« Anything Worth Doing Is Worth Doing Right. » ***independent, private, selective, iconless, low activity league of legends multimuse.
penned by m.
established 19/07/2023
#SUMMONEDGLORY | independent, private, selective, 18+, duplicate and crossover-friendly League of Legends / Arcane multimuse penned by m. & established 19/07/2023.
❝ a less trusting person might think this all sounds very suspicious. ❞
❝ you say all the right words, but i’m not sure you mean the right things. ❞
❝ i know somewhere quiet. somewhere intimate. somewhere we can…indulge in each other. ❞
❝ eugh, don’t be nice to me. it makes me want to be nice back. ❞
❝ we needn’t be enemies. there’s plenty of those to go around already. ❞
❝ there’s a steeliness to you, an unwavering tenacity in the face of, to be frank, quite dire odds. ❞
❝ even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will. ❞
❝ i appreciate anyone that opens a conversation with threats of bodily harm. ❞
❝ oh, you know me - ever the optimist. i’m trying to focus on the positives. ❞
❝ i’m not easily impressed by people, but you’re stronger than i gave you credit for. ❞
❝ there’s an air about you. something alien. ❞
❝ loosen the grip on your pride for one blasted moment, won’t you? ❞
❝ it’s been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that. ❞
❝ there’s something odd about this village. people skulk around like they’ve something to hide. ❞
❝ you know, if you want to spend time with me, you only have to say so. ❞
❝ i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. what you see. ❞
❝ what’s better than a devil you don’t know? a devil you do. ❞
❝ you must know that you’re…that you’re very special to me. ❞
❝ the gods are nothing if not vindictive in their vengeance. ❞
❝ stay with me a while, will you? day will come all too soon. ❞
❝ here’s my little treat with their cheeks all flushed. ❞
❝ i am terrified. i will not claim otherwise. ❞
❝ my apologies. i’m not quite myself yet. i had the strangest dream last night. ❞
❝ we didn’t die today. tomorrow, perhaps. but not today. ❞
❝ leader’s need to make tough decisions. we do what we must. ❞
❝ i think that unknowable powers come with unknowable consequences. ❞
❝ i’ve had a lifetime’s fill of watching little men puff themselves up with grand titles. ❞
❝ in these times, all we can trust are the blades in our hands. ❞
❝ it’s not easy to turn away from one you once loved. ❞
❝ much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? but what has been taken from you? ❞
❝ damn it all. i can do nothing right - not a damn thing. ❞
❝ every instinct i have tells me that nothing’s changed. that i’m still just a means to an end. ❞
❝ do not speak of a story you only know the half of. ❞
❝ i dreamt every night that you’d come back to me. that somehow it was all a nightmare dawn would undo. ❞
❝ when the time comes to strike, you must take it. for there may be only one chance. ❞
❝ your eyes. there is pain, endless and deep. but also devotion - blazing like the sun. ❞
❝ you’re adorable even when you’re teasing me. ❞
❝ i don’t need your help, and i don’t need your pity. ❞
❝ i’m more than what i was. and i’m not afraid of anything any more. ❞
❝ i said exactly what i meant: i love you. you should never, never doubt that. ❞
❝ this is all like some sort of terrible dream. but it’s real, isn’t it? ❞
❝ there is no redemption. can’t you see? it is too late. ❞
❝ i don’t know that it was brave. i just know that it was right. ❞
❝ you took those bastards down like it was nothing. it…was amazing. ❞
❝ they underestimated me. so they paid the price. ❞
❝ we fight, we die, and we just hope that when our time comes, there is someone else to take our place. ❞
❝ unfortunately for me, you’re my friend. rescuing you from mortal peril is my right. ❞
❝ what did you think i was going to say? 'oh, come here, i'll kiss you better'? ❞
❝ flowers are so overrated. they're bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons. ❞
❝ i’ve been lied to, my whole life. and i was gullible enough to just believe it. ❞
❝ you know, i never pictured myself as a hero. never thought i'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. and now that i'm here…i hate it. ❞
❝ you know, i feel a connection between us. like we're two souls walking the same path. ❞
❝ the forgiving sort, are you? you should be careful. plenty would take advantage of that. ❞
❝ it’s as if god made you just to ruin me. ❞
❝ perish the thought. every word i said was nothing less than true. ❞
❝ you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it. ❞
❝ i got my eye on you. you got the look of a troublemaker. ❞
❝ i’m starting to think you’re my guardian angel. ❞
❝ it seems you know me better than i know myself. ❞
❝ you…you have no idea what you’ve done. ❞
❝ they say madness and genius are separated by but a hair’s breadth. perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity. ❞
❝ oh, it’s you. don’t you get tired of telling people how to live their lives? ❞
❝ good morning! thank you for not killing me the other night. ❞
❝ when the time comes to strike, you must take it. for there may be only one chance. ❞
❝ it is good to savour the moment of victory - but pace bg3 syourself. our fight is just beginning. ❞
❝ i was too hasty to judge you. i thought you were witless, gutless, unimpressivably bland… ❞
❝ yours is the first happy face i’ve seen in a good while. ❞
❝ when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair – that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door. ❞
❝ thank you, my friend. maybe we’ll meet again, in another life. ❞
❝ you’ll regret sticking your nose in my business. ❞
No proofreading, I will die on the hill of my grammatical mistakes. So I mentioned a while back that I wanted to write a drabble/headcanon about Fiora's conversation with her father, on the night before his execution. This is this headcanon. It's over 2,100 words long and not particularly well written (dialogue isn't my forte), so read at your own risks and while putting yourself in the shoes of an 18-year-old Fiora :')
Trigger warnings for mentions of death, mentions of execution, mentions of death by poison, as well as dysfunctional family relationship and medieval misogyny.
Footsteps fell on the cobblestoned path that led to the jail, treading lightly and precisely—Far more lightly and precisely than the woman these footsteps belonged to felt.
You could have cut her anger with a knife—Eighteen years of itemized frustrations and grievances tended to do that to a person. Fiora had thought her wedding would be the culmination of it all. There were, truly, nothing more earth-shattering that she could do than to stand up for herself then, so close to the altar, and loudly proclaim she was her own person and would not be sold off as a political pawn in her family’s games or the Crownguards’. These hadn’t been her words exactly, but this was her resolve. At the time, nothing could have been a worse humiliation for her family than that, but it should have given her the chance to prove her worth. Her worth, not her father’s, not her family’s. After eighteen years spent stealing Cassian’s rapiers and making him teach her everything he knew, eighteen years of her parents’ attempts at moulding her into what a proper lady of House Laurent should be, it had felt vindicating to finally get something that would be entirely hers. Fiora might have pondered on the selfishness of this had she not been so angry. This was meant to be hers—Her fight, her chance at redeeming the family honour she had broken. She was skilled and confident enough in herself and her own abilities to know, whoever House Crownguard could throw at her, she would have come up on top. She would have won, her family honour would have been saved, and no one would have dared try to force her in a role she had no interest in playing ever again. Yet even that had been taken away from her, and by the very people who had tried to raise her to be someone she was not. Another event to add to the long list that fuelled Fiora’s seething anger.
Worse than her father taking her place in the duel had been him trying to poison his opponent—And her anger turned to rage.
Demacia had been built on principles of honesty, honor, and justice. Lord Sebastien Laurent, in his despair to save his family’s honour, had broken all these values. The fact he got caught was unsurprising and did not phase her—A just if humiliating consequence of his actions. Fiora had wanted to see him one last time before his execution in the morning—As if talking to him would somehow satiate her anger and placate her soul. Mostly, she wanted to look at her father’s face and let him understand the weight of the mistakes he had made. The man she finds in his cell is, however, not her father. Sure, he looks like Sebastian Laurent and his voice is the same it had always been when he calls her name, but he looks pained and small, and the sound of her name in his mouth feels strained, and lost, and hopeful—A far cry from the imposing head of the household she had always known, the man who hired a personal seamstress for her in the hopes she would take an interest in clothing, and who had spoiled his only daughter rotten, though with all the material things Fiora did not want or aspire to.
The realisation that he might have been the most amazing father to an entirely different child, just not to her, is a sour one and Fiora stills herself and stands in it for a moment, taking a deep breath in. The next step forward she takes feels shaky and uncertain, but she nods in acknowledgement more than in invitation. A few short steps had taken him closer to the bars, and he now rolls his shoulders back and seems to regain some of the composure of the father Fiora used to know. The familiarity of the gesture is enough to restore her confidence—and her anger. “How could you? Death by combat would have been a far better outcome than poisoning someone. I would have welcomed it, but you let your own pride get in the way of my skills and determination, and now—” A pause. “—now everything is ruined.”
Sebastian’s brows furrow in pain and hesitation, but Fiora cuts him off before he gets the chance to speak. “Don’t bother with lessons now. I know I was reckless. That was the point. You and Mother have always thought about House Laurent first, as a collective unit, and in your children as human beings second, and I was done entertaining that misogynistic ideal. Did you know I am a better, more capable fighter than both Cassian and Ammdar combined? I’m more sharp, more precise. I bothered to learn the actual theory and art of sword fighting, instead of just the moves, and—”
“I did not do it for House Laurent.” His voice cuts her off, loud, stern, and authoritative. Before she gets the chance to continue, he follows: “I am still the Lord of House Laurent, at the very least until tomorrow morning, and you will show me the respect this title is owed, instead of this childish emotional outburst. This said, if you have quieted down, I did not do it for House Laurent. I did it for you.”
“I could have stood my own ground.”
“You’ll have no choice but to do that now, yes.”
“No one of importance will ever trust or associate with House Laurent again. If you had let me fight, my success would have at least granted you all pity, and it would have been an honourable fight.”
“No, Fiora.” His voice grows soft again, and he extends his left hand through the bars. Fiora eyes the gesture cautiously, her own hands remaining firmly by her side. She had come here unarmed—a gesture of good faith, in case the guards questioned her presence—and felt impossibly small and vulnerable without her blade, a pale impression of herself. “People of importance will respect you now.”
“Nonsense!”
His lips thin and, for a second, Sebastian Laurent is not the Lord of one of the most important noble houses of the Great City of Demacia, but a father, frustrated that his daughter yet again refuses to listen to him, like she had always done.
“They will. But for that, you must be my opponent tomorrow. You must ask that a Laurent yield the blade that will take my life, and that this Laurent should be you.”
A mirthless chuckle escapes Fiora’s lips as she shakes her head. Her father had well and truly lost his mind, the plans he conjured up vile punishments for her going against the family. Here, however, he was behind bars, and she was not. This false semblance of power, mixed with the anger that had not yet subsided, emboldened her next words. “Haven’t I been disciplined enough already? You took away my opportunity to be heard, and now you would have me fight you? This is some new kind of cruelty.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded, as if this would get the young woman to listen. “There is cruelty in being the head of a household, and even more in loving and raising children.”
She had not expected him to agree. Hatred was easier when the object of one’s loathing was not reflecting on their wrong doings. In her silence, her father saw an opportunity. “You will have to learn about this now that this will become your role, but first you need to hear me. Volunteer to fight and execute me tomorrow. It is the only way for you to get what you want and preserve the family—The only way you stay alive and prosper.”
“No. You don’t mean that, there has to be another way.”
“There are plenty. This is the only one which will give you the power you seek.”
She wants to say that this was never about power, but about freedom—about her own agency—something which she is uncertain her father could understand. In Demacia, however, freedom and agency rarely went without power—At least not for noble families, not for her.
“All you need to do is win a fight. If you are truly an exceptional fighter, this should be an easy feat for you.”
“Of course, it would be. This is not about that, father.”
“What is it about, then?”
Fingers clasp against his still extended hand, as if she were suddenly pleading—Though what she is pleading for, Fiora is not quite sure. For her father not to die, for her to not be the one to execute him, for the heavy mantel of head of household to be passed on to someone who craved it more than her. Contrary to what everyone thought of her, her rebellion had never been about power—It had not had that foresight. In all the near-sightedness of her youth, Fiora had reasoned that she was important enough in her own rights, and had wanted the agency to act as such without pondering on the responsibilities that went with it. Pride, however, prevented her from admitting any of this, at least not in such blatant terms. Perhaps holding his hand could be enough.
“You are my father. It would hardly be appropriate for me to hurt my own family in this way.”
“Disavowing me is the only way this will work, Fiora.” Still his hand squeezes hers, a support far too slim for the task at hand, but the only support Fiora has in this moment.
“If you are so desperate to protect our family, why didn’t you consider it before poisoning your opponent?” And just like that, Fiora extirpates her hand from the man’s, away from the uncharacteristic warmth of his support. His lips thin again, this time in disappointment.
“Despair, child, is a situation I pray you never have to face, though you might ought to earn a few lessons in self-sacrifice in case you ever do.”
Fiora rolls her eyes at his tone, suddenly back to being the father she had always known but that had never known her, and he scoffs at her attitude.
“I am trying to protect you. Your victory and my death is the surest way to guarantee that.”
“No. You were going to fight instead of me.”
“I had hoped this issue could be resolved this way. When it became clear it couldn’t, I had a lapse in judgement, but I am thinking clearly now, Fiora. You must yield the blade, you must become the new head of House Laurent, and you must ensure our name remains respected.”
It is a poisoned gift. Meeting her father’s request would unequivocally tie her to the processes and protocols that had robbed her of her agency to begin with, placing a heavy burden on her small shoulders. Though perhaps she could beat them at their own game, make her family a better and more empowered one. And if she did not meet her father’s request, Sebastian Laurent would die anyway, the glory would go to someone else, and all honours would be lost. The reality of her lack of options left a bitter taste in her mouth, copper clinging to the back of her throat as she difficultly swallowed. Her anger tasted like bile and her sadness like blood.
“I’ll do it—For the sake of Mother, Ammdar, Alarick, Cassian, and Damian.”
Sebastian nods, solemn, but then Fiora is the one who reaches past the bars to squeeze his hands in hers, fingernails almost digging into his skin. He will have to forgive his daughter; she is trying not to cry. Copper, as it turns out, was the taste of tears.
“Where do I start? What must I know?”
“First, that I love you, child. You at least must be certain of that.”
Fiora thinks back to her childhood, and to everything that has led her here. She thinks of the countless trainings in secret, of the family that had never seen her, of the love and care they had had for a version of herself she would quite simply never be. She thinks that even now, in his last moments trying to protect her, her father is still bestowing her with insurmountable responsibilities. She thinks that she likes a challenge, and is grateful for the possibility to go through these responsibilities her own way. But most of all, she thinks of fathers and daughters as two ships in the night, struggling to see one another and yet crossing paths. She thinks of honour, duty, and justice, and how family can twist the meaning of these words.
For once, Sebastian was the right father, and she was the right daughter.
I'm going to try to get back on here more soon (I say, while my work calendar lets out a loud, mocking laugh and says "you wish"), but given r.iot's new lore announcements, I'm here to say that if they change Camille's lore? no they didn't. as the word of god on my version of Camille, I'm keeping the old lore and will be living in denial ✨
If you're wondering where in the world I've been, it's the end of the quarter, which means my already very full work calendar got a whole lot busier. I'd say things will go back to normal next week, but there's a lot of changes in my team and I've taken on extra projects for the end of the year so. Likely not? 😅 So expect this blog to run on very low activity. I'm still around (please let me know what the best way to keep in touch is, if you'd like that? I'm a very very old potato when it comes to discord, but if that's what people use, I'll bite the bullet and try, maybe?) but I'm also very slow to write anything. My activity tab also seems broken so if you've answered or tagged me in anything in the past week (couple of weeks? i have no clue when it started 🙃), please nudge me 💜
Lately there has been an increase of a new anon thing. Someone sends blogs something random, apparently mostly nsfw or the like, tagging someone else's blog in those asks.
THE TAGGED BLOG IS NOT THE ONE SENDING THESE ASKS!
This someone is just using their URL for whatever reason.
So instead of blocking or even harassing the URL named in the ask, block and report the anon!
Listen there’s a legends of runeterra quotes that mentions Garen and Fiora never trained together, despite Fiora helping train the vanguards.
And of course Fiora would give an answer this self-absorbed and sure of herself but the part of my brain that has a terrible sense of humour would like to think somebody somewhere in Demacia saw how they fought and decided it’d be a terrible idea to let them fight each other, much like some people are banned from playing Monopoly together in families.
it's way past my bedtime so i'll disappear again but i'll leave you all by saying that at some point i'll have the time to drabble about the conversation Fiora had with her father the night before she had to duel him to death, and it will make me cry. thank you, good night
It would be a slow evening waiting for the next caravan out of Glorft and back to the Immortal Bastion. Samira had missed the ride she was meant to take on a technicality—loose ends that needed tying up after a mission, which she had expected would be more entertaining than it turned out to be. Anything requiring stealth felt like a betrayal of her own values, especially when it was not part of the initial brief, and she made a mental note to tell Indari to request more money because of it.
The mercenary had settled down in a small bar as lackluster as the last moments of her mission had been, a glass of the strongest drink they had on tap in her hands and a deck of cards in the other. In the middle of the Immortal Bastion, a glimpse of the pillory might not have seemed such an intriguing sight, but Samira was bored and the younger woman looked like she had stories. Getting drunk in a bar while talking to a stranger was not necessarily her idea of a successful night, but it could at least be a beginning. With a swift move, Samira had left her stool at the bar to gracefully slide next to the stranger, pushing the deck of cards in her hand in front of the odd person near her. Now that she was closer and could see Briar more clearly in the low light of the bar, she looked human enough, but not quite. “Looks like you’ve had a day. Would you like me to deal you in?”
Out of everything she could have said, this was perhaps the kinder euphemism, but she figured everything she could have said had already been heard before. The smaller woman was at a bar, not crying out for help or modelling the big, flashy shackles that, quite frankly, wore her more than she was wearing them. It didn't matter who she was, or what she wore—Simply that she had entertaining stories.
*SHORT & SWEET STARTER CALL. 📨
➤ @summonedglory [ ; ] // Jayce or Viktor for Camille? Alternatively, Jayce or Grayson for Mel? ✨ ( I’ll work on one for you with Viktor for Camille as soon as I get his graphics ready! 💕💕 )
𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃. One that fit his schedule, offered enough wiggle room to swap things around, to change if needed without feeling all too restrictive. Simply put, he was a creature of habit — saving plenty of his experimenting & adventuring for inventing or forging. It just . . . offered some stability that way that he needed to keep balance among all the stress & pressure threatening to capsize everything.
But here he was, making an exception — a much needed one in his opinion.
Between things with the Council, things regarding the careful tension that simmered away between Piltover & the Undercity along with their research — things that felt oh so fragile. He knows they need a far more delicate touch then the inexperienced one he has in handling everything, then what he can spare to give or know what to do with — so it's no wonder that in these rising times of strain, he finds himself seeking out someone who exudes that enviable stability without so much as a waver even when things strayed from the course.
The simple truth of it is, he hasn't felt all that steady for a while now.
He knows he should knock, that it's impolite to barge into her quarters without so much as a heads up in advance, but his recklessness drives him like a fish hooked by a lure, reeled in to find Mel like an anchor in a stormy sea. He swallows thickly, peeking around, wading through as quietly as he can before he does eventually find her. All that steadfast determination seemingly melts away in the blink of an eye, sheepishness rising to take it's place as he watches her another moment longer. Another tensed swallow, before he pushes himself to get on with his interruption with a quiet clear of his throat & a slight lean at an angle.
When she looks his way, the twitchy, nervous smile he initially has, crooks that bit wider. Lop-sided, crooked in the imperfect angle it sits, he takes a slow, awkward step inside the spacious room before asking if he was interrupting & should come back later.
Some days were pieced together by willpower, caffeine, and the false promise that tomorrow would be kinder. Mel had known what she had signed up for when she took political office in Piltover—She had known what her family wanted, what the city needed, and what she had to prove, at least, and that had been enough to get her started. However matters had shifted since then—And they had shifted—her experience granted her the benefit of hindsight, the duty of foresight, and the comfort in knowing some things were still immutable and impervious to change. Small things, tiny tidbits of life that slipped through the cracks of political intrigue—the heat of a warm drink down her throat, the exact number of steps it took from one room to the next, and the various requests on her desk telling her today would be a long day but maybe tomorrow would be made of genuine change.
The requests were neatly laid out in front of her, arranged by Elora in a subjective order of importance that willed itself to seem objective. It was nothing but a trick of the light, of course—An illusion pulled together by the implicit rules of hierarchy, money, and power. In essence, the opening of a new trade route to facilitate metalworking exports did not inherently rank above the opening of a new playground, but the first had more positive economic implications than the latter, would give the city more international renown, and came from a person with enough weight to have their request looked at first, even if it had been submitted last.
This was a reductive, simplistic understanding of the ties, responsibilities, and calculations that bound Mel not only to her work, but to the subjective, sliding scales it implied. Her back is towards the door when Jayce comes in, right hand nursing a half-empty cup of coffee while her left hand was holding the playground proposal she was engrossed in. She looks for and catches his eyes from over her shoulder, reassuring smile curling her lips. Some routines seemed immutable, but it was nice to be reminded they weren’t.
As Mel turns, the files in her hand get softly placed back down on her desk. Free hand gets instinctively extended towards Jayce—An invitation to take a hold of it, or to sit down, or both. “Please stay. Believe it or not, you are a welcomed, if unexpected, interruption.” She would rather make time for Jayce, for his genius, his passion, and his inventions, than for whatever was on her desk. Paper files could not tell as compelling a story as real people could, and Jayce’s presence seems nervous and uncertain. He needs to talk, and Mel takes his presence here as a sign of trust. Moving closer to the man, her left hand gently squeezes at his right shoulder—A further, silent invitation to confide in her, should he wish to. “How has your day been?”
small, itsy, tiny starter call while I frantically read through baby name websites start filling my about pages. Please like this post if you'd like a starter from me, and send one of the following emojis if you'd like a specific muse (if you have no preference, I'll randomise the muse):
🩵 Camille
💖 Fiora
💛 Mel
❤️ Samira
🖤 Sarah
💚 Senna
I'll keep these short (two small paragraphs maximum), and will send them your way sometimes this week ✨
Vi's lips pressed into a thin, tense line as Sarah mentioned Caitlyn and she would've denied the statement had it been false. It's not that Caitlyn didn't trust me with other women but how would you react if some random woman, a criminal, flirted with your girlfriend in one of your places of work? "She won't know about this—well, she won't know that it was you who showed up." Vi closed her eyes tightly, having realized her mistake. That pretty much gave away that Caitlyn was weary of the woman and that wasn't what she wanted to entail.
She took a breath before she began to follow after the other and she picked up her pace to stand in front of her. "No, I don't. They don't usually show up here, which brings me to you. Why're you here? Not enough treasure chests and gold dabloons to steal back home?" Vi questioned. "Or did you bleed the place dry?" She wasn't actually aware of Sarah's home and what not. They had met once before this after all. Vi looked down at her gauntlets before she got in a more stable stance. "Whatever the reason is, you know I can't let you go."
Vi put her gauntlets up and they sparked lightly as they charged up. She didn't actually intend to hit Sarah but she wasn't in the mood to let the woman try to sway her with words like last time. She assumed it was one of her specialties and her looks only added to that. She was too beautiful for her own good. "Seriously, I can't be letting you steal hextech like it's some candy from a baby. Hell, it shouldn't be left alone ever but here we fucking are." Sometimes she couldn't believe the trust Piltover had in its non-stealing probabilities. The building was rather hard to get in but, like Sarah had just proved, anyone could find a way in.
An all-knowing, flirty hum slips past Sarah’s lips as Vi’s words seemed to confirm her girlfriend was not the pirate’s biggest fan. The redhead would not have expected otherwise, of course. Aside from the obvious, Sarah Fortuna had fashioned herself as an acquired taste, someone only a selected group of people would ever truly know. And for everyone else? There was the flirting, hair flipping, giddy laughter that made her look more like an inoffensive damsel who had stumbled upon her role as pirate captain. The image, of course, clashed entirely with Sarah’s own actions. These tended to be far more cunning than people gave her credit for, and far more threatening than her manners would have others believe. She could understand why Caitlyn might be averse to this contradiction, and frankly did not care enough to rectify how the brunette thought about her any time soon. It was far more useful to keep playfully teasing Vi about it. So she bats her eyelashes, eyes looking at Vi from over her shoulder. “That’s alright. This can be our little secret.”
Still, as easily as the playful jab comes to her lips, all lightness, flirty pout, and amusement drains away from her face at Vi’s gross misunderstanding of how Bilgewater works—At who Sarah was, and how she had to fight to get to this place. Bilgewater was her home. The island meant everything to her, and she had been working tirelessly, against a long list of people who would undermine her and questioned her credibility, to make it a better, more unified place. This was still a work in progress. In truth, Sarah had naively thought that blowing up Gangplank would be the solution to both her grief and Bilgewater’s political issues, but it had only been the beginning of both. For an instant, Sarah is back to being the little girl who lost her mother, and all the rage and vengeance she craved then fills her eyes, her body tenses. It takes a beat longer than she would have liked for her to remember she is in Piltover, talking to Vi, and that the other woman had not knowingly meant to prey on her greatest fear—that she’d become one of the very monsters she was trying to subdue, bleeding Bilgewater dry.
She cocks her head, letting the practiced flirty smile back on her lips as she pops one of her hips and makes a move to her right, to step around Vi. “Cute, but not quite accurate. I’m the pirate queen, you see.” The title feels odd in her mouth, as if she would always be fighting to earn it, but she figures this is both a term Vi will understand and something that can sound playful, with the right intonations. “I’m here for this,” she lightly pats the hextech strapped on her shoulder. “and it’s hardly my fault if your security systems failed and allowed me to borrow it.” Her smile widens, teasing and sprightly. “I’d offer to bring it back, if it helps your conscience?”
🌸 If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last few blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog. 🌸
Haa! I feel like I completely missed when this was sent around so instead of sending it through to people, I'll invite all of you to copy me and post facts about yourselves for munday, if you'd like! Is munday still a thing?
I'm trilingual! French is my mother tongue, but I also speak English and Spanish fluently. On a normal week, I probably speak more English and Spanish than French, if I'm honest. I can also read/mostly understand Portuguese, and am learning German.
I play dungeons & dragons semi-regularly and have a lot of original characters based around that world. I've gotten around not being able to play Baldur's Gate 3 by having a local multiplayers run at a friend's house, but I have way to many ideas for way to many runs. I'll really need that game at some point 🥲
I'm a pretty big musical theatre person—As in I love musical theatre. I can't sing or dance to save my life. So if you ever need a good icebreaker with me! That'll do it.
hello! I've been lurking a bit this weekend as life is catching up to me once more & likely will be a lot until mid-september. i'll work on refilling my queue during my free time this week to get things up & running again but until then, you can find my meme tag and latest starter call, if you'd like to send some/for me to write up a starter for us 😄 otherwise, my IMs are wide open for plotting! ✨
so this didn't happen. i'm going to keep trying to get as much writing done this week as possible, because i miss writing and want to do more of it, but i'm also realising i'm really struggling right now with a lot of non-tumblr related things that unfortunately impact my ability to write (when i have the energy to write, i don't have the time, when i have the time, i'm too drained to focus on anything, much less writing, the age old dilemma). i'll be alright eventually! but! i'm really grateful for all the patience you all can give me. I really want to get back to my threads, and I absolutely will, eventually 💜
hello! I've been lurking a bit this weekend as life is catching up to me once more & likely will be a lot until mid-september. i'll work on refilling my queue during my free time this week to get things up & running again but until then, you can find my meme tag and latest starter call, if you'd like to send some/for me to write up a starter for us 😄 otherwise, my IMs are wide open for plotting! ✨
his hands are up in a sort of defense : as if to say, i am not the enemy here. ( he hopes she reads it as such. ) swathed in angelic white, he's a healer, a safe space, certainly not someone capable of destruction. not here, anyway. ' i mean you no harm. ' and the words sound clichéd the moment they leave his lips ... how trite. aziraphale's lips curve into something close to a smile, one he hopes is comforting. she can't kill him, of course not, but he quite likes this body as is. ' or anyone else for that matter. ' and where on the list of age - old stock phrases comes next, ' i am an angel of the lord, ' almost flat in its lacked enthusiasm? ' i'm here to help you, should you need it, ' aziraphale offers instead, kindness bleeding into his words. ' however i may. '
"The Lord?" Senna's tone sounds amused by the concept. There were many a gods in Runeterra, so it of course made sense to cross paths with an envoy of one of them—But beliefs were a strange thing. Or perhaps, there were things being trapped in the lantern had made her more skeptical about. She supposed, of course, that anything giving people hope had by design a positive impact on the world—Or at least on the living, and those not trapped by the Mist. But where did that leave her?
Still not the one to refuse genuine help, no matter how cheesy it appeared to her, she nodded. "I'm not the one in need of help. I do the helping—But if you wait around next to me long enough, there will be plenty of souls in need of that, if this is what you are looking for. I tend to attract them that way." Charming smile accompanies her last jab at her own self. The truth is far more complicated than that—and far more painful—but she'd spare him the details.
"Willing to risk exile for your endeavour—that's quite the conviction." Her tone sounds almost amused, as if to inspire confidence and comfort—to make the whole situation seem diluted and unimportant, despite the fact she took it all with far more seriousness than it seemed. People rarely opened up if they feared they might face consequences.
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