* M. / Ic. - Blog Posts
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 ! ❜
defensator replied to your post: unprompted. / always accepting !! ...
“glad to see we are going for fair and unbiased opinions here, bird boy.”
❛ you'll get your chance to shine when i'm gone or something, old man. 'course, i'll still be the sexiest thing your city's seen. ❜
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 !! ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@defensator said : so YOU are an eleven? hah!
❛ yeah, did i stutter ? ❜ oh, look, a smirk curves at his lips. he's pressed the right buttons & he's gonna keep at it. ❛ come on, if you want to be an eleven, you gotta have better hearing than that, old man ! or is age starting to catch up to you ? ❜
❛ hmm ... ❜ he's thinking, thinking, scrutinizing over draven's features, active imagination attempting to visualize what he'd look like without the facial hair. upon finally realizing it, his brow quirks, then he hums before giving his verdict, seemingly out of nowhere. ❛ yep, you look a whole lot better with the beard. ❜ /// @drorious
❛ uh, about that. ❜ rakan ? nervous ? no, no, it's surely feigned. he's not one to be so easily intimidated by anything, especially not jayce's experiment of the day. ❛ i actually have to be somewhere else. duty calls & all that. think we could try this ... whatever this is some other time ? ❜ /// @friendsinthefrost
❛ that's ... not how you wear a mask, buddy. ❜ could it even be called a mask if it only partly covered one side of the face ? not really. he doesn't think so, at least. ❛ think there's better ones out there you could try on, just a thought ! ❜ /// @destructivour
❛ watch your step ! ❜ small folly's not going to put a dent in their travels, though he's swift in his movements anyway, making sure to catch her before she could fall. phew. ❛ be careful. ground's a bit slippery here, you don't wanna fall from this height. ❜ exaggerating ? probably. it's expected of him. /// @ofsights
yasuo... :) / always accepting !!
@windwandered said : Can you heal me for once.
another bot lane with ashe & nautilus as their enemies ( how original, how putrid, surely the skills needed to shoot arrows & throw a damn hook must be so prestigious ), one would assume that playing safe would net victory ; alas, that didn't work. countless times has he been hooked & knocked airborne, countless times had he been victim to ashe's icy arrows to protect his carry, countless times already had he poked at them successfully & ran towards his carry to offer what little assistance he could. each time failed, albeit he's used to working with uncooperative people ——— varus, thou shalt not be missed ——— the multiple quips had irked him. maybe a little too much.
❛ hey, here's a better idea, stop running from me when you know i'm about to HEAL YOU !!! ❜ moment of rage, cool & collected demeanor forsaken for the rare exasperated one. the rift always has surprises for him. rakan's intent was to scold ; however, he feels a hook against his person & his eyes go wide. their ults are up, aren't they ? ❛ aw, crap ——— ❜ sixth death, here he comes !!!
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 !! ❜
pit's king. /// halvett.
“ PEOPLE SAY THEY DON’T LIKE violence , ” begins Sett as though speaking to the elements , whichever one of them may be willing to listen ——— and rubs his knuckles against his palm , “ but they all watch . ” And sure enough it feels like someone has been watching him drag the faces of some smart - asses ( should he even bother calling them muggers ? Cowards , maybe , nothing more than that ) through mud of the cold city streets , all stealthy and secretive in a way Sett is far from familiar with . He stands to his full height again , hands clenched into fists .
“ SO WHOEVER’S OUT HERE GETTIN’ an eyeful ‘a this better say hello . I was never good at hide ‘n seek . ”
⇢ SETT & RAKAN . / @feyquil . / STARTER CALL . ( FT . A CANON QUOTE . )
watch they do. to marvel at the spectacle of violence is to become a part of the audience, witnessing knuckles coming into contact with another's face, knocking out a tooth or two, it's unique to that type of performance. it is a dance that requires brute strength, burly individuals that could easily instill fear into a layperson. who better at this fatal dance than the king of the pit, the boss everyone has whispered on & on about for his strength ? ( what show he truly puts on. a meat head to the very end of coincidental confrontation. ) sett's dance ... is it calculated, or is it blind rage that overcomes his being ? curiosity may kill the cat, but a bird's vantage comes from flight alone.
❛ not good at hide 'n seek ? ❜ finally, he speaks, blessing very atmosphere with his voice once more. talking is his forte, one of many gifts. ❛ probably 'cause you're not supposed to punch those you find. ❜ around the corner & he's in full view, grin plastered on his lips. mischievous. not looking for trouble, but to thank for the show. or is silent appreciation far superior ? ❛ you did a number on those guys, though. not bad ! i'm impressed. ❜ despite his praise, distance is maintained. albeit rakan holds confidence for his own escape tactics, he opts to be careful around the boss. / to become his enemy is to take part of the play, to be on his stage. this deadly dance is not for him. not yet.
❛ i don't really get it. ❜ far more differences than he'd imagine, rengar had more of a penchant for hunting than, say, dancing, magic, freedom !! only perceived similarity would be their titles as wanderers. to travel across ionia & discover what this land had in store for them, that was where their goals aligned or overlapped even a little bit, right ? ❛ hunting ? not really my thing. now, if we're talking about dancing, i'm sure i could teach you a thing or two ! ❜ /// @prxdestvkler
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@quartlet said : grasps his chin 😇
how peculiar. to have chin grasped like this is meant to be perceived as a gift, the culmination of a warmth between two souls that dance, dance. / one is meant to reign over land, protect the greenery that nature's heavenly touch graced, her teachings sacred & a promise of growth. to nurture these small seeds into blooming flowers of varying hues, conjuring a mosaic that man - made fabric could not wish to surpass that beauty, they could not wish to replicate it, for man's hands serve nature. the other is meant to dwell within the depths of the ocean, where few know that nature's touch cannot ever forge a bond between land & sea. yes, it does not matter how ravishing that presented exterior is, it matters not what bonny colors he adorns ( that is all he shall ever know ), mysteries lie abundant beyond this serene shore, yet cerulean hues be only granted a perspective on what is meant to be seen. the darkness beyond cannot be trod through so easily, for freedom's end lies at those darkened depths that beckon him. /
this is no dance of warmth. there is no innate love to be had. what they have ? it's different, but he is not caged. to leave one's zone of comfort is to spread these wings & delve into the world's gifts, to travel is to journey & experiment with what brings joy. sharing that with others is so truly a virtue few have, but to reject the side of him that is tempted & tempted & tempted by this man is to reject himself. to dance with khada jhin is to accept the dangers of life, it's to partake in elation through unorthodox means, shun by level - headed ones that so feared placing their hearts in the hands of death's disciple. ( what is reason if not an object that obstructs one from mingling with what is deemed pernicious ? what is reason if not what impedes growth. ) is this growth ? don't ask him. to live in the moment without worrying over future is a motto he's so since followed, & what great joy it brings him.
❛ oh, so ... you wanted to touch me ? ❜ to not make an implication of the sort would be uncharacteristic, to leave the virtuoso without a response would be to reject the self. each sense in rakan's body is rising, electrifying nearly, shudder only barely escaping his lips as an icy touch is felt at bare back. he hums. leans into the touch, their actions could speak for them. a poem need not be spoken. let it be performed, let it be a stage where the only audience is they, intertwined by a merciless fate. what, oh what could be more lovely than this ? ❛ going for my chin, i'd rather you touch me somewhere else. ❜ hand shifts, journeys over to the only part where there's exposed skin, pads gentle in their approach, carefully touching bicep 'till one digit, two digits, three dance onward, halting before forearm, only to feel the expanse of skin as they rise once more, firm grip near jhin's shoulder. don't stop what you're doing. ❛ unless ... maybe you want to be the one that gets touched tonight ? ❜ an open offer. an open mind. this dance they have is liberating. many have clamored over how mystery itself should be feared. the mystery of khada jhin, however, has successfully allured him.
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 ! ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@oceanbrings said : She is just going to admire his cape/wing and the beautiful feathers.
❛ take all the time you need, ❜ is it his method of calling her out ? perhaps. whether or not her gaze towards his feathers was meant to be stealthy or not, he didn't really care. her admiration of these beauteous, nearly glimmering feathers was the attention he craved, the eyes of his audience that he so performed for. who could blame her for staring ? ❛ you aren't the first one to admire my feathers, definitely not the last. so tell me when you're all good ! oh, & feel free to touch, by the way. they're as soft as they look. ❜ is this all fueling his pride ? definitely. is he going to make an effort to cease her stare ? nope, why cease what he can't control. ( if his beauty is truly so captivating others will stop to marvel at him, is he the perpetrator ? or should they return to staring at the mundane activity they were previously caught up in ? )
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@finalwhispers said : He is very, /very/ fixated on Rakan's cape. Whatever that terrible crooner is saying, he doesn't care. He wants the cape. Perhaps some glitter in the eyes will serve as a good distraction.....
& so does he march on with each futile word that escapes him, trivial matters of his own accomplishments, the fame & glory that has followed throughout extensive travels / same ones where all regard him as a beacon, a light that facilitates the mirth residing within all's fatigued hearts, rakan is a benign gift from fate ——— it is her apology delivered through one charismatic individual, his desire naught but entertainment ——— no matter how convoluted he may be. / dulcet vocalization of achievements serves no material purpose, as a transient moment of elation stems from presupposed assumption of another's undivided attention ( all eyes on him, as he is at the center of life's stage, the audience there to behold him ). elation's demise, however, came at the rise of a common truth : his ' cape ' was the true object of attention. albeit such should cause newfound joy, rakan finds confusion coloring his own features, wondering ... wondering how a simple cape could captivate one more than, say, his feathers.
❛ hey, ❜ initial attempt at gaining jhin's attention, though he's sure his words fell upon deaf ears. no reaction. only a focused gaze on his cape. what courses through his mind ? did he want a closer look ? ❛ are you looking at my cape ? ❜ vocalizes the query roaming in his mind, subsequently humming & allowing a grin to form on his lips now. hand travels to the side of his own ' cape ' & he pulls on it slightly, carefully, to show off more of it. ❛ pretty great color, am i right ? looks good on me ! ❜ his feathers were a far more beauteous sight than this deceitful cape !!
meme. / no longer accepting.
@herpleasvre said : [ wall ] only if u want to tho
the impact was sudden. light flirting was always meant to escalate, he knows that these honeyed string of words were meant to appeal to her, charm the temptress beauteous woman before him ——— a delicate approach is favored, as a woman deserved the best treatment. to not only grant her these slow, gentle touches that he knew she craved from her hitched breathing alone, each mewl was indication of forthcoming submission. or so he thought. a faint smirk is all he detected before the subsequent forceful shove. back against the wall, instigated by pair of sharp claws ( at least, that's what he thought them to be ), his surprise is to be expected. to call this his usual rodeo would be deceitful ; however, relinquishing control & bestowing it upon her ... it's a sudden change he's willing to accept.
❛ whoa, ❜ tonal shift, lowered voice, thoughts processing these turn of events. evelynn is not one to so easily forsake a position of power, huh ? good. good. a woman who knows what she wants, the type of woman who could gladly kick his ass & face no remorse shortly after ... danger always attracted him. albeit he knows naught of her devious schemes, nor how she embodies danger itself, an innate desire gravitates him towards her, it's what allows sharp nails to dig into her hips. pain for pain. he likes it. ❛ didn't know you liked taking the lead. dunno what you'll do with it, babe ... but keep going. ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@lightshielded said : ' you shine so brightly. ' the dawn's light dancing about the blackened night was entrancing, the singularity's whispers ever louder in its presence. the dark star was slow with its movements, almost apathetic to how long his actions take, simply taking time to admire the star dust flicker out as it waft over him. lance in hand, the dark star corruptant glided towards the court's dawn. ' so bright and so warm ... but your light is fleeting, ephemeral. how lucky it must be to end so quickly. '
❛ & a little funny you think that you even hold the power to suppress light. ❜ the dark star's will remains resolute, it wishes to obliterate all that has been created : these newborn stars, the light of dawn that he beckons, dusk's fall, it wishes to cease this perpetual state of order & replace it with a dreadful chaos that lacked order. it wanted all to only know darkness. it wanted all to accept the dark star, thereby granting a darkness that resides within all to manifest & overtake every aspect of one's being. for one that controls the dawn, he is all too aware of what light's sacrifice may lead to, how these actions may facilitate an inevitable end, causing his undoing, thus relinquishing this gift of light bestowed unto him.
there's a cant of his head, a collected smile ( more akin to a smirk, with corner of his lips tugged upwards ), he speaks & his words are soft, forsaking the once boisterous persona to adopt a steadfast stance. he shall not fall. ❛ light never ends, ❜ singular limb shifts, slow, index curling, pressing between lip & chin, arctic hues landing upon presumed object of his undoing. a single lance. an unfamiliar weapon. no matter how alien it may seem, the art of combat is a dance he is all too familiar with. the dark star knows naught of dance & its beauty. to this, the advantage is his. ❛ doesn't matter if dawn sets & darkness paints the sky ... the dawn will always rise. ❜ it's his task as the court's dawn to shine.
meme. / selectively accepting.
@shadowhelmed said : *drops down to one knee* [ choke ], my liege
this was bound to happen. / they stand at opposite sides of a battlefield, life's game has dictated that they become one another's enemy, for their causes & beliefs lie in conflict, sparking desires for war & battle, for one side to prevail victorious with erroneous perception of said victory coming from a just background. the ends do not justify the means. a canary must sing nature's song, hear her reverent melodies that stir devotion & love for her creations, for the wild magic whose freedom directly affects all life around it ; there is no question to it, it must be left intact. to limit such for another's cause is to rebuke nature's teachings, it is to manipulate her benevolent will & transform an amiable love into a malicious force !! to commit atrocities all in the name of an order !!!
notwithstanding a resolute heart that wishes to paint all a part of said order as malevolent, there was kayn who proved to be distinct. perchance will he acknowledge that it is the folly of his own sentiments to become involved with one so closely associated with an order he's devoted himself to abolishing, though the initial intent was to deceive. this veneer attached to rakan's face found more uses than simply charming, the act of befriending a foe for intel is just, for is it not a fool that shall be punished for misplacing trust so carelessly ? but who must bear the title of fool ? kayn ? no. even if original intent was to deceive, even if their friendship had been found on initial lies, that will disappeared the more he came to know him.
each conversation served one absolute purpose : bring to light the plans of the order that threatens his home, that threatens the magic coursing through these divine trees, the humid air that felt refreshing no matter the time of day. all what was brought to light ... was a newfound care for him, came with a silent denial, an inner conflict where he rejects these sentiments, while a side of him advises him to accept it. accept he cares for kayn, that whenever the frown on kayn's lips curved into a smile, no matter how small, its power to brighten room was indubitable ——— that whenever he bared his heart to rakan, rakan would accept it, he would not shatter this trust they've built, knowing that trust itself is fragile & can never truly be recuperated if broken. each time they gazed at one another, each time dawn threatened with sun's calling, rakan was aware of his own feelings : the feeling of not wanting to leave, that sentiment of i want to protect you. a force that cannot be trampled by time itself, one that life cannot wish to understand, no matter the desire for chaos & conflict, the force of love prevails within rakan's heart even in war.
now ... they lie in bed, kayn atop rakan's form, pressed deep within him, hands placed against hips, steady rhythm adopted to make things easier for him. to call this just sex would be a sin in of itself, it would be a blatant lie, kept in control, for to grant it autonomy in their relationship would prove disastrous. / though communication is a struggle, though the path of what they have is rocky & it may never come to perfect fruition, that's ok, they have each other. to tread upon dangerous, mysterious path with another is a risk far greater than going alone, rakan's pride shall give him needed strength to move forward. / pressing against kayn is an act to have more of him, for him to press deeper without fear, it is rakan's manner of agreeing through their passionate act that kayn may do as he pleases. then, comes the unexpected, hands come to wrap around his neck, & he gasps.
❛ whoa, what're you ... ❜ perplexed at first on his actions, then digits begin to press down against his next, efficaciously preventing oxygen to flow from air to lungs, & albeit his hands come up to grab kayn's wrists, subsequent words betray his actions. ❛ don't stop. ❜ conflicting feeling of pain & pleasure, an amalgamation of both is seeded at the root of his heart, it grows & grows until it's overflowing. it's not passion, it's not trust per se, but by far is this one of the more audacious acts he's ever allowed. to trust someone with hands around his neck, it's new. he doesn't want it to end, he won't allow it to end. ❛ keep going, keep choking me, keep fucking me. i'll ... tell you if it's too much, i promise. ❜
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. ❜
meme. / accepting.
@drorious said : [ denial ] ,,,,,,,,,hello
pride would dictate his visage to keep a collected exterior, to not give in & allow the hand at his cock to contort his features. rakan refuses to relinquish control, especially when it's draven, a worthy rival that declared his perfection to be the only absolute beauty, that he is more handsome than rakan. he refuses such an assertion, thinks it ludicrous, thinks a battle of prides may be so easily settled with a battle of wits, not an orthodox one : no dance, no battle, simply a test of ... endurance. who could tease better ? who could last longer ? who was more skilled ? at least, that was the initial intent. opting to go first was a prideful act, to allow himself to be touched & ... reduced into this moaning mess, it's embarrassing.
rakan's hips buck into draven's hand, seeking a comfortable rhythm whose action is ceased by sudden squeeze, sudden halt of the strokes, the gasps escaping his lips transitioning into groans of frustration & it only earns draven a glare. each time rakan feels a bubbling warmth building itself up at his groin, its tracks come to spontaneous end, as if man before him could read each & every expression on rakan's face. he hates it. ( wipe that damn smile off your lips !!!!! ) act of submitting to another is not an act holds any aversion for, but mere fact it's a rival of all people he's submitting for, it sucks. it sucks he's not allowed to cum, that draven's in control, that rakan leans against him for support & hears phonic vibrations that evince his chuckle. he finds this amusing, & rakan's irked that he does too ... it feels amazing.
❛ fuckin' ———— just let me cum. ❜ exasperated breath is delivered, strained as he utilizes the only tactic he's sure would work, even if it did damage his pride. ❛ you're being unfair, i'm beggin' ya, just make me cum, i need to. please. ❜ he may be out of breath, he may be initiating yet another futile attempt at bucking into draven's hand, but he knows one thing's for sure ... one way or the other, once it's his turn to eat draven out, his goal is no longer to make him cum fast, it is to hear prideful performer beg for him in turn.
meme. / accepting.
@quartlet said : o we doing this???????? okay [ blindfold ]
TO DANCE UPON THE FLAMES OF DANGER had been a viable way of producing entertainment, be it evoking ire from men that had no control over own emotions, thus constituting their subsequent violent attempts at ceasing life's song from blessing vastaya's ear / alas for them, he does not so simply allow one to intervene, his death is not nigh, it is a whispered tale amongst the laypersons that believe each deed he takes, each course of action seized, is a death wish that facilitates death's chilly embrace. ah, how such could not be further from the truth. / life's song is one he's heard for oh, so long, no matter her repeated melody, no matter how each verse is similar to another, there was enough to decipher one note from the other, enough knowledge of what makes the world go round that could be attuned into her performance. she may be her own orchestra, but rakan's attention will not falter. for if a double bar drew near, the end would only be evincing itself. the climax of her piece had been reached. it is reaching a velvety pianissimo, each sound growing more silent ... yet rakan smirks.
her song plays in the back of his head, but for how long ? he opts to toy with fire again, to lavish touches upon certain maestro's body, to admire the scrawny stature that had been capable of doing oh, so much.
he knows, he knows of the dangers that lurk within his course of actions, he is astutely aware of how that gun, tailored to his sense of fashion, is loaded with the bullets of his undoing. one. that is all that's needed for him to become a beauteous work of art, his feathers aflame & each limb in his body feeling the burning sensation as each part of him contorts into a phenomenal arrange of roses. yes, only he is capable of making scarlet liquid flowing through him to adopt the exterior of petals from beloved roses.
fingers delicately admire biceps, gripping, testing for a specific reaction. to evoke even one noise, a pleasured melody from jhin, a sign that he enjoys this. what comes next ... it's a blur. one moment, rakan's hands are roaming across clothed body, an overt attempt to entice him, to see if a virtuoso may so easily succumb to lust, see him in a more vulnerable light. / there's one absolute truth he's come to accept, that jhin himself is a poison he must not drink from, that to bare any sort of heart to him may prove to hold dire consequences, for a tale of love & care shall not prevail at the end of this story, at the end of their story. he cares naught for it. if khada jhin is the chalice filled with very wine that held a transient moment of euphoria, very one many warned rakan of to not drink from, for death lies at the end of this cursed drink, he would drink from it regardless of their pleas. owed to his confidence in hearing life's song ... owed to his insatiable curiosity that wanted more of jhin. more. MORE !!!
it was to no avail. sight had been relinquished, albeit not permanently. rakan finds himself on his knees, blindfolded, breath erratic for a moment as he attempts to recollect his memories of what occurred for it to lead here. nothing. a fool too lost in his own pleasure to connect what happened, now he is left to hum, wonder at what jhin plans to do. the only man that could kill him had the upper hand here, the only man who could so easily grant him chance to hear the end of life's performance holds the gift of sight, even through that mask. even then ... rakan smirks. there is no attempt to remove the blindfold, he does not stand up. for now, he shall play the part of an obedient nightingale & allow his song to do the talking.
❛ a blindfold ? ❜ intonation evinces his inquisitive tone, as if judging this turn of events. he isn't. he likes it. all it takes is a grin to know. ❛ didn't think this was your style, but i can't lie, i'm digging it. ❜ amused hum reverberates at his throat, thinking it's time to be more bold. verbally, at least. an offer, if anything. ❛ so, tell me ... you gonna use my mouth now, or what ? ❜
meme. / accepting.
@shurima-demigod said : [Good] because mun is curious and bored.
IT'S A RATHER RARE OCCURRENCE FOR HIM, finally finding one that is taller than him, one rakan has to crane neck back for, so that oceanic gems can be graced with the visage of the ascended & how hungry he looked. yes, he, too, wanted this. hand at rakan's hip is evident of that, very one that sunk sharp digits into him, urging him to move forward, urging desired friction. ( he dares to defy an order such as his, albeit lust's fire burns from within, nasus wins this round for he may subdue vastaya who wears freedom's heart on his feathers. ) rakan voraciously bucks his hips against nasus's, sating the silent command he was given, craving the electrifying friction that sparked something new, very one that would excite ichor into traveling south, south. he's growing harder in his lap, leaning forward with arms wrapped around his form, body pressed against his, arousal rubbing against defined torso, ironic how tables have turned. supposed advantage initially his, perceived that his charms had nasus at first, now ? perhaps it's the other way around, not like rakan minds.
❛ ... huh ? ❜ there's praise, good boy, assurance that by following his commands, he does good. who knew ... two words could fuel desire even more ? who knew that it would be why incisor sank into his bottom lip, evokes a deep intake of breath, before his own hand now travels down, feeling the expanse of taut muscle on the way to nasus's chest. he gently gropes, steady gaze kept there before he, yet again, looks up ——— an action he's not tired of ——— & allow a smirk to grow onto his lips. he's digging this a little too much. ❛ yeah, guess i am. normally i'd be a little more impatient, maybe i am, but ... ❜ he hums, leaning forward, proposal ready to slip through his lips. ❛ call me that again, i'll let you take the lead, sound good ? ❜ as if nasus didn't already have this songbird wrapped around his finger already.
meme. / accepting.
@obsidiantias said : [ adore ] (^:
how'd they get here ? / fate's path had always been a mystery, darkness shrouded the road forward, even if it was the only road one could ever take ; with each step, an opportunity for light to shine on this darkness. with each step, careful & meticulous, solitary & with another, something new each time. be it their meeting, no matter how long ago it was, no matter the initial rivalry on rakan's side, or the unending truths that came to light with each conversation. it was always something new between them. / now, here they lie in bed, future uncertain, but they care naught for it ; no, no, what mattered most was the present. what mattered most was each other.
admittedly, he prefers their positions to be reversed, for him to be on top , to be marveling down at zelgius & every little detail he could note. ( that smile made of honey reserved for none other than him, the doe - eyed gaze he sought for, they were a treasure rakan cherished. ) now ? he finds himself back to mattress beneath him, albeit soft bed could never match the delicate touches zelgius gave him, the way his fingers roamed over his body, the way they danced & touched every part that could elicit velvety gasp from touch alone. it's divine, it's amazing, it's zelgius that runs a hand over his chest, pressing hips down against rakan's. the intent was never to allure, he doesn't think so, he feels special. fragile, a careful treasure in supposed lover's eyes, a temple worthy of worship through more than just dulcet vocalizations.
not as if he particularly minded, for the benevolent words flowed naturally, they were never empty. zelgius's heart delivered those sonants with a passion for him, & who is rakan to reject the advances of a tattered heart he cares for ? who is he to deny the love blooming in his heart for him, him, who has only ever questioned himself & his identity ( they're jealous of his beauty, they envy what they cannot have, for zelgius belongs to no one. even as they are together, they are each other's but do not belong to one another. their paths have conjoined, decision to move onward together is of their own volition ).
he loves him. he indulges in it, in the barrage of kisses at one side of his neck, in the traveling hand that rests on the other side. rakan breathed, a reminder that this is real as he cranes his neck, granting more access, desiring more from him. more of those soft kisses, more of that new sensation pressing against him ——— it's hard. it's hard to breathe consistently, his breaths were short, edging closer to panting than actually breathing ——— & he basks in it. basks in the glory of this newfound feeling, distinct from the many times he's bed someone ; their touches were rough, he was rough, previously uncaring & meant naught more than to satiate lust's fire, reduce it to a dying ember. but not with him. lust may be a factor, yet it is never at the forefront here, it is their love that grants them ability to be careful, to treat each touch as magical, to truly care for not just the act itself, but the indubitable fact that it's with each other & they care, they care.
❛ zelgius —— ❜ out of breath, the reverent touches, the meaningful whispers of praise ... he yearns for a perpetual loop of this moment, for time's sand to come to halt & grant them this quiet blessing : to remain with one another in their room, away from public's eye. for their act to go on forever. to love him uninterrupted. it is a selfish wish, one that fate will not grant, for that alone he must make the most of it. ❛ please, ❜ rakan doesn't recall when his arms wrapped around zelgius, when his sharp nails gently dragged down the back of scarred flesh, when one hand carded through azure hair & grasped it to keep him close. fuck. ❛ keep ... going. i trust you. ❜ cerulean hues sought verdants, yet that desire must be withheld for now, left for the upcoming act, their shared act of love.
[ adore ] your muse being near reverent with mine in bed.
handsome. /// drorious.
❛ AHAHA-HAAA . you dance, eh ? light on yer feet ? i can show ya ‘ a REAL tango , buddy . ❜
A LAUGH EXCEEDED HIS TONE in splatters of molten gold . his hand came to the height of his hip jutted outward only slightly. beauty and grace. they both had it. however, draven had perfection matched by none. his perfectly sculpted features and godlike regal personality was something to admire from across the seas and within the valleys of mountains . he was DRAVEN . the performer of the people . a name too big for just any border . many would say it was his inflated ego that was too big. but look at him ? how could such personality , such vibrant color, and such refined beauty be left to not be presented to the crowds ?
the performer stepped, closer, closer , closer . perhaps this effervescent feathery vastayan could prove interesting. he was a performer, in ways . there could be something fun to this.
❛ i know, yer like ‘ oh noxian , ewwww ! ‘ or somethin, but forget about that blah blah strength blah blah stuff and just take a moment to go ‘ oh, handsome ! ‘ ❜
@feyquil·
A WISH FOR PRAISE, a wish to exhibit one's own skills, it's an intriguing offer, seeing one whose beauty is enough to rival his own. perfection could never be a person, rakan is a vastaya & perfection has chosen him as its successor. he is the only performer, the only one given the ability to bestow grins & mirth on others as he danced & they, too, joined his dance. what is a performer like draven to be praised for ? simply his looks ? he won't accept it. at least, it's the initial reaction. he thought all the praises were glib, insincere, for the possibility of there being someone hot like him ? an impossibility !!
❛ takes two to tango, i'll think on the offer. ❜ to accept is to concede one is the greater performer, to give up this art he's honed & is known for is a sin he refuses to commit. no matter how tempting the offer, no matter how dancer's legs mimicked the performer's own, taking few steps closer, using height as a leverage, towering over him. see his lax posture ? how he is at ease, not at all threatened ? he has no reason to fear. he knows he's perfect. any admissions to draven being hot ... unnecessary, but the thought certainly dwells. ❛ question is ... you think you can keep up with me, ❜ brief hum, he opts to sate a small desire, ❛ handsome ? ❜
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 !!
@placeabo said : “ you will find worse people here than where you’re from. you should go. ”
what lies in the depths of these murky waters, what secrets are there to be found in the porty city of bilgewater, was there certainly any treasure he could find viable to enhance his own beauty ? truth be told, he doesn't care. a simple curiosity is enough to allure him away from the familiar lands he so traveled, that's how it's always been. did he, necessarily, want an absolute answer to his questions ? no, rakan just does, thinking about any of his reserved for after the fact. he's bound to have heard the many dangers that exist within this city —— but all is well, so long as he makes it out alive.
❛ thanks for the concern there, buuuut, ❜ rakan appreciates it, the warning, that is. perhaps he should heed the advice & leave here ( maybe the thought even did occur to him the moment he set foot in the city ), albeit he's not one to leave so easily when there's an insinuation of entertainment. that's what danger was to him, a promise of something new, something fun. if his dance isn't recognized here, then surely a new title could be created while here, right ? what's more fitting than a persistent battle dancer ? ❛ i'll be fine, trust me. i'm a little slippery, the people here won't be able to catch me. ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@unshackles said : " a little bird told me that you and your... spouse are quite familiar with rebellions. "
oh, oh ? what an intriguing statement, what an intriguing man to propose such a rumor he's heard naught of. few know of their rebellion, mostly vastaya, though whispers did not discriminate ; if a human ear could catch wind of their plans for rebellion, then surely a wider audience will be garnered. heh, good. the more eyes on him, the more exciting this stage where war's tension rises // all will marvel at his dance, freedom's song, an unending tune that he & xayah forged, so that everyone may experience magic as it's meant to be : wild, free !!! // leaving a guest unanswered is rude, it's tacky. granting him the honor of a response is the least rakan could do. perhaps do a little digging of his own. he always was the most curious between him & xayah.
❛ maaaaaybe, ❜ mischievous in his intents, his tone adopts a playful tune, brows lowering & corner of his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. elusive as always, the truth isn't too important, is it ? if it is, there's no need to worry over it. living in the moment was far more entertaining. short - term entertainment always proved to be greater than long term ( both diminish at different rates is all, one slower, one faster ! a transient moment of joy has more worth than long ones that shall eventually die out ). ❛ depends which little bird told you. ❜ depends whether he is enemy or ally. he's human, comes the assumption perceived from his physical appearance. no trace of vastayan qualities found on him. ❛ who told you ? but, i like to make things fun, take a few chances with fate. we are quite familiar with rebellions. that a problem ? ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@ekkological said : He hands him a metallic medallion that fits in his hand. You can see his reflection; he may or may not have stolen it.
it's a strange contraption. or, really, it's just jewelry if anything, albeit it's metallic, at least it feels like it. he hums. is this a gift, is this something he can wear ? more importantly, could it make him appear more beautiful than he does already. ( who the original owner was ? that's not too important, he'll worry more about the inherent beauty it offers ) after pondering on the thought a little longer, he opts to stuff it into one of his hidden pockets, a smile curling onto lips, appreciative. not the first time he's received a gift, not the last either, but it's the thought that counts this time.
❛ thanks for the gift ! i'll find a way to wear it, just give me a day or two. ❜ maybe a little longer. he's not the most intuitive individual out there, but he sure as hell does try, & trying has to amount to something !
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@miellamor said : ' i would give my lungs for you to not drown, i would give my feathers for you to keep flying, i would give my voice for you to keep singing, i would give my heart for you to keep loving.'
THEIR LOVE IS A SACRED ONE, it is a fragile craft conjured meticulously by both their hands, forming it, nurturing it into that warmth that resonates within their hearts. they are not connected by mere physicality, the exterior matters naught, it's the emotional connection that matters more, where their hearts become one, where their love is powerful enough to face the world by themselves, make an enemy of those that stand against their rebellion. he'd never leave her side, gods he'd never leave her side. to forsake her, who matters above all else, would be sin itself. / who has ever intrigued him as much as she ? who has ever loved him for him & not just the charismatic charmer ? who has bared her heart to him & his to her, accepting delicate gift & cherishing with all their might ? it's only them.
verily, she was immune to his charms, it was she who rejected his advances, but an impassioned heart persists & love had been discovered blooming between them. ( my love, this flower is ours, only we may see it, only we may feel it. ) to erroneously assume it had been an overnight thing ... it brings a chuckle, fools cannot perceive the trials they've faced, the many times he's protected her, the many times she's protected him, the many times she claimed to leave him were he caught in a peril situation, only to be saved right after & scolded harshly for not being serious enough.
deep down, they both knew the truth. one shrouded in mystery, but through each error, each time they corrected themselves, truth's like shined through, illuminating an indubitable fact : they both knew they cared about one another. platonic ? romantic ? foggy mind couldn't decipher it, he knew his intentions were romantic, but he saw more of her & so were his glib acts dropped, replaced over time by bonafide acts of love, genuine passion with every chat they had, every laugh they shared. // her laugh, oh her laugh, was there anything more beautiful, anything that inspired him more than when she smiled, when mirth graced her features, that was beauty itself !!
❛ miella, ❜ he hushes her, finger pressed against her lips, amiable smile growing onto his lips, he leans in, close & makes sure to press his forehead against hers. deep intake of breath, small exhale, then silence. silence. words cannot encompass his love for her, neither can time ——— their love transcends time, it transcends history itself, historians shall not record it, documents will write of their achievements, their failures, there will be information on their success to preserve the wild magic of ionia, but no matter if a memorial is made, no matter if others see them as ghosts or heroes, none will know of their love. there will be songs sung, speaking of the two lovers that faced the world, but none, none but they will know of this flower they nurtured, the nature of their love is not an exhibit for the world, but their private garden that only they may dwell & dance in forevermore. ❛ don't you ever give anything for me. what i have here ? you, with me, that's all i could ever ask for. i don't want anyone else but you. don't ever sacrifice anything of yours for me. ❜ only i'm allowed to ever sacrifice myself for you, miella.