, when his companions that grew dear decided to follow duty instead of standing by their bond.

A monster known as helplessness had torn and burrowed into his rib cage then. Despite the outcome now days being a lot more positive, that all encompassing feeling that wanted to choke his Heart makes shivers creep through his being even now.

"..Is that another case of least expecting? When all courage within you could disappear from just one little moment?"

If only he could see the pain that contorts his face into such a firm gaze.

@moonichor

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 , 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.   astral and whimsy.  and wherever they’d go, they would belong.  for a seeress bereft of her home, unbelonging and still half-settled, tied to the arteries of time, the wonder arose frequently when those visions of dust would finally be realized to dust, when the dream of eternity consumed those who fled every passing day from its consumption.  beneath the faint moon-sheen she folded her hands and hummed out her pondering softly.  and even this, cradled within the security of khaenri’ahn walls, would be a state momentarily existing before it did no longer.  “ for the naked eye, it is an unchanging sight, but what seems eternal is, in fact, not.  i believe she wants to remind us about our own evanescence.  that, though we may last long, it shan’t be forever.  even the moon, will disappear one day. “  abruptly did she then acknowledge etiquette might not be appropriately applied to chatter nigh resembling ‘ small talk ‘, not at all the place for philosophies and spills of vague prognostics.   “ forgive me, kind dainsleif, cryptic remarks are a terrible habit i ought to unlearn for private conversations. ” // @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 ✦

* 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐈 .

i. a little headcanon ( from an earlier post ) with @asterites includes the perfidious lady cousin of the fleuret siblings, cytherea, who, in good old fleuret family tradition, perishes.  but not before turning into a daemon that resembles siren from ff11. if iedolas still had an implied son ( short-haired blondie from the versus trailers ) she probably would have had a scandalous affair with him while they planned to overthrow niflheim together via to their shared greed for power.

ii. while luna has neither a particular eating disorder nor an unhealthy relationship with food, she does have the tendency to self-neglect due to overworking, which results in slight underweight and a bit of hair loss / hair thinning. that does not mean she finds no enjoyment in food or that she consumes with guilt attached, quite the opposite ; she simply finds little time to indulge. if she gave herself the chance to eat regularly, she'd find back to a healthy weight without much issue.

iii. opposite to what little we've seen of the pages within the notebook that luna and noctis exchange, she likes to decorate her entries with little ( bad ) scribbles that go along with her letter-long ( fancy ) texts. of course, over the years have assembled multiple books, filled with smaller or longer notes, insignificant or emotionally charged alike. she lets noctis vent more than she allows herself to, but sometimes even she finds herself writing down what she is feeling in her political prison.

iv.  as much as square enix wants the sylleblossom to be associated with the relationship of luna & noctis because they keep showing the pressed flower in the journal, plus her death scene / the scene with ravus --- the only two times i accept this flower in relation to her and why i think she nurtures them, are : one. a field full with its blue petals appear like a sea and therefore creates a visual dynamic that reminds of the moon and its control over the ocean. two. sylleblossoms highly resemble gentiana’s and are a direct hint towards the connection between the messengers and the oracles, since the flower is native to tenebrae.  other than that i just take the lunar tear out of nier and apply it as luna’s personal flower, because of the fact it grows at a lost shrine ( i oft like to symbolize that the moon as selene's forsaken body is sort of like a lost shrine ) and is said to perform miracles which is a reference to luna’s entire healer image.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒.

👁️👄👁️ excuse me sis, do you have the time to talk about our lord and savior : bhunivelze. 👁️👄👁️

luna vc : why yes sis, i serve him 👁️👄👁️

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  ;  x.

‘ 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄    /    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄. ‘    eos’ populus harbored its own awareness regarding tribute in exchange for divine boon, and so, too, had children who were necessitated to grow solitary into the rule of cruel fate.  among the silent pantheon favored their king the concept of sacrifice specifically.  a haloed body, offered to redeem the sins of many, a structural rite as old as time.  for such, she was ne’er taught alternatives, too holy the word that she could ever question blood-soaked blessings.    ( should one call this bravery or, rather, lunacy ? )    in fact did the practice of oblation burn deeply into each mundane obligation, a life baptized and groomed and molded based on pure devotion ;  how ought she ever entertain another route ?  and in spite of such unthinkable idea, must she admit appreciation for its innocent source.  you, of self-preserving stubbornness against hardships, might not have imagined the consequence in withdrawing from the preordained journey toward the sacramental altar.  

upon the stone of the chosen site for rest had minor struggles manifested.  with slight amusement conducting her laugh did she assist ;  ropes tied to knots, poles pillared against, covers succumbed to her neat tug.  it was a clumsy little ordeal, but a cheerful one as well, she noted, as blankets unfurled within the interior of this tent-shelter.     “ it is not so bothersome.  i understand my position, the distance between them and me, and it would be unfair to not acknowledge that, for plenty of the people, to address me so is an expression of respect, but formalities are not a strict requirement for me.  to foster relations with allies on a personal basis and equal grounds can be a wonderful thing, too. ”    to unravel her own stance in a matter that exposed her lonesome did not come with ease.  in all the reverence called she herself anything but admirable, not by far could she qualify as a noble-driven figurehead ;  yet mused every story the same thing :  somewhere, somehow, someone must manufacture softness to a crown and compassion to a shepherd’s crook.    “ nonetheless, i am curious, and particularly worried, about your circumstances.  how is it that a young boy such as you is committing to such dangerous tasks ?  is there no guardian who would be concerned for your safety ? ” // @hamadaxfighter

is the moon made out of cheese

yes, mozzarella specifically.