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@shehili

Lawrence of Arabia (1962) || Purgatory, canto II (Mendelbaum's translation)

#shehili #(( im sorry but the feels are just too much why did u have to point out that it's them- asofijwa )) #;aes #;references

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Slaps him on the ass. If only for the bragging rights.

Sticks his entire demonic arm into his chest, deep enough to clutch his very core, pull it out & show it to him.

For the 'bragging rights'.

#perfect-fourth #;crack #suggestive tw #(( :/ i said he's willing to sub for SOME people not that Jhin is one of those people u.u )) #(( then again if he was jhin wouldn't know what to do w his hands change my mind ))

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PUPILS PINNED BEFORE the curve of distinctly Ionian lips; calmly, his gaze followed each calculated motion as if lulled by the haunting theme orchestrating their ceremony. His eyelids felt heavier, heart clawing up his windpipe. The echo reminded him of stillwater. Just like the minute rocking of their ship that night. Eyes sought reprieve in the vivid green glimmer of the man circling them both with intent. Feline-like, and yet in that moment his presence was undoubtedly the most comforting thing in the room.

Alas, the virtuoso would not allow him such comforts. Jhin's humming hammered into his head long after the Ionian had ceased; images of the last time he was strapped to that chair re-emerged. Jericho found his own gaze following as if hypnotized by each deliberately slow motion; prolonging his disquiet. The granite felt dead beneath his grip and yet his talons had clenched around it, producing a subtle screech when he turned away from the other's touch. Whatever concern Khada Jhin had managed to paint upon weary features quickly snapped back to frustration then, shooting him a glare between unruly strands of white that had fallen out of place with the motion. His glove had left a tingling sensation; as a tear rolling down his own cheek might have.

But nothing of the sort would come. If anything, Jericho's expression grew hollow as he watched him caress the appointed ritual knife, brows quirking lightly. He found reassurance in knowing what comes next; in reminding himself of his purpose. Those dreary walls... so much power dwelled within them. Power that could be used to protect, to restore... Reminiscence pestered him again, in that moment; he recalled his body lying flat on hostile land, staring at the birds circling him. Frozen in time, in that memory, which threatened to burst from his subconscious & overtake him whole.

Snapping back to the present abruptly, he turned to face his lifelong companion. The sheer apprehension in Marcus' gaze was enough to rekindle his determination, even as his sense of smell was assaulted by the herbal blend Jhin approached him with. A stench he'd hoped to never taste again. His chin tilted upwards slowly, with trepidation. Holding his breath, thin lips parted to accept the concoction. But as he swallowed it, thick and murky as it was, he could not help the convulsion in his throat. It sat at the top of his collarbone and burned its way down his lungs. The ties rattled with his coughing.

The atrium above, obscured by looming greenery, born from the undergrowth of higher ledges & openings in the Bastion's inner maze, revealed the time of evening; still young, with a pale moon peeking timidly behind thick clouds. When he was first sat on that chair, the sun was still offering him some comfort. But the night's veil had always been the more alluring option. Jericho's head rested against the ritual seat's back with a light tap. His hair fell smoothly over his chest once more. This time, beneath their wispy cover, something else was blending into the various carvings on his skin.

Beneath his chin, his aorta pulsed gingerly; and each tick was illustrated with ink. Black begun to pool into his veins, littering his pale skin with their pathings. The larger ones were clearly visible; the smaller, the more intricate, were a little harder to detect. That bitter substance served not only to prepare his body, but also to point the way for his appointed priest. So that he would know where to plunge that knife, come time. Jericho suppressed his shudder at the notion, and then slowly, he closed his eyes; and surrendered to the memory.

Dark waters, torn by the warship's bow. Flickering lights in the distance; their speckles dim just like those first tingles heralding numbness over his torso. He found shelter in a deep breath; and forced his mind to mistake iodine laden air for a sea breeze. Each beating of raven wings circling the mast bringing them closer to the shore...

#perfectfourth #notoriousness #(( 1 month later here i come- ))

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#(( to this day im foaming at the mouth yall just :/ )) #(( listen. it can be the one time i allow a muse in their 30s close to this man like pls just - )) #;self reblog #;my art

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MUSE KINK LIST

tagged by: @saviourofzaun (thank you & I'm so sorry for what's under the cut- )

tagging: anyone who hasn't done this yet uwu

caution! extreme cringe under the cut but also disclaimer: a lot of those 'kinks' would need a certain context to manifest & revolve around innate desires for power & control over others that are consciously suppressed in everyday life but, of course, ever present & tempting...

There is an evident inclination to inflict pain or exercise control over the other person ( limiting their responses, their sensations, evoking a specific & pre-calculated response ) etc. Usually this will permeate his behavior even in 'softer' settings & he will rarely if ever grow unhinged with it. But the potential is there.

At the same time these are pliable depending on partner/context. A select few people are entitled to claim that they treated Jericho Swain like a pillow princess.

#(( noting here that most of these rarely take form esp nowadays )) #(( and it's just overall better for everyone if we let this man's libido lie dormant )) #(( we all saw what happened to poor jhin :c )) #(( and now he's got Stockholm syndrome )) #nsfw tw #suggestive tw #;headcanons

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hm? what’s that? im making memes again instead of being productive? hm..

#(( apologies for being away i was caught up in riding club drama :/ )) #(( where money is involved... lmao in either case these memes are my offering u.u to apologize )) #;self reblog #;memes #;crack

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E2 for a certain maven smooching her grumpy birb man? uvu <3

he doesn’t deserve her :/

#(( woke up w a thought :/ )) #(( beauty & the beast kinda style except he corrupts her into becoming the most powerful witch that can shatter ones' mind w her sonar wave #;self reblog #;my art #Swain/Sona #(( i've lived here too long to let riot stop me tbh ))

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In either case this specific man enjoys the company of other men and women alike. Much to the misfortune of said men and women.

#;dash commentary #(( still mad abt the whole riot thing so i had to say it louder for those in the back )) #((riot cannot and WILL not take this away from me ))

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i love characters with an innate ability to just fucking survive

bestie you should be dead but you arent fucking how

#((boram vc: )) #((aka leblanc vc:)) #((this man is like a damn cockroach)) #;references

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😶 + "I believe I remember the night you left, and returned a different man, Jericho. With those powers. What was the deciding factor, that lead you to it? ... Why did you do it alone?"

/ @notoriousness :]

TALONS TRACED THE OUTLINE of a faint mark crossing his jaw. Consciousness swimming, Jericho's heavy eyelids confessed that he was in and out of sleep in the aftermath of some unfinished conversation. A mere pause had sufficed to have him surrender to the tranquility of the bedchamber, lulled by the rhythmic heave & fall of his beloved's chest. An abrupt inhale betrayed him when Marcus decided to break the silence and lure him back out of his drowsy state.

Unblinking, his gaze settled on the reflection of deep crimson strands. He twirled one around his claw, then allowed it to fall back into place. Such striking juxtaposition in their color pallettes yet the indellible mark of blue-blooded heritage was imprinted on them both. In spite of his years in the trenches, Marcus was still softer than most souls he'd bedded in his lifetime. His skin felt like paper under that taloned grip; like he could pierce him any second now. Or tear him to shreds.

The question beckoned a pointed effort to avoid the latter. Sheldom would he revisit memories of those times by his own vollition; and upon anyone else's request, he would have avoided it still. But to be asked that whilst lying beside a man was a move of utmost insolence; and a part of him wanted to scold Marcus for it. Eyes offered a languid turn before he rolled away, on his back. The stump of his arm, adorned with various sigils, was squeezed under Marcus' own; a point of contact that retained some warmth between them, even if Jericho's skin visibly experienced a chill at their parting.

"And would anyone have taken my word seriously after that return, you think?" His gaze, albeit slightly scornful, quickly withdrew to the ceiling whereupon it swam amidst the crimson drapes decorating his canopy. "They all thought me mad, Marcus. And I do not blame them for it; I thought myself mad, for a time."

Slowly, a tingling crawled up his spine, urging him to escape the supine position. A negative association. He drew some of the covers with him as he withdrew to the edge of the bed, back turned on his companion. Long silvery locks concealed the top of his spine, but not a single tangle would be spotted on their length.

"Your care for me during that difficult time..." He mused, drowsily. Emotion contained in his gravitas. "...It was important. I could not afford to lose that. To lose you." A bitter smile settled in his features, only to disappear when he caught glimpse of the bird perched on the windowsill. The drapes were drawn, allowing a view of the dormant city beneath. But the ravens' eyes never sleep. Jericho's own mirrored the erratic twitch of their gaze as his brows creased pensively.

"...Marcus?" His trailed off, his soft tone alarming in the complete silence that reigned over the room. Sat still, facing away; he appeared rigid. The bird croaked. Or was it Jericho croaking? His hunched back would never confess.

"Have you ever felt like no matter which choice you make, they all lead you to the same outcome?"

#notoriousness #(( haha cute couple moment :D ))

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#(( coping w work anxiety by browsing my old art as one does )) #(( this is canonical change my mind )) #;self reblog #;my art #;crack

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Smells his hair. In a creepy way.

PALE SKIN TRANSLUSCENT UNDER THE LIGHT; one could clearly witness the thick ball of spit rolling down his throat. Each iodine-laden breath left him sinking deeper into the stone chair's arch, pressing into Noxian granite as if hoping to draw from its sturdiness. But no matter how he'd shift, it was uncomfortable; no, discomforting. And the audible sniffling behind his ear hardly helped with the situation.

"Do not make this awkward."

His voice rung empty in the cavernous room; one of many ample ritual chambers in the Bastion's depths. The walls towering around them almost seemed endless thanks to large windows at the very top. Rays of dim sunlight reflected a halo around Jericho's crown, where an inkling of sweatbeads had formed shortly after he was strapped to this damned torture device once more.

To the magically inept, it was no more than a black chair with fancy carvings on its side. To those in possession of unfortunate knowledge, however, runes warned of the fates sealed upon its granite seat. A method of magical permeation dating back to the Tyrant's reign. Among other indecipherable designs, the etched outline of a rose stood out, aligned with the center of one's back. Jericho could swear he had felt fingertips tracing his bare skin over that spot when he first sat, as if welcoming him back to the treacherous procedure. Yes, he had earned his access to that room. But the device's owners remained vigilant; and he would be foolish to think their endeavors would go by unnoticed.

A subtle twist of his forearm tested the cuff strapped to his wrist, trepidation crossing his features. Dark eyes sought solace in the shadow of his beloved lurking watchfully at the edge of the room ( his only lifeline & protection from the virtuoso's mercurial whims ) traversing past the thick dune of raw salt. A protective circle; to the onlooker. For him and his Ionian conspirator, it felt like more of a trap. Pupils dilated as he peered through the corner of his eye, at Jhin making the final adjustments to his bindings. He seemed awfully at ease with the procedure. It was... concerning. Jericho's eyes tracked his movement, circling him like a vulture.

"And stop it with the noises." He added scornfully, agitation all the more evident in the stiffness of his core. Comical relief concealed how each muscle fiber twitched visceral tension beneath his skin; the body remembers. But these walls remember too. The spillage of blood in the Immortal Bastion is always commemorated. Jericho was fortunate; in that neither of his comrades at that time were truly aware of how many eyes would be on them once the ceremonial knife tasted that first crimson drop.

With a lax exhale, Swain's vision trailed down the path of his own exposed thigh. His decencycovered by a rug ( moreso to evade the oogling of one Khada Jhin, whose depravity was reknowned by that point ) exposed skin spoke of the rituals past; charred, scalded & hacked, his body was far from pristine. Apart from the natural loosening of his skin due to weathering, there was an array of bruises complimenting the distinct sigils carved into his flesh. Most littered his upper torso, surrounding the remaining stump of his severed arm. The work continued down his left half, fading near his groin only to continue on the opposite side & stop abruptly over his crippled knee; the joint of which had been visibly thwarted from fusing properly into place. A line drawn down too far spoke of a job left unfinished.

Jericho's brows creased with the reminder. He peered at the virtuoso again, this time thoughtfully so. Would he survive it, or meet the fate of his predecessor?

"Enough with the bindings. They are secure enough, for that I am certain. Light the incense."

@notoriousness // @perfect-fourth

#((what a way to start this indeed)) #perfectfourth #//for mention: #notoriousness

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Cat Maid Marcus 🧹😼

thank you very much for the commission @perfect-fourth and for helping me bring dreams to life (our dreams)

bonus content under the cut 😊

#(( i woke up to this i-ll #EVEN with foreshadowing i could not predict ... I- am. speechless - )) #;not my art #notoriousness #(( swain vc: he put the silverware out in the wrong order :/ ))

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#;aes #(( thats fire mirza wtf ))

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he done did a FULL FACE of makeup to show up to battle I'm-

#(( the smokey eye ;~; icb canon did me JUSTICE yet again)) #((thank u riot im not even playing ur game anymore and yet u feed me...)) #;ooc #;tbd

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// EVERYONE STOP WHAT UR DOING AND LOOK AT !!! HIM!!!

#;ooc #;tbd #CONTENT !!!! :'D #Youtube

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"Your lawn?"

Reigns loosened in his grip, leaning over his mount's sculpted neck to peer at the Cantakerous Cavalier. The horse exhaled noisily, its big eye fixed on the peculiar lizard standing warily before it. Surely Jericho knew better than to antagonize such a legendary figure, and the worried glances of his surrounding troops reflected that hope. The ghost of an amused smirk lingered on his features.

The legion would walk through the Dalamor in either case, but, perhaps out of sheer impulse to fullfill some childlike desire ( from back when he was but a youngster hearing of the yordle's impossible feats in the Noxian warfronts, mouth agape ) he could not help but add a casual; "May I see your title of ownership then, Sir Admiral Major?"

Kled cocks his gun, and starts spinning his bear trap above his head staring at the man. "Get the hell off my lawn!"

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#((obligated? my dude if i cant have kled interactions what is the point in all this??)) #;crack #beartrap-onna-rope