#sounds-dangerous

[fxckorder]

✍

send me ✍ for my muse to try and RP as your muse

    ▎▉ ▍ ✖ ”

    ❝ I'm Ezreal. I'm a hunk. Except     I'm a wimpy kid arcane  shifting     all over the fucking place. Who     needs a map? Not me ❞

[deathrocket]

✉

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Jinx [5:55PM]: any idea what to do with 10000 pens???

[askkric-blog]

 sounds-dangerous started following you

"Explorer." Kristoffer looks at the Champion with mild interest. "Is there something you need? You don't look injured nor cursed." He added raising a brow as he spoke.

[twisted-treant-archive-blog]

Break me.

Freljord tribes have many, many words for snow. The kind that falls like tears, fast and hard and splatter on the ground, and the kind that drift like angel wings. There's the kind that blinds you when wind throws it like razor blades against your face and the kind that buries itself into your bones so deep that you never feel like you will be warm ever, ever again.

In the Shadow Isles, there are just as many words for darkness. Ezreal was, one by one, experiencing all of them.

Curiosity kills the cat, but satisfaction brings it back. There is no satisfaction in the kind of blackness that sleeps slowly inside your body, sending tendrils into eyes, noses, mouth, and every time you breathed there was nothing but darkness.

Blackness that clung to your body like twisted and gnarled roots that pin you to the ground, your chest heaving to breathe and still they barrel themselves into your rib cage, methodically, pulling out everything you are out of the marrow of your bones.

There is the black the pours itself like molten lead into your bones and burns but you still know that you can never, never be warm again.

Curiosity can kill the cat. In the Shadow Isles, you will die a thousand deaths, over, and over, and over again. It pulls you in and turns you around its tongue tasting your power and your hope that you could give it life that it desperately, desperately craves.

Glowing blue did nothing to dispel the darkness that hid itself beneath the claw-like branches of the tree. This was the darkness that made you feel like every secret in your life was exposed and that the wind laughed and laughed and laughed.

The only sound was dull creaking and the softest, softest sound of heavy footsteps in the far distance. The trees recoiled and bowed, it seemed, tendrils carefully, cautiously reaching forward. Whether it was respect e greed or worship or just the howling wind no one could say. Unphased, Maokai entered, threw the pale, whimpering lump over his shoulder, and left.

Behind him, the darkness closed.