Feyquil - * LIVE TO DANCE !

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.

performer.     ///     quartlet.

AMBIGUOUS TILL THE LAST,    it was his cloak,   his skin,  his shield,  his everything.   lingering doubt always wore itself well upon the faces of those who seek to peer in,  to gaze until every last droplet is revealed.   far better to live as a dream than to live at all.  or at least,  that is what comforted him,  dismal as it may be.  khada jhin never performs without reason,  though oft times art requires no reason in being,  no purpose in merely existing.  art is,  and so he is.  he shall always be,  haunting the streets of cobbled houses belonging to a no - name village in zhyun.  devils do not seek reason,  they seek what they thrive for,  and thus he shall exist eternally,  eternally,  inside the nightmares of all those who have come to know him. 

❛  i’m sure you are simply dying to know.  ❜   his tone is languid,  terribly languid.   an undying smile curling artificial lips forevermore until the day it cracks open or it is torn away by bruised fingertips  (  he wondered sometimes,  if such a time might come to pass,  though the dream is quickly dashed by visions of bleeding jaws and threaded necks.  they bloom wildly.  bursting from bone and blood vessel   ;  magnificent  ).  for now,  rakan is neither a thorn nor a threat.  perhaps he is both though he has not yet pricked at the flesh enough to draw forth the virtuoso’s true ire.  what is one fool compared to another  ?  what is the sun when compared to the yawning darkness ?   oh,  what wonder. 

❛  you will find taking certain precautions might one day save your skin in the long run,  dear boy. ❜  his words are meant to burrow beneath,  wearing teeth that snap and snicker between twists of petals.  everything about khada jhin is a performance.  whether or not it is agonising,  is yet to be seen,  and for the vastayan that day might never come.  though he may be swept away by his curiosity all he likes.   ❛  best not to tempt fate now,   no ?  ❜

              such a profound level of serenity his voice encompassed,     a natural ease     —     sickeningly so     —     both in movements    &    voice,     a spark of envy may find itself growing,     blooming at the heart of a certain vastaya.     it is mystery to him if what ears hear are reality    ;    more so,     is the drawl in voice merely imagination,     auditory illusion,     or factual perception   ?     curiosity,     once enchanting    &    pure,     begins its conquest of mind.     a plague does it become that affects every corner of self     ———     nonetheless,     glee prevails behind it,     hoping to discover what truths may lie behind man enveloped in mystery.     despite aching desire to know,     he relents    &    decides to break ice,     know first secret     (   if one could call it that   )     of man behind mask.

              ❛     lucky for you,     i love to tempt fate.     ❜     that he does.     why else would he remain near evidenty dangerous character   ?     most would back from treacherous individual,     turn tail    &    return home,     to safety's warm embrace,     but not him.     a taste of danger would usually equate to a taste of entertainment,     a taste of fun.     successfully evoking ire    &    annoyance from one who maintained calm demeanor would be a fruitful endeavor.     for what reason   ?     none at all   !!     it is action without reason,     entertainment sought in most peculiar of areas     ❛     i'll tempt it right now    &    ask    :    what's the name you've got   ?     either the one that comes with the mask,     or the one behind it.     i'm game.     ❜     yet another shot at attempting to unravel the intricate web of mysteries that lie behind masked killer.     smile,     smile,     for those secrets may not yet be within reach,      albeit a stubborn vastaya knows naught of giving up.

              &    he takes opportunity to allow fate to guide limbs towards front of artisan's path,     finally attaining desired destination    :    a blockage in his path,     hoping to garner necessary information to dispel the mystery of name,     to elongate conversation.     fated stranger,     stay a while   !     travels may make one dreary    &    desire respite at vilest hour.     come,     stick for a chat.

              ❛     you're telling me that i fucked up,     but come on,     it's not so bad   !     at least you didn't get hurt,     right   ?     i'll be fine.     ❜      ///       @prodigal-ezreal​

please take care of yourselves everyone 💖

i missed sinday but rakan gets pegged

OBSESSED WITH THIS I NEED TO IMMORTALIZE IT LDFHKJDFLKJFG

less cringy NSFW/intimacy memes

ACTIONS: (add + to reverse who does the action)

✦ to finger my muse  ✧ to give my muse oral  ☆ to get caught doing something sexual in public ✻ to catch my muse masturbating  ✸ for a drabble about my muse having a sex dream about yours ❆ to tease my muse  ❁ for our muses first time  ✶ for something awkward to happen during sex ♢ for something to make our muses laugh during sex  ♤ for my muse to help yours undress  ☽ for my muse to have trouble taking off an article of clothing  ♧ to guide my muse’s hands where yours wants to be touched  ♜ for my muse to kiss an area where yours is insecure  ♞ my muse gets a cramp during sex ♦ my muse sneezes during sex ♟ my muse says the wrong name during sex ✪ for our muses to be intimate in nature © for morning sex  ✘ to eat food off of my muse  ♕ make your own scenario 

WORDS: 

“god, you look so good”  “fuck—” “i got you, baby”  “you’re being so good for me”  “i promise i’ll be a good”  “please”  “you have to be quiet if you want to cum”  “say please?”  “are you gonna be good for me?”  “shit— i have to pee” “wait, that hurts” “not there” “that feels so good”  “touch me here”  “did you just yawn?”  “you make me feel so good”  “do you like this?”  “i want to hear you when you cum”  “i’m so close”  “i need you”  “how much do you want to cum?” “turn around” “your fingers feel amazing” “i’m yours”  “you’re mine” “tell me you’re mine”  “you sound so pretty when you moan”  “harder” “wait—” “is this okay?” “say it again” “i love you”

Nooo don't lose yourself to the darkness your so sexy ahah

sorry what was that?

eat my jorts

nom nom nom

              downtime is not a rarity.     living without care in the world is a motto he's since subscribed to,     adhering to such hedonistic law for no other reason than to gain pleasure     ———     a lack of care for trivial matters that humans fret over allowed gates of new possibilities to be opened,     surpassed as all continue to wallow    &    drown in pools of responsibility.     though he is one to quell these worries with song    &    dance,     it is ephemeral,     contained within the space he's intruded graced with his presence.     rakan is free     ———     to remain collective    &    silent,     gazing upon nature's finest work,     the trees that stretch towards the azure sky above,     the relaxing grass he considers comfortable enough to be a bed,     the foreboding man whose primal voice pierces through the tranquil silence of the moment.     wait,     what   ?

              ❛     huh,     not even going to give me your name first or anything   ?     at least a compliment on my good looks   ?     ❜     it's not a deliberate remark to avoid the question,     he just takes offense to those that fail to be captivated by his charms.     possibly because no such magic is being used.     perchance because this new individual isn't an average human.     lips curve upward with every intent,     finding new source of entertainment before him.     who was this guy   ?     ❛     darkin,     darkin     ...     ❜     feigns being lost within own thought process,     circling around varus,     hand rubbing at own chin,     humming to further accentuate elaborate lie.     soft chuckle,     he shrugs.     ❛     nope,     sorry.     don't think i know anything about the darkin.     ❜

The patience of a hunter bridles even the superlative of lust that is his primal instinct to kill  —  not yet, he chides himself. The quiver of his accursed bow is only half-way drawn, the faintest glimpses of vermilion flickering where the string is at its tensest, but the bow is not aimed. What he seeks is answers, not the heart of the airy Vastayan that he stalks. 

He finally approaches close enough to where Varus hides. The soft grass rustles in his wake, and Varus rounds the corner, approaching deliberately, like a snake. His voice is a foreign growl in his ears, primitive and guttural. 

“You. Tell me, what do you know about the Darkin?”

@feyquil​ / sc.