I'm bored and in the mood for some creative writing. I write so much for my own character that I figured I should try something else. If you've got a character you wouldn't mind seeing some short writing for drop a link to a biography. The more informative the biography, the more detailed my writing can be, so keep that in mind.

This will only be open the next hour or two before I go to bed, so if you're interested comment asap!

(completed requests under the cut)

Sianna:
There is nothing quite like being told No.
It brings out the quicksand in her, the wet grasping suck that won’t let you go. Not even if you die.

It brings about a slow drama. A tango. If eye-sockets could role they would; “No? What-ever for?”
You don’t get away, that’s not how the game ends. If she wins, you win. Nobody likes a loser, so shut up, sit down, and settle in, because you’re here for the long haul.

You can keep the bones of old conquests company.


Yurei:
People don’t believe me when I say you can outrun sadness but it’s true. If you keep moving along, from one thing that makes you laugh to another it’s like the gloom can’t find you. I try but I can’t run forever, just like nobody can smile forever.

Some days when I wake up the whole world looks darker. It’s those days when I know I’ve got a long way to go til the next laugh. Those days there’s a long run till I’m out from under the cloud, back into the sun where I can smile without trying. That’s the best feeling, finding yourself smiling and not remembering when you started. That’s the best feeling.


Iendoe:
I was talking with the poppies about snow today. They asked what it was like, they’ve never felt it you see, too far down and I guess it doesn’t reach them. So of course I told them, tried to explain the difference between a fun cold and a make-your-ear-tips-blue cold. It was harder than I thought and that got me thinking about all the things flowers know that I could never understand. Roots, what it’s like to be underground and above ground at the same time, over-under…I wonder if they get dizzy? It must be worst for trees, so high up, and I guess their roots must go down a long ways too. I don’t really mind not knowing things, there’s so much to know about everything that I don’t know if anyone could even know it all. One more thing doesn’t really matter.


Mortis:
Things can not be rushed. Nothing.
If it can be, it’s not worth doing.

So he takes his time. Lift leg, bend knee; momentary discomfort. Pause.
Steps might be a means to an end, but they make up the journey. One wrong step, as the saying goes.
To fall would carry such finality.

Lower leg, hoof drags through grass, plants in soft yielding dirt. Pause.
He lets young air fill his lungs, holds it. Frees it. He continues on.


Saosin:
The stag moves like he’s ripping himself apart, all jagged edges under tight skin; A red leather bag of broken knives.
A curious violence, taking things apart, he’d poke around to see what’s inside you. Tell you you’re bleeding, not ask why no no. He knows what he does.

He’ll take the parts of you he wants. Your heart. Your soul. If he wants them. Your face. He’ll carve you up; trace invisible surgical pen lines with a hundred razor tines. You’ll part clean and straight, with the sound of ripping canvas.


Ravyn:
I imagine a page on which all the truths of this world are written. Line after line of black ink. Letters flow together like some rambling, overlapping cursive. Illegible. The page now one complete, scribbled out expanse; a void of black.
It isn’t her job to share the truth, it isn’t her fault you can’t read them on her skin.


Roxanne:
People expect too much.
They expected me to run but only where they wanted, where they ordered me to be.
I thought I would get to have a family, a child with the one I loved. Somewhere safe, away from bombs or bullets; grass instead of bloody mud under my hooves.
I guess I expected too much.


Kaoori:
One star, twinkling, calling the others out to join her.
It doesn’t matter how cold the night is, how dark the sky, she brings the stars with her.
Brings a light down through the trees to the hearts that need some shimmer.
She'll make them shine.


Vasla:
He’s drawn to a tension, a cord tight like a bowstring or…yes. Yes, like a harp.
Run your fingers down him, such beautiful music he’ll sing to you, whisper to you.
Till your finger’s tangle, he holds you fast. The cord snaps with a snarl and your fingers, they snap along with it.
They break in rhythm, pain perfectly orchestrated.


Dag:
Being a tower isn't easy. You face the winds and rains of storms. Lighting strikes your turrets, stones falter, chip, fall; but your base is strong. There's a foundation of stone under this fortress and it will surely hold you sound. You stand for more than just yourself. You shelter friends in your halls, they fill up the emptiness in you with warmth, laughter, merry conversation. The storm outside is left to rage and howl dejection at your doorstep.