KingofAesir
Ghostly Presence
Hi! I'm Iskolde, I happened to be going through my phone and found some random little writings that I feel could be plotted out and turned into a roleplay. They'll be invaded in a spoiler below, right now let's go over my one rule.
Please, for the love of all that is holy do not give me one liners. This does not mean I expect you to write a book, as long as it's at least a paragraph and you give me something to go off of, I'll be a happy camper.
Now, without further ado, here are the random writings I found.
Please, for the love of all that is holy do not give me one liners. This does not mean I expect you to write a book, as long as it's at least a paragraph and you give me something to go off of, I'll be a happy camper.
Now, without further ado, here are the random writings I found.
Tessa couldn't quite pin point the moment that it happened, it just did. Maybe it was the day they were out with friends and had caught each others eye and exchanged shy smiles and occasional glances. Or, the late night in her mothers car on the way from a day in the city for her birthday and they'd looked at each other practically the whole time as they drove home. Or maybe it was now, with her curled into Tessa's side, her breaths even and heart beat slow.
Thunk,thunk,thunk,thunk!
Dillon's fists pounded angrily at the punching bag extended from the roof by simple chain. The knuckles on her left hand were gashed open, she'd have to wrap them later, right now she was angry. A spring was coiled up tight in her gut, threatening to spring forth and let everything loose. Jet black hair was pulled up in a ponytail at the base of her neck, strands had come loose and hung in her face. Whiskey eyes shone through built up tears that she refused to let fall. She didn't cry, she didn't cry. No matter what. Finally, her fists slowed to a stop, and they lay against the punching bag. Labored breaths puffed past her lips, and her eyelids fluttered closed. Stop thinking. She growled at herself. Stop thinking about her. Suddenly her mind was yanked back into the night before.
“….!” Sirens blared to life around the overturned, Chevy pick up truck. Dillon's hands were frantically trying to loosen her self from her seat belt, so she could free …. from the one that was choking her. It was ironic really, how seat belts were suppose to save lives yet here was …. being choked by it. Click. Dillon's seat belt came loose and she fell to the floor, or really the roof of the truck. Yanking a pocket knife she couldn't reach before from her jeans pocket, Dillon cut ….'s seat belt off of her, and she then proceeded to kick the window out and drag both herself and her best friend through it.
What felt like hours later a medic came running to them, falling into her knees and inspecting them. “Is she alive?” Dillon's voice came out raspy and hoarse, the medic leaned over and checked ….'s pulse. She nodded. That's all Dillon needed to know. Right after that, everything fades to black.
When everything reverted back to her current time Dillon was on the cement ground of the facility, her head in her hands. A wet, hot substance trailed down her face, it was unfamiliar, wiping at her face Dillon realized she was crying. Crying for the first time in a long time. Crying for …. . Crying for her best friend. Crying…her phone rang. Dillon rubbed at her eyes and picked her cell phone up off the bench it sat on. “H-Hello?” She questioned, attempting to keep her voice from wavering. “She's awake, Dil.” Aiden’s gruff voice said through the phone, and suddenly Dillon's tears were for a completely different reason.
Casey was sick and tired of all this shit. If someone would just let her live her life the way she wanted to, everything would be fine. But, society couldn't do that they had to interfere somehow. That's how she ended up on the corner of a street at night, sitting slumped up against a bench as it drizzled down atop a head of dark brown hair. Casey was tired of it. Her father hadn't even accepted her. Everything had just gone to hell. The brunette sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night, her hands clenching and unclenching methodically. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She didn't know. The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from her thoughts, causing her to look up in their direction. The silhouette of girl, outlined in the light of the lamp post over their heads. To Casey, she looked like an angel come to take her away from all this pain, come to save her. To others, they might've seen a medium height, blonde haired, green eyed, cheerleader. They might've seen the girl that dates the quarterback, or star basketball player. Maybe they'd seen just a normal teenager.
But to Casey, this girl was everything.
The silhouette sat down on the bench next to Casey, placing a dark blue colored hoodie into her hands. Casey smiled and slipped it over her head, covering wet brown hair with the hood. Then the silhouette hugged her and Casey broke down, her tough facade crumpled just from a simple touch from this girl. Her body wracked with sobs, heaved up and down frantically as far overdue tears slid down her face onto the shirt of her angel. "I'm getting your shirt wet." Casey whimpered through her sobs. The angel just chuckled, bringing her hand to the top of Casey's head, holding her there. A hand scratched softly at her scalp and warm lips pressed themselves against her temple. "It's raining, I'm going to get wet anyway." .... spoke softly. .... . Her angel.
Ember quite honestly hated mornings. Not for the reason most teenagers do. But because every time she awoke she half expected to hear her mother brewing coffee downstairs. It was hard to believe that her mother hadn't been here for almost a year now, hadn't looked at her, or even spoken. It was a vicious cycle, she would go to school, then to the hospital to sit there and talk to her completely unresponsive mother. Talking made her feel better, getting things off her chest. Even if it was to someone who probably couldn't hear her.
Dragging herself from the confines of her blankets she shuffled into the bathroom to take a shower. It was cold, the water bill hadn't been paid. She really needed a job. Dorthea, her mothers nurse, had already offered to pay for things like that. Ember being Ember, too prideful to except something like that, had refused. She was beginning to regret that decision.
She was out the door thirty minutes later, dressed in a blue long sleeve, button down shirt and black jeans. Her favorite leather jacket pulled over her shoulders. She dug around for her keys, finding them she unlocked the doors to her black 1996 Ford Mustang. She dreaded school, hated seeing .... walking down the hallway, refusing to look at her. Ember missed her, she'd been stupid that night at the cabin to tell .... the things she did.
School was about a ten minute drive from her home, and she arrived in time to see Mrs. Curler walking into the school doors. That meant she was early, Mrs. Curler was always the first teacher there. Ember parked and sat back in her seat, closing her eyes. Life is boring.
The dots in "Punching Bag", "Angel" and "Just a Memory are where your characters name would be inserted.
If your interested, let me know!
~Iskolde
Thunk,thunk,thunk,thunk!
Dillon's fists pounded angrily at the punching bag extended from the roof by simple chain. The knuckles on her left hand were gashed open, she'd have to wrap them later, right now she was angry. A spring was coiled up tight in her gut, threatening to spring forth and let everything loose. Jet black hair was pulled up in a ponytail at the base of her neck, strands had come loose and hung in her face. Whiskey eyes shone through built up tears that she refused to let fall. She didn't cry, she didn't cry. No matter what. Finally, her fists slowed to a stop, and they lay against the punching bag. Labored breaths puffed past her lips, and her eyelids fluttered closed. Stop thinking. She growled at herself. Stop thinking about her. Suddenly her mind was yanked back into the night before.
“….!” Sirens blared to life around the overturned, Chevy pick up truck. Dillon's hands were frantically trying to loosen her self from her seat belt, so she could free …. from the one that was choking her. It was ironic really, how seat belts were suppose to save lives yet here was …. being choked by it. Click. Dillon's seat belt came loose and she fell to the floor, or really the roof of the truck. Yanking a pocket knife she couldn't reach before from her jeans pocket, Dillon cut ….'s seat belt off of her, and she then proceeded to kick the window out and drag both herself and her best friend through it.
What felt like hours later a medic came running to them, falling into her knees and inspecting them. “Is she alive?” Dillon's voice came out raspy and hoarse, the medic leaned over and checked ….'s pulse. She nodded. That's all Dillon needed to know. Right after that, everything fades to black.
When everything reverted back to her current time Dillon was on the cement ground of the facility, her head in her hands. A wet, hot substance trailed down her face, it was unfamiliar, wiping at her face Dillon realized she was crying. Crying for the first time in a long time. Crying for …. . Crying for her best friend. Crying…her phone rang. Dillon rubbed at her eyes and picked her cell phone up off the bench it sat on. “H-Hello?” She questioned, attempting to keep her voice from wavering. “She's awake, Dil.” Aiden’s gruff voice said through the phone, and suddenly Dillon's tears were for a completely different reason.
Casey was sick and tired of all this shit. If someone would just let her live her life the way she wanted to, everything would be fine. But, society couldn't do that they had to interfere somehow. That's how she ended up on the corner of a street at night, sitting slumped up against a bench as it drizzled down atop a head of dark brown hair. Casey was tired of it. Her father hadn't even accepted her. Everything had just gone to hell. The brunette sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night, her hands clenching and unclenching methodically. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She didn't know. The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from her thoughts, causing her to look up in their direction. The silhouette of girl, outlined in the light of the lamp post over their heads. To Casey, she looked like an angel come to take her away from all this pain, come to save her. To others, they might've seen a medium height, blonde haired, green eyed, cheerleader. They might've seen the girl that dates the quarterback, or star basketball player. Maybe they'd seen just a normal teenager.
But to Casey, this girl was everything.
The silhouette sat down on the bench next to Casey, placing a dark blue colored hoodie into her hands. Casey smiled and slipped it over her head, covering wet brown hair with the hood. Then the silhouette hugged her and Casey broke down, her tough facade crumpled just from a simple touch from this girl. Her body wracked with sobs, heaved up and down frantically as far overdue tears slid down her face onto the shirt of her angel. "I'm getting your shirt wet." Casey whimpered through her sobs. The angel just chuckled, bringing her hand to the top of Casey's head, holding her there. A hand scratched softly at her scalp and warm lips pressed themselves against her temple. "It's raining, I'm going to get wet anyway." .... spoke softly. .... . Her angel.
Ember quite honestly hated mornings. Not for the reason most teenagers do. But because every time she awoke she half expected to hear her mother brewing coffee downstairs. It was hard to believe that her mother hadn't been here for almost a year now, hadn't looked at her, or even spoken. It was a vicious cycle, she would go to school, then to the hospital to sit there and talk to her completely unresponsive mother. Talking made her feel better, getting things off her chest. Even if it was to someone who probably couldn't hear her.
Dragging herself from the confines of her blankets she shuffled into the bathroom to take a shower. It was cold, the water bill hadn't been paid. She really needed a job. Dorthea, her mothers nurse, had already offered to pay for things like that. Ember being Ember, too prideful to except something like that, had refused. She was beginning to regret that decision.
She was out the door thirty minutes later, dressed in a blue long sleeve, button down shirt and black jeans. Her favorite leather jacket pulled over her shoulders. She dug around for her keys, finding them she unlocked the doors to her black 1996 Ford Mustang. She dreaded school, hated seeing .... walking down the hallway, refusing to look at her. Ember missed her, she'd been stupid that night at the cabin to tell .... the things she did.
School was about a ten minute drive from her home, and she arrived in time to see Mrs. Curler walking into the school doors. That meant she was early, Mrs. Curler was always the first teacher there. Ember parked and sat back in her seat, closing her eyes. Life is boring.
The dots in "Punching Bag", "Angel" and "Just a Memory are where your characters name would be inserted.
If your interested, let me know!
~Iskolde
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I'll send you a PM then. 
