𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

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. ”

“ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 , 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 ?  are they reveling in bliss, or do they agonize? “ // @asterites

by the way, guys, for those who only watched a playthrough of ff16 or those who don't want to constantly boot up their ps5 to re-check the lore, someone assembled the archive entries here. i notice it is still incomplete in some areas, but it's better than nothing and helpful if you want to have a read.

Melancholia - Yoko Shimomura. Final Fantasy XV.

―― 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 . (  main connections ;  *  ship exclusive )

asterites   :    𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚇 𝙵𝙻𝙴𝚄𝚁𝙴𝚃 + 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝚂 ♡. battleshot    :    𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚄𝙼. hellseng    :    𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶 𝚆𝙸𝙳𝙴. meteorea : 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙵𝙴. reginrokkr    :    𝙳𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙸𝙵.  * re-no    :   𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙾.  * royalarms : 𝙽𝙾𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝚄𝙲𝙸𝚂 𝙲𝙰𝙴𝙻𝚄𝙼.

general main-connections guidelines and info below the cut :

mains are people i feel the most comfortable to plot with, they are not affiliates but they can potentially influence my portrayal if what we discuss is applicable on a broader spectrum ( for example, ailli's stella is part of luna's backstory because she is family and therefore it will be her i refer to whenever she is mentioned in an in-character or out-of-character scenario ). i do not take up affiliates on the principle that it often comes across as a closed club and deters people too much from interacting.

that being said, if you would like to be removed as a main for whatever reason, please message me ! i will clean out this list now and then and mostly take down or switch out urls upon the occurrence of a blog-move or blog deactivation, otherwise there is no time limit for being on this list nor will there be any measurement of interest based on activity. all i ask for is communication.

i've been shipping exclusively on the romantic front for a long time for management reasons, and it's always been one-sided. i personally do not care if someone ships with more versions of the same character as mine.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐃 , 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐋𝐘.    when the heavens laughed, the hysteria would thrust its cosmic authority underneath the skin like a stubborn malady.  you sought out the moon, coldly engaged in her distant waltz, and like typhon, you sought her out as prey to crack open that which shall entrap you inside its very cells.  this must be a mere star-riddled jest, a divine comedy akin to a dream from which you and her shall waken, but it came closer to a puppet-play rendered by and for one sadistic observer who wanted to see them flail, limp to the ground, and then tried the scenario the other way around.

she flickered like a temporary gleam upon glass, a specter woven of celestial taint, every peeking gaze was a glimpse of yours, a steady mimicry of motion locking symmetrically into you.  where the light shone, therein fell the shadow, and she was one of bleached darkness.  the inverse of death was the birth of something apocalyptic, the fear of it.  the fear of birth was a fear of someone’s arrival.  they repurposed you to an antichrist within messiah flesh, a repetition of history, replay of a replay. a cycle that shan’t ever break in two.  from your ankles she then squirmed loose, asymmetrical fleck struggling across dirtying rock, composing her ragged breaths.  the inverse shadow would still hold onto more shadows, the host urging to get rid of her.

a body could not be without the casting of its contour, so what would occur upon the law-breaking success of such amputation ?  the collapse of an atom ?  the erasure of information which could usually not be erased ?  she did not plan to allow these impossibilities to become phenomena, not without efforts made with blood and tears and sweat.  “ noctis, please, listen to me ! ”  she called upon you when you called upon her.  although she stumbled back up warily, within cyan there sparked some irrational hope, some desperate venture for a dying light. when the heavens laughed, the hysteria stringed two puppets into their play and surrounded them with night-bred daimons who blended their hell into the stage. // @royalarms

WRETCHED ARE THE KINGS THAT SERVE DARKNESS FROM THEIR HAUNTING TONGUES . he's traveled so far on his lonesome , his only company : the ghastly words that cut through his mind & the lead of the snow - white messenger that blinds him in the darkness , the north star that beckons him unto the moon . there is an ever - looming presence of pain that taunts him from his every joint , & every wear at his muscles . it feels heavy , like its seeping through his flesh & corrupting him from the inside , just waiting to reach his veins in crooked efforts toward inevitable possession .

. . . [ luna . ]

he battles these ' thoughts ' on a near - constant basis , beckoning them toward the light of his soul so that they may be washed away with it . the battles are ceaseless , however , & one man can only endure for so long . at times , they have their way with him , all - consumed , & he plays the role of their vessel . a puppet strung to their fucked up marionette .

. . . [ luna . ]

even now , he follows pryna's guide as she warps into something threatening , something evil , & he strives so hard to dismiss the awry transformation , but it the ability to do so seems so far away from him . everything feels so real . this false illusion of existence , a reality warped in the throes of nightfall . their rage lights a flame , crimson , beneath his eyes , irises glowing through the dimness of their surroundings & his only goal [ luna ] distorts into something monstrous .

' i have to get to . . . '

& he looks down to see a girl in white , defending herself . against . . . who ? . . . him ? shit . . . dusk has fallen & his scream tears through the atmosphere .

. . . ❛ LUNA ! ❜

@moonichor

The Burmese Harp (1956) dir. Kon Ichikawa.

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓 ,  𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓 , 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓.    endurance.  to not scratch, or rub, or break the stitches, to not tear the wound all open once more.  to let it be, and let it settle, and let it become part of a body.  the body which cradled the memory.  the memory that ought not be removed. and herein :  the nudge, her test, the voice, clear as crystal.  a refusal, on her part, to be silenced or to accept silence. “ now now, it is rather impolite to let a lady be left with crumbs and assume the rest of your train of thought.  go ahead.  speak your mind. ”

healing  and  enduring   .   .   .   to  him  ,  two  totally  different  concepts  . 

❛ still  .  i  just   -   ❜   [   .   .   .   ]   ❛  never  mind  .  ❜

moon snakes, tongues of the dark speak like bones unlocking, leaves falling of a future you won’t believe in

Margaret Atwood, from You Are Happy; The Circe/Mud Poems. (via xshayarsha)

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 ✦