Defensator Replied To Your Post: Unprompted.     /     always Accepting   !! ...

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.

*chucks a 🏆 at his forehead*

how do u feel abt my rakan?

SNIFF.....MY FOREHEAD HURTS...BUT IT’S THE PAIN OF VALIDATION AND FRIENDSHIP. THANK YOU...

goggles.     ///     yi-dashi.

Dance was notunknown to Yi, which was perhaps why he’d been drawn to the performance in the first place.Plenty of his people had been dancers, and in Rakan he found some form of nostalgia. When the people of Wuju could not apply their sword-crafts to battle or contests, their grace became art. To the beat of drums, a curated form of swordplay hadcome alive in performance. Back then, Yihad ignored any mentors of the arts, preferring swords for their edges ratherthan aesthetics. There were many more important things to be done, he told them all. Whywould he need to remember every single Wuju play?

That thinkinghad got him to the present, standing before the other with flurries of compliments. Butthe nostalgia grew bitter the longer he pondered it. How much had he forgotten?

“… What isnew?” He offered, after shaking off his simmering malaise. The other’s bravado was much more captivating than thoughts of the past, “Acknowledgement of workwell done? Surely, I would hope you are given more credit for the performance youprovide? You speak as if you are aware of your own skill, and I suppose they would not host you here if not for the skill of it. Thepractice is apparent, and I am hope you are not the only one telling yourself this.”

Stroking athis beard, the Bladesman’s lenses clunked back into theircasings suddenly. Behind them, the man found himself wincing as hebecame aware of a missed introduction. That, and the name ‘Goggles,’ which seemed to slap him for his missed formality. Not very palatable to his ears certainly, and his first instinct was to scold the Vastayan for it. But be polite, Yi. Thatwas the least he could offer. Let it go once, and make sure he has no reason to call you it again.

He steadiedhis expression, and his goggles along with it, as he continued with his measured tone, “Ah, I think I have gotten ahead of myself. Please forgive me Rakan, I have not thought to announce myself. It is not Goggles, as yousay. I am known as Master Yi. I travel widely, and I was not expecting to spendmy time here this day. So, if you have things you must attend to, please do notlet this man keep you. If you would tell me more of your dances however, I would surely be interested in hearing it.”

At least that gave him an exit, if he’d truly managed to offend.

              such a new song to settle upon his ears,     appealing to some base desire that yearns for praise    &    attention     (   oh,     how it dwells in his heart   !   ),     rekindling the passionate fire of his heart that continuously reminds him of this skill's benefits    :    the endless praise from others,     their attention,    &    their inevitable admiration held for none but rakan,     rakan,     rakan.     hah,     to stroke massive ego could be considered folly to some,     albeit rakan feels differently.     this praise is divine,     it is a pleasure he indulges himself in,     caring not for the scorn directed towards him through malevolent gazes     ———     envy,     repulsive sentiment he understands all too well     ———     but beauty's irresistible grace allows him to persevere,     to continue his performance without worry of what others thought.

              ❛     you'd be surprised,     goggles   !     ❜     again with the nickname,     escaping past lips naturally,     at a smooth ease the world could not compete with.     coolness itself,     is rakan in that moment.     'till he recognizes own blunder     /     stranger had been naught but kind to him     (   but within lies an expectation of kindness from all   !!   )     hah,     only a fool would believe that.     it is only luck that he's not being chased down by yet another angry guard with hopes of capturing for his feathers,     or perhaps his head.     ❛     sorry,     sorry,     that was my bad.     master yi,     right   ?     ❜     took a moment,     certainly,     but he's quick to correct himself,     purely out of courtesy     (     that,    &    he'd like to try to remember this guy's name.   )     ❛     i just don't get that sort of praise often,     really.     lot of clapping,     cheering,    &    staring,     but who can blame 'em   ?     either way,     it feels nice to have someone know i work pretty damn hard on each dance   !     ❜

              oh,     but don't let him speak of those countless nights where spirit of song    &    dance resonate within him,     indulging himself in that selfish pleasure of dance,     song   !!     the true passion that feels like his calling,     that feels right down to every sweet melody.     it matters not if it's from dusk to dawn,     it is the happiness conjured from each second that mattered   !

              ❛     aaaaaaaanyway,     ❜     after brief pause,     voice fills the air again,     waiting's too boring    &    leaving honored guest without answer to query is way too rude.     abandoning the routinely,     rather lonesome evening after a festival sounds pleasing.     a taste of something new surely was needed,     even if it wasn't a sweet,     chocolatey delicacy.     ❛     if you wanna hear all about my dancing,     then i could tell you all about 'em   !     maybe even show you some,     too.     consider yourself my guest of honor   !!     err,     though i don't exactly have a place.     i just wander around.     ❜

unprompted.     /     always accepting   !!

@lawbrought​ said :   No, Rakan, for the last time—I'm not going to arrest you for your supposed pulchritude, despite your best efforts to get on my last desultory nerve.

              ANOTHER FAILED ATTEMPT DOWN THE DRAIN   !!!     time    &    time again has he come into contact with piltover's police force,     cries of distress    &    wails of a truly accursed truth    :    that he is the most beauteous thing in this city,     that none will ever dream to match his level of beauty   !!     /     this society of progression shall march forward,     time's steadfast gaze paving way forward,     citizens learning acts of kindness,     weapons becoming more effective with each new technological advancement,    &    the fashion,     too,     shall progress.     a new level of beauty will be accepted within this society,     the hues of their clothes will invoke beauty's embodiment     (   him,     him   ),     albeit for naught,     as rakan's beauty shall never be surpassed.

              ❛     come on,     can't you see this is serious   !?     ❜     dramatic as he is,     he falls to his knees,     holding her hand with both of his.     to prevent escape,     to plead that she follow the duty piltover's law    ;    surely,     the reason their trends do not match his standards is due to some abstract,     obsolete law that all abide by,     right   ?     one that prevents from anyone as beautiful as rakan to be in piltover   !!      ❛     i'm just too beautiful for piltover,     it's practically illegal   !     you gotta handcuff me    &    arrest me   !!     ❜

idk who i haven’t interacted w/ yet so like. here’s an inbox call! hit that neat little like for rakan in ur inbox!!

???     ///     yuanfena.

@feyquil·   asked :  ❛ sorry, looks like you’re involved! ❜HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE / ACCEPTING

      HIS SENSES  were still sharp even underneath the veil of alcohol , the thin fog cast over his mind a constant companion that no longer hindered him.  he had no intention of getting involved in anything , much less something that would bring undue attention to his person.  still, he couldn’t have stood by when five fighters thought it fair to tackle the ONE , even when it became apparently clear that this individual did not require his help.  his pointed steel swept through the still air in habit. the sword was clean of blood , all its cuts carried out by the sharp gales it summoned. 

    “ is that right? ”  his lids lowered over dark eyes , voice gruff underneath his high collar.  the wind picked up from all directions , steps lighter than the ones before - furtive.  “ i should have known,  ”   his steady gaze lifted to take rakan into his vision , a name he had heard carried in the whispers of the wind once , or twice , and had only really learned moments before.  a crooked smile tilted his lips , pressed towards his left ,    “ you look like trouble. ” 

              to commit folly    &    be chased by five fighters that had an acquired aptitude towards the art   ?     that is where a charmer's obliviousness becomes evident,     knowing naught of how fearsome foes may be     /     his idea appeared simple,     it was brief,     all for a small bit of entertainment acquired through riling up these guys.     the plan was to slip from their fingers,     a slippery dance that facilitated his escape    ;    he did not,     however,     account for how they might stick to him.     chase after him,     close that gap between them,     jump on him as if he were prey,     left with no escape route,     near its death     ———     too bad this bird has wings.     this bird has the benefit of the wind to keep him in life's flight a little longer,     his swan song shan't be sung yet   !     upon being rescued,     he takes his stand    &    walks on over to supposed   ' gallant knight '   with an all too jubilant gait,     as lively as ever.

              ❛     seems like you know of me,     huh   ?     ❜     hand comes up slow,     digit curls around his own chin,     humming    &    assessing yasuo's facial assets.     hm.     not exactly what he expected,     but beggars can't be choosers.     the wind's cry does not relent    &    he opts to say by warrior's side,     humming at conjured safe zone.     ❛     i am trouble,     let's get that straight.     ❜     fingers snap,     index pointing towards group of five.     ❛     follows me wherever i go.     take these guys,     for example.     ❜     smirk curls at his lips,     from ear to ear.     ❛     i dunno,     though.     danger always brought out my bad side.     it's just a lot of fun,     wouldn't you say,     stranger   ?     ❜     he's as loquacious as ever.

the real bruh moment is rakan having blue eyes in official art but green eyes in his in game model

meme.     /     selectively accepting.

@death-from-below​ said :   [ praise ] uwu

              to relieve their desires.     that was the purpose of this,     no heart must drip onto his actions,     they must all be guided by a lecherous want that overtakes his body,     overrides emotion    &    reasonable thought     (   not like the latter mattered much here,     anyway   ),     allows each touch to be void of deep care,     only a superficial level of it is exhibited.     rakan is rough,     because he feels it's right,     because he knows that this is what pyke wants.     the mewls that escaped trembling lips were indicative of such,     stems from the touch at his chest,     where rakan's hands maintain their focus,     groping,     rubbing.     eliciting each whimper,     each moan that coalesced with clarity to form rakan's name drove him to further extents,     to continue touching    &    touching such a touch starved individual for no other purpose than to please.     himself   ?     pyke   ?     ...     a query without an absolute answer.

              ❛     yeah,     you like that   ?     ❜     there,     each feature shifts to form a smug countenance,     evincing his own amusement of pyke's words of praise,     the pleas that told him he's amazing at this.     the begging request,     don't stop,     it fuels rakan's ego.     pride dwells deep within his heart,     within this lust that burns through his body,     very one that has him pressed against pyke.     can he feel it   ?     it's a wonder,     but he's sure he can.     ❛     lose the mask,     babe     ...     ❜     a hand's travel is sluggish,     but eventually tugs at the bandana,     nonverbal request for its removal.     he wants to see him.     ❛     your eyes are nice,     but i wanna see you.     all of you.     ❜

i may as well post rakan’s full kink sorter hang on

heeee’s iffy on like. 26-30 he’ll try it but probably won’t like it. everything else is pretty much smth he’d enjoy! what’s on top he’ll enjoy most obviously but. yeah!

also i took this here if anyone wants it