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About Varied / Hobbyist Member ElizabethFemale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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LazuliLupin
Elizabeth
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United Kingdom
Visit me on Tumblr!
lazulilupin.tumblr.com/

Or on FurGather! (Though I barely use this; its currently a very new website)
www.furgather.com/LazuliLupin

Stamp. by Trynnie

When I say that I want a critique (since i am not a premium member) i want a CRITIQUE! Not praise, even though that is nice, or negative comments. Those are not helpful to me!

Thank You... by jennyleigh

I enjoy writing and drawing alike

Day 29 Fan Art, Crunky by LadyDeven

Main Fandoms:
Homestuck
RWBY
One Piece
Sherlock

Monkey D Luffy - More Than Anime Character by renealexa

Esprit icon by KarmaDash
This is an icon of Esprit, my fursona ^.^
Made by KarmaDash
Requested for me by sharky156
:+favlove:

Current icon Icon Commission ~ LazuliLupin by Misty-Icons made by Misty-Icons :D

Comment Stamp by Poiizu .: Read the comments :. Stamp by Beti-Kot Make Sense Please Stamp by In-The-Zone



Pentagram meaning - Stamp - by Gewalgon .Stamp. This Stamp by KillMePleaseGod



I need more sleep by prosaix OC Pairings - Stamp by Astanine Forever lazy by prosaix
Note Stamp by SoVeryUnofficial
Interests

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:iconland24:

Activity


Jailmates - Commission by LazuliLupin
Jailmates - Commission
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:

Commissioned by land24 

So land24 wanted his three characters (Left to right: Chaindra, Maya and Wendy) chained together on a bench.

It seems that Wendy got a little to grumpy with being chained to Chaindra and Maya and had to be restrained further :iconshiftyeyesplz:
Maya just seems happy to be there.
And Chaindra...
Well, the prison guards gave her a watch for the soul purpose of letting her show her exasperation and boredom.
I wonder why they did that.

Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this piece, though the shading was a little annoying, but that's because of how I drew them.
I also seem to disproportion bodies when I start at the hips instead of the shoulders or head. I need to fix that.
At least I fixed the thing I seemed to do to give them necks longer than they should have.
Or was that with humans?
I think that was with humans.

I'm rambling.
I actually tried for a very simple background on here, just a grey wall. I had some thoughts about how to do walls and corners and such, and it turns out I was thinking the right things.
Or at least I hope I was.

Sorry that it took me three weeks to get it done, but I had an exam that first week, so that didn't help.
I actually sketched it out that weekend.

Oh well, it's finished now.

Characters © land24 
Art © Me
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    ...If you could keep a memory safe, any single memory at all, what would it be?

    If your life would no longer exist, if your whole worldly experiences were going to go to waste, if the person you once was would cease to be, what part of you would you save?

    Would it be that one time when your mother touched your face, so gently? You were only a child, an innocent child, ignorant of the life ahead of you. It was one of the few times you recall yourself crying heartily; but then, as a young boy, you would. Of course you would. A child has no need to hold back, no need to suppress anything out of necessity. You remember that there was a sharp pain in your leg, only a pin prick compared to the agony you have been through, but to your younger self it was as though a thousand knives had sliced their way through your flesh. Perhaps that was why you were crying. Or perhaps the ruined, useless piece of metal that lay on the floor was the reason for the anguish. You have been through so much that it is hard to recall the exact reason behind the tears. You only know that you had been merrily gliding along on your newest, current favourite toy, before a car had come by. It had forced you to jump to safety, though you do not know why, as a child, you had enough common sense, enough experience with moving vehicles, to do so. Other children would have continued, staring at the approaching danger like a rabbit caught in headlights. Not you. You acted. You saved yourself, by sacrificing the scooter you had received the previous day for your birthday.

    Birthday? You had a birthday? It had been so long since you had celebrated it, you had lost track of when it was, or that you even had one. You continued to count the years, though.

    Maybe a later memory of the last birthday you celebrated would be a better fit for being kept. That is, if it could.

    The last time you ever remember celebrating anything, let alone the day you were born, was your thirteenth birthday. It was a wonderful day, though it has faded within your mind. You do not think on it much. It wasn't even a large event, with lots of people or even held at an establishment. Your girlfriend, that you had somehow managed to acquire – you had thanked many gods, many deities, many stars the day she agreed to go out with you – had insisted that she do something special for you. What you remember of that was a carpet of blue - no, a sea of blue - a rich dark blue, fading to a lighter colour against the clouds at the bottom of your vision where the lights from the town where you once lived polluted the night sky with its light. Small white lights at the top of your vision, however, were what your eyes were focussed on. The bright stars, winking at you from where you lay. You remember a weighted, but light and comfortable pressure on your arm, your forearm lying over a slim young shoulder. You remember tearing your eyes away from the dark, yet beautiful sky to look at her equally dark brown eyes, watching the same stars flicker back at you from them. They were also fixed on the sky above, like yours had been only moments ago. Her face is lost to you, many other, older women cloud her features, replacing parts of her that you have lost to time, so you do not try to recall her face any longer. Her eyes are all you focussed on in that moment, and all of her that you know of now, the centre of this memory. Now, they turned their gaze on you, staring into the depths of your soul and not judging, but admiring. Something had tugged at your lips, something else you had not done in a long time. You smiled.

    But that was not who you are now. You are no longer a person that deserves a girl. You are no longer a person that deserves to smile. And you know this.

    In return, your mind threw another memory in front of you, another to add to the list. It decided on a particularly painful one, though the feeling has dulled by now.

    You are back where you were moments ago, only a few months later. Your hair had grown longer; you can only remember that as it whipped about in your face, lashing at our eyes and cheeks. All you hear is the wind in your ears, howling, whistling, groaning, replicating your emotions. The sun was up and shining joyfully, but to you it was burning, blinding light, heat that fell heavily and was only pushed around by the wind, not swept away by it. What had you ever done to it to deserve that merciless weather? No, that was not the question you remember screaming from the pits of your lungs. No. It was worded differently and directed at a figure directly in front of you. A warm ache clutched at your heart then, began to squeeze. The figure, shaded and blocked by wisps of your hair and the harshness of the light, looked at you with the same brown eyes, though now they burned with hatred and hurt. Why would you ever do anything to those eyes? Those beautiful brown eyes that had once been home to thousands of dancing lights. But you hadn't done anything to hurt them; on the contrary, they were hurting you. You are not sure if it was the look or the words that you know she spoke then but can never hear again, never heard since, that had the ache hold your heart still and plunge an icy dagger through it, a painful contrast to the heat that radiates off the memory, held by the memory. Whichever it was, those brown eyes, those eyes that you have forever longed to see again, those eyes that gave you reassurance at some point – you are sure of it – those lovely dark oak eyes closed, the figure turning away.

    You would never see them again.

    Yes, perhaps that is the sort of memory that should be kept; a bad memory, a sad memory, one of pain or of suffering. That would better describe you right now. You have been through so much since then, you barely know yourself.

    Sitting alone. Watching through a slit of light, watching... what were you looking at exactly? No, wait, you aren't alone. You are also not your current age, but still thirteen. Leaning back, you feel your mother's breath down your neck. It was hurried, scared, rapidly pushing stale air down your collar. But you didn't care. It told you that she was still alive. Unlike your father. At that, the slit of light stopped being so blinding and pulled itself into focus. You were looking at a small portion of your father's chest as he lay on his back, inches away from having slammed the cupboard that you are inside. Wait, you are in a cupboard? Oh, when your mother made a small movement, a coat brushed against your hair. Of course you were. The pair of you had run inside when two men burst into the house, your father staying outside of it to 'sort them out', as he had said, the somehow panicked, yet calm words ringing in ears. On the part of your father's body that you can see, a red patch seeps through his shirt. You distinctly remember not being able to move, but your mother squirming in panic. The crimson flows down his chest and into the carpet, forming a puddle. There is the sound of a shoebox clunking onto the floor. There is a river of blood flowing from your father – did he even possess this much in his body that was now smaller than your own? The two assailants, two black silhouettes, whip their heads up. A lake of red – how do they not notice it as it flows in from under the door? How does your mother not notice it as it rises to your neck? One of their hands curls around the cupboard door handle. You run. The door was barely open and your vision has completely filled with the colour red. You cannot see anything but that colour, cannot feel anything besides your feet slapping on the pavement and the cold night air burning your face, cannot hear anything but the horrid high-pitched screams of pain behind you, that slowly gurgle into silence. That horrible silence. You keep running.

    So maybe not that one. You barely remember that one. And recalling it brings forward too much buried pain, too much of the colour red. But maybe that's what would make it perfect.

    Following its train of thought, your brain picks up another memory, though a little less dusty than the previous ones. It's one you have forced yourself to relive many times, just to be able to keep going in your job. Though you suppose you could call it previous employment now.

    You don't even remember the reason you are in the room. Sure, it was a job, an assignment that you set yourself. You were going to have been rich from this. But you did not anticipate this. To be honest, you don't even remember the room, it is just a blur of greys and maroons around you. Except for the middle-aged man in front of you and the wall-phone that he holds in his hand, having taken it into his hand in fear. He is staring at you, frozen, breathing hard. Oh, and you have a gun. Did you mention that? No, you usually remember the gun at this point. Because this is when you feel your finger squeeze on a small curved piece of metal, when you hear an ear-shattering shot fired, when you see the man before you fall.

    Never have you been able to finish that memory. It is not to painful, it is not unbearable, your mind just refuses to remember more than that. Refuses to recall your first cold-blooded murder. Though you do remember you were able to get out unscathed.

    So not that memory then. If you cannot present the full thing, why is it worth saving over the others? Then perhaps, something more recent.

    Running through hallways, head throbbing, heart racing and eyes burning. Yes, that is what you were doing. The headache made it near impossible to remember where you were going or where you had been. Walls blurred passed, unable to be seen by your dry, bloodshot eyes. At least, you think they were bloodshot. They were most definitely dry though. You skidded to a halt, head and body two separate entities as you stopped your head at the door but your legs carried the rest of you forward still, flopping the entirety of you down onto the cool floor. Or did the floor come up to meet you? But you had no time to worry about the pain. There was a greater itch that needed scratching. A far greater one, far more urgent. With a grin, you pushed the floor down from the side of your face back to where it was supposed to be, where it was before, focusing your fuzzy gaze into the room. The grin was soon lost, replaced with widening your eyes, though you remember distinctly that it made them burn more. Standing before the stash that would send you back into the world of ecstasy that you were about to steal off your dealer were two blurs of bright green jackets. The police had found your dealer. This was not the place to be. But the floor was happy to greet you again as an officer pushed you down, clamping cold rings around your wrist, rings that were too tight.

    Yes, that was a good memory. It showed what you had become, what you were now. But it didn't show who you were. What you were once like. Maybe this current moment now, as you are experiencing it, would be the one.

    The cell is cold, damp, and poorly ventilated. Or it is to you. Maybe it isn't to others, but it is to your withered state amidst withdrawal. It was dark as well. You were sitting on the hard wooden bench alone, contemplating your fate. Thinking on what will happen when they walk through the door that you have been staring at without blinking for the past day. Was it a day? Was it a week? Was it an hour? You can't tell any more.

    Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The door creaked open. It was time.

    This is the memory you would probably keep safe. The memory of you in your last moments, reliving your life.

Memory Keepsake
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:

This started as a daily writing prompt, but ended up being left for a while; I've only just finished it.

If you could keep a memory safe, a single memory, which one would you choose?
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Go check it out!
You could win 20,000 points and $250 all in one go!
I say it's very much worth at least looking at.
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: my watch tick
  • Watching: the time
  • Playing: How late can I be to my lecture
  • Drinking: Water

Journal History

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:iconyarkkothehyenapunk:
YarkkoTheHyenaPunk Featured By Owner 1 day ago  New member Hobbyist Artist
I love your sense of humor *Hyena Hugs*
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:iconlazulilupin:
LazuliLupin Featured By Owner 21 hours ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Hehe, thanks! :D *Coyote cuddles*
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:iconyarkkothehyenapunk:
YarkkoTheHyenaPunk Featured By Owner 21 hours ago  New member Hobbyist Artist
*Hyena Hugs*
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:iconlazulilupin:
LazuliLupin Featured By Owner 6 hours ago  Hobbyist General Artist
:hug:
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(1 Reply)
:iconxxreiixx:
xXReiiXx Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist
Thank for the Fave! :3
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