@acelien Got you down!
|
Art Sales
For commissions and flat-sale of your creative efforts.
TOPIC | writing [CLOSED]
@ladylilitu
Username: Iralla
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~??? words (I'd be happy to pay for as much as you feel capable of writing for this, honestly)
Payment Type: Gems
POV: 3rd person
Details: deity of fate/chance; desert-dweller; always unseen to mortals unless she decides to meddle; always blindfolded, covered in heavy-looking golden jewelry, has 6 arms in white half-sleeves with painted eyes over the back of the sleeve hands that she can use to see through; has a giant living scarf decorated in ancient runes that stays wrapped around her unless it feels she's being threatened (which is often; it has a short temper); her weapon of choice however is her estoc 'Hado'; favorite pastime is finding one of her favored mortals after they've reincarnated and checking to see how/if their fate's changed
Extra Notes: she's definitely worshiped/feared/respected by mortals, usually all at the same time
((I feel like this is a lot of(potentially too much) info to work off of, but do let me know if you'd like to know anything more about her))
Username: Iralla
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~??? words (I'd be happy to pay for as much as you feel capable of writing for this, honestly)
Payment Type: Gems
POV: 3rd person
Details: deity of fate/chance; desert-dweller; always unseen to mortals unless she decides to meddle; always blindfolded, covered in heavy-looking golden jewelry, has 6 arms in white half-sleeves with painted eyes over the back of the sleeve hands that she can use to see through; has a giant living scarf decorated in ancient runes that stays wrapped around her unless it feels she's being threatened (which is often; it has a short temper); her weapon of choice however is her estoc 'Hado'; favorite pastime is finding one of her favored mortals after they've reincarnated and checking to see how/if their fate's changed
Extra Notes: she's definitely worshiped/feared/respected by mortals, usually all at the same time
((I feel like this is a lot of
@ladylilitu
Username: Iralla
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~??? words (I'd be happy to pay for as much as you feel capable of writing for this, honestly)
Payment Type: Gems
POV: 3rd person
Details: deity of fate/chance; desert-dweller; always unseen to mortals unless she decides to meddle; always blindfolded, covered in heavy-looking golden jewelry, has 6 arms in white half-sleeves with painted eyes over the back of the sleeve hands that she can use to see through; has a giant living scarf decorated in ancient runes that stays wrapped around her unless it feels she's being threatened (which is often; it has a short temper); her weapon of choice however is her estoc 'Hado'; favorite pastime is finding one of her favored mortals after they've reincarnated and checking to see how/if their fate's changed
Extra Notes: she's definitely worshiped/feared/respected by mortals, usually all at the same time
((I feel like this is a lot of(potentially too much) info to work off of, but do let me know if you'd like to know anything more about her))
Username: Iralla
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~??? words (I'd be happy to pay for as much as you feel capable of writing for this, honestly)
Payment Type: Gems
POV: 3rd person
Details: deity of fate/chance; desert-dweller; always unseen to mortals unless she decides to meddle; always blindfolded, covered in heavy-looking golden jewelry, has 6 arms in white half-sleeves with painted eyes over the back of the sleeve hands that she can use to see through; has a giant living scarf decorated in ancient runes that stays wrapped around her unless it feels she's being threatened (which is often; it has a short temper); her weapon of choice however is her estoc 'Hado'; favorite pastime is finding one of her favored mortals after they've reincarnated and checking to see how/if their fate's changed
Extra Notes: she's definitely worshiped/feared/respected by mortals, usually all at the same time
((I feel like this is a lot of
do you do descriptive blurbs for non fr characters?
well, i've already filled out the form so oh well if the answer's no LOL
[b]Username:[/b] Exceed
[b]Commission Type:[/b] descriptive blurb
[b]Word Count:[/b] i have 13kt and 10g to my name, so anywhere between 100-400 words as your muse dictates
[b]Payment Type:[/b] see above. treasure first, if you end up writing more than that would be, gems
(perhaps the forbidden fourth type: [s]speedy[/s] some art)
[b]POV:[/b] third, i suppose? i mean, pretty much in the style of those examples you have
[b]Details:[/b]
a non-fr character; his name is [b][i]above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath[/i][/b], or: rosewood. a mech pilot who has been tasked with leading a dysfunctional crew on a long mission to end a war when he is the worst at social situations. he's also maybe slowly integrating with his mech's systems? they're sort of becoming the same thing? the mech isn't sentient but bits of him are filtering into it and bits of it are filtering into him. [s]he's been in a war for fifty two years but has gone in and out of stasis, that bit of his life only aging him 14 years-[/s] gets dragged away from the mic
here's how he looks if u want a pretty ref. and his mech's there too i suppose? (feel free to write about it, too!) if you want a cool poem abt him just holler at me
[img]https://i.ibb.co/MkCzZXp/rosewood1.png[/img][img]https://i.ibb.co/HX28KHc/sfi2.png[/img][img]https://i.ibb.co/2Nf8dgk/rosewoodmech.png[/img]
[b]Extra Notes:[/b] N/A, have fun with it
(FRANTIC EDIT: space imagery is fun. they're in space. dummies in space)
do you do descriptive blurbs for non fr characters?
well, i've already filled out the form so oh well if the answer's no LOL
Username: Exceed
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: i have 13kt and 10g to my name, so anywhere between 100-400 words as your muse dictates
Payment Type: see above. treasure first, if you end up writing more than that would be, gems
(perhaps the forbidden fourth type:speedy some art)
POV: third, i suppose? i mean, pretty much in the style of those examples you have
Details:
a non-fr character; his name is above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath, or: rosewood. a mech pilot who has been tasked with leading a dysfunctional crew on a long mission to end a war when he is the worst at social situations. he's also maybe slowly integrating with his mech's systems? they're sort of becoming the same thing? the mech isn't sentient but bits of him are filtering into it and bits of it are filtering into him.he's been in a war for fifty two years but has gone in and out of stasis, that bit of his life only aging him 14 years- gets dragged away from the mic
here's how he looks if u want a pretty ref. and his mech's there too i suppose? (feel free to write about it, too!) if you want a cool poem abt him just holler at me
Extra Notes: N/A, have fun with it
(FRANTIC EDIT: space imagery is fun. they're in space. dummies in space)
well, i've already filled out the form so oh well if the answer's no LOL
Username: Exceed
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: i have 13kt and 10g to my name, so anywhere between 100-400 words as your muse dictates
Payment Type: see above. treasure first, if you end up writing more than that would be, gems
(perhaps the forbidden fourth type:
POV: third, i suppose? i mean, pretty much in the style of those examples you have
Details:
a non-fr character; his name is above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath, or: rosewood. a mech pilot who has been tasked with leading a dysfunctional crew on a long mission to end a war when he is the worst at social situations. he's also maybe slowly integrating with his mech's systems? they're sort of becoming the same thing? the mech isn't sentient but bits of him are filtering into it and bits of it are filtering into him.
here's how he looks if u want a pretty ref. and his mech's there too i suppose? (feel free to write about it, too!) if you want a cool poem abt him just holler at me
Extra Notes: N/A, have fun with it
(FRANTIC EDIT: space imagery is fun. they're in space. dummies in space)
@acelien :3c: finished! Please let me know if you want any changes.
I also took the liberty of DMing you the song that I think fits them really well on Discord!
I also took the liberty of DMing you the song that I think fits them really well on Discord!
Quote:
In all her years of playing hard and fast and loose with others, Lillian’s never met anyone like Phoenix. She pushes aside others’ feelings as easily as throwing a pair of dice, tearing a flower from its roots, but seeing her dance twists her up inside, a rawhide ribbon close to its breaking point.
She comes to every performance.
And how it frustrates her, the coquettish rogue, the silvertongued charmer, the one who’s supposed to sweep others off their feet, but she can’t even work up the nerve to talk to her. Phoenix must have noticed by now, at least, or maybe Lillian’s assessment of herself is too optimistic.
She pines.
After a few weeks of this daily occurrence, Lillian begins daily to leave a red feather on her seat before departing. Every night when she returns, the feather is gone. She doesn’t know whether Phoenix has been taking them or whether the feather has simply drifted away on the breeze, but the thought gives her comfort.
One night, she gets into a fight on the other side of the city and realizes, half an hour too late, that the performance is already halfway finished. She rushes to the theatre, breath ragged, clothing torn, hopes beyond hope that she can at least make it to the last ten minutes.
Delayed by pedestrian traffic, she arrives at nearly midnight, far past when all the regulars have departed and the lights have been dimmed. She makes her way through a maze of doors and then halts at the top of the stairway that leads to her customary seat.
Phoenix is there. Her crimson wings, so similar to Lillian’s own, are curled protectively over her pale body, which shakes silently with each breath.
She realizes that the dancer looks distraught.
Surely it can’t be because of her?
Her claws clack against the stone steps as she walks down to the seat row. Phoenix whips around, her expression fierce. For the first time since she’s seen-no, fallen, head-over-heels, for the Skydancer, Lillian is able to marshal her thoughts into cohesive actions and sentences.
“Bellissima,” she says, taking one of the roses she always pins to her clothing and nonchalantly tossing it at her. “Are you okay?”
“You came?” Phoenix asks. Her voice shakes with a repressed sob. “It wasn’t even important to me at first. I found the feathers every day after I danced but I didn’t think anything of it. But as time went on, I grew more and more attached. Finding one became the highlight of my day.” She chuckles, blushing madly at the thought of it.
Lillian is again lost for words. Her heart skips a beat, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing, in and out and in and out.
“I kept them. The feathers. I was going to commission jewelry to wear on stage.” Phoenix stutters jerkily.
She realizes that the other Skydancer is looking at her expectantly.
In and out.
“Would you like to...” her voice falters and fails her. “Would you like to...try to have a relationship?”
In and out in and out in and out.
“You came.” It isn’t so much a question now as it is a statement. The dancer draws closer and presses her lips to hers.
Lillian gives up on breathing, because all that matters now is the liquid fire coursing through her veins at Phoenix’s feather-light touch.
She tears herself away, bitter as it is to be separated, if only for a heartbeat, and says, “Always.”
She comes to every performance.
And how it frustrates her, the coquettish rogue, the silvertongued charmer, the one who’s supposed to sweep others off their feet, but she can’t even work up the nerve to talk to her. Phoenix must have noticed by now, at least, or maybe Lillian’s assessment of herself is too optimistic.
She pines.
After a few weeks of this daily occurrence, Lillian begins daily to leave a red feather on her seat before departing. Every night when she returns, the feather is gone. She doesn’t know whether Phoenix has been taking them or whether the feather has simply drifted away on the breeze, but the thought gives her comfort.
One night, she gets into a fight on the other side of the city and realizes, half an hour too late, that the performance is already halfway finished. She rushes to the theatre, breath ragged, clothing torn, hopes beyond hope that she can at least make it to the last ten minutes.
Delayed by pedestrian traffic, she arrives at nearly midnight, far past when all the regulars have departed and the lights have been dimmed. She makes her way through a maze of doors and then halts at the top of the stairway that leads to her customary seat.
Phoenix is there. Her crimson wings, so similar to Lillian’s own, are curled protectively over her pale body, which shakes silently with each breath.
She realizes that the dancer looks distraught.
Surely it can’t be because of her?
Her claws clack against the stone steps as she walks down to the seat row. Phoenix whips around, her expression fierce. For the first time since she’s seen-no, fallen, head-over-heels, for the Skydancer, Lillian is able to marshal her thoughts into cohesive actions and sentences.
“Bellissima,” she says, taking one of the roses she always pins to her clothing and nonchalantly tossing it at her. “Are you okay?”
“You came?” Phoenix asks. Her voice shakes with a repressed sob. “It wasn’t even important to me at first. I found the feathers every day after I danced but I didn’t think anything of it. But as time went on, I grew more and more attached. Finding one became the highlight of my day.” She chuckles, blushing madly at the thought of it.
Lillian is again lost for words. Her heart skips a beat, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing, in and out and in and out.
“I kept them. The feathers. I was going to commission jewelry to wear on stage.” Phoenix stutters jerkily.
She realizes that the other Skydancer is looking at her expectantly.
In and out.
“Would you like to...” her voice falters and fails her. “Would you like to...try to have a relationship?”
In and out in and out in and out.
“You came.” It isn’t so much a question now as it is a statement. The dancer draws closer and presses her lips to hers.
Lillian gives up on breathing, because all that matters now is the liquid fire coursing through her veins at Phoenix’s feather-light touch.
She tears herself away, bitter as it is to be separated, if only for a heartbeat, and says, “Always.”
@acelien :3c: finished! Please let me know if you want any changes.
I also took the liberty of DMing you the song that I think fits them really well on Discord!
I also took the liberty of DMing you the song that I think fits them really well on Discord!
Quote:
In all her years of playing hard and fast and loose with others, Lillian’s never met anyone like Phoenix. She pushes aside others’ feelings as easily as throwing a pair of dice, tearing a flower from its roots, but seeing her dance twists her up inside, a rawhide ribbon close to its breaking point.
She comes to every performance.
And how it frustrates her, the coquettish rogue, the silvertongued charmer, the one who’s supposed to sweep others off their feet, but she can’t even work up the nerve to talk to her. Phoenix must have noticed by now, at least, or maybe Lillian’s assessment of herself is too optimistic.
She pines.
After a few weeks of this daily occurrence, Lillian begins daily to leave a red feather on her seat before departing. Every night when she returns, the feather is gone. She doesn’t know whether Phoenix has been taking them or whether the feather has simply drifted away on the breeze, but the thought gives her comfort.
One night, she gets into a fight on the other side of the city and realizes, half an hour too late, that the performance is already halfway finished. She rushes to the theatre, breath ragged, clothing torn, hopes beyond hope that she can at least make it to the last ten minutes.
Delayed by pedestrian traffic, she arrives at nearly midnight, far past when all the regulars have departed and the lights have been dimmed. She makes her way through a maze of doors and then halts at the top of the stairway that leads to her customary seat.
Phoenix is there. Her crimson wings, so similar to Lillian’s own, are curled protectively over her pale body, which shakes silently with each breath.
She realizes that the dancer looks distraught.
Surely it can’t be because of her?
Her claws clack against the stone steps as she walks down to the seat row. Phoenix whips around, her expression fierce. For the first time since she’s seen-no, fallen, head-over-heels, for the Skydancer, Lillian is able to marshal her thoughts into cohesive actions and sentences.
“Bellissima,” she says, taking one of the roses she always pins to her clothing and nonchalantly tossing it at her. “Are you okay?”
“You came?” Phoenix asks. Her voice shakes with a repressed sob. “It wasn’t even important to me at first. I found the feathers every day after I danced but I didn’t think anything of it. But as time went on, I grew more and more attached. Finding one became the highlight of my day.” She chuckles, blushing madly at the thought of it.
Lillian is again lost for words. Her heart skips a beat, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing, in and out and in and out.
“I kept them. The feathers. I was going to commission jewelry to wear on stage.” Phoenix stutters jerkily.
She realizes that the other Skydancer is looking at her expectantly.
In and out.
“Would you like to...” her voice falters and fails her. “Would you like to...try to have a relationship?”
In and out in and out in and out.
“You came.” It isn’t so much a question now as it is a statement. The dancer draws closer and presses her lips to hers.
Lillian gives up on breathing, because all that matters now is the liquid fire coursing through her veins at Phoenix’s feather-light touch.
She tears herself away, bitter as it is to be separated, if only for a heartbeat, and says, “Always.”
She comes to every performance.
And how it frustrates her, the coquettish rogue, the silvertongued charmer, the one who’s supposed to sweep others off their feet, but she can’t even work up the nerve to talk to her. Phoenix must have noticed by now, at least, or maybe Lillian’s assessment of herself is too optimistic.
She pines.
After a few weeks of this daily occurrence, Lillian begins daily to leave a red feather on her seat before departing. Every night when she returns, the feather is gone. She doesn’t know whether Phoenix has been taking them or whether the feather has simply drifted away on the breeze, but the thought gives her comfort.
One night, she gets into a fight on the other side of the city and realizes, half an hour too late, that the performance is already halfway finished. She rushes to the theatre, breath ragged, clothing torn, hopes beyond hope that she can at least make it to the last ten minutes.
Delayed by pedestrian traffic, she arrives at nearly midnight, far past when all the regulars have departed and the lights have been dimmed. She makes her way through a maze of doors and then halts at the top of the stairway that leads to her customary seat.
Phoenix is there. Her crimson wings, so similar to Lillian’s own, are curled protectively over her pale body, which shakes silently with each breath.
She realizes that the dancer looks distraught.
Surely it can’t be because of her?
Her claws clack against the stone steps as she walks down to the seat row. Phoenix whips around, her expression fierce. For the first time since she’s seen-no, fallen, head-over-heels, for the Skydancer, Lillian is able to marshal her thoughts into cohesive actions and sentences.
“Bellissima,” she says, taking one of the roses she always pins to her clothing and nonchalantly tossing it at her. “Are you okay?”
“You came?” Phoenix asks. Her voice shakes with a repressed sob. “It wasn’t even important to me at first. I found the feathers every day after I danced but I didn’t think anything of it. But as time went on, I grew more and more attached. Finding one became the highlight of my day.” She chuckles, blushing madly at the thought of it.
Lillian is again lost for words. Her heart skips a beat, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing, in and out and in and out.
“I kept them. The feathers. I was going to commission jewelry to wear on stage.” Phoenix stutters jerkily.
She realizes that the other Skydancer is looking at her expectantly.
In and out.
“Would you like to...” her voice falters and fails her. “Would you like to...try to have a relationship?”
In and out in and out in and out.
“You came.” It isn’t so much a question now as it is a statement. The dancer draws closer and presses her lips to hers.
Lillian gives up on breathing, because all that matters now is the liquid fire coursing through her veins at Phoenix’s feather-light touch.
She tears herself away, bitter as it is to be separated, if only for a heartbeat, and says, “Always.”
|
|
@ladylilitu
Username: Xolrit
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~? (I can pay the ending value if
Payment Type: Treasure
POV: 3rd person
Details: goddess of love/marriage; blessings to humans for external love; adorned in silver and pink; the sight of her brings mortals to fall in love with each other; concepts of love; love is a power (based on her. Sorry if it’s kind of brief/vague. Let me know if you need any more details)
Extra Notes: I’d love if it was like your example for blurbs
Username: Xolrit
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~? (I can pay the ending value if
Payment Type: Treasure
POV: 3rd person
Details: goddess of love/marriage; blessings to humans for external love; adorned in silver and pink; the sight of her brings mortals to fall in love with each other; concepts of love; love is a power (based on her. Sorry if it’s kind of brief/vague. Let me know if you need any more details)
Extra Notes: I’d love if it was like your example for blurbs
@ladylilitu
Username: Xolrit
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~? (I can pay the ending value if
Payment Type: Treasure
POV: 3rd person
Details: goddess of love/marriage; blessings to humans for external love; adorned in silver and pink; the sight of her brings mortals to fall in love with each other; concepts of love; love is a power (based on her. Sorry if it’s kind of brief/vague. Let me know if you need any more details)
Extra Notes: I’d love if it was like your example for blurbs
Username: Xolrit
Commission Type: descriptive blurb
Word Count: 100~? (I can pay the ending value if
Payment Type: Treasure
POV: 3rd person
Details: goddess of love/marriage; blessings to humans for external love; adorned in silver and pink; the sight of her brings mortals to fall in love with each other; concepts of love; love is a power (based on her. Sorry if it’s kind of brief/vague. Let me know if you need any more details)
Extra Notes: I’d love if it was like your example for blurbs
@exceed Hi! Sorry to bother, but I realized some examples weren't where they were supposed to be, chiefly the descriptive blurb ones.
Would you like the blurb to be from a synesthete's perspective or from a regular one?
Synesthete example:
Additionally, is his name "above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath" or was that merely to convey a sense of feeling about him?
Would you like the blurb to be from a synesthete's perspective or from a regular one?
Synesthete example:
Quote:
swan down, lining the sky-blanket. the smell of rain, a coin clean and new. babbling pieces of lapis lazuli, sharing a laugh. a flock of birds like lilies drifting over the watery horizon.
Additionally, is his name "above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath" or was that merely to convey a sense of feeling about him?
@exceed Hi! Sorry to bother, but I realized some examples weren't where they were supposed to be, chiefly the descriptive blurb ones.
Would you like the blurb to be from a synesthete's perspective or from a regular one?
Synesthete example:
Additionally, is his name "above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath" or was that merely to convey a sense of feeling about him?
Would you like the blurb to be from a synesthete's perspective or from a regular one?
Synesthete example:
Quote:
swan down, lining the sky-blanket. the smell of rain, a coin clean and new. babbling pieces of lapis lazuli, sharing a laugh. a flock of birds like lilies drifting over the watery horizon.
Additionally, is his name "above the graveyard of the rosewood nebula, the solemn starbird drew its last breath" or was that merely to convey a sense of feeling about him?
|
|
@iralla Here you go o/
Second version because I couldn't decide which fit her better:
the death-rattle of bone dice in a cup, a cobra’s flared hood. metal gliding over skin the way sand slides-grates-wears. myrrh and balm of gilead, veins of smoky quartz glinting in candlelight, all that glitters is not gold. to see but not seen, veiled in a thousand shattered shards of glass. the here and now but not the once. won’t you see me please
Quote:
the death-rattle of bone dice in a cup, a cobra’s flared hood. metal gliding over skin the way sand slides-grates-wears. myrrh and balm of gilead, veins of smoky quartz glinting in candlelight. the hiss of a sword drawn from its scabbard. to see but not seen, veiled in a thousand shattered shards of glass. the here and now but not the once. won’t you see me please
Second version because I couldn't decide which fit her better:
Quote:
the death-rattle of bone dice in a cup, a cobra’s flared hood. metal gliding over skin the way sand slides-grates-wears. myrrh and balm of gilead, veins of smoky quartz glinting in candlelight, all that glitters is not gold. to see but not seen, veiled in a thousand shattered shards of glass. the here and now but not the once. won’t you see me please
@iralla Here you go o/
Second version because I couldn't decide which fit her better:
the death-rattle of bone dice in a cup, a cobra’s flared hood. metal gliding over skin the way sand slides-grates-wears. myrrh and balm of gilead, veins of smoky quartz glinting in candlelight, all that glitters is not gold. to see but not seen, veiled in a thousand shattered shards of glass. the here and now but not the once. won’t you see me please
Quote:
the death-rattle of bone dice in a cup, a cobra’s flared hood. metal gliding over skin the way sand slides-grates-wears. myrrh and balm of gilead, veins of smoky quartz glinting in candlelight. the hiss of a sword drawn from its scabbard. to see but not seen, veiled in a thousand shattered shards of glass. the here and now but not the once. won’t you see me please
Second version because I couldn't decide which fit her better:
Quote:
the death-rattle of bone dice in a cup, a cobra’s flared hood. metal gliding over skin the way sand slides-grates-wears. myrrh and balm of gilead, veins of smoky quartz glinting in candlelight, all that glitters is not gold. to see but not seen, veiled in a thousand shattered shards of glass. the here and now but not the once. won’t you see me please
|
|