» I’d see such a vital part of my past become nothing more than a memory, but here we are.

» finding the community itself just so irritably distasteful. I like to login and see what fandoms are going on, but any good ones linger for three weeks before completely vanishing, leaving us with the ones that have been around for years. Anyways, it sucks. 👎🏻 Never thought »

» storylines. A good writer will linger for a week or so, before disappearing. Maybe I’ve just outgrown RP as a whole now that I’m older with more life experience. But for the last four years, I fall into this cycle of trying to return, losing my muse and interest, or »

» and interacting with long distance friends via Skype, Rabbit and other methods. But the community has became so … toxic, and the writing isn’t at all what it used to be. People put more thought and effort into cancel threads and callout posts than they do plots and »

https://t.co/TsNurQ0vjd I’ve tried my hardest over the years to rediscover the muse and inspiration that kept me tied to RP, but unfortunately, it has diminished to the point of extinction. I used to really enjoy coming here and creating accounts, joining group chats »

https://t.co/TsNurQ138L same. I want to know your characters thoughts and motives behind their actions, maybe even a short flashback that lead them to act/behave that way. bring them to life, give me something to connect to.

would much rather put a cigarette out on a man before she ever pleased one.

you know what they say, a good—listener is a man’s best quality.

https://t.co/yo6KkR1oVQ

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ dragged 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 through my 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀; in the 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝐤𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 —— i see visions of 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( & ) . . . i’m right where you 𝗹͟𝗲͟𝗳͟𝘁 me, a tower of 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠.

no rizz. just big brown eyes and many unsettling thoughts that would ship her to a psych ward at a moments notice if she ever uttered them out loud.

https://t.co/TsNurQ0vjd if I am sent another one-liner as a starter, I fear I may gouge out my own eyes.

https://t.co/TsNurQ0vjd bring back 10+ tweet starters and solos. bring back detailed storylines. bring back detailed and descriptive writing.

( . . . ) the middle of her rest and drifting back to her consciousness, she loses the imagery, before able to mask her slumbered tormentor.

( . . . ) because in her wake, the dream is scattered and lost. between the sheets and her duvet, her body twists and turns; the vision once so vivid and clear becomes fogged and blurry. stuck in ( . . . )

( . . . ) place, because no matter how fast she goes, she still does not meet the end of the hallway. she knows there’s something after her, something that her brain shelters from her memory. ( . . . )

( . . . ) a pungent smell. iron, rot, rotting… something. and the hallway feels ten miles longer. in her celestial form, she is running down it; aged nine. but she seems to be running in ( . . . )

( . . . ) horrors she encounters. the home in her vision depicts a different structure than the one from her memory; this one, ran down and torn. the images are hazy, though, she’s hit with ( . . . )

( . . . ) rhythm or two. in the sea of her subconscious, she is just a 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 trapped in her childhood home: innocent, helpless, broken, and she does not speak upon her desires — nor the ( . . . )

( . . . ) silhouettes pirouetting the devil’s dance; she is plagued by images of the macabre. these entities feast upon her darkest fears like a flesh—eating disease; causing her beating organ to skip a ( . . . )