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[Apr. 19th, 2014|02:53 pm] |
ABOUT THIS COMMUNITY
Threading Only is an open community for roleplayers who like to write. No application, no examples, no PB list, no activity requirement, minimal mod involvement. Simply start the scene you would like to write and wait for someone to join you. Allow lines to develop organically, and stretch your writing muscles without having to fill out lengthy applications or figure out every last character detail ahead of time.
HOW TO JOIN
Request membership with a journal (OOC or IC, your choice). As of right now, the community is open, so you will not have to wait to be added. When you add yourself to the group, you agree to play by the rules listed below.
RULES
- Indicate preferences (smut/fade to black, slash/het/platonic, etc.) and warnings (NSFW, specific triggers, etc.) in the header of your post. Place adult content under a cut.
- Do not advertise for specific lines in
![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif) pbads or other ad communities. threadingonly is about organic character and plot development with no pre-planning. Save your established lines for communities and PSLs. You may, however, post to pbads to promote the community or to ask for responses to a specific thread you have already started.
- There is no guarantee that this community will exist on IJ forever. You are strongly advised to back up your writing somewhere else if you wish to save it.
- Only threads are allowed in threadingonly. All other types of posts (journal entries, gifs, memes, ooc posts, etc.) will be deleted.
- Though there is no formal activity requirement, this community will have the best chance of thriving if you post your own scenes AND reply to those posted by others.
- If problems arise that require a mod, comment here. (You can also send a PM to
![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) imaginaryfriend, but you must comment to say you have done so.)
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[Apr. 19th, 2014|08:01 pm] |
Preferences: Het or platonic.
Warnings: None.
Get a dog, Ken, they'd all said. You'll love it. It will be great. Ha, thought Ken Kirby as he and his giant mutt jogged up the hill to the dog park. Fat chance. So far, having a dog pretty much sucked. He'd gotten the dog to stave off the loneliness a man often felt when he was 45 years old and still utterly single. His female friends at work - all married - had said that a dog would offer him companionship, unconditional love, and a reason to leave the house. They had failed to mention that the dog would be in his face 24/7 and that he would be forced to leave the house early in the morning and late at night, depending on the dog's whims. He'd named the dog Pal, because he thought that seemed like a good name for man's best friend, but the dog had been anything but a pal since he'd come home with him two weeks ago. He'd been a royal pain in the ass.
Today's excursion to the dog park was an attempt to achieve two outcomes: one, to get the dog to run off some of his excess energy so he'd stop leaping all over Ken's house, and two, to hopefully meet a couple of other dog owners who could talk Ken down from the ledge and convince him not to give away his new friend. As Pal took off at top speed and dragged Ken through the gate into the park, Ken was relieved to be able to let go of the leash. As Pal began running a wild lap around the perimeter of the yard, Ken stopped to catch his breath, plopping down on a bench and letting out a big sigh. |
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[Apr. 19th, 2014|08:05 pm] |
Preferences: Platonic
Warnings: None
For as long as Carey had worked in customer service, he wasn't very good at serving actual customers. After working on a cruise ship for over 20 years, he'd recently found his land legs again and was now the night manager of a hotel. Because he worked at night, his employees all seemed to be the lesser staff members, the ones who couldn't be trusted to deal with the high volume of phone calls and check-ins during the daytime hours, but who probably wouldn't screw it up if a guest asked for a tooth brush or razor at 9 p.m. Carey, who liked to delegate every single one of his responsibilities was not pleased to have a crew of lazy morons on his hands, and he took the opportunity to make that known whenever possible.
On Monday night, he was on the warpath because someone had abandoned his or her post at the main desk just when a woman with a screaming baby had come down to the lobby to say she was locked out of her room. Because his underlings were nowhere to be found, Carey had been forced to issue the woman a second key card, and to endure the unpleasant wailing of her ugly offspring. Then he'd had to listen while the woman repeatedly thanked him for his help and offered everything but the tip he would have happily accepted.
Angry now, Carey came back down to the lobby in the elevator, then stormed into the small office just behind the desk. Addressing no one in particular, since he had no idea who had actually been shirking his or her duties, he roared, "Well? Which one of you am I firing?" |
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