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someone tell me what it’s like to be a consistent role player with the ability to focus on a single character

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time line stuff after reviewing orianna’s lore:

age 16: falls ill and loses her lungs age 17: almost completely made of robotic parts. has moved to zaun due to father's decline in wealth. age 18: gives up her heart for her father, who has failing health. leaves home. age 24: present time

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rereading orianna’s lore, it’s such a damn mess. examples:

“ Within a year, Orianna was almost entirely mechanical “

“ During the years of Orianna’s decline, “

what.

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Nonverbal RP Starters

I’m finding it difficult to find memes for nonverbal characters ( be they mute, or just not fond of talking ) so I thought I’d make a few!

Neutral

☝️ Tap my muse on the shoulder

👉 Point to something for my muse to see

🤙 Bump into my muse

😊 Sit down next to my muse

🤨 Sit down across from my muse

📓 Push/Slide [an object] across a table to my muse

✍️ Pass my muse a note

🙄 Roll their eyes at my muse

🚪 Tap on a table/door/wall/chair to get my muse’s attention without speaking

Aggressive

🐺 Growl at my muse

😬 Snarl/show teeth at my muse

😠 Death Glare at my muse

🙌 Push/Shove my muse

👊 Punch my muse

👖 Kick my muse in the shin

👠 Stomp on my muse’s foot

😵 Knee my muse in the gut

💀 Knee my muse in the groin

🔪 Point a weapon at my muse

🖕 Flip my muse the bird/a similar gesture

👔 Roughly pull my muse down by the collar

💢 Bang on a door/wall/table to get my muse’s attention- angrily

Angst

👩‍⚕️ Put pressure on my muse’s wound

🌡 Push my muse down to give them medical attention

🥣 Bring my muse soup/medicine when they are sick

🤢 Hold my muse’s hair back/Rub my muse’s back while they are sick/throwing up

👐 Hold my muse when they are badly wounded/dying

��� Wake my muse up during a nightmare

🐱 Hold my muse after a nightmare

😭 Hold my muse when they are crying

😢Touch my muse’s shoulder while they are crying in secret

💧 Wipe away my muse’s tears

💥 Try to calm my muse during an overwhelming emotional moment

⛈ Find my muse after some kind of trauma

Soft

👕 Tug on my muse’s sleeve/shirt/skirt

🐈 Lean against my muse’s side

🤝 Hold my muse’s hand

🤗 Pull my muse into a hug

🐕 Rest their head on my muse’s shoulder/knee

🐶 Nuzzle my muse with their nose [specify a location]

✋ Touch the back of my muse’s hand

🤝 Reach for my muse’s hand to hold it

👗 Fix/Straighten my muse’s clothes

😴 Stand by the bed to see if my muse will let you under the covers with them

🛌 Crawl under the covers with my muse

🥪 Set a plate/tray/bowl of food down for my muse

😚 Kiss my muse on the cheek

Playful

🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair

✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder

💃 Pull my muse onto a dance floor/up to dance

🤞 Come up beside them and tap the shoulder opposite where they’re standing

😈 Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse

😛 Stick their tongue out at my muse

😱 Make a silly face at my muse

🤭 Tickle my muse

👃 Poke my muse’s nose

💪 Pick my muse up

Sensual/Sexual

💘 Pull my muse in for a rough kiss

💕 Pull my muse in for a tender kiss

💞 Pull my muse in for a messy/desperate kiss

💖 Lean in to give my muse a sweet/chaste kiss

❤️ Lean in to give my muse a tender kiss

🔥 Pull my muse down by the collar/by their clothes - in a sexy way

😉 Pull my muse in by the hips

😲 Smack my muse’s butt

💋 Kiss my muse’s neck

👌 Push my muse down and give them a massage

👙 Pull [an article of clothing] off my muse

👀 Push my muse down on the bed

👄 Pull my muse onto the bed

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it has been a long time since one of these posts have been made, and i feel it’s time for a new one. there are a lot of league blogs that are no longer active and my knowledge of who is still around anymore is all wonky. so please reblog with this with your champion name(s)*, if you’re a canon** champion blog or an oc, and where your champion is from in the tag. *name(s) for if you’re a multimuse blog. **canon can also mean canon-divergent.

ex. #miss fortune / canon / bilgewater.

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(( so after a kind of long break that had a lot of downs, i’m back and really excited/hopeful to start rp’ing again!!

if you’d be interested in threading with a little orianna, feel free to drop a like and i’ll whip us up a starter!

alternately, you can add me at dismay#8755 and maybe we can discuss thread ideas there!

alternately, lmk if you’d like to continue any of our previous threads! ))

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we will kill your enemies. that will be fun.

              an indie orianna written by dismay.

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@aira-the-ancient-star

     The Ball clicks around her, whirring in strange conversation, if its series of clicks and grinding gears can be considered such. Orianna's head tilts with another click. She sets a hand on the Ball and regards the woman with empty eyes. She does not blink but rather stares. It's a cold, disconcerting sort of stare, as if Orianna might be looking at a puzzle and wondering how to take it apart rather looking at a living being.

     "Your ears," she states, "are real. What are you?"

     She read once about creatures called Vastaya. They were magical, animalistic creatures, but they were not native to Piltover or even Zaun. She could not remember where they were from, so it must have been something she had read back when she was more human and less machine.

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(( so after a kind of long break that had a lot of downs, i’m back and really excited/hopeful to start rp’ing again!!

if you’d be interested in threading with a little orianna, feel free to drop a like and i’ll whip us up a starter!

alternately, you can add me at dismay#8755 and maybe we can discuss thread ideas there!

alternately, lmk if you’d like to continue any of our previous threads! ))

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(( apologies for the lack of activity! i’m still lruking around ))

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chemicalmongrel:

The beast was no stranger to the smell of things that were wrong. Abominations, failed lab experiments and machines bound to no one’s will all had a unique air of wrongness about them. Warwick more so than most, but he’d gotten desensitized to that particular odor. Thus he could pick out said individuals with ease, even if they tried to blend into the crowd, usually. So he wasn’t surprised when such a scent found its way to him.  But this one was different.  Apathetic.  Synthetic.  Inklings of organics.  Curiosity.  He hadn’t encountered such an odd mismatch of savors before. Machines, both sentient and not, were the norm in the case of synthetic alloys, oil blood and the like. But a construct with traces of something once organic? That was new. Not enough to garner his attention on its own, though. Then the waning aroma of ichor lining the seams of the broth jabbed into his nostrils.  Abandoning his prior course, Warwick navigated rooftops and pipes and catwalks until coming to rest in the crevice formed between two small vaulted windows. His ears faced forward as his eyes shifted to the hue of lemons along with the chamber and connecting tubes.  There’s an unspoken rule in Zaun, one all Zaunites know like the back of their hand–never travel the streets alone. With the hazards of the dime a dozen street thugs, the crazed zealots of its resident cult, runaway experiments, and the dealings of Chem-Barons, traversing the intricate maze of the city’s infrastructure wasn’t considered conducive to one’s health. So unless you were in possession of a means of protection or associated with someone higher in the pecking order, then exploration and sight-seeing were the last things on your to-do list. Of course, there were those contrarians that believed themselves masters of the steampunk metropolis. People from Piltover and other foreigners were often the ones responsible for such haughty confidence, but there were a few exceptions.  Orinna, it seemed, was one such exception.

     The difference between her and a human (she was starting to identify less and less as a creature of flesh and bone) was that the human would break and they would not get back up. The group of men close in. The Ball ticks, agitated by something else it senses. Her eyes slip to it.

    " Command: Dissonance, " she gives. The Ball surges forward and releases a pulse of energy. Rubble, stone, and the men are caught in it, thrown violently towards the center. The Ball vibrates, infuriated, perhaps. It bashes into one.

    Orianna steps forward.

    " We will kill you, " she warns. " If you do not leave. "

    She wonders if she should feel bad for this - guilty, even. They seem to understand the situation better now; they see her as less of a little girl and more as something to be feared. She raises onto the tips of toes, reminded of the ballets she'd seen in which epic fights had taken place. It makes her seem taller, more threatening, she would like to think.

    The group snarls, but the conscious ones turn and leave. One man lays unconscious. Orianna pays him no mind. The Ball returns to her and she places a hand on it, coaxing it to calm down.

    " Something is here, " she says. Her head tilts and her blue eyes search for something she cannot see. " Who is there? "

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WHAT’S THAT? YOU WANNA INTERACT WITH THE GREATEST MAN TO EVER LIVE? WELL, COME ON AND JOIN THE PARTY.

the quickness. an indie rakan blog.

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@chemicalmongrel

    The things that are happening to her are strange - where as before she might have felt afraid of certain things, now she was more fascinated by them than anything. Was she fearless now because she knew she could fix herself, should worse come to worse? Was she fearless because she had the Ball to protect her?

    She was aware of this change in herself as she explored the streets of Zaun. A fight with her father had pushed her to leave for now. Perhaps, in a way, this was her getting back at him. She could not be the Orianna he wanted her to be. She was still Orianna, simply - different. So she was embracing this new, fearless nature.

    The Beast of Zaun was rumored to lurk these areas and part of her felt an exilheration (which was more than she felt normally these days) at running into it. Would it kill her? Would she, perhaps, kill it?

    Instead of the Beast, she found only one more fledging gang. Another group of outcasts who sought to make something of themselves.

    The Ball positions itself in front of her.

    " Please, " Orianna clicks, her voice mechanical, throat replaced with clockwork mechanisms. "I do not wish to harm you."

    The leader, she presumed him to be such, let out a laugh. He was underestimating her. After all, what could one little girl possibly do to him? She imagined what he saw - a girl, her face untouched by metal, her lower halves almost entirely machine.  She imagined she did not look very threatening, only odd.

    Or perhaps he was like her - perhaps he simply no longer knew fear.

    She took a step backwards, one hand lifting defensively in front of herself. The Ball ticked and whirred, agitated. A quick glance behind had her realizing her back was to a wall. Unfortunate.

    " I will break you, " she warns again.

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    The fingers on her arm twitched. Farther away, on the other side of the rubble, Orianna turned to the Ball. It had grown suddenly agitated, twitching one way then another. She studied it, before her head turned to look back to the ruins.

    Someone was here.

    She looked up to the top of the debris and then to the Ball. With a nod, it surged forward. Pieces of cobblestone and metal held resistant to its efforts, but with a bit more force, the Ball surged through to the other side. It loomed over the boy.

    Orianna stepped closer.

    "He-llo?" her voice creaked. 

→ A few steps into the building before he heard a crashing from the room ahead of him. Ekko sighed softly- he’d left some things inside, having hidden there a few nights before; nothing of great importance, though he was still irritated by the fact that his favourite sweater and star screwdriver were likely buried, now.

    He pushed through the doorways with a quiet grunt of effort, forcing objects on the other sides out of the way so that he could pass through. His foot hit something odd, glinting at him from the rubble-covered floor; picking it up … it was an arm. Okay, he’d found stranger things, but it was still a bit of a surprise.

    The boy snorted just softly, continuing his way through the building and glancing around to see if he could find anyone else inside. Anyone who’d lost … their entire arm.

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@quantum-shatter​

    Orianna was in pieces - literally.

    She'd been exploring an old building in Zaun when the floor had caved in. The Ball had shielded her a second too late and she'd gone down with it, aware of weight crushing around her. From the ruins of the crumbling building, she emerged.

    One arm had been torn off, pulled free from its mechanical socket. It was more of a nuisance than anything.

    She looked through the cloud of dust. The Ball moved, circling her with concern.

    " My arm, " Orianna commented, looking into the pile of rubble. Unfortunate. It would be inconvenient to  make a new one - she had been planning to leave for Demacia soon.

    " Come. We will find it. I can sense it. "

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RICHARD SIKEN / WAR OF THE FOXES Change pronouns as necessary and tweak sentences as appropriate!

I am faithful to you, darling.

When you bang on the wall you have to remember you’re on both sides of it but go ahead, yell at yourself.

Some people don’t understand anything.

He’s easy to desire since there’s not much to him.

No one wants to know what’s in his head.

To make something beautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.

You’d break your heart to make it bigger.

Will you defend yourself? From me, I mean.

Let’s kill something.

I prefer to blame others, it’s easier.

All these ghosts come streaming down and I wish I had something else.

We all move forward anyway. Ripples in all directions.

What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead.

All thoughts finish themselves eventually.

Can we love nature for what it really is: predatory?

When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.

I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way.

Something’s not right about what I’m doing but I’m still doing it.

The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

Look away but I’m still there.

Want something to chase you? Run.

Take only what you need.

Never finish a war without starting another.

I’ve seen your true face: the back of your head. If you were walking away, keep walking.

The fear: that nothing survives. The greater fear: that something does.

All these things and what to do with them. We carve up the world all the time.

I like dead things. They cannot hurt me.

We like things related to our survival: soup, arrows - they expand the range of the species.

My body is a graveyard.

People like to think war means something.

Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other. We know who our enemies are. We know.

There are many loves but only one war.

You will need to comfort him, or we will never be finished with this.

You cannot have an opponent if you keep saying yes.

Its roots in the ground and its branches in the air, a tree is pulled in two directions.

The boy is a bird, bad bird. He falls out of trees.

You cannot get in the way of anyone’s path to God. You can, but it does no good.

Some say God is where we put our sorrow.

In the wrong light anyone can look like a darkness.

What can you know about a person?

Difficult thing, to be scrutinized so long.

Even when I look away I am still looking.

Everyone secretly wants to collaborate with the enemy, to construct a truer version of the self.

How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?

Why build a room you can live in? Why build a shed for your fears?

There wasn’t much left but it felt like him, wild and scared.

The best part of spirituality is reverence. There are other parts. Some people like to hear the sound of their own voice.

If you don’t believe in God, then who are you talking to?

But truth doesn’t count in law, only proof.

Was I discovered or invented? Feels like I’ve always been here.

Measure yourself against the truth and not the other way around.

Perfect and completely dead.

People don’t learn anything unless they are afraid of being left behind.

Logic is boring because it works. Being unreasonable is exciting.

I am your arrival, there is no refusal, we are here, you see, together, we are already here.

This is also part of the story: how the story changes. This is something I forgot to tell you.

You might like it here. I think that you might like it here.

I tell you these things because I love you.

It’s nothing like I thought it would be and closer to what I meant.

Maybe we will wake up to the silence of shoes at the foot of the bed not going anywhere.

It reminds me of where I was going without you.

You know what it’s like to be alone: gimlets and vermicide. You know what it’s like to be alive, so forgiveness.

You asked me once, What are we made of? Well, these are the things we’re made of.

I turned my ears in all directions. I’ll live alone or in between.

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.

Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.

I live in big spaces, so I’m left alone in big spaces.

We made ourselves cold. We made ourselves snow. We smuggled ourselves into ourselves. Haunted by each other’s knowledge.

To hide somewhere is not surrender, it is trickery.

I try to guess your trajectory and end up telling my own story.

I surrender my desire to be healed.

Take it or leave it, and for the most part you take it.

Shame comes from vanity. Shame means you’re guilty, like the rest of us, but you think you’re better than we are. Maybe you are.

There is no new me, there is no old me, there’s just me, the same me, the whole time.

Don’t try to make a stronger wind, you’ll wear yourself out. Build a better sail.

You want to solve something? Get out of your own way.

What’s the difference between me and the world? Compartmentalisation.

I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard to make it love.

I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary.

I’d rather quit. I’d rather be sad. It’s too much work.

I mean, maybe it’s better if my opponent wins.

What happens when I no longer want to meet you?

Nothing lasts forever: we know this.

Longing and suffering? Of course, of course. You want it to mean something.

You can disconnect it or you can try to glue it all together.

We could pull it apart, spend our whole lives pulling it apart and have no time left to do anything smart with the pieces.

The sooner you embrace it, the sooner it will leave you.

You are what you cover up.

Noise and more noise. Noise up to heaven.

One wonders why a story like this exists.

I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.

Someone has to leave first.

He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand.

All this was prepared for me. All this was set in motion long ago.

I stayed as long as I could. Now look at the moon.

What does all this love amount to?

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* creepy location meme: part 2

send a number for our muses to interact at the following!

a cornfield guarded by a scarecrow

a classroom floor buried under shards of glass

the place where hope dies 

the inside of a ransacked cabin

decrepit train tracks

a sleepy town where shrieks trail every step

the bathtub overflowing with blood

a babbling brook where bone white hands slice through the water  

returning nightmare

an attic full of mannequins

a storage room stocked with food

the four walls of a waiting room 

a congested subway filled with troubled whispers

a room of gore and terror

top of a mountain