rule Number Three, Wear Your Heart On Your Cheek;              

nsfw & fluff headcanons

🔥 What are your muse’s turn-ons?

✂ What are your muse’s turn-offs?

💞 Would your muse ever consider a threesome (or more!)

💏 When did your muse have their first kiss?

👶 Does your muse want children?

💋 What is your muse’s sexual orientation?

🌺 When did your muse lose their virginity?

🌀 What are 3 of muse’s top kinks?

❌ Have they ever cheated or been cheated on?

🌹 Is your muse more interested in love or lust?

⇕ Is your muse a top or a bottom? Both?

ღ Does your muse like using toys?

⌛️ How long does your muse last in bed?

📺 Does your muse enjoy porn?

ϟ Does your muse masturbate?

📱 Would your muse ever send nudes?

💬 Is your muse vocal in bed?

👅 Does your muse enjoy giving oral sex? Receiving? 

⏰ What time of the day does your muse prefer to have sex?

💍 Would your muse like to get married?

🔒 Is your muse into bondage? 

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.

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.     ❜

Star Guardian Rakan x Xayah by zaket07

???     ///     crawsus.

❛     i’d  really  rather  not  fight,     if  you  don’t  mind.     i  come  in  peace,     as  they  so  often  say.     i’m  rather  weak  too  you  know,     so  it  wouldn’t  be  much  of  a  fight  and  more  of  a  waste  of  time.     ❜     a  hand  is  thrown  up  in  defense.

in  his  mind  the  demon  stirs,     a  mental  effort  is  taken  to  sooth  the  voice.     hand  grips  his  cane  tightly,     placing  pressure  against  the  stick.     to  an  outsider  it  appears  as  if  it  were  a  normal  cane,     but  to  him  it  throbs  and  it  aches  and  it  wishes  for  more  and  more  bloodshed.     but  who  ever  heard  of  a  darkin  cane?     ❛    if  you’d  like  i  can  read  you  some  poetry  instead?    ❜     lips  upturn  into  a  lopsided  smirk,     clearly  something  was  up  his  sleeve,     but  it  surely  wasn’t  something  that  would  be  harmful  to  the  vastayan.     provided  urizen  cooperated  with  him.

@feyquil​  said  anyone!

              his logic is impeccable.     weak individual should not be engaged,     not out of courtest,     but fear that,     if engaged,     there would be no joy or entertainment acquired from such an easy battle     ———     or even worse,     should he act careless    &    commit an unplanned blunder,     then perceived weak individual may find an opening to beat him    &    claim victory,     then who would be weak   !?     HIM,     HIM   !!!

              ❛     poetry   ?     ❜     rakan hummed inquisitively,     arms crossed over chest as ceruleans shift their gaze towards the soft earth at feet.     wow,     is it just him, or is it a lot greener than it was yesterday   !?     he swore that the day before current situation,     the grass at his feet was a subdued green.     could it be that the greener greenery around them could be attributed to the blesséd rain that poured     ——     wait,     what was the question again   ?     ❛     uh,     you said you were gonna do something,     read   ?     yeah,     sure,     do whatever you want   !     ❜

kayn.     ///     inumbrate.

for @feyquil  /  lyric starters  /  accepting.

❛ there’s a vulture on my shoulder and he’s telling me to give in… always hissing right in my ear like it’s coming from my own head… ❜    his first words come low in a whisper as a subtle ache pulses at his temple, it wasn’t one of his best night’s sleep. hesitance is admittedly palpable, not aiming to shatter rakan’s ever optimistic seeming mood… but he crave the other’s encouragement,    ❛ … it’s got me mixed up, trying not to give up — tell me there’s a way to get out of here. ❜   [  fixed at zero by versaemerge  ]

              ❛     don't fall for it.     that's what you have to do first.     ❜     &    onward do his words of encouragement come,     drawn out with a natural ease,     he could deceive one into thinking this was a common trait of his.     it wasn't.     not necessarily.     optimism bloomed at his heart,     yes,     albeit never has he continuously used it for a human.     except for kayn,     but he doesn't mind.     he can't.     knowing what hell he's faced,     sympathy    &    empathy bring out dulcet songs of inspiration.     not     ...     actual songs,     though.     ❛     you can't give up so easily,     y'know   ?     it's     ...     part of the battle.     not giving up,     giving it all you've got 'till the end   !     try thinkin' of yourself in some sort of tunnel or forest.     it's dark    &    everything around you's trying to get you to give up.     but look at that   !     a helping hand,     ❜     up comes his own hand extended towards him with brightest,     elated grin.     rakan thinks it adds a bit more pizzazz to the story.     ❛     it can't help you in your battle,     but it's a reminder that it's there to help.     there's a way out,     a light,     you know it   !     ❜

              ❛     we sure made it out of that one,     huh   ?     ❜     another mission where he'd gone astray from the plan,     opting to follow his own instincts that dictated his actions should revolve around distracting the guards     (   not too far off from the original plan,     but he had no time to worry over minute details   ),     proven successful with the execution of another rescue.     despite their success,     far too many close calls drew them closer toward's death's dance,     yet their energy toppled over even death itself     ———     so long as there is that guarantee that he can protect xayah,     the strength to prevail shall never falter to the harsh winds of death.     his strength,     a fire,     will always be rekindled in those moments.     then,     later,     attempt to lighten any burden that her heart may bear.     ❛     you all right,     xayah   ?     you look a little tired.     ❜       ///       @blcdecaller​

ok here’s an exhaustive, tentative ship tier list for rakan! some things aren’t like 100% concrete, if i vibe w/ a ship it’s always bound to move up so who knows

*chucks a 🏆 at his forehead*

how do u feel abt my rakan?

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

boss.     ///     halvett.

          “   PEOPLE  LIKE  THAT  ARE  ALL  talk  most  of  the  time .  Pretty  bold  t’  assume  I  care  about  what  they  say  ‘cause  lemme  tell  ya :  I  don’t  hide  behind  titles .  Someone  wants  me ,  they  get  me .  Usually  prove  ‘em  wrong  then .  ”

              ❛     gotta say,     that's one way to look at things   !     ❜     is it really   ?     or is he providing vocal filler to continue irking him.     he's aware of whom he's talking to,     what dangers lie ahead if he's to act chummy with someone who's not particularly friendly.     but that's just it.     danger is a thrill,     to perceive ire rising on their countenance     (   &    perhaps bait a swing   )     brought him the most pleasing laughs.     this was no different.     ❛     but are you as strong as you look   ?     even without that title   ?     'cause if you ask me,     you seem pretty run of the mill.     ❜     corners of lips curve into a sneer.     he's enjoying himself a little too much.