#singlethread au

Closed starter for @a-former-spellthief

Azir has seen a lot of wonderful things since he left Shurima behind from the shining night skyline of Piltover to the endless snowy plains of the Freljords. As someone who spent almost the entirety of his life in a scorching desert, he found beauty in most of them.

Rainstorm, however, were one of the things that he just absolute can’t stand.

He hurries along the woodland path - he at least hopes it’s a path - and prays to every deity that comes to his mind that it will lead somewhere dry.

The dark, foreboding mansion at the end of the path is a real godsend. He hastens his steps and throws his weight against the heavy doors with urgency. He can deal with anything that might dwell inside, his immediate priority is to get out of the rain.

Dripping water with every step, he walks to the center of the apparently abandoned hall, listening for any hints of possible occupants, but he can’t hear anything over the sound of the storm.

It has been exactly three months since the funeral, and Lux has still not figured out how to get anyone’s attention.

Aside from a few instances of moderately disturbing the pipes and making a lamplight flicker, she may as well have not been in the house at all, for the impact she could have on its inhabitants. It wasn’t working up to be a pleasant existence- she’d lost count of the amount of times she’d walked in on her mother crying, or noticed the effort it took Garen not to pause outside her room. Eventually, she decides it’s more bearable not to try to get their attention at all- she can’t figure out how to become visible again, can’t make a sound, couldn’t even pass the threshold to attend her own funeral and, so far, the gloom over the Estate has yet to pass. Of course, that much makes sense- the traditional mourning period for parents losing a child could stretch on for a year. It’s just that she really, really wishes she didn’t have to see it.

Maybe a different kind of person could have found some satisfaction in how they were mourned, but it all just makes Lux sad.

The doorknob clicks again, and Lux jolts to awareness, not quite able to sleep nowadays but lately having discovered a way to calm down and tune the world out. To turn off, almost.

She moves, shifts, and lays in wait just past the threshold, hiding although she knows, if past experience serves true, she won’t be seen. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to. She’d love to figure out how to manifest (and, if she had, chances are she wouldn’t be here- she’d have gone straight to Lucian’s door to put an end to the nightmare), but several months have passed without progress on that front.

a-former-spellthief:

It’s perfect.

Everything is absolutely perfect- she isn’t quite as sure, about the ceremony or the flowers or how well her mother is stage-managing their poor, overburdened photographer, but none of that means anything when she has the only thing she thought she wouldn’t be able to have at any possible wedding.

She squeezes his hand right back and giggles, grinning so widely that she’s sure her lips should hurt. “You’ve done wonderfully,” She reassures, stealing a glance down towards the floor. “…perhaps we should switch shoes.” Lux jokes, “Yours look much more comfortable.”

She wags one dainty heel under the table, though neither of them can see it past the large, fussy dress, and nudges him a tiny bit before leaning over to steal a kiss. It’s the perfect arrangement for that, anyway- as is typical for the festivity, they’re seated separately from the unending crowd of guests, at a small table meant for two, side by side. The purpose is for guests to approach periodically throughout the reception, wishing good will and adding gifts to the impressive pile behind the newlyweds.

There really is no way they’ll find use for half the presents- but this is what happens, when one invites three hundred people.

Shirou tries to peer at Lux’s shoes, but of course the dress is just ever so slightly in the way. He’s sure he’ll see eventually, of course. And isn’t that a thought.

He cups her cheek the moment she leans forward, making the stolen kiss a few seconds longer than Lux may have originally intended. They are married now, after all--if there’s a better time to lengthen a kiss with a lovely, sweet woman, he’d love to know. Distantly, Shirou hears someone cheer the kiss. Hard as it may be, he ignores that.

...Mostly. Shirou can’t help but crack one eye open to look out into the crowd for just a moment, trying to see where the sound is coming from. Not that he would recognize whoever it is if he did spot them, but that’s beside the point. 

Eventually, he draws away, glancing instead behind himself at the mass of gifts piled up. Part of him is more than a little concerned that it will topple over and crush them both, though he’s sure this is a foolish worry. Still.

The first 3 People to send me “Temporary Engagement” will be married to My Muse for the next 3 days. 3/3

This is all quite nice. Unexpected, of course--who would have predicted a union between a funerary priest and... whatever it is Jax does?--but nice. The Gatekeeper’s humble home seems brighter now than it once was, warmed by a sound barely heard within its walls in a decade: laughter.

Drowsy and silly from the small feast he had made for them both, Shirou falls sideways against his new husband, half inclined to simply fall asleep then and there. He shuts his eyes, murmuring wordlessly as he tucks himself under Jax’s arm. Really, the Grandmaster is far more comfortable than he has any right to be.

The first 3 People to send me “Temporary Engagement” will be married to My Muse for the next 3 days. 2/3

It's a quiet affair with neither pomp nor circumstance, just the two of them and a rather tired judge sitting behind a desk. Shirou certainly isn’t about to complain about that, or about the fact that their first act as a married couple is to have an unassuming lunch at an unassuming cafe in an unassuming part of town. 

For one thing, the tea at this particular cafe is quite lovely.

If Shirou is honest with himself, being a married man feels hardly different from being a bachelor--the only real change that he can pinpoint is the calm sense of companionship between himself and the reserved woman he’s just eloped. And, really, that suits him just fine. The silences between them are far from uncomfortable; as a matter of fact, he finds them rather soothing.

The first 3 People to send me “Temporary Engagement” will be married to My Muse for the next 3 days. 1/3

Shirou fidgets, feeling terribly out of place and exposed as he walks towards the officiate, even though his Demacian costume covers his body just as well as his priestly garments. Something, he thinks, to do with the fact that he appears to be the only Ionian in a frankly massive crowd of bemused faces. (In his defense, he had tried to invite the few friends he has, but none of them had the time or inclination to travel all the way to Demacia for a single day.) 

It’s a nice ceremony, he’ll admit that much. It’s just incredibly strange. And large. And... a little itchy, if he’s honest with himself. 

As he nears the end of the chamber, Shirou finds himself craning his neck upwards to try and look--of all people--his future brother-in-law in the eye. The elder Crownguard gives a small, reassuring nod, which really doesn’t do very much to quell the nervousness churning in Shirou’s stomach.

A quiet gasp echoes through the chamber, and Shirou turns to see his--his bride. Immediately, he understands.

Lux is resplendent in white and gold, looking for all the world like a heavenly being come down to walk among mortals. Shirou puts a hand to his heart as he watches her walk towards him, entranced. Either from natural light reflected on the pale lace, from her own magic, or both, she quite literally glows. 

Though he’s rather ashamed to admit it, most of the rest of the ceremony is an absolute blur, cast into shadow by his wife’s brilliance. Shirou doesn’t quite regain his senses until well into the reception, whereupon he is once again struck with the realization of just how much he sticks out in the crowd, and not even because of his status as the groom. 

((why do we do this to ourselves))

@thedanceofblades

On the day she wakes up with mere hours remaining on her timer, Lux is in Demacia, and she counts her blessings that she is. The blinking digits had always become a subject of anxiety, in all her time as an infiltrator- would she be matched with someone at a distance? With an enemy? With, god forbid, a Noxian? No possibility could be overlooked and, though the Crownguard knows (has long known) that marriage has nothing to do with soulmates, for someone of her stature, she had silently hoped for all these years that at least, at the very minimum, it would be a Demacian.

She wakes that morning and dresses like a noble, takes cares to choose her jewelry, and even fixes her hair without any band to hold it back.

And, not minutes after she is dressed and ready to leave the house, she receives a messenger from Jarvan. Not from the Palace, not from the Crown, but the Prince himself. Something urgent, something he knows she has the tact to be trusted with.

She undresses, discards the jewels, and wears her armor there instead. She is flattered, but even more surprised when the timer neither stalls nor rewinds on her journey to the Palace. It’s the oddest thing- but she thinks, perhaps, her visit will be short.

It isn’t short.

After a long, rambling explanation and many warning signs of the Prince attempting desperately to win her confidence in something that is sure to be insane, he pulls open the door to his own chambers and reveals a shockingly familiar face.

Well, the face is less familiar than the scar, but still.

A faint glow, peeking out below her gauntlet, interrupts her shock. She remembers sneaking glances at the timer on the way in, and a clock on the wall seems to indicate--

Oh no.

No, no, no.