bladewanders

[bladewanders]

►  riven  /  the dawnbringer  ┊  eciled

& this much is true; wherever her light shone, he was never far behind, his shadows creeping into every crevasse that she couldn’t reach. He was the Wolf to her Lamb. The ugly truth to her beautiful lie.

She abhors him.

She aches for him.

“ Perhaps, “ she begins, “ but that does not mean I desire to spend it watching you make such gutless statements at me. “

The Dawn is unflinching in the face of his blade pointed at her throat. Rather, she finds it more productive to dig her heel just a little further into his night-dark skin, curious to see if he would bow.

“ Why do you not just confess defeat and I will leave you be? You will make this easier for both of us. “

                    SNARLING IN BESTIAL RESPONSE, the stabbing pain gnaws at him as his shoulder is pushed into the ground by the Dawn’s unwavering force. Yet there’s something inside Chaos, somewhere inside that inferno ( which hardly resembles a heart / do demons have hearts? ) where nothing dares take root — He knows that he needs this. Pain, suffering, torment; none of that means anything unless it is by Order upon him or by his blade upon her. 

                    Are they not ultimately trapped? By the will of the universe itself && existence incarnate, the pair fights for the liberation of their ideals and desires yet are confined within such a fruitless clash — Oh, the irony. Chaos knows not how nor when he arrived at such a conclusion nor what he plans to do about it. He has purpose when she’s around him. To keep existing / to keep destroying; an eternal cycle.

                    “I would sooner preach the lies of the Light than concede defeat.” Derision clear in his voice, his blade of eternal night flares with scorching heat in tandem with his fury at the mere suggestion of such a false confession. His claws digs into her ivory skin in the momentum to push her off of him, the motion intended to fell her && bring himself atop his nemesis, his companion forevermore.

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Fire licks me, blazing and alive.

Nika Turbina, tr. by Elaine Feinstein, from First Draft: Poems; “Lie,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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ECILED ASKED:  Digs her foot into his shoulder. The tip of her blade brushes against his throat, hovering there while she studies him. " Give up. " Her tone is cold; dispassionate. "I've no time to keep doing this. "

unprompted.  —  @eciled​

"Give up? Don’t be ridiculous, Angel.” Ashen lips snarls around the words, curling upwards as if into a smile. Whenever Order speaks, Chaos will always reply in kind. Indeed, wherever that accursed light shines, his blade will soon follow. Battle is to be their destiny; the only semblance of truth waiting for them. And in these moments, he is sharply reminded of the reason for his existence and the futility of it all. Oh cruel, discordant world, how his blade longs for chaos to reign! Until the end of it all, he will fight and rage and tear at the lie known as the Light.

Until the final twilight of the universe and all its inhabitants, he will only truly feel alive when he’s facing down Order’s blade, just as she herself cannot help but be drawn towards Chaos in their fated conflict. And he laughs, a maw of flame opening in jocose defiance. “Apart from our fight, the only thing we have is time,” Night rumbles, right arm raising his blade up towards the other’s throat as he challenges her impassive words. You and I both know that we need each other, he would say to Dawn; yet such a statement did not need to be stated out of its transparent nature.

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If I am anything, it is violence.

Alejandra Pizarnik, from “[…] of the Silence,” Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 - 1972 (via lifeinpoetry)

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Reblog or tag with what you are?

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©

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►  ezreal  /  blue-eyes  ┊  essence-flux-primed 

✮ — FAMILIAR THOUGH IT MAY BE, Ezreal can’t claim to know every nook and cranny on the Morning Star, though he does take every opportunity to explore it unhindered by a guide. He hasn’t taken anything, mostly because it’d be too easy to track (and, though he won’t admit it, it’d make returning to them impossible), but it’s not entirely off the table. So far, Ezreal hasn’t found anywhere he wouldn’t steal from for the right price. Yasuo’s ship just happens to a bit more expensive than anything he’s been offered so far.

    “Aw, you’d give me the boot?” He responds, grinning like the image amuses him (it does), and he doesn’t still feel warm from everywhere Yasuo touched him (he does), and like his mind isn’t still stuck on all those nicknames (it is). A practised hand snatches the vial out of the air and, before it’s even reached his side again, the object has vanished with a practised motion—into a pocket, maybe, or his sleeve. Stretching his arms above his head, Ezreal lets out a tired wince before locking his fingers behind his head. “Here I thought we were friends,” though the last word sounds a bit like a question. There are plenty of cushions around the room (from various galaxies, Ezreal might add), but Ezreal picks a spot right next to Yasuo, stretching out his body only a forearm’s length from the Captain.

    “Aaaah,” he sighs, crossing one leg over the other. “This is high-class living. Pillows? Man.” It’s not that Ezreal doesn’t have the means to buy them himself, but … When he’s forced to evacuate ships at the drop of a hat, pillows are usually pretty quick to be left behind. Plus, there’s no room for them when he stuffs his pockets full of valuables. Casting sleepy blue eyes up at Yasuo, the corner of Ezreal’s lips pulls up. Beneath them, the ship’s engine picks up, but Ezreal doesn’t bother to ask where they’re going just yet. He could check his radar, but … Sometimes it’s nice not to know where he is. It’s a rare enough occurrence. “You’re not a bad fighter, y’know,” he says, tapping Yasuo’s hips with his knuckles before returning them to cushion his head. “Don’t those old bones ever get tired?”

    Ezreal doesn’t have a team. Doesn’t have companions. He travels alone most of the time, and isn’t about to change that for anyone, but … He does seem to be within one hyperspace jump from the Morning Star most of the time. He’s got plenty of contacts scattered throughout the galaxy—some who want to pay him for artefacts and some who have information on artefacts, and a few who are willing to help him when he (rarely) needs it—but he doesn’t call on them when he doesn’t have to. He’s accustomed to solitude. At least, he thinks so, but life has become much nicer since coming across Yasuo and his team. Closing his eyes, Ezreal’s grin turns into something more like a smile. Then he frowns, shifts his weight, and squirms out of his jacket, moving it to the side. Weapons are strapped to almost every limb, but he’s too relaxed for them to pose any threat. “I love the smell of Ora in the morning.”

                    THE CAPTAIN USED TO ALWAYS KEEP AN EYE ON EZREAL WHENEVER HE WAS ABOARD. Now he simply glances periodically at the blond, not exactly trusting the explorer but certainly not bothering to be a surveillance camera. The only thing on this ship he truly values is his sword — and that’s by his side at all times. Yes, even while sleeping. One can never predict the imminence of a hostile boarding, so Yasuo figures that he shouldn’t take any risk. As long as he’s got Song - he muses as he pats the hilt of his sword meaningfully in response to Ezreal’s query - he can get through anything. 

                    “I’ll get you off this ship faster than you can say ‘Jarro Lightfeather’, so don’t get too comfortable.” Unsurprisingly, his words contradict his actions as he shifts closer to Ezreal, passing off his movement as a successful attempt to allow Space Lizard to jump on his shoulder. Yes, Yasuo would much rather call the little guy Space Lizard than anything Jinx had come up with. A wet swipe across his cheek draws a gruff laugh, hand reaching up to poke at the creature in retaliation; a futile attempt as it simply scrambles onto his other shoulder.

                    Rolling his eyes, Yasuo leans against the backrest and turns towards Ezreal as the younger man speaks. As Ezreal gives his appraisal, the swordsman only laughs. “Kid, you don’t know the first thing about high class,” he taunts with a good-natured laugh. “Just... Take my word for it,” Yasuo reminisces, his tone turning somewhat serious and gaze dropping as he considers his upbringing and the life he had once wanted so desperately to return to. Sure, the one he’s got right now is far from perfect — but at least he can say that it’s in his control. Instead of living like a dog on a leash, at the beck and call of some snobbish client; or in some drunken stupor at a downtown bar to escape from the apparent woes of living among the rich and famous. Heeding neither man nor alcohol - okay, maybe alcohol sometimes, he can make an exception - the former guard for hire and current Captain of a space vessel and outlaw knows which life he’d rather lead.

                    “Oi, watch your mouth — that face of yours won’t get you out of a smacking even if I’m wiped out,” Yasuo grumbles in exasperation, eyes shutting for a few moments before he speaks up again. “Anyway... You’re not too bad yourself but I’ll still take you on, magical exhaustion is nothin’ to mess with. I’m just a bit sore.” Languidly opening one eye as Ezreal shifts in his seat, watching the explorer remove his jacket and silently notes his toned form with an appreciative gaze. It’s a stab in the dark, but the swordsman guesses that he’d put up a decent fight even if he was disarmed and engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Still, concern enters Yasuo’s tone when he next speaks. “You shouldn’t tire yourself out like this, Ez.”

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here’s a bunch of wips I’ve been working on and then neglecting cos I am lazy :P but it’s ok I will finish them

one day

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Now Apocalypse (2019 —)

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the perfectionists (2019–)

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Catching the V I B E

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@eciled

It wasn’t meant to be just line art but I don’t have strength to finish it

[bladewanders]

►  ezreal  /  blue-eyes  ┊  essence-flux-primed 

✮ — EZREAL’S USED TO BEING PUSHED AROUND, but he doesn’t mind it so much coming from Yasuo, even if it’s a little more difficult to regain his balance than usual. “You do research?” Ezreal can’t help but laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Well, I mean … if you need to.” And, really, he’s about to take his leave (frankly, half of Yasuo’s crew makes him uneasy), but that nickname makes him freeze up——makes those blue eyes get a little rounder——but his tongue is quicker than his heart (which takes a second longer to recover). “Hey, now. Are you taking me hosta—HEY!”

                   That’s a very valuable piece of equipment, and it was about to buy his ship a new Retrograde Arcane Booster, but … Ezreal’s grab is slow, gloved fingers closing around empty air. Still, this is a guy who’s used to having things snatched out from under his nose, and he’s ready to scrap for it. “Give it!” Lurching forward, his palm plants on Yasuo’s chest, finding purchase on the armour there to tug the guy down as his other hand reaches up, chasing after the vial but falling … more than a few inches short. Though he stays like that, locked together, for the span of a few breaths hot on Yasuo’s neck, Ezreal eventually relents. Not before considering just climbing the damn guy, but … with the muted strength he’s already spending, it probably wouldn’t end well for Ezreal.

                   He releases Yasuo, giving the guy a push (though it ends in a stagger on Ezreal’s part) and clicks his tongue in irritation. “Fine, but only ‘cause you insisted, Captain.” Though he offers a wobbly, mock bow, there’s something serious in his eyes, too. He hasn’t survived this long alone in the galaxies (save for following certain ragtag crews on occasion) by trusting everyone he comes across. And certainly not by trusting people who touch his stuff.

                      Still, he’s not really prone to distrust, either, so that warning spark quickly flickers out. He’ll jab a finger at Yasuo’s chest, but there’s a little grin to replace his startled scowl. “Don’t. Let Jinx or Ziggs near that. And don’t keep it, or you’ll find a skrimmer so deep in your ship’s engine that you’ll never get it out.” Confident though he may be, his eyes drop from Yasuo’s for just a second—definitely not to check out the cocky curve of the guy’s lips—before he turns away. And he dusts off his hands as he picks his way across the body-strewn battlefield because, really? This turned out better than he could have hoped. Ezreal was just going to get as far away from this planet as possible to sleep off the deep ache in his muscles, but this way he might get a bit of luxury, too.

                        And though his ship (or, conversely, his control of his ship) is a little shaky, Ezreal manages to link it to the Morning Star and climb aboard. It’s not his first time, but lets out a low whistle all the same. “Always forget about all the nice stuff you guys have aboard…” Yeah, he’s already appraising it all.

                    THE LOPSIDED GRIN ON THE ELDER’S FACE FALLS, noting Ezreal’s sudden serious demeanor. “Woah there, I’ll give it back — I swear on my... drinking habits,” he replies gruffly, eyebrows coming together in concern. Because as much as Yasuo wants to reassure the blond of his intentions, he isn’t about to just swear on the first thing which came to mind, which just so happens to be his blade. 

                    As much as he likes to mess around a little (okay, a lot) with the explorer, causing actual discomfort is never his intention. Still, amusement is quick to spark within those brown eyes once more as he notes how Ezreal stays close to him, showing no discomfort at getting all hands-on in order to retrieve the vial. It’s not every day that Yasuo has a man practically climbing onto him in desperation. And look, nobody can blame him if he enjoys it just a little, even if he can’t quite feel the other’s warmth through the armor — After all, a Captain has his needs.  

                    “Have some trust in me, brat. As if I’d let anybody get closer than my blade’s length from this little guy, much less those two.” Yasuo refers to the vial, but he couldn’t resist the urge to lightly rest his hand on Ezreal’s shoulder as he says ‘little guy’, figuring that a playful punch would be inappropriate while the younger appears so shaky on his feet. So he holds himself back for the moment.

                    When Ezreal ambles off to collect his ship, Yasuo observes his retreating figure for a few seconds before heading towards his own means of galactic transportation. Well, technically it isn’t even his spaceship. But he treats the damn thing better than it’s previous owner, so the Captain gives himself some credit — even if he did steal it. Desperate times calls for desperate measures, he’s not one to judge himself all too harshly for his past actions. Let bygones be bygones.

                    After a brief scan of the premises using the radar system aboard the Morning Star, Yasuo had decides that it’d be best for them to leave as soon as possible. It seems that the creatures they had killed has friends on the way. He had only just notified their pilot of their next destination as the ship detects Ezreal’s vessel with a series of mechanical beeps. Giving Jinx a tired nod of confirmation to accept the docking, Yasuo heads over to the entry to greet the explorer.

                    “Yeah yeah, don’t you get your hands on anythin’ here or I’ll escort you off the vessel via the ejection chute myself,” he grumbles as he fishes for the vial from his pocket, gripping it and tossing it over to Ezreal. His words carried no weight whatsoever as it was a threat he has leveled against his crew members many, many times in the past. “It ain’t like you’ve never seen this stuff before. Make yourself comfortable.” Yasuo gestures vaguely towards the various cushioned seats as he himself drops unceremoniously into one. He sure isn’t about to give him a damn tour. 

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“Shit, Riv, r u ok?”

Sorry if it’s funny only for me.D