Swain stared at his office.
LeBlanc stared at his office.
Beatrice squawked from where she perched on top of Swain’s chair.
Caw caw motherfuckers, her six red, devilish eyes were trained on her owner. Caw.
"Sand." Swain said. "There’s sand in my office."
"Well observed, Grand General." LeBlanc’s voice was dry, but it still held a tone of disbelief. "Sand."
"CAW." Beatrice seemed to agree. "CAW CAW."
"Shurima is nowhere near. How is there sand in my office?” Swain sounded distressed. “My perfect office!”
LeBlanc, however, was more focused on something else. She pointed her staff at a line of small golden birds perched on top of Swain’s favourite closet (the proverbial closet everyone in Noxus used when they say ‘come out of the closet’…except it was real). “I didn’t know you owned more birds.”
Swain squawked back at his bird when he saw the baby birds. “Beatrice, darling, please don’t tell me they’re what I think they are.”
"CAW CAW CAW." What are you going to do about it? Beatrice seemed to say as those eyes bore into them eerily. “CAW!” She flew over them, spreading the sand over their clothes and into their hair. LeBlanc screamed, and Swain kept on squawking.
Just then, the door opened, and a sandstorm blew in.
"I have found my beautiful birb babies!" Azir declared, sweeping in majestically. Beatrice landed on his shoulder. The line of baby birds flew to their parents.
"I’m not cleaning this one up for you, Swain." LeBlanc magicked herself out.
"Caw." Beatrice cawed, satisfied.
"Caw, my dear. Come, let me introduce you to the birb daughter of my heart."
Meeting at a masquerade ball AU
"May I have this dance, my lady?"
It was a stranger asking—a well-dressed stranger with a distinctive accent. She recognised that accent from somewhere…a long time ago, before her duty as the heiress to her family took over.
She should know this person.
The way the stranger’s fingers twined with hers, the way their bodies moulded, and the way they synced, their steps graceful and flowing.
"May I have this dance, my lady?" A young woman with a scar on her cheek asked solemnly. She smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes.
"But of course, my lord." She answered nonetheless.
On the balcony, bathed in the glow of the twilight, they rocked to the music only they could hear.
And it was the same movement, the same rhythm, the same emotion, until Ashe whirled them off the dance floor into a darkened corner, tearing the stranger’s mask off, and-
She still looked the same. Her hair was shorter, her lips thinner, and there were more scars on her face, but her eyes…Ashe traced her thumb on a cheek gently. Those were the eyes she fell in love with, all those years ago.
This was no stranger.
“Sej.” She whispered. How could she have forgotten?
Katarina doesn’t come to the graveyard often.
She walks amongst the white stones, each one the same size, shape, differing only in the names etched deep and black – names that most have forgotten as the years have passed.
When she finds the one name, the only one that matters, she stops.
She hasn’t brought flowers.
She stands in the grass. The wind blows, running fingers through her graying hair.
Katarina scowls. She waves her hand, as if she can push the breeze away.
Her words are bitter. Her voice breaks.
“I don’t want your wind, Riven, I want you to hold me.”
Riven swirls the wine in her glass pensively. What she wants to do more than swirl her wine is to slam her head into the table. Repeatedly. She is currently attending the wedding of Draven to Draven. It is the most ridiculous thing she has ever done. Well, except perhaps that one time she and her college roommate Katarina – no, no, not even that can compare to watching Draven put a ring on his finger and then kiss a mirror.
She’s only at the wedding because Darius begged her not to leave him alone.
And now Darius is across the room in deep conversation with Swain and it’s Riven who’s been left alone.
Riven tips the glass of wine back and downs it all. It’s quite a feat considering it’s red wine and not at all meant for chugging, but she manages anyway. It’s one of those do-or-die things. A matter of survival.
And now her glass is empty.
Riven gets up and meanders to the table where they’re serving the wine.
As she approaches, she realizes that the attendant is not the same dour faced man as when she’d gotten her first several glasses. No, he’s gone and a gorgeous young woman has replaced him. Her nametag says she’s Irelia Lito. Judging from her expression, she’s miserable.
When Riven arrives at the front of the line, she smiles and turns on the charm.
It would be a crime to let Miss Irelia Lito stay miserable.
ok i actually really hate this so i’m just gonna post and move onnnnnn
Katarina stands before her father at his desk. She breathes deep the recycled air of the battleship.
The admiral is calm. He’s bent over his paperwork, going over the orders he’s about to send out, ignoring his daughter until she does something worth his attention.
Katarina is not calm.
She’s standing before her father but all she can see is Riven. Riven in her starched pilot’s uniform. Riven leaning against her fighter, smiling, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Katarina’s ear. Riven smearing a line of green paint across that damn craft she loves so much, another dogfight, another kill. Riven under her, laughing, saying that-
“They’re going to die on this mission,” Katarina says.
Her father doesn’t look up. “I know.”
The rumble of deep space engines blazing to life shakes the steel deck and Katarina tells herself that that is why she trembles.
taking lane taunts to another level..
OMG WHAT. And the level of disapproval from Cait…perfect
the unseen poro is the deadliest
Why hello, m’lady. *tips fedora*
Good luck, have fun, and may your soul be saved.
YES HELLO someone spent a lot of valuable time recently doing something
frivolous like reading fanfic instead of somethingimportant so to say thanks I started a thing. It’s a 6-part thing and here’s the first part glhf
The gangplank swarms with passengers and their belongings, awash with buoyant chatter and seaworthy shouts as everyone readies for the voyage. It’s a steam ship, one of Ionia’s first, of Piltovian design but built from the keel up in this very harbor.
Riven’s bound for Piltover, and from there she’ll take one of their airships straight to Noxus. It feels like a final mile, the last demon of her past to defeat before – before what? The rest of her life, that’s what Karma tells her.