Unprompted.     /     always Accepting   !!

              battle dancing is one of the things he took pride in,     one of the things he has honed,     not simply out of mere interest,     but because it is interwoven with the care of his being.      dancing is freedom.     freedom is dancing.     to have one with the other is naught but a lie     (   a carefully constructed concept that would be forsaken,     for it is a mere imitation of the art,     albeit lacking soul   ).     that is his rationale for why kayn does this.     why kayn continues to train without breaking sweat,     why he perceives kayn to push himself to his limits,     why he believes kayn explains it to him,    &    despite how exhaustive it may be,     sheepish grin is all that is offered     ———     forgive him,     he hasn't processed all that information.

              ❛     right,     right,     so     ...     ❜     digits curl right against his chin,     lips coming to form a small pout,     brows furrowed as he attempts to regurgitate kayn's information to him.     ❛     you do that so that they can     ...     ❜     trails off into silence,     humming.     a shrug is offered in place of a verbal answer.     ❛     i dunno,     fall   ?     ❜     this is a mess.       ///       @shadowhelmed​

“of course! everyone loves me!″

for those rakan lovers out there 

anyway be like rakan and stan K/DA y’all xoxo

( model, motion, stage )

fictional kiss things that end me

being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward

one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other

pressing their foreheads together while kissing

speaking normally, then after the kiss their voice is hoarse

guys furrowing their brow when kissing passionately

staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

running their thumb over the other’s lips

when they lean forward a fraction as if to kiss the other person, then realize they shouldn’t and pull back to stop themselves

ripping the other away - “no we shouldn’t” - but when they kiss them again they moan and hold them close

one sliding their hand into the other’s hair slowly

their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them

accidentally being forced inches apart from each other, staring at each other’s lips, and just before they kiss someone pulls them back apart

when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

then licks their lips and says “please”

hero.     ///     bxstiae.

⚜ ; —–  [ ᴠ ᴀ ʟ ᴏ ʀ  ʜ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ] —–     WASN’T LIKE HERO needed to use the sword (actually preferred the bow most of the time ). Though Master Blade had SOME perks to. It seemed to be whispering again, EGGING the Hylian to show the other why in it’s dim glow. Strange. (the sword never got upset over that before ) Only cast a glance at weapon before turning to swing at what seemed like NOTHING. 

—– ;     BRIGHT ray of light came from the sword; went in the direction a Champion had swung – only to clip the grass that stood in way before hitting a bush in an explosion. Leaves flew in various directions. Perhaps that would be sufficient ENOUGH to answer the question. 

          ❝ 🇭🇲🇲 … ❞

i mean i can still use the bow too i guess . 

              nothing but sounds of a delicate wind,     all as he awaits a response.     is there an apparent,     valuable reason for his curiosity   ?     no.     rakan isn't one to use weapons,     he prefers his dance to be his guide.     treat every battle as such    &    he's found to give a performance that's enough to please the crowd   !     still     ...     a sword over a bow   ?     doesn't one give you the advantage of distance   ?     rakan thinks that there's more merit in a bow from that alone.     of course,     that erroneous belief is quickly left behind when there's a beam of light that collides with a bush    &    explodes on impact

              ❛     alright,     guess that settles why at least   !     ❜     he finds no interest in that weapon.     using it would be entertaining,     shooting beams of light to anything    &    having control of a power like that would be for naught but fun.     that's why     ...      ❛     heeey,     you don't mind if i use it myself,     right   ?     i wanna give it a shot   !     ❜

i’ve been doing nothing but playing ffxiv and debating on writing my wol on tumblr........don’t look at me 👉👈

Shipping Call - Send me one if you want to plot one or more of these

💚 - friendship 💙 - kinship ( blood or symbolic familial bond ) 💔 - past relationship 💜 - hateship ( they hate each other but can’t stay away ) 💛 - hateship ( enemies ) 💟 - friends with benefits ❤ - romantic relationship

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.

yasuo.     ///     flowihnd.

          OH ,  HOW  THE  WANDERER’S  DAYS  have  changed  in  the  melody  that  threads  them  together ,  and  how  different  the  rhythm  his  feet  walk  to  has  become .  Replacing  solitude’s  endless  vigil  is  the  equally  endless  energy  of  the  Vastaya ,  leaves  intermittently  leaving  the  comfort  of  the  tree  branches  in  favor  of  accompanying  the  wind  in  its  journey .  A  light  chuckle  breezes  through  Yasuo’s  parted  lips ,  joining  the  chilly  evening  air .  “  I  meant ——   Ah ,  never  mind .  ”  Explaining  it  would  rob  it  of  fun ;  plus ,  he’s  sure  Rakan  is  well  aware  of  the  discreet  punchline .  He  takes  a  small  drink  from  his  flask ,  ties  it  to  his  belt ,  and  (  unbeknownst  to  Rakan  )  imitates  the  Vastaya’s  posture ,  resting  the  back  of  his  head  against  joined  hands .  “  Sounds  like  the  biggest  danger  for  you  at  the  moment  was  climbing  the  tree  just  now !  ”

         YASUO  SETTLES  AGAINST  THE  TREE  trunk ,  eyes  closing  briefly  before  they  open  once  more .  The  pastels  in  the  sky  have  begun  to  dim ,  giving  way  to  the  dark  of  night  and  the  first  peeking  twinkles  of  the  stars .  “  But  don’t  you  worry ,  Rakan ,  I’m  not  going  to  miss  the  rise  of  the  moon …  ”  he  continues ,  voice  softening  as  the  day’s  exhaustion  creeps  up  his  throat .  “  I  never  do  at  this  point ,  really .  Am  I  saying  I  don’t  really  sleep ?  Weeeell …  ”  Another  chuckle ,  this  time  encouraged  by  the  influence  of  slight  intoxication .  “  Huh ,  maybe .  At  least  not  as  often  as  I  should .  ”

              ah,     a farewell to that old routine of solitude,     replaced by this new one.     /     in that distant past,     he was the sole entertainer on this set stage,     the eyes of the audience focused on naught but him,     the beauty    &    grace of every natural feature,     every natural move    &    its flow,     embedded with an exhibited passion from his heart     (   it is the melody that guides him   ).     in a forgotten yesterday,     he was chosen,     the only capable one of performing these beauteous dances that humans could not avert their gaze from.     it is only miracle,     fate,     luck that now,     each festival,     there comes a new expectation    :    certain dance partner,     a wanderer whose calling is the wind,     appears    &    leaves just as swift.     yasuo.     only one who's managed to keep up with his every move,     successfully impressing rakan,     as both engaged in an impassioned dance that sung for those higher beings,     very ones that granted them this gift.     this is an art that others would not dare partake in,     it's different having another to share this enthusiasm with.     this is the new norm he's come to wholeheartedly accept.

              ❛     hey,     that wasn't dangerous at all   !     ❜     an abrupt motion,     he rises     ———     like the moon,     its gleaming silver light    &    its comfort matches rakan's own demeanor,     despite his eccentricism.     never calm,      too much energy that can't be contained.     upon sitting up    &    turning his head     (   meager attempt to get a view of yasuo   ),     though making sure he does not fall as consequence for action.     perfect.     ❛     i think your lack of sleep's a little more dangerous,     yasuo.     falling asleep here     ...     you're not meant to literally fall   !     but,     guess if you do,     i could end up catching you.    ❜     surely a jest,     his own retort to yasuo's earlier one.     its only fair a jubilant canary,     granted gift of flight from this chilly wind,     is there to rescue what grants him newfound freedom.