* 𝑳𝑼𝑵𝑨𝑭𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑨 // 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐈 : 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐓

* 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.

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. ” 

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

Melancholia - Yoko Shimomura. Final Fantasy XV.

“ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 , 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘.    they are sung as praise to heavenly objects and the salvation of the light which shall purify them of their blight, including our own agonizing world. ”    as though numerous times recited on command, the response swiftly slithered in resonance, words rolling off the tongue akin to doctrinal lecture.  she wished she could individualize it. she wished she cared for these melodies more than the duty thereof.  her fate, already a sealed verse, woven betwixt the lines. and she struggled --- she struggled, awfully so, to embody the very contents of what she sang : to simply hope with each awakened god.    “ along with ruins we find scattered around the eosian globe, those are the few remains of an era immemorial.  it is rare for anyone to understand this old language, and, therefore, not surprising if you find it more puzzling rather than coherent. even experts struggle to translate them.  my family has honored such hymns for centuries with the help of messengers, but—  if i may confide in you…  sometimes, i tire of them, just a little. ”

confession of a secret, carried in whispers behind closed doors, doubtfully stung any more than the fact of its existence ;  and to render herself vulnerable to one who proved himself ever so curious every day consisting of shared struggles and battles and rest, hardly shall be considered strange.  although in the eyes of seraphs this was unbecoming, why would she not do so, if not a single of your own words, disclosed within a silent moment between gunshots, could be forgotten ?  to her, this night still existed. your revealed wounds then still very visible, now obscured by your laughter and artificial confidence. and thus, it was one burden for another.  a fair trade which she wrapped in the pretense of a chuckle. “ don't judge me too harshly, okay ? ”

❝ —— the songs you sing, what do they even mean ? ❞ @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.◞

is the moon made out of cheese

yes, mozzarella specifically.

😘❤️

damn

you materialize in the corner of my eye like sephiroth

The past beats inside me like a second heart.

John Banville (via quotemadness)