*  //  𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐑​ .

✧ @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.◞

Amano Yoshitaka / Shojokyuu

now that i could reflect on the game's contents here is a ff16 verse. these points are not entirely spoiler free. some built on information taken from the archive, still is going to be tagged as spoilers so read with caution.

members of the fleuret family have their origins in the 'motes of light', the ancestors of most of sanbreque's nobility into which bahamut's dominants tend to be born. few descendants of these peoples migrated out of sanbreque's ever expanding borders and settled in a far eastern part of the northern territories, first given the name 'maniheim' and later simply called 'the dark land', now only separated from sanbreque and its capitol oriflamme by a large lake. though their blood mixed with other lines during the ages, the fleurets still have a high affinity with light magic and bahamut, which is why a lot of their noble blood has ties with the imperial family as both nations fostered an alliance in the past. blessed with divination and a connection with celestial bodies, some of them would even be sent to the empire to become highly valued astrologers to the ruling head and enjoy privileges no bearer could ever imagine.

due to the blight spreading after the collapse of drake's eye, the people had to flee and intermingle with sanbreque's society once more in the last seven to eight decades. while a large portion of the populous was lost, some others established small communities. the fleuret family however, became a controversial noble complex and political tools, ever exploited in exchange for the empire's 'hospitality', exposing biases and double standards in comparison to the treatment of common born bearers. basically, they are useful 'guests'.

similar to eikons manifesting in dominants, some of which already occurred before the downfall of the ancient civilization ( one example being shiva ), so would the power of celestial objects manifest in generations of the fleuret line and their nocturnal oracles, this includes the sun, the moon, and specific stellar constellations, eventually to be associated with deities. it is through this awakening that the myth of metia as a messenger to the heavens takes its roots, and that the moon, embodied by a lunar oracle, answers the prayers metia would bring her.

while lunafreya practices divination, so was she also born a talented medic to sylva, who under mysterious circumstances passed away, yet, the excessive use of that blessing wears on her body. her brother ravus, having joined the military of sanbreque's knights, hoped to ensure the semi-protected position of lunafreya and their sister stella within the empire, nevertheless, with sylvestre's growing greed, even she could not be spared to become an instrument for his wars, likely separating the siblings.

personally i would like her to reach beyond her 20's for once, thusly be around clive's age, and won't meet her end at least until after the second time-skip, if arguably so.

since luna so deeply enjoys gardening, she may or may not nurture an aether-blue variation of the otherwise white or lilac wyvern-tail, right next to a small chapel dedicated to greagor, where she treats the ailments of the poor whenever she is able.

affiliation wise, she is mostly neutral, but would find herself supportive of dion's revolt. for the emperor and the empress she feels nothing but cold indifference. to clive and his party she will potentially be The Cryptic NPC.

@battleshot​  :   He will *try* to flatter akjsfceimjga

ah, he is struggling a little.  it is quite adorable, indeed, how he resembles a shy chocobo chick ;  and upon noticing so she hardly can suppress the urge to pet his hair.  in fact, she does it anyways.  there, there.

𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓 ?    —    did it hurt to see, to hear, to smell, to taste, to touch ?  did it hurt, to be and not to be ?  yes.  it did, indeed, every day.  she witnessed afflictions of that which she should not have, but a fleuret woman was ordained to stand between the visible and invisible, the confessed and unconfessed, the yoke of human-flow riding through her, the moon, the stars, the sun, trampling o’er them with all their might, all they had in store.  the misery, the revulsion, the ashes of a village or the thunders between gears, putrefaction stuffed into where it should not be, the embers of death beneath her bare heels.  the progression, the regression, the stasis crystalline of encased einherjar.  the undreamed, and the lucid dreams.  all that taken and shaken deep into the bones, the moon so close to bleed it all out / the stars so close to blink out.  was this what mother wished for her daughters, the long-winded thread of barbed wire wrapped around their golden heads ?  the taking of sin, and giving back oblivion ?  was this her doting parenthood ?  “ i hope she did not.  may etro bless her heart to rest peacefully. ”  o etro, o fallen light,  did it hurt to exist ?  did it hurt to give light and receive back every sin committed, every fear felt, every laughter strangled off the throat ?  we all would carry dying inside of us, the way the oxygen shriveled us till all that was left was a little glint, leaving or hiding away from etro’s clay.  “ or have you…. have you seen her ?  out there ? ” // @asterites

𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒. or at least that is what the ancient scriptures had dubbed these augury of souls. the broken fractured of light, unseen by all, existing inside the aortic construct of pulsing organism. t'was the gift of a desperate goddess, an unholy sentiment donned upon the flesh of the first women and her children. how fascinating it was to understand : we are all born rotten before we are made pure. holiness, sacristy, neither would have existed without the beautiful chaos that trifles that of heavenly order. the words of the dead undoubtedly guides the stars more intimately then that of life, for soft-chosen reservation is bereft of conventual guidance. ❝ whether it be regret or fear, the concept of non-existence is still quite terrifying. they cling to the shadows and covet in what is familiar. they reject death as fervently as life had rejected them. it only makes my heart ache more. ❞ in the layers of deep affinity, she unsheds the truth of sacrificial burdens —— it suffocated her. deeply. violently. the horrors that she has seen, the things she dares not repeat, and perhaps even her own glorification of bedlam did nothing but weaken her inner psyche. say selene, was it the same for you too ? when the blood moon rises and sheds its light to the world, when humanity looks to you for answers, do they shed their sins onto you ? did they just expect their pain to just disappear ? to answer your calling : did it hurt to exist ? ❝ when mother departed in this world, do you think she had any regrets ? ❞

Like for a short starter if you dare

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘ i say this out of pure selfishness. ’    //    @peacedog​ / kazuhira.

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆     /    𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍.    we may hide this like a nakedness, thought that covering it came close to a selfless, principled act.  but most likely it was just that.  acting.  at times, the lunar pearl, who so silently observed us like an indifferent eye, did wonder herself if this simply made us forget who we were  ---  or if our obscured self shall be left bare, popping out wrathful and mortified and exposed through our agape mouths.  and yes, agape itself consisted of selfishness, too.  we would turn to our god, angry and spiteful about our unacknowledged sacrifices, like neglected children begging for attention.  at least, you were honest enough to admit it out loud.    “ no doubt you do.  but i sense a fraction of bitterness, too.  be careful with it. “    she had warned you many times, and never packaged she it in mockery.  rather... concern than anything else.  if only she was better than this, but you never knew her without her set of needle-words ;  gently, so gently piercing into the flesh.    “ ire is a hungry, growing creature.  i shall loathe to see you more befallen by it than you already happen to be.  it would…  sadden me. ” 

Melancholia - Yoko Shimomura. Final Fantasy XV.

" 𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄. so... i assume you either need my word of influence, or you are simply a mad man. " // @hellseng ( balthier. )