Rakan Is A Tall Boy, And @feyquil ‘s Got Me Feeing Some Sort Of Way...

my support wanted to learn how to play Xayah so we ended up w/ what is essentially a personality-swapped bird duo

unprompted.     /     always accepting   !!

@bloodthrrsty​ said :   " a lot of color, and a lot of shouting doesn't keep you from being catfood. so why don't you try taking it more seriously. "

              ❛     try taking it more seriously   ?     ❜     such an impertinent accusation   !     were the vibrant hues of his feathers,     very ones that garnered the attention of any    &    all that dared cross paths with him,     not enough   ?     shall a plumed vastaya forsake the loving colors of a warm summer     ———     blending into the sea's delightful greens near the tips of his feathers     ———     for the sake of being ' serious   ? '     no,     no   !!     beauty does not bend its will so easily,     it is carefully constructed    &    upheld by time,     objective beauty like him can't change at the discretion of others.     no,     he remains cool,     collected,     not a care in the universe,    &    that star provides everlasting gifts for all.     so long as a job is done,     appearances    &    the volume of his voice don't matter.     never have,     never will.

              ❛     you take things way too seriously   !     ❜     a gradual crescendo within his words,     rising    &    speaks with a drawl just for emphasis.     he is the antithesis of a passive,     hushed person     ——     they could not handle an audience's eyes,     whereas he craved it,     sought it for success   !!     ❛     i'll be fine.     if i haven't been turned into catfood yet     ...     ❜     hums as his a hand is drawn towards own face,     singular digit tapping against the side of his head,     knowing grin curving at his lips,     smug,     for he knows he is elusive    &    can make any escape with how swift he is.     everything he did always had a dash of pizazz.     ❛    chances are,     it ain't gonna happen any time soon.     ❜

unprompted.     /     always accepting   !!

@iixesha​ said :   "Your jawline is better than Jayce's not sure why its a debate"

              ❛     exactly,     someone gets it   !     ❜     is this the time to be boastful of his own looks   ?     absolutely.     though rakan holds confidence over his own beauty,     though he knows that no beauty in piltover could ever compare to the bonny features he,     as a vastaya,     holds,     this truth is only reinforced by the opinions of others.     that,    &    ekko's words were an additional fuel to the fire,     continuously keeping him at the top of beauty's hierarchy.     ❛     don't get me wrong,     jayce's jawline isn't bad,     but it's nothing compared to mine's.     plus,     why spend your time watching someone with graying hair when you've got feathers as colorful as mine   !!     ❜

rakan liked for a hug.

@fxlgurkinesis​ said :   Her arms wrap around the other, unable to keep a smile on the face from the sheer positivity and brightness that seems to radiate from the other. Though she was careful to not disturb his wing, or what she thought was a wing at least.

              yeah,     that's definitely his wing,     donning the guise of a cape to deceive humans into believing him to be one of them.     a necessity to keep his true identity a secret     ——     however,     it's when her amiable arms wrap around him that he realizes the eyes of the world are not on him for a moment,     it's naught but serene solitude with a friend.     slowly,     but certainly,     does red cape dissipate    &    form into his golden wing,     feathers gleaming    &    their radiance softened.     he can relax.     he can be himself,     it's a rare comfort when he's so far from the lands he calls home.      no matter how minute that comfort may be,     its significance could not be abandoned,     for this wing is a part of him,     a part he can exhibit around lux.     what a relief.

              ❛     whoa,     where's this coming from   ?     ❜     melodious tone adopted,     pleased hum as a sigh of relief escapes him.     arms gently come up    &    he wraps them around her petite form,     hugging her in return.     it's a gentle hug,     possibly betraying expected vivacious    &    enthusiastic hugs     ———     was such appropriate in the first place   ?     probably,     though he opts for a hug whose nature won't disturb peace's rare silence.     life here seemed a little too busy.     ❛     if you wanted a hug,     you could've just asked   !     promise i'm more of a hugger than i am a fighter.     ❜     mischievous quip,     intending to tease    &    lie,     not out of malice.     he knows he excels at both.

🌹

🌹 Is your muse more interested in love or lust?

thiiis is a tricky one, if i’m honest with you. we know very well that rakan is into love – he demonstrates this through his love for xayah, where he willingly travels with her, protects her, cares for her enough to state that “I can feel her worry. She’s smarter than me about so many things, but foolish about love sometimes.” he’s experienced with love. he loves her enough to even state “I will tickle her later. We will laugh and drink. She will plan and I will sing. I feel her cheek on my chest. I’m glad that Xayah needs me now.” rakan loves xayah. he’s the light that will shine through that storm in her heart, clearing those skies for her to smile again. with this established, we know rakan feels strongly about love & his love for another. in that case, why would i be struggling to choose one or the other? well, lust is there more covertly, conceptualized in rakan’s character through bits & pieces of disloyalty. there’s hints through in-game voice lines that he can be a little…ready to have fun outside of love. that might make me think that he does put some semblance of importance to lust. lust is more about a quest for sexual pleasure, be it brief or long-term. whereas love is more so falling for someone, the components of lust becoming a secondary interest here, whilst the first interest is keeping that person safe, happy, & overall just enjoy any moment with that person. be it when they’re in peril or just relaxing, lazing around, watching the clouds up above. anyway i rambled a lot sorry LFJHLDFHJF       ///       @cnpluria

unprompted.     /     always accepting   !!

@thegleamingquill​ said :   "Damn, do I look good!," Rakan said, checking out his clone. Not like he was gonna question it, the more Rakans, the better. "I'm so fine I could kiss myself! Whaddya say, twin?" [ the selfcest is over 9000- and hello! ]

              ❛     is that a question,     or is it an offer   ?     ❜     to say he wouldn't be checking the other rakan out is a flat out lie.     he is vain,     he is one to spend hours in front of the mirror,     praising himself    &    speaking of how sexy he is.     beauty is not a sin,     it is a blessing that only few may have    ;    even so,     that beauty,     itself,     is varied.     there are groups of beautiful people,     albeit competition will exist amongst them,     no two people's beauty being absolute    &    alike less they were the same person.     that's the case here.     the embodiment of beauty     (   rakan himself   )     is granted opportunity to gaze upon himself     ———     no mirror,     just another rakan,     completely identical to him in every which way.     he smirks.     ❛     come on,     pucker up    &    c'mere   !!     not every day i get to kiss someone as fine as myself   !     ❜

please take care of yourselves everyone 💖

Star Guardian Rakan by 你是路过人间被藏在星河里的太阳

the end.     ///     quartlet.

TIME WAS NO FRIEND OF MAN,  and nor was the crumbling dark that awaited him in all his worthless folly.  so small.  so frail.  so pitiful.  the providence of god need not privy to their innerworkings,  not while the weight of a crushing supermassive black hole weighed on His side,  antimatter oozing from their lower jaws.  what is one singular atom when compared to the impossible shapes the singing of space creates  ?  paltry offerings made up carcass flesh,  so futile and so very postured against a burning black forever.  but this one sings of stars,  catching them between his teeth before bursting at bloody seams.   He has watched them.  He knows.  all he is  …  all he shall ever be  ;  moments wrapped up in seconds,  time fluctuates,  its shell cracked open for all the cosmos to glare into and snicker. 

woe  !  woe  !  little thing made up of stardust and hope  !   echoes His spectral choir,  their voices ripped straight from their gluttonous throats,  each screaming at a different pitch from another.  maddening.  all was so very maddening.  a sweeping,  nebulous substance pours out from below him,  they entangle and shimmer like the arms of galaxies cradling against the void of their death.   no clouds above.  no hells below.  there is only He in all His magnificence,  His singular bloated eye peering out from the warps and wefts of His billowing hood.  His gaze is unblinking but not unmoving,  the outer iris of His eye whirls into an unknowable blue while at the center there is a supernova buzzing,  singing,  laughing. 

❛  ShE iS gOnE.  ❜  the voice spoke again.  not quite the discordant clang of congs but instead there is an unbiting harmony found within those horrendous,  deepening notes.  this was the rhapsody of a god.  the last word is repeated by a spectral chorus,  every utterance heightens in pitch until it is bleeding :   gone  !  gone  !  gone  !  gone !    blots of darkness recede then,  revealing the golden surface in which his eye peers forth from.  there are symbols etched into the surface are unknowable and untraceable,  but when a wandering sun tilts just right,  the shock of light catches the slope of His mask.  as soon as it came,  the light vanishes,  swallowed whole by a sickle claw.  He crushes this sun in the palm of His hand.  it’s cries of pain rattle out from His fingertips like sand. 

no clemency.  no warmth.  no silence.  white noise pervades everything until there is nothing,  a warbled,  distorted clammer of entropy riding up one’s throat until there are only parched whispers of dead planets ringing around your jaws.  from behind rakan there gleams another looming arm,  spotted with constellations and translucent.  the voice pierces reality,  cutting it in two.    ❛  yOu StAnD bEfOrE mE nOw,  LiTtLe GuArDiAn.  ❜  He knows.  do not forget.  He knows !    The God Without A Throne peels back,  eye concentrating upon the tiny shape of a mortal that now stands,  shuddering.  what was once a chorus now chimes into one singular sound.   ❛   whatever shall i do with you …  ❜

              &     ALL AT ONCE,     terror's gaping maw became apparent at the cacophony of various voices,     they were a choir of death,     a choir of chaos,     imbrued with disharmony for no other purpose than to unnerve those their voices dare speak to.     //     ah,     how youth was sought for in that moment     ————     a time of peace that is a memory of the past,     too many bar lines left in the past,     too many measures past without repeat,     he has been forced to assimilate into this perpetual crescendo where all grows louder,     louder.     sought for pianissimo,     peace's silent reign,     is nowhere near,     it is an afterthought,     the conductor has different plans for him.     he is a pawn on this stage,     he is a star guardian,     last one out,     that will never be blessed by light's continued guidance,     for his fate has been set.     (   to defy fate is to defy these stars,     to defy these stars it is an impossibility.     alas     ...     he is nothing in the cosmos' grand battlefield.   )

              to be promised by whispers of the mind that this was all a dream,     conjured up by an overflow of negative emotion that plagues his heart.     how could it not   ?     he has fallen,     he has fallen.     not by his own hand,     but at the hand of others   !!!     those matters continue an existence of anger    &    wrath,     but his time to strike is not now.     his time to strike is when these whispers cease their incessant claims,     of these noises being real,     of a battered heart to face the cruel reality that awaits him    :    she's gone.     as if the forces of the universe wanted him to realize how futile his efforts were,     how such a lofty ambition cannot bear the fruit his being desires     (   he doesn't care,     he doesn't care   !!      JUST SHUT UP   !   ),     he has to wake up.

              this canary,     whose flight impaired by fate's meticulous hands,     must accept what amber pools perceive    :    he no longer dons life's hues,     her soft,     mellow colors have been drained from his person,     deprived of it by damn bastard that caused all of this.     the whites of his skin eerily creep towards a ghastly white,     absence of blood true cause behind it     ——     &     these clothes,     they are not bright anymore,     he is not the bright    &    shining rakan of the past,     the star guardian whose bright enthusiasm rivaled the stars around him.     no.     he is the sun crushed by relentless hand,     turned to sand,     its cause for naught.     /     is this his destiny   ?     to shine bright,     only to be crushed in the end   ?     is he to be what gives her the necessary light for purity's renewal inside her,     or is he to be a bright sun,     a star,     that shines brightly above the rest,     only to have its light crushed into nothingness.     ...     does his dream have any success in sight   ?

              he stares.     he stares,     he stares,     he stares,     for he believed a god's form to be benevolent,     to be a haven that one could turn to in times of need,     he doesn't see that here.     there is a mask.     there is an eye.     there is him,     there is the end.     if every story must have its finale,     then he who controls these stars with ease is it.     if starlight is the beginning,     then he,     who can turn a sun into sand,     star to stardust,     is the end.     he is no pawn of terror,     he is terror.     the prospect alone,     the reality of it all,     is confirmation of that.     rakan may doubt himself,     but he cannot doubt what he knows is fact.

              ❛     what     ...     the     ...     ❜     there's an expectation for him to finish his sentence,     to release the last word with all his might,     to shout the profane word with shock,     but he can't.     fear's grasp is tight around his neck     (   or has it coagulated at his throat   ?   ),     he's left stupefied at cosmic being before him.     albeit it seems he is immobile,     he finds strength,     courage,     to take few steps back,     to create ineffectual distance between them,     as if that made any difference.     perhaps it's simply the illusion of such that provides even the smallest of comforts.     ❛     i     ...     really did not sign up for this.     ❜     his being quivers,     though he catches himself    &    stops it,     appearing stiff.     he fears him,     but to at least contain this fear     ...     may be his key to survival.

unprompted.     /     always accepting   !!

@yuanfena​ said :   yasuo lifts a tentative hand , pad of his index brushing along the underside of rakan's fur tipped ear - a near imperceptible friction. " hm " a quiet hum , " sorry " he adds as he slowly lowers his hand back to rest on his side , corners of his lips tipping upwards , " couldn't help seeing if they were as soft as they look "

              often are feathers considered most important aspect of him,     usual for them to be at center of another's attention,     considered as the most beauteous aspect of his person     (   every part of rakan is beautiful,     he is beauty itself,     no such thing as flaw on his exterior   ),     for their colors were warm    &    their surface velvety,     heiled by the many onlookers as a demonstration of a softness fabricated by nature's divine hands.     all appreciation welcomed,     for it was praise,     verbal or not,    &    he liked that.     /     one may consider touch itself a minute act,     but not him     ———     no,     its significance amounted to greater than initially perceived,     perchance approaching insurmountable in his eyes,     as it served as generous indicator that his allure was effective.     that others considered him meritorious enough to be granted attention through curiosity's means.     it sated his blatant desire,     a need for some form of praise.     /     such is customary when it came to feathers,     but what of these ears,     whose softness went unnoticed,     whose condition kempt for the sake of flashy appearance,     whose silk - like surface had never been touched.

              how foreign is touch's blessing    &    how abrupt   !!     /     not a thought of that desire had crossed mind in a while,     though upon receiving it,     it elicits the softest hum imaginable,     vocal vibration brushing against lowest tonality,     leaning towards singular digit 'till     ——     ugh.     golden opportunity,     transient as it was,     had been revoked,     an apology in its place.     the only apt response   ?     a huff     &    brief groan,     interlaced with displeasure.     /     yes,     foreign was that touch at first,     though he enjoyed it.     ear's twitch is slight,     head cants to the side,    &    azures shift to scan caramel before moving onto the rest of yasuo's features.     though,     rising grin is most pivotal change     (   infectious,     capable of making rakan's pursed lips curve into minuscule grin,     compounded with brief chuckle   ),     it was home to a boundless curiosity     (   rakan thought so,     at least   ).     who is he to deny a friend such an implicit request   ?

              ❛     y'know,     ❜     characteristic lilt makes itself present in voice,     innate rhythmic tone,     befitting of dancer    &    singer alike.     ❛     if you wanted to know whether or not my ears were soft,     just ask   !     ❜     carefree,     not a drop of anger in his voice    ;    even now,     he is cool,     he remained mischievous,     he liked having his ears touched.     head tilts ever so delicately towards yasuo,     overt invitation through nonverbal means,     he can't just say no to that,     right   ?     ❛     you can touch 'em,     go ahead.     take is as a thanks.     what for   ?     dunno   !    but,     i'm sure i owe you some form of gratitude.     ❜