strengthprevails

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                    ❝ the child is gone.❞

                                  「independent & selective kayn.」                                                home || rules || ask

                                                                      ❝ the killer will remain. ❞

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@caedispia @rvdemption literally just said

“call me daddy”

“i became their daddy”

fuckin nasty

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Third entry for the draw the squad challenge

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No, Riven thought to say; skin is not all they took. 

If it had been, perhaps she would still be within Noxian territory with its scaling cliffs and darkened streets, head bowed low before Jericho Swain to await her next orders. (Or perhaps she’d be in another part of Ionia, dead and forgotten like the rest, a number to be read and cast aside.)

If it had been, perhaps she would have mindlessly adopted the filthy truth of the regime she once loved, always and forever a soldier above all. (Or perhaps she would have been drawn and quartered years ago, left to rot in isolation or granted the reprieve of execution. Noxus had never been kind in the face of insubordination.)

If it had been, if it had been; oh, but if only it had been. Years ago, homesick and lost, left with nothing but broken dreams and broken ideals and a pitifully broken sword, she had wished it. But the years had tempered her well, and Riven had spent enough time licking her own wounds. (She’d been taught to fight and die for her country, for her ideals; as Noxus had carved it into her, so too would she carve it into them--with steel, fire, and blood.)

"...I wonder,” Riven replied, her voice low with the weights of thought and memory. It was only when Katarina finished re-wrapping her wound that Riven reached to take hold of a slender wrist, pausing more in contemplation than hesitation before bringing it to her lips. (It was cowardice, surely, to silence the words that had long since been robbed of sound with something as tender as a kiss.)

“I take back what I said earlier,” the Exile finally murmured, her breath soft against the calloused pads of Katarina’s fingertips, “You did get better. At dressing wounds, I mean.”

“Shut up,” the assassin retorted, hands now aggressively pinching at Riven’s face. This was what she got for trying to get her own stick out of her ass. 

Or opening up to Riven, for that matter.

(But it felt good.)

Good as in, a torrent of emotion was relinquished from the pool of her mind. Good as in, truth took its place on her lips with endless reprieve. Good, as in letting Riven into her arms, her body, her life again made her feel as if she was no longer living in Noxus alone.

Despite Riven’s inability to return to the city, it was enough knowing that the warrior’s heart remained where it was.

Katarina only realized today, in this moment.

“For one, it doesn’t change anything,” she responded. “Not between us.”

She let go of Riven’s face, moving her attention to scars that had found its place after her disappearance. Her gaze went to her legs.

“Do you know how long I’ve went with accepting your death?” A calloused finger glided against a rough line on tinted skin. “It’s like seeing the dead come back to life. You do the counting on how long it took me to stop denying you were alive.”

With a breath she unwrapped the bandage she tied too tightly on the left, redoing it with more care and without the anger that distracted her from the job before. “What I am saying, is that you need to stop thinking you don’t have anything to give, when the very fact that you are standing and alive is enough to bring me reassurance of things left dark in the past.” 

Finishing with the last touches, deft fingers tied up the bandage neatly.

“The chemicals only stripped you of your skin, not of who you are, Riven.” 

(She was ripped at the edges and and pieced with cracks in between, but to her, she remained as solid as the sword in her hand and stronger than any perfect blade.)

[strengthprevails]

ok but can u even reach my face

tiny taco

THIS IS CALL OUT POST FOR @strengthprevails 

DONT CALL ME 2 INCHES I WILL SOCK U INT HE FACE FDCSID WEAW REHNFJDABGSFJLHDBGJKALDSNF;OLKNVGKJFSN BHKFJDSMNBL’

ASEL d

[strengthprevails]

Art by: haonguyenly

Source: http://haonguyenly.deviantart.com/

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Welp, third wheel Riven appears to help Ahri with her attention problems

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well, at least other champions DO fall for her charm

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I like to draw this ship. ^U^/

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Woooow, What’s the matter Riven? Have a lil crush on the captain?

btw I got lazy finishing it this time hahah

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“A demon, huh.” It seemed he meant it quite literally, but Riven believed she knew how it felt, too--how terror and anger mixed haphazardly beneath her flesh like liquid metal in her veins, how every beat of her traitorously alive heart sounded less like war drums and more like the ticks of a clock, and how, above all, betrayal stung like venomous fire along her flesh as she realized that demons were not only horned creatures existing in fairy tales and myth.

Demons were cowards.

Demons were men.

Demons were fears and regrets, and sometimes, they could not be vanquished with a blade.

“Even if you say that, it makes me feel a little regretful for not finding you a little sooner. For all the help you’ve given me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

Her slender digits met with his silky gold strands in an affectionate display an Ezreal sighed at the touch, giving a slight nuzzle to Riven’s hand. It had been some time since what had transpired but it was a struggle to pull away from the damage it had caused him, yet it was clear he was trying.

“Mm…just a run in with a demon.” he spoke cryptically and there was a slight smile of amusement on his lips, though the humor seemed to be of a more gallows sort rather than light-hearted.

“I missed you but I’m glad you didn’t see me how I was before.”

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pls let me draw u a new icon...........

dont touch me im dead inside

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yasuo x riven  is my favourite couple!

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You.

(Me?)

You.

(But I can’t give myself to you, I can’t give myself to anyone; I am mine and only mine--mine, mine, mine.)

“...Never thought you’d be one for dramatics,” Riven replied wryly, though the affection in how she leaned into a calloused touch was unmistakable. With a soft breath, she raised her hand to cover Katarina’s own--not under any guise of wanting to feel, but under every desire to keep. “But what would change from this, Katarina?”

Will it bind me to your side? (It will make me want to.)

Will it welcome me home? (You remind me of home.)

Will it bring our Noxus back? (You remember.)

“...Not that I dislike the thought,” the Exile added, a touch quieter in admission. “But you of all people understand, don’t you? There’s not much left for me to give.”

Promises were too romantic. Promises were for those who knew they would make it past their prime and live to see another future. Katarina, nor Riven, had the luxury of that. There would never be a time when they were certain they would come out alive, whatever forces opposed them. They lead lives that had death tailing them in every shadow, every light, every corner they turn and every path they take.

(No. Their story was not meant to be romantic. It was dark, and gritty, and full of madness.)

“You,” Katarina murmured against Riven’s shoulder.

(It was explosive like the burst of stars, and as free as the wind that ripped through air.)

“I just need you,” she said, lifting her face up to gaze into deep, ruby hues.

(They were a story not meant to be romantic, but one that was daring, dangerous, and hopeful.)

“Give me you, in your entirety, of your hopes and dreams and share them with me.” Hands, now ungloved, touched Riven’s face to feel the soft and rough of her skin. “Because I don’t care if you can’t keep promises. Whether we can return to each other or not, take all of our moments and live in it.”

Because it’s now or never.

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@timeforatruedisplayofskill (continued from x)

Eventually.

It was a damning word for some, an excuse used to create distance from obligations and tasks not yet ready to be encountered, but for Riven, it symbolized hope. It meant progress. It meant that things might not be what she wanted now, but they would be--eventually.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say,” she replied, reaching to pat the explorer’s head in a fond gesture. “You don’t owe anyone any answers, least of all me.”

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Ezreal seemed a little tired, as if something had stolen some of that shine from those sapphire irises, a diamond that had lost some of its luster. There was a darkness around his eyes and a little less naivete than he had once had. Yet even so, the sight of her brought a flicker of that light back into his face and a worn smile to his lips. "Where have you been?"

It was a nostalgic feeling, this--the feeling of missing a companion, of returning somewhere, and wondering not of nations and politics, but of an individual. A friend.

“That looks like something I ought to be asking you,” Riven replied, unwavering in her steps--for Noxian soldiers were never taught to hesitate, and even in this, Riven never shook old habits--as she came close enough to see the blues of Ezreal’s optics. (You look exhausted. What stole the stars from your eyes?) “Are you alright...?”

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Then what was it that Katarina did need? Riven couldn’t undo past failures and bring back lost time, nor could she even hope to resurrect the dead. (Her men in Coeur Valley and even the Noxians who died elsewhere on the island; Marcus Du Couteau and anyone else who might’ve fallen to Noxian treachery and weakness; all of those men and women were outside of their grasps, now, and lingering on their absences would do them no favors. What, then, could be asked of her?)

“...I don’t have much else I can give you,” Riven admitted, her lips tugging into a frown as she subconsciously tightened her hold. (Don’t let this be what takes you away from me.) “What is it that you want?”

Jewelry? No, Katarina was hardly the type to care for such things. Life? Not that either; the Sinister Blade was a force to be reckoned with, and if Katarina Du Couteau wanted someone dead, Riven didn’t doubt--and with pride--the unfortunate target would be found dead within the day.

“I can’t make you any promises,” the Exile continued, soft against the assassin’s skin. “Unless it’s to fight for what I--we--believe in.”

Even if it’s something like don’t leave me--you know that I could never make such a promise.

To lean in to her body and feel the warmth of her embrace, Riven’s arms made her feel calm and relieved, like the fog that clouded her mind had finally been cleared. 

“Riven,” she whispered, after years of not saying that name.

“Riven,” she said again, as if not saying it would make her leave.

“Riven,” she called once more, to satisfy her own tongue and convince herself that she is real.

Arms clutched on to wide shoulders, squeezing them as if letting go would mean letting Riven off to disappear again, and to leave her behind with what was left of Noxus. It meant pretending to be strong even during the moments she felt weak, and that her death had no effect on her and she is Katarina Du Couteau and she did not care for anyone other than her family. It meant curling up in bed and punishing herself for every time she thought of her, and withholding the sorrow she so deeply wanted to let go of through the shouting and yelling and punching against walls. It meant mourning for her hero, her friend, her lover. 

And she wasn’t sure she would be able to do it all over again.

“I don’t want you to ask for forgiveness,” Katarina said, voice hoarse as if speaking for the first time in a while. “That’s not what I need.”