You Materialize In The Corner Of My Eye Like Sephiroth

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑-𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑.    within eons, they dwindled away like a flame sunken into candle wax, and it proved as a scarcity of occurrence, indeed, to find them among the rubble of ruins.  she would join the half-grave of this withering, arid earth only to find a little sprout.  thusly, beside you, she kneeled to examine further, wondrous and keen, an unintended mimicry.    “ the pleasure is mine, marlene.  i am lunafreya, or luna if you prefer to shorten. ”    even the hound barked in greeting, his sister a silent observer to a ghost communing with a child.    “ how come you are all alone here, are you waiting for someone ? ”

Though the child somehow feels eyes staring in her direction, she does not turn her gaze away as she eagerly awaits a reply. Once she hears the woman's confirmation, she can't help gleam happily. "Really?"

Only a single word in spoken, but the way her happiness takes over the atmosphere speaks volumes. She doesn't seem to look around her, completely oblivious to the result of her excitedly raising her voice.

"Umbra..." She repeats, looking in the dog's direction. Before even approaching the dog, she carefully extends her hand towards him.

"It's nice to meet you. My name is Marlene."

what are your honest thought about your muse’s canon?

what’s the best inspiration ?

how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood ?

* MUNDAY ASKS .

29. what are your honest thoughts about your muse’s canon ?

anyone who has talked more than five minutes with me knows that my opinions are critical on her wasted potential. i think the basic concepts are interesting, i already liked her KG counterpart and i connected with her through those 30 minutes in-game screentime she had more than any other character, and that's exactly why i was so saddened that she was so awfully neglected. she could have been impactful, and not an subject of memes about how 'clingy' she is about a boy she met once. so in short : beautiful character, awfully handled, deserved a yuna arc.

38. what’s the best inspiration for your muse ?

aside from music, classical paintings and mythology, a big inspiration is the expansion of the lore ( with a little fnc and pitioss tied in ) i made years ago with a few friends back when i wrote leviathan more actively. although i don't have contact with most of them anymore, it's still a very important part of my ffxv character portrayals, and probably will be for as long as i write them.

40. ask anything // how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood ?

yep this was my contribution to it. good times.

  *  //  𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐗𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑​ .

“ I cant exactly FIGHT those things and come out unscathed. I think it’s the BEST plan, all things considered, ” he offered, attempting to sound convincing. As skilled as he was, he was not SKILLED enough to hold his own against the demons that roamed the fields come NIGHTFALL. ASTRAL of ascended plane, LADY LUNA was voice of element and deity alike. A voice for the broken, a voice for the powerful - a voice for the ROYALS. So much representation settled upon shoulders, yet woman of grace had never once faltered. Hiro, young as he was, had NEVER met someone who braved the storm with NO weapon ( at least not one like his own ). He knew he didn’t belong near them - THEY that led the masses through the dark and represented hope in PHYSICAL form. Not ignorant, yet not fully immersed, little hunter toed the line between GUARDIAN and PAID PROTECTION. Though hurting for Gil in every sense of the concept, demand for coin was hardly spoken. He had offered to help free of ANY charge. Someone has to help. Distant words that advised, even from the ghosts of the past - just another whisper on the wind. Large eyes roamed the SKIES before finally landing on distant hue of HAVEN’S safe circlet. Polearm was shifted across shoulder, gloved digits curling tight in metallic grip.

“ Yeah - looks like it isn’t too FAR. I’ll lead the way. The FOG is gonna roll through soon, so stick close… ma’am. ” Manners - she wasn’t some plebeian like him. “ I don’t exactly have the BEST accommodations, but I’ve got a tent you can use, if you want ? I haven’t used it in a while - I more or less SLEEP tucked away somewhere. Just better HUNTING that way. ” He was silent for a moment before turning his head, looking over his shoulder to the other. Curiosity burned at the edges of his mind and he couldn’t help but ASK. “ So, I don’t really know how it WORKS - all of this traveling and communication. Isn’t it REALLY important that you make pacts with all of THEM ? I mean - you won’t get in TROUBLE for getting some help around here… will you ? ”

𝐈𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 , 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒 , 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃.    instead, it intensified the petrichor of trampled grass and the foot-printed earth, it levitated the rustle of foliage stirred by nesting robins, and amplified the wilderness’ presence.  as the distant, dusk-washed rocks howled with wariness for incoming hours, it should be clear without any mention, that she’d rather see a child safe and sound in its own house, than be company to a patron saint whose trails attracted gunpowder-bite and cosmogonic peril.  we could neither avoid questions about parental supervision in need of answers, such as :    why are you alone ?  what about your family ?  even so, what she failed to deny was the courage deeply ingrained within the intensity of your resolve, illustrated by the grip around weaponry ;  the potential to become someone greater, demonstrated by action in lieu of empty words.  who had then been so small, she predicted, would grow to a paragon for the next generation of children to aspire to.  and in identifying it so, it reminded her, ceaselessly, that hesitation must never corrupt her own gallantry.

whilst ascending the adorned ridge, she began :    “ you assume correctly.  every god and goddess must wake to assemble for the light of the crystal.  the world and the chosen need their aid, and their work plays a vital part in maintaining the riddance of chaos when the advent of triumph delivers us to dawn.  whether we help each other a little to achieve this, will, undoubtedly, not anger them.  fret not over any consequences thereafter. ”    haven-runes illuminated in reaction to arrival, aglow in cyan beneath a climbing heel, hasty to build a protective dome.  as her magic sparked fire within its respective boundaries, she did ponder, a dainty finger supported her chin.    “ i suggest we build the tent.  it is you who deserves to rest comfortably, after all, brave as you were today.  oh, additionally  —  there is little need for formalities.  you may call me, simply, luna. ”

Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship  [ ACCEPTING ]

@moonichor​ 

they both love to learn things through each other, and take enjoyment in doing it. Prompto likes to show Lunafreya his new lenses for his camera, explaining what each one does, how it effects the shot, and he loves using Lunafreya as a model ( bc ,,, lets face it ,,,, you won’t get closer to natural beauty than Her! ) and, in return, Prompto learns all about Tenebrae, her family, what it is to be a Princess. It’s pretty clear early on how Noctis and she have lived different lives. 

But, he makes it his goal to always make her smile. Be it a stupid joke, telling her a story about him and Noctis and some of the antics they have got into trouble over, or, letting her simply laugh at him ( though she probably tries to mask it, not wanting to offend/upset him ) when he struggles to do something (( such as her helping him learn a new skill – maybe how to eat with fancy cutlery,,, lord not me imagining Prompto being invited for tea and making an absolute FOOL of himself )) 

He brings her little sweet treats, that just so happened to be his fave as a kid, so he indulges with her as its a special occasion, but is still very mindful of his triggering foods from youth. 

She’s probably the only one he lets place a hand over his, and just be gentle with him, without overthinking it beyond that of her kind nature. Though, he definitely blushes each and every time, but it offers a different kind of comfort to that of his friends, (ignis, noct, gladio) 

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 ? ❞

darling moon

last night / the moon was trying to fall from the sky / none of the experts knew how to explain it / said / SOMETIMES THINGS JUST WANT TO LEAVE / and i think i understood / sometimes love just isn’t enough / sometimes even the people that know it best can’t say why

excerpt of The Moon Disappeared Last Night, Angelea Lowes (via angelealowes)

* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 ?

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 , 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 // your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. but it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. you don’t have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎 ?

𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘 // not necessarily to a god, but to hope. to family. in mud you see art. in shadows you see color. if the world fell apart around you, you would start gluing the pieces back together. life tastes bitter but you like the bite. those around you are inspired by your kindness, by your faith, by your hope. you might not speak often, but your words are the loudest in the room. you are rain and its ability to seep into every crack, the promise of new life.

* 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 ?

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐒 // you need to be loved patiently. you need to feel the love slowly creeping in, a warning, a way to back away if you’re too scared. you need to be loved cautiously, as if you’re fragile. you need to be loved gently, because love is messy and muddy and makes your socks wet and hurts if the sun gets too close. but you need to let yourself be loved, because when you do, it’ll feel like spring.

tagged by : @reginrokkr / @oniriqe tagging ( pick whichever quiz you like ) : @asterites ( take this for all your blogs lol ), @asteriskheart ( kairi or aera maybe ? ), @aequitaes ( nero or hank ) , @valorxdrive, @ogaea, @hamadaxfighter, @hopewritten ( maybe colette ? )

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. ”