#blazesworn

✮ — “Miss you? Mmm...” Ezreal walks with a bit of swagger, a bit of sway. It’s been a while since he was aboard the Morning Star, and though he can get attention just about everywhere he goes, there’s something special in the way Yasuo looks at him. Ezreal’s been gone for a while, working on commissions, and even after upgrading his ship (now safely attached to the Morning Star’s rigging), he’s got a bit left over. He’s feeling pretty good. 

     Ezreal drags his fingers along the windowsill as he strides closer, lashes low and suggestive as he watches Yasuo. They’ve known each other for a while now, and though they’ve spend just as much time together as apart, there’s something between them that’s unique. Ezreal trusts Yasuo, and he can’t say that for anyone else in the galaxy. Not really. When they first met, Ezreal had been guarded, serious, often prickly, but the more time they spent together the easier Ezreal found it to open up and show off facets of his personality he’d almost forgotten about. 

     Drawing close now, Ezreal’s fingers graze up his sides, over his back, and back down his spine to rest against Yasuo’s tailbone. But when Ezreal tips his chin up to meet Yasuo’s gaze, his suggestive expression is gone, replaced with a goofy sort of pout—not so dissimilar to the face he makes when he demands a kiss. “Mmm.” The other arm loops around Yasuo’s waist and pulls them flush together. “Yes.”

“Battle is no performance,” Irelia corrects him. “Dancing with ribbons and dancing with blades are two different forms of art... and you will never convince me to bring my family’s steps to your baleful pits.”

As if to further push her point, Irelia places a hand on the hilt of her blade, end pointed downwards, shielding them from Sett. He's wearing that toothy grin again, the one that would appear in her dreams every now and then. What an inconvenience.

“With you to give me strength, I know we have the power to do so.”

He lies with his hands behind his head, sharing a pillow with Syndra and watching the light from a candle flicker along the ceiling. He feels the warmth of her palm against his sweat-slicked face, how it juxtaposes with the coolness of the evaporating moisture. It sends a small tingle down his side.

“I know you would reshape the land in your own image. It will look nothing like it was when you first beheld it.”

Zed moves a hand over to smooth her hair, fingers losing themselves in her white locks. A small thought breaks through his idleness, like a ripple on the water’s surface.

The words uttered from above her are like the pitter-patter of rain on the rooftops in the evening.

Irelia turns around in time to catch a green-clad figure alight from the trees and landing with a softness that matches leaves in autumn. Her blades seem to almost vibrate in the air with excitement. She looks at Akali, then to the tree from which she has leapt, and then back to her, before walking up to her and - after a moment’s pause, where the grin on Irelia’s face says it all - enclosing her in a tight embrace.

“You’re back, Kali,” she mutters, her lips stamped into the crook of her shoulder. The familiar warmth rushes into Irelia’s body like a furnace coming to life as it burns with coal. She remembers the odds and ends of Akali’s body, every scar and ridge, like the earth remembers the valleys and hills that dot its landscape.

She has grown too fond of these memories to ever let them go.