*   𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃.    t’was between sisters where angels fell on deaf ears, where their choirs ceased so abruptly it rendered time breathless, drowned out by humming bird songs.  as seemingly humble nothings meant everything amid cosmic malediction, what else could she do than accept sweet offers, which may, one day, stand still at a moment's notice ?    “ how could i say no ?  i am in the mood for a little adventure today, and this book can certainly wait.  to what wondrous place will you guide me, i wonder ? ”

It’s not the whisper of a hymn or a hallowed prayer, but the breath of a dying melody curled along the oracle’s tongue in a hushed hum.  ❝ Would you have time to partake in a sightseeing walk with me, Luna ?  There’s a lovely spot not far from the town. It is but a short carriage ride away. ❞ — @moonichor

* 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍 .

what’s your phone wallpaper :   one of monet's waterlily paintings. last song you listened to :   playthings for the breeze by freesscape. currently reading :   nothing right now. last movie :   princess mononoke. last show :   slowly catching up with ygo gx. what are you wearing right now :   i'm a boring individual with a black shirt and grey pants. piercings / tattoos? :   got pierced earlobes but i never wear jewelry. glasses ? contacts? :   nope. last thing you ate? :  i love my hearty oatmeal. favorite color(s) :   i can appreciate all colors to some degree. current obsession :  ff16 and i make it everyone's problem. do you have a crush right now? :  i have no feelings ever. favorite fictional character(s) :  aqua, xehanort, lunafreya nox fleuret, nyx ulric, zack fair jesus christ, kainé, lara croft ( classic up to legend trilogy to be specific, i'm not into the reboot trilogy ), and many more.

tagged by : @oniriqe tagging : i have no clue who did this already aha

❝ 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

* 𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 .

@epokhas ( kazuhira ) sent bitter love to the sis.

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 , 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 : the act of peeling oranges for someone, the act of consideration for her, but the orange was not quite ripe, and its flavor, sour. this abstract and calloused kind of adoration, peppered with your passionate protection, wrapping around its embittered nexus, it grew with time. paradoxically. it reminded her of oceanic love, old and containing all its abominations, making room for more unlovable monsters. sulfur, gun-powder, the phlebotomy of oils and fossil fuels spilled into each tide promising its back and forth, machismo in its ebbs, the flow of empty-carved flatteries. pollution propped up each huff and puff from your pouting mouth. a pouting mouth that did not articulate what it meant. it just sighed for your false messiah and the heavens fell mute to his self-fulfilling prophecy. self-imposing, self-mongering, like any other repetitive promise delivered by fallacious prophets. ‘ but it is alright. ’ her musings withered to a whisper. the flutter of her lashes and lax shape of her brows brimmed with an exhausted patience. it was deathless almost, dead and undead, a worn anchor settled within a bottomless puddle of liquid tar. tar that oozed from the throat, choking on its nightmares, on the rot of eaten snakes, on the smoke sucked from another's lung.  ‘ i am just as crude inside ’ you were not blind to her ugly, unsalvageable interiors, the thing she carried within. the thing that dried all her tears, all her humanness twisting to a deformed organ. removable when dysfunctional. it was a thing not dissimilar from that which you stubbornly refused to extract. but with its festering could come collapse. she must not forget the frail ripples of the sea, how the slightest shake could make or break it.  “ i wish i could take your pain sometimes. your bitterness. i know you wouldn't forgive me if i did. but you have not forgiven me for other things, so it would make little difference. " her hand, emitting unwanted comfort, rested upon your clenched fist. cruel tenderness irritated upon the fuss. she did not mind how rough it was against her mellow touch. it was still old love. oceanic, salty and bitter. weathered smooth by its clashing waves. it was still the peeling of oranges. " i'm sorry. i always say something inappropriate, don't i ? " some shred of your bitterness must have rubbed off on me.

Forugh Farrokhzad, Deevar (The Wall); from ‘Lost’, tr. Sholeh Wolpé

Giulio Aristide Sartorio - Isaotta nel bosco/Fata Morgana, c. 1895

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 ;    whilst this defied her suchness as celestial body, orbit-shackled to natural arrangements.  selene was born to catch fallen stars ;  to keep a globe in place which long refused order, one so desperate to shatter and drown into its self-inflicted calamities, its wars, its addictions for her crystalline tears to numb the powerlessness.  burdens unbeknownst to you, this maiden child, too, had yet to taste cinder, touch fire, behold a blaze, whereas it was her utmost purpose to witness the world wholly in all its terrific stages, and to accept all impending marring.  she was not to be spared, she was to be wrought for gods.  this sisterhood required both children to be people, but they soon would find each other bereft of human components.  nevermore an exchange of delights, caught in the midst of crossfires one so young be far too naive to. a day so dreadful she enclosed her little star between her arms and hoped for this week to ever last.  freeze into stasis /  safely eternal  / sheltered and unstained.    " no one will, i'm afraid.  it's always been you, and you will always be the one i shall share desserts and pick flowers with.  but you needn't fret over me.  i learn to take care of myself— "    little effort was invested to repress trembling breath, a rasp song of lament.  (  still but a child.  still a sister.  )    " promise me to be good. " 

𝐍𝐎𝐗 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐒. the moon to the stars. the virtuous to the luxuriate. one bounded by bygone oath and the other a mere spare. in this soliloquy adorned by destiny, unknowing asteria can only cling to her own frustration. her discontent immerging from childish inconvenience, unable to let go the sister to whom she held so dear. the mere embodiment of youthful ignorance, the tips of starlight's fingers only knows how to flee. runaway and hide, while shrinking away from any known responsibility. she simply could not understand, for how could she when you had shielded her wings so that she may know flight. always always so selfless, how could she see anything passed the obedience you solemnly shoulder —— you are still a child, selene. you are. you are her sister first, before you were someone else's oracle.

❝ ——what if i give you all my pudding cups, can't you stay more then a week ? ❞ see how she begs, her pouty lips bartering her known delights. ❝ i don't want to share you. who else is going to pick flowers with you and sneak the strawberry candy to you during prayer time ? ❞ such a spoiled child, yet genuine all the same. ❝ sometimes you forget to eat too, so who is going to take care of you all the way over there if we are all here ? it's so silly. ❞

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍.    dawn-gold burned its way into lineage, honey lit in cosmogenic lustre 'pon the fingertips of freyja-women.  gullveig had not borne the first mouthpiece's name, yet they would christen her so, anointed as substitute for two, under the parasite of night and daemonic hunger.  wingless and graceless grandeur but a phantomic mirror    (  crestfallen selene knew only the fall )    their chins yet were situated with proud poise.     " my troubles are that of my people.  how shall i guide them out of the dark alone, when the gods still sleep and our chosen king has left us?  how am i to bear this...?  "

Laments and prayers alike ceased not to reverberate within this fallen seraph’s mind even if her wings were torn away and abandoned to drown in her shame and reduced to a residue bound to be forgotten by time. ❝Speak thy mind. I can sense something troubling thee.❞ Of course, that includes hearing the burdens of the Oracle even though the maiden of light might not believe it to be possible.

@moonichor ⚚

✧ @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.◞

Fire: from “A Journal of Love”, The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934–1937