A Somewhat Useful Masterpost for Writers

Websites for Critique:

Other Websites:

Characters

Characters (part 2)

Naming Characters

Medical/Crime/Legal

Other Helpful Stuff

Dress Up Games  I personally like to find games that I can make my OCs with.

Free Writing Software

Articles

Books:

Inspirational Quotes: x x 

And I couldn’t find the original post for these so (pictures under the cut)

Read More

Thanks @happydooky for sharing

Stunning resource for writers.

Paulo Coelho (via thequotejournals)

Exquisite Bridal Crowns by Anna Doezie

Catering to brides to be, Anna Doezie aims to style the non-traditional bride with a delicate and timeless crown inspired by Ancient Greek fashion. With the use of highly coveted rose gold, the artisan is inspired by the fragility and beauty of flowers and leaves. Find her work in her Etsy shop.

View similar posts here!

Yet Another Munday Meme  Send me a symbol and I’ll answer ooc 

ѩ - Are there any characters that you love, but simply cannot role play? 

Җ - What’s your greatest source of inspiration when it comes to role playing? 

ℛ - Are you religious? 

♬ - Do you listen to music when you write? If yes, what kind of music? 

ᚡ - Random fact about the mun? 

✒ - Do you have a preference when it comes to gender regarding your muses? 

ಹ - Share a story from your childhood! 

෴ - Tell us about your day. 

㉘ - How do you usually spend your birthdays? 

⨌ - If you ever had the opportunity to clone yourself, would you? 

ᚖ - Do you wear makeup?

༺ - Do you have any siblings? What’s your relationship with them like? 

๛ - Share an embarrassing story about yourself! 

❤ - Are you and/or your muse currently in love with someone? 

ℳ - Do you think you have a good handwriting? 

☢ - When was the last time you went to the cinema? What movie did you watch?

⨕ - Are you a jealous role player? 

sentence prompts ➝ in this moment

        He hadn’t ever been this bony…even as a kid, Tywin had always had a fair amount of lean muscle, but…his broad shoulders were all bone now, and his hips were hollow.  He could count his ribs, if he put his mind to it, even through his clothing.  And…and then there was the throbbing pain in his hips, and the hot burn along the inside of his arms…

        He wanted to claw the bandages off, if nothing else to convince himself that there were no needles, no IVs.  He wanted to tear them off…but the doctors had insisted that if he did that they would bleed again.  And…he had no desire to see his blood again…or to scare Petyr by bleeding in his sleep…no.  No, he…he would leave them on…besides, Petyr was here…Petyr wouldn’t let anyone inject anything into him…he wouldn’t.

        A thick swallow, and Tywin crawled into the bed, and half-curled, as much as his back and hips would allow.  Normally, he would have curled around Petyr’s smaller frame…but habitually, he faced the edge of the bed, and kept his arms close to his sides.  It was quiet…it wasn’t even dark out yet, but…he was so tired.  So, so tired…

        “The light…d-don’t turn off the light.  Please…”

        He was barely aware he’d spoken, but the words came half-frantic, as if the dark might swallow him.  Maybe it would…the pitch black, and the pain…maybe it would swallow him.

The position was just a bit awkward for Petyr, neck turned at a sharp angle so he could rest his face against Tywin’s back, feet only barely reaching past Tywin’s knees…but despite the discomfort, the simple act of being close to Tywin was enough that he knew he’d be able to rest easy tonight. Even if it meant being sore in the morning. He’d lived with worse, after all, and for reasons not nearly as dear to his heart. At the small, frantic question, Petyr gently ran a hand over Tywin’s arm, slow and reassuring.

“It’s staying on…don’t worry.”

He’d been expecting that. And while it meant getting to sleep would be a bit annoying for him, he wasn’t about to do anything that could possibly discomfort his lover. Not tonight. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?” God, he wanted to help. He wanted to do everything he possibly could to ensure his lover would heal. He knew it would take time, though. And that, while he had a fairly good idea of what the other man must be feeling, Tywin had to deal with it in his own way. Petyr couldn’t force his healing process on Tywin. 

Still…it was tempting to do just that, to see if he could garner a smile from Tywin, or that particular gleam in his eye when he had something mischievous in mind…anything that could reassure Petyr that he actually had his lover back, not just a shell that looked like Tywin Lannister…

        The touch to his arm made him tense, but otherwise he only nodded.  He preferred the black, usually...but he couldn’t imagine sleeping in it now, not...not until he was sure.  And...he could only imagine how uncomfortable Petyr must be, but...if he rolled over, he was scared he might...might hurt him.  Lash out, clutch...they’d talked about Petyr’s own...events.  He was always careful of that...but...

        Slowly, he forced himself to stop checking every corner he could see.  Made himself shut his eyes, and draw his arms close to his chest.  His body became a fairly compact ball, until he let out a shuddering breath and pressed a little back into his lover’s warmth.  Clothes felt so strange, he’d realized...but he hadn’t dared remove them to rest.  They felt wrong on his skin, scratchy despite their silken nature...

        After a little while, the young patriarch fell into sleep, a low-level tremble running through his body as he did so.  It was...soothing, to be home.  But his sleep was...troubled.  Soft whimpers escaped him every so often, his hands clutching at the mattress tightly before going lax.

Nearly Broken

        It was a tired, wan half-smile that flickered across the Lion’s lips when he felt Petyr stagger under his weight.  He’d lost weight since he’d been bedridden, and his lack of appetite since had only furthered that.  But he had always been a rather sturdily framed man, and even with the loss of weight….he wasn’t a small man by any means.  He was just starting to slowly look his age.  Or quickly, depending on how one looked at it.

        He listened, a slight frown furrowing his brow as he wondered whether or not to confide the Maester’s suspicions (and his own), or to remain silent.  It…was an unfortunate thing about age.  He wasn’t a young man anymore, he was well past his prime.  And with that, his body could only heal so much.  Could only fight so long before giving in.  He…might never heal.  Not beyond what was already done.  He had scars aplenty, and he’d fought too many wars and seen too many injuries.  Even had he not heard Pycelle’s analysis, his own was…equally damning.  Nothing could leave him bedridden without driving him quite mad…but if he insisted on not being bedridden, he very might reopen it months down the line, days…years…

        “You’ve never been a man for pity, Petyr.  Understanding perhaps, disgust, yes…but not pity.”

        Gently, the Lion drew the slighter man close, arm wrapped soothingly around his waist as his slight frown remained, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles against the other’s hip.  Damned if he did…damned if he didn’t.  But for now…he’d keep it to himself…

Just one look at Tywin’s face at the moment told more than words ever could. The man didn’t believe he would ever fully heal. …And that belief, as much as anything else, would probably make it so. But…if that was really what Tywin thought, and the Maester agreed…who was Petyr to disagree? He swallowed the arguments he wanted so desperately to make. He had always known his lover was older than he, old enough to be his father…it was only a matter of time before he’d have to face the other man’s mortality.

And that, honestly, was what terrified him about all this. Tywin wasn’t fighting to get better. How much longer, now, until that extended to no longer fighting to simply live? How much longer until Petyr was left alone? He quietly vowed to himself to find a way to savor all the time they had left, regardless of the obstacles. Regardless of the court.

He sighed a bit as Tywin pulled him closer, the gentle contact a comfort. After a moment, Petyr’s head came to rest on his lover’s shoulder. “Just…don’t give up, alright? I love you too much to see you give up…”

        A low sound reminiscent of a chuckle escaped the lion, and he shook his head as he pressed a gentle kiss to Petyr’s temple.  He lingered there a moment, letting a soft warmth pool through his being, the soft comfort of having someone he cared about.  It still surprised him, some nights, to wake up and feel someone’s warmth pressed close, to know he...he loved someone.  It was still new...and the old wounds remained, dulled but never quite shut...

        “I’m a Lannister, Petyr...I don’t know how to give up.  But if I ever start looking like Pycelle, hit me with a good club and put me out of every one else’s misery...that man looked decrepit when I was younger than you.”

        A soft snort of amusement, and Tywin gently returned to rubbing circles against Petyr’s side, making no move to get out of the soft embrace.  His hip throbbed with pain, sharp and ever-present...but he only gently nuzzled the other’s hair, and tried to combat the exhaustion in his body.

               a song of ice and fire aesthetics                             ↳ houses of westeros [1/7]

               a song of ice and fire aesthetics                             ↳ houses of westeros [2/7]

Suggestive Sentence Starters

lannasroleplaymemes :

Bit Of Earth

        “Well, I simply forgot to bother my bodyguard about taking me anywhere…speaking of, if you see a tall fellow who looks like he’s going to rip someone’s head off, do inform me.  I should probably do my best to look penitent when he eventually tracks me down.”

        He glanced over the menu, rather hoping to find some steak tips if he could get away with them.  Technically he wasn’t allowed them…which of course meant he did his best to get them whenever he could.  He hadn’t had eight years of field rations just to get back and eat nothing but perfectly safe foods that resembled his MREs.

        Finding his desired meal with some amount of satisfaction, he leaned back carefully in his wheelchair, and looked over the other man properly.  No longer quite so stressed…he looked a bit more dashing than he had at the party.  Then again, he himself looked a bit more shabby.  A few weeks hiding out in his office…his hair was clean and that was about all he had going for him.  Not exactly the figure he would have liked to present, but his comfortable clothes, while far less formal than he liked…were much easier to get into for a casual luncheon than any suit.

….Damn. In the interim weeks, he’d somehow managed to forget just how rich the Lannister family was. A private bodyguard? ….Petyr was just beginning to realize just how different a world Tywin came from than the one Petyr was struggling oh-so hard to leave behind him. Still, he smiled easily, not letting his amazement at that particular detail show on his face.

 “I’ll be on the look-out, then. And Maisie will probably end up bringing the man to the back for a meal. She rather does mother-hen everyone.” He gestured towards the tallest of the waitresses, a willowy woman with tightly-curled red hair and bright green eyes.  She was…rather obviously pregnant, but still active, and she waved lightly at Petyr when she caught their eye. 

Maisie smirked widely when she made it over with their drinks and a notepad. “So, shrimp scampi for you, Petyr. And…d’you need another few minutes with the menu, sir, or are you ready to order?”

“One of these days I’m going to come and George is already going to have my order cooked, isn’t he?” “Yup~”

        Bodyguards hadn’t been a thing the Lannisters dealt with much.  They were Old Money, but they were subtle about it.  They weren’t precisely public figures, they kept to themselves on the whole...and Tywin more than most.  Unfortunately, his particular state of affairs had left him quite unable to talk his brother out of hiring some protection for him.  He hadn’t had a leg to stand on (and wasn’t that amusingly accurate...) in his argument that he didn’t need one, and so Kevan had won.  Which didn’t stop his brother helping him duck his bodyguard on the rare occasions he left the house...

        “If he takes her up on that I’d be rather surprised...he does his job well, and unfortunately has every right to be annoyed with me.  I’m afraid I make his job very difficult.”

        He leaned back calmly as the waitress and his companion chatted, and gave her a pleasant, albeit tired, smile as he shook his head.

        “I think I’m ready, thank you.  I would love to try the sirloin steak tips and eggs, and if I could get the steak rare I would be quite happy.  And the eggs soft basted, if you could please.”

        The door opened, and a familiar, broad-shouldered form entered.  The Lannister sighed softly, and leaned as far back in his chair as he could, emerald eyes meeting those of his bodyguard even as he shifted himself to sit a little further down in the chair.  Ah...well, it was a bit much to hope that perhaps he could avoid being watched for the day...

        “Before you say a word, Bartholomew, I had every intention of calling you-”         “No, you didn’t.  Not unless you thought I couldn’t find you.”         “That’s a bit uncharitable.”         “No, it really isn’t.  Kevan hired me to keep an eye on you, the least you can do is tell me when you want to go haring off in public.”         “Bartholomew, we’re arguing in the middle of luncheon.”

        The tall, broad man was obviously an ex-military sort, though his hair was tied back in a neat ponytail and his suit was that of a working man.  Still, he looked at his charge with obviously fond annoyance, before turning to Petyr with shockingly blue eyes and offering a hand.

        “Bartholomew Llewellyn.  I’m Mister Lannister’s keeper, when he allows it.  Otherwise, I’m a glorified doorstop.”         “Now that was uncharitable, Bartholomew.  You’re far more than a fancy doorstop...maybe a good coat-rack.”         “Your brother hired me something, might as well be paid to hold your things as guard your body.  Safer, certainly.”

        Slowly, Tywin forced himself to move, keeping close to Petyr…shying from touching anyone else.  The throbbing fear in the pit of his stomach was so foreign, and yet almost overpowering.  The instant anyone came just a bit too close he seemed to press closer to Petyr, as if the other man could somehow keep him safe from the other family members and patients…from the fear of their touch.

        He practically crawled into the passenger’s seat, weakly managing to buckle himself in before half-curling against the door, head resting against the post and body shuddering.  He already just wanted to fall asleep…but he swallowed hard and forced his eyes open, hoping Petyr got in quickly so they could just…just go home…

He closed his eyes every time he saw Tywin shy away from someone else’s touch. Every time he pressed closer, trying to hide behind the shorter man….as if Tywin could ever hide behind Petyr.

 He’s awfully thin now, though…

The thought instantly nagged at him, along with the knowledge of every one of the injuries done to his lover. While Petyr had been entirely helpless. He was silent as he helped Tywin into the passenger’s seat, buckling the other man in before circling around to the driver’s seat. He kept the ride smooth as he could while still getting home…a bit faster than the speed limit would technically allow. He let Tywin lean against him once more as they made their way into the house, and he carefully locked and bolted the door behind them, not willing to take any chances with their safety.

As they settled, Petyr was silent, absorbed by his own thoughts. He had let this happen, willing or no. He would find time for the guilt that ought to accompany that thought later. And he knew it would come. But for now…all he had room for was anger. Anger at those who’d dare to hurt his proud lion….they would soon learn that even the humble mockingbird had sharp talons…and knew far better than any great beast how to go for the eyes and fight  unfairly. A few days with his trainer, brushing up with the throwing knives…

No. He didn’t have time for that. Besides, the ones who’d actually kidnapped Tywin were safely behind bars at the moment. What Petyr needed to do was find out who was behind it, who orchestrated the whole thing.

Who it was that wanted Tywin out of the way in the first place.

Once that was done, once he’d purged his city of any threat to the one person he loved more than any other, he could wallow in the guilt that was sure to come. And for now…For now, he pressed a bit closer to Tywin, supporting and just taking comfort in the fact that he was safe now.

        He hadn’t ever been this bony...even as a kid, Tywin had always had a fair amount of lean muscle, but...his broad shoulders were all bone now, and his hips were hollow.  He could count his ribs, if he put his mind to it, even through his clothing.  And...and then there was the throbbing pain in his hips, and the hot burn along the inside of his arms...

        He wanted to claw the bandages off, if nothing else to convince himself that there were no needles, no IVs.  He wanted to tear them off...but the doctors had insisted that if he did that they would bleed again.  And...he had no desire to see his blood again...or to scare Petyr by bleeding in his sleep...no.  No, he...he would leave them on...besides, Petyr was here...Petyr wouldn’t let anyone inject anything into him...he wouldn’t.

        A thick swallow, and Tywin crawled into the bed, and half-curled, as much as his back and hips would allow.  Normally, he would have curled around Petyr’s smaller frame...but habitually, he faced the edge of the bed, and kept his arms close to his sides.  It was quiet...it wasn’t even dark out yet, but...he was so tired.  So, so tired...

        “The light...d-don’t turn off the light.  Please...”

        He was barely aware he’d spoken, but the words came half-frantic, as if the dark might swallow him.  Maybe it would...the pitch black, and the pain...maybe it would swallow him.

Nearly Broken

      The old lion shut his eyes…but he took the other’s hand, weakly struggling to his feet.  His entire right side sent spasms of pain p and down his body, nearly blinding him as he had to lean on Petyr more heavily than he liked…but his cane wasn’t in reach, it was on the other side of the desk.  Probably on the floor now, buried under parchment and quills.

      “…I can’t sleep…not long,a t least…I wake up from nightmares…or afraid I’ve reopened the wound…or simply from pain…pain most often…I just want it to stop hurting…I can’t work like this, Petyr…” he mumbled, hand pressing against his injured hip…and half afraid that if he drew it back he’d see blood.  He wasn’t sure if he’d torn the wound open or not…he didn’t want to know right now.

Even knowing it was coming and preparing for it, Tywin’s weight nearly staggered him. Petyr had always been smaller, lean…Tywin being so much larger was usually a comfort, but now it was a distinct disadvantage. Still, he managed to take the weight.  He made a note to himself to go find the cane later–once he got Tywin settled and calmed a bit.

Then…the quiet confessions…Petyr’s heart sank, but…he forced a small smile and took Tywin’s free hand, squeezing comfortingly. “I understand, believe it or not. And before you say anything, I do not pity you. I wouldn’t dare pity my fierce lion…” He led the other man to a low couch, a reprieve for them both.  Once they were settled, one hand reached, tracing his own scar over tunic and doublet. “My convalescence was taxing in many of the same ways, when I was a boy. Traveling much too early certainly didn’t help matters. It was…frustrating to say the very least. Especially since my wound kept getting inflamed. There’s…no easy answer to it, unfortunately, but…you have my sympathy.”

        It was a tired, wan half-smile that flickered across the Lion’s lips when he felt Petyr stagger under his weight.  He’d lost weight since he’d been bedridden, and his lack of appetite since had only furthered that.  But he had always been a rather sturdily framed man, and even with the loss of weight....he wasn’t a small man by any means.  He was just starting to slowly look his age.  Or quickly, depending on how one looked at it.

        He listened, a slight frown furrowing his brow as he wondered whether or not to confide the Maester’s suspicions (and his own), or to remain silent.  It...was an unfortunate thing about age.  He wasn’t a young man anymore, he was well past his prime.  And with that, his body could only heal so much.  Could only fight so long before giving in.  He...might never heal.  Not beyond what was already done.  He had scars aplenty, and he’d fought too many wars and seen too many injuries.  Even had he not heard Pycelle’s analysis, his own was...equally damning.  Nothing could leave him bedridden without driving him quite mad...but if he insisted on not being bedridden, he very might reopen it months down the line, days...years...

        “You’ve never been a man for pity, Petyr.  Understanding perhaps, disgust, yes...but not pity.”

        Gently, the Lion drew the slighter man close, arm wrapped soothingly around his waist as his slight frown remained, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles against the other’s hip.  Damned if he did...damned if he didn’t.  But for now...he’d keep it to himself...