#this is his jhin ceremony

[btackt]

SYLVIE 🔫 이승복

FERNGIF 5: 빵야

240109 - 라인CK Preseason Event

[reverieparacosm]

Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: violence, blood, slight torture, kidnapping

Chapter 4: Through the Artist's Eyes

(part 1 here)

Summary: Captured by Jhin, you face a final performance of pain and beauty. Will this be Jhin's last act, or just the beginning of something more?

(Note is at the end of the chapter)

A searing pain lanced through your skull, each beat of your heart a hammer blow against it. You fight to open your eyes, the world a swirling vortex of darkness and pain. You blink, the world snapping into focus, revealing a figure bathed in the dim, ethereal glow of a single lantern.

Jhin.

His lips curl into a smile that holds no warmth, only a chilling, unsettling amusement. He moves with a grace that belies the terror he instills, his fingers, slender and elegant, tracing the outline of a wound on your head.

The cloth he holds, pristine white against the darkness, is a stark contrast to the crimson blossoming on it. He presses it gently against your wound, the pressure a searing agony. But there is a strange, almost hypnotic quality to his touch, a calculated precision that feels more like a surgical procedure than a simple act of tending to a wound. Each stroke of the cloth is deliberate, methodical, as if he were an artist meticulously applying paint to a canvas. The blood, once a vibrant red, is absorbed into the fabric, leaving a dark, ominous stain that mirrors the chilling dread that grips your heart.

You try to speak, to scream, but your throat is parched, your voice a mere croak.

"Shh, do not struggle," he coos, dabbing at your face. You flinch at his touch, feeling scrapes where your skin meets ropes. Jhin examines you with a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and malice, as if savoring discomfort. "You’ll make this worse for yourself," he warns softly, leaning very close.

"Release me," you say sharply.

Jhin throws back his head and laughs, a grating cacophony that sets your nerves on edge. Slowly, he circles you, trailing a gloved finger along your tense shoulders.

"My dear captive, you presume to threaten me?" he croons softly. "It is I who hold power in this dance, not some chirping fledgling gasping in my claws."

Halting before you, Jhin grips your chin in a punishing grip. His veneer of control cracks, exposing raving lunacy beneath.

"No artist lets his muse flee until the opus is complete! I have divined such exquisite torments for our finale. Through your anguished song will I craft my crowning masterwork!"

His long-fingered hand traces your cheekbone, leaving a trail of cold in its wake. You tremble under his gaze, uncertain of what horrors lay in store. 

You struggle against your bonds, to no avail. Jhin observes your movements with interest, like a painter studying his subject. Outside, the sunset paints the decaying walls in hues of orange and gold.

"Through art, all things can be transformed," Jhin continues rapturously. "Your mortal flesh will become something everlasting. I will alchemize your essence until only brilliance remains."

He lifts a glinting tool, and you see it is a sculpting knife, its edge honed to deadly precision. Panic rises in your throat as Jhin studies the play of fading sunlight on the blade.

"Diamonds, like humanity, are born of turmoil. Extreme heat and pressure fuse the chaotic cloud into clarity. So too shall you be remade." His voice rings with messianic fervor. "Soon, you will shine eternally as my greatest creation. The transformation begins...let the ceremony commence!"

As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, more details of your surrounds emerge. Crumbling brick walls are papered with faded posters advertising long-forgotten shows. A thick layer of dust covers the worn floorboards; your chair stands center-stage in a decrepit house.

Overhead, tattered curtains sway in the breeze drifting through broken windows. Beams of dying sunlight pierce the gloom, illuminating spinning dust motes like flecks of gold. It is a place suspended between creation and ruin - the perfect setting for Jhin's dark vision. 

The artist himself paces before you, muttering excitedly to himself.

"The lighting is perfect, the composition sublime," he muses. "All that remains is to complete my masterwork."

Jhin's hands flit restlessly over his assortment of strange artifacts: gleaming surgical tools, arcane tomes bound in human skin, vials containing viscous liquids and mysterious powders. His meticulous artist’s mind sorts rapidly through options.

Finally, he selects an instrument resembling a paintbrush, but its bristles end in thin blades. He tests the edge delicately against his finger, nodding in approval at the bead of blood welling forth. 

"First, we strip away your outer shells," Jhin declares, tracing the blade lightly over your cheek. "Only then can your truest essence shine through, polished to dazzling radiance.”

Jhin steps close, looming over you with the metallic bristles poised at your throat. You thrash against the ropes binding you, heart pounding, to no avail.

"Peace, my subject," Jhin soothes. "Struggle will only prolong your suffering. Remain still, and I can elevate you to glory." 

His gaze bores into you. With a surgeon's precision, he drags the blade slowly down your neck. You cry out as beads of blood rise in its wake, crimson against your skin.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the blade presses deeper. You inhale sharply but do not cry out - you will not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

A bead of blood wells and Jhin leans in, tongue darting out to sample your essence on his lips.

"Sweet," he groans, eyes fluttering closed. When they open once more, wild hunger blazes within. Jhin looms closer still, trapping you with his gaze as the knife dances over your hammering pulse.

Jhin makes a small noise of pleasure, tilting his head to observe his handiwork. "Exquisite. The raw material reveals its luster."

"Transformation is seldom pleasant," Jhin comments clinically. "But pain birth beauty, as fire shapes the jewel."

"I knew from the start what lurked beneath your silken words and gifts," you say coldly. "The way you twisted Hwei's heart to suit your depraved games, used his passion as just one more sick puppet in your shows."

Jhin's gloved fingers suddenly wrap tight around your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His touch is cold yet burns your skin all the same. 

Jhin cocks his head, regarding you with a curled smile. "The petal thought he understood my art. In time, he too would have become a masterpiece."

His patronizing tone only fuels your fury. "I saw how you fed on his love like some parasite, how you twisted his mind until he was but a shadow, living only to feed the void within you."

Chuckling softly, Jhin runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. "And what of you, my feisty little songbird? Do you also fly willingly into the fox's waiting jaws?"

You meet his eyes steadily. "Your acts of violence and violation do not move me. I understand you better than you understand yourself - you who knows only how to feed chaos and feel nothing."

Jhin's smiling mask shatters, giving way to something ravenous and raw. "Feel nothing?" he snarls, seizing your face in a crushing grip. "I feel it all, each exquisite moment - the passion, the rapture, the divine perfection of destruction! Through my art alone do I truly live!"

Releasing you, he draws back, composure sliding neatly back into place. But his eyes hold a new calculation.

"And what makes you think you know my intentions, my dear?" he whispers, voice low and deadly. Bloodlust swirls in his eyes yet something else flickers there - intrigue, admiration for your spirit.

You swallow yet hold his stare, defiant to the last. "I see the emptiness within you. Your 'art' is but a shallow mimicry of passion, meaningless destruction performed for an audience of one."

Jhin laughs softly, a mirthless sound. His flawless mask cracks, revealing the gaping void beneath, the ache that drives him to create through carnage alone.

Leaning impossibly close, he breathes against your trembling lips. "Perhaps you know me better than I thought, my clever sparrow. If shallowness is what you perceive...then let me show you the inferno that consumes."

With that, his mouth slants hard over yours, ravaging with a desperate hunger to feel - to feel anything amid the numbness. You gasp into the kiss, your heartbeat answering his like clashing symbols in a dark symphony.

For a stolen moment, passion transcends intention as you drown in sensation. But when Jhin pulls away, craving and madness have resurfaced in his eyes once more. The tender illusion shatters, and you know - this was but one more manipulating performance in his grisly design.

He rises and paces, gesticulating wildly.

"That kiss was but another brushstroke on the canvas of our drama together. Through it, I sought merely to elicit emotion - yours, and of the audience that surely hangs on our every moment."

Pausing, Jhin gazes down at you. His perfect features twist into a ghastly mockery of affection.

"Did you feel, little songbird, as I tore open your heart? Did you tremble with anguished rapture, swept along in the ecstatic tide of annihilation?"

His mocking laughter rings through the dusty room.

Jhin grips your hair forcefully, pulling your head back as he breathes against your neck, his warm breath sends shivers racing down your spine. You feel your back arch involuntarily.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your skin as he slightly bites down on your neck, the sensation both pleasurable and painful.

His hand glides down your arms, fingers trailing lightly as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The touch feels possessive, yet there’s a strange tenderness in his movements. You can’t help but feel the tension building between you, a dance of power and vulnerability. He then shifts his attention to the bindings on your wrists, circling your wrist with his thumb in a deliberate manner, as if testing the strength of your restraints. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if he’s loosening them just enough to let hope flicker to life.

But the moment is fleeting. You turn your head away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the feelings swirling inside you. Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, he takes your face in both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes softly against your lips.

"That, my dear, is the only 'passion' I know—the opus of agonies I craft through my works," he whispers, his voice smooth and chilling. "All else is but pale imitation. Remember that… should any wisp of feeling dare cloud your judgment."

With a savage grin and swish of his cloak, Jhin is once more lost to his dark imaginings, leaving you questioning all you thought you knew of this depraved artist.

As Jhin turns away to arrange his infernal stagecraft, you gather every ounce of strength and begin to struggle anew against your bonds. The ropes bite cruelly into your wrists, yet you twist and strain with wild desperation. 

Jhin pays you no mind, lost in his own deranged mutterings as he lays out gleaming utensils.

Seeing your chance, you redouble your efforts with a frenzied yell. The ropes fray and tear—and with one final wrench, your hands rip free!

Jhin whirls at the sound, anger flaring in his eyes at being denied his dark muse. But you waste no time gawking at the monster—you launch from the chair at him.

Off-balance, Jhin crashes to the dust-caked floorboards. His blade skitters away into the shadows.

Not sparing a glance at him, you sprint for the splintered exit with renewed vigor. Black night swallows your retreating form as you pour every ounce of will into escape.

Laughter and rage and the sound of pounding footsteps chase on your heels.

Your lungs burn as you push your exhausted body further into the desert night. Jhin's maniacal laughter still echoes behind you, though the sound is fading with each step. You dare not look back, knowing his twisted grin will be etched in your mind if you do. All that matters is putting as much distance between him and yourself as possible.

Up ahead, a faint glow peeks through the sparse trees - an oasis. New adrenaline surges through your veins at the sight of what might offer refuge. Sand kicks up with each footfall as you rush toward the glowing pool of water. Palm trees whip past you in a blur, their branches outstretched like beckoning arms guiding you to safety.

Bursting into the small oasis, you stumble to a halt beside the water's edge. Your hands brace against your knees as greedy lungs drink in air. Through the shallow pants, your ears strain for any sign you are still being pursued. Only the gentle lapping of waves meets them, the normal night sounds of the desert serenading the sparse trees.

Slowly, muscles uncoil from their clenched state. The immediate threat seems past, at least for now. You lower yourself fully to the cool sand and let the sight of glittering water soothe frazzled nerves.

Soft moonlight dances across the surface, dappling the shore in an ethereal glow. Clarity returns along with your breathing, allowing reality to truly sink in.

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the desert chill.

Pushing to unsteady legs, you shuffle closer to the pool's edge. Your parched throat begs for refreshment after the exhausting escape. Cupping greedy hands, you bring the cool liquid to chapped lips. Too soon, the last droplets fall from your palms. Thirst barely slaked; other needs demand attention in your weary state.

Scanning the sandy shore, your gaze lands on a cluster of palm fronds piled near the trees. With any luck, they might offer cushion and cover for the night. One problem at a time - rest now, plans later. Heavy feet carry you to the pile and you collapse into the fronds with a sigh. Cool surrounds quickly lull frayed senses as lingering adrenaline fades into exhaustion.

Darkness pulls you under like a comforting blanket.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The desert night is alive with the constant song of insects and wildlife. A sliver of moon drifts overhead amid patches of scattered clouds, casting the oasis in a dim glow.

As you drift in the space between sleep and waking, a shiver runs through your body that has nothing to do with the cool night air. 

Something is different. An energy tingles at the edge of perception, faint yet familiar. Slowly prying open weary eyes, you lift your head from the nest of palm fronds.

Rippling across the surface of the water is a blur of colors, dancing in hues too vibrant to be natural.

A paintbrush comes into focus, wielded by a figure kneeling at the pool's edge. Colored wisps trail his movements like an artist’s ashes, each strand levitating impossibly in the air.

There is no mistaking Hwei's magical brush at work, weaving ephemeral illustrations that shimmer on the water's canvas.

His eyes, iridescent even in shadow, find yours across the shore. Recognition lights within those prismatic orbs before flickering with an emotion you can’t place. Concern? Relief?

With fluid grace, Hwei rises and strides to your side. Up close, faint scents of oils and pigment cling to his frame. His gaze roams your form, lingering on patches of torn cloth.

"You're hurt." His voice is soft yet carries an undercurrent that raises the hairs along your nape. Fingers gently grasp your wrist to examine your wounds. You suppress a wince at the contact.

"It's nothing serious." Your assurance does little to quell the tempest raging behind Hwei's eyes. Releasing your arm, he pulls his brush from where it is strapped across his back. Colors sprung to life along the bristles at his beckon, bleeding together into a soothing teal wash.  

Without a word, Hwei dips the brush’s edge into the shimmering paint. Your breath hitches as cool bristles make contact, tracing delicate lines along your wounds.

Where pigment spreads, numbness follows in its wake, deadening pain.

Fascinated, you watch reddened skin knit together before eyes, leaving fresh and unmarred in the healing liquid’s wake.

Magic, or simple a gift of Hwei’s brush? Impossible to say where abilities end and the artist begins.

You gaze up to find his focus intent on the task, lips parted slightly as his skill purifies damaged flesh. Heat rises unbidden to your cheeks under such devoted care. Your heart, already quickened from your closeness, threatens to burst from your ribs. 

The last abrasions disappear under careful strokes. Hweis' eyes lift to yours, their depths reflecting colors and emotions too deep to comprehend.

One arm encircles your waist and pulls you against his slender form, the other brushes tousled strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingers and caresses the line of your jaw with tenderness.  

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Hwei’s hushed murmur causes lids to flutter closed, lost in the soothing rumble of his voice.

Lips meet yours then, slow and searching as if committing every facet to memory through touch alone.

With utmost care, he gathers you into his lap to cradle against his chest. One hand soothingly combs through your hair while the other takes up his brush anew. Upon the oasis sands, Hwei begins to paint in colors of serenity.

Lush blooms spill from under his talented strokes—petite lilies burst with dewdrops; morning glories unfurl translucent petals. Their vivid hues shine all the brighter in the shadows of night. As detail after detail comes alive, the flowers' sweet fragrance joins the cool desert air.

Instead of darkness, visions of sunlit gardens dance behind your closed eyes. Hwei watches vigilantly, brush never ceasing until the last stem stands vibrant and whole. Only then does he set the magical implement aside once more. You feel relaxed and calm.

Gently, he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. Hwei gazes for long moments, memorizing each fleeting emotion buried beneath fatigue. His hands cup your cheeks with care.

"Let me share this burden," Hwei murmurs, breath soft against your lips between words. "I would bear it all if only it rids you of pain."

Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to yours in a kiss filled with promise and devotion profound as the stars above.

Art is the highest form of hope.

All thoughts flee under that tender onslaught. Your hands tangle in his tunic, clinging to escape the nightmares of past hours in his grounding presence.

Within the circle of his embrace, reality seems but a distant dream. Here, in Hwei's arms, you know only comfort, protection... and love that shelters your heart, always, from any threat in the waking world.

As the stars light creeps over the dunes, you stir in Hwei's tender embrace. Beneath palms and stars, the remainder of night has passed in comforting solace.

Gaze meeting Hwei's own, you ask in hushed tones, "How did you find me here?" A rueful smile touches his lips, fingers lifting to brush aside disheveled locks. "Worry not over such details, my heart. What matters is you're safe now." 

Still the unknowns nag, his knowing eyes betraying depths beyond casual passersby. "Through your magic, wasn't it?” Hwei's nod grants affirmation, though guarded concern now creases his features. A painter's sight can unveil truths better left buried; it seems...

"Tell me what horrors drove you to this place," he bids softly, voice roughened by rising emotion kept barely leashed. And so, haltingly, the tale spills forth —of Jhins plan, his machinations to make you "a creation beyond compare." 

How Jhin's maddened machinations seek to immortalize your agonized demise. How by fortune or fate, an opportunity arises allowing escape from dire design. Yet escape is not the end, as horrors haunt memory still... 

At the story's close, Hwei grows deafly silent.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The journey back is a somber one. Smoke rises on the horizon long before Koyehn's Temple simple spires come into view, an ominous shroud hanging overall.

But no prayers can prepare you for the hellscape that awaits.

As the temple comes into sight, it is engulfed in angry orange tongues that devour sacred scrolls and timber alike. Embers swirl chaotically on smoldering thermals, borne aloft to spread ruin further still.

Hwei reins in with a sudden gasp, leaving you to brace against his back. You clutch him tight as anguished cries escape his lips, giving voice to the torment writ large across his features. Never do you see such depths of anguish from the stoic painter, who schools his passions into disciplined lines and fluid strokes.

"No..." Hwei's choked whisper tears at your heart. This place is his sanctuary, his home—now reduced to cindering ruins. You grasp his arm for support as much as offering console, finding only tremors wracking his lithe form in return.

His soul bleeds… and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows him whole.

His brush falls unheeded, magic sparking errant between clenched fingers as if begging release. Yet for all the chaos within, no colors escape Hwei's tight rein—not here, not for this.

Sliding to the ground, you pull him into your arms as tears carve trails down soot-stained cheeks. You stand locked in mournful embrace until the sobs begin to still, the conflagration within banked to smoldering embers once more by love's balm. Lips press against your hair, murmuring apologies for all that can never be regained.

As morning's light lifts the ashen pall shrouding all, the full horror of the night comes into grim clarity. Where once lived and worked over fourscore brothers and sisters, now only broken shells of walls remain amongst the rubble.

You pick your way over the ruins, hoping against hope that some sheltering alcove or secret chamber may offer refuge to even a sole survivor. But as the sun climbs overhead with no signs of life stirring, grim certainty takes root.

You stand alone as the last remnants of an order consigned now to memory alone.

Hwei searched the longest for any survivors, as if refusing to accept the bitter truth laid bare before your eyes. When he finally sinks to his knees in defeat, wracking sobs echo the agonized screams that must have filled the night air as flames claimed their victims. You pull him close, but no comfort of yours can staunch the flood of his grief.

In time, his tears run dry, leaving in their wake an exhaustion of body and spirit you fear no rest can repair.

Hwei wanders as one dead, seeking solace that forever eludes him amongst the ruins. Nights find him waking in terror, reliving each moment of devastation in vivid and gruesome detail no hand can capture.

One such night, a glint of color amidst the cinders draws his numbed feet. Lifted free, it reveals a fiendish trap, its petals splayed open in grinning mockery—a lotus blossom none, but one artist could have crafted.

Understanding dawns in those hollow eyes, a cascade of emotions stirring their murky depths once more: terror, sorrow, betrayal... and a dreadful fascination you know all too well.

The ruins fall silent once more as Hwei gazes unblinking upon that noxious blossom. You dare not break his reverie, dreading what shadows might take root should he linger too long in contemplation of such madness... and the dark allure it holds, even for one whose gift is life and color, not decay.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The crackling fire does little to cut through the tavern's smoky chill. You nurse a mug of ale, staring into the fire as if they might hold answers to questions plaguing Hwei's mind.

It has been moons since you left the smoking remnants of Koyehn behind you. Amongst the ashes, you find renewed purpose—your art brings messages of hope and restoration to weary communities... but sometimes also of destruction. But with each new dawn, fresh mysteries call Hwei ever onwards.

You glance to where he sits apart, brush hovering restlessly as always. His eyes, once home to passion's vibrant spectrum, now seem but windows onto an abyss churning with shadows.

Hwei seeks understanding through revelation of torment—by replicating each scene of suffering until its essence bleeds forth. You fear such intimacy with evil may leech away what remains of his light.

As the sun dips low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the tavern’s wooden beams, you sit beside Hwei, captivated by the way his brush dances across the canvas. Each stroke is filled with emotion, transforming the blank surface into a vibrant landscape of colors. Hwei pours his heart into the painting, bringing to life a sun rising triumphantly over a gentle sea, its rays bursting forth like tendrils of warmth. Hwei is completely absorbed in his painting.

Truly, no artist tolerates reality.

You lean closer, intrigued by the imagery. “Is it a sunset or a sunrise?” you ask, admiring the way the light plays in his eyes. Resting your chin on Hwei's shoulder, you feel a warm connection, as if the moment stretches into eternity.

Hwei pauses, his brush hovering above the canvas as he turns to you, a soft smile blooming on his lips. “It’s a sunrise,” he replies, his voice warm and tender. “A new beginning. I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”

His gaze lingers on you, and in that moment, the world outside the tavern fades away. You feel a magnetic pull, an unspoken connection that draws you closer.

The ambiance is thick with the scent of paint and the calming whispers of the sea outside.

You close your eyes as his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb softly traces your bottom lip. As he leans in closer, you can feel his warm breath mingling with yours.

His kiss is tentative at first, mere brushes of contact that leave you craving more. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against his form.

His other hand slides into your hair, fingers twisting in the strands to tilt your head to a better angle. His kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. When his tongue sweeps along your lip, you grant access eagerly. As your tongues meet, a soft moan escapes you.

All the while, his hand on your cheek begins a slow descent. Over your jaw, down your neck, it comes to rest on your waist. His fingertips graze under the edge of your shirt, sending sparks across your skin. You cling to him more tightly, lost in the bliss of his lips moving with yours.

When you finally part for air, he does not go far. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as you both pant, lost in the moment. His hand never strays from your waist, thumb making gentle strokes across the sensitive flesh. In his embrace, you have never felt so wanted, so cared for. It is here, in his arms, that you are meant to be.

Hwei opens his eyes and whispers, “Some people are artists. Some themselves, are art.”

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look into his eyes, which shimmer with joy and intensity. But as you glance back at the painting, something catches your eye. Dark, shadowy figures seem to writhe within the vibrant hues, lurking just beneath the surface of the canvas. They flicker in and out of existence, vanishing as quickly as they appear.

A shiver runs down your spine. “Hwei, do you see that?” you ask, pointing to the canvas.

His expression shifts, a shadow crossing his features. “I—I’ll protect you,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, his grip tightening around you. The remnants of the massacre at the temple echo in his eyes, a haunting reminder of the darkness he has faced.

“I know you will,” you reassure him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, the weight of his past hangs heavy in the air. He leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence grounding him. “You’re my light,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the firelight dances upon Hwei's face, you trace gentle fingers along his jaw, brushing aside an ebony strand fallen askew.

Hwei leans into your touch with a soft sigh, clasping your fingers in his own. "I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. I feel like art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.”

His lips graze your knuckles, stirring memories as vivid as yesterday's joyous discoveries. For a moment's respite, all traces of grief and care dissolve beneath remembered rapture...

...Until a sharp rap at the door shatters remnants of days past like spun glass.

You open the door. A single lotus flower lays on the ground.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The memories of Hwei's past weigh heavily on him, each loss a haunting echo in his mind. Yet, as he paints, the burdens begin to lift. His art speaks of grief and longing, capturing the essence of his experiences in hues and textures that transcend language. With every stroke, he communicates the inexpressible—an intimate connection to those who suffer alongside him.

While words can falter, art holds the power to bridge the chasms of isolation. It is a silent language, one that resonates deeply within the hearts of those who behold it, conveying feelings that can never be articulated. The beauty of creations offers solace, a reminder that even in the depths of despair, connection is possible through the shared understanding of emotion.

Art can speak for one, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. In a world rife with pain, it becomes a guiding light—a universal form of communication that unites hearts across boundaries.

Though silent, art speaks volumes. In this moment of catharsis through creative expression, one begins to find healing. Art provides an empowering and voiceless language to communicate intimate feelings beyond what words can say.

Especially in times of deep suffering when words fail, art becomes a "silent language" to express the inexpressible emotions of a soul.

Through art, one always finds a way to express the inexpressible, to share a silent language with the world.

Art's Silent Language.

Note: Well, here it is—finally the grand finale of my fanfic! 🎉 Did you notice that this is the fourth chapter and the whole thing clocks in at 14,444 words? I mean, come on, Jhin would definitely be proud of me for that little numerical homage. Four is his jam, right? Haha! So, about the ending... it’s kind of a happy one, or at least an open one. I did toy with the idea of killing off the protagonist—just a little cheeky thought, you know? Hehe. Oh! And I hope you caught the title drop at the end, “Art’s Silent Language.” Subtle, right? Or maybe not so much, but I tried! Now, I did mischaracterize Jhin a tad for my down-bad heart (shoutout to all my fellow simps!), but I did my best to keep him lore-accurate. This chapter is dedicated to all my broken artists out there. 💔 Don’t let life get you down—pick up the pieces and create something beautiful! That’s the real message here. Art can express feelings that words sometimes can’t. As I wrote, "Art is the highest hope." And for the Van Gogh fans, I hope you recognized some of his quotes sprinkled throughout! I love Van Gogh, and honestly, Hwei gives off major Van Gogh vibes. Plus, he has that surrealist flair, so it felt natural to weave in some of that genius. If you’re curious about my theories on Hwei, check out my theory account (https://www.tumblr.com/hwei-theories?source=share). And if you want to see more of my chaotic thoughts, here’s my main account (https://www.tumblr.com/reverieparacosm?source=share). Thanks for reading, everyone! Keep creating! 💖

[scarlet-moonlight]

I'm gonna braindump a lore I made for a Shan Hai Scrolls AU Phel because I want him to be in this skinline so bad, it's one of my favorites and he would look so pretty

Aphelios and Alune were depicted in a ceremonial painting as twins of the royal family. Only Aphelios escaped the wrath of Jhin's carnage by freeing himself out of his canvas. But his sister was trapped inside, entrapped with the various monsters and gods that fight in the scrolls. Now, with mythical guns and blades in hand, he wonders the world to free his sister, and hunt down the god that tried to seperate them.

my ideas for a hypothetical skin would be to give him a hat of some kind, like one of those big chinese traditional hats with the long veils over it and make his severum look like a warrior fan? that would be pretty cool

[perfect-fourth]

Continued from here

@vixtionary @notoriousness

𝄌 Everything had to be perfect.

Not only for the sake of the Grand General's life, but for his own. Their continued existence was only a fraction of why he wanted everything to be set accordingly, though. More important than this, the preservation of his pride was what really drove him to double, triple, quadruple check that every candle was in place, every sigil marked with a single stroke, every bind tightened just enough to sting but still allow circulation to flow.

Bedecked in a well-fit etched satin robe in hues of red black, and gold, a soft humming of an Ionian war song created a haunting echo in the otherwise silent chasm of the Immortal Bastion's bowels, perhaps unnerving the man even further than the situation called for. The deceptively gentle smile he wore on pouty lips was far too content for what was about to take place; leave it to Khada Jhin to find perverse joy in carving the flesh of the man he proclaimed with insistence to love.

That smile was surprisingly not concealed by any sort of mask for this event. He'd chosen to forgo the comfortable camouflage all together, to show off the expertly painted lines on his face(ceremonial makeup), but more importantly, to let the Noxian and his comrade see the light in his expression. He wanted them to know how much he was enjoying this, for once not self-concious about what might be determined from his features, but rather, delighting in the disgust he was certain to bring about in either of their hearts. He wanted them to know how much he took pleasure in this.

His humming ceased the second Jericho spat a command at him to quiet down, but his smirk didn't falter. He was in his own sort of trance-- he'd made certain to clear his mind and his body of any distractions the second he'd risen that day, hours spent forcing himself into such a pristine and relaxed state that there was almost nothing that could rattle his senses in that moment, not even that ever present feeling of being observed. A simple, soft tilt of his head was all he gave him in an acknowledgement of his complaints. He would have typically delighted in shooting back a witty retort, commenting on how he hadn't hadn't cut into his flesh yet and he was already whining-- his silence was more unnerving than any sass could have been.

One gloved hand gave the binding round the Grand General's wrist a single additional tug, just to emphasize who was in control here-- it would soon make its way up to give his cheek a loving stroke. He parted ways with the man after this to go do as he'd been told, gliding like a specter towards each sturdy burner with a candle in hand to ignite them in order, inhaling deeply the scent he would later come to associate with this ordeal.

Once properly burning, he'd make his way over to the nearby ornamental table; which held on it a tincture of herbs and medicines that he'd already taken the liberty of mixing, sat beside a dagger. It was the same blade he'd offered the man not long ago to mark him with, freshly whet and brought to an impossibly sharp edge. The knife was touched momentarily in a wistful display of unnecessary dramatization before he'd make use of the tincture; pouring a chalice full and carrying it to the man who sat so helplessly before him. The concoction was carefully brought to his lips.

"Open your mouth." A demand nobody ever wanted to hear from the likes of the Golden Demon.

[vixtionary]

Smells his hair. In a creepy way.

PALE SKIN TRANSLUSCENT UNDER THE LIGHT; one could clearly witness the thick ball of spit rolling down his throat. Each iodine-laden breath left him sinking deeper into the stone chair's arch, pressing into Noxian granite as if hoping to draw from its sturdiness. But no matter how he'd shift, it was uncomfortable; no, discomforting. And the audible sniffling behind his ear hardly helped with the situation.

"Do not make this awkward."

His voice rung empty in the cavernous room; one of many ample ritual chambers in the Bastion's depths. The walls towering around them almost seemed endless thanks to large windows at the very top. Rays of dim sunlight reflected a halo around Jericho's crown, where an inkling of sweatbeads had formed shortly after he was strapped to this damned torture device once more.

To the magically inept, it was no more than a black chair with fancy carvings on its side. To those in possession of unfortunate knowledge, however, runes warned of the fates sealed upon its granite seat. A method of magical permeation dating back to the Tyrant's reign. Among other indecipherable designs, the etched outline of a rose stood out, aligned with the center of one's back. Jericho could swear he had felt fingertips tracing his bare skin over that spot when he first sat, as if welcoming him back to the treacherous procedure. Yes, he had earned his access to that room. But the device's owners remained vigilant; and he would be foolish to think their endeavors would go by unnoticed.

A subtle twist of his forearm tested the cuff strapped to his wrist, trepidation crossing his features. Dark eyes sought solace in the shadow of his beloved lurking watchfully at the edge of the room ( his only lifeline & protection from the virtuoso's mercurial whims ) traversing past the thick dune of raw salt. A protective circle; to the onlooker. For him and his Ionian conspirator, it felt like more of a trap. Pupils dilated as he peered through the corner of his eye, at Jhin making the final adjustments to his bindings. He seemed awfully at ease with the procedure. It was... concerning. Jericho's eyes tracked his movement, circling him like a vulture.

"And stop it with the noises." He added scornfully, agitation all the more evident in the stiffness of his core. Comical relief concealed how each muscle fiber twitched visceral tension beneath his skin; the body remembers. But these walls remember too. The spillage of blood in the Immortal Bastion is always commemorated. Jericho was fortunate; in that neither of his comrades at that time were truly aware of how many eyes would be on them once the ceremonial knife tasted that first crimson drop.

With a lax exhale, Swain's vision trailed down the path of his own exposed thigh. His decencycovered by a rug ( moreso to evade the oogling of one Khada Jhin, whose depravity was reknowned by that point ) exposed skin spoke of the rituals past; charred, scalded & hacked, his body was far from pristine. Apart from the natural loosening of his skin due to weathering, there was an array of bruises complimenting the distinct sigils carved into his flesh. Most littered his upper torso, surrounding the remaining stump of his severed arm. The work continued down his left half, fading near his groin only to continue on the opposite side & stop abruptly over his crippled knee; the joint of which had been visibly thwarted from fusing properly into place. A line drawn down too far spoke of a job left unfinished.

Jericho's brows creased with the reminder. He peered at the virtuoso again, this time thoughtfully so. Would he survive it, or meet the fate of his predecessor?

"Enough with the bindings. They are secure enough, for that I am certain. Light the incense."

@notoriousness // @perfect-fourth

[summoner-renzus]

The masked woman pinched the bridge of her mask's nose, shaking her head annoyed. "Please don’t drag me into this again..."

Renzus seated himself patiently at the tea table, pouring out a trio of cups full of steaming hot liquid. "You wanted my help, Jhin, this was the price. Besides, are you telling me that a simple tea ceremony is somehow too aggravating for you?"

Of course, it was a tea ceremony where the two of them attended as guests to one of the oldest living nobles of Ionia. A gentle, but senile old man, whose estate nonetheless held incredible influence in Ionia. Renzus had made it a point to entreat Lord Senjin, at the very least to keep tabs on the assorted goings-on in his court.

Remaining in his good graces, after all, meant nearly free access to his castle, and the services of Lord Senjin's numerous retainers.

"Like it or not, this is the only way for you to get what you want." He murmured, glancing at the dozen heavily-armed praetorians that stood guard over Lord Senjin's audience chamber. "And I'd advise against causing a bloodbath here. We'd never make it out of the castle alive."

@thecompulsivevirtuoso

[shukuchiisms]

The Cult

An ancient cult, seeking irresistible power, surfaces on nights of the Blood Moon to perform profane, esoteric rites—merging their flesh with demonic spirits, and becoming one with an ever greater darkness.

Priestesses:

Blood Moon Akali Priestesses of the Blood Moon walk their own path, traveling far from the cult to pursue the whispers of their demons. A meditative figure living deep in the snow-dusted wood, Akali was the first woman to embrace her inner darkness, and speak directly with the Blood Moon itself.

Blood Moon Diana A child chosen by the Blood Moon itself, Diana's mind has been opened to the lost ways of the cult—unknown to its leaders, and even the slavering demons beyond. Hers is a truth no one can know, and a fated metamorphosis beyond men and the gods.

Blood Moon Elise A revered priestess of the Blood Moon cult, Elise has so wholly intertwined her body with her demon spirit that they are now a single entity. She has traveled beyond all known civilization, existing in the apocryphal darkness hanging beyond the precipice of the world.

Blood Moon Sivir A newly anointed priestess of the Blood Moon cult, Sivir wields a weapon that is both a killing tool and a key to the hellish mirror world where all demons are born. Slowly but surely, it has merged her twinned selves, and now it is no longer clear where the human ends and the monster begins.

Blood Moon Katarina An honored priestess of the Blood Moon cult, merged with the flesh of her demon as all priestesses are fated to be. Yet the descent of the Blood Moon has changed the nature of demons and humankind, and Katarina has begun her ascent into a newer, darker form.

Main Cult:

    Blood Moon Twisted Fate The Blood Moon cult's true leader is shrouded in whispers and hearsay. It is he who first passed the trial of the masks, and he who unraveled the secrets of surrendering one's flesh to the demon spirits. Whether he is still human, none can say—but he is ever present, and always watching.

Blood Moon Zilean Manipulating the lunar cycle by fueling his temporal magic with human blood, Zilean is the face of the Blood Moon cult, and a hellish warlock of unimaginable power. His mind exists across the flow of time, communing with legions of demons from the past, present, and future.

Blood Moon Shen The most indomitable disciple, in mind and body, Shen's loyalty to the Blood Moon cult can never be shaken. He serves as the personal bodyguard of the group's most important figures, executing interlopers with a cool dispassion, suggesting part of his humanity has already been consumed.

Blood Moon Yasuo Ceremonial executioner of the Blood Moon cult, Yasuo's blade is inhabited by an insidious, bloodthirsty demon whose hunger for death can never be satisfied. This suits Yasuo well, for he is possessed of an inner darkness even deeper than the creature whispering at his side.

Blood Moon Jhin Ink-mage, trained assassin, master of ceremonies: Jhin is all this and more, a grandiose figure whose encyclopedic knowledge of centuries-old rituals fuels the Blood Moon's hellish summoning rites. He knows the name of every demon, and how to direct them into a still-living vessel.

Blood Moon Master Yi The cultists of the Blood Moon have begun a dread metamorphosis, as the boundary between the spirit realm and the human world is rapidly erased. Yi is among those first blessed by this new darkness, the demon within his blade arm driving him to ever greater spectacles of violence.

Demons & Spirits:

Blood Moon Aatrox Ancient manuscripts tracking the orbit of the Blood Moon describe it not as celestial phenomenon, but as a cosmic womb. As the seasons grow shorter and the cult's activity continues to increase, some worry it will give birth to a new kind of demon—a creature helping to bring about its own dark ascendance. --  Aatrox has been loosed upon the mortal plane. A creature born in the heart of the Blood Moon, he is the progenitor of all demons, and a malignant darkness that will consume the entire world.

Blood Moon Evelynn A seductive evil spirit summoned on the night of the Blood Moon, Evelynn moves between isolated villages, wooing the residents until they fall deeply in love with her. One by one these poor souls will surely perish, their hearts torn from their still-living bodies.

Blood Moon Kalista A spirit of vengeance summoned on the night of the Blood Moon, Kalista's singular obsession with 'betrayers' knows no limits—any deception, no matter how trivial, will be met with death. Her victims are left hanging from the walls of their homes, a warning to those who remain.

Blood Moon Kennen A kingslaying spirit summoned on the night of the Blood Moon, Kennen's purpose is to depose those in power and eliminate every member of their line. He is ruthless in this task, tearing across heavily armed fortress cities in the blink of an eye.

Blood Moon Pyke A demonic spearfisher lurking within the darkness of the Blood Moon's mirror dimension, Pyke casts his hooked blade across an endless, liquid blood night, dragging demons up from the bottom of the world and into their human hosts. Inexorably tied to the Blood Moon, Pyke's sudden appearance in Ionia is a dire omen indeed…

Blood Moon Talon An anarchic demon summoned on the night of the Blood Moon, Talon was once a human assassin who surrendered his flesh during one of the cult's possession rituals. He now kills indiscriminately, relishing the terror in his victim's dying eyes.

Blood Moon Thresh A demon summoned on the night of the Blood Moon, Thresh's insatiable urge to torture and kill is fueled by thousands of vengeful spirits drawn to his lantern. Entire villages are left slaughtered in his wake, their blood staining the land for decades.

Blood Moon Tryndamere The demon Tryndamere has fully assumed control over his twinned human body, using its inhuman strength to slash gaping wounds in the veil between the human and spirit realms. Shrugging off wounds considered fatal even to other demons, his is an unstoppable, unquenchable rage that would see all things consumed by the Blood Moon.

Trivia:

Blood Moon Zilean is the figurehead of the Blood Moon cult.

Blood Moon Twisted Fate is their true leader.

Blood Moon Jhin is an ink-mage and the master of ceremonies presiding over summoning rituals.

Blood Moon Sivir, Blood Moon Elise, Blood Moon Katarina and Blood Moon Akali are priestesses.

Blood Moon Yasuo is the ceremonial executioner.

Blood Moon Shen is a bodyguard to important persons.

Blood Moon Diana is a cultist who carries lost secrets that even demons don't know.

Blood Moon Pyke, Blood Moon Evelynn, Blood Moon Kennen, Blood Moon Talon, Blood Moon Thresh, and Blood Moon Kalista are demons/ spirits summoned on the night of the Blood Moon.

Blood Moon Aatrox is the progenitor of all demons: the world-ending creature birthed directly from the Blood Moon.

He is among the most powerful entities of the multiverse

[demon-spearfisher]

Headcanon

Instincts

Blood Moon Pyke acts much like a shark. His ink dissolving ability allows him to ‘swim’ through shadows on the ground, yet he also occasionally runs on all fours if he wants to. His teeth are naturally very sharp, and his mask gives him another row of sharp canines much like the animal. Since he trails someone down by their scent, the smell often intensifies if they are bleeding. He only really uses his hook as a way to catch and close the distance between him and his prey. Sometimes, he’d even hook and leave his target hanging from a tree if he’s feeling particularly cruel.

Despite his aggressive habits, he also has an undying loyalty for anything he cares for. His bond to the Blood Moon itself is strong. As for the members of the cult, his opinion of them varies depending on who they are. He seems to have grown an affection to The Calligrapher (Jhin) though, as they are often working in hands for preparing ceremonies.  

[perfexionincarnate]

🍼 demon bab uwu

|| The outcome of Adoration ||

- name:   Suzuki - likes / dislikes:  L; Assisting in rituals, causing mischief, tormenting souls with “Uncle Thresh” | DL; long ass/boring ceremonies, dull tools, her ribbons getting caught on things/on her horns - first word:  Moon - which parent they look more like:  Neither - which parent they like more:  Pyke - height once fully grown:  4′8  (142.24cm) - job ambition:  job?  lol she just wants to stab - appearance:

                                       ----    ----    ----    ----

- name:  Tamashini - likes / dislikes:  L; “Playing” with humans, watching demons find their human hosts, helping gather host bodies | DL; being without his mask (doesn’t need to wear it over his face tho), cleaning up after himself, being hungry - first word:  Hurt - which parent they look more like:  Jhin - which parent they like more:  Both - height once fully grown: 7′10"  (238.76cm) - job ambition: Gatherer of Hosts - appearance:

                                   ----    ----    ----    ----

Bonus round! Catto child!

Name:    けい  (Kei)

[gabrielwalker]

DAMWON Video Gaming: Just Who Are They And Also How They Win League Of Legends Worlds 2020

  League of Legends simply observed the most action-packed ending in a very long opportunity, as DAMWON Video gaming gained the most ideal of five suit versus Suning through a 3-1 scoreline, and also re-established their authority through the Worlds Championship.

Several amateur LOL do not know DAMWON Gaming: who are they. DAMWON Gaming was knocked out by G2 Esports in the quarter-finals in 2014, yet this time around, the crew showcased great game sense and also coordination throughout the event. Even though they were actually the LCK favourites after T1 could not qualify for the Worlds, they dominated several crews on their method to the last. They retaliated on G2 Esports through removing all of them 3-1 in the semi-finals, therefore ruining Europe's hopes.

DWG Gulch gained the MVP of the ending for his terrific objective command and breathtaking playmaking, even with acquiring his more comfortable choices disallowed in the draft stage.

DAMWON Gaming: who are they and How they fought to succeed LOL Worlds 2020.

Coming from the very start, DAMWON Pc gaming appeared pleasant during the course of the Worlds 2020, as well as the ending was zero various. Suning, however, looked extremely innovative with their draughts, and were the longshots in the ending.

DAMWON Games succeeded the 1st match with relative convenience. In the 2nd match, there were actually some off-meta decides on, as well as Suning Can's Fiora obtained his first ever Pentakill in a LOL Worlds final, as his crew equated to the score to 1-1. Despite participating in out a number of tight paireds after that, their aggressive playstyle, and DWG Canyon's ideal unprejudiced upkeep, implied that they were able to view out the danger postured by Suning. The comprehensive information on DAMWON gaming: just who are they is here.

    As per the practice, all the gamers of DAMWON Gaming are going to be actually getting a personalized cosmetic for their favourite LOL champion. DWG Gulch, when asked about his option of champ, specified that he is actually yet to determine in between Graves and Nidalee.

LOL Worlds 2020 had a concurrent optimal viewership of 460k during the course of the ending, and also this more showcases the passion that supporters possess in the direction of the most-watched esports game on the planet. The opening ceremony, and the plan of the online audience, were actually both impeccable, even during the pandemic. It showcases the dedication of the designers towards the esports side of the video game.

DAMWON Pc gaming 2020 Planets skins disclosed.

After practically seven months of hanging around, the formal LCK broadcast today disclosed the dash arts for Damwon Video gaming's 2020 League of Legend Planet Champion skins. These skins will celebrate Damwon's 3-1 victory over Suning Video gaming at the Pudong Regulation Football Stadium in Shanghai in the 2020 Worlds finals, on Oct. 31, 2020.

The design features Damwon's pre-rebrand blue-and-silver color design, along with skins for Kennen, Nidalee, Twisted Fortune, Jhin, and also Leona.

These Damwon skin layers denote the 1st Planets skin layers for each champ apart from Jhin, that made a previous appearance in team shades for SKT T1's Bang after his victory at the 2016 World Championship. This splash fine art is the 1st part of relevant information concerning the skins due to the fact that Damwon's gamers exposed which champions they would be actually choosing for their celebratory skin layers in the post-finals meeting for Globes 2020. This corrects spot to know DAMWON Gaming: who are they.

Trouble Gamings has certainly not however revealed any sort of details concerning when these skins will certainly be launched or any sort of examines of just how they will definitely appear in-game. More information is anticipated to be exposed over the upcoming handful of months, consisting of in-game designs and ability computer animations.

[quantum-shatter-a-blog]

OH ALSO JHINX FOR THE SHIPPING THING I FORGOT

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - forever but only ‘till jhin murders her or gets bored. ‘cause he owns her ass.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - well jinx probably fell in love with him pretty quick, she fell in love with his work first and then him as a person, eventually. she romanticized him until it became real. if jhin ever fell in love with her it would probably take years. and he’d probably realize after noticing that he actually cared if she died or not.

How was their first kiss? - does kissing his mask count ‘cause that was probably it for a loooong while tbh

Wedding:

Who proposed? - jhin but only so she would shut up about it, so technically jinx gave him the idea with nagging

Who is the best man/men? - well jhin has no friends,

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - well, jinx has no friends,

Who did the most planning? - jinx

Who stressed the most? - jinx

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - idk the planet

Sex:

Who is on top? - jhin

Who is the one to instigate things? - either of them to be honest, jinx more at first but then..

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - idk like as long as they want? like 15 minutes to an hour and a half? literally till they get bored?

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - fuck no jhin gets what jhin wants

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - nada

How many children will they adopt? - no

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - neither

Who is the stricter parent? - neither

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - neither

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - neither

Who is the more loved parent? - neither

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? neither

Who cried the most at graduation? - neither

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - neither

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - jhin

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - jinx

Who does the grocery shopping? - jinx ‘cause she screams if she doesn’t get those specific chocolate cookies

How often do they bake desserts? - like once a season maybe

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - meat defs

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - jinx ? jhin don’t care

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - jinx

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - jinx

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - jhin

Who is really against chores? - jinx

Who cleans up after the pets? - jhin

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - jinx

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - jinx

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - jinx

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - jhin

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - jinx

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - a lot

What are their goals for the relationship? - idk jhin wants a minion and jinx just really loves everything about him so...

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - jinx

Who plays the most pranks? - jinx

[4thdevil]

the basket at her hip was hand woven by the starchild herself, though she had taken little ceremony to wrap it with anything more than one bow around its edge. she had little ways of decorating paper by herself, but she makes do nonetheless. soraka had filled it with fresh fruits, bread, and a small portion of chocolate— she had learned that mortals enjoyed sweets among their snowday celebrations. "i have not celebrated your tradition of snowday very often, but i do hope this is enough."

     the sentiment was genuine, while jhin wasn’t normally one to celebrate with another, or receiving gifts nonetheless. it left the male with a smile upon tanned features and he allows a small chuckle to leave his lip when he finally allows his fingers to grace the basket, the method of its creation was very detailed. very nicely made and impressed him, his eyes glance from the basket to the starchild and he speaks, his voice kinder than the usual tone he uses to many of the people he comes in contact with.

     ‘   dear, you didn’t truly have to go out of your way for such things. but the sentiment is much appreciated.   ‘

[hoverbun]

impassive

fandom: league of legends character(s): zed, shen ship(s): shen/zed synopsis: Inside you is where daylight ends and darkness begins - chaos fostered inside one man. Shen is always so cold, and you want to be the one to break him. (note: this was written before jhin and kayn were released.) warnings: mild sexual content, mild violence. word count: 1566

i.

There is a clean cut across his cheek, from beneath his left eye to the curve of his jaw. You look at it with the awe you would a pyre. The flesh is torn, slit clean from the blade you clutch in your hand, and the air bites at the raw skin – but Shen is impassive.

The fury, distaste, and shock lit in his eyes are but blinking candles in a calming (foreboding) wind. You are both young and it was a sparring match you took too far.

“Control yourself, Zed.” His tone is dangerous, but calculated. You will think about how the blood rolled down his throat later.

ii.

He told no one the cause of his injury, but he wears a mask over his face now. You think of it as your own violent secret with him. That excites you.

The elders call you reckless when you spar with the others. That you are skilled, but must restrain your brutal strength. That you must find the balance of force and grace. The word balance feels wrong inside you. You don’t know why.

One of the elders tells Shen to stand. You will follow his movements, you were told. You were told (permitted) to watch him. You watch. The mask is taunt over his face, and you can still hear him breathe.

You watch him. You watch him, and you wish you could that forever.

( You want him to look at you, too. )

iii.

“Take off your mask,” you tell him. His eyes are cold, like ice, like the room. He is steady and as impassive as bone. When he exhales, it is muffled, yet you still hear every beat of breath.

“What you did is still there,” he replies, as if telling you is meant to placate you. “I believe it will scar.”

You and him are alone. The sun is low in the sky, light pouring in through windows framed by wood illuminating the closed, empty room. You can hear talking in the distance, the others ( strangers to you – you don’t bond well with the other students, and you only memorized a few elders by name ) unclear, unimportant.

“Show me.” You never request – you order, even without authority.

He sees your hand move, but it is to rest it upon your knees – you know this, because his eyes twitch, carefully watching downward for fractions of seconds. You watch him all the time – to study, to observe, to witness. You know his tells. You bet he knows yours, too.

Shen removes it. His skin has healed over the wound, uneven and paling in comparison to his dark, warming complexion. Your eyes remain fixated, and move between it, and him. He watches you, now. You expected shame, discomfort.

But he is not so easily shamed. He watches you like he would await a storm.

It is then you bring a hand to the scar. Your mark. Apprehensive, his head turns in your hand, ever so slightly.

You remind yourself this is your secret.

You’d do anything to gouge it open again.

iv.

They try to teach you about the equilibrium of Valoran, the balance you will be expected to uphold in days to come. You feel disgusted by the notion you might lend yourself to a state of weakness, if your most pure form of absolute strength could not be worth their cause.

Your hands are like claws upon Shen’s shoulder. You can never make him flinch – he was born with eyes of twilight. You allow yourself to think on when you might terrify him, pleasure from power.

( You will never be good enough for the elders. You’ll pull apart their golden boy until you find what they love so much, then bleed him dry. )

He acknowledges you briefly. Still with the mask, but it’s not as tightly wound over his face – you don’t see the curve of his bone structure this time, even so close.

( And you know he knows. Such a smart, careful, handsome, clever man he’s becoming. )

He says he will be accompanying his father to another village for a Kinkou ceremony. He makes no point to inform you that you will be not coming. You reason it’s a private thing, reserved for the leader, and his star.

All you want to do is look at him.

v.

( You kiss him first. )

“Control yourself, Zed,” is all he passes between you, and you swallow his warnings with the rest of his breaths.

( He is so cold. )

vi.

When he comes back, he is in steel and cloth – armour gifted to him (by whom, you do not know.) that rests upon him in beautiful silver and fine silk, gifts for the promised Eye of Twilight. You aren’t sure if the mask is meant to be permanent, but it is befitting. He is as steady as he has always been – watchful, unbreakable. You watch him so carefully, and you cannot see his eyes flick towards you any longer.

It’s rather disappointing.

You meet for the first time since his return in one of the many hallways of the school, isolated by others, with shadows draping themselves over every corner cut from the sun’s rays. The shadows curl around your ankles, like a welcome gesture. You don’t think about it.

He watches you. His eyes are hidden but he watches you, he looks through you, like he is meant to – like he is finding what guides your volatile volition, your greedy manipulation, what pushes you to behave so brashly and so cruelly to earn favour and witnesses. You want to laugh, because you’ve already pulled him apart, already found what keeps him together the moment he unwound himself for you in the cover of darkness above you – but you don’t.

You don’t, because though you know him, you cannot predict him. Instead, you move your hand over the steel helmet, thumb overlapping where metal and cloth protect the violent secret you two hide.

You briefly hear him breathe in, the first beat of words on the edge of his breath, but he doesn’t offer you anything. Perhaps it is for the best.

vii.

You find out the helmet was intentional. Coincidental, the purpose it serves.

( He is nothing more but ice, always cold and brittle and with little meaning in touch – you push your mouths together and it’s vile, finding ways to turn obsession in affection with clawing grasps and threats on shared breaths. Shen is cold and you are angry, pulling him against you until there’s enough faltering in his breathing that you feel like you’ve won. 

He fucks with such disinterest. Your hands keep him steady when he's over you, and you keep your stare. You've tried to scare him, and you don't think you ever will. The sex is uncomfortable with your eye contact and you always wait to see who will look away first. It makes you want to grimace. )

He looks good in it. Respectable, clean. You yourself have taken to darker steels, where the shadows push inside your armour and you can hear the calling of something better. Stronger. What you yourself deserve. The shadows that curl around where the light of twilight ends, the tension (balance) between what he knows and what you are learning. You've opened yourself to things you should not have met, in the cover of night and shadow to learn their secrets. 

( You kiss him with open mouths and open teeth and tear him apart. )

He breathes your name, "Zed," and it's for a few seconds he can't control himself.

viii.

You trace the sigils you've learnt on his back, between his shoulder blades. Your nails are blunt, but your tilt your extended finger just so that you graze the nail over his skin. If they were any sharper, you'd look to mark, but you don't.

Several times, you feel his body stir, inhaling with the certain tone that tells you he wants to speak. But he dares not to interrupt the silence that holds you two together, colder than his body and sharper than the blade you used to cut his face open. It humours you that you cannot predict what he might actually say, but dark parts of you want him to condemn you. Darker parts want to be challenged.

( Tomorrow you will ask him to spar. Tomorrow you will prove yourself. )

The darkest says his name, and laughs.

ix.

There is silence, but then there is not - when you stand over Shen, broken and bruising and staring up at the grains of the wood in the ceiling above you, you are called a traitor. Not that you have beaten the prodigal, but that you have opened your heart to forbidden arts, forbidden acts. He lies there like he is dead and you feel the beauty of horror and relief at the same time. It opens visions for what you wish to come, when his last breath is robbed and the impassive light in his eyes is nothing but cold, cold, cold.

You are driven from the temple. Shen does not watch you leave, and he does not argue your exile.

x.

( You trace your fingers over your own face, from cheek to jaw. You think of what you have inflicted. You think of him. You wonder if Shen would have done the same to you, if he had lacked control. )

[deiemos]

thirteenth

his father was a king and the son of kings. he did not care much for a child who would not be his heir, and his mother— they say brides do not smile on their wedding day, only the foolish ones. he was plucked from her arms and replaced with a pillow by a midwife the day of his birth. she did not notice. only hugged it closer.

almost as stupid as him.

his stupidity stemmed from hope. the kind that took root in your heart, manifested itself as a child’s wide-eyed curiosity. he wanted to be just like them— his siblings adorned in jewels and furs. the way they carried themselves like fluid gold, graceful and poised and respected. it was never to be.

the youngest of the family, born into an ivory palace soaked in crimson. the bloodbath had already begun long before he was born, screaming, into the world. he was sure, for awhile, that he would leave the same way. another son, another rival to the throne. the weight of the crown though hefty, would never outweigh the greed of its bearer. he wanted to be like them— his brothers— but they looked to him with nothing but scorn and fear. they never spoke kindly, and he was alone.

quickly, he grew to be a disappointment; lean, lanky. his limbs too long for his body. he was not graceful. he was not poised. he was not respected. the best that could said about him was his smile. but that, too, faded over time.

princes did not smile, you see. not with their eyes. they tipped their chins up and looked over their subject’s heads. how would you smile if you never were to meet their gaze? jhin, however, was different. he’d look even the servant, who worked to take care of his every need, in the eye, befriend the gardener who maintained his favourite daisy meadow, taste-test everything in the kitchen with the chef laughing by his side. no, he wasn’t like the other princes and princesses who carried themselves with a sort of grandeur that was stifling to the royal servants. not how they often walked around stiffly, like a dolly stick was glued to their spines. where they were rigid, he was free-spirited, and friendly and everything a prince should not have been. maybe if they had cared enough to drill the youngest into the deep-seated discontentment the monarchy seemed to thrive off, he would not have been adored. instead, he was loved, and not feared. he was not a prince.

that only made them hate him more.

simple avoidance turned into degradation. they had the decency to start slow. he was never in the public eye to begin with, the people of his kingdom oblivious to an heir such as him. they did not care, he would think. not as long as the harvest was plentiful and their pockets full. so when he disappeared from knightings and other public ceremonies, no one quite noticed. even if they did— like the servants of the monarch— they remained silent, for they were powerless. who were they to question the rulers of the land? it was always better to keep their mouths shut to things the gods battled over. the royal family was to itself its own.

his siblings were every bit as cruel as they were ambitious. they never did anything in his presence. they were like that— the monarch— the hilt of their sword to your back, never your front. they never revealed themselves. he was naive, then. it was a simpler time. life had not taught him enough for him to understand why they shunned him. hid his prized possessions. blamed him for mistakes he never committed. he would cry himself to sleep at night, empty stomach doing nothing to coax his indignation. why would a boy of six years deserve the harshness of his own siblings? what had he done, exactly, to warrant such duress? the answer was uncomplicated, in retrospect. it was simply because of who he was born to, the silver spoon in his mouth.

in some ways, maybe they beat the hope out of him. his skin bled purple, blue and light. they never had the guts to do it themselves. it was gullible of him to think that they found it hard to lay hands on their baby brother. it was probably their fear. perhaps they found it a chore. they never had to pick up a finger to do anything in their life— this was just one of the many things they outsourced to servants who were terrified to act against their orders.

he hoped, and he hoped, and he hoped. and one day, he stops hoping. what good was a king who did not hear his son’s cries? what good was a father who always had more important things to do? a mother, who knew of nothing, and cared so much less than what she knew. of siblings who despised him, wanted him dead. what good were the friends he made in the castle who cowered at higher power. became deaf to his pleas, blind at the atrocities, mute in comfort. jhin did not smile anymore. he did not talk. he did not leave his room. he was not afraid, but he was tired.

the only thing that eased him was the sea. his palace wing perched on a huge jagged rock along the coast. it overlooked the stormy blue ocean, and he would spend his days barefoot on the lower rocks where his toes could feel the sand. they had once called him prince Ōkeanós. an old time word for the ocean. now, they barely called him at all. perhaps it was better like this, to be alone. to feel the waves lap at his toes, the salty mist drawn over his face, unruly hair strewn backwards. to hear the tide crash in silence. he was at peace. the loneliness was as gritty as the sand beneath his feet— he supposed this was their way of teaching him. only the monarch was capable of feeling melancholy in such power. a gilded cage made from gold and adorned with jewels was still a cage. was it right for a boy, a mere ten years of age, to be so mournful? not for a simple fisherboy, but for a prince in waiting, it was all too normal. he was starting to understand them, maybe. his brothers. all this could only have been born from a place of complete isolation and despair. it was not hard to imagine them in such a position. it did not make what they did forgivable, but it eased jhin enough for him to shed his outer garments and wade into the tide. he half-expected his favourite guard to hold him by the elbow and guide him out, that one maid that felt like a mother to chide him into stepping back ashore. it’s too cold for swimming, little prince. she’d say in that tone of hers. today, however, there was only the sound of howling wind. it seemed they had turned their backs on him too.

the garments he kept on soaked through in a second. they clung to his skin in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but all he felt was warmth. they used to say he had an affinity with the ocean, that he had been born on the first day the tide retreated and no longer crashed noisily over the coast. that poseidon, himself, had watched over his birth. old time myths were never lost on him. he treasured the stories as he would a person. now, with his eyes closed, he let himself drift off to these tales, of a god with a trident who ruled over the seas.

he stayed like this for a good while, water lapping at his shoulder blades, and tried not to fall asleep. he didn’t know how far from shore he had drifted, pulled in by the current. he could only tell it had been awhile by the way the sun scorched the skin of his nape. the salinity of the sea water made his new wounds sting, but he had remembered a servant once telling him that the pain would help it heal. a remedy as old as time, he had said. jhin allowed himself to be swept away in the things of the past, ever so often. it was to be his downfall.

the hands that grabbed him were familiar. sinewy things that he had seen more than a few times. it did not matter when he was pushed underwater, all the same. with his head submerged, he could barely make out the silhouette through his half-parted eyes. the saltwater stung, but this felt like his chest was on fire. it was only a game, was it not? just another one of their pranks that would end in him being near death, but never quite dead. when he struggled, he was pushed further down. he felt his head getting lighter, foggy with the amount of water he had swallowed. his mouth felt like sandpaper and his throat throbbed, raw with his screaming. it dawned upon him that this was their last effort. he was not going to live this time. more than anything, they wanted him dead, and they always got what they wanted. there was no way he would survive this— they had thought so, at least. enough to send one of their own to trip on their power and finish the task. his brother smiled above him, drowning the boy. it felt right for him to die in a place he loved most. where he felt safe. jhin let his limbs fall loose, no longer resisting, and with his body light, his eyes fluttered close.

the hands he had grown up worshipping finally let go of him. he felt the current shift as the man waded back to where he had came from. jhin pushed himself into a spot where he could keep his head above water with his feet on the ground, stuck his head up and breathed in greedily. his lungs still felt heavy with salt, and the water made him choke and splutter, but he was drowned out by a loud wave crashing over the rocks. the sea was truly on his side. he acted before his brother noticed. it would be a lie to say it was a mistake. not with the way he lifted the man’s bleeding head and slammed it against the sharpest rock again, and again, until his garments were soaked with more blood than water. he did not just want him to die. he wanted him to feel pain. he wanted them to pay. he wanted to be feared. the water around his feet washed him clean, but the sea bled crimson. he was at peace.

the fourth prince to the throne had died, and suddenly he was a murderer being tried for treachery to the crown. it mattered not that he had been attacked first. or that he had almost died and acted upon self-defence. perhaps this had been their plan all along; two birds with one stone. it was not enough for him to die. they wanted jhin to suffer as much as he had wanted the fourth prince to cry out in mercy. that was his sin to bear. they would have him strung up in the public square and stoned to death. made a joke out of by his own people before his inevitable passing. maybe it would have worked out as planned if it weren’t for the thin circlet that mostly stayed hidden amongst his curly locks. they, as he did, sometimes forgot he was a prince. he did not act like much. 

his status kept him from execution, but it did not change the fact that he was a murderer, branded a criminal and a permanent stain on his family’s lineage. they could not look divided to their neighbours. it would make them look weak and easily overthrown. his father had spent his life scrambling to keep his kingdom and would not risk losing it over a son like jhin. he had to be erased from history.

this is how he became an orphan. with no parents, no family name and no inheritance.

he was to be sent away. exiled to a kingdom far from sight. the death of his brother had been announced as an accident, and his trip, a diplomatic one. it was not uncommon for lower princes to marry women of noble birthright in allied kingdoms. the people did not seem to care. in a few years he would be forgotten completely, his name removed from writing. there would be no thirteenth son of ezekiel. he would not have existed.

no one came to see him off. he had become a prince, had he not? the remorseless killing, the hollow eyes, his melancholy. it seemed this would not be enough for them either. the thought alone made him chuckle. they had finally gotten what they wanted.

the trip spanned forty days and forty nights on sea, and another eighteen moons on horse. they wanted him far away, away from sight to be forgotten quietly. he did not speak to the messengers who guided him along and they did not move to engage him in any way. he could tell they were afraid.

when he arrived, he was brought before the king, whom he refused to bow to. the royal guard forced him to his knees and he laid prostrate against his will, but he did not struggle. he had no family, no king, no god. the act meant nothing; not respect or fear or submission. rather, he was glad to be able to lay down after weeks of travelling.

“what is your name?” jhin had been exiled to be fostered in this man’s kingdom, yet he did not know of his name. 

jhin ground his teeth and kept silent. the grip on his shoulders tightened and he felt panic rise in his throat. it was too soon.

“jhin.” his reply breathy.

“do you know why you’re here?” what a foolish, pointless question. he had been sent with a bag of gold in exchange for being kept as a servant. surely, the king knew. he was the only one aware of his prior status. this was a pitiful attempt at trying to humiliate him.

“to live in servitude.” jhin did not see why he should have to answer, but he also did not want them to push him down by his shoulders again. the king seemed satisfied by his answers, and with a swift flick of his hand, jhin was dragged away from the throne room.

he did not have much in ways of personal belongings, but was forced to dump whatever he had in the servant quarters before being ushered away from the empty room again. all he wanted was to lay down on the uncomfortable looking pallet and sleep. instead, he was now in a hall full of servant boys around his age. they all wore the same expression— fear— one jhin knew too well. they looked terrified as they fidgeted in their spots, afraid to speak or even let their backs touch the wall behind them. like they would be reprimanded if they were an inch out of line. before he could turn to the boy next to him to ask, the doors at the head of the room swung open and the air grew cold.

“his royal highness, crown prince, ahn baekhyun.” he swore he heard the boys beside him stop breathing entirely. jhin never understood the need for such practices, but at least now he knew who he was looking at. while all the other servants in the room immediately had their heads bowed in respect and trepidation, jhin looked around the room in pure boredom. he had seen enough. the prince was nothing but a boy, his age, wearing a cape too big for his shoulders and a crown that weighed heavy on his head. jhin nearly pitied the boy, until it became clear that he was just like them, perhaps even worse. this prince did not seem to care for pleasantries. he used fear to his advantage, twisted these poor boys around his pinky and watched them snivel in terror. his gratuitous cruelty became clear in an instant. jhin was not surprised in the slightest. it seemed the heavier the crown, the more vicious they became. his heart still ached for the strangers he saw scorned and kicked to the ground, but he did not flinch. it was as to be expected.

he barely notices when the prince stops in line before him, too busy tracing out the intricate lines on the ceiling. they were fascinating, the patterns. he had never seen things of the sort from his native land. it made him wonder how far away he was from the kingdom.

“look me in the eye.” the prince had a piercing voice, the kind that commanded complete and utter submission. jhin felt as bored as he looked, staring determinedly at the clock. he wondered, briefly, if the guards were going to push him onto his knees again. maybe he would be able to take a nap while he laid on his knees.

“i, his royal highness, the crown prince, ahn baekhyun, order you to look me in the eye.” jhin nearly laughed. what boy his age spoke like that? was that normal here? it sounded ridiculous.

for that alone, he was forced down to the ground by his collar. the prince was stronger than his slight stature would suggest. it took jhin by surprise, but he was yet to make a sound. he would have to work a lot harder to break jhin. there was little that scared him now. yet, the boy kept trying. “would you rather stare at the mud on the floor for the rest of your life?!” jhin considers it impassively. maybe. if it meant that he would not have to endure such meaningless brutality.

his silence had only made the young prince more angry. it was clear that he was lashing out on the servants in his already foul mood, but jhin had made things worse. he did not care much, but the foot on the back of his head was starting to hurt and he could not fall asleep in this position. he grunted, and finally, the prince moved away, satisfied in what he thought to be power over him. jhin would not let him have that pleasure. with his arm stuck up in a way that he knew would cause the boy to fall, or at least trip, he waited, head up to see that it was fulfilled. it worked and the prince stumbled, and jhin had to stop himself from breaking out into fits of laughter at how stupid he looked— the realisation, shock and anger clear on his features. there was a moment where he seemed consumed by rage, like he was going to turn on his heel and finish the job, crack jhin���s head open on the marble floors. instead, he did something that left jhin confused— he spoke again, before walking away.

“this one!”

before he could gather his thoughts and catch his breath, jhin was pulled back up onto his feet roughly and dragged into yet another room with no explanation.

it was certain that this would be his life now. here, fallen from grace and stripped of glory, he was but a servant. it would take awhile for him to realise the weight rags could carry. until then, he would continue to suffer, retaliate in his silly pride, before that was taken from him, too.

[crystalizedcuteness-blog]

Shuriman Jhin X Guardian of the Sands Skarner

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship! (Accepting!)

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - As long as both live, and provided neither of them do anything that counteracts the other’s beliefs, there isn’t any reason why a relationship would come to an end.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - A relationship would take time to develop between these two. Khada’s mysterious, and Skarner is untrusting of anyone Shuriman who was not from Shurima’s past. The longer the two cooperate for Shurima’s benefit, the more Skarner grows to trust the woman. On one of her escort missions, Skarner almost fails, partially because of Khada wandering off and away from her protector. After an ambush, Skarner becomes emotional, yelling at her charge, on the verge of tears. It’s at that moment she realizes what Khada’s come to mean to her, and then-

How was their first kiss? - It’s an emotional, angry kiss, but it’s sincere, and lasts surprisingly long. At the end of it, Skarner backs away, face aflame, inconsolable if and when Khada reciprocates.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Skarner. She was anxious about doing so, especially given the culture of old Shurima, but after a long ammount of consideration, she decided, for once, that the old laws needed to be changed, and proposed to Khada on a moonlit desert night.

Who is the best man/men? - Nasus

Who is the bride’s maid(s)? - 

Who did the most planning? - Khada

Who stressed the most? - Skarner. Until the words ‘I do’ passed her lips, she was a nervous wreck . . . especially since the Emperor himself officiated the wedding for his loyal head of guard.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. You obviously don’t know how elaborate Shuriman weddings can be.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Xerath, for obvious reasons that all present agreed upon.

Sex:

Who is on top? - The strong scorpion girl who has a remarkable sex drive once she discovers it.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Skarner. She often has to drag Khada away from the damned book and literally tie her wife to the bed. It’s mutual, though.

How healthy is their sex life? - Plenty intimate and frequent, even when sex strays away from a vanilla standpoint.Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - A good half hour at the least, if not much more. If you have enough endurance to cross a desert, you’ve got the endurance to last a while when making love.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Yes

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - Plenty, when their duties don’t interfere.No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - None, for biological reasons.

How many children will they adopt? - One, a sandy haired girl found wandering the desert during Skarner’s patrols. She wastes no time bringing her home and demanding that they take care of her. Her name is Clara.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - N/A

Who is the stricter parent? - Skarner.

Who stops the kid from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Khada. Skarner’s all for her daughter being adventurous and dangerous.

Who remembers to pack the lunch? - Skarner.

Who is the more loved parent? - Equal love is split between both parents.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? N/A

Who cried the most at graduation? - N/A

Who is more likely to bail the child out of trouble with the law? - Khada. 

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - They take turns, but mostly Skarner.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Khada. Skarner eats almost anything, including things she really shouldn’t eat in the first place.

Who does the grocery shopping? - If you mean hunting, then Skarner. If you mean marketplace shopping, Khada.

How often do they bake desserts? - Not very often, though they both enjoy the occasional sweet.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Skarner is the carnivore, Khada is the herbivore.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Khada. Skarner just enjoys meals for the time spent together.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Skarner, to get Khada out of the damn house more.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Skarner. She could get angry at the fire.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Khada. Skarner causes most of the messes accidentally with her stinger and claws knocking into everything.

Who is really against chores? - Neither, they both understand it’s a necessity.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Neither, they don’t own a pet.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Skarner, but she probably wouldn’t.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Skarner, because guests are most likely to be higher-ups, since other people below their station coming to visit is highly unlikely.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Khada, she found an old Shuriman coin and gave it to Skarner. It made her very, very happy.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Both take frequent baths, as often as they can. It’s a luxury they both have access to and take full advantage of.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Neither, they don’t own a dog. They’re afraid owning a jackal would offend Nasus.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - No.

What are their goals for the relationship? - The biggest goal for either of them, ironically, don’t have to do with their relationship. The more Shurima flourishes, the more their own partnership does as well.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Khada.

Who plays the most pranks? - Skarner. She enjoys being a brat every once in a while, but nothing too serious.

[bladesurgence]

how about that vladimir & jhin ;0

MUSE/MUSE HEADCANONS.

It’s tragic how Noxian court life is so dull and serious that when you get someone whose schtick is ‘art and death’ coming in for an audience, normally Vladimir would wave his hand and say ‘next,’ he’s actually interested because at least this renowned killer puts on a show before getting the job done! So Vlad make sure to get a good seat for this, he’s basically thinking ‘okay, this is my kind of entertainment, don’t screw it up.’

Jhin knows good theater - Vlad would like to, but there’s little good theater outside the capital, so Vlad always takes him up on his offers. Not surprisingly, they’re almost always tragedies or grotesque comedies.

They talk a lot about the ephemeral state of life - Jhin because he considers himself a self-taught expert on the subject, Vlad because he just finds the words running out of his mouth after a long day of little to talk about in court. Vlad tells Jhin about the line of succession for hemomancers. Jhin asks if it’s a private ceremony, or if he can be there to watch.

Vlad tells him he’ll have to live long enough to get the chance.