#|| oops

writing tips is incredibly vague but i'll try

this is what i follow by personally. im not telling anyone they have to write like me, or they even should, but i personally don't see much value in me repeating "write what you love" when that's already been said so many times. i am not a professional writer, this is just what makes me comfortable

- sometimes less is more. you dont need a thesarus on hand to, make a 10 sentence paragraph about how your characters eyes are looking around warily. that is a slog to read through, especially for yourself. if you want that 10 sentence paragraph, split it up into 10 different details. long is fine, long is great! it can just be tiring to read smth long when it didnt need to be long

- that being said, writing length does NOT equal skill. some people just love getting into their characters heads more then others. as long as you give something that can be reacted to (rp-specific) or get the point across (general writing), it's very good!

@reigningsniper​​ said:  💏

fifty ways to kiss someone

48... out of habit.

‘Major Cromwell.’ More often than not, hearing someone call her by rank would earn a slight crinkle of the nose and the quick insistence that they call her by name, instead, but there were a few exceptions. Her family, first, as they liked to brandish it now and then with an ounce of pride and two of teasing; and, of course, the much more common case at hand. It wasn’t a matter of Riza being distant, nor unfriendly, just a fact of how she addressed anyone when on military grounds. A preference Easy had no trouble respecting, and adjusting to in time.

So, when it was Hawkeye’s voice calling her title, she responded only with the prompt turn on her heel to look the other’s way, and a subtle, welcome smile; a tiny hint of which she sees reflected from the Lieutenant, though she keeps it brief for the sake of subtlety. 

A report trades hands, with Riza dutifully going over some highlights and entertaining commentary from the alchemist, alike, making note of any requests that could be handed down to others in their unit, while also clarifying the points Mustang had most wanted Cromwell to see. It’s all very standard, and there’s nothing to bat an eye at as they stand close-together, hands skimming the same pages as notes are made and plans formed.

Nothing— until the exchange comes to an end. 

“Thank you, Riza.” Spoken softly, through that same old smile, and her usual fashion of sealing the deal when speaking those words. 

—  ❝ Damn !! Look, it’s really not like I meant that splash ya suddenly !! I just. . . Thought it happened to be a shallower puddle !! ❞ It was his fault, yes he realized that, but the thorough process of actually saying a genuine apology was rather tough for him. Sure, he should’ve been more careful. . . One little stomp of his boot in a nearby puddle sent mud upwards, caking the front of the girl's shoes who just so happened to be passing by at that very moment. Still, Curtis tried to calm himself, a heavy sigh being given as he softly rubbed the back of his neck with a strained expression. ❝ Augh. . . I really did dirty them up, didn’t I ?? ❞

@itisweselton

A chilly breeze cut through the night air causing the man on the rooftop to shiver. Jonathan Crane hated the cold and usually wouldn't be found out doing any sort of business this late into the year, but this wasn't the usual circumstances. No, much to his surprise he had been contacted via Oswald that someone was looking for him. As much as he didn't like or trust Cobblepot, he had to admit he was bored and curious. Besides winter was his off season, might as well do something to entertain himself.

Which led to him being up on the rooftop, dressed in his full Scarecrow costume, watching the car park below him. The building he had told the man to meet him at was a two story abandoned home in the middle of the Narrows. The Narrows was the poverty ridden section of Gotham, and it was the Scarecrow's territory. Nearly all the denizens of Gotham knew to avoid the Narrows at night unless you wanted a chance to meet your worst nightmares, but this man didn't seem to be from Gotham. Jonathan only hoped the man had the foresight to research who exactly he was trying to do business with. He'd just have to see.

As three men exited the car, leaving one inside, Jonathan looked them over before making his way down to the first floor. The rooms weren't nearly as spacious as one might've hoped, but that played wonderfully into Jonathan's hand. He stayed hidden, watching the first two come men come in. The first thought he had was that these obviously weren't the ones he was meant to be doing business with given how much they looked like bodyguards. One was just slightly shorter than the other, both were well built, and he had no doubt they had at least one weapon on their bodies, not that it mattered to him. Both were dark haired, but the taller one looked slightly older.

nonverbal starters

💌 pillow my muse’s head in your lap🍁 play with my muse’s hair 

It wasn’t that rescue was all that far off, it was the sheer quantity of blood he’d lost. Tony had to admit he wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic about his odds. It didn’t help that Bucky had gently rolled him onto his back, lifted his head to rest on his lap--comfortable despite all the leather--and brushed metal fingers through his short-cropped hair as the other hand held pressure against the wound.

soft angst starters: { accepting! }

The line crackled, and Tony’s head was a litany of nononono.  There were too many of them, which should have been obvious from the start, but it wasn’t like there’d been a choice--

“You’re right. Time for, ah, heroic measures, right?”

The last time he’d taken a one-way trip, Tony had fallen back out of the sky.  Easy, peasy.  With trauma that lingered to this day.  This time, stuck underground, the only option was a little more... decisive.

At least I won’t have to worry about more nightmares. Yay?

“It’s been real, Steve. Do me a favor, make sure someone builds me a statue? A good one.” 

The structural elements of the bunker lit up on his display, and he took a deep breath. 

“Now get the hell out of blast range. You have-- Friday, start the countdown, will you?”