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A little something I’ve been working on as part of the Argo Archives prompt list!
If you want to find more about it you can go to their blog! @argo-city-exchange
Added with my first full fledged story and one of the very first things that I edit and feel confident enough to post over at Ao3.
Art Talk at The Museum
Hope you like it, and let me know what you think.
From midnight to midnight, Piltover’s Masquerade fills the street with music and colour and perfume. All that is familiar is veiled, and all are strangers in this vibrant city. It is a wonderful time of year, the highlight of the season. Everyone has put in plenty of effort to their costumes.
She is hooded and cloaked, her colours piebald black and white, a cat mask across her face. A highwaywoman, it seems, a dashing rogue with a feline flair. She dances with another hooded and cloaked feline, one who seems to have stolen starlight in the inner lining of their cloak. ‘Dance’ perhaps is generous. They are perhaps only swaying together, no mind for the crowds or the music or anything that isn’t each other. A clowder of two.
Angry Cherry Blossoms
TW:
Cursing
mentions of violence
Characters:
Red
Heal [ @local-angst-dispenser ]
“I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD-“
“H-Heal- pffT- Heal those aren’t-“
A calm day in the Greenhouse proved to be a bit violent as the younger twin of the two was growing restless, the eldests’ not so muffled laughter not helping the situation at hand.
The brunette screwed her eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as she begins to speak “Listen, Red. I know my goddamn flowers, these are Hyacinth’s, not fucking forget-me-not’s.” The woman forms her hand into a fist, growing upset my the chuckles of the other twin
“Are you sure about that?” Red inquires, folding her arms with an amused look on her face, watching the shorter sister’s brows twitch “Because it just seems like to me-“ “I KNOW MY GODDAMN FLOWERS!“ the brit holds in a another heavy laugh, glancing at the flowers in the beds laid out for them, the soft petals of the flowers at hand, which were indeed forget-me-nots, flowing with the bees that were hovering over them. “Just take- take another look Heal.”
“I can see the flowers, sis. They’re hyacinths.” “They are not-“ “Yes thEY ARE.”
The younger sibling turns around and puts her hand onto the wall, trying not to punch the glass of the greenhouse as the older walks to another bed, gently picking up a flower.
The soft clicks of the taller twin’s heels catch Heal’s attention, spinning around and taking a large breath before pausing at the sight of the pink hyacinth in her sister’s hand.
“Wh- what-“ “It’s a hyacinth, Heal.”
Everything goes quiet as the younger sibling stares at the flower, the taller of the two’s hand slowly starting to shake as she holds in her manic giggles from the sight of the deadpanned look on the black and purple clad woman.
The woman takes a deep breath “Fine. I may not know my flowers, but I know a bitch when I see one.” that’s all it took for Red to burst into hysterics, laughing maniacally while almost dropping the pink hyacinth.
“It’s funny because my favourite flowers are forget-me-nots.”
“I’m going to fucking choke you.”
————————————
Based off of a conversation on Quotev.
Check out Ipuania!
Get To Know You
TW:
None
Characters:
C!Philza
Genre:
Fluff / Platonic
Fandom:
Dream SMP
The leaves under Phil's feet crunched, and he couldn’t help but let a small smile grace his lips. Autumn was one of his favorite seasons. It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold. A small hum escaped him as his eyes scoured the trees. Some crows, robins, cardinals, and many more birds were flying around.
“No doubt getting ready to migrate for winter,” the winged man muttered under his breath. He let out a small sigh and adjusted his bowl hat.
“Migrating indeed,” hummed a voice behind him.
Phil yelped and whipped around, his eyes going wide. His wings flared out before settling again. His eyes narrowed, seeing a woman standing before him. She wore a flowing dress, her (h/c) hair blowing lightly in the breeze. Flowers were all in her hair as well. The woman had a kind smile on her lips, and her eyes matched that look.
“Hello, Phil.” the woman walked up to him. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Expecting me?” Phil’s hand slowly moved the sheathed sword on his hip. However, he didn’t have time to pull it out, as a branch from a tree extended and yanked the sword away. His eyes widened as he watched the branch return back to it’s former place, however it still had his sword. Turning his head back to the strange woman, the winged man could see her silently giggling.
“How did you do that?” he asked, breathless.
The woman walked towards him, her giggles become soft and audible. “I am (Y/n), or as you humans know me, Mother Nature.”
“Mother Nature..” the words fell from Philza’s mouth without him knowing. Mother Nature was here, in front of me. How could he not see? The flowers, the dress, how everything seemed.. alive with her around. Everything seemed to glow and grow faster. The blonde man shook his head to snap himself out of his daze. Suddenly, he felt something on his shoulder. The winged man looked up and saw (Y/n) now standing directly in front of him. Her (e/c) eyes seemed to glow.
She smiled. “I want to get to know you, Phil.”
“Get to.. know me..?” Phil blinked.
“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” the blonde glanced away when his immortality was indirectly brought up. “I.. I am.”
(Y/n) grabbed Philza’s hands and held them up. She entwined her fingers with his, causing a smile to spread on the immortal man’s face. “Then let me get to know you.”
the notebook
characters: Micah Bell x OC, Sean MacGuire type: fluff, short oneshot summary: Bonnie just wanted to draw him. But things took a turn.
notes: I wrote this story in german and translated it into english. I also published it on AO3.
Bonnie sat by the campfire, leaning her back against a tree trunk. She had drawn her knees up slightly so she could lean her notebook against them. Micah Bell had been sitting in a chair across from her for quite a while. He held a piece of wood in one hand and his knife in the other. More and more wood chips were accumulating on the floor in front of him, forming a small pile. At first she had wondered what he was carving. But now she believed that it was simply an occupation against the boredom, that sometimes overcame one here in camp. The piece of wood looked more and more like a stake.
Bonnie was about to draw his hand that was wielding the knife. Oh, how she would’ve loved to get closer to him so she could scrutinize the veins, scars and imperfections of his skin. She liked her pictures to be as detailed as possible. She wanted to capture every little detail and transfer it to the paper. Only Micah wasn’t someone who volunteered to be drawn. She hadn’t asked him, but her gut feeling rarely deceived her. He reminded her of a mountain lion that stalked its prey for hours, just waiting for the right moment to strike. Maybe, she thought, maybe he also had something of a rattlesnake. She knew the stories. She knew about the “little” incident in Strawberry. She kept looking up from her drawing, eyeing him as inconspicuously as possible. She squinted her eyes slightly, as if that would miraculously improve her vision. A soft sigh escaped her. God, she just wanted to take his hand and look at it. She wanted to stroke his skin, wanted to know how it felt. Suddenly he looked up and their eyes met for a split second. Bonnie lowered her head and stared at the drawn Micah. She bit the inside of her cheek, not daring to lift her head or even breathe. Hesitantly she put the pencil back in place. Did the blade of his knife have an engraving? What did the grain of the wooden handle look like? She felt a tingling in the back of her neck that soon took over her entire body. She could no longer look away. She had to know what he was doing. But at the moment she was about to lift her head, small stones crunched under his boots. Two heavy steps in her direction and then his shadow cast itself over her. He bent down and reached for her notebook. He grabbed it so that his thumb was between the pages. Bonnie couldn’t react quickly enough.
As he stood back up, Bonnie literally jumped up and stumbled forward. “Don’t!”, fled her lips and she reached out. But Micah half turned to the side and held his arm up. A grin settled on his lips. “What?” He looked at her. She sighed deeply and then jumped up, but he just kept turning away. “Come one! Please… please! It’s mine!” He lowered his arm a bit and waved the book in front of her. “I just wanna know what you’re up to.” “No, please! It’s… it’s unfinished.” Her hand shot forward, and she almost had it. But he was faster und jerked his arm back over his head. “Let me be the judge, darlin’.” He turned his back to her. Bonnie’s heart was pounding in her chest. He really wanted to open it! She grabbed his arm with both hands and yanked him around. And Micah actually let her spin him around and Bonnie realized that her efforts were too late. His face told her even before a word could leave his lips. She heard her blood pulsing in her ears, her whole body on edge. Micah held the book out to her silently and she tried to make sense of his gaze. But before that could happen, someone reached over Bonnie’s shoulder. “What’s so exciting?”, she heard Sean’s voice behind her as he grabbed the book. She clenched her hand into a fist and turned to face him. “Sean!” For days he had been trying to get a glimpse of her drawings. But she decided who she showed the picture to and who she didn’t. Sean looked at her, grinning broadly and held the book in the air, taking a few steps away from her. And for the second time of the day Bonnie felt like a complete idiot. “Oh come on, lass!” He opened it without further ado and wrinkled his nose. The corners of his mouth twitched downward. “Are ya serious?” He shook himself, then laughed. “You're drawing him?” Micah’s arm shot forward, and he grabbed Sean by the collar so tightly that Bonnie expected him to choke him out. He pulled the Irishman closer, and his fingers clawed tighter and tighter into the fabric of Sean’s shirt. “Give it back to her!”, he hissed, and she had to remember the image of the snake threateningly sounding its rattle. This was Sean’s first and only warning. If he took one more step, the snake would strike. Sean raised his free hand defensively and pressed the boo against Micah’s chest. “I was just kidding…” Micah loosened his grip on Sean’s collar and pushed the younger man away. “Get out of here!” He didn't have to tell Sean twice. Sean shook his head and muttered a few silent curses as he took off. Bonnie almost felt sorry for him. Micah turned to face her and gave her the book. “Thank you.”, she said, pressing the book against her chest. He walked past her without saying a word and sat back down on the chair in front of the campfire. He pulled out his knife again and picked up right where he left off. “What are ya waitin’ for?”, he said without looking up from what he was doing. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Did he really want her to finish the picture? Was she really allowed to draw him? Bonnie sat back down and opened her notebook.
Eight years ago, she was watching Piltover burn. She was hoping that the evacuations would happen swift enough to save as many lives as possible. She was sick with worry, not knowing where Vi was. She was alone in her office, the graffiti pink on the broad window that looked over the city. Pink paint and rising smoke.
She’s still tense for the sound of gunshots. It has been eight years. She’s still angry. She’s still determined. But it’s a quiet autumnal day today, and Piltover is at peace.
All the death and smoke is all in Caitlyn’s head, and it pushes her on.
Orianna w/ Solemn or Hopeful, if you’d be so kind!
Trisha and Aaron knew they had a daughter who did not cry, did not scream, did not make a fuss. So it takes them a while to recognise what she is doing, when she refuses to attend ballet classes anymore. The tunic and shoes are often so hard to find, the books she reads so engrossing, the distractions all piling up to make getting her to class on time impossible. Then there were the calls from the teachers, saying that Caitlyn had slipped out early, the panicked search for a child on the streets of Piltover before she was found in stairwells or lobbys or - once - in a nearby cafe where she was studiously avoiding anything that wasn’t the tea that the waiter had brought her out of sympathy.
There had never been a funeral for Orianna. Just an empty house and a message from a grieving father that he was going to bring his little girl back, one way or another.
The girl left behind refused to dance without her partner. She did not cry, did not scream, did not fuss; her grief was deep, and profound, and silent, and it took a long time before anyone recognised it for what it was.
💔
[A memory that leaves them feeling lonely]
She’s doing everything right. By the book. She wrote the book. Several books, really, and more than a few laws. Days and weeks and months. She’s either in Parliament arguing with politicians, laying out statistics and social experiments in a respectable setting... or she’s in the dark, rifle slung across her shoulder, her eyes fixed on wrongdoing and fixing it from the ground up. Face to face with evil, and telling it to either ‘be better’ or to get out of her city.
She loses friends, either drifting out of touch and only meeting at galas and public appearances, or by arresting them. But they love her, still, though they tell her to rest or take a vacation, they wouldn’t want her any other way. She makes new friends, but so few of them understand her.
She empties the prisons, turning thugs and crooks into gardeners, engineers, firemen, tram drivers, blacksmiths, glass-blowers, bakers, and police officers. But the city’s never been safer. People have never been prouder to work, to learn, to become the best they can be.
She makes sure everyone has a place.
She’s fierce, and stubborn, and unrepentant.
But when the day is over and all she can hear is the ticking of the clock, she wonders where she fits. If things go wrong, it’s because she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t prepared enough, wasn’t good enough. And if things go right, then there’s no point in her, she’s not a necessary part of the machine.
So she does everything right. By the book, the book she wrote, and she never feels satisfied.
