magic_fratboy

1. Comment with your character's journal.
2. List a verse or verses if you would like to pick one
3. I'll write a few words on Jen's feelings for them.
4. Feel free to return/spread the notion!
5. Enjoy!

Here's the challenge, each day for the next month, write a blog in letter form to the following people:

( The Letters Below... )

♡♥♡♥♡ RP LOVE MEME ♡♥♡♥♡

♡♥♡my thread♡♥♡

1. Comment with a pairing or pairings (or a friendship, it doesn't have to be shippy). They can be het, slash, canon, or crack.
2. I will create a ship mix for that pairing that will range from an EP with a minimum of 3 songs to a full mix, with upwards of 20 songs. It depends on how much music I can find/how inspired I get. Likely there will be cover art, because that's like my favorite thing to do for fanmixes.
3. Fanmix meme makes no promises. By submitting your request, you give me permission to do whatever the hell I want with the muses and story. It does not have to affect any verses. Also, there's no guarantee I will make you a full mix, as I said. This does not reflect how much I love you/your muse, but how much the music I have matches up to the requests.
4. For my own personal sanity, please limit yourself to two requests. Select 'verse if relevant! These can involve your muse, or others you know mine have interacted with in RP or canon.
5. Expect me to take forever to actually finish this, because, I procrastinate. A lot.
6. Have fun and PROFIT??

THE MUSES

Tommy Karras -

magic_fratboy
Dog Carter -

callme_animal
Channing Vale -

what_its_not
Delilah Redfern -

moon_inher_eye
Lance Dulac -

price_onmysoul
Mays Ryder -

justifymy_ways
Anne Forsythe -

adreamto_rise
Michael Vaughn -

a_broken_watch
Nick Knight -

dontclaimtoknow
Richard Castle -

always_a_story
Malcolm Reynolds -

bigdamn_hero
Cassie Blake -

sky_andsea
Seamus O'Leary -

stone_speaker
Peter Petrelli -

its_myturn

And any others you can think of that I may have forgot. :p

⇘ASK MY PUPPET MEME⇖
Ask them a question!

Six Impossible Things :: my thread

Headvoice CPR. To revive muses and their voices.

Anyone can talk to any of my characters or role play with them here. Just comment!

Alternatively, ask a character a question, any question, and they HAVE to answer completely honestly. Have to. It's the meme rule. Even if they'd normally lie, they suddenly have been hit with a truth serum of some kind and must tell the truth.

Any verse applies, just let me know.

Muses in need of CPR:

Tommy Karras =

magic_fratboy
Anne Forsythe =

adreamto_rise
Beth Ann Callahan =

morsus_mihi
Peter Petrelli =

its_myturn (play him mostly S1 & S2, not caught up with S3)
Josiah Cole =

the_lastnight
Claude Howard =

whos_theman
Kyle Howard =

inside_mydreams

Have at it, folks! MY MUSES NEED YOU! :P

RP Love Meme // Show me love

The "You Should Write..." Meme!
my thread here

NOTE: Piece takes place during Tommy's training for the building implosion, approximately three and a half weeks ago. Carbone is

mindisthemagic and mine to use and abuse.

He had a little bit of martial arts training, and he had the power to stop his own heart, but overall Tommy knew very little, intellectually, about meditation.

Calling his Fraternity brothers and sisters didn’t help much, none of their answers or advice were the same. Too little or too much, they told him, in the dark or in the light, on the floor and in a bed or a chair. There was no consistency to be had. If he had even one common thread, one fact to latch onto he could have gone the distance but he had nothing. He was as he had been in his days as Houdini: living by his wits, scraping by on borrowed pennies and sharing ill-nourished game foraged from the wild roadsides.

He was the one who asked the question, and he alone was the one who had the answer. His brain was the key that would set him free. It was the only key he had.

So he chose a room and locked the door. He shut the lights and opened the curtains wide. The dark room, illuminated by desert sunshine, softened into pale, vibrant hues that called him to the place he knew he had to go. He left no music on, but opened a window. The sounds of the street and the natural world outside sang a soothing melody as he moved to the center of the room.

Stretching his arms out on either side, he sank down slowly and shut his eyes. The old, familiar burn came, slow and steady as the minutes passed...he kept his shoulders loose and didn't fight it. It had been years since he'd held a square horse stance for so long, but the muscles were still strong and the body remembered where to banish the pain. It still felt right, familiar.

( ..... )

Current Mood: calm

RPSHIPSMEME

x-posted just a bit to other muse journals

Pick one of my characters and I'll tell you...

→ why I decided to play this character
→ my favorite scene or bit of interaction concerning this character to date
→ my favorite original aspect about this character (world-building for ocs or head-canon for fcs)
→ the last thing they did "off screen"
→ what their last words would be if they died tomorrow
→ what the next thing I'm doing for them is (narrative, post, shelving, whatever)

BONUS ROUND:
» I will tell you what character of yours I'd like to play mine against
» you may ask me a free question

It's incomplete, I'm sure, so you can select any muse from here or ask about a muse you know I play but don't see on the listy. Clear as mud? :p

He had a little bit of martial arts training, and he had the power to stop his own heart, but overall Tommy knew very little, intellectually, about meditation.

Calling his Fraternity brothers and sisters didn’t help much, none of their answers or advice were the same. Too little or too much, they told him, in the dark or in the light, on the floor and in a bed or a chair. There was no consistency to be had. If he had even one common thread, one fact to latch onto he could have gone the distance but he had nothing. He was as he had been in his days as Houdini: living by his wits, scraping by on borrowed pennies and sharing ill-nourished game foraged from the wild roadsides.

He was the one who asked the question, and he alone was the one who had the answer. His brain was the key that would set him free. It was the only key he had.

So he chose a room and locked the door. He shut the lights and opened the curtains wide. The dark room, illuminated by desert sunshine, softened into pale, vibrant hues that called him to the place he knew he had to go. He left no music on, but opened a window. The sounds of the street and the natural world outside sang a soothing melody as he moved to the center of the room.

Stretching his arms out on either side, he sank down slowly and shut his eyes. The old, familiar burn came, slow and steady as the minutes passed...he kept his shoulders loose and didn't fight it. It had been years since he'd held a square horse stance for so long, but the muscles were still strong and the body remembered where to banish the pain. It still felt right, familiar.

Pain became heat, heat burned and created more pain. It rolled through him in slow, rhythmic waves, rocking him though he didn't move. His breath moved, in and out, keeping time with the flames slowly licking up his legs and torso.

By the time it reached his arms, his fingertips, the pain was gone. He was warm all over, and already worlds away.

He was in a world of steel and alloy, heat colliding with the smooth cool surface of a cam and tumblers. He was surrounded by the purpose, by the functionality of that compact bundle that stood between one and another. Gravity was the key, the weight of each pin pushed back by the intricate beauty of the cut plate that defied it. Into the dark, removing the barrier with a twist, a push…and there was nothing. It was a beautiful dance, a song of human accomplishment that had the power to bind things as his people could not. It stood against his purpose, his mission, to remove barriers and bring freedom…

He was still warm. The cool touch of metal was an illusion like all things. The lock wasn’t manmade, it was something else. It was his to open, as all things were. Whether or not it was his place, his job, or even his right, he couldn’t fight his nature. Within the lock, he moved through the cam and lifted the pins until he felt the click…

Pressure gave around him as the lock came open.

Stretching his arms out on either side, he sank down slowly and shut his eyes. The old, familiar burn came, slow and steady as the minutes passed...he kept his shoulders loose and didn't fight it. It had been years since he'd held a square horse stance for so long, but the muscles were still strong and the body remembered where to banish the pain. It still felt right, familiar.

Pain became heat, heat burned and created more pain. It rolled through him in slow, rhythmic waves, rocking him though he didn't move. His breath moved, in and out, keeping time with the flames slowly licking up his legs and torso.

By the time it reached his arms, his fingertips, the pain was gone. He was warm all over, and already worlds away.

It had been years since he'd held a square horse stance for so long, but the muscles were still strong and the body remembered where to banish the pain.

Writer's Block Meme

The exercise is as follows.

1. On the first night, write a single sentence that could appear at any point in your eventual story.
2. On the second night, write a paragraph of a minimum five sentences, including the original sentence.
3. On the third night, complete five paragraphs including the one written the night prior.
4. On the last night, finish your story!
5. At any point, you make take one 'night off' as a pass.

Let's do this!