Roeegs
ugh im tired
WARNING: THIS ROLEPLAY WILL CONTAIN GORE, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES, EXTREME THEMES, IMPLIED NEGLECT
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So I'm looking for a nice angsty pile of lesbian love, perhaps something slowburn-ish.
I would love to use my character Willow, born a medium from a family curse and now roams the countryside as a wanderer, helping ghosts and being a free-bird. I'd love to have a character travel with her, or perhaps have Willow finally find somewhere to stay put and settle.
Anyway, before we go too crazy:
Supernatural characters all totally apply, as long as it's semi-hidden from the rest of the human race (as Willow's universe has supernatural beings stay hidden.) Witches, demons, ghosts, monsters, etc are all welcome.
I've got more detailed stuff about her, but I've never been a fan of writing out everything. I find it hard to get my thought into words sometimes.
Anyway, I had commissioned someone to draw her fully out for me, so I'd appreciate if nobody stole it:
I had also made myself a bit of a starter, I can change if it doesn't coincide with your character but I figured making one ahead of time would be smart:
aNYWAY~~~ Don't be afraid to comment or hmu with your ideas/characters.
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So I'm looking for a nice angsty pile of lesbian love, perhaps something slowburn-ish.
I would love to use my character Willow, born a medium from a family curse and now roams the countryside as a wanderer, helping ghosts and being a free-bird. I'd love to have a character travel with her, or perhaps have Willow finally find somewhere to stay put and settle.
Anyway, before we go too crazy:
-Hi there, you can call me Roe. I've been 18 for a few months now and have been working through being a new adult. I'd appreciate getting people over 18 as well, but I won't crucify you if you aren't.
-I'm a perfectionist, sometimes I just can't stand writing because it doesn't fit what I want. It's also super hard to write when I'm working. Please be patient with me, but feel free to also kick me in the ass if I take too long. Sometimes people yelling at me to do something really helps me out.
-I write generally 2-8 paragraphs worth of replies, with 3-4 being my average. I'm also not the best writer, but I try my best.
-I'm a perfectionist, sometimes I just can't stand writing because it doesn't fit what I want. It's also super hard to write when I'm working. Please be patient with me, but feel free to also kick me in the ass if I take too long. Sometimes people yelling at me to do something really helps me out.
-I write generally 2-8 paragraphs worth of replies, with 3-4 being my average. I'm also not the best writer, but I try my best.
-BOTH characters should get attention, no one character should steal the spotlight. Just let things flow naturally and let these characters share their problems.
-2-8 paragraphs according to how the flow of rp is completely fine. I'm not strict at all, but don't be a wet noodle with details when details are important for a situation.
-Don't hijack scenes with your own bizz, let both characters have a chance.
-I don't mind chatting and shooting new ideas, so go crazy.
-Third Person
-2-8 paragraphs according to how the flow of rp is completely fine. I'm not strict at all, but don't be a wet noodle with details when details are important for a situation.
-Don't hijack scenes with your own bizz, let both characters have a chance.
-I don't mind chatting and shooting new ideas, so go crazy.
-Third Person
Willow is an 18 year old drifter, she had hit the road as soon as the opportunity arose. Her childhood was filled with constant paranoia from her parents as they were cursed to see ghosts due to their own bad deeds (I won’t get too into what they did right now). They were really paranoid due to the curse, whereas Willow was more neutral about her ability, mostly from having it since birth. Her family were completely reclusive and had kept Willow within their home, locked away from prying eyes while they tried to keep the dead out. This had sparked an intense fear of being trapped/claustrophobia in Willow and this has kept her constantly moving in the present.
As a person, Willow is extremely chill (if not sometimes reckless) and is even a bit of a pothead. She's not afraid to dumpster dive as being a wanderer doesn't entail having a full wallet and sometimes will plain forego eating if she’s got something more interesting to pay attention to. She's calm, sweet, blunt and often relaxed/tired. She's used to ghosts/death, as she's grown up speaking to gruesome looking ones, but sometimes she'll get another ghost's death dreams and it will haunt her throughout the night. There isn't a single thing she won't do for a ghost that she's sympathetic towards.
A witch’s familiar, a cat made of fog, follows Willow around. It occasionally makes an appearance to guide her when she needs it (this is also something I won’t get into right now.)
As a person, Willow is extremely chill (if not sometimes reckless) and is even a bit of a pothead. She's not afraid to dumpster dive as being a wanderer doesn't entail having a full wallet and sometimes will plain forego eating if she’s got something more interesting to pay attention to. She's calm, sweet, blunt and often relaxed/tired. She's used to ghosts/death, as she's grown up speaking to gruesome looking ones, but sometimes she'll get another ghost's death dreams and it will haunt her throughout the night. There isn't a single thing she won't do for a ghost that she's sympathetic towards.
A witch’s familiar, a cat made of fog, follows Willow around. It occasionally makes an appearance to guide her when she needs it (this is also something I won’t get into right now.)
Anyway, I had commissioned someone to draw her fully out for me, so I'd appreciate if nobody stole it:
I had also made myself a bit of a starter, I can change if it doesn't coincide with your character but I figured making one ahead of time would be smart:
A gust of wind, gentle across the desert plains, blew through Willow's hair and sent the dark blue strands cascading against the air. She sat splayed across the back of an old rustic pick-up truck, hitch-hiking with a kind old man to a beat town in the middle of nowhere. The slow rise and fall of orange hills was quite relaxing against the cool blue sky, providing Willow with a gentle distraction from her tired mind. Hitchhiking was always a gamble, like tossing a coin to see what freak she rides with next, what mad killer or kind soul she meets. No problem to her, though. This time she was quite lucky, the heat bore down on her while she walked alongside the road. Her aim was a small town a few miles ahead, a town connected to a train station stretching across the country. The problem was nobody really took that road, so miles had stretched into hours of walking, pushing through blistering heat almost stubbornly while not a single car had driven by. Luckily for her, one blue old truck, paint peeling from rough aging had pulled up beside her. After insisting she sat on the hay on the back, she enjoyed a nice ride to town.
She lifted up from the straw, quickly brushing off the few needles prickling into her beloved Hawaiian shirt. The town was coming into view.
"We're here," she said to herself, grinning slyly. The truck pulled in closer, bringing view a quaint town with old stores and even older houses. Trees were brought into view, the first for miles all around and the air felt more crisp and freeing the closer the were brought. "Good thing he wasn’t a serial killer" she griped.
The truck pulled into town, passing by swathes of swaying trees and white-picket fences. They stopped at a gas station, pulling at a post and shutting down with a loud and angry grumble. Truly a miracle the truck was still working, though it was clear the love it was put through. An old man, growing white and wrinkled with age, stuck his head out the truck window and twisted to look 'round the back. "Well that's as far I can go right now ma'am, I gotta get home to ma wife. Be sure ya find somewhere warm for the night, storm’s a comin’" Springing upward, Willow gave the old truck a loving pat and hopped off the truck with youthful grace. She relished the feel of concrete beneath her hiking boots, not the same old heated sand or rugged hay. "Thanks old dude, I really appreciate it," Willow beamed, shooting the old man a winning smile. Said man grumbled fondly about young people language, before starting the truck with a loud 'POOT'.
Willow watched the peeled paint of the old truck shrink away, driving down the road and into the more rustic part of town. Humming, she turned around towards the gas station, taking in the strange mix of modern touches and old beat-up charm. A man was standing at the window, looking inside, but she paid him no mind as she started towards the door. Relishing the thought of cool water and snacks, she pulled open the door but stopped dead in her tracks when she more closely saw the man at the window. Blue, gray-skinned and rotting clothing. A wretched tug at her heart strings as such a soul could bring to her senses. The man was thumping his head against the window, non-stop, as if wanting to get in but lacking the thought process to use the door next to him. Willow stepped closer, examining the white-eyed gaze that stared at something beyond the glass. His mouth was unhinged, hanging open to allow small hitched groans to escape his dry throat.
Willow waved her hand, trying to get his attention, but nothing seemed to register in the man's milky eyes and he just kept banging his head. ‘There's nothing left,’ she thought somberly, knowing full well what a true goner some ghosts turned into. No memories, no thoughts, no consciousness, just pure feelings that make them do things that makes no sense to them. Walking zombies driven by pure instinct. A fate some may say is worse than that of a poltergeist. Willow agreed. Taking in a breath, she forced her gaze away and threw open the door, blatantly ignoring the dead man beside her. The cool air-conditioning washed away her heated skin, casting a cool blanket on her her now down-turned thoughts.
She lifted up from the straw, quickly brushing off the few needles prickling into her beloved Hawaiian shirt. The town was coming into view.
"We're here," she said to herself, grinning slyly. The truck pulled in closer, bringing view a quaint town with old stores and even older houses. Trees were brought into view, the first for miles all around and the air felt more crisp and freeing the closer the were brought. "Good thing he wasn’t a serial killer" she griped.
The truck pulled into town, passing by swathes of swaying trees and white-picket fences. They stopped at a gas station, pulling at a post and shutting down with a loud and angry grumble. Truly a miracle the truck was still working, though it was clear the love it was put through. An old man, growing white and wrinkled with age, stuck his head out the truck window and twisted to look 'round the back. "Well that's as far I can go right now ma'am, I gotta get home to ma wife. Be sure ya find somewhere warm for the night, storm’s a comin’" Springing upward, Willow gave the old truck a loving pat and hopped off the truck with youthful grace. She relished the feel of concrete beneath her hiking boots, not the same old heated sand or rugged hay. "Thanks old dude, I really appreciate it," Willow beamed, shooting the old man a winning smile. Said man grumbled fondly about young people language, before starting the truck with a loud 'POOT'.
Willow watched the peeled paint of the old truck shrink away, driving down the road and into the more rustic part of town. Humming, she turned around towards the gas station, taking in the strange mix of modern touches and old beat-up charm. A man was standing at the window, looking inside, but she paid him no mind as she started towards the door. Relishing the thought of cool water and snacks, she pulled open the door but stopped dead in her tracks when she more closely saw the man at the window. Blue, gray-skinned and rotting clothing. A wretched tug at her heart strings as such a soul could bring to her senses. The man was thumping his head against the window, non-stop, as if wanting to get in but lacking the thought process to use the door next to him. Willow stepped closer, examining the white-eyed gaze that stared at something beyond the glass. His mouth was unhinged, hanging open to allow small hitched groans to escape his dry throat.
Willow waved her hand, trying to get his attention, but nothing seemed to register in the man's milky eyes and he just kept banging his head. ‘There's nothing left,’ she thought somberly, knowing full well what a true goner some ghosts turned into. No memories, no thoughts, no consciousness, just pure feelings that make them do things that makes no sense to them. Walking zombies driven by pure instinct. A fate some may say is worse than that of a poltergeist. Willow agreed. Taking in a breath, she forced her gaze away and threw open the door, blatantly ignoring the dead man beside her. The cool air-conditioning washed away her heated skin, casting a cool blanket on her her now down-turned thoughts.
