Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 7th, 2015, 6:58 pm

I get a lot of banner requests pretty frequently, so I thought: why not make this a writing challenge?

I am not currently accepting any graphic requests, UNLESS you participate in this challenge.

The task is simple! (Maybe easier said than done. :lol: But we'll see!)

Write up a scene of any length, any subject, whatever, so long as it has the character you want a graphic for IN the scene AS the main focus. Try to tell me (and all of the other readers) about the character to the best of your ability. For every piece submitted, I will make a graphic for that character based on the ideas I got from the scene. So try to portray your characters as best as you can! (For example, if your character is a redhead, mention that or you might end up with a banner that has a blonde model in it. Just watch out on over-describing. Check out the writing tools for help!)

I will do my best to make your character's claimed playby work, but in the event that I can't, I will be using unknown faces that best suit the vibe of your character and the way they are portrayed. Remember, the banner is based off the way you write and describe your character, so heavy emphasis on WHO your character is.

Please post all replies here!

Happy writing!

:writing:
Last edited by Marlo on July 29th, 2015, 5:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Ezra » July 8th, 2015, 10:02 am

I kind of just want an avatar!? I don't need a signature unless you really feel ~inspired~, but my current avatar is just a crop from the signature and I'd prefer something more ~~Ezra~~. so if this inspires you, feel free 8D

----------------------------

You swallowed the sun on October 10th, 1988.

You came out sun-smothered and screaming, hands fisted, furious at God, like a sandstorm, the sun bright on your face, bright inside you and your father crying, and holding you, praying, "Ezra, Ezra Jameel Nazari, habūb," and there's been violence in you ever since. The Arabic word for sandstorm means blasting, and you never learn how to scrub that word out of your veins. So it sits there, in your heart, like the sun, all that intensity and violence cradled in the space between your ribs, threatening to burst as it nestles against your heart.

They taste your blood and they say You taste strong.
You taste like the desert sun.


They break your bones and when you smile, bloody, up at them, they think How can one person hold so much fury?
Your insides are blown to bits,
like the cities and lives destroyed by a desert storm.


Like the sun, you only know how to show your love with everything you are, and it's poison, sometimes, when it's too much, and it's cancer, sometimes, if it stretches too long. But you try, and you shine, and you burn, and you don't know any other way to be.

You swallowed the sun. You can only let it out in degrees, between your clenched teeth held in a crooked grin, slipping between your knuckles, white, and it's just a little, just a bit, but sometimes, when people look at you too closely in the darkness, they see that sun inside and they are blinded.

------------------------

idk what this is i just shit it out because i got inspiration in my sleep from the first line 8|
CHILDE OF DRELLA ✕ GUARD DOG OF THE D'DARY ✕ WYVERN WARRIOR
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----------------------
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 8th, 2015, 9:12 pm

I LOVE SLEEP INSPIRATION!

sorry this doesn't match your current banner. i just couldn't get the hot heat out of my head when i was making the avatar. i kept thinking "warm warm warm" from the passage. =_= INSPIRED FROM THE PASSAGE. that is the point aimee, duh. NONE-THE-LESS…!


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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Ezra » July 8th, 2015, 10:28 pm

Marlo wrote:I LOVE SLEEP INSPIRATION!

sorry this doesn't match your current banner. i just couldn't get the hot heat out of my head when i was making the avatar. i kept thinking "warm warm warm" from the passage. =_= INSPIRED FROM THE PASSAGE. that is the point aimee, duh. NONE-THE-LESS…!


Image



I LOVE IT
CHILDE OF DRELLA ✕ GUARD DOG OF THE D'DARY ✕ WYVERN WARRIOR
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A / V / O
f a m i l i a . s u p r a . o m n i a


----------------------
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Xedanis » July 8th, 2015, 10:47 pm

"I can't believe it."

He stared at the young man that stood before him. The whelp was barely a man at all; not more than eighteen summers old, surely. The grizzled old pirate approached this prodigy, causing the deck to groan with his footsteps as though burdened by the weight of what was about to happen.

He stopped behind the youth, four paces clear. Close enough to be heard, far enough that he was out of range if he reacted with venom. The man tilted his head to one side as he analyzed the boy's sweat-soaked back. It was normal for these "honor duels" (for lack of a better term) to be fought bare-chested; it was normal for bare-chested behavior anywhere in the Caribbean. The youth's long, scraggly black hair was plastered to his back with his own sweat. It tumbled down almost to his waistline at its longest.

"Whats yer name, boy?" Keriyus asked. His grizzled, stubbly chin jutted upward, body language placing the captain instinctively on a higher position than this lucky youth. Luck, he says, the captain thought to himself. No amount o'luck would have cut the Bo'Sun's head off with that much flair.

The youth turned to regard the elder man over his shoulder then. He was breathing heavily, his arms still tense from the tight grip he kept upon the two shortswords he had stolen from his defeated foe. The Code demanded this callow youth take the Bo'Sun's place and take. Keriyus could scarce believe-

Wait. That look.

"I asked you yer name, stripling." He made sure his voice was firm, unsurprised. But the youth's eyes... fierce, dark, subterranean-ice blue. And so cold. A kernel of frozen tundra in the midst of the sunblasted sea.

"You should know it," the youth replied. "Dad."

Keriyus could not stop himself from taking a step backward in shock. "Kalanas?"

"Kalanas was a boy," said the youth, "and he's dead. My name is Xedanis."
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Vamane » July 9th, 2015, 1:55 pm

Avatar!?

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Thick, unbreathable dirt packed around him. He was underground again. It was a calm, quiet place that soothed the vampire. The spot chosen was somewhere near a tree. He could feel both thin and thick roots at the base of his skull, like hard uneven pillows. His ears were tuned to the life within the dirt. Things slithered through the ground. Bugs tickled at his pants, at his shirt, both black in color and now blackened further by the graveyard dirt.

No one would be buried in this spot. This was his spot. The roots of the tree kept bodies from it. After all, there was plenty of space on the other side of the graveyard, an expanse of open grass where several trees had recently been cleared by a storm. He wasn't six feet under, but far enough to lose the city sounds and bathe in the dark.

Nearing sunrise, he climbed from the grave and shook loose dirt off his clothing. His blindfold had been unfolded to cover his eyes, ears and nose, but dirt had managed to collect on his face nonetheless, blackening olive tanned skin.

Ironic, wasn't it. His father was Romanian and here he stood, the classic vampire that rose from the grave, stalked, killed and drank blood from his victims, innocent or criminal, and avoided the sun. He lived in a big Victorian mansion, was raised wealthy, and wore all black at all times. Even his name, Vamane, sounded like a variation on "Vampire," much like the fiction character Hannibal sounded close to Cannibal - though at least his name didn't rhyme with it.

Vamane stepped out onto the street. He smoothed a hand through his dirty hair. What a cliche, Vamane thought. I'm such a fucking cliche.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 10th, 2015, 1:22 am

Xedanis wrote:"I can't believe it."

He stared at the young man that stood before him. The whelp was barely a man at all; not more than eighteen summers old, surely. The grizzled old pirate approached this prodigy, causing the deck to groan with his footsteps as though burdened by the weight of what was about to happen.

He stopped behind the youth, four paces clear. Close enough to be heard, far enough that he was out of range if he reacted with venom. The man tilted his head to one side as he analyzed the boy's sweat-soaked back. It was normal for these "honor duels" (for lack of a better term) to be fought bare-chested; it was normal for bare-chested behavior anywhere in the Caribbean. The youth's long, scraggly black hair was plastered to his back with his own sweat. It tumbled down almost to his waistline at its longest.

"Whats yer name, boy?" Keriyus asked. His grizzled, stubbly chin jutted upward, body language placing the captain instinctively on a higher position than this lucky youth. Luck, he says, the captain thought to himself. No amount o'luck would have cut the Bo'Sun's head off with that much flair.

The youth turned to regard the elder man over his shoulder then. He was breathing heavily, his arms still tense from the tight grip he kept upon the two shortswords he had stolen from his defeated foe. The Code demanded this callow youth take the Bo'Sun's place and take. Keriyus could scarce believe-

Wait. That look.

"I asked you yer name, stripling." He made sure his voice was firm, unsurprised. But the youth's eyes... fierce, dark, subterranean-ice blue. And so cold. A kernel of frozen tundra in the midst of the sunblasted sea.

"You should know it," the youth replied. "Dad."

Keriyus could not stop himself from taking a step backward in shock. "Kalanas?"

"Kalanas was a boy," said the youth, "and he's dead. My name is Xedanis."




I REALLY fucking loved this piece. I could see it all so clearly and was inspired right away. This isn't his model.

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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 10th, 2015, 2:06 am

Vamane wrote:Avatar!?

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Thick, unbreathable dirt packed around him. He was underground again. It was a calm, quiet place that soothed the vampire. The spot chosen was somewhere near a tree. He could feel both thin and thick roots at the base of his skull, like hard uneven pillows. His ears were tuned to the life within the dirt. Things slithered through the ground. Bugs tickled at his pants, at his shirt, both black in color and now blackened further by the graveyard dirt.

No one would be buried in this spot. This was his spot. The roots of the tree kept bodies from it. After all, there was plenty of space on the other side of the graveyard, an expanse of open grass where several trees had recently been cleared by a storm. He wasn't six feet under, but far enough to lose the city sounds and bathe in the dark.

Nearing sunrise, he climbed from the grave and shook loose dirt off his clothing. His blindfold had been unfolded to cover his eyes, ears and nose, but dirt had managed to collect on his face nonetheless, blackening olive tanned skin.

Ironic, wasn't it. His father was Romanian and here he stood, the classic vampire that rose from the grave, stalked, killed and drank blood from his victims, innocent or criminal, and avoided the sun. He lived in a big Victorian mansion, was raised wealthy, and wore all black at all times. Even his name, Vamane, sounded like a variation on "Vampire," much like the fiction character Hannibal sounded close to Cannibal - though at least his name didn't rhyme with it.

Vamane stepped out onto the street. He smoothed a hand through his dirty hair. What a cliche, Vamane thought. I'm such a fucking cliche.



I wanted to go dirtier with this one, but I couldn't shake the feeling of wealth. The classic vampire look. Almost cliche, as Vamane said. :lol:

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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Aziza » July 10th, 2015, 4:59 am

Avatar, pretty please? :3 Doesn't have to have a model in it, but yanno, I'm sure I'll love whatever :3

---

It had started last night. She had finally built up the courage to do what needed to be done, to free not only herself, but her entire lineage, of the burden of absentee members. At least the ones that were her childer. It had been a long time coming and Aziza had waited far beyond necessary, willing them to return with all her being. Alas, they never did return. Each one was a heartbreak and none of them numbed her to the fresh hell of the subsequent severances. Each childe had a story, each childe was important for various reasons, but it had been well over a year for the majority of those she cut loose. So far, six in total.

But there would be more.

And there would be one that would break her heart so deeply that she wasn't sure she'd ever fully recover from it, but continuing to cling to a connection that had faded and died years ago would do her no good. Akuma had a very special place in her heart, where Aziza cherished the memories, even the fights they had. It didn't matter, all that bitterness in the beginning, because when it finally came down to it, here is where Akuma belonged. With Aziza and with the family, but Akuma was lost to time, lost to shadows... just lost. Gone. Never to return, so it felt every time Aziza reached out to sense their connection. Each time it got weaker and weaker and all too recently there was barely a hint of it. The dark-haired vampiress knew that Akuma's husband kept watch over her and therefore knew Akuma was safely guarded. In order to truly move on, Aziza needed to let the last vestiges of what remained of their life also fade into just memories.

Aziza fought the tears that threatened to fall as she walked up to the Hall worker for the seventh time in two days and gave him the specific instructions. The blood she shared with Akuma was ripped violently from her veins and disintegrated into dust before her eyes. And then it was nothing. Lost in the air, gone, just like her childe.

It was time to go home and rest until she heard back from her other childer. But it would not be a healing rest. Tonight would prove fitful and pained and full of wretched tears, but she would soldier right on through it. Aziza remained in her room, locking down her mind from intrusion until she felt more composed. She knew it wouldn't go unnoticed and that someone may come searching, but by then she hoped she would have put herself back together enough to continue doing what needed to be done.

For her family and for herself.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Anastasia » July 10th, 2015, 5:06 am

I LOVE this idea. I've been wanting to do so much with Ana, but she isn't popular so not many people (read: anybody) want's to participate with her.

----------------------------------------------

"Just hold on!"

The telepathic bond was waning, but that wouldn't stop her from finding the woman, Katerina, taken from her pack. Icey blue eyes bore straight ahead as ran though the trees. A human wouldn't notice her, but another lycan or a vampire might catch a glimpse of the silver she-wolf, small but determined. Seconds seemed like years as the pack leader frantically tried to save her pack-mate, her friend, her sister. How she was taken she didn't know. All that mattered was finding her, saving her, and bringing her home. The woman taken had a new pup. Anastasia would not let the young one grow not knowing his mother.

The smell of blood grew stronger and the bond grew fainter. Her small paws impossibly moved faster until she was standing on a small hill just above the scene. There were five of them, one of her, and the rest of her hunting party were still minutes behind. For the time being, she was on her own. There was no time to wait for reinforcements. The woman's body was already badly damaged, and was still being mauled. The wolf leapt from her cover onto the first attacker, taking him by surprise and biting into his throat, leaving him to bleed out as she turned her attention to the next wolf to her left. Using the precious few moments of confusion she tackled him to the ground. Her claws were sinking in to his flesh when something plowed in to her side. With the group focusing on Ana, Katerina weakly crawled behind a tree. The Alpha rolled over, taking the wolf pinning her along with her and bit in to his leg, through the muscle. His yelping was like music to her ears. In his pain his body reverted back to the form of a man. Must only be a halfling. In his nude state, his exposed belly was easy enough to tear in to before Anastasia stepped back and started pacing in front of the remaining three. Victor's voice was strong in her mind. They were almost there.

Almost only counts for horseshoes and hand grenades, and this was neither. Before her were three very angry, and very large lycans who would like nothing more than to rip her throat out. The only advantage the young alpha had was speed. She knew how to use her agility well, and it had save her pelt on many a occasion. If she could just delay the three a few minutes, there would be a dozen for each of them to dance with. They wouldn't have a chance. Positioning the fight became impossible though as the middle one charged her. Her small frame side stepped the lunge and her claws dug in to his hind leg. The wound wouldn't kill him, but it would slow him. And that was all that mattered as howling became audible in the distance. He charged at her again, but this time a black wolf knocked him to his side and two others started shredding his body. The remaining two tried to retreat, but they were quickly blocked by two dozen wolves. Their fight was quick, and the remains nearly unrecognizable.

While the war party dealt with the offenders, Ana took her human form and made her way behind the tree that Katerina had sought refuge. Long, dark brown hair fell in soft curls, framing her pale face speckled with blood. Kneeling beside the woman she noticed that she had lost consciousness, but she was breathing. The smaller injuries had already started to fuse shut. She'd be okay, she would live. The pack who sent these five would not.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Melanctha » July 11th, 2015, 1:29 am

Avatar please

-----

Thunk

The rhythmic striking of of the hay bale target 100 yards down field punctured the otherwise quiet night air. Summer nights in July were too warm for Melanctha's taste, but the cool breeze coming off the bay helped make it at least bearable.A simple green tank top and long charcoal grey skirt clung to the woman's thin frame with the quiver strung along her hips and hanging over her tail bone. Black wavy hair reached well past mid-back, and looked wild and unkempt in this humidity when it wasn't braided back. But Mel didn't mind - she wasn't trying to impress anyone out here. The hand carved yew composite longbow was two thirds of the woman's height, and unchanged since about 1830. The only modern upgrades was a sturdier steel bow string, and a pair of stainless steel cams for the ends to give the bow string something to grip that wasn't wood.

Thunk

Piercing ice blue eyes focused on the target as her right arm reached to grab another arrow, and raised it to sit level on her left fore finger. Mel pinched the fletchings between the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand and pulled back slowly on the string. Often in situations like these she would count to ten while doing the draw process, five for the pull back and five to hold the energy and feel the tension course through her muscles. Then she would just release her hand, sending the arrow hurling forward and into the target she had set up on the cobble stone of the driveway of Port Luna.

Thunk

The whole repetitive process was very meditative for the diminutive Greek woman. In earlier years of her life, she would take target practice to keep her skills sharp. Since moving to ravenblack it as more of a hobby, and a stress reliever than anything. Tonight she was using it to meditate on the what felt like immense amount of changes her life had been through and was getting ready to go through since she had returned from Greece at the end of March. It was hard some time to stay adaptive and grow with the times, and in someways she had outgrown much of her settings from years ago. She was feeling constrained even before she left for Greece.

Thunk

But with each consecutive arrow strike to the target she envisioned it as an insecurity or a short coming she was trying to let go of. That was enough arrows to turn the hay bale into a pincushion. but it was a start.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 15th, 2015, 7:23 pm

Just a few quick words for everyone on this thread. YES, I will still do requests as you trade me writing. :3

So this break isn't an eternal stop. I just needed to give MARTHA MY MUSE a break. ok, so she ditched me, BUT WHATEVER. THAT WON'T LAST. :twisted:

I still intend to do those already posted and continue to do them as they're posted, but they'll be at the speed that I can get good old Martha to let me work again. (It shouldn't be too long of a wait!)


AND JUST TO CLARIFY, THOUGH YOU GUYS ARE SMART AND SEEMED TO HAVE THIS FIGURED OUT, if you don't specify what kind of graphic you want, I'm just going to do a good old banner! But I will do any type of graphic. Avatar, banner, header, CS things -- whatever you want! Just let me know!


If there are any questions, just let me know! I'd be happy to answer or chat or whatever!

Happy writing! :writing:
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 28th, 2015, 1:03 pm

Aziza wrote:Avatar, pretty please? :3 Doesn't have to have a model in it, but yanno, I'm sure I'll love whatever :3

---

It had started last night. She had finally built up the courage to do what needed to be done, to free not only herself, but her entire lineage, of the burden of absentee members. At least the ones that were her childer. It had been a long time coming and Aziza had waited far beyond necessary, willing them to return with all her being. Alas, they never did return. Each one was a heartbreak and none of them numbed her to the fresh hell of the subsequent severances. Each childe had a story, each childe was important for various reasons, but it had been well over a year for the majority of those she cut loose. So far, six in total.

But there would be more.

And there would be one that would break her heart so deeply that she wasn't sure she'd ever fully recover from it, but continuing to cling to a connection that had faded and died years ago would do her no good. Akuma had a very special place in her heart, where Aziza cherished the memories, even the fights they had. It didn't matter, all that bitterness in the beginning, because when it finally came down to it, here is where Akuma belonged. With Aziza and with the family, but Akuma was lost to time, lost to shadows... just lost. Gone. Never to return, so it felt every time Aziza reached out to sense their connection. Each time it got weaker and weaker and all too recently there was barely a hint of it. The dark-haired vampiress knew that Akuma's husband kept watch over her and therefore knew Akuma was safely guarded. In order to truly move on, Aziza needed to let the last vestiges of what remained of their life also fade into just memories.

Aziza fought the tears that threatened to fall as she walked up to the Hall worker for the seventh time in two days and gave him the specific instructions. The blood she shared with Akuma was ripped violently from her veins and disintegrated into dust before her eyes. And then it was nothing. Lost in the air, gone, just like her childe.

It was time to go home and rest until she heard back from her other childer. But it would not be a healing rest. Tonight would prove fitful and pained and full of wretched tears, but she would soldier right on through it. Aziza remained in her room, locking down her mind from intrusion until she felt more composed. She knew it wouldn't go unnoticed and that someone may come searching, but by then she hoped she would have put herself back together enough to continue doing what needed to be done.

For her family and for herself.




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This one took me awhile to riddle out, because on the surface of this piece, I get this obvious sadness. I searched images and saved nearly twenty to work with, mismatch and combine for this avatar, but none of it seemed right, because in the end, for me, the message of this piece wasn't sadness, it was rebirth. There was light. The surface was about pain, but there was ultimately hope. The message I got was: in the end, all struggles and all pain ends. Suffering is limited and it will stop when you allow yourself to go through the healing process, which, is what I thought Aziza was doing. I really loved it, Rachel! Thank you for making me sit and think on this one awhile and thank you for sharing!
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 28th, 2015, 4:33 pm

Anastasia wrote:I LOVE this idea. I've been wanting to do so much with Ana, but she isn't popular so not many people (read: anybody) want's to participate with her.

----------------------------------------------

"Just hold on!"

The telepathic bond was waning, but that wouldn't stop her from finding the woman, Katerina, taken from her pack. Icey blue eyes bore straight ahead as ran though the trees. A human wouldn't notice her, but another lycan or a vampire might catch a glimpse of the silver she-wolf, small but determined. Seconds seemed like years as the pack leader frantically tried to save her pack-mate, her friend, her sister. How she was taken she didn't know. All that mattered was finding her, saving her, and bringing her home. The woman taken had a new pup. Anastasia would not let the young one grow not knowing his mother.

The smell of blood grew stronger and the bond grew fainter. Her small paws impossibly moved faster until she was standing on a small hill just above the scene. There were five of them, one of her, and the rest of her hunting party were still minutes behind. For the time being, she was on her own. There was no time to wait for reinforcements. The woman's body was already badly damaged, and was still being mauled. The wolf leapt from her cover onto the first attacker, taking him by surprise and biting into his throat, leaving him to bleed out as she turned her attention to the next wolf to her left. Using the precious few moments of confusion she tackled him to the ground. Her claws were sinking in to his flesh when something plowed in to her side. With the group focusing on Ana, Katerina weakly crawled behind a tree. The Alpha rolled over, taking the wolf pinning her along with her and bit in to his leg, through the muscle. His yelping was like music to her ears. In his pain his body reverted back to the form of a man. Must only be a halfling. In his nude state, his exposed belly was easy enough to tear in to before Anastasia stepped back and started pacing in front of the remaining three. Victor's voice was strong in her mind. They were almost there.

Almost only counts for horseshoes and hand grenades, and this was neither. Before her were three very angry, and very large lycans who would like nothing more than to rip her throat out. The only advantage the young alpha had was speed. She knew how to use her agility well, and it had save her pelt on many a occasion. If she could just delay the three a few minutes, there would be a dozen for each of them to dance with. They wouldn't have a chance. Positioning the fight became impossible though as the middle one charged her. Her small frame side stepped the lunge and her claws dug in to his hind leg. The wound wouldn't kill him, but it would slow him. And that was all that mattered as howling became audible in the distance. He charged at her again, but this time a black wolf knocked him to his side and two others started shredding his body. The remaining two tried to retreat, but they were quickly blocked by two dozen wolves. Their fight was quick, and the remains nearly unrecognizable.

While the war party dealt with the offenders, Ana took her human form and made her way behind the tree that Katerina had sought refuge. Long, dark brown hair fell in soft curls, framing her pale face speckled with blood. Kneeling beside the woman she noticed that she had lost consciousness, but she was breathing. The smaller injuries had already started to fuse shut. She'd be okay, she would live. The pack who sent these five would not.



Image Image


I think the obvious route for this one, was to have blood or violence and have the model look like she's about to rip someone else's head off, but after reading this piece a few times over, I really don't get that. Not after the first time. For me, this was really showing how Ana is a strong character and sometimes, the ways we as people show that is with how soft we are, how gentle and how kind. Strength can be found in the gentlest of touches and the fact that she clearly cared so much for Katerina and that was her priority really stood out to me. Ana is/was an Alpha. She put the love of her pack above her own safety and in that, she showed a vulnerability.

(i gave you a little badass in the avatar tho. and if you want different text, let me know.)

Thank you for sharing! It was fun to read and get to know a little slice of her history.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Aziza » July 28th, 2015, 5:00 pm

Marlo wrote:Image

This one took me awhile to riddle out, because on the surface of this piece, I get this obvious sadness. I searched images and saved nearly twenty to work with, mismatch and combine for this avatar, but none of it seemed right, because in the end, for me, the message of this piece wasn't sadness, it was rebirth. There was light. The surface was about pain, but there was ultimately hope. The message I got was: in the end, all struggles and all pain ends. Suffering is limited and it will stop when you allow yourself to go through the healing process, which, is what I thought Aziza was doing. I really loved it, Rachel! Thank you for making me sit and think on this one awhile and thank you for sharing!

It's true and the avatar is perfect! Thank you so much! <33
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 28th, 2015, 10:51 pm

Melanctha wrote:Avatar please

-----

Thunk

The rhythmic striking of of the hay bale target 100 yards down field punctured the otherwise quiet night air. Summer nights in July were too warm for Melanctha's taste, but the cool breeze coming off the bay helped make it at least bearable.A simple green tank top and long charcoal grey skirt clung to the woman's thin frame with the quiver strung along her hips and hanging over her tail bone. Black wavy hair reached well past mid-back, and looked wild and unkempt in this humidity when it wasn't braided back. But Mel didn't mind - she wasn't trying to impress anyone out here. The hand carved yew composite longbow was two thirds of the woman's height, and unchanged since about 1830. The only modern upgrades was a sturdier steel bow string, and a pair of stainless steel cams for the ends to give the bow string something to grip that wasn't wood.

Thunk

Piercing ice blue eyes focused on the target as her right arm reached to grab another arrow, and raised it to sit level on her left fore finger. Mel pinched the fletchings between the forefinger and middle finger of her right hand and pulled back slowly on the string. Often in situations like these she would count to ten while doing the draw process, five for the pull back and five to hold the energy and feel the tension course through her muscles. Then she would just release her hand, sending the arrow hurling forward and into the target she had set up on the cobble stone of the driveway of Port Luna.

Thunk

The whole repetitive process was very meditative for the diminutive Greek woman. In earlier years of her life, she would take target practice to keep her skills sharp. Since moving to ravenblack it as more of a hobby, and a stress reliever than anything. Tonight she was using it to meditate on the what felt like immense amount of changes her life had been through and was getting ready to go through since she had returned from Greece at the end of March. It was hard some time to stay adaptive and grow with the times, and in someways she had outgrown much of her settings from years ago. She was feeling constrained even before she left for Greece.

Thunk

But with each consecutive arrow strike to the target she envisioned it as an insecurity or a short coming she was trying to let go of. That was enough arrows to turn the hay bale into a pincushion. but it was a start.



Image

I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT HER HUMAN GREEK HISTORY.

I was trying to mesh up her Greek heritage with her current life of living with (or nearby, I assume) Xedanis and Moon Girl, ala, Port Luna. (obvs not her model)
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Melanctha » July 29th, 2015, 7:26 pm

She does live at port luna, in the top floor of the hotel.

You're welcome to ask her or I about her history. She loves to talk about it and so do I.
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Xedanis » July 29th, 2015, 7:32 pm

Top floor she says, knowing full well she monopolizes the damn thing. Xed may have a magically-warded underground dojo, a marina, a ship or two AND an underground Arboretum, but MELANCTHA MONOPOLIZES THE PENTHOUSE. Rude, I say. :P
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby Marlo » July 29th, 2015, 10:32 pm

Melanctha wrote:She does live at port luna, in the top floor of the hotel.

You're welcome to ask her or I about her history. She loves to talk about it and so do I.


I WILL. ALSO. MAYBE I'M WEIRD, BUT I LOVE BREAKING MY FOURTH WALL AND TALKING TO MY CHARACTERS OR OTHER PEOPLE'S CHARACTERS.


Xedanis wrote:Top floor she says, knowing full well she monopolizes the damn thing. Xed may have a magically-warded underground dojo, a marina, a ship or two AND an underground Arboretum, but MELANCTHA MONOPOLIZES THE PENTHOUSE. Rude, I say. :P


LMFAO oh my god. i love these characters. I WANT TO SPEND THE DAY/NIGHT IN PORT LUNA AND HANG OUT WITH ALL OF THEM. |:<
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Re: Aimee's Graphics for Writing

Postby virgo » July 31st, 2015, 6:06 pm

Erm. Whatever. Just whatever you get inspired to do. I mostly just want to see what you see and see if it's what I see.

--

Alone she sat in the forest, her sapphire eyes gazing up at the stars and the moon. Life had gone from boring and dull to filled with so much to do she felt almost overwhelmed. Part of that was the sadness that came with missing her sire and the other part was that there were so many new faces, new people, to study. The last few days had been a whirlwind of practice fights. She'd yet to be actually defeated in them, not that she hadn't taken a few new bite marks to show off, but even that was hard for her. Not because the fight was hard, but because she was trying to teach how to get better, and she didn't know how she got to this point herself outside of real live combat. Fighting tooth and nail and clawing that last scrap of blood off the enemy even if it meant falling in the streets. She couldn't replicate that, no matter how had she tried, for them. Practice wasn't survival.

A blue moon. A time she could sit and think to herself for just a little bit before the craziness that was her life started up again. She needed to be better. Faster. Stronger. And teach others to be the same, but the feeling of being in a crowd and feeling lonely was dragging her down bad. Maybe it was time to change her hair again in a show of defiance to herself. She'd kept it black and pink for ages, now, it seemed, but sometimes a change in her hair was all she needed to feel different. To feel like a new person. Like putting on a new mask for the rest of the world some how made her 'all better'. It was a lie, sure, but so long as she believed the lie as well as anyone else it didn't really matter. Then again maybe it wouldn't work and she'd be stuck with some color she hated. With a little sigh she closed her eyes and moved to sit in the grass, hidden by the trees, and bowed her body forward to touch her head to the ground. "I can do this. I can do it all. I can be everything Dama thinks I can be. I just have to believe in myself."

She let the moment hang there, reassuring herself as well as the earth around her; finding her center and her calm, the peace of mind she needed to move forward and just keep going. There was no other choice. No way to go back to what she was before and even if she could, she didn't want too. She'd spent a short lifetime trying to become a warrior rather then men thinking she was just a fuck toy. She'd gotten there, finally, without even realizing it. Slowly her small frame lifted from the ground once more, with a new look of determination and resolve, she made her way back to the city proper. It was time for round three.

3
-2
1
-GO
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