IE: You format, they really don’t. You use eeny teeny micro icons, they use regular/larger sizes….You don’t use icons at ALL but they do, etc etc….This doesn’t mean you quit writing your way, you still do you, but you don’t discriminate because someone’s threads and blogs don’t “mirror your aes”
& BE HONEST!!!!!!
Please don’treblog if you say you are cool with mixed replies, and really aren’t. This post is meant for >>>networking<<<with fellow rp’ers that DO mix and match.
Yeah, keep talking. C’mon. Tom thought to himself, willing his hands to steady. “Lilah? Yeah, she’ll make it, because you saved her. Tell me about Lilah,” he urged, hoping she would continue talking as he irrigated the wound. He flooded the wound with the water, and he saw a glint of the bullet. He took hold of the bullet with the tweezers and pulled it out. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but I got the bullet out. The worst of it is still ahead of us,” he warned, irrigating the wound again before pressing gauze to the wound. Tom turned and washed his hands off before turning and grabbing a suture kit from the well stocked first aid kit. “I have to stitch you up, but I have to tell you that I’m not comfortable doing this outside of a sterile environment and without proper lighting. If I do it here, you could get a major infection.”
“She’s strong,” Cara murmured. “She was so hurt, and so scared, but she kept talking to me. She stayed awake. She fought.” Now all Cara could do was hope that she would continue to fight, and that she would survive. She opened her mouth to ask more about the girl’s condition when water suddenly collided with the wound, and she hissed as she gripped at the edge of the sleeping bag with her free hand in an effort to stay still enough for the man to work. But then he was pulling the bullet out and she knew she was in trouble. The gun fell from her grasp, her back arching as dark spots clouded her vision. No. No. She couldn’t do this. Not here, not now… The man was speaking again, and she tried so hard to latch onto his words, but it wasn’t working.
Everything went black.
Tom was so busy fumbling with the suture kit, he didn’t see the signs of her losing consciousness. He first heard the gun clatter to the floor. Shit. “Hey, Hey!”Tom’s voice was urgent, and he cursed himself for not finding out her name, not that she would’ve disclosed it. “Hey!” His voice echoed eerily throughout the empty building, and he nearly scared himself. He checked for a pulse and for breathing – both were fine. While her heartbeat was there, it was faster than he’d liked. Tom increased the pressure on her wound, in an attempt to further staunch the bleeding before suturing the wound. He pulled the bloodied fabric away from the wound and make quick work of his hands, sewing up the wound faster and more precise than ever before. He doused the wound with water once more, and sighed and sat back on his heels as the bleeding was contained. Now to wait for her to wake.
OK SO what about a plot where muse a is a waitress or something and she’s working a shift one night and like this group of super hot cops come in and she has to be their waitress and she’s trying to not act weird but she can’t help it and they notice it and are teasing her about it, but muse b is doing it a lot more than the other too and like maybe the diner requires her to wear skates and maybe she like stumbles and ends up spilling like soda, water, etc. on muse b’s crotch and she’s like ‘omigod omigod omigod’ and he just thinks it’s cute and funny and so he leaves her his number on a napkin and maybe she panics and doesn’t text him because she thinks he’s intimidating AND THEN MAYBE THE NIGHT DAY SHE LIKE LOST A BET OR SOMETHING AND HER FRIENDS MAKE HER GO SKINNY DIPPING IN THE LAKE EVEN THOUGH IT’S TRESPASSING AND THEN THE POLICE COME AND HER FRIENDS DITCH HER AND OH SHIT IT’S MUSE B AND SHE LIKE COMES OUT OF THE WATER TO SEE HIM STANDING ON THE DOCK AND HE’S LIKE ‘why didn’t you text me?’
I might write anything from a paragraph to a whopping essay, but send me something you’ve noticed about my characterisation or just something you want to know about my muse and I will write what I can!
This or that according to your muse: morning or evening? Marvel or DC? Mayonnaise or ketchup? Books or movies? Red or blue? Black or white? Halloween or Christmas?
Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect?
What kind of things is your OC allergic to?
What kind of clothing does your OC wear?
What is your OC’s first memory?
WWhat’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite?
What element would your OC be?
What is your OC’s theme song?
Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC?
What deadly sin would best represent your OC?
What are your OC’s hobbies?
How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they?
What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.?
What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods?
If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why?
What does your OC smell like?
How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job?
What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths?
What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song?
If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?
What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves?
What kind of student were they/would they be in high school?
What is a random fact about your OC?
What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living?
What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them?
Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why?
What kind of childhood did your character have?
What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions?
If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose?
Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why?
What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory?
If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be?
Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why?
What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?
How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?
What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?
What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do?
What would your character do with a million dollars?
What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can?
Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with?
What does your character do when they’re angry? Why?
Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from?
What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said?
How does your character react/ accept criticism?
If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza?
Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works?
Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?
What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult?
Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush?
If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count?
“Okay,” Allie responded, readying herself to be picked up. When he took her hand, the sensation in her leg was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “Wha- What are you doing?” There was panic in her voice, and her face showed it. “Stop it, stop it!” She cried out, pulling her hand away only when it was too late. Her wound was healed and he bore it on his own leg. “What the hell, dude? What did you do? Why did you do that?” That was mine, she thought after the words left her mouth. That was her wound. She needed to feel the pain from it. To take care of it.
She turned and shoved the other’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you just did that! That was my cross to carry, not yours!” Her words were bitter coming out of her mouth. “Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?”
The woman started to question what he was doing, but Lucan barely heard it. Every bit of concentration and effort he had went into their current connection, into transferring the wound. His goal wasn’t just to take it, but to leave no trace of it. No scarring, not even a patch of red skin. He wanted to take it until it was completely gone because ultimately there would be no trace of it left on his skin, either.
When he was finally finished, he expected to see a look of confusion or even shock on the woman’s face. But anger… Anger was a first. “I did it because you were hurt. I did it because you could barely walk, and we need to move.” Other members of the Brotherhood could still be out on the streets, and they were wasting time with this conversation. But the woman apparently wasn’t done yet, shoving him – he stayed firmly where he was standing – while she started to yell. “It wasn’t a cross to carry, it was a burn. And I think I’m the person who’s trying to get us out of here before we both get killed. Now do you want to stand here and keep yelling, or do you want to live?”
“How could you?” Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and she cleared her throat before continuing. “Just because I was hurt? That wasn’t your decision to make,” Allie huffed, continuing her path to the main road. The anger bubbled in her chest. That wound would have gotten her into a shelter until it was properly healed, and this guy just stole that from right under her.
“It may not have been a cross, but it was mine to care for. And honestly? Yeah, I do want to keep yelling at you but that’s not the best thing to do when these crazies are out to get you and people can easily call in a noise complaint and get us thrown in jail. Let’s go.”
Perry stood in the doorway of his office, staring at the man across from him, “You’re late. Again, and where is the Elena Torres story for me to proof? I want it out by tomorrow. Biased story telling and pandering to the lowest denominator. She’s a hack!”
“I am so sorry for being late Mr. White, traffic was terrible,” Clark apologized, pushing up his glasses before fumbling with his knapsack. “The reports are-” He continued to fumble, eventually pulling out a report encased in a manila folder. “-right here, sir. Just like you asked.”
Cisco backup 