Uncommon Questions For OCs And Their Creators:

Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators:

Send me a # (questions for OCs) or a letter (questions for creators) and I’ll answer

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

How easy is it to earn their trust?

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

What animal do they fear most?

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

What makes their stomach turn?

Are they easily embarrassed?

What embarrasses them?

What is their favorite number?

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Why do they get up in the morning? 

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

 What causes them to feel dread? 

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

 Who are they the most glad to have met? 

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

 Could they be considered lazy? 

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

How do they feel about children? 

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character? B) What inspired you to create them? C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? H) What trait do you admire most? I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Of course, the man had no idea he was operating on a limited window. Despite the heavy dose they had used to calm her, she was already feeling control over her body returning. She felt how the stitches tugged on her skin as she tried to move. They itched as she weakly shifted and pulled against the cuffs on her wrists. She growled--well, she tried to growl. What came out of her instead was a whispered grunt as her slitted gaze searched blindly for something. "I'll be back in a few minutes," the man sighed as he left the room.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn hadn't denied the anesthetics to be tough, or show off. It was simply because the pain numbing medication would not work in the dosage offered. He held out his arm so the medicus could work on the gash, barely flinching at the prick of the needle, no words needed as the man worked his skilled hands up his arm, until the wound was sealed up, threaded together, and the soldier tested his motion by flexing his arm. It worked, barely pulled on the stitches, and left him with a full range of motion. He had to admit, it was nice and clean, and well stitched, a soft grunt at the words the thanks the medicus got, especially with the more or less order to watch Cyra following right after. "I can watch her..." he rumbled out, approaching the guard he had shoved his gun to, and taking it back, moving back towards the table with a soft sigh as he took a seat near it, but far enough away that he wouldn't have to worry about her claws.

As the medicus left, leaving just Bryn and the other few guards there to watch the wild charge, he couldn't help but look at her laying there on the table and wonder what she was feeling right then and there. Was she hurting? Did she even feel the stitches? Had she meant to nearly kill herself? All questions he couldn't ask an injured and unconscious subject. So he was just left with his thoughts, staring at her as she stirred slightly, and he silently mused over everything that had happened.

Perhaps he did not understand the Garlean way of thinking, their obsession with results over safety. Or maybe he had a soul deep down that did not want to see someone so weak and innocent forced to become something they weren't. It didn't matter. All that did was that he was trapped her just as much as she was, regardless if he could wander the Castrum without chains or collars.

He'd find a way out for them both.

For all of them. Every prisoner subjected to this horror.

Tumblr Tuesday: Julycanthropy

Yes, it's that time of year again. We're celebrating July the only way we know how—by sharing some excellent lycanthropic art from across Tumblr. We hope all (were)wolf-enthusiasts enjoyed the Buck Moon on Sunday, and that you delight in these powerful beasties, brought to you by your very own #artists on tumblr.

(Please proceed with caution if blood, gore, or animal parts squick you out, as there is mild body horror ahead—you know, the kind you might expect on a post about humans morphing into creatures and vice versa.)

@ink-the-artist:

@amphivena:

@cursedbeasts:

@rainsdetritus:

@btlbltz:

@werewolfaday:

@knifecalledlust:

@regular-dog:

@iwasarob0t:

@gritpyre:

@indiigocats:

@woelfin-sheeps-clothing:

@dingoat:

@lavenderspectra:

@celticwolf55:

@the-shy-wolf:

send me a prompt for one muse to find the other in the following situation:

feel free to specify which muse is in which role

( fury ) : incredibly angry

( hostage ) : held captive for ransom 

( frozen ) : suffering from hypothermia 

( tears ) : sobbing openly, unable to stop

( haunted ) : trapped in a haunted house

( fall ) : having fallen off a cliff or tall tower 

( hungry ) : half starved and malnourished

( splash ) : having fallen into a body of water 

( ends ) : having just broken off a relationship

( defend ) : unconscious as the result of a fight

( rest ) : trying to sleep, but unable to fall asleep

( fear ) : having just woken up from a night terror

( ER ) : in the hospital after an injury of some kind

( tall ) : stuck somewhere too tall for them to get down 

( feverish ) : suffering from a high fever and severely ill

( soak ) : shivering and drenched to the bone in a rainstorm 

( shipwreck ) :  unconscious / injured, washed up on a beach

 ( student ) : getting extremely frustrated while learning new skill

( exhausted ) : too tired to stay standing, too stubborn to lie down

( lost ) : wandering in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where they are 

( party pooper ) : alone, surrounded by party decor after no one else showed up

( magic ) : injured as result of a spell. either enemy’s or their own malfunctioning 

13th-dragon-prince - [Prior]

This was not Ul’dah, the merchants they would speak too would be those of Revenant’s Toll, already well knowing of the scaled fool’s penchant for lacking cloth or interest in the chill. They would know him for blades of teeth and friendly laughter with hatchlings. He was no ‘sunblinked mind’ of a ‘foreign Au Ra’ like when they had first arrived in The Source. Again the hand was waved, claws tapping against the metal of wolfish decorations, and the lizard made for that plumed mount as ever before, apparently no qualms to the idea of heading to market despite his vocal distaste.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn was still chewing the jerky when that blue tongue stuck out teasingly, and he snorted in response to it, finishing off the food as he glanced towards Featherflame, at least until there was a disgruntled noise, and Whillow spoke.

The way he clipped "market", the roll of his eyes, it was clear he didn't approve of it, or liked it. Bryn had half a mind to ask why, but it was answered before he could, his lips twitching slightly at the mention of smells, sounds, and lies. Maybe he thought bartering was lying? Or truly believed the vendors were hiding something. Dull teeth... Wonder if I'm in that group.

He placed a hand on Featherflame, watching the little gecko cross his arms, slap that tail, and assume a disgruntled air. As if in memory. Which made Bryn's mind wander too.

He remembered the first time he had held a coin purse, felt the weight of gil in his hand and...nearly salivated over it. Growing up poor, with barely enough to survive when he was too weak to provide for himself, had left him with an odd sense of money. For a long time, he spent every gil he had, the salary he made with the Maelstrom flying out of his fist as soon as it hit it. And it took years, years of learning, of finally coming to grips with having gil - and a healthy dose of lectures from an Elezen friend - before he actually kept a surplus. Tucked away, hidden, in case of emergency.

The chuff of air, the narrowing of silver eyes, it made Bryn refocus, come out of the trance of memory just in time for the wave of clawed hands, and the press of one to his belly. His eyes flicked down, to the touch, wondering what it was for, or, wondering if it was to check his fullness. Could the little dragon know that just from a touch?

Although, the declaration of not needing gil did raise the question of who, or how, Whillow got food, or cloth - Oh, right. He didn't wear clothes. And with his natural hunting ability, perhaps he didn't actually need the market.

The other half though... He frowned, deeply, his eyes flickering a deeper silver, an angry silver, as he growled under his breath, shaking his head. "Anyone gives you a look like you are property, let me know. I will be happy to remind them that you are off limits."

It was with that thought in his mind that he swung himself onto Featherflame, lost in thought as he situated himself, waited for Whillow to mount as well, and then head off.

And of course, Whillow made sure the ride back was...as interesting as the one out. With a slightly flushed face, Bryn was petting Featherflame, already off her and draping her reigns over the hitching post, a few tied chocobo giving the red one envious looks as she preened like she was better than everyone else, and once he was certain she was situated, he was moving, heading towards the market and trusting the absolute tease of a dragon would follow.

The first of three stops was simple: selling the dragon teeth. The teeth themselves were not what drew a bounty, but the proof that the dragon's they once belonged to were dead. Handing them over to a specialty merchant who, after a brief description of where he could find the carcasses to collect any materials he might need, handed back two bags of gil (one decidedly larger than the other), and Bryn turned back with both, ready to split and give half to Whillow, only to be reminded by the gecko's acute lack of interest in what he was doing that he did not care for the coin of Eorzea.

Looking between the sizeable amount they had both just earned, he pocketed them, and then fixed Whillow with a stare, rumbling out as he moved towards the next stall he would call on. "Tell me, if you do not want coin, then what would you prefer instead? You helped bring down one of the dragons, and that means you deserve a payment beyond just your meal. So, by the time we leave the market, tell me what you would like, and I will give it to you." Nodding, he moved on, content to let the little lizard think on what he wanted his prize to be.

It was, in all aspects, a short trip to the market, Bryn swinging by two well known stalls to pick up a set of darker clothes, a coat similar to the one he wore, but in a deeper, darker black, forgoing a new shirt since the navy blue was perfect for the dark of night. However, if he was to truly hide...

For a few minutes, he was haggling, going back and forth with the stall owner over a thick, wide, well cut pelt of ink black fur. It was easily three times the size of the Hyur, clearly meant for a large bed, and the price for it was not cheap. But it was worth it, he figured, for the temporary use, and for cold nights on the road.

He finally got the vendor to agree to a more reasonable price, and he collected the large pelt, rolled nicely, after handing over the necessary coin, humming softly as he turned back to find out where, and what, the little dragon was doing in the place he clearly did not enjoy.

[[BEEG KEES FROM ME TO YOU AND FROM CYRA TO YOUR BOIS FOR VALENTINES DAAAAAY]]

🥰💖💓

[[BEEG KEES BACK FROM THEM BOTH BACK! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!]]

🤩💓💖