*  𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 .

hi so, i have decided to re-brand this blog, this serves more in terms of picking a new url and of stating the obvious of how interactions will continue here.

obviously, i'm not as active with luna as i used to be the first time i wrote her, which was ages ago, and it will likely never going to be the case again. luna will continue to exist as a muse for, quite literally, the 'whenevers'. i am aware, this will be unattractive for some people who need regular and consistent activity and interaction in order to keep their own blogs going themselves, but that just means this blog isn't for you and that's okay. that being out of the way, with the reduction of potential interest because of this, i'm far more likely to come back to interactions that contain dynamics or concepts which have been discussed and established prior. i am no longer going to write interactions on here where i have to assume the dynamic or assume where i can potentially take it, however if we did discuss something substantial to look forward to i will reply to what we have even if it takes me a long time. just recently i dug up an ancient thread, put it in my docs, and wrote a few paras out of a whim. again, if time is of the essence to you and you equate my pace to the amount of interest i have, this will not be the blog for you.

i did notice there are some threads that do still have potential but they are super old and are still written in the legacy editor, and naturally it's going to get messy THEREFORE if there weren't too many reblogs involved in a thread we can just repost it and keep moving from there ( provided the other person still wants to ).

i've been weird with prompts tbh, i haven't reblogged a single in-character prompt post since over a year i think. i figure people will send random stuff and that's enough for me! you can send random stuff just pls be patient, thanks.

my ass cannot write beyond four paragraphs anymore and i don't know why. it takes otherwise far too long even if its on a blog i'm frequently on. my energy is limited, especially on a physical basis. please don't take this as me not putting all my efforts or thoughtfulness into my replies. it's just that i can simply no longer 'match energy' so to speak.

ok thats it for now, i wanted to get this off my chest before i create too many expectations lskdfjlskdfdj

The Burmese Harp (1956) dir. Kon Ichikawa.

𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 , 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄.    the girl too young    /    the cross too large    /    the divinations too terrible to be bound to.  though, devastating to hear your plea, there was no such thing as a saying in the dictation of your sister's upbringing, no power over decisions she could dare make independently. and still, tomorrow,  would she invent an illusion of choice, for if she did not, how ought a bird thrive in captivity ?  how ought a flower bloom without the light ?  how ought selene illuminate the night without the sun and without the stars ?  “ stella… ”    a whisper so soft t’was barely voice-borne as she grasped two small hands with her own, gently enough she might, any moment, break apart.    “ i’m sorry… i wish i could stay, really… ”    (  i want to stay here, with you, with ravus, with mother.  i want to stay, but i can only obey.  )    “ we’ll be spending all of the upcoming week together before i depart, alright ? ”

❝ that's not fair, sister. i need you way more then solheim, why do you have to go ? solheim is way too far and way tooo boring, you just should stay here. i will hide you in my closet, it's plenty big. ❞ @moonichor

Amano Yoshitaka / Shojokyuu

  *  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

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐄-𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 ;    for their stories to be re-told and nevermore forgotten.  even the dead grieved in forsaken tongues, silenced tongues, mouthing entombed names.  removed and re-fabricated historic fairy tales.  with that premise she had risen along thrill-embodied, shrouded in gold and silk and feverish interest.    “ then let us hurry, lest somnus catches and infects us with his sour mood at this fine hour. ”    her tease was as merciless as her titter was melodic ;  gone quieter with synchronized steps, two arms entangled in one friendly knot.  the angels still observed them in their far too enthusiastic escape, shortly halted at the edge of the road where they called for the ride that would carry them away from their prayers.    ( when was the last time we were mere girls ? )    the lofty governor, the dragon among gods, did not desire their nostalgia of this simpler time ;  devotion now a law to be followed under his iron fist, and by the lamenting heart of eos, the dawn since ebbed into a loveless retreat.  stepping into the carriage’s interiors, she falls into the besotted trance at the sight of forest-green beyond the small window-frame, waiting patiently to be explored.    “ perhaps, i, too, needed an excuse for a day of freedom, and i am most grateful you asked me to join you. ”

         Hands lightly pressed together, ghost of smile peeking out from behind gloved fingers. Although subdued ( a blank canvas, white and pristine and empty, for heavenly words must shine pure through mortal coloration ), budding excitement leaked through the cracks of the vessel’s impeccable poise.  ❝ Wonderful ! ❞  The lavish yet modest accommodations granted by the town for their momentary repose was nice, but she yearned to peer into remnants of times bygone. For but a fleeting, almost even restless moment, silence draped its limpid cloak on her. Imagining what lay before them weaved an entrancing work of art, mind swept under the tide of anticipation beckoning her to search for what had been long forgotten. Perhaps it’s unbecoming to devote so much of her attention beyond sacred duty, conveyance of the holy grace of the gods, but as she rose from her chair, sleeves undulating with the brief motion, steps ached to carry her forth to the mysteries of the unknown all the same. Fortune smiled upon Aera, for her to be blessed by the stars with a sister who humoured her fanciful interests.  ❝ Adventure is what you shall receive then. I seek to walk along the paths laid out within the ancient ruins of the forest to the east. There will be much to see ! Once word of it reached me, I knew I had to go. ❞

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    ACCEPTING .

‘  the handsome fellow that’s trying to rescue you from a hideous fate is never wrong.  ’   //    @asterites​​​

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.    that said, while the wit with which it was conveyed, and the context thereof, robbed her embarrassingly of all her excuses, it contradicted with each principle an oracle absorbed and internalized.  hence, her first impulse was to dismiss  —   but what exactly provoked it ?  that her fate threatened a hideous undertone ?  that he, the silly hero, had all intentions to rescue her ?    (  or that he was ... handsome … ?  )    none of these points were untruths and, still, she argued.  still, she made a case for dispute  :    “ he is wrong.  i needn’t be rescued from a particular destiny that i have not chosen  — ”    but with the lakes of fire in their home of darkness, with the heads of conquered children at a gunpoint, and their betrayed roots, had it been a free decision, or unsought necessity ?   ‘ i chose this ‘    on repeat and with effort, the line transformed to conviction, did it not ?  a conviction as real as one to serve an empire which, more than once, manufactured tools out of the flesh of loved ones.  a conviction of devoting to a life of conserved rite.  a conviction that, rather than following survival instincts, there was a choice, at all.

notice, a frown pinching into pallor and a crooked line that ought to resemble a smile, but did it terribly so, marred her pretty visage as her spoken point dilated to the nonsensical.  the denial so outstretched, it portrayed no longer her own instilled thought.    “ it is not that i want him to do this for me, or that he should continue it.  moreover, he is quite hypocritical ... ”    you see, every day, solheim’s high priestess lied through her teeth.  about a good, giving godhead and redeeming salvation under the throne of his mercy ;  about worship and a cause greater than the worshipers.  every day, she lied about picking up the skeletal remains of a dormant faith, and promised to her subjects a myth cased in crystal.  in turn, she lowered her secrets into the coffin of her past, in hopes the valkyric goddess would find and care for them behind valhalla’s fog and the rotting dreams of sorrowful mwynn.  then she smothered that memory, until her woes emptied and interchanged with robes and a scepter invoking divination, forgot what other purpose her hands served than to reach for the voided universe.  for this reason, she lied again, and again, and again ;  until she believed she wanted the barren holiness, and found herself utterly bemused by the absolute ease it required to welcome festering love to creep through the spaces between her gilded ribs.

“ …  he is so …  stubborn, and foolish.  he does not listen, and i  —  ”    oh, look at her.  poor, wretched woman.  suddenly, her hands were meant to touch the heart of another, and the lies were mouthed with naught more than displeasure ;  for there was this man who learned to know her beyond them, as well as she acknowledged his reckless, careless, endearing whimsicality.  his clumsy struggles and lovable qualities.  and, truthfully, resistance could only be considered an impossible effort.  the thought of such alone torturous enough that she preferred to be snapped out of it by the curious impressions within the glance of her starry sibling  —  the sheer tease radiating off of the silent expression suggested full awareness of the remaining contents within the muffled sentence.    “ don’t you look at me like that now.  besides, something tells me a similar experience plagues and blesses you. ”

* 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.

* 𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑩𝑹𝑼𝑺 𝑰 :    𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎 .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 :   the lush lands of the now-known tenebrae had been one of ruin and darkness long ago.  in the pre-historic age was humanity bestowed with fire, and the waters followed.  as ifrit would gift his sparks, leviathan would gift riverflow.  civilizations would be built with each those tools, but they never ceased their fascination for astronomy and selenology.  where the sun would obtain patron status would man establish solheim, the home of the sun ;  where they would revere the moon, they would establish maniheim, the home of the moon ;  where they would ask the stars for guidance, was the seat of the stjarna people.  maniheim’s and stjarna’s societies were interlocked and influenced each other with their belief in the afterlife, crossroads and prophecies, and had closer relations with each other than with solheim.  and though all three had different celestial objects in focus, they would all greet the dawn warmly.  the global population would worship eos the most as the mother of life.

while solheim was not the only civilization to rise to power, it was the last one to connect people before the astral war split nations apart with babylonic impact.  long has the war lasted and none of their social structures survived.  an era of turmoil gave rise to the darkness that people would soon interpret as the curse of the stars.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎-𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 :    during the time of war emerged factions, and the messengers of defeated deity fell from heaven right into the ruins of civilization. some of them, lingering upon maniheim-soil which would simply become known as the "dark land", fell in love with humans and procreated, their offspring dubbed the children of sin.  the line of the fleurets began with skadi, a daughter of sin, born of eos' messenger and a wintery man who originated from the western parts of the continent. she would wander over barren hills, hear the voices of angels, and grew up distanced from her peers.  years pass and she hardly shown any signs of aging, her father long lost to plague and her mother executed. ere she, too, would beget a child with a mortal does bahamut's messenger find her and announce the punishment for her and her descendants : ever shall this blood of molten dawn and rotten light that understands the word of gods bear this burden till the last one falls. ever shall the sons of eos and the daughters of her messenger be the token of guilt.  the draconian shall claim the crossing between clay and ichor.

while skadi had not been bahamut's chosen blood, her daughters and granddaughters would evolve traits closest to the soon-to-appear first oracle aera and her sister gullveig. and gullveig, she'd one day beget another line of descendants with another messenger : selene's.

The Awakening Of The Poet, Gabriel Ferrier (1899)