Anonym sagte: If you had to ship Ezreal with anyone, who would it be? (Besides the amazing gay bot boy, Taric)
adventure buddies..! anhdang says they’re oh-my-godding because they discovered the top of the skull actually says ”MADE IN IONIA”
Anonym sagte: I'd like to see Malzahar and Kassadin talk about Kassadin's daughter by coincidence. Your choice if before or after she was taken by the void :D
The hole to the void closes with a sickening snap, energy crackling in its wake.
Citizens shout, ushering their frightened children out of the street, while followers of the void bow their heads in silent offering. The lights of the city wink out one by one—an unexpected aftereffect of the huge flux in energy created by the sealed portal.
The scene is chaotic, but Kassadin is numb to everything save the vacant altar where his daughter—not two seconds ago—had lain screaming. Thin, shadow-borne fingers had snaked from the portal, wrapping themselves around her body before pulling her into the horrifying darkness that Kassadin himself had only barely survived.
Kassadin had not been quick enough to save her. And it was all his fault.
The walker curses heavily, void energy shifting across his skin in waves. He sends another blast of energy at the hovering man before him—his sword heavy in his hand—but Malzahar dismisses it with a soft wave.
"Please understand, Brother…" the prophet begins softly, looking down at the other man with less than sympathetic eyes, "I only did what needed to be done."
"What necessity," Kassadin hisses back, "could there be in the senseless murder of a child?!”
Yet another small bolt of energy hisses past the prophet’s head, but Malzahar dismisses it, too. “She was an important sacrifice,” he explains, his eyes glowing in the afternoon light. “She would be proud to have served such a noble purpose.”
"Give her back, you monster…!!" Kassasdin cries through clenched teeth, biting out another curse. "No one could ever be proud of this!!"
Malzahar looks at him for a moment—almost despairingly—before bowing his head. Foolish human, he sighs to himself, locking eyes with the other man.
"One of these days," the prophet explains, "you will understand the necessity of my actions."
Kassadin growls in fierce denial, but Malzahar pays him no heed—murmuring a soft “goodbye, Brother,” as he turns heel. A final blast of energy from Kassadin’s hand fizzles out to Malzahar’s right, before the prophet, too, disappears.
"You bastard—you coward!!" Kassadin whispers, his knees growing weak with the aftershock. Sinking to the ground, he curls his shaking fingers into fists, and allows a single anguished cry to escape his lips.
"Come back here, Malzahar, you bastard…”
kuroid sagte: Headcanons for your Zed and Syndra? Friends or ship, either works.
1) Zed’s attraction to Syndra comes mainly from admiration of her strength. Over time, he does learn to appreciate other things about her though. On the other hand, Syndra’s attraction to Zed is purely physical, or so she claims.
2) Zed likes to imagine taking over Ionia with Syndra ruling by his side. Syndra likes to imagine taking over the world with Zed as her loyal servant.
3) While they do occasionally try to do “normal” couple activities, like sharing dinner or going to the theater, those sort of things really bore them. They love sparring together, but Syndra always gets carried away, so it usually turns into them trying to kill each other. It’s like foreplay for them.
…das könnten problemlos meine Headcanons sein, wirklich.
Anonym sagte: You know i never thought i would have wanted to see more of this pairing but now i do (why, guys,why) - Sometimes Malzahar returns to his old personality, to the human we once was. This moments only last some hours before the void takes over him again, those were the moments Kassadin appreciated the most, since the other told him stories of his past and family, and always asks him to lift him from the curse of the void (with any method, even death) if he ever does something he'll regret
The first time it happened, Malzahar was hysteric. The weight of his sins, his pledge to the void, and the guilt of his murders all came crashing down upon one—now despairingly human—mind. He had felt confused, deprived, and worthless all at once—cheated of the one thing that had justified his actions and made his life worthwhile.
At the time, the prophet had nearly killed himself, and Kassadin had nearly let him.
These days, however, Malzahar simply takes what little graces life still grants him. His few moments of humanity are rare, but cherished—and he spends almost all of them reminiscing in Kassadin’s arms.
Today, his head rests in Kassadin’s lap, dark brown hair falling in wisps around his face. Today, his eyes are a deep blue, glassy and dark—no longer streaming void-given light—and they stare up at Kassadin with silent appreciation. And today Kassadin, his mask off and his breathing slow, looks back at him with a half smile and a heavy heart.
"You’re so human, sometimes," Kassadin says, "did you know??"
Malzahar gives him a look that says, quite obviously, ‘No, Kassadin, I hadn’t noticed,’ and Kassadin almost laughs.
"Not now—I mean when you’re possessed," he explains, and Malzahar’s brow furrows. "You act remarkably human, even then."
Malzahar blinks back owlishly, “Do I really??” His voice is sad, regretful, and Kassadin brings a hand up to rest on the other man’s head. Malzahar leans his head into the touch, almost cat-like in the way he seeks comfort from his sins. Kassadin hums an affirmation.
"You kissed me the other day," he notes absently, his fingers playing with Malzahar’s hair.
"I kissed you while I was possessed??" Malzahar inquires, a small frown gracing his lips. He pauses as he thinks. "… But I haven’t even kissed you as ‘myself,’ yet."
Kassadin chuckles, quiet and warm, because it’s true; Malzahar has yet to kiss him while ‘human.’ The thought isn’t a terrible one, and he finds himself replying “You could now.”
The prophet’s robes shuffle as he sits up. “Really??” he says, curious.
Kassadin nods, and Malzahar scoots himself forward, closer to Kassadin’s body.
His hands were warmer than they were before—almost burning—and Kassadin thinks that he likes these hands of Malzahar’s much better. They cradle his face with a carefulness, reverence, and loneliness that Kassadin can relate to.
The void doesn’t stir, and when Malzahar kisses him—as chaste and innocent as he did the other day—Kassadin feels like he’s floating.
They sit there, breathing the same air, for what seems like an eternity. Malzahar’s lips are slightly parted, and Kassadin’s so close he can feel the other man’s heartbeat. When the prophet finally pulls back from the other man completely, his eyes are wide and his face is flushed—Kassadin thinks he looks almost boyishly young.
Malzahar lays back down, his gaze thoughtful. He brings a hand up to touch his lips, and smiles. It’s a long time before either of them speak again.
"… You remember what I told you, Kassadin??" Malzahar asks quietly, his eyes closed. "About what I want you to do if I ever get too… out of hand??"
Kassadin hums softly. It’s not something he likes to think about.
"And… You’ll do it??" Malzahar continues, hesitantly, and Kassadin lets out a heavy sigh.
"Yes," he says eventually, running this hand through the other man’s hair once more. "Of course I will."
"Thank you," Malzahar murmurs back, his voice small. "Thank you so much."