#luxannae

@prodigal-ezreal :  Younger sister, no one can stay mad at her for long, that’s younger sibling privilege

@luxannae :  Both is good.

@lady-crownguard :  Let her be both 👏👏👏

@proper-balance :  i can see her being both

@lux--reincarnate: yes

first five(?) get kissed!

⋆ — “You really saved me back there.”  He admits, still hovering off the ground though the battle has already passed. Many of the others have started their journey home, and those that have not yet are about to. Jinx is already long gone, off on her own adventure (Ezreal watched her go with an odd sense of longing). Still, Ezreal feels like he cannot leave without proper thanks. He scratches one of his (alarmingly blue) eyebrows. “I thought we were dead. I thought I was dead. It was ... I froze up, and if you hadn’t jumped in, I really would be.”

     And—he really hates saying it, but sometimes it has to be done. “I owe you one.  Next time? I’ve got your back.”

     “It was nothing, Ezr—” She starts to say, but Ezreal holds up a finger to silence her. 

     “This is already hard enough on my pride, so don’t say it’s nothing. Please. Defending some guy who you barely know from a gigantic void-beast isn’t nothing, Lux.” And he looks at her then, really looks at her. “Nothing you do is nothing. The First Star chose you for a reason; I can feel it.” Lux looks for a moment like she’s going to protest before Ezreal points that finger at her again. “No, I mean it. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything coming from the new guy, but ... I think you’re going to change things. Things that Ahri can’t.” He smiles, like they’re sharing some great secret. “Don’t tell her I said that.” 

     And then she calls, from somewhere higher up, “Ezreal! Let’s move!” and he flinches like a tardy student caught creeping through the hallways.

     “That’s my cue,” he says, already rising further off the alien ground. “Will I see you again?”

     “If you answer the call, you’ll see me,” she responds, so matter-of-factly that Ezreal raises a brow before he realises the call means the First Star’s call and not ... anyway. 

DONT TELL GAREN.

       first rule of interacting w/ eve :  don’t give her the power of blackmail

meme. l accepting.

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance  pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

      𝓓𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼  put a bad taste in her mouth , but after all these years , mere bitterness is not enough to spiral her into an unprovoked violence . Instead she bides her time in the cover of darkness , practiced enough to hide away even a vibrancy as blazing as her own when she wants to , and the faerie observes the lone figure that has wandered into her domain .       She witnesses a magic seldom seen even in all her years . A curiosity that cannot be sated , despite being the company of a single young woman , seemingly free to explore as her heart desires . And an aimlessness that rings familiar : Uncertainty where they belong , a doubt to whether they truly have a home to return to .        Empathy is easily offered , but grabbing hold of the Memory Queen’s compassion will take more than that . What is given , however , is enough to soften her voice to some degree . Were there anyone listening who had a point of comparison .

DISHONORED.   ❤  accepting !

           AHRI  loathes when this woman asks too many questions --- and foolish ones at that. Could anyone truly go about their existence without their share of regrets ?  

           Her giggle of delight was silenced by the frigid water, their limbs getting caught up in one another as the force of the waterfall nudged them downstream. There were many things that she’d never even considered adventurous, not even with her insatiable curiosity, that Her Artist egged her into effortlessly. She gasped for air when she resurfaced, eyes searching for and holding his. The fresh, cold spring water was nothing compared to the warmth of his touch, pulling her flush against him as they bobbed just above the surface. 

                 ❛  I cannot be exciting forever. You’ll seek adventure elsewhere.  ❜  A part of her always felt the need to test him, to coax him into saying more of those beautiful turns of phrase --- more, more, more. 

                  ❛   Never.  ❜   He can barely be heard over the roaring water, but she can easily form the words by staring at his lips.  ❛   I’m yours. Always.  ❜

            His fingers still managed to ghost along her skin, water be damned; her giggle of delight was once again silenced, this time by his lips. More, more, more. 

                 ❛   I have many regrets,  ❜   Ahri replies with some difficulty; the woman’s prying gaze forcibly yanks her back to the presence, but her own eyes retain some of their forlorn quality.  ❛   And so will you.  ❜

           She cannot remember what’s transpired this night, and a glance at her surroundings tells her this is a blessing. The air smells of smoke and ash and blood, a repugnant mixture that clings desperately to her hair as if urging her to recall the cause. Her sensitive ears prick upwards as the clash of nearby waves jogs an inkling of her memory --- she ran here, desperate and raw and soaked with her own tears. She cannot remember why. She ventures forward.

           The further she goes, the heavier her steps become. Ahri wishes she could forget what she’s currently seeing as opposed to what’s already been seen; the carnage that litters her path is unending, the likes of which she’s seen rarely in her elongated life. The crashing of the waves draws nearer, the fire at the heart of the village still smolders --- and amidst that chaos, the slightest whimper catches her attention. Her steps grow light and nimble again, seeking out the sounds of a potential survivor, only to slow to a stop near the edge of town. 

           A man lay mere inches from her feet, his body mangled and singed. Blood pools just beneath his chin, and his eyes are lazy as they shift from the sky to her form. As soon as he meets her gaze, his terror taints the air around them; despite the severity of his injuries, despite raising her hands palm-up in assurance, he does everything in his power to inch away from her. 

                  ❛   N-No, no... !  Stay away --- !  ❜   He continues to grunt and plead, his whimpering becoming nearly unbearable. She isn’t sure if she shortens the process for his benefit or hers, kneeling before him as she draws out his essence --- his memories. 

           She remembers.

           She remembers cradling the love of her life in her arms, much more gently than she clings to this man now. She remembers sobbing so hard she feels as if her limbs will give out, her knees threatening to buckle as she stands at the center of a lake. The bottom seems endless, she thinks through her pain and rage, watching as her lover sinks deep below the crystalline surface --- eventually disappearing entirely. She loathes the look of love and awe that still lingers on his lifeless features, mercilessly distorted by the water. She remembers running aimlessly, running as far as her weary legs could take her, all that grief and rage manifesting into the most ravenous hunger she thinks she’s ever felt. She remembers reaching the coastal town, an elderly man resting a hand on her shoulder as he inquires about her welbeing. Does she mistake his concern for something nefarious, or is she simply looking for an outlet for her emotions ?  She doesn’t know. She still doesn’t know. She remembers the sensation of his still-beating heart in her hands, the exquisite emotions as she drew upon more and more of the town’s inhabitants --- more, more, more... ! 

           The man twitches and squirms in her grasp as she sifts to one final memory. Much of it is hazy from smoke and the blood that irritates his eyes. His pain is her pain; his confusion is her confusion. Slowly, a figure emerges from the ash --- Ahri knows it’s her, but still fails to recognize her own form. The confusion in her expression contrasts his palpable terror, and it seems eerie and out of place compared to the rest of her appearance. Her clothes have been reduced to shreds, and blood clings to her like a skin-tight dress. The eerie blue glow of her foxfire still lingers on her fingertips; long nails are cracked and caked with blood and ash. It’s faint, but her tears have left rivulets in the stains that cling to her face. 

           His vision fades, and Ahri is closed forever to his memories. He goes limp in her arms. She clings to him so tightly that her nails break the skin, but she refuses to let go until the sun rises. 

send me a champion and I’ll tell you | accepting.