Author has written 8 stories for Sci-Fi, Action, Young Adult, Historical, Life, and Fantasy.
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If you like my stories, check out my Fan Fiction account under the same name.
Feel free to use any of the ideas below! I'd love to see other stories like them!
Welcome to the First Legion of Jelly Crabs
Please wait while the Jelly Crab Senate convenes
Your fate has been decided
Prepare to Jellied
Florence and the Machine- The Angel and the Machine
I am Schwan, the Emotional Breakdown Kid.
You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.
"We crash English trucks on Fridays!"
This has been a message from ETCA. (English Truck Crashing Association)
Here's a little prompt for anyone who wants to try it out. If you decide to, please PM me! I'd love to see anyone who can come up with a full story for this!
As she walks, her armor clanks against itself, gauntlet against gauntlet, boot against boot. Her visored helmet rests on her hip, no longer sitting upon her head. The visor arcs up into a crown, a golden title that means so much, yet so little.
Her long, white braid flows in the wind, length at her waist. Her piercing golden eyes dart back and forth, always aware of her environment. She has her right hand on the silver hilt of her golden sword, now sheathed and no longer glowing. Her other hands is raised high, acknowledging the multitude around her.
She walks, caught in the crowd around her.
The people reach for her, touching her golden skin, her tattooed face, her free braid, symbolizing what they want, what she is fighting for. She is their hope, the face of a light in the darkness engulfing the land. She is their freedom, their happiness and joy. She is no longer their princess, not yet their queen. She is their champion. She is unbreakable.
She walks, caught in her sins.
She is but a sixteen-year-old girl, not fit to rule, yet forced to do so for the sake of those around her. She is but a sixteen-year-old girl not as free with innocence as those around her believe. She is but a sixteen-year-old girl who has shed blood, killed, murdered. Her armor, sword, and skin may be clean, but her mind is still stained with the red of the first man. Deep inside, desires rest in her heart, and though she represses them, they still whisper to her.
She walks, caught in a web.
She is no politician. She is no warrior. She is only a doll, dressed up in armor and given the front of a noble woman. In a strange way, she fears not for her life, but for the life of those around her. She fears for them because of her incompetence, her failures and her weaknesses. Despite what the men and women and children around her believe, she is broken. She is not strong. She is shattered. Her foe has ensured this, even if she does not realize it yet.
She walks, caught in the darkness.
As the shadows consume the land, she too is consumed. This land is her heart and home, the place of her birth, the place likely to be her death. This is the place where she was given the Sword and given the throne, chosen by fate to lead her kingdom. This is the place where she has raised the banner of her blood time after time, raising her sword in flashes of light and blood. The monster she hides roars through her veins only more as the darkness grows. A power she cannot control, a weak will that cannot repress what lives inside. The land only beholds her dark secret, reflecting the spirit of its sole protector.
And so she walks, her fate to be decided.
This has been a word of widom from the Preator of the First Legion of Jelly Crabs