#kisindian

Got a commission of my gal from the lovely @kisindiaan​

kisindian replied to your photoset “When you gotta design champion outfits for another ask again :V”

Jhin and Taliyah ��������

i’d buy that skin under a second

Thank you Riot for this gift, now pls give us Illaoi bc as much as I love Jhin with all my heart, she has waited much longer for a skin,,, Btw I’m totally cosplaying this skin 

Adhsdkjfhsdf, I swear because of you I can’t unsee Jhin’s about any other way but your’s ntm he’s pretty fun to draw-

Drabble Time | Accepting

Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

Leave a “Remember Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify.]

He couldn’t see. Blood vessels in his eyes had popped from the trauma caused by his own rapid breathing behind a tight-fitting mask. There was a smell when she peeled it off his face, resorting to cutting the expensive eel-leather away. There were spots on his reddened face from the denied oxygen. A few moments longer and he would have suffocated, surely.

Would that have been it? Would that have been the better end than this? He couldn’t see anything but the stage light above them. It was too bright. The light was hot and piercing. There was a time, to him, it was the sun. It made him live. Now? A light was but a light. Curtains were but curtains. The poetry was missing. The magic was gone.

His eyes felt full of broken glass. It hurt to blink. It hurt to try and focus on her.

Her. He remembers her face. Even without seeing, the memory lingers of soft, round features. Too precious. Too perfect. No slight lean in her nose, no beauty mark at her lip. Nothing to off-set her. A rare peloric blossom growing in the garden of humanity.

How sweet the dream had been to pluck her from her little flowerbox of a stage. Crush her petals before the screaming masses. Watch the nectar that would feed those butterflies drip to the floor from his own hands, shimmering and smokey as she fades. She’d bleed honey. He imagined the taste. He was so sure...

Now? Now it’s all but a perversion of thought. The memories terrify him. Sona’s face comes into focus through the blood and the tears and the cracks in his eyes, and for the first time in his life he knows fear. She’s like an angel; painted and pretty, yet the truth behind her chapel ceiling visage is one of glory and wings and sights unworthy or fathomable to the normal human mind. He trembles. The shock has robbed him of any other function but thought and labored gurgles.

The story is very different from where Sona sits, leaning over the broken and twitching body of the one people once called a demon. She’s also trembling, but not because of him directly. Only his actions. The audience had cleared, running for their lives. Their screams and cries echoed distant and frantic, calling for the guards.

The guards were dead. The screaming continued. Sona was alone.

She couldn’t save anyone. They had all come here to relax and enjoy her music. They trusted her. With their very hearts and minds they trusted her, and now they were gone...

How could he?

<How could you...!?>

Jhin no longer knew the answer. Like his sight, the knowledge had deteriorated. He was different. The Etwahl did not have the power to completely re-wire the human mind and heart permanently, but with the right sequence of chords it could open certain doors. Send mana down certain veins of the heart. Some called it “enlightenment”. Jhin didn’t know for sure either way, but he was different. Not “fixed”, not “healed”, but... not the same.