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@ionianwanderer continued from x

✮ — When you're this talented, it's all too easy. When Ezreal disappears, it gives him a nice head start back towards the Crimson Cobalt, which gives him a head start to getting off this overgrown meteorite of a planet. The Morning Star crew made this heist almost too easy, though that's not to say that they aren't good at what they do. It's just that Ezreal's better.

It looks like a dust storm's picking up as he darts out of the cave and over towards where he left his ship, so that'll help cover his escape. Hoisting himself into the ship, Ezreal dashes to the control panel and flips everything to on with the finesse of someone who has made a lot of getaways in his life. "P.E.A.R.L., we've gotta get out of here. Quickly and quietly."

Did you get what you came here for, Ezreal?

"Obviously." He pulls the elixir out of his pocket and waves it in her general direction, then places it on the control panel like a souvenir. "And I've got someone who'll pay handsomely for your retical upgrade, so you'll be able to see my pretty face clearly again. But we've gotta go. Now."

On it.

With a roar, the ship comes to life, launching itself into the atmosphere with Ezreal at the controls, flipping on all his scanners to watch for pursuit. He's certain that the Morning Star will follow him — it's only a matter of how quickly and how aggressively. Right now, Ezreal's most concerned with putting as much distance between himself and his pursuit as possible.

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I've been having a really hard time writing recently, and I feel like my plot ideas are getting stale, so I present: a wishlist of plot ideas + verses for new threads

pulsefire + stealing something that isn't his and trying to justify it to a witness. bonus points if it belongs to the witness and it's either very important or absolute junk

pulsefire + ezreal visiting someone he knew in his timeline who died. generally just acting very mournful about it. bonus points if that person knows a younger, happier ezreal in their universe

odyssey + discussing a commission before he leaves on it or after he returns (I'm not smart enough to write travelling together threads rn). bascially we just make up random odyssey jargon and ezreal tries to get as much money as he can out of it

odyssey + someone else on his ship. he has to help them (maybe they're injured?) but he's obviously not used to having other people around. P.E.A.R.L. provides the banter

star guardian + one of the members of his team chewing him out for always showing up late to battle, acting irresponsibly, and putting everyone at risk. ezreal feels very sorry for himself and not sorry for his actions

debonair + someone investigating the mysterious murders that seem to orbit him? ezreal is very charming but also a little threatening

h.eartsteel + ezreal having an angst moment. maybe asking someone for advice. basically struggling to get out of his parents' shadow

any verse + platonic, rival, familial relationships! I'm so burned out on romance but ezreal is really. like that

I also really want to write mainverse but I have. literally no ideas at all GAH. if you have anything you want to explore just send me a message, I'm like. spinning my wheels over here

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⋆ — He's stunned, that much is clear to anyone looking at him. Ezreal has seen death before, of course. He's even been the (indirect) cause of it a few times, though one would be hard pressed to pry that information from him. That doesn't mean he's used to it, though. Those blue eyes are a little too wide, and his body too shocked to wipe the blood from his cheek before Lacey can get to it. She smears it down his cheek and Ezreal's lips part like he's about to protest, but he can't find the words.

Ezreal has tasted blood before, of course — sucking poison from a snakebite or biting his lip during a fall — but somehow he thinks that's not what Lacey's asking. There's a vague sense of warning, a primal sort of fear in the back of his mind like a muffled bell, but he can't bring himself to listen to it when she's cupping his face and staring at him like she'd like to eat him.

He doesn't know how literal that is. Doesn't know anything beyond the instinct to hide away from this. If he can't deny it outright, the way he did when Piltover finally declared his parents Presumed Deceased, then he wants to run from it. Glorify it in his journals or drown it in alcohol and company. He's so pliant when Lacey kisses him — if it can be called that — his body bloodless and obedient even as a soft sound of pleasure escapes his throat.

Take me away from here, Ezreal's body seems to say as his eyes flutter closed and his fingers find a loose purchase on her hips. I want to forget.

Even when Lacey pulls away, Ezreal keeps his eyes closed, a slight crease between his brows betraying his discomfort, with dots of blood hiding amongst his freckles. He wants to forget this scene, forget everything that lead up to their kiss, wants to lose himself in it. So when she sinks her teeth into his lip, he barely protests. A whine of surprise, petering into a whimper at the sharp bloom of pain. It doesn't take knowing Ezreal long to know he doesn't like pain beyond a few scratches down his back at opportune times, so this is far beyond his usual tolerance. He allows it, though, because it makes the image behind his eyelids bloom and burn away.

His back stiffens and his fingers grip her a little tighter, but for once he doesn't shy away from the pain. Just this once, it comes wrapped in comfort.

@essence-flux-primed : 43. A bloody kiss

his face says more than words ever could : he's uncomfortable, he's not accustomed to so much blood. it's understandable, but she cannot help but grin at the sight of the flecks upon his cheek. " you have a little something-- " no time to respond. her hand immediately lifts to the droplets and wipes them down, smearing blood over the corner of his mouth. just the smell of it is enough for her senses to overload, and now the look of it upon her companion's perfect mouth--

" have you ever tasted it? " she hums, not caring for an answer. the beast inside her has locked onto its prey; there is no cessation of the hunger that takes over. in a room filled with blood spatter, only this one smear calls to her: is it because it sits upon mortal flesh, taints the blushed skin of the living? the echo of a drumbeat pounds in her chest, still, yet filled with wanting. her eyes focus on the smear, leaning in for just a taste.

closer.

closer.

her lips clamp down upon his, immediately sucking at them without thought for social consequence. he is merely mortal, and she... something else. in her bestial hunger there is no need for a name for what she is. animal, demon, woman. the tingle on her lips as the blood presses to it forces the rest of her body closer, hands clasping around the man's neck and jaw.

she opens her mouth to reveal her ravenous tongue, licking over the blood smeared on his lips as though it were her reason to be. she continues to try to lick and suck at it, consuming what little there was to start with. but once gone, it is still not quite enough.

her eyes, red with ferocity, open to look at him.

" please, " her humanity whispers, no air behind the words to make a sound.

lacey does not wait. her teeth surround his lower lip and she bites -- with no aid from any fangs, it takes more pressure to rip the skin than any animal could. a pang of guilt courses through her: not for what she craves, but for damaging him so coarsely. it matters not. once the first drip of blood spills across her tongue she is lost in it, lapping it up like a parched stray.

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kiss roulette

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss

A bloody kiss

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name: EZREAL age: early 20s criminal record: brief fame status: failed industry plant, one-hit wonder

Ezreal always knew he was destined for greatness, and that's not only because his celebrity parents were determined to make it so. Born to the illustrious Hannah and Carlisle Hall, Ezreal had plenty of opportunities to make it big. His youth was spent acting for small parts and singing covers of love songs, with plenty of red carpet appearances alongside his parents. With such influential and skilled parents, everyone thought it was only a matter of time before they succeeded in making their son famous, too. But something went awry.

In his teens, Ezreal was marketed as a heartthrob, singing sticky-sweet love songs that were supposed to capture the hearts of his audience. They did, for a while, but his songs started to feel flat and repetitive, and his fans became disillusioned. His popularity dwindled, and the fame he'd gathered turned sour — the persona he'd build up became the subject of mockery online, and the fans that remained were mocked for their taste.

As Ezreal's fame started to plummet, the rumour mill started to spin. Rumours of trespassing, drunken shenanigans, and wild parties painted a picture of a troubled youth that didn't match his cheerful attitude in interviews. Behind the scenes, Ezreal was drowning. Between his parents and the record label they signed him to, Ezreal had almost no creative control over his own songs and image. In a desperate bid to regain control, Ezreal begged to be able to make just one song. You're My Museum was an instant hit, played to death on pop radio stations, and Ezreal thought it meant an end to being constrained, an admission that he is capable of making successful music. But when the highly anticipated album came out, the music was bland and sanitized. Somewhere along the line, Ezreal's fame had plateaued, and no one could tell if it was Ezreal's failure, or the label's. Ezreal feared it was both.

Cut from the label without a thought, Ezreal realised he had no idea how to be successful without having someone guide him at each step. As he left the building, stunned, a group of paparazzi got in his way, asking pointed questions about the rumours and about his flop of an album. Were it not for the help of a fellow industry reject, Sett, that run-in would have been much worse. After escaping, the two of them started talking, and their creative chemistry took off.

After a life of being controlled, of being hyper-aware of how his every move would reflect back on his parents, Ezreal now finds himself in full control of his destiny. It's as exhilarating as he imagined it would be, but it's also terrifying. Now, if he fails, he only has himself to blame.

trivia:

Anyone who knows Ezreal knows he loves fast cars. He has a white Corvette Stingray that he adores, but he really wants to get a vintage car to drive around. One day, Ezreal.

Despite being known for his sterilized pop music, Ezreal prefers pop punk, rock, and folk music. (H.EARTSTEEL is a pop punk band and no one can change my mind 💜)

When he's not making music with H.EARTSTEEL, Ezreal is experimenting with sound on his own, making singles, shooting his own music videos, and livestreaming a lot while he tries to figure out his own style.

He's got a budding alcohol problem, but he hides it well in a very genuine party boy persona. Don't worry about it.

sound profile: one on one - Virginia to Vegas, Fluids - Michael Medrano, Knock Yourself Out - Porter Robinson, Love Drunk - Boys Like Girls

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if yall see me emptying all my drafts on all my blogs, no you don't.

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predebut photo

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they are canceling me for the way i deal with grief. also, for the infinite number of destroyed universes

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your muse + you !! use the picrew (in link) to create your muse and yourself <3

tagged by: @decaeys (I wanted to do it on ezreal too) tagging: whoever hasn't done it!! I want to see!!

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Hugs over time

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anyways, I have a verse page now, too

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⋆ — Ezreal's used to people not listening when he talks. It's kind of how his life has gone so far, usually to their detriment. He only stops when Silco cuts him off, the words familiar enough to remind him of his uncle and sharp enough to make him reflexively clamp his mouth shut. He's petty enough, too, that when Silco's eyes catch on the object he holds, lighting with interest, Ezreal finds he no longer wants to share. Suddenly sullen, Ezreal forces his voice to its previous lightness. "Oh, this?" He asks airily, holding the object aloft like he only just remembered its existence. "Nothing, really. You're obviously busy, so this little, uh, knick-knack of cultural significance obviously isn't important."

he stared at the document in his hand as the boy prattled on, not catching a word he was saying, but becoming increasingly aware of his presence all the same. he set the paper on his desk and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. his other hand reaching for a drink. ❛ for the last time… ❜ he pauses, glancing to the young man. ❛ i’ve told you more than enough times. do not interrupt me while i’m working, boy… ❜ catching a glimpse of the object he holds in his hand, curiosity lights in his eyes. ❛ hn…? what is that? ❜

starter call. selectively accepting, @essence-flux-primed

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sobs in old lore

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he drives me up the fucking wall

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guys I just remembered I made tags finally

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⋆ — He's proud of the suit, obviously, and he's trying to channel all of the fear he feels underneath it into just that — pride, charisma, charm, all the things that Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer, is known for. He's not nervous, of course, and more than that, he's definitely not scared. "Oh, makeup?" He's seen plenty of it — everywhere he travels seems to have some version of it, whether it's to cover up blemishes, accentuate the lines of the face, or completely mask the identity of the wearer, it's pretty ubiquitous. Ezreal's never got into it himself because, well, why would you want to cover such a gorgeous face? But in this instance? Anything to make him less recognizable seems like a plus. "Sure, yeah. You can show me the ropes."

But he's distracted, and it shows in the way he doesn't look at her until the responds, and Ezreal holds her gaze until the pause is too long (read: too long for Ezreal). "Right. In passing." Tellingly, his hand rises of its own accord to rub the back of his neck, nervous. "Yeah, me too."

The fact that Caitlyn knows about them is both reassuring and not. If she knows about them, she can look out for him, even at a distance. But the fact that she knows about them indicates that they're worth knowing about. Which does little to assuage Ezreal's fears. "So, years ago," his hand waves vaguely to indicate the passing of time, "I was in Noxus to meet a contact and she never showed up. I was just killing time outside the Immortal Bastion when this shady guy showed up and gave me a petal. Black, of course." His eyes lift to Caitlyn, nervous blues that seem to shave ten years off his age. "I left, after that. But I kept finding petals in my bag until I was well clear of the place."

A sigh. The story still makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It's one he's never published, only written down in his personal journal. He doesn't like it because it makes him look weak. More than that, it makes him feel weak. "I figured... if they're inviting me this time, I can't really say no."

Things have been busy in the leadup to and her actual retirement. Moving to the countryside had been something of a necessity. There had been uproar, there had been mourning, there had been a concerted effort to induct her into Parliament, there had even been - gods help her - the Ministry's decision to turn her old apartment turned into a museum. Living people shouldn't get museums dedicated to themselves, good grief.

She appreciates that there are plenty of people who aren't treating her like she's died, even if she does get sad looks when people overcorrect from calling her 'sheriff'. The impossible has happened, she has retired, and she is not troubled by it. She is still Caitlyn Huxley, and always will be. So here she is, her new west Bannerstone home mostly unpacked and settled in to, entertaining a very irregular guest.

"You look stunning," she reassures Ezreal, as she finishes refilling their glasses. The cider was a gift from her brother, and she intends to share it with as many people as possible (she's not going to drink three kegs all by herself). "If you would like, I think a little makeup would go a long way to helping you blend in. I would be happy to help out." He's nervous, and it has little to do with the nation-state he's bound for. She almost thinks she's figured out why when his whisper interrupts his calm, an ice-pick directly through to some old conversations set aside at the very back of her mind.

Her face is very, very carefully neutral. Perhaps too neutral, given how she'd been smiling warmly a moment before. She holds out his cider glass to him, and takes a long draught of hers. "In passing," she says, with deliberate care. Passing? No-one hears about the Rose in passing. It is a closely-guarded secret, a riddle wrapped in riddles and re-written histories and outright lies and then twined all around itself again and again like an oroboros. There is no 'in passing' when it comes to the Black Rose. But the sheriff - beg pardon, former sheriff - has known an awful lot of people, and an awful lot of secrets.

Gods help him. Does Ezreal realise the danger he's in?