#rakkoran

[lostfury]

                        ONCE    WAR    ENDS,    WHAT    DO    YOU    BECOME   ? 

                 LOSTFURY  :   riven   of   league   of   legends ,   written   by   chloe.                                                                          &                RAKKORAN  :   pantheon   of   league   of   legends ,   written   by   jan.

[herpleasvre]

✎ !

   send me  ‘  ✎  ’  & my  muse will come up with a nickname for yours        @rakkoran  /  accepting !

   ❝ … beefcake, perhaps ? no, not original enough.. spear of targon ? nah. 

   ❝ oooh, what about magic man-theon ?? ❞

[bladesurgence]

“⁇” [drunk text]

[12:47 AM] Atrey[12:49 AM] want o coem over ?[12:50 AM] img oing to watch ltoar again[12:52 AM] the oen wit hthe big cave batatlet[12:53 AM] helmet deep?[12:55 AM] araogarn is rl y cute[12:57 AM] bt i thi nk ur coorler[12:58 AM] dnt tel l him i si d that

[legenddeathed]

@rakkoran asked: atreus fell asleep in lula’s cottage, but he woke in a dark forest. ‘ this must be a dream, ‘ he thought, he looked down and his next breath was caught in his throat. his torso was torn open, the wound from aatrox’s blade was reopened, gaping, atreus could see the grass beneath him through the hole in his torso. but there was no blood, just an open cavity. he heard a snap in the ring of trees around him, and he turned his head towards the sound, “ if you’ve come to kill me, it won’t be easy. “

some say the forest is a gateway to another dimension...

When the Pantheon came before the Kindred, he raged against it. A god cannot succumb to something as mundane as Death! He said words unbecoming of an Aspect---things that told he forgot who came first. He said things such as “how dare” and “do not”, told them things such as “it presumes” and “it cannot”. 

“Fleshling,” Wolf rattled then, teeth bared in impatience. He sounded disgusted, as if forced to utter some repulsive swear. The Pantheon bristled and sneered at this insult. He was no human, he was an Aspect! The Aspect of War! The Aspect of Destruction! The Aspect of Savagery! 

But war is a fleshling’s game---the Kindred knows. Destruction is a fleshling’s trade, and savagery is a fleshling’s mark. And the refusal to die---that was a fleshling trait, through and through. “Without the fleshlings, who would worship you?” The Pantheon could not answer this in a way that was satisfactory for the Kindred. And, in the end, it chased the Pantheon down like it had all the rest of them.

“You have led many to the Kindred,” Wolf said to him. “Now, you follow them.” 

The furious echoes of the Pantheon still ring along the edges of Wolf’s black teeth. The Kindred can hear it clearly. But the fleshling known as Atreus does not hear it in this clearing. The Kindred stands at attention, one white and stark against the gloom and the other dark and inky and blending into its backdrop, as he appears. 

It is silent in the clearing, without color or smell or taste in its air, and it is eerily still. Wolf seems to be the only thing that moves here, body rippling like water from a nonexistent wind. Lamb, in turn, is cut from marble: even the fine tips of her fur stand stony, untroubled and unruffled. There is no sound here, save for the sound of Atreus’ own heartbeat---does he even have a heart here, what for the wound in his chest? Do hearts beat in the realm that is wholly the Kindred’s own? 

At his words, Wolf snarls, displeased, but it is Lamb who speaks. “The Kindred does not kill,” she says. “Only the fleshlings do this---killing.” Lamb wraps her voice around the word as if it is foreign and unwieldy. “The Kindred is the final resting. The gift.” This is a statement beyond that of belief. It is truth. 

“The Kindred brings the fleshling to its place for a different reason,” Lamb continues in her soft way---the way that feels like cotton but chills like ice. Despite the quiet of her voice, it rings clear and true like a bell across the entire clearing. In a blink, the Kindred reappears directly before Atreus. She lifts one delicate arm and points with a fine finger towards the center of the wound in his chest. 

“The Pantheon,” she says as if this explains all. 

“The Pantheon!” Wolf agrees in a rancorous laugh, wrapping around Atreus’ shoulders, curling the tip of his tail around Atreus’ chest and through the hole in it. “The Kindred greeted the Pantheon! The Kindred chased him!” He gnashes his teeth as if demonstrating, and indeed, somewhere in the farthest recesses of the mind, an outraged cry seems to ring, hollow. 

“The Pantheon is dead, now,” Lamb continues. “But the Pantheon is required.” She does not say why. Does the Kindred even know why? It matters not; the Pantheon existed as an Aspect since the beginning, and it will exist as an Aspect until the end---in some form or another. There is no “why”, simply “is”. 

“The fleshling held the Pantheon in its body. The fleshling is suitable to continue to carry the Pantheon.” 

“Worry not, fleshling,” Wolf presses closer, smelling like rot and growth at the same time. Low rumbles sound from somewhere in his chest, vibrating, apparently entertained. “The Pantheon that the fleshling knows will not occupy you. Rather, you will be the Pantheon now. It is so.” 

“This is beyond choice,” Lamb tells him. "Of your choice and the Kindred’s. The Kindred only knows its duty. The Kindred believes the fleshling may understand something of duty.” 

“Loyalty,” Wolf elaborates, voice rolling like warm thunder in Atreus’ ear. “Devotion. Love. Yes, the Kindred knows of duty---and other things.” 

“The Kindred only appears before you to give what was taken,” Lamb says. She now moves her finger from the hole in Atreus’ chest to Wolf, who untangles himself from the fleshling and stretches himself flat against the ground. At the point of Lamb’s finger, Wolf’s mouth opens---wider and wider, impossibly large, until it is as tall as Atreus sitting in the clearing. But his mouth is empty, and it is black---infinite and completely dark. Darker than night, darker than blood. Deftly, silently, Lamb lowers her arm and drifts forward into that mouth, that cavern. The purity of her white is swallowed by the absolute black of Wolf’s maw. 

Wolf lays at attention, mouth gaping open and totally still. Presently, the blue lights of his eyes roll in their sockets to stare at Atreus. And, inexplicably, no matter how impossible what with how his mouth is stretched, he unmistakably grins---broad and wide. 

Lamb reappears after some time---or perhaps in no time at all. In her hand is one shining, brilliant arrow that seems to hum with energy. It ripples the very reality around it, like flames might disturb the air, and seems to tinge the grayscale backdrop of the Kindred’s clearing with the faintest of red hues. As Lamb steps away, Wolf snaps his mouth closed and, in a rush of black cloud, wraps himself around Lamb’s slender shoulders. He is large where she is small, but somehow, he looks as if he fits perfectly there. 

Lamb wordlessly nocks the arrow in her bow. It vibrates there, as if anticipatory. Excited. Eager. 

“The Pantheon,” Lamb says by way of explanation. “Taken from the last. Given to the next. Yours now, fleshling.” She does not wait. She looses it into the space in his chest. There is light, then darkness, and then---nothingness. Nothing as Atreus is expunged from the Kindred’s realm, its duty complete. 

“And when you arrive here next,” Wolf laughs, voice rich and mirthful with promise, as Atreus slips away, “the Kindred hopes you will, indeed, not make it easy...” 

[truthundenied-blog]

"irelia told me about you." pantheon said firmly, the darkness around him the listener. she had warned pantheon about the threat that they might face when responding to the call for aid from this temple, the threat that /this/ man would bring. now he stood in the courtyard, spear held tightly and breathing kept level. the noise from the various skirmishes all around the temple were deafened, and the shadows seemed to creep closer with each moment. "only a coward attacks from the dark, /zed./"

  If Zed had expected a complication from seizing a hardly-protected temple, it surely was not this.

  The attempt does ( almost ) what it was intended to - Zed takes pause, though the assault from his order does not. He wonders at the allegiance of the warrior who is no man born of this country, because he does not leap to the aid of the perishing owners of the temple, and he does not raise his spear to Zed’s students; he stands opposed to Zed himself, and he knows far more than any foreigner should.

  It is a cause for interest, but hardly for worry.

  “She has not told you everything, then, because I do not attack from the dark - I am the shadows, and you have severely misplaced your loyalties.”

  The encircling darkness ( formless, for the moment, searching and waiting and thirsting ) does not seem overtly concerning to the warrior, and Zed credits him the most respect he can for someone he is about to cut down; there is an edge formed in the drifting shadows, a blade, and Zed will not hesitate for much longer.

  “But forgive me, outlander, my social graces must be failing; it remains outside my understanding why you stand here at the bidding of Lito, when this is not your land and these are not your people.”

  Surely he does not care for the perishing temple guardians, because they continue to saturate the ground with their blood; surely he cares for Lito far too much, because all the warrior can do now is add to the guardian’s sacrifice.

  “If you mean to stop me, you will be disappointed; if you mean to impress Lito, to whatever end, you will only disappoint her as well.”

  The anticipation that pulls Zed’s muscles taut makes it difficult for him to appear as though he isn’t about to leap across the courtyard, and speaking so casually is almost a painful strain. The following tilt of his head is searching as well as curious, and Zed is studying far more than just the warrior’s answer.

  “Tell me, why did she send you here to die?”

[flamelance-blog]

🔥 shipping

Although I think a platonic Ike/Soren relationship (that could be romantic) is what I think fits best for Ike at the end of Radiant Dawn, I don’t think Ike/Elincia is that bad.

The problem seems to be that Ike/Elincia lost any traction after PoR, to where they barely acknowledge each other when they meet again after 2-E, when the Greil Mercenaries come in and save Lucia.

Ike:“Is that so… I respect your devotion to duty. So, you don’t need me then?”

Elincia:“That’s right. I’m going to move on, together with my vassals and the people of this country.”

This passage is very telling of how they view each other at this moment, basically.

Elincia thanks him for his role in saving her best friend, but she doesn’t particularly comment about Ike’s return. They speak more as business partnrees again than people who took back a country together.

However in PoR, I believe they have a lot more chemistry together and I think they could’ve ended up together in an AU where Ike doesn’t reject the title for a while in order to better pay expenses the Greil Mercenaries might have, or something.

[lostfury]

frission: ( n ) a shiver of pleasure .

uncommon  words      /      accepting.      /      @rakkoran​

            As  the  front  door  creaks  open  under  her  palm,  Riven  is  lit  in  contrast :  behind  her,  cool  moonlight  spills  in  through  the  threshold.  Ahead  of  her,  the  fire  stirs  warmly,  casting  everything  in  sharp  relief  against  the  walls.  Atreus  sits  by  the  table  in  front  of  the  fire,  his  features  obscured,  though  as  she  enters  his  head  turns,  just  slightly,  the  flames  highlighting  his  jaw,  the  turn  of  his  eye,  and  Riven  pauses  like  a  guilty  child.

            She  isn’t  sure  why.

            The  flames  were  low  enough  to  obscure  certain  harsher  realities.  She  is  thankful,  and  shakes  off  the  strange  guilt  like  the  unwelcome  guest  that  it  is  as  she  nudges  the  door  shut  behind  her,  locking  the  night  away.  Were  the  fire  well  fed,  it  would  be  more  apparent  that  her  cheeks  are  pale,  lifeless  with  exhaustion.  She  was  soaked  through  to  the  bone,  not  by  torrential  rain  but  a  slow,  miserable  dribble,  the  kind  that  stirred  up  a  choking  fog  and  left  a  sheen  to  her  skin,  left  her  hair  clinging  in  loose,  wet  strands  around  her  shoulders.  Her  palms  were  sore,  and  raw.

            “  …You’re  still  awake,  ”  Riven  says  quietly,  a  tired  rasp  to  her  voice.  She  shrugs  the  cloak  off  her  shoulders  and  hooks  it  by  the  door.

            “  Asa  and  Shava  were  worried.  I  promised  them  I  wouldn’t  sleep  until  you  returned,  ”  Atreus  replies.  Riven  searches  for  any  hint  of  scorn  in  his  voice,  but  she  finds  none ─  and  then  again,  why  she  searches  for  scorn  in  the  first  place,  like  she  is  waiting,  daring  him  to  turn  some  sharp  edge  on  her…  it  wasn’t  fair.

            “  You  didn’t  have  to,  ”  Riven  murmurs  like  an  apology.  Atreus  rises  from  his  seat  slowly,  turning  to  regard  her  in  full,  and  Riven’s  footsteps  carry  her  a  few  paces  forward  to  meet  him  halfway  before  she  stalls  in  place,  averting  her  eyes.  The  flames  cast  a  warm  glow  over  the  high  points  of  her  cheeks,  and  throw  Atreus  into  obscurity.  “  I  was  just…  working.  ”

            Riven  was  no  slave  to  the  country  of  Ionia.  The  work  was  long  and  unforgiving  by  no  ones  hand  other  than  her  own ;  she  worked  until  she  bled,  and  without  complaint,  for  lack  of  any  other  answer.  Work  was  easy  to  understand.  So  was  pain,  as  a  consequence.

            And  then  Atreus  hums  a  low  acknowledgment,  looking  at  her  in  a  way  that  makes  her  certain  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks  and  the  darkness  of  her  eyes  is  apparent  to  him,  and  reaches  for  her.  His  hand  finds  the  slope  of  her  jaw,  his  thumb  straying  near  the  corner  of  her  mouth.

            This  is  impossible  to  understand.

            “  You’re  bleeding,  ”  he  says.  He  tilts  her  head  just  so,  an  impassive,  impossible  to  read  look  in  his  eyes.  Her  skin  stings,  just  by  her  lower  lip,  and  distantly  she  recalls  some  debris  or  other  catching  her  there.  She  had  dragged  her  sleeve  across  her  mouth  and  ignored  it.  And  now ─  now  Atreus’s  touch  is  like  a  still - glowing  coal  to  her  skin.  The  cold  and  the  ache  in  her  bones  feel  worse  off  for  it,  bolstered  by  the  reminder  that  warmth  existed,  and  she  breathes  a  quiet,  shuddery  inhale.

            That  warmth  sends  a  shiver  down  her  spine,  prickling  up  the  back  of  her  neck.  Riven  reacts  with  the  jerky,  unsure  sort  of  movement  accompanied  by  shock.  Her  cold  hand  rests  on  Atreus’s  wrist,  and  she  rocks  a  half-step  back.

            “  It’s  a  scratch,  ”  she  says.  “  An  accident.  ”  Atreus  lowers  his  hand  slowly.  Riven  withdraws  her  own  more  quickly.  “  Asa’s  been  teaching  you  how  to  worry.  ”

            Atreus  breathes  an  exhale  that  distantly  resembles  a  laugh.  Before  she  can  speak  again,  or  tactlessly  make  her  exit,  he  turns  and  points  to  the  seat  he  was  occupying  previously.  “  Sit  by  the  fire.  ”  Normally,  she  might  bristle,  but  Atreus  does  not  sound  unkind.  He  turns  away  and  begins  receding  towards  the  back  of  the  house,  moving  careful  so  as  to  not  aggravate  the  floorboards  and  wake  Asa  and  Shava.

            “  Where  are  you  going ?  ”  Riven  blurts  out.  She  does  not  move  to  the  fire.  She  doesn’t  move  anywhere:  she  stands,  caught,  the  lingering  heat  searing  a  ghost  of  his  touch  to  her  cheek,  her  jaw,  the  corner  of  her  mouth.

            “  To  find  you  a  blanket,  ”  he  says,  half  turning  back  to  her.  “  And  water,  for  tea,  since  that  seems  to  be  the  Ionian  answer  for  everything.  ”

            The  corner  of  Riven’s  mouth  twitches  upwards,  despite  herself.  She  hugs  her  arms  to  her  chest  and  feels  the  wet  of  her  clothing  cling  to  her,  the  chill  settling  back  in.  “  Okay,  ”  she  says  quietly.

            Atreus’s  footsteps  fade  away,  and  the  warmth  goes  with  him.

[lostfury]

“$” [accidental text]

TEXT  MEME       /      accepting.      /      $  for  an  accidental  text

( 3:48 pm )  mama  its  super  embarrassing  how  often  you  ask  if  im  bringing  atreus  to  dinner,  we  aren’t  together( 3:49 pm )  wait( 3:49 pm )  ok  super  cool  how  i  dont  know  how  to  use  my  eyes  sorry( 3:55 pm )  uh ...  while  we’re  on  the  subject  mom  wants  to  know  if  u  want  to  come  to  dinner  this  sunday ??( 3:55 pm )  no  pressure  you  know  her