Art for an original story
Art for an original story
Time to introduce one of the many fictional species I made for Elindoore: A Magical Journey!
This species is called Shibarran Snowcats, native to the snowy wasteland of Shibarra. They resemble anthropomorphic cats. Here’s a brief summary of what they typically look like:
So far, I have 2 fully designed Shibarran Snowcat characters:
This is SharpFrost. She is the first Shibarran Snowcat I ever created and one of the first characters I made for Elindoore.
And this is Cliff, SharpFrost’s moody teenage brother. As you can see, Cliff has some grey patches while SharpFrost is solid blue. Cliff’s hair is also a darker blue than his sister’s. This is just because of the variations I mentioned earlier.
Shibarran Snowcats are actually an open species! Please message me for details if you’re interested in making your own character :)
Also, feel free to ask me anything about my characters and my story as a whole - I would love to talk to you about them!
Day 27 of #huevember . . Sometimes as a result of a remnant’s renewal a new remnants can be born
Writing Prompt 242
Person A: Man, she’s a freak.
Person B: A freak in the sheets!!!
The cover of my short story trilogy “Family Matters”
This is crystal! She is very kind, and just a little clumsy. She is a pacifist and will never hurt a real person.
Just realized I never posted the cover… cause I’m stupid.
I have lived eons, millenia—even before what they call time existed.
Never in all my years has any human come to me with no selfish intent or motivation.
They’ve worshipped me as a god, revered me as divine, only to use me for the creatures I shelter in my depths, for the winds I bring to their sails, for the waves that wash away their lands—then cast me away when a storm comes, when the fish go elsewhere, when I am no longer of use.
They’ve feared me like a monster, afraid of the unknown the lies beneath my vastness. The waves crash lighter on the shores of my being as a dark laugh no one can hear convey my cosmic amusement. Humans never change. They fear what they do not understand, and what they do not understand, they destroy.
I’ve been the witness to the rivers that rush back to me as a crying child would its mother, dirty and bruised from a wicked world, filled with the filth of thousands of men who chose ignorance; I’ve seen skies coaxing clouds to grow darker and darker with ancient wrath, having to carry the burden of all the indignant voices of my once-beautiful seas; I watched as those who’ve been blinded by what they’ve built continue to destroy what didn’t come from their hands, taking relentlessly from my waters, killing my lungs, murdering the heart of the life they so desperately want to keep.
But I have not stopped giving, not stopped sending rain, not stopped creating life for the few that have made me their sanctuary. I have listened to countless stories of heartbreak as tears from both young and old mingle and mix with the salt of my waves.
My song of rising, falling, crashing has been the lullaby for restless souls, their hearts mimicking the beat of my dance. I’ve seen professions of love, of the flowers strewn about on my surface; I’ve carried a thousand rings of all shapes and sizes, of broken promises and lost time; I’ve been the resting place of shipwrecks full of men for a lost cause, of innocent unwanted children, of those who death have claimed too soon. I have seen those who try to give back what I am due; those who come and undo what the others did; those who see beauty in my unknown; those who are content to watch the sun disappear into my depths as the moon sings with me.
And for them, I am gentler, warmer, softer.
Do not mistake me, I might have said as the waves slam hard enough somewhere to break a glacier in two. I have been the graves of those who thought that I was their only escaped, of those who jump from heights impossible, craving the abruptness of my being inside their lungs. Bodies of bruises and violence have been in my waters. Do not think that I did not cradle them, held them like babes, as I gently lead the bodies I once filled with life down, down, down, to the softest sands of my floors, and laid them there, never alone again in my midst.
Even amongst all of them, of those who want to keep their lives for too long and of those who want to give them up too soon, not a single one had no selfish thought or hidden intent as they come to me. Not one has loved me and stayed just because of that.
Until one day, a babe was born on an impossibly calm day, in a cliffside no human should be. A ship docked on rocky shores, a pregnant woman nowhere to go and a husband with nowhere to ask help. They were lucky, I say, recalling how I made the waters just a little warmer, the waves crashing a little softer, the wind blowing a little slower. They washed him and cradled him in me, and I wondered if he’ll come back to me once more.
He does, I realize, and I finally recognize him in the split second his head touches the slightest bit of me. He has loved me all his life, with all that he is, simply because he does. I am all the life that has returned to me, and the gentleness of a thousand souls catch him, steady him, rock him like a child in need of comforting. “Oh, no,” I say, my voice all the voices of the past. “We cannot destroy something that have loved us so beautifully.”
Even the grass that he stepped on might have agreed, witness to the countless hours he spent on that cliff, trying to capture all of me, of what beauty he saw in me. I stood him up back where he was making art, and all my years on the Earth could have never led me to expect what he did next.
He screamed, the anger of a hundred lifetimes released on to the wind and carried them where no one could hear but me. “Don’t you understand?” he asked, voice nothing but a whisper. “I jumped.”
“I know,” I say back, with a mother’s tone, grieving and angry at the same time. I am a being with all answers, but I asked, “Why?”
“There is nothing beautiful in this world except you. I do not wish to be here any longer, and I wish to have been with you in the end.”
A gentle breeze ruffles his hair as the far away scent of lavender fills his lungs. The sky becomes just a little brighter, and the sunshine streams through the clouds to illuminate a beautiful cottage. Inside, a woman hangs up another painting on a wall plastered with images of the ocean—of the night sky reflected on black water, of sunlight beaming off of waves, of a horizon of color dipping into the comforts of darkness.
“There is so much you can live for.”
He breathes deeply, and tears spill over his eyes as he looks at what I’ve shown him.
“If you cannot live for them, live for me.”
He sees me again, sees all of me.
“Show them what you see in me.”
He exhales, then he leaves.
I do not see him again for a while.
The next time he came, it was an impossibly calm day, and he was lucky—the waters just a little warmer, the waves crashing a little calmer, the wind blowing a little slower.
He let me cradle the babe as I once did him.
the witch and her best friend/bodygaurd
Сборник с моим комиксом наконец-то был напечатан! Вчера забрала свой экземпляр с почты. До сих пор не могу поверить, что держу в руках свою маленькую историю! Ааааааааааа!
When I was younger, I asked my dad for a copy of one of Stephen King’s books so I could practice writing horror. And my Dad is a strict believer in the innocence of children preserved until you’re in your mid twenties-including all things horrifying. So I wasn’t looking for a positive outcome. But the next I come into my bedroom, sure enough, there is a copy of Stephen King’s: On Writing, on my bed with a note from dad recommending I stick to the basics.
In retaliation I went to school the next day and wrote a story about a magical set of dice that had a suicide curse. And submitted it to my teacher as an English assignment. My computer was monitored for the rest of my time at the school, and my mother received an email from the principle about “the little talk, your daughter and I had together.” And the book has been collecting dust in my bookcase out of spite.
Some dirty ass sketches I worked on. I’m making my Insta my primary social media for posting sketches I may not post anywhere else
My characters Ragnor, Calarel, and Anton from my story Project Aeon
Insta @ crescenticsart
“I just want a second chance, Niki. I know I left and I know I messed up but I’m here now. I’m sorry for leaving.”
What a picture perfect scene. It’s raining and I’m walking away from him but he’ll grab my wrist and declare his love for me. He’ll say words women only wish to hear and the audience will swoon, forgiving everything he’s done up until this point. I’ll start crying but then he’ll wipe away my tears and kiss me in the rain.
He’s held me back and any moment now the camera will pan to my face. But I won’t cry, he won’t kiss me, I won’t forgive as easily because I love him.
“You always reminded me of lemons.” I say and squints at me through the rain. “You were always so bright and warm but when you left I all I tasted was bitterness. I’ve never been as hurt as I am right now.”
“Niki, I’m sorry but-”
“Do remember that night? The one where we snuck out to go driving outside of the city? You told me that some things you can’t get back. I can’t get back my love for you. As much as I want to run into your arms right now, as much as I want to feel you again, I know I can’t love you as much as I did back then.” I look straight in his eyes when I say this. I’m so determined I don’t feel the rain. All that exists in this moment is him and I, and the scent of lemons.
“But here’s the thing. I loved you, that much will never change. You made me so happy when I couldn’t even see the light and I wouldn’t trade that for the world. When you left it hurt, it hurt so goddamn much I thought I would die. But in a way I loved that bitterness too because it meant that I really loved you. Leave it at that, Alex. Don’t come back.”
I walk off into the distance now. It’s a plot twist we all knew was coming and in the distance I can hear the director yelling cut. I smell lemons.
ok now that I have your attention, I am looking for beta readers. I will give you a clip of my writing, and I need your honest advice. I need progressive people to give me advice, as the story is based on rebellion and justice.
(PS it has nothing to do with “free booby pic, gigantic t!!!!”)
“My name is Ariana Bell. I’m the princess of Narnia, daughter of Colturn and Helga Bell and the rightful heir to the throne.” - Ariana Bell in The Children of New
This took me several days to finish, but I’m really glad with how the individual characters look. I’m going to post seperate bios on each one, but right now, here’s how they function as a group:
Currently, these six are the first Muses to be hatched in a hundred years. Muses are a kind of dragon that comes with incredible powers, usually relating to the kingdom they hail from. It is their job to keep the peace in the six kingdoms and right the wrongs that destroyed the Muses in the first place. However, without a peacekeeping entity for so long, the kingdoms have stopped caring about what’s right and just want the Muse’s power to compete with their enemies. Now, Twilight, Acacia, Volcan, Tridon, Bask and Erik must evade the hands of those who would harm them, while overcoming their differences and putting a stop to the war.
The Ol’ Vamp Gang
“My name’s Justin Alfonso. I’m a captain for Princess Ariana’s armies.” - Justin Alfonso in The Children of New