pcnderings:

_{I love DEEP CONVERSATIONS. Discussions in which our muses reflect on loaded topics like the future, death, their most passionate of ambitions, mistakes that they deeply regret, identity struggles, unexpressed fears, and more. Lighthearted and carefree threads are always great, but I also love threads that allow muses to explore parts of themselves that are typically hidden from those around them.} 

it’s 8:45a and i’m still tired af… but in like half an hour i’m off to my bartending class — today and tomorrow are the last of the classes and then i get my license and do job placement stuff. pray for me… time for coffee tbh.

my carpal tunnel is being a douche so i’m gonna take some cbd or something, get an ice pack, make me a drink and lurk. hit me up on discord or ims if you wanna discuss plotting or thread for riv or any of my other idiots.

woodcrowned:

friendly reminder that if you find a rp blog of a character that is canon-wise…

…evil/vicious, but you catch threads in which they are loving with someone,
…cheerful, but you catch threads in which they are anxious/unhappy,
…sad and quiet, but you catch threads in which they are very cheerful,
…aloof, but you catch threads in which they are very open to someone,
…gentle, but you catch threads in which they are getting violent,

& not marked as au-version, please consider the high possibility of development behind it before you assume they’re ‘ooc’. not at last because we often tear characters out of their canon timeline/world and confront them with situations they’d usually not get into. 

people change & grow with experience.
so do muses.

in lots of talk with some writing partners and friends? i’ve come to some conclusions about my portrayal of riven in terms of her self-exile…

if she was honest? riven would be wary of any noxian (especially any who knew her well before the war) seeing her alive and well, because she knows that to some? her being alive? would likely be viewed as a form of betrayal given they mourned her after the war, she was hailed a hero, etc, etc — and there is also the factor of little to no closure for many of them based on her body never being found for burial… and add to that? she self-imposed her exile and has stayed away for years? … she wouldn’t necessarily blame anyone for feeling angry or hurt about it all, and she wouldn’t know how to return.

as to how my riven feels about the future of noxus?

she is not sure what to do, really. she wants to find ways to fix or mend her homeland, she wants to set it on the right path — she feels that if they continue as they are, they will crash and burn horribly and be beyond repair… yet, she still wants to return and be more akin to savior than ruler — but, she is uncertain of who she is or wants to be, on many levels, or even what she really wants. she may fear to admit it but, she is uncertain if noxus can be saved and that scares her. 

sanguisaurum.

On one hand, Riven’s boundless idealism and sense of hope was, in short, annoying. The fact that she held onto the past, held onto ideas of change or whatever it was she valued was foolish, in Sivir’s opinion. On the other hand, however, idealists always took a smaller cut than they were due. Whatever foolish notions they held onto, if they did the job and got underpaid for it then it meant Sivir walked away with more.

She snickered as she heard the other call out. “Money buys the drinks,” she said, mostly under her breath. “And the rations and clothes. But whatever you want. I’ll make sure you’re set for the road afterward and you can be on your merry way.”

It was the better part of a day’s travel to the border, so Sivir set her horse into a quick trot. As fast as she’d dare push the beast without risking fatiguing it. The last thing they needed was a crippled horse in the middle of the desert. She pulled the flask from her hip again and took another sip as they marched. “Hey, maybe there’ll be an actual challenge here. Been wanting to see that legendary warrior spirit or whatever it is that made you famous.”

if her eyes rolled much further? they might just roll right out of her skull. she was well aware that money was used to garner sustenance and goods, particularly those she had declared as of more interest than coin to her… but of course? sivir had to point it out ; sivir just had to be that person. of course, that was of little surprise to the exile as the tiniest inkling of amusement snuck into her features, which she did her best to guise.

      ❛ — mm, strength is all that is important to noxus, that is all that makes a person legendary there, ❜     the cadence of her tone was indicative, subtly, of possible resentment — but that was the most you might gather for such sentiment from her.

in truth? she did not resent noxus so much as feel disappointment in where their path was leading them… she feared their prospective downfall. a downfall she wanted to fix, to prevent ; some days she wondered if she would be able to. and that was of course something she aimed to never let current company be aware of for sivir would never let her live as much down. watching as the other set to a trot, a squeeze of her thighs led her own horse to a similar pace being cautious in the same way as sivir with the animal.

wraithwolf.

the winds of change brought forth a near staggering shift in the atmosphere surrounding the marketplace this day,  though indescribable,  it presented itself with such weight  /  such force behind it that he had felt certain even the civilians around him would surely detect it if they tried. it’s a foolish thought,  nevertheless;  for they had no reason to view the world itself any differently,  much less a mere place to trade.

if there was anything shieda kayn loathed more than failure,  it was the unknown. the realization only aggravates his unease.

he catches it,  then. a steady pace  /  a flash of color,  dim in comparison to the quaint wares adorning the circle  (perhaps that is why he notices),  yet all of that inexplicable feeling seemed to cast exclusively from them like a beacon. not the air,  nor an ill omen,  but them. he ensures he does not act as they do,  favoring the option to simply wait. watch. listen. they pause,  and kayn’s gaze is fit to bore clear through the back of their skull out of wonder,  not yet malice.

it’s only after their exchange that they—no,  that  she  speaks,  and his eyes soften out of what can only be described as a dull sorrow,  a remembrance in the form of a worn knife through the chest. it sounds like her,  reminds him of her,  yet for years had she been declared dead. the moment is like a fever dream in the way she appears to know he’s watching and reaches for her blade even when he has yet to confront her. it’s too familiar. it’s her. it has to be her.

when she moves this time,  he follows. a dog in quiet pursuit of a pack long since abandoned.

though aware of his actions,  and aware of her own caution,  he maintains their distance until the treetops begin to drown out the pale sun. an ambush,  it might appear to be,  but he cannot afford to make a mistake in plain sight. if it is not her,  fewer casualties will occur here,  and fewer eyes will see.

but if it is,  there is only one way to be sure. just before the path opens,  kayn at last stops,  takes in a breath,  parts his lips…

❝  —riven.  ❞

… and waits.

her steps are taken with care and deliberation to direct whatever possible altercation may occur far from any bystanders within the marketplace. her breathing is matched with the pace of her steps as she continues on ; her chapped lips pursing to mirror the crease of concentration that rested on her brow. she could not explain the familiarity she felt from whatever eyes were upon her — it was as though a ghost watched her, someone changed or haunted perhaps.

it’s when they are somewhat secluded that she stops.

… it’s when she hears his voice that recognition blossoms in her heart.   

she waits further to turn, she holds back… it had been so long, so very long, since last she saw the soul the voice was owned by. years. terrible and lonely, war-torn years. he’d been lost to time just as much as she had. in the silence that gets carried off by a gust of wind, her fingers curl to toy and dig at her palm simple moments before she turns on heel to face him… kayn — he’s different now, she can feel it near as much as she is witnessing it with amber eyes trained on his form. he stood. he stared. she mimed.

she was different as well…

her muscles more toned and her skin warmed by the sun’s light by cause of years of her nomadism. bones weary ; lips chapped ; hair messy ; clothing in no better condition. war had almost ruined her, some might even argue it was far more than just an almost… it was funny, for as brave of a warrior as she was, for as bold and forward as she could be? her words failed her, at least at first. noxus had mourned her ; family ; friends… yet, here she stood — alive. she could lie, but it would be in vain, melancholy and memory lace her tone,      ❛ — how did you find me? ❜