Quartlet - Blog Posts
the end. /// quartlet.
LAUGHTER PEELS FROM THE VOID BELOW, the sound curdles and quivers, unfurling vast tapestries of discordant clangs and pinches of pink noise. He laughs. laughs in the face of hopelessness, laughs for all the putty flesh that makes him, him. may he lose himself in this sound, in the lights ahead and all around. trillions of them, distant and dead from this vantage point. they breathe their last sigh before bowing unto the encroaching Darkness, the era of black holes and pristine emptiness unwound and unbound, the era of rogue planets spinning into ad infinitum until their iron cores consume them from the inside out. how they scream ! how they dream ! how they die ! HE LAUGHS. He mourns. He weeps for no others may dare try, no tears can be wetted upon a vast cheek.
❛ NO, you did not, DiD yOu ? ❜ those last words are snatched by a static pulse, a static hum. it skips and fragments. dislodged from all meaning yet perfectly riddling itself inside cosmic bones and welts of nebulae. at this, the God Without a Throne bends, His unforeseeable eye narrows while laughter dies at the cavern of His might throat. when it ends, so too does a dead star’s drawn out agony before He peels it apart, carves it up like satin, splays it across the sky before it bubbles and foams into lesser atoms. drawing lines with the sickled tips of claws, almost lazily, thoughtlessly.
how fortunate this one is, to be a creature of somewhat significance, his guts not entirely composed of organic matter, for deep down there were flecks of stardust. in fact, He could gaze into the depths of his soul. find every knick and knot. pull back and laugh again at the simplicity. He does not such thing, instead, He merely stares and stares and stares. unblinking. unflinching. wild choruses reverberate across a thousand lightyears, their instant breaks into eternity as their throats are ripped from their bodies in a ceremony of entropy. stone cold moons orbit in the distance, suns follow behind, then all at once they are swallowed whole. ❛ but you did it for her … ❜ spoke He, ❛ did you not ? you took all the darkness that lay dormant inside you both, you consumed it WhOlE in hopes to bring about salvation. ❜
another cackle wretches from the beyond. the voice was high pitched, clammy, scratching. then another one bows into boils of laughter, then another after that, until there is another wicked choir set on mocking the little soul before them. He does nothing. He does not laugh. what liquid matter swirled inside that eye turns its attention to the side, and before long, the laughter stops. the supermassive black hole gurgling at his side also gazes beyond, far beyond, unto everything and nothing. it hungers and so does He. a hushed, ancient purr fills rakan’s weary ears this time. were he anyone else, the sound alone would have carved his mind into half. ❛ pitiful little guardian, i should destroy you here and now for your failure, yet … i am a BeNeVoLeNt god. i will offer you a chance. ❜
O, STARS ABOVE !! how your gleaming presence was filled with lies upon lies, how each twinkle was nary a sign of hope, each was hushed deceit to manipulate star guardian from young. // ah, how destiny once held benign promise of freedom, to grant power of flight through mere action of accepting contract that has bounded him to this fate, to see his name next to those who have fallen !!! his dreams, that of jubilant singer whose comrades were the very stars themselves, a star who shined like no other, a guardian that offered benevolence & promises of a future hope to the stars that have so nurtured him from young age, who have meticulously watched every move, every quiet night he sung, every passionate dance performed ——— the stars were no audience, they were initial saviors that furthered his passion // bah, but what is passion for one who's been consumed by darkness of the galaxy, who, in reality, resigned freedom to fall for a light that cares not for those it deems worthy guardians.
each vocable leaving this malevolent god did not sound real. reality had been distorted, reality's once intact mirror had been shattered, it is no longer chained by the rules of logic nor the everyday occurrences. the sun was no longer the mighty light that graced them with vision, that aided life's tasks with ease, that dawned beyond the horizon with promises of a new day & the vibrant hope that lied within its grasp. it was irresistible. to reject the sun's light ? unimaginable. even as a guardian, fighting for the first light's honeyed promises of doing the right thing & saving the stars, the sun had always been revered for its might. to see what once shined so brilliantly be crushed with ease, it defies all precedents of his perceived reality. all is fair game. he is nothing. status of a guardian greatly diminished when curtain unveiled the horrors that lied beyond mundane tasks : what gods of total destruction the first light kept secret from them, there is no strength in donning facade against them, no hope, no hope, even if he wishes not to reveal the miseries deep within, the grief dying starlight holds within him, there is no use in hiding.
❛ i did it for her. ❜ damned pity, from a god who knows naught of his plight. he is bold, blasphemous, furious. grit teeth, surely baring them as means to intimidate, barely containing anger against supposed hand that is of a deceptive warmth, one that may offer a promise, a sliver of hope, but he's had it with hope. hope is not the foundation for brighter future, it is the ruination !! it is what impedes growth, it is what led him to his fate. to reject this hand is to reject hope. ❛ & i'd do it again. again & again. ❜ daring, daring, limbs moving without thought put into each action, advancing towards the large form, as if to face it. face him. face the end. ❛ you think i'd take another chance ? the same way the first light offered a chance to be a star guardian ? the way i was offered a chance to be alive again, only to lose a huge part of me ? i don't give a damn if you're a bene ... benevu- whatever, point is, i'm done taking chances. you offering one won't make a difference. you destroy. you don't create life. ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@quartlet said : u are late for ur dick appointment
damn again ? guess we’ll have to do two dick sessions in one huh
cowboy. /// quartlet.
❛ might want to stand back a bit, darling. demon guts aren’t an easy thing to wash off. ❜
@feyquil· ,
❛ aww, look at you, cowboy ... ❜ his tone's laced with honey, it's velvety as he coos. ❛ tell me, do you think i'm a little scared of demon guts ? i dunno ... i think it's got the potential to make me look even better than i do now. 'course, i can find that out some other time. ❜
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@quartlet said : ❛ it appears the canary has flied only to fall. ❜ he speaks as though his breathing is not laboured. mismatched. parched. vividly, he sees vermillion blotted against orange, against yellow. the gun is empty but it will always be a part of him. ❛ will you dance for me one last time ? ❜
SWEET IRONY SHALL FOLLOW FLIGHTLESS BIRD, even through the perilous illusion, fallacious belief that one may so grant him wings, will irony edge closer & closer 'till truth's dulcet instrument presses again his chin / one whose bewitching feathers captivate the audience, his audience, shall revel in such vivacious festivities, where all gaze at him as a beacon, what can quell the undying worries dwelling within their hearts !! his dance & his song are a solo performance, acquired entertainment comes not from their mirth, but their modest acceptance of he as the heart of the party. a dancer whose dance is unique, distinct, charming, their eyes were not a godsent, it was a mere normalcy that he indulged in ; wherever he went, wherever his voice spoke, the audience, too, would follow. he was the flightless canary believed to hold the freedom of the skies. /
solo performances must be maintained as such. basking in the glory of desire is not criminal in of itself, one time flings must be accepted as a norm ( being deemed epitome of beauty came with perks that, to reject, would be a rejection of beauty itself ), for love, while possible, is capable to be a saintly blessing or a dreadful curse. a misstep serves as naught but detriment towards his performance, cooed melodies delivered as chaos's cacophony, the illusion will fall & so shall he. to fall in public is to accept shame. to accept shame is to forsake rakan. himself. // then why, oh, why must his heart beat for masked man, perfection's disciple, whose faux whispers ( harmonious they're not his ) allure with every intent ? why must every aching part of his body gravitate towards him, murmur supposed name, & accept him as suitable pair for an enchanting duet ? is this ok ? ——————————— this is not love.
what they have, this is not love. love is sweet. love is not a curse. love is not meant to cause misstep, love is a guiding light, warm, brilliant !!! love is granted power to protect another. love is permission to press ear against chest & listen to soft bumps against chest, a heart beat that insinuates life & glory ahead for two !! love is not the traveling pair that has accepted an imminent death for one. love is not the way legs wrap around waist, pressing into him with haste & incisors sinking at soft flesh, biting to mark what is rightfully his. love is not the amalgamation of their mewls permeating thickened air around them, each moan reverberating from rakan's throat growing louder, stronger, inflicted with a passion he swore himself to not fall to. this is not love, this is not love !!!!!! THEN WHY DOES IT FEEL SO DAMN GOOD ?
❛ guess i did fall. i fell for you. ❜ such is the means of life. to fall for perfection's embodiment is to render himself subservient to his will. beauty's incarnate must fall for perfection to rise. a stage may hold two, yet one starring role shall prevail successful. one actor is to hog the glory & fame with the name under the production they worked on. their continued act, while recognized, must come to an end. they both knew. death's icy touch hid behind mask, each meticulous digit that traced his chest at earlier times evinced that. rakan did not care. to feel alive, to be granted illusion of flight with jhin, was an eternity whose end drew near. he's not afraid. ❛ it's going to be our last dance, isn't it ? ❜ life's hue will no longer bless his eyes. darkness lied near, awaiting for its stealthy embrace, believing itself to be unexpected. but rakan's breath is heavy, teeth sunken into jhin's neck, marking a memory for him to remember & remember the man that evoked sweet music from him. he wants jhin to remember each delicate yet rough touch at his hips, the way thumbs drew circles around them ——— each thrust that served as a deceptive truth : that they were near one, that this conjured pleasure was real. ( all of it was real. this was coming. ) ❛ let me give you something to remember then, baby. ❜ presses chin down against gun's curved barrel, intake of breath before a shaky exhale escapes him. he smirks. ❛ & you make sure that they remember me when i go out, yeah ? ❜
YOU 🏆🏆🏆🏆
how do u feel abt my rakan?
GABBY EXCUSE ME?????? THIS...MEANS SO MUCH TO ME THANK U
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 !!
@quartlet said : what are rakan's opinions on cock and ball torture 400 word essay go
to understand the complexities of cock and ball torture is to understand that it is an art form now appreciated by contemporary society, scarcely touched upon by previous generations. naturally, this type of thinking can lead one to conclude that rakan’s tribe, the lhotlan vastaya, did not know nor practice about cock and ball torture. that is to say, rakan had figured out what cock and ball torture was only after coming into more contact with human society, be it other people in ionia, maybe some people from demacia, noxus, the freljord, etc. the point is, this art form was something he discovered through others. to say that rakan dislikes cock and ball torture would be a faux statement, it’s downright erroneous as rakan, for one, loves the feeling of having his dick or balls smacked until they’re red or hurting.
cock and ball torture hold a certain level of sadomasochism, the one inflicting the pain being considered the sadist, and the one receiving the pain being considered the masochist. in the psychological and medical analysis on sadomasochism, “safe, sane and consensual: contemporary perspectives on sadomasochism,” darren langridge et al. describes cock and ball torture to have directly painful activities such as “genital piercing, wax play, genital spanking, squeezing, ball-busting, genital flogging, urethral play, tickle torture, erotic electrostimulation, kneeing or kicking.” ( langridge et al., 2008 ) taking these factors into account, it must be noted that rakan is one who derives sexual pleasure from pain inflicted onto him. this is not to say that he would not harm another for sexual pleasure, but for the purposes of this essay, rakan finds immense pleasure in receiving pain during cock and ball torture. albeit he is not receptive to some of these activities, such as “genital piercing” and debatably “wax play,” he is very much an advocate of gential spanking, ball-busting, urethral play, etc. this stems from rakan’s innate desire to have all attention on him. not to be confused with accepting bad attention as good attention, cock and ball torture, as an art form, should be consensual on both sides to him, even if he must undergo some form of humiliation.
with that being said, rakan finds great joy in participating in cock and ball torture. while he opts to be on the receiving end of things, coming from the side of him that is masochistic in nature. some will argue against this idea, attempting to refute this argument with “masochism does not align with rakan’s charismatic exterior,” and while i wish to agree with them, there is a particular line within league of legends that implies rakan is, indeed, leaning towards the masochistic side of sexual pleasure. this becomes evident in one of his quotes with his partner xayah, in which they have this brief exchange:
to obtain scars, one must acquire wounds. to acquire said wounds, one must undergo pain. rakan’s acceptance of xayah’s desire, whilst sounding chipper about it, supports the argument that he is, indeed, a masochist; ergo, being on the receiving end of cock and ball torture is a high possibility than saying he has no such desire.
ultimately, rakan enjoys the idea of cock and ball torture and would willingly participate in it given the chance. thank you for reading my essay!
CITATIONS:
Langdridge, Darren, and Meg Barker. Safe, Sane, and Consensual: Contemporary Perspectives on Sadomasochism. Palgrave Macmillan, 2013.
“Rakan/Quotes.” League of Legends Wiki, leagueoflegends.fandom.com/wiki/Rakan/Quotes.
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 ? ❜
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 !!
@quartlet said : stop looking at yourself and start looking at me stoopid
ok deal, just promise you’ll hold a mirror in front of you? at all times, maybe? cool!
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@quartlet said : ❛ ah ... the tragedy of romance, the bittersweetness of true love. you believe your ending will be a duet, but i think not, i think your ending should be a solitary swansong. where your feathers are strung up like molten gold, splattered across the sky, forever entwined with the sun and from your lips will spill brightest amaryllis petals spew forth. when she finds you, she will hold you forevermore. ❜
they are the lovers' tragedy. they love & love, it's a boundless love that transcends their mortal forms, they do not need these feathers, their delicate touches, the soft gazes as proof of their love. rakan & xayah were love embodied, a relationship of pure harmony, where he is the sun & she is the moon, one incomplete without the other. // as the sun & moon are distanced lovers, they are doomed to die apart from one another. no matter how they desire a perfect end, one where both may exit life's stage & into a peaceful afterlife, souls intertwined & unbreaking, such is only a dream incapable of being proved real. fate does not care how bright he shines for her, she does not care for the moon's light once she smiles ( it's fugacious, ravishing, none can warm the sun's heart like she can ), even if only reserved for him, their end is not together.
but he denies it. he denies the song that dictates their separation, the bitter reality that wishes to not quell pain, but urge its conquest of heart & soul. his dance shall end without her by his side, she shall be restrained as his path ends, as the feathers he once held dear & took pride in will no longer shine, for even the sun is but a light waiting to be consumed by surrounding darkness. their love, no matter how profound, no matter its importance, is but a speck on this stage filled with actors, many alike that live these honeyed dreams perceived as reality, love is a blinding poison. the fallen cannot find rest, the morrow's dying light is an ember, a faux hope many cling onto. rakan clings onto. no matter its sneer, he wishes to die by her side, it is his intent, time nor fate can restrain him ———— he is but a fool that believes this inescapable labyrinth holds an exit, pity him, pity him !!!!!
❛ you're wrong. ❜ negates jhin's reality, the objective reality delivered through the lustrous lenses of the virtuoso, beauty's true beacon, perfection's successor. that mask, it's deceitful, poised with perpetual grin, though rakan refuses to falter before him. 'till spoken perception encompasses his own reality, he has no reason to believe him. ❛ me & xayah ? we do everything. together. ❜ for once, the charismatic grin he's so accustomed to wearing is gone, replaced by pursed lips, a tense stance, fearing movement itself. / if time is movement, then he would relinquish his love for dance to stay near her, to forestall reality's gift, death's sugar coated words that beckon him, longing for chilly embrace void of any living warmth, its gateway to the land death calls home, he doesn't want to leave her alone.
he takes note of it, his own breathing, how it's more consistent, how his glare is a defiant one, how so ... uncool he is. deep inhale, deep exhale, calm down. ❛ i'm not gonna die without her. we'll die together. nothing's going to change that. ❜ & though he turns, saturated azures shielded ——— the threat of rain is near. he feels it. ——— he's aware of his own folly : though this man's deceitful nature was embedded to his mask, his self, rakan, too, wears a mask from the same cloth. he, too, lies. this tattered heart knows of what must be done should peril conditions be met ; he is ready to forfeit his life for her, interrupt her swan song & continue his own 'till he reaches the double bar. that future may be near, may be far, though he is always prepared for it. being confronted with a reminder of that grim prospect serves only to highlight a hidden title, his title of the martyr.
unprompted. / always accepting !!
@quartlet said : i am here to bullie you
u want what i have!!! that’s why u bully me, sweetheart! 😤😤😤
jhin. /// quartlet.
WHAT LIES YONDER THIS FALSE FACE ? what lies beyond any pound of flesh, ruddy and rotten, awaiting oblivion and only knowing the subtle kiss of decay at every waking moment since birth. as far as most folk are concerned, this perfect grin was his true face. carved by his own hands, fashioned by him and him alone. no others could match it, nor replicate each contour and porcelain edge that now looks back at the vastayan, forever ebbing and flowing. oh, but he has so many others. a weeping mask. a furious mask. a melancholic mask. one set of eyes peeled atop another, awaiting the day they will be molded into something new. perfect. pristine. staic cold.
❛ you may call me jhin. ❜ the name rolls off the back of his tongue, moulded and screaming, colouring the blinking spaces between them in a bloody violet. the sound is accompanied by the dipping of a bow. he practically purrs, voice already entangled by an unseen manipulation that distorted and deepened his already heavy throat. there are no other syllables. only one ( and a thousand others ). only one chiming sound that taints the air, intermingling saccharine sweetness and lavishness fitted for a nobleman’s wrist. it sounded like an omen but also a blessing. khada jhin postured himself all too well, so much so that it was so horribly frightening, in the way he could come off so very pleasantly despite the underlying eerie gleam that travelled up the slope of his cloak.
he knows the significance of a name. perhaps that is why he pondered on giving a false one, he has so many already, it would be easy to string together fair - sounding chords. no matter. his head dips in a sidelong glance, the cherry red wine of his gaze not once breaking from summer blue. ❛ now i have given up my own, it is customary that you give yours. ❜
PERFECTIONISM'S IDEOLOGY IS A DANGEROUS ONE, demanding the utmost of one, some may see it as motivator, others will reprimand selves over inability of being able to reach that impossible hope, faux & shining, bright & warm for a deceptive comfort, it was all a mistake. / none survive its depths, that darkness's grasp, no matter if metaphorical, maintains steady grip on their being ——— forget the corporeality, it is the spirit in which it all lies. with such low spirits, they drown in a pool of doubts, drown, drown, drown !!! / but not him.
his name ( jhin, was it ? ) ... there is nothing he knows about him, sans the name. he is a stranger, & rakan ponders of the mask, what it would take to crack it, to see eternal grin, etched onto the surface of what he deems as jhin's face, crack. / that curtain has not been raised yet, not 'till the show starts. desire's urge brazen, dictating a hasty act without thought, take the mask off —————— he relents, impatience strong, yet is it not more fun to entertain himself with said impatience ? ponder, ponder on what murderous intent could be evoked, see meticulous man, following perfection's decree, fuck up in a search for vengeance ? ah, how fun is the thought. his time to strike is not now.
❛ you'd like to know my name ? ❜ an opportune moment to introduce himself, make his name known to stranger that has not heard of whispers & praises of the dancer whose charms were everlasting, whose love for party & freedom were what made him distinct from the rest. / has he noticed ? the flow of his voice when attached to each word, each sound, how rhythmic & natural it all was ? ( curiosity, she is his reason, she is what allows for radiant smirk to bloom, as charismatic as sunlight. ) ❛ a pleasure to meet you, jhin, i ❜ slightly does he lean body forward, limb at his side raises dramatically, pads of each digit facing bright blue skies above, & he pauses. dramatic effect. in hopes of a laugh ? to mock ? who knows, rakan just does. ❛ am rrrrakan. ❜ query answered with best intentions, he now bends forward, limb lowering, 'till a successful bow is given. if he is to give his name, it's only fair he makes it as flashy as possible. all eyes on him. even if an audience of one, eccentric antics are never abandoned.
❛ finest dancer you'll ever meet, ❜ now, he gravitates towards masked man, striding in an all too calm manner, perhaps too mischievous for his own good. ❛ that, & i'm known for ... ❜ upright at first, though he opts to slouch forward once more, as hand reaches to gently hold exposed hand, perhaps the only natural part of him in rakan's eyes. own hand raises jhin's, toward rakan's face, near his lips, a true gentleman's greeting, a kiss pressed against back of his hand all that's missing. in its stead, the threat of one with sneering lips, curving upwards in its every joking intent. he is coquettish for the thrill, for his second quality, ❛ my charms. some just call me the charmer. lucky you, ❜ subsequent vocal vibrations are mirthful, a chuckle to accompany this demeanor he's adopted. cerulean seas afixed on eternally smiling mask, daring to challenge the crimson roses that gazed back. ❛ many would kill for a moment with me. ❜ & he retracts his hand, taking a step back, returning to his own personal bubble, previous upright posture, hand resting against his side.
the end. /// quartlet.
NOTHING SURVIVES THE EVENT HORIZON, not even the vestiges of lonely gods whose makers have all but forsaken them to The Dark. hazy halos ripple across an ad infinitem. glimpses of time, of reality stretch across this speckled canvas where planets are set only to crumble and where stars shimmer only to shatter. spaces are blinking, they are large and vast but small and miniscule. size cannot be deciphered here, there are too many unthinkable places flashing in and out of existence.
❛ AlOnE … ❜ a sound carries its own wavelength. they pierce, caress and intermingle with every overwhelming vibrato. voices speak out in the darkness, they giggle and scream and weep. an amalgamation of tones brushes against another, existing outside all living things. only entangled limbs are seen, reaching out from an ebbing blackness, until pools of bronze - gold burst forth. He laughs. ❛ yOu ArE aLoNe. ❜
DIRT UNIVERSE / @feyquil.
O, HOW THE STARS SHINE BRIGHT AMIDST CHAOS ! to become part of universe's eternal canvas was never a thought out plan ; alas, he is naught but a corrupted star guardian, abiding by newfound orders to murder those he once deemed companions ( were they ever friends ? could one so audacious to leave you to die even be bestowed such a label ? how utterly ludicrous is the notion ).
an array of colors paints this once empty canvas, variety in its every corner, trace of color at every turn : carmine stars shall shine & dance with stars blessed with a lilac hue, they shall shine bright notwithstanding the battles he tirelessly fought alongside his beloved & zoe. these stars have bared witness to the many times he has fallen out of mere desire to protect what seemed integral to him, a part of him that, indubitably, he would feel his being to be nothing without. xayah deserves to live. death's icy embrace has already claimed both once, repeated occurrences of such would only evoke dire consequences for the near future. that's not what he wanted.
irony embraced his person long ago, when life's hue had been stripped from him ————— even now, as he breathes & feels at own body, seeking a heartbeat, a reminder of past self that felt & felt & felt, his resolute promise remains true : an immutable desire to protect her. // a solitary mission that rejects the aid of another, he is an actor on this lone stage, no props around him, no audience for him to perform for. & this stage is bleak, dull, it is a reminder of what lies at the end of his path. it's dark, & he must prepare to face that alone, for burdening her with fate's unchanging mark ... no point, no point !!! this is a self satisfying act for the sake of another, for life's light cannot ever be granted to him again. he accepts it. to live is to regain the purity of that honeyed past, free of this darkness whose clutches is tight around them ; he shall free its clutches from her, allow her to return to the light !! embrace this darkness that wishes to make one fall, then it shall be him & him alone. if it was all for her, if it was all for ————————
❛ huh ? ❜ vocalized fear slips through lips, hands balled into clenched fists, nails digging into skin, as if to draw out crimson ichor, serving as means of composing self. refuse to show fear. body moves, agile & frightened at cacophony of voices // ther are not his own, they are not his own, theyarenothisowntheyarenothisowntheyarenothisown !! // —————— & without hesitation, gold bursts forth, citrine hues fixated on celestial form before him. TERROR. terror itself has clutched his throat, rendering rakan speechless, preventing any mobility. movement itself became a myth, 'till gift of speech was granted once more, any hopes of composure being sought & gained gone, a speck in fate's cruel shadow. ❛ who ——— what the hell are you !? ❜
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.
??? /// quartlet.
GLIMPSES OF TAWNY FEATHERED PLUME catches his eye before it is eventually squandered by shadows. the lay of the land — the first lands was one interwoven with magics far beyond true comprehension. pulsing veins of ancient rites, burgeoned trees, roots slick with honeyed sap that overlap and nature which is untouched by the hands of smoke and shadow alike. this imagery is not lost to him. nor is the freckled wardance which permeates between.
❛ you know, i never was overly fond on the concept of laws. ❜ his posture is keen, resting upon the ball of his foot as the artisan turns, his cape billowing about like half - clipped wings of waxy ivory. venom dribbles from his words, not quite so deadly but the threat is there. the vatsayan’s presence was not so much a hinderance, nor a total annoyance. he merely was, and whether he would tip the balance on that scale … well, that was up to him. for now, the golden devil smiles. he smiles and smiles and smiles.
❛ i had assumed you were the same, given your escapades but i see now that i was sadly mistaken. ❜
peculiar similarity arises from innocuous remark, what was delivered with intent of being naught more than a jest is accepted as more, as a perceived truth for the vastaya. they, however, overlap, a distaste for law & rules ———— surely, there were unspoken rules that governed the land, the sea, the world, every aspect of life, urging all to abide by intangible law for one's survival ( a natural instinct, wouldn't that be it ? ). were rules & law similar, though ? one's written & the other's implied ? no, no, the matter seems too convoluted altogether. he'd rather adhere to his own pre - conceived notions as to what they truly are. for now, however, heart speaks : it'd be an act of insolence to leave masked guest without a response, to disappear from general vicinity & leave him without response. ( or is it the smell of danger that appeals to him, calls to him ? )
❛ jeez, you really can't take even the smallest joke, huh ? ❜ the venom's not lost on rakan ———— it's palpable, it's there, it's potential for conflict to be born amidst what's perceived as naught more than a chat. mask, whose visage carved from impassive marble ( surface of the mask intricate yet smooth, eerie with its perpetual smile etched onto its form ), turned away, grants rakan opportunity to scrutinize potential threat : lily white cape hung over upper - half of body, mauve fabric of varying tones underneath, gold sparingly used in his design, he must admit it's an impeccable style —— wait, wait, that's just stylish !! nothing indicative of his battle technique. well ... he looks scrawny. there, a sigh & chuckle leaves him, confidence ( nay, cockiness ) exuding from breath's escape.
❛ you're a bit too serious, don't you think ? ❜ cerulean hues fix their focus on the cape, tight - lipped hum given, allowing instinct itself to guide his path towards the side of the artisan. rakan only sees the mask, eternally poised look intact. curiosity causes brows to raise, wondering what, oh what, could lie under that mask ? ❛ maybe that's why you've got a mask on, yeah ? you got a lot of wrinkles from being way too uptight, don't you ? ❜