#character devlopement

[uchiha-in-disguise]

I don't understand why people still bitch about something the character did at very start of the series , at the age of 12 , and clearly regreted and grew up from that. I mean ok , charcaters have flaws and do mistakes , but thats the whole point of "character development" , growing up and learning from your mistakes. If the character is picture perfect from the start , there is no room for devlopement.

[reddrakebird]

Meme Games

repost and rate your muse's traits out of 10 in each category!

COMPASSION — 8 / 10

BITTERNESS — 4 / 10

HAPPINESS — 7 / 10

POLITENESS — 4 / 10

MORALITY — 6 / 10

CHIVALRY — 6 / 10

PRIDE — 6 / 10

HONESTY — 8 / 10

BRAVERY — 10 / 10

RECKLESSNESS — 3 / 10

AMBITION — 10 / 10

LOYALTY — 10 / 10

LOVE — 9 / 10

SENSE OF FAMILY — 10 / 10

ATTRACTIVENESS — 7 / 10

AGILITY — 9 / 10

SEX DRIVE — 6 / 10

tagged by: @prettysuper

tagging: @thegirlwondcr, @cxpedcrusxder, @peranarkia

[vixen-art]

Your main character has invited you to lunch.  Where does he/she meet you?  What is ordered?  What do you talk about?

Toby: Literally an ihop, not a diner, nothing fancy, chain shit. He would order toast and sunny side up eggs. He wouldn’t eat the eggs. He would poke the yolks and watch them run and then “accidentally” spill his drink directly onto the server. We would talk about blatantly illegal things, and he wouldn’t give it a second thought, despite being in public. People are not annoyed, they are scared. They do not know why.

Fox girl: A hole in the wall family owned place. Quiet, low lighting. Secluded, back alley. You don’t even know it's there unless you somehow always have. She orders something small, cheap. A berry salad with lightly grilled mice on the side. Her tastes are a mix between human and animal. As we talk, she constantly glances over her shoulder, an obviously terrified and broken woman. We talk about the weather, the color of the sky, the lack of stars, how the temperatures are changing. Her eyes dart to the door every time it opens, looking for that tell-tale glint of silver. Her tail never ceases a nervous ticking sweep from the back of her chair to the floor.

Xee: A pub, obviously owned by their organization. We sit in the back, in a private booth; there’s a screen separating us from the rest of the restaurant. It is dark. He lights a cigarette. He is the only one in the establishment that is smoking. His flames are pale purple and blue. He orders a glass of pure russian vodka, on the rocks. He sips it slowly, never breaking eye contact. I am nervous. He notices. We discuss business. Opportunities, failures, and successes. He never flinches, never shows emotion, always keeps his eyes trained on me. He finishes his drink and takes his last drag. Our conversation is over, and I am escorted out.

Penelope: Somewhere bright, a pub that is a small slice of a building. Everyone knows her, knows what she is. We sit at a table in the middle, against the wall, parallel to the bar. She is served alcohol, despite appearances. She orders a “Bloody Cosmopolitan” and a rare fillet steak. She tells me that I can order whatever I wish that “Money is no object”, but I politely decline. We talk about fashion. Clothing that she wants in her new line, things she’s been working on. You really have time to build a portfolio when you’ve lived a few centuries. She wants to bring back the Flapper era, I tell her that it is a great idea. “It is, isn’t it?” she replies happily, not a worry in the world. She gazes out of the window at the moon. She thinks of her husband.

Gerad: We meet at an italian restaurant, of all places. He immediately tells the waiter that he is allergic to garlic. They look at him oddly, but eventually leave to bake us garlic-free breadsticks. He orders something that I can’t pronounce. It’s almost raw, thinly sliced steak over a bed of greens. It is very expensive. We talk about frivolous things. He gushes about his wife. He loves her very much. He asks if I’d like to have a threesome with them. I decline.

Merlot: I bring him take out from a greasy burger joint, somewhere famous for some kind of heart-attack on a bun challenge. He never leaves his lab. Electricity crackles up his horns as soon as he sees the bag, grease stained and delicious-smelling as it is. His hair is teased and tangled as ever. He does not remove his labcoat to eat. What he had me order him was something with three types of cheese, extra havarti, extra pickles, no lettuce, regular tomato, all sauces on the side. He adds three packets of mustard, one of mayo, and four of ketchup. He somehow manages to get nothing on his clothing. I am amazed. He tells me about his recent innovations. He’s working on a new strain of Bolt that is to be introduced in a specific foreign market for certain reasons that he cannot tell me. He clams up and begins eating fries with mustard instead of ketchup. He looks up at me after some time, and in an annoyed tone, asks, “You’re still here?” I show myself out.

{Kudai}: She invites me over for a home cooked meals. She asks me to bring a white wine. We have baked chicken with lemon, lightly breaded, with a rice pilaf side. She is a very accomplished cook. We speak of her husband; she becomes quiet when I ask where he is. She does not know. She misses him. She has been painting to pass the time. She shows me her most recent piece; a brightly colored meadow, stretching, endless blue sky and white and yellow flowers in the green grass. She calls it “Freedom”.

{Tyram}: We meet at a greek restaurant. It is family owned. He says he likes to patronize small businesses. We order gyros. He gets extra meat, and adds white cheese. He is predominantly silent while he eats, it is comfortable, companionable silence. The kind of silence from someone that does not get to slow down often. He orders a slice of cake for his wife. He smiles gently at it and holds it very carefully in it’s to go box. We hug before parting ways. He is a kind man, I feel sorry for him.

Gopher: We meet at a food truck. He orders something that isn’t on their menu. He walks away from the window before they can tell him that they do not serve that item. I order for him and myself. He doesn’t care what they sell. He doesn’t eat what I buy him, but he wouldn’t have eaten anything they sold. He enjoys confusing people for no reason. He tries to hit on me, and his eyes never look higher than my, or any passing woman’s, cleavage. I turn him down. He immediately loses interest, and begins woman hopping until someone at the food truck park is interested. Whoever she is, she will most likely never be seen again. I am glad that he takes no for an answer, at least this time.