#shx drabble

[no-shxme]

i felt just terrible last night so i wrote an angsty rhaayn drabble. below the cut.

cw: angst, limited comfort, talking about dying.

“Do you ever think about death?”

“I don't have to think about death,” Rhaast whispers back.

“Oh.” Kayn hums, staring up at the ceiling. “I feel so fucked right now,” he says. 

“I know.” 

“It feels like I'm melting.” Rhaast watches Kayn lift a hand up, hovering weakly over his face in the dark. “Really.”

“In Shurima we would tie our enemies in the dirt and let the sun kill them.” For a moment Rhaast sees his vision flicker, as if maybe Kayns fever-ridden delusions are crossing to him, and the room becomes an ocean of sand, and Kayn is still lying there, all his hair undone underneath him.

“Do you ever think about what they took from you?” Kayn mumbles, more in his head than aloud. He sounds worse and worse. He almost doesn’t sound real.

Rhaast glances up at the sky. It’s wider in the desert, a great opening of blue, bowing to no one. “The sun?” he asks.

“Your death.”

Rhaast looks at him. He's not restrained but he’s still splayed out and motionless, laying on the dune. Rhaast walks over, feet sinking into the hot sand.

“I remember my parents,” Kayn rambles, between ugly breaths. “I told Zed I didn't but I lied. They're specks.”

Rhaast stands over him, blocking out the sun with his body, casting a red shadow. “Specks,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Kayn’s head twists into the sand, so that Rhaast can see the sweat gathered on his neck. “Dots. like stars.” 

“Do you want to get up?

“No.” Kayn coughs a couple times. “I'm thinking about death.”

Rhaast stares down at him. His eyes are closed and his skin is flushed from the heat.

“You’re not going to die,” Rhaast tells him. The room is dark but he can still make out his form, clearer if he squints, frustratingly out of reach. Rhaast is leaned against the wall. He cannot move.

Kayn doesn't answer right away. He clears his throat again, for the umpteenth time, and it sounds like something is breaking in his fragile, mortal lungs. “There's no escaping it,” he says eventually, and the pause has gone on long enough, so Rhaast doesn't know whether he means dying, or the sun, or the stars, but he doesn't want to clarify. He stares down at Kayn—he stares across the room at Kayn, listening to his labored breathing. Rhaast doesn’t want to hear it anymore, it’s like torture. He turns to look at the Shuriman sun and he discovers a part of him is still unchanged. Immortality can’t stop it. He doesn't have to think about death but it happens anyway.

[no-shxme]

i dont think i ever posted this old drabble of sett having a concussion. i'll post it below the cut.

(sfw, hurt/comfort, modern au talsett)

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Sett’s mother lets Talon in. She rubs her hands on her apron, as if she’s about to reach out and shake his hand or something, but then she doesn’t. Talon is grateful. His mouth moves for a few seconds. Finally he nods, curtly.

“He doesn’t know you’re coming,” she tells him. “He’s resting.”

Talon nods. He toes off his shoes. “Oh,” he says, to be clear, in case Sett’s mother wasn’t looking at him. His mouth is dry. He moves past her, down the hall. Sett’s door is closed. Talon doesn’t knock, he just cracks it open. The room is very dark. All the curtains have been pulled closed, turning the afternoon light into dull, sleepy gray. Sett is a lump on the small bed. 

“Sett?” Talon’s voice cracks in the grayness. He clears his throat and tiptoes closer. He never knows how to help in these types of situations. Kat will get sick and she’ll demand water, or ice cream, or for him to leave, go away, or die, and Talon will at least feel useful. He’s never been very good at comforting people. He’s missing that second sense that tells him when to do it, how to do it, or why to do it. Cass will be crying over something and Talon will stand there, awkwardly, and then hours later it will occur to him that maybe he should have hugged her, even if he doesn’t really like hugs.

Anyway Sett doesn’t answer, but the lump on the bed stirs. Talon unzips his jacket and leaves it on the floor. He approaches the bed quietly.

“Sett,” he tries again.

This time Sett mumbles out, “Tal?” He’s got a small blanket folded up over his eyes and he reaches clumsily to push it up. “You’re here?”

“Yes,” Talon says. He doesn’t know what to say. “How’s your head?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Sett mumbles, but he doesn't sound like his usual self. His voice is all airy, floating around the quiet room.

Sett’s bed is small. He’s had the same one since he was little, but Talon is rather small too, so he carefully climbs onto the bed next to him. He’s pressed against Sett’s side and if he moves too much he’ll fall off, so he just won’t move. 

“How much did it hurt?” he asks.

Sett snorts weakly. Talon breaks his resolution and reaches up to pull the blanket back down over his eyes. “Ain’t hurt a bit.”

He leans his head on Sett’s arm. “You’re lying.” Getting punted in the head by a soccer ball has to hurt. It will never not hurt.

Sett laughs, sort of. He sounds tired.

“Glad you’re here,” he mumbles. 

Talon wraps his arms around Sett’s bicep. He would try and pet Sett’s ears, but he doesn’t know how that would affect the rest of his head. He’s had a couple concussions in the past, before he was ever friends with Sett. One had been from falling out a window, another from falling out a tree, and one more from Katarina personally for good measure. For each of them he’d spent his recovery alone in his room, in his very big bed, in the dark, and no one had visited him except his sisters. And Father, who’d checked on him sparingly. But Talon doesn’t really want to think about that. So he lies still next to Sett. Better now that you’re here. He tries to shimmy even closer, tightly pressed against his side. He’s given Talon a way to help, so Talon will do that. He stays with Sett until he falls back asleep.

[no-shxme]

hola! wanna see rhaayn with #5 insomnia🥺

sorry anon i guess it turned out a little different from just h/c. there’s still some there though. hope its okay!  -shxxx

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“I can’t sleep.” 

Rhaast knew it was coming. The human’s been irritating. Tossing and turning and ripping blankets back and forth for over an hour now. Far too noisy for Rhaast’s mood.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he rumbles, sarcastic and sour. 

The boy sounds tired when he sighs. Exasperated too. Even with his evil eye closed Rhaast knows he’s staring at him. He opens his eye and looks back across the dark room. Kayn’s rolled onto his stomach and Rhaast studies the way his cheek presses into the pillow.

“Do you sleep?” It’s an honest question and frankly it surprises him. 

“Not like you do.”

Kayn hums. “What’s it like for you then?” 

Rhaast squints at him. The human does that, asks unimportant questions at the oddest times. For what? He doesn’t understand what Kayn gets out of it. Exhaustion warps the mind, he supposes.

“If I tell you, will you stop making noise?”

The boy hums again in agreement.

Rhaast’s never put into words what it’s like because there’s never been a reason to. No one’s asked and describing it only makes it more real. “Close your eyes.” Quiet thrill echoes through him when Kayn obeys. “Imagine yourself in shadow.”

Kayn’s brow furrows but he doesn’t open his eyes. 

Even as the darkin picks his words he understands that no description will ever truly be enough. “You can’t see anything. You can’t hear anything. You can’t feel anything.” 

Rhaast pauses for a few minutes. No rest for the wicked, he thinks. Proud, bitter.

“You are lifeless, and limbless and floating. And there is nothing else.” Even now, connected with Kayn’s soul, he’s aware of the encroaching emptiness. “And no one else.”

The human is asleep. Rhaast can tell because of how motionless he is, blankets still strewn haphazardly around him. Finally. Now he won’t keep bothering Rhaast with his fidgeting. Oddly enough, Rhaast finds his mood pensive. At what point did Kayn stop listening? No one has ever asked. It’s a strange feeling knowing this insignificant human is the first. Rhaast feels an emotion so rare that he can’t recognize it.

“That is what it’s like for me,” he mutters aloud, quiet so as not to wake Kayn. 

Loud enough to appreciate that he’s still capable of being heard.

[no-shxme]

SettPhel - HandClap by Fitz and The Tantrums - Every night when the stars come out Am I the only living soul around? Need to believe you could hold me down 'Cause I'm in need of something good right now We could be screaming 'til the sun comes out And when we wake, we'd be the only sound Get on my knees and say a prayer, James Brown That I can make your hands clap (But tbh the whole song skxgsjdgsj)

here anon, hope you like. i actually have a lot of fitz songs in my playlists. :^)  

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Aphelios is looking at the moon again. Skin pale, hair shining. Sett settles down next to him in the grass. The ground is wet from an earlier rain and moisture soaks into the seat of his pants but they ain’t silk so he doesn’t care. He’s more interested in the man next to him. 

“Hey Phel.” he curves one big hand around the back of Aphelios’ neck and kisses him when he turns. “What are you thinking about?”

Aphelios’ breath ghosts against his lips when he pulls away. He leans his head on Sett’s broad shoulder, eyes turning back to the moon. “My sister…” he trails off. His voice sounds hoarse, like he hasn’t used it the entire day. Maybe he hasn’t.

Sett rubs his hand up his back soothingly. Unfortunately he doesn’t know what to say. The only person he sugarcoats for is his momma. He presses another gentle kiss to Aphelios’ temple. “What do ya think she’s up to right now?” 

Dark eyes flicker back to him. “Meditating.” He brings his knees to his chest. “Reading.” 

“There’s books up there?” 

Aphelios suddenly laughs. Sett prides himself in being the one to hear it. Whenever he laughs he sounds different. In a good way. “She’s not on the moon.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Sett says, a crooked smile crossing his face.

Aphelios glances at him again. He leans in and they kiss one more time, longer. When they stop Sett’s eyes are smoldering hot. 

“C’mon to bed.” He stands, holding his hand out like an invitation.

Aphelios considers it. He looks back at the night sky and after a long minute finally takes the vastayan’s hand. Sett helps him to his feet. The moon will still be here tomorrow night. There will be plenty of other times to get lost in the moonlight. 

[no-shxme]

“It was too long anyway,” he says to break up the silence. “Easier to fight when it’s shorter.”

Kayn huffs, wordless. Rhaast knows that he’s trying to act unbothered but his attempt is very clearly falling flat. He’s unnaturally quiet, not even answering any of Rhaast’s jabs with his own. The darkin doesn’t particularly understand it. Perhaps he did once, but too much time has passed for him to remember. 

Shieda hands him his shortsword as soon as they reach their campsite. “Fix it.” 

The blade feels awkward in his grip. Nothing like his scythe, but Rhaast understands the practicality. Kayn turns around and he examines the braid. The top half looks fine, but halfway down his shoulders it ends abruptly, the result of a desperate struggle and a hasty decision. Almost a foot of hair chopped off, leaving behind an ugly mess of ends. Rhaast picks apart the braid and it looks even worse. He raises the sword and attempts to tidy up the damage. It’s been eons since he’s had to deal with this kind of thing and the end result is less than expected but still—better than before. 

When Kayn turns back around his eyes are red rimmed and Rhaast doesn’t understand. 

“Quit crying,” he chides. “It’ll grow back.” 

The human scoffs, but he sounds disheartened. Suddenly he lurches forward and buries his face against Rhaast’s chest. That’s something he’ll never tire of. The fascinating way that Kayn reaches for him like a moth reaches for light. Rhaast lets the sword drop to the ground and rubs his back, reveling in the way his fingers scrape against Kayn’s skin. 

“How mortal.” He means it warmly.

 Kayn sighs, low against the darkin’s body. “Rhaast,” he speaks up. “Haven’t you ever felt sad because of no other reason except you had something—and now you don’t?”

Rhaast thinks about that as they settle down against the side of a fallen log. He’s very familiar with the concept of losing things. But it’s not the same.

“Not sad,” he finally decides. “Angry.” 

Kayn’s practically on top of him, draped over his lap and picking apart blades of grass. His—now drastically shorter—hair falls across his back and Rhaast twists it between his fingers. Valoran summers are tiring. Sticky and hazy and alive with the chirping of bugs. As if a spell is spread by daylight that makes the whole world heavy-eyed and soft.

“I did kill them,” he reassures as an afterthought. It’d felt good to stamp their faces into the mud. Felt the always-satisfying crack as they broke.

Kayn splits a leaf in two with his fingernails. “You’d better have.”

Rhaast doesn’t know how to answer that. Kayn had been there. He’d seen the fools die. 

No other reason except you had something. And now you don’t. Rhaast repeats those words in his head. Even with his patchwork memory he still knows this mortal pain. Maybe not in the same way as Shieda, but similar, still as sharp. There’s so much he doesn’t remember about being alive. Memories return so slowly and Rhaast wonders how long will it be till he recalls everything. Will Kayn’s hair have grown back by then? Maybe longer—definitely older.

 Rhaast makes a silent promise to himself. Breathes in the smell of the forest and takes in the weight of afternoon sunshine and Kayn across his knees. A thousand years may pass but wherever he is, whether alive or dead or worse—

He’ll remember today. He��ll remember what today felt like.

[no-shxme]

sb thresh/yone for 20 🥺?

20: self loathing. here anon, for the melancholy. -shx

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“Is that—” Thresh’s voice is almost sweet. Perhaps it could be loving. “—misery?”

 Yone doesn’t say anything, still curled up on his side in the grass next to him. The only proof that he’s still paying attention can be found in the way his fingers move to rip apart any blade of grass within reach. His eyes are glassy as he stares straight ahead into the trees.

“You’re far too pretty to be this sad.” Thresh cards a hand through his hair, picks a few pieces of dirt out of his white locks. While he enjoys tormenting souls, it’s different with Yone. He’s especially precious, and it’s far less rewarding when something else is the cause of his anguish. 

Yone closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. He reaches up to touch the tip of his left horn. With trembling fingers his hand immediately retreats, returning to picking through the grass. 

This won’t do at all. A quiet sigh. Thresh leans over and kisses his cheek just below his eye. There’s a bit of fang in it, for good measure, and when he pulls away there’s the smallest mark that shows Thresh has been there. 

“I like them. Self-hatred doesn’t suit you.” 

Yone glances up at him, eyes half lidded and bright. He doesn’t turn but his arm moves back and a second later his pale fingers intertwine with Thresh’s. It feels like a secret.

Thresh squeezes his hand. He’ll give this beloved soul anything he wants. Anything he wants to empty his mind of all anguish—until Thresh is the only thing that’s left.

[no-shxme]

hiya! saw ur post abt the league pairings and songs and if you’re still doing them then i’d love to see kayn/rhaast with the song ‘paradise’ by MNEK. btw ur writing is actually the best i’ve read in all of the league fandom and i’ve read all your stuff like, at least 5 times 👉👈😳. anyways... keep up the amazing work and ty sm for putting out such great content ^^

ahh thanks so much, i’m really flattered! you’re too kind ;w; also,, five times?? i’ll hopefully come up with more content so you won’t have to read the same things over and over again. ;0; here’s something soft inspired by your song. :^)

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He wonders how this became so normal. At some point Shieda had become a permanent fixture in his life and if Rhaast were to really think about it he’d be confused. Never in a thousand years would he have predicted this outcome.

Kayn’s hand slaps flat against his chest. Not hard, but enough to make a sound. He’s been resting next to him but now the human catches his eye, narrow and tired. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, voice muddied from sleep.

Rhaast grins, all fang. “You.” 

“Me?” Kayn asks innocently, even as his eyes flash. “What about me”

He thinks for a moment about what to say. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

Rhaast doesn’t respond. He presses his finger hard against Kayn’s arm and watches the color return to his skin when he takes it off. I need everything about you. He won’t say that aloud, because Kayn would laugh at him, but maybe he understands it anyway because the human lays his cheek against Rhaast’s stomach. 

“Bastard,” he mutters quietly, fondly. Rhaast sees his eyes flutter closed. 

If he closes his eyes too, he can pretend that everything is perfect. Because in this moment it might as well be. 

Instead, Rhaast stares at Shieda. Watches silently as the mortal slowly drifts back to sleep.

[no-shxme]

talon, 9 and/or 14 (lost senses/overwhelmed)? solo or not, either would make me happy.

here anon, i did 9 + sett. turned out a little long, hope its ok! -shxme

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He knows something has gone wrong because Talon screams. The yell startles Sett so badly that he drops the guy he’s been knocking teeth out of to the floor. The gambling den they’re in is murky from pipe smoke and violence and Sett steps over the bodies carelessly. Who cares if he crushes some fingers? They started it anyway. Can’t be blamed for what happened next.

At the back of the den it is bloodier, Talon’s handiwork as deadly and precise as ever. These saps won’t be getting back up. Sett spies the stained hem of a familiar dark cloak and follows it to the other side of an overturned table. There he finds Talon, crumpled and curled up next to a fresh corpse. He’s clutching the back of his head and Sett ses the shattered remains of a liquor bottle next to him. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs, shoving the body aside so he can kneel next to him. Talon flinches away when he touches his hair to check the wound. “How bad does it hurt?” His fingers are damp with blood when he pulls them away and worry rushes through him, cold as winter.

“Sett—” Talon swings his head up, voice sounding so small. He’s not looking at Sett but his eyes—there’s something off with his eyes. “I can’t see anything—” 

He swallows down the fear. “Whadya mean? Nothing?” Sett waves his hand in front of Talon’s face and there is no recognition at all. 

The Noxian bites his lip, face abysmally pale. He practically shrinks into himself, a miserable cracked sob escaping into the smokey air. Sett understands it’s gotta be terrifying for someone as independent as Talon to suddenly be rendered helpless. He doesn’t know what to say. Maybe there’s nothing that can make this better.

“Let’s stop the bleeding, okay?” Sett rips a long shred of fabric off a dead man’s shirt and coaxes Talon’s head back up. He ties the makeshift bandage tightly around his head and Talon winces, hair matted and dark. “Now—” He stands, glancing around the hall one more time. Everyone is either dead or unconscious but his fists are still clenched. Shit. He suddenly turns and drives his boot hard into the side of a dead gambler. Maybe if he’d paid more attention he could have prevented this.

Talon jolts at the noise and Sett returns to his side. He presses a quick kiss to his temple before gently scooping him up. Talon whines, hands flying to his head, and Sett acts like he doesn’t hear the muffled sniffles. 

“My knife—” Sett sees the slim hilt sticking out beneath the gambler’s neck. He crouches clumsily to retrieve it, barely manages to wipe it on the man’s shirt before he awkwardly passes it to Talon.

“We’ll find a healer.” The reassurance is for the both of them. “They can fix anything.”

Talon leans his head against Sett’s chest. “If they can’t?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Sett tries to keep him still as he walks. “We can—” He doesn’t know. “We can figure that out later.”

Talon holds the blade tightly between his fingers. As if he’ll lose it without a white knuckled grip. He doesn’t say anything and Sett doesn’t try to rope him into conversation because he figures sometimes Talon needs quiet. We’ll figure it out, he thinks. I promise.

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extra note: in this case talon is suffering from something called cortical blindness, which is where you get hit too hard in the back of your head and go temporarily blind. neither him nor sett know that though, so it’ll be a sure relief when his sight returns a couple days later. 

[no-shxme]

ur talon is RLY iconic :^). #12: dysphoria, trans talon/yasuo

ah thanks! sorry for the wait anon, i’m doing these pretty slowly. just in time for talon’s birthday though! this is pretty long and rough so i slapped it below a read more. hope it’s okay! i love writing trans talon and transmasc characters in general so thanks lol.  -shxme

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Everything feels wrong today and Yasuo must notice it. Talon knows he’s acting differently. Today he’s even flightier than usual and the familiar touches he seeks from the Ionian have been replaced with space. He shies away from Yasuo’s welcoming hands, pressing himself flat against the wall behind him. 

“Something is wrong.” Yasuo’s Noxian has gotten better with time. He keeps a few paces between them and for that Talon is grateful. His skin is crawling and the longer he looks at Yasuo, the sicker he feels. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to quell the churning in his stomach.

“Can you—” Yasuo motions at his lips and Talon rips away the piece of cloth covering his mouth. It’s hot in these clothes, late summer is still scorching in Ionia, but he can’t bring himself to pull his hood down. His face is—he looks at Yasuo—too round for his liking. Yasuo’s face is sharper, roughed up with an almost-beard and handsome features. A rush of bitter jealousy withers away the small amount of composure he had left. 

“Something is—” Yasuo breaks into Ionian again and it’s too fast for Talon to understand but his voice is so deep and it makes him never want to speak again. The swordsman holds out his hands again and Talon shrinks to the floor, shaking his head unhappily. How is he supposed to communicate that Yasuo is everything he wants? He hasn’t been this jealous since he was young. Things haven’t hurt this bad since Piltover. He covers his mouth so he doesn’t have to hear the sound that threatens to escape. Doesn’t even want to look at Yasuo.

“Here—” He can hear the desperate worry in the man’s voice. “Here, I want to help.” Yasuo kneels in front of him. “Talon.” His voice cracks and he sounds beautiful—and Talon is sad. 

For a couple minutes the two of them are quiet. Talon focuses on the hard ground below him, imagines smooth steel against his thumb until his nausea begins to fade. He’s never talked about this before. It’ll be impossible for him to start now. 

He opens his eyes, blinking blearily at Yasuo in front of him. The Ionian stares back, concern stark on his face. 

Right, he’s never had someone to talk to about this. 

“Nothing fits right,” he mutters, forcing his voice to be as low as possible. He doesn’t know if Yasuo hears him or understands him. 

“Nothing—” Yasuo echoes. He shuffles forward to try and close the gap between them again but stops at Talon’s expression. “No?”

“No.” He feels gross. Like he hasn’t bathed in a month. 

Yasuo is too patient. “Can you—” he pauses. “Talk and tell me what’s wrong?”

Where to begin? His face is too round and his voice is too soft and his body—just doesn’t fit right. Thinking about it in detail causes unease to prickle the back of his neck. Most days Talon is fine but every once in a while there is one afternoon where his whole existence is painful and every flaw is glaringly obvious. And how is he supposed to convey that to Yasuo? Yasuo is not like him. He can’t understand. It already hurts so much being vulnerable like this in the first place.

“You’re a man,” Talon eventually rasps, in heavy-handed Ionian.

“Yes...” Yasuo trails off as he looks at Talon, wrapped up in his cloak and himself. He’s confused and it will cost Talon too many words to explain.

“I’m—” He doesn’t finish his sentence. What would he say anyway? On these painful days Talon feels like an impostor. A shadow of something better.

Yasuo tilts his head. “You’re a man.” In Ionian. A soft breeze tickles Talon’s face. 

How do you know? You’ve seen all of me and you can still think that? Every part of him is awful. 

“Talon.” Yasuo gets his attention. He watches as the man presses his hand flat to the floor between them. “You’re—” something in Ionian. “We’re the same.”

It’s too difficult to talk so he shakes his head. “Stop humoring me,” he’d say, if he could. It doesn’t work like that. Saying something doesn’t make it true.

“We’re the same,” Yasuo insists. “I promise.”

Talon stares at him tiredly. Their language barrier will lower with time but for now there’s no way he’ll be able to make Yasuo understand how different they are. His rampant jealousy has faded into something resigned and sickly. Maybe he’s glad that Yasuo doesn’t get it.

He reaches out to lay his hand on the floor opposite of Yasuo’s, still not touching. When the feeling fades he might close the gap between them, but—for now Talon sits against the wall, and waits, secretly comforted by the fact that Yasuo is there not to understand him, but to wait with him. 

[no-shxme]

Sett/Talon, nightmares (thank you for giving us such a beautiful and rare ship

here sweet anon, hope you like it -shx

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In the middle of the night Sett stirs. The dark room is silent with sleep and for a moment Sett doesn’t understand what woke him up in the first place. He blinks drowsily up at the ceiling, ears twitching, annoyed.

Until Talon gasps quietly next to him and Sett figures maybe there was a reason. Instinct, maybe? He rolls onto his side to see him, hands twisting the blankets, face all screwed up and unhappy. A bad dream. Sett reaches out to touch his arm and the moment his fingertips make contact Talon bolts upright. Probably would have bolted out bed entirely were it not for Sett grabbing his wrist. In hindsight—not a good idea. Talon panics, clawing at Sett’s hand and practically dragging him off the bed in desperation.

“You’re okay.” Sett’s voice is rough from sleep. “Talon, Talon—” 

The Noxian’s eyes are wild and for a second they don’t recognize him and Sett’s blood runs cold. “You’re okay,” he repeats, tone level, as if trying to calm a terrified animal. “You’re safe, you’re okay.” He’s lucky that there were no weapons in immediate reach because otherwise Sett’s certain he’d already be stabbed open more times than he could count.

Talon’s frightened breathing finally starts to even out. His mouth opens and closes a couple times as he begins to understand where he is. 

Sett squeezes his wrist gently. “Just a dream.”

He welcomes Talon back into his embrace, shifting around till the assassin’s back is flat against the wall and Sett is his shelter.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He murmurs. 

Talon shakes his head, tucked against his chest so Sett rubs his back reassuringly, feeling fluttering breath across his collarbone. “That’s okay. You’re okay.”

He’ll repeat it as many times as it takes Talon to believe it.

[no-shxme]

idk if u r doing h/c prompt. if yes, may i ask for yasuo/talon, 15(exhaustion)?

here anon, hope this is good :0 ty for all the talon prompts btw ! <3

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Although he hasn’t said anything, Yasuo is swaying on his feet and Talon’s worried that he’s asked too much of him. Yasuo is always like that, putting aside his wants and needs until he’s worn to the bone. Talon is unused to that kind of thing. For him it’s the opposite and he struggles with being less self serving, but selfishness is hard to shake when you’ve grown up the way he has.

See, it’s difficult for Talon to realize when he’s taken too much. What a thought. Before Yasuo he would have scorned the mere idea of too much. Talon’s always taken whatever he can get, whatever will keep him alive another night, and has never had to give a damn about anyone else.

Until now, where he sees Yasuo blink blearily up at the stars. He looks ragged and Talon feels bad for letting him come with him in the first place. He’s not the greatest travel companion. Talon’s not used to watching someone else’s back.

“Uh—” he stops because he always sounds awkward. How many hours till they get there? He doesn’t know, perhaps six or seven at this pace and then his window for opportunity will be smaller than that. 

Yasuo watches him as he tramps down some tall grass and lays out his bedroll. 

“Don’t you want to keep going?” 

Yes, Talon thinks honestly. But not now. He feels almost ashamed, which is also something he’s not used to. Words and people are too hard compared to wrapped hilts and steel. He reaches for Yasuo’s arm. Tentative. “Sorry,” he mutters. 

If Yasuo hears him he doesn't respond, just lets himself get dragged to the ground. He leans tiredly on Talon as he helps him lie down. 

“Sorry,” Talon whispers again, ghosting his palm cautiously over Yasuo’s jaw. Quiet because the Ionian’s eyes are already closed and he looks—peaceful. On another day Talon might curl up next to him on the thin blankets but even as his eyes itch with tiredness his mind won’t let him rest. They’re in the open and exposed and it’s simply impossible for Talon to sleep like that.

So he sits next to Yasuo, surrounded by tall grass and the smell of summer, and keeps watch. Tries to understand the feeling of doing something for someone else.

[no-shxme]

soraka/aatrox + "tongues & teeth" by the crane wives

hope this is good anon i’ve never written soraka before ! :O 

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“You are in pain again,” she whispers, hands hovering over his arm. Light dances between her fingertips and above his skin, but it goes no farther than that.

Aatrox laughs, cruel. Hopeless, except not in a cowardly, weak way. Hopeless like a man who’s died at the edge of the world. “So nothing’s changed.” He sounds unfazed. “This body is nearing its limit.” 

Soraka ignores the implication. That he will find another soul to strip away and replace. “Not just your body.” She raises her hand to cup the darkin’s cheek. Gentle. “Here too.” 

Aatrox’s scowl dampens. After a moment he pulls his head away. 

“Let me help you,” Soraka pleads. “I would, if I could.” If you’d let me. Thousands of years she’s wandered, trying to guide mortals to shine their brightest. After so long she finds herself here, a pebble against a mountain. Probably hopeless, she knows, but she’s stayed anyway. 

Red skin presses against hers as Aatrox mirrors her movements. Cups her cheek for just a moment before pulling away again.

“You can’t fix this,” he rumbles, bitter. 

You’ve seen too much, Soraka thinks. Felt too much. She knows there’s no point in her sticking around at all. Aatrox won’t be guided and he won’t be healed. His wounds, even after eons, are still painfully fresh. But the slightest hope exists, the smallest glimmer of redemption, the faintest star. 

And as long as that shines, Soraka will stay. She’ll keep trying.

[no-shxme]

u talked once about the idea of kayn dying - and i'd like to read smth about it? even a lil' drabble bcz i'm an angsty bitch - plz ?

here anon, it’s verii sad sry ;w; under the cut as it’s a tiny bit long

-shxme

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Nothing has been left standing. Rhaast has made sure of this. Every tree has been bent, every house beaten open and ruined. Every human has been mangled. Anyone who wanders through this area now will wonder what happened. They won’t understand the extent of Rhaast’s grief. Instead they’ll encounter a field of mauled corpses. 

Only one body remains intact. Rhaast stands—the only one still upright—awkwardly in the middle of the wreckage. He gently nudges Kayn’s shoulder with his foot, wishing him awake. For once wishing he could be capable of more than just death.

Empty battlefields used to feel victorious. Now they’re just lonely.

Biting exhaustion seeps through his bones. The adrenaline of Rhaast’s rage has burned out for now. He tips his scythe to the grass with a thump and slowly lowers himself to the ground as well, cross-legged next to Kayn.

What would he have said? If Rhaast had been there when he left this world. He’ll never know now. Maybe that’s what hurts the most. How moronic, to have been caught by something so mortal. If Rhaast could turn back time he would take back every single soft moment. All the sweet things that Shieda had said to him. Every burning glance his way, all the times their hands touched. 

If he squints and turns his head—maybe puts a hand up to cover the damage—he can almost pretend that Kayn is sleeping. Did he die quickly? The apparent blow to his head might have ended his life in an instant. 

His fingers are stiff from rage as he tugs Kayn’s upper half into his lap. His long hair is a mess, tangled with grass and dirt. Rhaast knows he doesn’t look much better. Kayn would tell him that. “Like shit,” he would say with a proud smile and kiss his cheek despite the blood.

A sharp growl rumbles in Rhaast’s chest, leaking out into the hot afternoon air. The darkin slowly untangles Shieda’s dark hair, clawing out the dirt and flicking away blades of grass. He knows how to braid hair expertly now but he takes his time, making sure it looks perfect. 

I hate you. He thinks. Doesn’t say it aloud. 

He ties off the end of the finished braid and lowers Kayn’s head to the grass. How miserable. 

Rhaast picks up his weapon and stands. He looks at Shieda, silent and abysmally still. His mouth opens barely but no words come out. There’s no point in talking to someone who’s gone. No words can bridge that divide. 

He glances at the landscape around him. Flattened. Buzzards have begun circling overhead, still hesitant to investigate.

Travelers will pass through and wonder what took place. Rhaast hefts his scythe over his shoulder and takes a slow step away, then another. A slow, solitary beeline towards the western hills, where more human settlements are tucked into the trees.

Humans will see this land as the work of a demon. An attack from the old gods. A declaration of war, a tragedy. 

They won’t understand the graveyard that Rhaast has built to mourn his return to bitter reality. 

[no-shxme]

i wonder; how would rhaast react if he ever lost Kayn? like, if the latter was kidnaped or killed or harmed by some other entity .. (aatrox for instance), can u write smth about it plz ?

i think rhaast’s reaction would really vary depending on the severity of the ‘disappearance.’ (gonna add my blurbish writing underneath coz it’s long.. and kinda sad)

if he was kidnapped or injured then rhaast would be angry but not peak angry because Kayn is still existing. if he was kidnapped (let’s say by… noxians? maybe? an interrogation?) rhaast would be all “ez pz time to pop these humans like grapes.” because how dare they take one of the only things that matter to him. 

because I mean, kayn is one of the only entities that rhaast cares for. assuming he cares about his weapon… what else is there? rhaast wants to see the world burn. kayn is just the exception. he doesn’t even seem to particularly care about varus/aatrox. 

so he has 2 actual soft spots. his weapon (because it is him) and kayn. take one of those away and you’ve got one angry darkin. rhaast would want to tear the person (or people) that hurt kayn apart. though if he needs to he’ll abandon that to make sure kayn is fine. because shieda is his number 1 priority (though he wouldn’t tell kayn that).

but let’s say kayn died. 

maybe rhaast would find the body. find him lying–small and strange–on the edge of a barely finished battle. rhaast’s reaction would be different. when shieda is hurting he shakes. his hands tremble unconsciously because he is human.

rhaast isn’t human. he’d find kayn’s body and after realizing he could breathe no life into him he’d go still. as unmoving as the confines of his scythe. despair is unconsciously pushed away. (that’s something reserved for his curse). rhaast would remain still and tense for a long time. 

eventually he’d move again. grind his fangs together and find that his scythe feels heavier than it used to. and he’d be angry. we’re talking the biggest rage, a firestorm. not only angry at the world but at himself. because the bubble has finally popped and he realizes how stupid it was to find comfort in something that would not last. he’d wish that he never met Kayn at all. or at least wished he’d just ripped apart his soul and taken his body for his own like he’d originally planned. how stupid, to be enamored by a human. the fragility he’d initially been lured by has come full circle. 

now there’s nothing hindering rhaast’s wrath. so so angry. he’d take out his rage on the world. decimate the surrounding villages, dare anyone to come out and fall to his blade. bitter hurt-stained rage.

he’d leave kayn to rest on the battlefield. he died fighting. at this point rhaast can only hope for the same.

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months later the darkin will think in the very back of his mind–maybe he’d take back what he’d thought. ‘that he wished he’d never met kayn.’ 

in the oblivion of his cursed weapon the sting of remembering kayn’s hands, eyes, voice–the way he’d say his name and rest by his side–

it is a bittersweet warmth as he waits for the end of the world. 

[no-shxme]

“We could terrorize,” Rhaast coaxes. “Make the world burn. You and me.”

Kayn doesn’t answer him. Perhaps it is the storm beating against the trees outside that’s occupying his attention. A strange mood. Maybe his recent meeting with Zed has something to do with it too. “Private lessons,” Kayn always mentions with pride. A fool. But a fool that Rhaast needs as long as he’s trapped in his damned prison. 

He tries to creep deeper into the boy’s mind, explores farther. “A thousand kills I could give you. The power to rend an army if you let me help you.” Thunder booms, so loud across the sky outside. A proper typhoon.

“Shut up,” Kayn speaks up suddenly and at first Rhaast is not sure if he’s talking to him or the storm. “Tell me something that’s true.”

For a second Rhaast doesn’t know what to say. Millenia have not prepared him to share a mind with someone else. He looks at Kayn, sitting cross legged on his bed, one hand on his weapon. What is this mood? He doesn’t know how to approach situations like this.

“What are you talking about?” He growls. 

“Can’t even do it,” Kayn snaps haughtily. “All you do is spit lies. I’m going to beat you.”

Rhaast laughs, strange in the human’s head. “You? A human? You’re more of an idiot than I already thought you were.”

“Shut up,” the human repeats, this time with more venom. Something dangerous has crept into his voice. The wind picks up outside, howling mad. Rhaast wonders if this is an opportunity.

“Struck a nerve?” He pushes harder, searching for the right words to wound with. “Your temperament is so weak. Pathetic.” 

Kayn tips the scythe off the bed from where it rests across his knees. His connection to his host is suddenly weakened as Rhaast clatters to the hard floor. Lightning flashes outside, casts dramatic shadows across the inside of the monastery. If Rhaast still breathed his breath would be caught in his chest.  For an instant Kayn’s pale eyes shine. 

“Tell me one true thing,” he snarls, angry. Rhaast can tell his temper is not directed at him. Could tell in the way he’d been knocked to the ground. How times have changed. Once considered a god, now tossed aside carelessly. It’s a sobering understanding. 

“You have freedom,” He confides quietly, dropping his act for a moment. “I want that.” 

Kayn’s irritation abruptly deflates. Rhaast watches him slowly undo his braid on the bed, eyes closed. The storm continues to rage on. It adds such a strange atmosphere. Almost unsettling. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it creates. Perhaps a feeling of finality, a reminder that some things will refuse to be forgotten.

For the rest of the night, they do not speak to each other. Rhaast is fine with that. He’s said too much. Tomorrow Rhaast will go back to picking the human apart. They are still relatively new to each other after all, and he has much to learn. He will enjoy exploring Kayn’s weaknesses. It helps keep his mind off of his own.

[no-shxme]

You've said a lot about a daemon au, any snippet from that?? particularly something hurty on the separeted kayn idea?

was deliberating on sharing this anon. here’s a snippet of something I may or may not post in the future. hopefully this makes some amount of sense without that much context. beneath the cut as it’s long. :’)

-shxxx

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Rhaast remains quiet and apart but he can still feel Kayn’s emotions bubbling through their strange connection, albeit faintly. His mind coils with frustration. The human picks at his words and makes things way harder than they have to be. A pest.

“So you’re like me.” Kayn had said. That still causes him to bristle indignantly. Like him? They are worlds apart. Rhaast is nothing like this overconfident nobody. Barely half of man. A boy with no shadow.

He’d heard the hope. Relief perhaps—can’t remember the exact tone that Kayn had used. What a fool. His rage continues to grow. He wants to hurt this insolent human. So, he claws his way back into Kayn’s mind. It’s well past midnight and the boy is trying to rest. Rhaast will make sure he doesn’t. 

“How did it die then?” He asks, trying to dig up old wounds. Scratch off scabs till they’re bloody.

Kayn stirs. Rhaast watches as his grip tightens on the scythe’s hilt. He always keeps Rhaast close, even when trying to sleep.

“I don’t know,” He finally says, loud in the night. “I barely remember.”

Rhaast scoffs. “Did it hurt?”

Kayn’s tired confusion washes over their connection. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” 

The boy sits up, irritated now. His hair is unbraided and it hangs down across his bare shoulders. He looks soft, sitting there on his cot. At this hour, everything seems to lose its sharpness. 

“What happened to yours?” Kayn twists the ends of his hair idly. 

Rhaast laughs, raspy in the back of the boys mind. “She is still with me. Even the way I am, I can feel her by my side.”

Kayn pulls his legs up towards his chest. He rests one arm across his knees while his fingers tap against Rhaast. The mountain wind howls outside, gusting against the walls of the monastery.

“Prove it,” he says after a minute.

“Prove it?” The darkin echoes in disbelief. 

Kayn’s pale eyes flash. “Show me.” His words are an order but Rhaast can hear the barest plea hiding underneath. It is enough for him to dissect the colors of the boy’s mind. Exploit his weakness.

“Why?” He snaps heatedly. “So you can find comfort in someone who is ‘like you?’ We are not alike. You are just a means to an end. Accept the fact that you will always be half of what you should be, because you will—” There is a growl rolling through his words. He wants to twist his blade in the human’s weak mind, inflict as much hurt as possible. “—never—-have what I have.” 

Kayn is silent. He leans his cheek on his knee. 

“Maybe once I crush your mind between my claws you’ll find your daemon again,” Rhaast adds cruelly.

His perception of the world is suddenly dulled as Kayn takes his hand off the weapon’s hilt. It’s far harder to glean the human’s emotions now so he watches his expression for some sort of reaction. Perhaps teary eyes or a quivering lip if he’s lucky.

But Kayn’s expression remains even. He lifts his head and stares back at Rhaast, borderline arrogant. Something uneasy slithers into Rhaast’s mind. He’d been expecting some sort of reaction, hoping for anger or sadness or pain. Not this. 

“You’re not going to win against me,” Kayn speaks up, every word slipping out one by one. Cold. Colder than the north wind beating against the outside of the rocky monastery. “I knew from the moment I found you.”

Rhaast snarls. “So confident—” 

“And you know why?” Kayn cuts him off, voice raising slightly, his tone still blusteringly calm. Every word is flat and now Rhaast realizes it’s on purpose. He is effectively shut out from understanding what Kayn is feeling right now because of the lack of contact. He will get no reaction.

“No matter how much pain you try and cause” the boy continues. Rhaast doesn't want to listen anymore. He doesn’t care to hear it. “It will never—” Kayn’s mask slips, voice cracks.  “—hurt as much as it did when I lost my daemon.” 

Rhaast falls quiet. For some reason, strangely, he feels like he’s crossed some unseen boundary. Stepped too close to hear something that was better off left rotting. Kayn leans his head back on one of his knees, this time facing away, and Rhaast immediately wishes he could see his face. 

“I don’t remember what she looked like. Or what her name was,” Kayn tells him. Is his voice trembling? Rhaast can’t tell. “But I remember what it felt like.”

He listens. Can feel his own daemon faintly in his consciousness. Rhaast knows why this feels so strange. In all his milenia this is a story he has not heard before. The technology for complete intercision simply hadn’t existed back then. People died without their daemons.

“It felt like they cut out my heart. Even now I can feel the empty space she was supposed to fill.” A whisper. Kayn’s voice is growing quieter and quieter. Rhaast wonders if anyone else has heard this, or if this confession is only for him. 

Kayn finally looks at Rhaast. He isn’t crying. No, he’s imperious. Rhaast’s not sure he’s ever been so looked down upon. 

“You will never understand what that feels like.”

Rhaast doesn’t know what to say. How would he respond to that? Something revolting—pity?—teeters dangerously at the corners of his mind. Kayn nudges him over the edge of the narrow bed with his foot and he clatters to the floor, helpless. In the brief moment that they make contact, Rhaast can feel Kayn’s ache, unearthed beneath layers and layers of careful confidence. It is devastatingly cold. An abyss emptier than Rhaast’s own prison. 

He retreats into himself, lets the disembodied comfort of his daemon wash around him. For once, Rhaast doubts his choice of host. This will be far more difficult than he’d initially thought.