Feyquil - * LIVE TO DANCE !

              ❛     do i     ...     recognize you   ?     ❜     is this information that he's supposed to know   ?     are vastaya now expected to understand    &    process all of the information that is whispered    &    shared between the humans   ?     absolutely not.     hand travels short distance to rub nape of own neck,     canvas of his face colored with confusion     (   heart on his sleeve,     or heart on his face   ?     perhaps too much heart is the issue   ).     lips part for a moment,     as if to speak,     only for them to purse    &    consider his next words carefully.     to hell with it.     ❛     nope,     sorry,     you don't look familiar at all.     ❜       ///       @prodigal-ezreal​

@feyquil​ said: 

may i do a [ kiss + soft ] with a mix of [ love ] ? :0c

nsfw muse reaction prompts // accepting, but slow.

THE LHOTAN’S TOUCH IS AS MESMERIZING AS ITS OWNER, painted in glorious gold & amber as he cups his face, draws zelgius nearer with a firm yet kind hand. he leans into the touch like a moth is drawn to flame; rakan is patient despite what many may assume from his effervescent performance and despite his reticent partner’s anxious, yearning touch, running through the soft feathers on his shoulder. he kisses him and it’s like a kiss with a soul of itself, something fantastic, a taste of magic upon the tongue that parts his lips. 

he could grow used to it, zelgius thinks, he could grow used to this warmth—to feeling wanted, despite his flaws, despite his broken, jagged pieces. 

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unprompted.     /     always accepting   !!

@herpleasvre​ said :   sees his feathery tail, looks at her sharpened ones.. bats at his tail.

              oh,     what's she doing   ?     does she think herself better because her tails are just a little more sharpened then rakan's   ?     hm.     she might be right,     though getting him to admit that would be a difficult task.     he makes sure to return the favor,     anyway,    &    bats at her tail right back with his hand.     ❛     a little rude to do that out of nowhere,     huh   ?     ❜     &    he smiles so as to let her know his message is not out of hostility.     they were simply     ...     playing around.     nothing deep,     nothing bad.     ❛     only fair i do the same to you   !     ❜

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.

"Nice feathers, Lhotlan. Mind if I have a touch?"

              ❛     huh   ?     ❜     stranger's voice falls upon his ears    &    they twitch in curiosity.     first,     this isn't anyone he recognizes     ——     perhaps that's obvious from the way he's being addressed.     ' lhotlan. '     not many he knows address him as such.     it's enough to cause him to turn around,     quirk his brow at stranger    &    scrutinize every aspect of him    :    brown fur,     sharp teeth,     some patched of red near the top of his head     ...   ?     is that what that is   ?     he's not too certain,     but his eyes would never lie to him   !

              ❛     took an interest in my feathers,     didn't you   ?     what can i say,     i'm the embodiment of beauty   !     ❜     vain,     isn't he   ?     but how could he not be   ?     none had feathers more beauteous than his,     none had the unique orange hues that melted into yellows    &    mixed into green    &    yellows.     none had that same glimmer his had    ;    yes,     rakan's quills could be desired by many,     albeit he would never relinquish such a gift he's been granted   !     beauty is in the eye of the beholder,     though objective beauty is dictated by nature,     &    it has chosen him to be that objective beauty,     it disproves that underlying assumption of subjective beauty.     ❛     don't normally let just anyone touch,     but i guess i'll make an exception   !     ❜       ///       @shuriman-thief

nice draven cosplay

draven wants what i have

𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃  𝙰𝚂𝙺  𝙷𝙸𝙼  𝙸𝙵  𝙷𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚂 .   (   S.ett   of   RIOT’s   Lea.gue   of   Legends ,   by   your   local   goblin   bread   Rye !   Est .  May ,   2020 .   )   𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴   𝙷𝙴   𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁   𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚂 .

'' the moment i lose control, the shadows may awake their true nature and try to devour your flesh in order to gain a constant physical form. you probably like your flesh, do you not? "

              ❛     their true nature   ?     ❜     the implications are there,     that they are at his will.     his every command is law they abide by,     unless they break free of that control,     adopt that nature they so desire    &    scramble to nearest supposed victim for a physical form.     is that their intention   ?     his words ring true,     they're a blade,     a threat to silence him.     alas,     his thoughts lie elsewhere.     ❛     so,     you control them    &    you don't   !     at the same time   ?     that means you can make them do it,     or they do it by themselves   !     ❜     that definitely clears things up.       ///       @umbrasecta