#how to write roleplay characters

[vampireposter]

meeting wyll at the grove, as someone who the tieflings trust enough to train their children, says so much about him. it's so sad that he doesn't get explored in acts 2-3 as deeply as the other companions, when his problems are equally intense. the average player probably long rests once before coming across the grove, but even if not, in that time wyll has already proven to the tieflings that they can rely on the Blade of Frontiers.

this is the immediate first thing he chooses to do after being condemned to slow death via ceremorphosis. his priority list in the first conversations with tav is: 1) hunt down a dangerous devil, 2) help zevlor with the goblins, 3) once nothing threatens the tieflings he will gladly search for a tadpole cure. wyll is perpetually his own last priority, and i wonder if it has to do with the lore about souls.

if he believes mind flayers' souls have been destroyed, and fiend warlocks will all have their souls sent to the hells after death, then becoming a mind flayer isn't the worst possible way for him to die. he would never become a mindless monster to save his own soul, but he's not gripped by horror the way that some of the other origin characters are. lae'zel has been made revoltingly impure to her people, astarion is terrified of losing the scrap of bodily autonomy he just regained, gale is guilt-ridden over the orb detonation if he dies, shadowheart has to survive to prove herself to her cult leader, and karlach has also just regained bodily autonomy and is desparate to live.

this is just another quest for the Blade, whose persona guards wyll ravengard against the vice of self-concern when he ought to be concerned for those in need.

[blood-orange-juice]

Omg Zhongli

Also foreshadowing

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[canisonicscrewyou]

DUNNO WHAT OTHER ANON WAS TALKING ABOUT BUT I CARE. tell me about it

I have been meaning to answer these for like a hot week. Take my hand(s). Come with me. This AU is excellent if you don't care too much about canon and if you want to permanently ruin the way you watch Eleven's run w the Ponds. This is also just straight infodumping.

This post is both shorter and longer than I expected. I can talk about this for ages so this is truly one of those topics that’s like If You Have Any Questions At All About Fobwatched Rory!Master AU GimmeGimmeGimme I Will Always Be Down To Talk About Him/Them.

The gist is that this is an AU where Rory Williams is still Rory Williams. It’s just that Rory Williams should not exist? It’s just that Rory Williams Definitely Did Not Exist until some busted TARDIS fell into a backyard in Leadworth in the 90s and sat there to rot. It’s- It’s just that Rory Williams is a front. Was made up. Rory Williams is genetically human. Rory Williams has a fobwatch that has been harboring the Master for as long as Rory Williams has existed.

The background is that the year is 2012 and this is a headcanon being tossed around because the Master has not even been alluded to in Eleven’s run. Criminal. This premise was promptly stolen by me and ruined my brain for the next 12 years. There are a handful of fanfics that explore this premise, it’s been Too Long since I’ve read any so I truly don’t have any recommendations right now.

So. We have Rory Williams.

You may ask me “Hey, Andrew, in 2012 when other people were playing with this headcanon, was there anything in canon that could have supported this? Not because you NEED to justify headcanons and AUs with hard canon. I’m just curious.” and I say thank you for specifying. YES. Definitely. Totally.

I hope this helps :)) No straws were being grasped :)) It will be like 3 more years until Missy is introduced :))))) Some of us were starving :))))))))

So now that that’s some fun fandom lore established let’s settle this bastard (the Master)’s timeline…

From the Doctor’s timeline: Eleven has not actually seen the Master. Eleven’s last time seeing the Master was Simm!Master being dragged back to Gallifrey before the regeneration tour. The Master is dead.

From the Master’s timeline: Missy is dying. Missy is trying not to die and is effectively kickstarting a new regeneration cycle.

There are two priorities here: Get far away from the Doctor and get far away from any version of themself. In fact that new regeneration cycle might take time to fully develop. Doubly in fact, the Master’s TARDIS is not in good shape.

Solution: chameleon arch.

Rory Williams is not meticulously planned as a human. Rory Williams didn’t even have a name made up when the Master was both regenerating and going under the chameleon arch. There was no planning or time to plan. There was just going, and hoping for the best, because the chameleon arch will sort itself out just fine. (wrong)

Amelia Pond moves to Leadworth with her family as a young girl.

The night Amelia Pond settles into a house with a crack in the bedroom wall, a TARDIS crashes in someone else’s backyard in Leadworth. And Brian and Mallory Williams suddenly remember that they were supposed to be renovating their daughter’s bedroom (that strangely looks like a home office at the time), and put Rory Williams to sleep on the couch after he comes wandering in from the woods out back.

Rory Williams meets Amelia Pond the literal next day, and immediately, unknowingly, the youngest 7 year old in existence Fucks The Master’s Whole Shit Up For An Entire Millennia.

About a week later, the Doctor crash-lands into Amelia Pond’s backyard, and there is literally too much going on for him to even get a HINT that his Best Divorced Enemy is taking a ✨Mental Health Break✨ a few blocks over.

Amelia tells Rory all about the Raggedy Doctor she met and he does not question the weird anxious feeling in his stomach at all, because this kid is dealing with other things, like transgenderism and hanging off of Amelia Pond’s arm and also her Every Last Word. He will get dragged into games of Raggedy Doctor until they are at least 15 and will look at all of her Raggedy Doctor fanart and trinkets and listen to her borderline religious obsession with this character and is the only person in Leadworth aside from Mels to not look at her funny or tell her its all A Bit Too Much when she starts ranting about him. He decides early on he wants to be a doctor. Or maybe a nurse.

curb your enthusiasm.mp3

Everything from Eleventh Hour on is… Pretty accurate. The Master isn’t even really involved. The Master is in an old antique wristwatch somewhere in the Williams’ house, buried in boxes in Rory’s closet. I’m sure there’s a joke there somewhere.

Rory Williams is just. Like that.

The Master has no hand in Rory Williams’ sheer inability to die.

Every time Rory somehow evades inexistence the Master is pleasantly surprised. It makes absolutely no damn sense how this random human managed to escape death multiple times. It makes no damn sense that he just so managed to become an Auton just so he could guard his girlfriend for 1000 years (for the Doctor, but it’s important that every move this man makes is in Amy Pond’s name. The Doctor doesn’t even cross Rory’s mind when he decides to watch over the Pandorica.).

Rory Williams does not think much about how anxious he feels in the TARDIS. Somehow, the TARDIS makes him feel claustrophobic. Somehow, he feels like he isn’t welcome there, though nobody around him would give him that impression, ever. He does not think much about how he understood how the TARDIS worked immediately outside of the one article he read on dimensional travel. There is a period of time where he thinks the sickly feeling he gets in his stomach looking at the Doctor is just him needing to unpack weird feelings around his own bisexuality and Amy teases him relentlessly for it, because honestly, it’s just mortifying that it’s the Doctor of all people.

Around the Power of Three, Brian Williams is downsizing. It’s just him living in Rory’s childhood home now, no reason to hold onto all of these boxes of things.

Brian discovers an old, busted wrist watch in Rory’s childhood bedroom, buried deep in his closet shelves where he frankly never even touched. There’s some part of his memory that tells him it was from Rory’s grandfather, some hand me down, a gift for a christening, something. Rory should have this watch. Rory would want it. Next time he sees Rory, he gives it to him.

Rory is now aware of the watch. The Master is now aware that Rory is aware of the watch. The watch has gotten incredibly claustrophobic. The Universe resetting itself doesn’t take away Rory’s centurion stint, and it doesn’t apply to streams of consciousness that are hidden in dusty Time Lord tech. Rory does not want to open the watch- there is a part of Rory deeply self aware that if it’s opened, he will no longer exist. Every fiber of Rory’s being feels compelled to open the watch. The Master does want to open the watch- but the Master does not, cannot have, the watch opening around the Doctor. Neither man wins in this scenario.

You are the Master. You explicitly chose some random coordinates and fobwatched yourself into some random human with a random backstory. You somehow wound up best friends with the person obsessed with your ex that you were AVOIDING. You all traipse around his TARDIS together. You die and come back multiple times for this girl, this woman that you hooked onto immediately. Your daughter marries that same fucking ex. You couldn't have pranked yourself harder if you tried.

You are Amy Pond. You shouldn't really exist but you do against all odds. And you do not deserve any of this.

When the Master comes out(ha.) it is messy and awkward and nobody has a good time. There is no discernible reason why the Doctor should believe the Master going “oops !! oopsie !! well this is awkward isn’t it !!!!” while wearing the face of his best friend’s husband, and a very good friend of his own, and also technically his father-in-law. The Master is also aware of this. The Master is, actually, feeling kind of guilty that he killed Amy Pond’s husband right in front of her?

The Master has been locked in a state of half-regeneration for 1000 years. The Master has been in Rory Williams head, and likewise the Master has had Rory Williams in his own head. The Master is softly aware that there is something different in him this time around. There is something that feels decidedly human, sickly and overly emotional and cagey. There’s also just plain dysphoria when he looks in the mirror as himself, as the Master and not Rory, for the first time, something that absolutely fucks up the Master who is A. A Time Lord who has regenerated dozens of times B. Up until this point frequently operates on the idea that “Any Working Body Is A Good Body”.z

Eleven hates his guts. Amy is not fond either. (I am convinced that if that watch opened up without the Doctor around at all he would’ve immediately snatched up Amy and forced her to be his best friend even if she didn’t want to. I am certain that if Rory opened the watch at a few specific points the Master could’ve absolutely just willingly whisked Amy away to be his own companion and they would be sooo fucked up together.) It is uncertain to everyone involved whether or not River knew this was a possibility, let alone something she knew would even happen. The Master is spiraling. The Master is also lonely, both in the present and in the memory of being Missy. The memory of a Doctor who doesn’t exist yet. Rory Williams is a ghost that haunts the Master until he regenerates. Rory is in his sudden knowledge of how to properly bandage a burn. Rory is in his hesitation at saying the coldest and cruelest thing he could think of to get a reaction out of Amy Pond. Missy is in the inside joke he quips to the Doctor before realizing that the joke hasn’t happened yet. Missy is in the way he wonders if the Doctor even had a chance at remembering this regeneration of his since the whole timeline is disrupted, so does it actually matter what he does with it? Between Rory and between everything that happened with Missy and the Saxon Master and Twelve, is he actually what he perceives as the Master anymore? Or will another version of himself eventually just come along and put him down like a sick dog for not performing correctly, too?

Rory haunts the Master in the way that the Doctor can’t look at the Master’s face without revulsion for ages. Until the Master is grasping at straws, and suddenly insisting that the Doctor look him in the eyes. And he does- he just barely does. It’s not what he was expecting, but he does it. The Master grabs at his wrist and there’s a desperate insistence to the way he says it, the most pathetic “Say My Name” to ever fall from any regeneration’s lips, and when the Doctor does say “Master…”, it’s only to follow up with “Master… Are you okay?” because NO he clearly isn’t. The Master is quite obviously never okay but this is different, nothing is working the way it used to, nothing sounds right and even the Doctor isn’t doing it right and it’s clearly(/s) all just because of Fucking Rory Williams.

Anyways. It’s about haunting your own narrative and it’s about how to best fuck up a Time Lord who was Too Human For Too Long. It’s about giving the Master empathy and both gender and social dysphoria and an identity crisis.

It's also about Amelia Pond and Rory Williams, two human beings who by all accounts should NOT exist at all, finding and loving each other because two TARDISes crash landed in Leadworth in 1996.

In Conclusion:

P.S. while I’m here: Him Face (Also important to note that if you’ve read this far in, congratulations, you get the added fun fact of knowing that in this the Master’s TARDIS is a horribly beat up and graffiti’d vending machine. It’s not stuck like that. It’s just how his TARDIS prefers to present, and shockingly, the Master’s TARDIS refuses to listen to a word he fucking says.)

[ckret2]

I have an offering for Bill Cipher. The first is Zooland books, specifically the 1980 version of them. They have the most amazing illustrations and I loved them as a kid. The second is Madeline Le'angles Wrinkle in Time books which is my favorite sci-fi series. Hope he likes them☺️

idk whether he'd enjoy zoobooks (all i know about them comes from those old tv commercials) but he'd be successfully hypnotized by them. book has pictures, he looks at pictures.

ngl I couldn't get past the first wrinkle in time book. Nothing wrong with the sci-fi worldbuilding, just the overall good vs evil plot was too... whimsical for my tastes? It's been years since I read it, I don't remember precisely what I didn't enjoy. so I don't know enough to decide whether he'd like the whole series.

[snoopyrpc]

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT ACTIVITIES FOR WHEN I FEEL STUCK OR BORED. most people, myself included, are prone to writer's block, and while this can be an extremely frustrating process to get to, i try to use this as an opportunity to approach it in a fun way. i thought i'd share some of my favourite activities that might be of use to other people.

create a movie library. if your muse is someone who likes movies, make a list of their favourites on letterboxd or imdb, or even serializd for those that prefer tv. you can make lists for ones they've seen and enjoyed or haven't seen but would like. i use letterboxd for this quite a bit and sometimes even add some notes within my lists detailing my muse's thoughts and reviews of the movies.

make a sideblog. i know that many people do this already, but aesthetic sideblog for your character can be extremely helpful and fun to maintain. you can build these however you like! i like to use mine to post photos that my muse would like, faceclaim content, playlists and songs, ships/dynamics inspo, headcanons, silly text posts, and a variety of other things. if you're unsure where to look for content you can post on your sideblogs, @museinspo has a variety of things for many types of characters and is a really helpful place to start. they have a great detailed tagging system to make it easier to find content best suited to your muse. some tags that you can also look through could be #character inspo, #ship inspo, and #muse inspo.

play a barbie dress up game. most people who know me can attest to how much i love this — building a closet for my characters' style. every muse is different, so this can be a fun exploration activity. pinterest is a frequently used resource, but what i like to do most often is browse resale websites like depop or poshmark because i like the variety of styles and the fact that you can find some things you might not see in every store! i have many muses who like to wear silly graphic t-shirts, handmade, vintage, and eclectic styles, so this tends to be the best place to search. you can also do this with any website that sells styles you like for your muse. i like to think of this as a dress up barbie game since that helps me maintain the fun aspect of it all.

build and decorate a barbie dreamhouse. on the topic of barbies, you can do the same activity with furniture, homewares, trinkets, toys, art and decor. build your muse their barbie dreamhouse, fill it with things they would collect and feel at home with. browse furniture websites. ikea, crate and barrel, pottery barn, anthropologie, and west elm are all great places to look for ideas. if you really want to get into it, architectural design (i particularly like this article listing recommendations for furniture retailers) and dezeen (has the added bonus of being able to search for things based on location, if you're looking for example of interior design specific to your muse's city of residence) have extensive articles on both exterior and interior design. etsy is also a great place to look for antiques, vintage style, and more eclectic items.

feed them. if your muse is a foodie or likes to cook, come up with a menu for them. read food blogs and restaurant menus, think of what they'd like if they went out for dinner or what they'd cook at home. i will sometimes make up an imaginary dinner party for muses when its applicable and plan out what they'd like to serve or be served in that situation. food can be a great way to get to know your muse because it can tell you so much about their personal tastes, their current lifestyle, and their cultural background. while food is something that is prevalent in everyone's life, different people will have different approaches to it. this can be especially fun if you look at the menus for restaurants and shops local to your muse's area! read about what's popular in their neighborhood, take the specifics of that culture into consideration.

consider history. think about the time and place in which your character was born and raised in. how would things like pop culture, trends, media, neighborhood, and society affect them? this will differ with every character's upbringing and background, so take all that into consideration as you explore resources. for example, say that your muse is inspired by something like punk subcultures in the 1990s. what music, movies, and clothing styles would have been prevalent at the time? try looking into the history of the underground scene, you can even look further back than that particular decade to understand its roots and how the subculture go to that present moment. how would current events of the time affect what's being put out there and how would the changes within the world cause your character to evolve in their mindset or interests?

study movement. often times we study physicality in terms of what the character looks like as a static image (their hair colour, face shape, clothing, etc) and less about what it looks like when they look like when they are in movement. consider things like their gait, posture, facial expressions, or even specific tics. how do they move when they're on the go and in a rush, compared to when they're confined to a room? how do they position themselves in a bed or on a couch? what does their face tell you about them when they speak? what does it not tell you? a lot of behavior and emotion is not limited to dialogue, but rather how a person composes themselves through body language. you can learn so much about someone by being observant of them even without dialogue. it can be helpful to watch videos or movies and study an actor's movements with all this in mind. i often find myself watching videos with the sound off, just to pay closer attention to body language and try to understand what they are saying without verbal communication.

feel free to reblog if any of this is helpful to you. i maintain the belief that roleplay should always be fun and the best way for me to do that is to treat it like a barbie game. remember that not all character development revolves solely around written words, but rather the environment and details you put into them.

[dyna-myght]

I’m disappointed but not surprised by how some of tumblr treats Mouthwashing (the game).

[maddymoreau]

I'm enjoying Fallout 3 a little more but there’s one thing that’s extremely bothering me.

How come, in the dialogue options, I can NEVER can mention, I was FORCED to leave the vault?

I didn’t have a choice but to leave. Jonas Palmer was beaten to death in attempts to get info about my father James. The Overseer was going to have the same done to me if not WORSE.

The Lone Wanderer: "So they killed Jonas, and I'm next, is that it?"

Amata: "Yeah. It's lucky I got here ahead of them. But we can't stand here talking! You're got to get out of here!"

I understand my father didn't know this would happen. That he simply thought I wouldn't be able to leave the vault after he escaped.

But the fact I can never explain what happened when reunited with him is just so ODD!?!?!!?

I COULDN’T STAY!!!!!!!

I FEEL LIKE THIS IS IMPORTANT INFORMATION YOU SHOULD WANT TO KNOW DAD!!!!!

WHY ARE THESE MY ONLY OPTIONS?!?!?!?!!!!!

Why give me that entire section where I had to escape the vault to avoid MURDER!!?? If they were going to back me in a corner (dialogue wise) that I would've gone after my father no matter what.

It would've made the dialogue option, "Why would you throw away the life we had?" WAY MORE INTENSE AND INTERESTING IF I COULD TELL HIM HIS ACTIONS UNINTENTIONALLY AFFECTED ME!!!

It could've been followed by a cute bonding moment where he apologizes and says while this life was never what he wanted for me he'll now help me adjust however he can.

[warabola]

tumblr user warabola, whose FLPC specializes in murder of the self, is obnoxiously obsessed with sinking teeth into characters with layers and layers of persona and deception. no-one is surprised.

[yeniihuenii]

Hihi!! Hope ur OC building is going well!! 8 and 16 for the artist ask game? :)

8. aside from hands, it's front-view faces. i don't use symmetry tool for it unless they're just standing like ���‍♂️ so whenever i flip the canvas i go ohhh my goddddd it looks so wonky, then i draw on the flipped canvas to correct it, flip again, n so on until it looks good to me. liquify tool is also my best friend for this.

16. ngl the secret way to motivation is... have a blorbo. you have no idea how much power they bring out of your hands. currently it's jiyan so whenever i had to study art or practice smth i just draw him so it doesn't get boring. powering thru all these comms so at the end of the day i get to draw jiyan :3

[mcybree]

Im doing a lot of thinking abt why roleplaying feels different/less natural for me in beastlife s4 in comparison to s3, and i think it’s because there’s ways i know i should be feeling (based on the perception of my character— when i was fresh out of s2 nobody knew enough about my guy to have opinions) vs how i am feeling. I’m catching myself thinking, “it wouldn’t make sense for my character to [blank],” and it’s like… what do i mean by that. what do i mean that this feeling im having in-session “wouldnt make sense for my character” to feel? It might be surprising to other beasts who know me for one thing and expect consistency, i guess?? but in s3 i just acted on feelings and then shit happened. what. why am i trying to enforce a character that does not exist when the strength of mcrp lies in its improvisational nature. I didn’t write this guy on purpose, why am i trying to write him now

[numberoneanika]

Honestly the roleplay blogs are stronger than I am because if I saw a post where people were saying my blog was annoying and calling me corny I would jump in a large pit and rot away

[remyfire]

Using all my might today to get my bestie's OC in a sandwich and well-fucked :D Sending this energy to everyone who's been feeling too shy to let their OCs kiss a canon character. We can do it. You've earned a self-indulgence treat, I promise.

[mad-hunts]

barton's legit reaction on camera whenever he finds out that the doctors in arkham have written a special note on his chart that says he should now be muzzled before being transported someplace (and i just thought i should mention this would take place right after he had pretty much bitten off the ear of a guard as well as strangled them in the past... like UMMM ☠️ i'm definitely not saying it's right to muzzle a human being, but he would really be out here acting like that didn't happen jsjsj)

[amalgamatus]

Yeah writing a character who is smart in a specific field that you're not familiar with is hard, but have you ever tried writing a character who is just canonically supposed to have some insane sex appeal? My thoughts and prayers go to my fellow comrades in this trench.

[pinkaditty]

hmmm

just saw a bimbo!reader x incel!idia shroud...

...what if i did something self-indulgent...

haha jk!!! ...unless...?