I have noticed some of the following becoming somewhat of a trend, or rather coming to be popular on my dash at least. It’s just a little peeve that’s been growing stronger and stronger every time I see it or get caught up in it myself. So, here it goes:

• Age don’t meant shit. Now, what do I mean, you ask? I mean it doesn’t matter if your muse is 8 years old or a few thousand years old — it doesn’t really matter in the long run because age does not equate to power OR wisdom. Unless you have pre-plotted an age difference and it’s meaning in a storyline with the other writer or it is canon within your fandom or whatever, don’t do the thing in your starter.
• Do not assume that because your muse is almighty or some other thing that they know who or what another writer’s muse is without pre-plot or logical canon to your fandom. Like if you got a Damon Salvatore clearly he’s gonna know who Elena Gilbert is, but he isn’t necessarily going to know who Locke Cole [ Final Fantasy VI ] or Will Graham [ Hannibal ] is without you pre-plotting with the other writer.
• Both of these things can be perceived as godmodding by some writers and can even be something uncomfortable for another to receive in a starter, etc.

Basically? DON’T DO THE THING.

I may not be the kind of RPer that does all my drafts everyday, but I do often check my inbox/messages.

So if your muse misses mine, don’t be afraid to show up with a random text message or mini-para or sentence or question or whatever. I promise I won’t get mad at you.

This also goes for anyone who wants to interact with my muse. Just throw something random in my inbox. Even if I don’t answer it for some reason, I’ll probably message you back.

adxiudicium:

     _{He leaned back, eyes half-lidded and fingertips pressed neatly together. A cigarette sat between his lips, burning steadily. His mind turned slowly, stretching over the facts gathered in his mind and processing them thoroughly as to not avoid missing even the smallest detail.}

     _{He breathed.}

                                _{Smoke rose.}

                                                               _{❝ You are distracting me. ❞} 

     _{He did not enjoy an audience when he was dwelling in the deepest depths of his mind attic. Though she was without words, Holmes could sense her gaze and it was that which rang out at him like a bell chiming noisily in the stillest of nights.}

     _{His lips curled in disapproval.} 

               ❝To distract someone such as yourself must be
                 something of a talent, Mister Holmes.❞

                              Her voice was a delicate whisper in the stale and near motionless wind that stirred within the confines of the room, her careful storm-ridden optics still determined to stay on him. Observant of the way the smoke from the cigarette plumed into the air and even how the cherry of the cylinder’s ash was set aglow with his inhale. The entirety of the sight was rather picturesque to her, but there was little she did not find to qualify for such a sentiment. A part of her yearned to sketch it or paint it, but nothing would do it justice like the living and breathing vision of it.

                                             Her smile remained, ever-growing.

                                                            And now with a splash of amusement.

               ❝My apologies for unsettling your thoughts,❞
                              her entertainment was unshaken and present in her voice.

holditsacred:

     ^{Skittles? Charlotte dared to try another, fascinated by the odd taste. She had tasted candy before, but not quite like this. Chocolate, really: a treat given to her by one of the Edger girls whom she had treated for a burn mark.}

     ^{Gracefully sitting down where she might be on the same level as the other female, she pondered the palmful of brightly colored candy. “I don’t indulge in candy. Are they all the same?”}

            Her amusement remained barely veiled at how the other treated the testing of the Skittles – a quiet wonder of where the blonde woman was from crept into her mind. She did not seem to be of this realm per se, Celeste couldn’t fully place what was different in the long run – but something about the woman’s aura resonated in a way that did nothing but pique her curiosities.

                        Slowly, she sat up upon her elbows to consider the question asked. ❝No, no,❞ she began with a brightness about her, ❝You can get them in all sorts of flavor arrangements!❞

               This was definitely not a form that the Ideology used very often, but something within the fibers of her being told her that it was the one to use with the man before her. That it was an apropos face for the other.

                                                                           Sherlock Holmes.

               Talk about someone intriguing. A brilliant and curious mind that utilized not the simplicity of just logic to solve puzzles set before him but the very nature of what she was was employed. He took creativity and melded it like an art with rationality. It was a talent she deemed rare, few believed the two to be something to work cohesively with one another –yet, here stood a man who defied that very assumption. Slender fingers settled to support her chin with a slow to form grin and stormy hues lighting up like the moment when the sun returns to the skies after the rain.

               She couldn’t help her staring, she was practically swooning if truth be told – but she said not a word at all.