Details: Portrait Of Urania, 19th Century, British School.

Victoria Chang, Obit

👁️👄👁️ excuse me sis, do you have the time to talk about our lord and savior : bhunivelze. 👁️👄👁️

luna vc : why yes sis, i serve him 👁️👄👁️

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

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  ;  x.

𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄.    indeed, to wrestle fate ferociously, with denial riddled by intensity ;  to belabor, and repeat, and reiterate the possibilities  —  what else was more human, so brazenly natural, than this ?  within such matters she only could but come to the conclusion that : while you gained in humanity, wayward angel that you were, she must have lost her own on the way, somewhere at the wake of forlorn sites and behind the morning fog which hovered each collapsed civilization.  that, or she was driven by naught more than cowardice, feigning conviction.  and what conviction had any meaning within a firmly clenched, divine fist, if that same hand could soften within another’s grasp ?  the aether of creation touching the moon.  she has been situated into the hollows of memory like this before. a blend of almosts, the nevers and desires, all the same.  few centuries ago, beneath the khaenri’ahn vault.    “ as always so humble, aren’t you ?  if i am to permit myself to indulge in nostalgia, so should you allow yourself a little more self-recognition.  would that not sound like an agreeable deal ?  ”    a justified validation.  sincere, too, certainly.  but with a smile, and a response via a most tender tug of your hands, she shaped a distraction.  a distraction from marred lands, from cold dull sands, from selenic caters unbeknownst to the average beholder.  face to face, she’d drawn you closer for a sweet peck against the cheek.   “  though you faltered, you survived all of it.  many a man would not emerge from despair again. underestimate yourself not. ” // @reginrokkr

I was like that: visible invisible visible invisible. There’s no material as variable as moonlight. I was climbing, clinging to the underneath of my bones,—

Alice Oswald, excerpt of Full Moon (via antigonick)

is there any other muse in this fandom you RP?

* MUNDAY ASKS .

5. is there any other muse in this fandom you RP?

ffxv-specific, i write leviathan on a sideblog when i feel like it, but it can also count for the overall ff universe. other than her, for ff fandom as a whole, i currently don't have other blogs, or at least i don't recall that i have any as of now.

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘  i can offer you my heart, though i have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. ’    //    @fenrirch​

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 ?    mayhaps, because she was never meant for either ;  a woman too holy to stay    /    too holy for life.  promised to the dictated cause, engaged with demise.  she'd liked to make an exception.  just this once, if she may.  once in private where the night of the living enshrouded mene, clung and held her ever-tightly, and she, in her pure besottedness, let it all happen.  all over again which could lead to a second confession and a third, until the guilt out-wore itself like an ill-fitting dress stripped from her hips, finished and scrapped from the obligation list.  she let this happen :    your arms needy and desperate around her waist.  all the whispers which only dim lights would bear witness to, and all the touches exuding scandal, shielded by the generous curtains of the hotel room from a stalking, hierarchical gaze.  she begged not for forgiveness, she did not apologize for the single action that might have kept her alive in place, when, otherwise, she would have so effortlessly slipped away from our fingers.

“ plenty of them, i hope. ”    a laugh pushed through a forced sicle-shape, the embarrassed flush of her cheeks no less romantic in nature.  it’s grit teeth rather than amusement.  the jaw clenched briefly, the sinew of her tender neck tense against your comforting breath.  how could one think of it as anything other than torment, knowing she would take that warrior’s heart with her into the grave, instead of soothing its harrow grief ?  yes, confessions were this terrible.  and still, she had counted your battle scars, the magic trails, each flaw and scratch.  lithe fingertips followed worn tissue to the crux of a violent pulse.  her hand atop, resting, because ophelia wanted something else than to float in the pond.  it was too cold in there.  she'd rather crawl ashore and be warmed up by another foolish jest of yours.  her sweet, heedless soldier with an eroding hero-complex.    “ you are such a silly man  —  why must you be this dramatic ? ”    though not overdone, for she simply did not wish to admit it.  but a holy woman was not meant for confessions, or for clumsy dancing after too many a glass of wine, or for a tender peck after too sweet a girlish giggle.  so you said what you said and tried your hardest to not kill her with it.  because love, as always, equated to religion, and religion called for death.  of course, you’d never let her go this far, but she would and you would indeed go this far, and you both knew this.

ophelia / martyr    //    based on “the young martyr” by paul delaroche, and “ophelia” by john everett millais.

Lady Lunafreya

  *  𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 .

i.    selene, in context of ffxv lore, is an astral, but of course, not part of the hexatheon.  given her role as the moon, she is bound to eos and plays a vital part in the planet’s balance. 

ii.    on this blog, there are several categories of astrals, including sub-species to which less powerful divinities and messengers count.  1 )  the main hexatheon that rule the divine hierarchy, are elemental deities and the primary guardians of the planet.  2 )  while the elemental astrals shaped the planet with their resources, they required the assistance of their luminous brethren who provided their light.  sun, moon, and dawn are siblings who contribute to the planet’s creation and of them, eos received the most respect, hence they named the globe after her.

iii.    in parallel to the greek selene’s battle against the feared TYPHOEUS, the astral selene battled against a great manifestation of the star scourge risen in the astral war, and from this wrestle, received scars / craters and fell into a deep slumber.

iv.    now comatose, selene dreams.  and through this, experiences an out-of-body wandering and incarnated into the oracle bloodline.  ironically with the chaos of the star scourge, she would be able to ascend to godhood and return to her lunar body.

v.    all luminous deities have been affected by the scourge in some way or another and have then fallen one by one ever since.  their absence has caused the plague to grow larger with every coming night.