#swain lol

[mollysunder]

Anyone ever think about how Mel and Jinx are the type of people Swain targets the most when he wants to undermine a leading family in a territory of interest. Swain always clocks the black sheep, the problem child, the one who isn't listened to, and very easily makes their agendas align with his own. And more often than not he does it with the daughters of these families, like Katarina Du Couteau and Alyssa Delverhold.

Swain sees these prominent families in strife, and with a gentle hand, suplants the heads with his child of choice. It's Swain's way of setting up young proxy rulers that either believe in Noxus, or just don't believe it's worth anything fighting them.

[saey707]

Imagine you're new to Noxus... very obviously unaware and unused to the brutality of this culture. Like a sheep to the slaughter, all doe-eyed and innocent. Which yandere would this catch the eye of? Someone who wants to protect you, or perhaps someone who wants to mold you to their liking?

(Not a request for anyone in particular, just a concept idea wanted to share and curious who you would picture for this certain scenario. Congrats on surviving the dreaded finals btw!)

✿ Prompt: Which Yandere? Scenario ✿

♡ champion focus: swain ♡ tw: yandere, manipulation ♡ Gender-neutral reader

Author’s Note: Thanks so much for submitting this concept, anon! Even though it isn't a request, I did want to get some of my ideas out for this particular idea! (๑>◡<๑) Hope you enjoy! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

ALSO! Fun side quest I came up with: Count the number of ravens (headcanons) and view the old English rhyme under the section titled "Astral Travel" here to see Swain's omen attached to you... ♡✧( •⌄• )

From the description you gave me, Swain was my immediate thought on your best bet for who is most likely to protect and shelter you, but also mold your potential to his liking!

Swain wants to test your limits, but he also wants to assure you won't get hurt in the process. In Noxus, you have to be strong... But the General isn't opposed to having a pretty little thing at his hip, or better yet, on his lap~

It's a rare find for someone to be so innocent and unaware of the bloodshed, brutality, and war that came with Noxus- An innocent sheep to the slaughter as one would say. And that's exactly what makes you all the more appealing to Swain.

Given how much power and influence he has over the people of Noxus, there would never come a time when anyone would question his judgment for why he keeps a pathetic, little thing like you around. And should someone dare to question his judgment, then they'll be sure to meet his demonic hand...

Even if you make a mistake or two, Swain will always forgive you. While your knowledge is still limited, he will graciously be your guiding light in shaping you into the perfect lover.

Even when you seek a fresh start, Swain will always drag you right back down to where you need to be: At his side, as his pretty, little lover.

Even if your heart longs for power and prestige, Swain will gladly give you that and more. He would give you a throne, even if it must be built atop bloodshed.

Even if you attempt to leave him all alone, Swain always knows the proper words and whispers of the demon to lure you right back into his arms.

Even when you are miles or even leagues away from him, Swain is always watching. Now, it wasn't because he didn't trust you... It was more because he cared for your well-being for lack of better terms! He can't have a lowborn Noxian or assassin laying a filthy finger on you! It is the entire reason why there isn't a raven out there that isn't reporting back to the General about your status!

Doe eyes and an innocent heart can get you quite far, but never enough from the longing General who wants nothing more than for your eyes to be on him... Even when he has an entire unkindness of ravens keeping their eyes on you.

There will never come a day that you will be unhappy with Swain. You can have anything and everything you ever wanted if you just stay by his side... Don't you see? The possibilities are endless!

[avellanaslesbianas]

[lichdandy]

Old Swain arts

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel: Swain WIP

SFW

There's been a raven following you around since you started approaching Noxus occupied territory. It's more annoying than you thought it would be, honestly–getting jumped by a shadowy cabal of assassins would be a pain in the ass, and if you're going into negotiations with the Trifarix you'll need the upper hand of surprise. No, you carefully do not use your powers while Swain is watching, even though it's a huge pain in the ass. You can't even get rid of them, either, because the one person you ask when you get a moment of fucking privacy seems to think they're just crows. Even though they're a) too huge to be crows, and more importantly b) have six glowing red eyes. A side effect of Noxus hemomancy, the ferryman says cheerfully as he takes you across the gulf to Shurima. The so-called crows don't seem to be inclined to cross the open water, and the one that's been tailing you watched balefully until your ship disappeared into the distance.

Another raven is on you as soon as you disembark. You're not the only one, either–travellers of interest all seem to get a corvid escort. It follows you in the days it takes you to travel out of town, into contested territory, to the City under siege by Noxian forces. You don't bother learning it's name–they’ll change it soon. It's in a key location to expedite trade routes between the existing Noxian settlements, but it's resisted capture so far by virtue of its defences, natural or otherwise. The city sports a grand wall, set against the edge of a narrow ravine on one side and a mountain on the other, the city was accessible only by a great drawbridge–by the same turn, though, it was constrained in size and relied on it's status as a trade hub to sustain its populace. Currently, you believe the Noxians plan was to starve them out, but that had its own complications–the city was dug in for a seige, and the Noxians had to keep their own troops fed and safe from the Shuriman wildlife, not to mention the resources required to sustain an extended seige. That makes it the perfect place to make your point.

The raven follows you as you trek your way out to the ravine. The mountain blocks the moon, and a lone figure without a light passes without notice.

(It was always dark, in the Void, yet you could still see. You thought that was just the way it was. It didn't occur to you until after that it was you that had changed.)

You reach the edge of the ravine, the wall towering overhead. The raven perches on a jagged rock nearby. You lean over the abyss, holding out hand out towards the wall, and you don't pull time backwards so much as you tear it away like peeling wallpaper. Back, before the walls were built, and then further still, to when the desert had water and the streams eroded this cut into the earth. The stone around you blurs, reality ripping at the edges, and then the city stands undefended.

You turn to the raven. It blinks, one eye at a time, so that it's never not looking at you. “Tell Grand General Swain I’d like a word. I’ll be in Tereshni.” You glance back at the city, now swarming with the beginnings of panic. “I can put the walls and the ravine back after you have the city, don't worry.”

The bird cocks it's head, and then takes flight north. You wait until it's gone, and then rewind yourself back to the room you rented. You're safe, for now–the ravens probably knew you'd paid for the place, but they couldn't get in on their own, and it would take at least a few days for Swain to arrive from Noxus Prime.

The world spins into little fractals of darkness, and you feel sleep dragging you down like a riptide. Undoing centuries like that will take you out for a week at least, but you have no doubt Swain will send someone after you before then.

Here's another trick you learned from your time in the Void; whatever brings you back, it brings you back perfect. Sleeping in the Void generally ended with you dying anyway, but if you really can't afford to be out that long, well. It's not like dying is anything new for you.

—

You come back a few hours later, clean up after yourself, and then sleep until morning. A polite knock wakes you.

You're greeted by a man in military uniform, who bows his head at you. “We're here to escort you to Noxus Prime, per Grand General Swain’s command,” he says. “Are you ready to depart?”

You blink. “What's your name?”

“Colonel Garrett, ma’am,” he says. “And you're Iso…?” He trails off, searching for a last name. On the rooftops around your rented room, ravens peer intently down at you.

“Yes,” you answer instead. He blinks. “It's like seven am, Garrett. I'm going to get breakfast, and then we can go.” You grab your bag off the side table, sweep past him and head for the market.

There's a whole squad you hadn't seen in the courtyard beyond your door. Garrett falls into step beside you, and they fall into step behind him. The pastry vendor you stop at doesn't even charge you.

—

They escort you to a private ship, and from the ship a carriage. Your escort spares no expense, though nobody exactly expects them to pay–the one thing they don't bend over backwards to accommodate you on was getting to the capital quickly. Before long, the looming plateau of Noxus Prime pierces the horizon. The gate guards let you through, and you're taken to a tower near the center of the city. There, you're taken to a refined yet reserved sitting room, and Garrett bids his farewell. A maid comes in to serve out tea, but other than that, you're alone.

You're sure this is a power play of some kind. You're sure it's also no coincidence that the assortment of artfully arranged finger foods are all the sort of thing you like. You are kind of baffled that Swain's magic demon arm that fed on secrets was being used to set the snack menu, but also, you're not complaining. It didn't take an army of spying birds to figure out that you're food motivated.

Swain comes in about five minutes later. He sweeps into the room, and he has the sort of commanding presence that makes him seem grand without doing anything in particular, an air about him that demands attention when he's doing something as utterly mundane as entering a room. You can't even attribute it to the glowing demon arm you know he has, because it's hidden behind the imposing coat he wears over his shoulders. He sits elegantly on the couch across from you, and does not say a word. You get the distinct impression that he's sizing you up.

You blink at him. “Did you want some tea, or can we get straight to business here?”

His expression doesn't change. “Let's. You brought down the walls of Bitharix to let our troops in. Why?”

You nod. “I figured you wouldn't take my offer seriously without a gesture of good faith, and a show of power.”

He inclines his head. “That is the Noxian way, yes. What is it you seek?”

“I'm from a world beyond the Void. I want to go home. If you agree to help find me a way back, I'll be your weapon for a year,” you tell him evenly. You figure it was better to be concise here. Swain does not strike you as a man with an open schedule.

He considers you clinically for a long moment. “I assume there's a reason you elected to bring this offer to me specifically, and not the Trifarix?”

You nod. “You’re the one with the demonic arm that eats secrets. I figure if anyone knew how to get me home, it would be you. I can also guarentee that if at any point during my employment the demon in your arm happens to take control of you, I can undo it.”

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “And how do you know that?”

“About your demon, or that I can fix you?” You ask. He doesn't answer. You shrug. “I know a lot of things about this world. I know about the Immortal King that built the bones of this city, I know about the Black Rose and their experiments, and I know who you have on staff to kill you if you ever lose yourself to that arm of yours. I also know that all the promises in the world don't mean shit when it comes down to it, so you can test my powers however will make you believe me.”

He considers you. Then he says “Very well,” and then explodes into crackling red energy. It's only years of instinct that moves you from the path of the arcing scarlet lightning that fan across the couch you were just sitting on, flickering back in time to stand just by the doorway. The air burns, and you watch as shadowy wings flare from his back as he comes to hover in the center of the room. He looks almost disinterested, the fucker.

You flicker back to the now ruined couch, darting aside from another blast of eldritch energy, and as you close the distance between you a blast soulfire rips through you. The burning wound it leaves barely lasts for a second before you rewind it, and as you reach your hand out towards him you watch your skin crack and burn from being too close. Then, you rewind him, until that burning shadow recedes, and he lands on both feet with an infuriating grace. He examines the shining red of his hand for a moment, and then looks up at you, now unharmed and more than a little annoyed.

“Acceptable,” he says with a nod. “I will vouch for you before the Trifarix. There will be a meeting in the morning. In the mean time, you may avail yourself to Noxus’ hospitalities. Good day.” He inclines his head at you, and then sweeps out of the room just as swiftly as he came in. As he leaves, Garrett enters again, now followed by a small squadron of maids. You have the distinct feeling that you've somehow been played.

“Is he always like that?” You ask Garrett, pointing at the door Swain just left through.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, ma’am,” Garrett says placidly, pointedly not looking at the destroyed room around you. The maids begin to pick up the shattered china.

You open your mouth, then groan. “Crazy fucking Noxians,” you mutter under your breath, and wave a hand across the room as you rewind it to its pre-Swain state. One of the maids squeaks in surprise.

Garrett blinks once, and that's about the extent of his display of surprise. “I'll show you to your accomodations, then?” He asks. You nod, and as he turns and walks out of the room, you grab one of the macarons off of the newly restored biscuit platter. If you're going to get ambushed at your job interview, you're at least getting sweets out of it.

[1ncend1ary]

frownnnn

[cherrysphinx]

I wanted more Star Nemesis skins, so I just made one myself.

I feel like Swain would be perfect cause he can be translated into a Kunzite kind of personality. Maybe Swain has an evil boyfriend too. Who knows.

Should I attempt a splash art for him?

[dimondexe]

By my hand will Noxus rise!

[polinessashut]

[belechtor]

Swain and his son

[mollysunder]

Jinx walking into Noxus like she's Lady Gaga at the 2019 Met Gala, but instead of a series of elaborate outfits underneath one another, it's a series of elaborate outfits embedded with just as elaborate weapons she handmade. They guards need her to remove them all for everyone's sake and to avoid an international incident. Meanwhile, Swain is Anna Wintour breaking years of tradition to step out of the gate and see this visitor in person to applaud and approvingly nod at the cartoonish intricacy of her weapons and her outfits. Swain's just seeing her and thinking, "This young woman is a danger to us all. What a joy to have. "

[mercuryteaowo]

Because I can xD

[avellanaslesbianas]

[zdux]

Swain X Reader Headcannons

because I'm starving over here this man has so little content

His work often leaves him retiring to his room incredibly late at night, only to find you laying on his bed, already asleep. He'll lay his cost on top of you we blanket, since your fell asleep on top of the blankets on his bed, most likely because you fell asleep waiting for him

He'll also sit down on the side of the bed and gently slide you so that your head is in his lap while the rest of you is curled up around him. He just holds your face and watches you for a bit; he likes seeing you so relaxed and peaceful.

He loves playing with your hair, whether it's short, long or otherwise. If you have it shaved or buzzed in any spots, he especially likes touching that part. He finds it doft and different from what he's used to , since he keeps his hair long.

He shows his affection mainly through actions over words. If you need him to *tell* you something, he will, but you'll have to ask him to be verbal. Normally, he shows his affection. A hand on your waist, a kiss on your knuckles or neck, running his fingers through your hair, are all some of his favorites.

While he doesn't particularly care about "keeping your relationship secret from Noxus!", he's not an idiot, he knows he has enemies. Enemies who would jump at the chance to manipulate or even harm someone he holds dear. Darius and Draven both know about you, in fact they basically see you like a step parent. While they don't expect you to be one, as they are both grown men, they have a fondness for you and you're pretty sure you heard Darius call you "Dad/Mom/Nini" one time.

He knows he's busy, but that doesn't stop him from spending time with you. If he knows he won't be able to see you for a while due to meetings and other things? Fuck it, he's bringing you with. You can either sit next to him, stand behind him or sit on his lap, but regardless of what you pick, he's going to be holding your hand the entire time.

This is all I got for now, but I'm prolly gonna post some more soon!

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is Roulette Whee: Swain WIP Pt3

“I'm not allowed to make deals with you anymore,” you tell the raven sternly on your next outing. “Also, that was very rude. It's not like dying is new to me, but some warning would have been nice. Not that I think you can talk, per se. I mean, you have those creepy whispers, but I don't know the demonic language. I can probably guess what you're trying to get at, though, and no. I'm not letting you rip my head open for juicy tidbits, and also, I'm not making any bargains to free you from Swain's control. Anything you know he knows anyway, and he's less likely to fuck me over than a literal demon. Especially one that very rudely let's me get my throat shrapneled from the inside.”

The raven caws from your shoulder. “Yeah, that's what I thought,” you grouch.

—

You don't do much over the next month, honestly. Once every few days or so, a raven arrives with an envelope clutched it's beak, and inside is a time you're to arrive at Swain's office, wrangle Raum under control, and chat. He seems to like talking to you, or at least you assume that's why he keeps doing it. You do occasionally feel like you're on the business end of a reconnaissance mission, but you can't imagine knowing your opinion on yordles somehow gives Noxus an edge on their many conquests. No, at this point you figure that Swain just has an intense demeanor that makes him seem like he's always doing something important, even when he's just asking you how your days been, or how you're settling in, or your thoughts on the book you were reading. That last one might be a reminder that you're under constant surveillance, actually, but it's not like you particularly care. Spending years in a nightmarish hellscape completely isolated save for the inhuman monsters trying to kill you kind of maxed out your lifetime requirement for alone time. Besides, you're pretty sure the birds can't open doors or unbar windows, and if you really wanted privacy you could always rewind yourself to Piltover or something. Still, you leave your window open for the birds most days.

—

The bird on your windowsill caws to get your attention. You wave it over without looking, focused on your book and your breakfast. Noxus probably would've been higher on your list of leads if you knew their food was so good, honestly. Who knew artisanal bread and cheese could elevate a grilled cheese sandwich so much?

The bird lands on your table, Swain's fancy envelope in beak. You wedge your bookmark in place and take it with your clean hand, breaking the crimson red seal and fishing the card out one handed. “Three pm,” you read aloud, tossing the card back on the table. “Standard Raum wrangling duty, it seems.”

The bird croaks at you. You shrug. “I don't make the rules.” You rip off a piece of crust to feed to it, then frown. “Come to think of it, how do you work, anyway? Does Swain see everything you see, or do you just report the important stuff to him?” You frown. “That would be awkward. He is technically my boss. That being said, respect for authority was never my strong suit.” You consider the bird a moment, then turn back to your meal. “Ah, whatever. He has like a hundred of you running around. I'm sure he's not paying attention to me telling you about embarrassing things I did in primary school. Hell, maybe it'll convince him to stop having you follow me around.”

—

“I can hear everything you say, and no, the inanity of your conversation is not going to convince me to leave a mage of your caliber unchecked,” he says by way of introduction that afternoon.

You blink, shutting the door behind you. “I’m not a mage.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? How does one traverse the Void without magic, then?”

You shrug as you seat yourself across from him. He changed the chair out shortly after your first visit–it’s nicer now, with actual padding. You wonder if that's for your benefit, or if someone got the other one broken over their head. “It's a secret. Hand,” you wiggle your fingers at where his left arm lies hidden inside his imposing military coat.

“Would you tell me in exchange for a recommendation to a cake shop?” He asks, placing his red-lit palm in yours. His tone is dry, but there's an edge of sincerety there that makes you think he's not entirely joking. “They make a lovely lemon meringue.”

You click your tongue. “Sorry, no dice. Besides, I'm sure you can figure it out from the tidbit your birdie already got out of me.”

“I understand it was a Voidspawn that took you from your world, and I take it your powers are a result of harnessing whatever you found there,” he says offhandedly. “What I don't understand is how you came to be here.”

You glance up at him. He has that look again, the one that makes you feel vaguely like a butterfly pinned to a board, like he wants to peel you open and see what's inside. “If I knew that, I probably wouldn't still be here.”

“Hm. I hope you know I won't be opening any Void Rifts on your behalf,” he says casually. “Far too much cleanup.”

“If you can find me a trajectory through a hellish nightmare void that defies time, space and euclidean geometry, I will personally slaughter every Voidspawn from here to the nearest Shuriman Rift,” you say cheerfully.

He raises a brow. “Not overselling yourself, I hope?”

You shrug. “I don't die. Don't strictly need to eat or sleep because of that, either. And believe me, I know how to kill Voidspawn.”

“You also take several hours to revive,” he points out. “Hardly time efficient.”

You shake your head. “Reality is…rigid, here. Inflexible. Not the Void. Those things bring a little bit of nothingness with them. Makes it easy to change things, change me.” You frown at his hand, trying to find your way around your curse. “First time I died after coming here, it was morning by the time I woke up, and I was not happy about it.”

“Hm. How fast would you say, with exposure to Void energy? Minutes?” He peers intently at your expression. His brow hitches. “Seconds?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” you say breezily. “And if you don't mind, I'd rather change the subject, before I say something I shouldn't and end up spitting blood in your face.”

He grimaces. “Very well. What would you like to speak about, then?”

You blink. “Yknow, you're different from what I was expecting.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? And what did you know of me, before you met me?”

You open your mouth, except you have no idea how to answer that question. “I don't think I can fully answer that,” you say slowly.

“Partially, then,” he says.

You frown at him. “Hey, you were following me for weeks before we met, and you don't see me interrogating you about what you know about me, other than that I like lemon meringues.”

He blinks. “I did not know you liked lemon meringues, just sweets. And putting aside what you have willingly divulged to my birds, I know that you're stubborn, intelligent, pragmatic, and more ruthless than you like to pretend you are. You go out of your way to help others, but pain doesn't seem to phase you anymore and without that nothing in this world seems to pose any real threat to you, so the life-threatening risks you take aren't particularly high-stakes for you. You subject yourself to the mundanities of human life your powers could erase the need for–food, water, rest, walking to places you've been or practicing a knife when you could unmake a city. You don't shy away from your powers, so you must not think they pose any threat, but you don't use them as a crutch either–that leads me to believe you mistrust them, perhaps that they'd desert you once you return to your world. Please, correct me if I'm wrong on any of those counts,” he says, spreading his free hand invitingly. You don't. “There. I've told you all I know about you.”

You raise a brow at him. “I know you didn't tell me all that just to hear about yourself,” you say dryly, and release his hand. “But if you really must…I know you get kick out of getting under people's skin.”

He smirks. Whatever answer he was looking for, that was apparently good enough. He's handsome when he smiles–well, he's handsome all the time, but in the same way a classical statue is, a cold and untouchable sort of beauty. When he smiles, that wicked little twist on his lips, it makes him look human. Not quite approachable, but at least like someone that lives on the same plane of existence as you. “I can neither confirm nor deny. You may restore the walls of Bitharix tomorrow at your convenience. That will be all.”

“Yes, sir,” you say with a mock salute, rising from your seat as he returns to his work.

“The shop is called Halcyon, and it's near the war memorials,” he says as you turn to leave. You look back to him, taken aback.

“Are you just telling me that because I wasn't expecting you to, and you like throwing me off?” You ask skeptically, though there's mirth in your voice.

“I decided I should reward you for your rare approximation of respect,” he drawls.

“If I'd known I got a reward for being a good girl I'd have done it sooner, sir,” You say teasingly, because spending years in the Void talking to yourself just to stay sane has really done nothing good for your already tenuous brain-mouth connection. Swain looks up at you, brow raised, and the satisfaction you derive from his taken aback expression is almost enough to cancel out the fact that you just hit on your boss.

…Your boss, Jericho Swain, Grand General of Noxus, who you have to look in the eye in a scant few days. Who, judging by the smirk curling on the edge of his lips, has no doubt cottoned on from your deer in headlights that you weren't just fucking with him, and you've completely lost why opportunity to play that off as a joke.

Welp. He might think you don't use your powers as a crutch, but you've never left somewhere so quickly in your life. You make your escape before he has the chance to say anything.

—

He doesn't call on you for a few days after, and you almost, almost put the incident out of your mind. You've had more embarrassing fuck-ups, you're sure, and honestly everything you've been through kind of puts social blunders into perspective on an odd way. You decide not to worry about it.

—

“What is that?” Swain asks, squinting at the paper bag you've deposited on his desk.

“A lemon meringue?” You say, plopping into your seat and wiggling your fingers at him.

“Why is it here?” He says. He doesn't even look at you when he puts his hand in yours, busy opening the packet to peer inside, as if you've somehow put a bomb in a clearly labeled baked goods bag.

You blink at him. “It's for you?” He gives you a blank look. “I figured you liked them, since you didn't know I did and you brought them up anyway. If you don't want it I'll take it. You were right, though, they're amazing.”

“Hm. No, I'll take it. My thanks,” he says. There's a strange look in his eye when he regards you. “Is there something you want?”

You consider him. “People don't often just do nice things for you without wanting something in return, do they?”

“Implying you don't want something from me?” He asks.

You pointedly do not think about your last encounter. “Well, sure, but you know what I want.”

“Do I?” He says, his voice low and considering. His palm is warm in yours. You're so fucking made.

You resist the urge to squirm. You've spent years in the Void, whatever this is can't be worse. “Look, if this is about what I said last time–”

“It's not,” he says easily, completely derailing what was about to be a very awkward apology about your lack of professionalism. Not that you'd ever had much of that. Before you can ask what the fuck that means, he hands you a sheet of paper. “In any case, your services are required in Ionia. We will be departing tomorrow morning. The details are there.”

You scan the piece of paper, which is part mission detail and part itinerary. “We?” You ask, flipping the page over. “Wait, you got the Leviathan back? Didn't Gangplank steal that?”

He grimaces. “Yes. Captain Fortune returned it after she deposed her predecessor, as a gesture of peace towards Noxus.”

You glance up at him. “Did it work?”

A smirk pulls at his lips. “For now. Bilgewater is more useful to me as it is now. Besides, bringing that mis-managed shantytown to heel would be far more effort than it's worth.”

“Would be useful to have serpent callers on staff, though,” you point out idly. “If there's one thing I'm not going to miss about this world, it's the sea monsters.”

“A fair point,” he says thoughtfully. “Though I must say that relying on the favor of a god sits ill with me.”

You shrug. “Can't say I know much about Nagakaborous, but gods can be brought to heel like anything else. Look at Aurelion Sol.”

He gives you a sharp look. “The celestial dragon? What about it?”

You blink. “Oh. I suppose that would predate your demon. The Aspects enslaved it using a magic crown and bent it to the will of the Ancient Shuriman’s, creating the god warriors which ultimately led to the civilizations downfall. As far as I know he's still floating around Targon doing their bidding. When I tracked him down, he refused to help without the crown being removed, and putting aside how long I'd be comatose for if I tried to undo however many thousands of years, I'm pretty sure he intends to blow up the planet if he gets free.”

There's a predatory gleam in his eye. “I see. What else do you know, about the Aspects?”

You raise a brow. “If you're expecting me to sit here and lay out the secret history of Runeterra, you're at least buying me dinner.” Shit. Wait. You've done it again.

He laughs, rich and dark. He turns his hand in yours, his clawed fingertips brushing over the inside of your wrist, where your pulse is currently thundering through your veins. “I can give you so much more than that, dear girl. Tell me, what is it you're craving today?”

…You're so fucked, and what's worse, he knows it.

—

Once you scraped your brain into your head, the first thing that came to mind to request for dinner that didn't involve clothes coming off was steak. You spend an hour comparing your understandings of the Aspects, Mount Targons general political landscape and possible resources, and you go into a impassioned aside about how the cosmic dragon that created the stars in your sky was a pretentious prick. He does, in fact, get you dinner–which is to say, the tower has its own kitchen staff, and he invites you to dine with him. He's actually very cordial–for all that talking to him sort of feels like you're somehow being played, he also holds open the door and pulls out your chair. You notice he only uses his demonic arm in front of you–in the hall, he keeps it tucked away in his coat when you're walking, but as soon as the serving staff have filed out of the room he's back to normal.

“How many people know about Raum?” You ask, cutting into your food. It is, of course, excellent.

“Only the Trifarix, Katarina Du Couteau, and you,” he says. “More convenient to have our enemies underestimate me as a cripple, and those who witness my powers firsthand don't tend to survive the experience.”

You glance at him. “Is it really that bad, that you lost an arm?” He raises a brow at you, and you wave a hand. “Not as in–look, I've been dismembered before and it fucking sucks, but what I mean is…I don't think having two arms is what makes you dangerous.”

For a moment a bittersweet smile pulls at his lip. “Things were different under Darkwill. Martial strength was all that Noxus valued, and that is one of the many reasons it was rotting from the inside. It's a mentality some still share, inside Noxus and out.”

You snort. “Like it matters how good someone is in a fistfight when they have a fortress and an army?”

“Some would describe that as cowardice,” he points out mildly.

“I'd call it pragmatism,” you retort. “Do you frequently say the opposite of what you mean just to see if people will agree with you?”

He smirks. “No. But I don't particularly care for most people's opinions.” Implying he cares about yours? “Wine?” He offers.

(The wine is, of course, as excellent as the food.)

—

“When you said morning, you did not say pre-sunrise,” you grouch, huddling under your new coat. The wind is bitingly cold in the harbor; Swain seemed unbothered by it, though it sends his coat flaring dramatically around him. The upper deck has a balcony that leads directly to his quarters, and he cuts an imperious figure overseeing the Leviathan's launch.

“Not a morning person, I take it?” He drawls, as if he doesn't know damn well from his birds.

“There are three things that wake me up in a good mood–sex, food, and coffee, in that order,” you say archly. “And I don't imagine you have an eggs benedict and a vanilla latte under that coat.”

He raises a brow. “Unfortunately, no.”

Hm. That's a surprisingly lukewarm response. You pause, finally taking a good look at him. “You look tired,” you say, noting the shadows under his eyes. Exhausted would probably be the better term.

“Yes,” he agrees. “There was much to do before we left, and I hadn't planned on our talk being quite so engaging.”

You hold out your hand and wiggle your fingers at him. He glances at you curiously, but places his gloved hand in yours. You rewind him back to rested, and his brows hitch. “Convenient,” he notes.

“I'm not doing that on the regular, and I don't care how efficient you'd be if you didn't need to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, releasing his hand. “Even without the physiological side effects, there are deep-seated psychological ramifications to not sleeping you really do not want to mess with.”

“I'll take your word for it,” he says. “I appreciate the assistance, but the reason I called you here is because there's been a slight change of plans. You'll be serving as my primary bodyguard for the duration of this trip, not just part of my entourage.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you need a bodyguard?”

“No, but the Ionians’ don't know that, and I'd prefer it to stay that way,” he allows. “That does however mean that I expect you to stay by my side, unless I explicitly order otherwise.”

You nod. Internally, your head is in your hands. You're sure that being next to him all day will have only positive effects on whatever bizarre game of cat and mouse you're in with the man. Which, now that you think of it, you're not entirely sure if he's trying to seduce you, use you for the good of Noxus, or just enjoys fucking with you. Probably all of them, to some extent or another.

He turns to look at you, considering. Then he looks back over the still-grey horizon. “Your quarters are there. I suppose I won't take issue if you chose to return to bed. We are still in Noxian waters, after all.”

And little acts of kindness like that are doing nothing to help you make up your mind.

[rkzetto]

Lol sketchs 2 (it was fun to make it)