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Literature
Days in the unlife
When the bombs fell, I was dying in an old folk's home. It was almost my time. My grandchildren came to visit infrequently, but often enough to give an old man solace. I'd accepted that death would come for me one day and that I lived a life worth living.
I can't tell you how many times I prayed I'd died while that was still my mindset.
One morning you're kissing your baby girl's baby boy goodnight and restfully preparing what to leave behind, the next they're all gone, all of them, all of it, and you're nearly damned immortal. Everything you loved and laughed with and loved, killed off in an instant. A green world of frenzied pain and howling, bitter storms filled with burning rain that churns the rivers and strips flesh off of screaming animals replaces the old city cobblestone and buildings.
Tumor laden beasts wash up on the beach coughing their internals out and there's nothing you can do, nothing but end their suffering as your own balding head starts freezing up and cracking like
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Literature
Writing Breakfast In The Sea
A moment of inspection in the form of metaphor, idiom, and allusion, if you don't particularly mind. Or if you do, but apologies in such a wise, and the hope that the case does not arise again. Without much further preamble, the brief message to convey.
Spectacle should not be performed at the cost of injuring a story's conveyance or internal logic.
A stain glassed window is often a beautiful thing, crafted to impress with eye catching detail and flow by an artisan, and it's wholly worth appreciating where appropriate.
But a stain glassed window should not be used in a submarine, where any open viewing material embedded in the hull poses a potential risk to structural integrity and air tight status, but particularly something meant purely as fanciful decoration. If things begin to go deep, the vessel will be crushed in for want of practical application instead of pretty fluff. It can, one desperately hopes unintentionally, kill the entirety of the necessary mood if done out of place.
E
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Literature
Horror movie scraps
Percolating coffee.
{Beginning, science team noting distortions in clouds and accounting it to local contaminants from pollution country, discussion of scientific rigor and particulars of mission}
{Investigate The Grove for disappearances and discrepancies}
{Approached by deer, have wonderful day, discussion of magics and other local superstitious nonsense}
{Day two}
{Encounter ill man rambling about Grove being evil}
{Do blood test work, display on max screen hologram for team mutual observance as microbial study begins}
{Blood is strained through with miniature machines, which violently consume the petri dish, blood, and a portion of the table in seconds after observation begins, culminating in a solid rod of them appearing as though from nowhere lancing through the scholar's eye}
{Body twitches for seconds, begins screaming, STOPS abruptly as machines consume internal organs behind optical orifice and skin, collapses over table as shapes warp the flesh and eventually rip it}
{Terrif
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Pg 1 by DarthVengeance0325
Mature content
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Literature
Terra Notes: Wedding colors
Having had the good fortune to survive the annihilation of my fellow archivists by the hunters, I set out to recover what scraps I could of such basic detailing as Outsiders would require to understand the place and mentality of the various Races and regards and customs that they would face in a world such as ours; but I have not had such luck in the search itself as I have had in being alive to do it. What paltry recreations of the material I and my assistants could provide have already been displayed here, there, elsewhere, and yon, but further research into your language has stymied, if not entirely barred, some elements of the works.
It is somewhat to my discredit that the latest work then is not a treatise on the Dwarven empires or the exploits of Aridimes or even the natures of the various subcountries that surround and permeate the World Government, but rather, a simple disclosure on wedding practices and attires.
The which I will attend to telling you without further ado, if, i
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Literature
Spirit Soaring
(After Desdemona discussion, a fonder goodbye than anticipated even if corrected as to overly-naïve notions,) Cauren returns to the ship and takes the controls herself with nothing more than the desire to fly. No destination, no plans, no thinking- just motion. Singing along, feeling the sound of the music of time and space mingling in the spheres all around and in and beyond her, stars rushing and twinkling and spinning in their own dances as she flits the curtain of the velvet curtain of blacks and blues and boundless color they rest in like diamond, low and strong and sweet in her bones and high and melodic and Aeolian in her ears. And here, tangible, palpable Fate one can taste in the mouth with ambrosia sweetness and bloody bitter metal, it comes- the moment when she knew she'd never be the same again.
In those power chords, those endless and eternal lights and nights brighter than any planet's day, she found her place in the worlds tonight. Heart and soul, hand and bone, eye
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The Lesbros, Cosineau Clan from ZFRP by DarthVengeance0325 The Lesbros, Cosineau Clan from ZFRP :icondarthvengeance0325:DarthVengeance0325 5 1
Literature
A familiar sad old story, reconsidered
The following is, between the noises and reactions of illness, the story which the half breed knight spins for you, adjusted so as to not reflect the conditions of the speaker.
I will admit it plainly that it is more complicated than merely restoring freedom or ensuring survival. These are both immediate and noble goals, but they are not the whole of the situation, nor indicitive of it. Were they, any fool could see that to not act rationally would be to get what's coming to them; but it is complicated by addiction, merchantilism, and belief, to a huge extent.
If we start at the beginning...
Imagine a world.
Picture it without disease, decay, fungi- the transience of death and the lingering of entropy. A garden paradise where waste turns into useful material- a dagger, slipped from a belt, sprouting into a bush of iron, or a picket line of fences grown from an idly tossed coin. Not to mention spoor to dirt, although I'm told it happens much the same way in your own manure manufacture-
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Literature
Terran Tales #12- An Ancient Player
When you Wish me I will be.
So shall be our Covenant.
But all I Am is at your disposal.
And you shall define the who, the what, the why, the how, and the wherewithal of that which I Am.
From before your world, I come, but from neither the Heavens nor Hells, Planes or Abysses, Worlds or Voids, Star or Space or Time. I Am, and so simply it has been, and is, and will be. And neither god nor man nor devil be, but that and all that I Am, along with much that I Am not, is at your service.
And my reward in turn will be this:
I shall at last experience a happier world for my troubles on your behalves, where the many have peace and joy, where there are no few granted all, where there is an end of divisiveness and corruption.
For so long as you reign, I will seek this in all your trials and efforts, and aid you with every call you make upon me. This is the promise, the gift and reward and requirement, all. This will I sow.

"But who are you?" asked the purple swathed king in turn.
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Literature
ZFRP Advertisement
As I kick the dust off my boots and prepare to settle back in for a few months into the old dens, I cannot help but feel it is of stars and not of earthly matters, for all that the old leather is grimed with flecks of long dried blood beside it. In my absence, things have changed, and strangely, stayed very much the same, it seems. I have not returned to stay, not entirely, but to speak of stranger things and brighter dreams than those in the glass museums we dwell within for the sake of our deviance meeting community and art.
To talk, however briefly, of what and where and why I migrated, and intend fully to do so, again.
Let us start with a premise.
Call insanity a place. Fill it with an origin of having been founded to watch mutated, augmented, and batshite imaginary variations of animals duel to demise for the entertainment of wild minded entrepreneurs and mad scientists, with mutants and behemoths being mere flavors of a day- and some outright as hilariously silly as others were o
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Literature
Brainstorming thoughts for a Bree
Through the pane of the revolving mirror of the mind's eye, a figure forms, at first a silhouette and then slowly- almost imperceptibly- details flush with life and lush with intricacies.
-If- one is fortunate, a character comes full formed on their own, but more often a writer experiences the tendency to pick and match traits that feel as though they work. Sometimes we redact a detail, or splice one on later with editing. In either extent, a good writer can manage to tailor their various attributes to what their intended role is to be, and the best of us can make someone who is not a stereotype for their role but would not be questioned within it.
There are times one deliberately makes something or someone as out-of-place in a niche as one can to increase dramatic value, of course, but the joke wears thin very swiftly.
Now, then, enough fore-ramble. The actual prompt given is this:
"Basically: our RP is going to include a character who is an angel. Like, "from Heaven, servant of God"
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Literature
Let's -Try- To Play: (Insert Here)
Screw your courage to the sticking place and project your voice as if speaking for effect, rather than your normal mutters. Plug the microphone, triple check the programs, prepare warning disclaimers. Initiate procedures to begin.
Tragedy strikes!
You spoke for an hour and thirty five minutes by the game save clock, and it only recorded the two minutes on the launcher. Don't despair, sore throat-ed thespian, don't leave off angry. At least you learned from your mistake that it reads the launcher and application separately.
But again, disaster, on take and game two!
It saved some flimsy endeavor at video (though full sound from game); unfortunately, you didn't turn on the microphone option in application, and the game itself is entirely too distorted to make out a word of text on the recording for all you do to try to clarify the image. But hey- at least you learned there, too. How silly, self, to try soliloquy to a non-receptive program!
Pained by your previous mistakes, you set aside
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Literature
?
"So you see, Rendil, the question is simple. When does a knife beat energized armor plate and a blaster rifle?"
A shrug.
"Why, when the knife is in before the victim has either on their person."
With a shunk and a tearing slash, the nearly-headless body rolled to the floor in an increasingly red stain.
"Now, when does energized armor plate and a blaster rifle beat Senate Security?" dressed the assailant, "Why, equally simple- when no one knows their owner is deceased."
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Literature
Art trade, part one
Correspondance from the desk of a known galactic criminal, to unfortunate subordinates
These are not my research notes.
This is not a professional thesis with proper terminology and application of specific term-and-circumstance provided, and if any fellow scientists laugh at it they have every right.
No, this paper is grossly simplified- some would say grotesquely simplified- for you delightful cretins in my service. I won't strain you overlong with extensive example, distended word, or diagram. I will get the point across and if you still haven't the point I'll simply have you put upon one.
Am I clear.
I never could remember if a rhetorical in writ merited an actual question mark or not but that is not the point. The point is, rather the points are, these. These below.
Fellow scholars may laugh at the idea that a few mere noises could invoke power, calling it superstition, fancy, idiocy and worse, but so much of our own tech today incorporates principles and functions even the
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Literature
Let us see
Do you know that moment when your conceptualization finally falls through, and you begin to wonder in the foggy pins and needles what is actually there? Like an illusion dispelled or a glamour dissipating, dream and delusion dissolving and showing- ready or not- that you were wrong. It happens more often than I should like to me, but that is a cost of a wild imagination met with a poor sense of reality.
Take this website, for example.
For the entirety of my time here, I took 'community' more seriously than 'galleries'; in essence, I perceived it as a sort of bazaar where one could commingle, haggle, display wares but have a business oriented entirely toward the people. Without communication a bazaar is dead, and thus I felt very often that I was producing undesirables. This compounded personal issues and made some times, and me at some times, very unpleasant.
But what I am beginning to be made to understand is that 'gallery' is more serious than 'community', and it is, instead, rather
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Literature
Contribution
Without warning you are cast into what has been deemed 'The Plane of Suck', an infinite and boundless realm devoid of feature or detail. There is light enough to see from some unknown source, but there is nothing to be seen with it- simply an endless and unvarying blank whiteness in all directions, to all horizons, or as best as that can be said for a place where neither the surface you stand upon nor the sky-ceiling above has so much as a line to mark their separation.
It is entirely possible you have walked up into what was the roof when you arrived already without thinking about it, for there are no slopes, no solidity, no walls, no illusions of gravity and no freedoms of falling.
These things, however, you have been able to determine.
Firstly, the Plane of Suck is insofar as you can tell truly infinite, although you admit without any features or landmarks there isn't any possible way you could measure it. You could very well have wandered the same mile from every perspective instea
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That people actually seem to like my work on occasion is a constant surprise.

Favourites

Mature content
Northern Tales of Terra- #8- Sold for a Song :iconlesieur:LeSieur 1 1
Mature content
Northern Tales of Terra- #7- Caught up in games :iconlesieur:LeSieur 1 0
Scylla and Eva at large by LeSieur Scylla and Eva at large :iconlesieur:LeSieur 9 0
Literature
A mace for a face conceals a soft place
The knight rides through oceans of plains and grass, mountain and hill, starry night and sunny day, seeming a bulwark of iron astride a courser without cause or inclination change courses. That the seeming golem of looming intent and declaration is not truly an indomitable force, but a man in a shell like a carapace, does not often strike those struck by metal, word, or deed. Less so even still that the dervish of dogma and fount of acts is raw meat and gristle under hard, tough layering, worn down by a scouring of attrition and long rotting scars. More bone than skin should meet the eye if ever the plating was stripped aside, but the gleam of the means and the demeanor of the mien shall ever stint aside such notice like a shield. To show a broken body without recourse upon this courser?
No! For he is a raging thunder and a stoic mountain, a strong support and a heavy hand, a good man helping or a dastardly villain for the while. Always and ever, the knight rides on, for good or ill to
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Literature
Off We Go
"Take care now, lad. It isn't an ordinary battle you're walking into. Best way I can describe it is... hm. What's an easy read...?
"A golem, son, is a freight train with hands. Might be faster critters, sure, aye. Rabbits. Horses. Your partners sprinting with fear adrenaline and piss down their trousers. But speed isn't what it's made for. It's made as mass and force, and it has plenty of both. Once it starts going, there's not much that's going to stop it beyond its handler or its own volition, so if you possibly have the chance to seize control, by god, do it, boy. It doesn't feel pain. It doesn't feel fear, but you certainly might. You'll have to bust it to rubble or it'll keep coming, and swords break a lot faster than rock. Bullets score tidbits out, but have you tried shooting a wall for two hours? Doesn't do much, does it? Try shooting it for the two minutes before it surges forward and hits back. I can guarantee it isn't going to need more than two strikes to mash some l
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Love is blind and a lucky spark, page 3 by LeSieur
Mature content
Love is blind and a lucky spark, page 3 :iconlesieur:LeSieur 5 0
Hue-vember Day 07 by shinga Hue-vember Day 07 :iconshinga:shinga 74 10 Commish Darthvengeance0325 by ArtByEdyn Commish Darthvengeance0325 :iconartbyedyn:ArtByEdyn 7 3 Hangin' On by VoraciousPanda Hangin' On :iconvoraciouspanda:VoraciousPanda 469 64 Fallout 3: The Superhuman Gambit by Emortal982 Fallout 3: The Superhuman Gambit :iconemortal982:Emortal982 1,741 115 Fallout Motorcycles - Pre War by penguin-commando Fallout Motorcycles - Pre War :iconpenguin-commando:penguin-commando 70 4 Talietha Speedpaint by LorienInksong Talietha Speedpaint :iconlorieninksong:LorienInksong 40 29 Fistful of Bottlecaps by WhosTonyRamos-Dsn Fistful of Bottlecaps :iconwhostonyramos-dsn:WhosTonyRamos-Dsn 218 14

Activity


When the bombs fell, I was dying in an old folk's home. It was almost my time. My grandchildren came to visit infrequently, but often enough to give an old man solace. I'd accepted that death would come for me one day and that I lived a life worth living.

I can't tell you how many times I prayed I'd died while that was still my mindset.

One morning you're kissing your baby girl's baby boy goodnight and restfully preparing what to leave behind, the next they're all gone, all of them, all of it, and you're nearly damned immortal. Everything you loved and laughed with and loved, killed off in an instant. A green world of frenzied pain and howling, bitter storms filled with burning rain that churns the rivers and strips flesh off of screaming animals replaces the old city cobblestone and buildings.

Tumor laden beasts wash up on the beach coughing their internals out and there's nothing you can do, nothing but end their suffering as your own balding head starts freezing up and cracking like a boiled egg shell. I didn't have much hair left to speak of, but it fell out, it most certainly did, and the skin came with it most of the time. I saw a contented, plump old carpenter that read to laughing little ones in the mirror, and then mere weeks later, a hideously deformed monster.

I wouldn't have taken my little ones to a film with effects like this. Living it was hell. Living, was hell.

But the radiation made my limbs energetic again. Strong and young, younger than they were for all their creaking and the way my skin ripped like paper glass if I scraped it too rough. I could move. I didn't need to eat or drink much, and I'd have certainly died trapped in that building's remains for the first hundred years if that weren't the case.

On the other side of the vale of tears and sense I could almost hear my family. Not screaming, the way they probably were in the end. Cheerful, bantering and bickering in loving fashion. The sounds and the screeching giggles that toddlers do while sisters and brothers play and tease each other.

But my acceptance of death died with the world.

I'm tired of living, but scared of dying. The world was going to go on without me. I went on without it instead, and I can't stop. I can't start over. Oh, there's still people around, some of them even like me, and still, Boston looms on the skyline, surprisingly intact, but I can't find a purpose to pursue.

Isn't that horrible?

All those people that used to wish for immortality, and I can't think of a single thing to do with going on and on for centuries. All I want is peace and that's something that this wasteland neither can nor would provide. That old hammer of mine has put a lot of things to rest that scared me more than I could ever write down.

I barely hurt a fly in the old world. I made clocks and cradles and niche market toys. Now I've killed more people than the years I've counted that I went on, and on, and on, alive.

Maybe one day I will die in my sleep after all, but it will be from something biting me or shooting me or stabbing me, not from sweet and merciful time stopping me short. Maybe I'll go and be a wild one instead, one of the crazed and feral... things... that scare the leftover normal humans so much. But I doubt it. I should have gone years ago if that were so.

Maybe the sun will burn out of the sky before I stop walking and the seas will run down to dust and salt.

Or maybe... that man there with the bigger hammer will decide he wants my head to go flying.
Days in the unlife
Did this for a blog dare almost two years back now. Suppose I may as well dredge it over.            
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"Yes yes yes, Polis, I understand that the waste tunnels below the city are crawling with monsters and hideous diseases. But you have chosen the wrong word for the quest we're posting for those adventurers."

"Suicide isn't the right word?!"

</i>"Correct. We're calling it sewercide now."

  • Listening to: Attack on Titan
  • Reading: Dragon Age comics
  • Watching: cat sleep
  • Playing: VID'JA GAIMES
  • Eating: pens
  • Drinking: No, sir!
My lord the King, I realize that the shepherds and the farmers wish you to destroy the Dragon over the livestock consumption, but consider the losses. Not only of personnel and property, and the international prestige of possessing one in the realm, but also the financial losses in resources. It is, as it were, my lord, a living carbon forge, with internal pressures, heat, and movement that could potentially beggar anything less than tectonic plate bases. And, not to be too crude in the presence of His Gracious and forgiving Majesty, that very strength and fire that is useful to it for warfare and survival is useful to us in what it exudes as waste.

Which is as much to say, and I again pray Your pardons a hundred fold, my esteemed and mighty master of the nation, it pisses oil, and it shits diamond.

Whereas, I press, the sheep actually endanger our hold on the nation's resources by decreasing forestland, plainsland, and the accompanying flora and fauna, the Dragon, for a few bleaters, enriches us immeasurably.

  • Listening to: Attack on Titan
  • Reading: Dragon Age comics
  • Watching: cat sleep
  • Playing: VID'JA GAIMES
  • Eating: pens
  • Drinking: No, sir!
A moment of inspection in the form of metaphor, idiom, and allusion, if you don't particularly mind. Or if you do, but apologies in such a wise, and the hope that the case does not arise again. Without much further preamble, the brief message to convey.

Spectacle should not be performed at the cost of injuring a story's conveyance or internal logic.

A stain glassed window is often a beautiful thing, crafted to impress with eye catching detail and flow by an artisan, and it's wholly worth appreciating where appropriate.

But a stain glassed window should not be used in a submarine, where any open viewing material embedded in the hull poses a potential risk to structural integrity and air tight status, but particularly something meant purely as fanciful decoration. If things begin to go deep, the vessel will be crushed in for want of practical application instead of pretty fluff. It can, one desperately hopes unintentionally, kill the entirety of the necessary mood if done out of place.

Even more so, one should not build a cathedral solely out of stained glass, lest one wish it to break at the first stone in the wind. Strong foundation and solid work to illustrate something more is instead desired.

It is much the same for attempting to wow an audience or a reader, especially if done to the detriment of the plot. As a means of enhancing where appropriate, it (spectacle and drama) often makes some of the most cherished memories associated with something. As a pure force in and of itself , it's puerile, fragile, and often rightfully derided.

There is a time and a place for things, and a matter of propriety. If setting off a nuclear detonation in viewing-and-dust/concussive-force distance *breaks* your story about a clean, cryogenically frozen family torn apart by scientists absconding with the baby to study their genetics, you have written a bad story. The radiation exposure precludes any particular usage, and especially the espoused one, that those scientists would have.

Or attempting to force an ending, such as the oft lamented Reigns campaign in the wrestling world, justified by flash and sparkle and heavy handed fate, but without enough contextual story appreciated by the indulging crowd to actually achieve.

To meet the requirement of at least two possibly-poor examples, another one.

Imagine the big dramatic lights, colors, sounds, powers, fancy dancy philosophical constructs, what have you intended to impress. Now imagine that they are, in fact, cinnamon, and you are attempting to bake for someone. Have you got it in your head? The sprinkling tube with the brown powder, perhaps one you associate with the holidays or family?

In small dashes, it can improve most anything!

Get your pies, your coffee, your ice cream, your cookies, hell, even a few sandwiches or soups, and put in jussst a sprinkle. Little bit. Flavoring.

In big doses, if you instead force your family to eat a bowl full of the stuff straight, you could accidentally kill them. It will taste vile, it will burn, they will cry, and that's even before the adhesive, compact nature of the cellulose in it starts gluing up their mouths and throats. You get very real choking, dry sneezes, wheezing, lung inflammation and asthma attacks. It will hurt someone too have too much, undiluted, and they wouldn't appreciate it even if it didn't.

One hopes the picture is clear enough when going back to the big picture- as fun as over the top can be, it can also be pretty darn disgusting.

To slightly divert from the topic but not entirely culinary metaphor, when you write, remember plot consistency, so that your work does not taste of a sausage burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. Do not reinvent details you don't remember, look it up, care enough about your reader not to impugn their intelligence or their memory. If a character is acting erratically or a plot element does not align because you are trying to force it or can't remember the goal, it will taste bad. Read bad. View bad.

I'm hungry and I consume stories, is what I am telling you.

Again, it isn't something to avoid, by any stretch of the imagination, of course. If you provide enough spirit to the narrative and enough flow to the spectacle, you can make people gloss over some pretty jarring plot details, like a bomb going -into- the Death Star's *exhaust* port at a ninety degree right angle. If they aren't invested, however, or if the event itself removes their immersion from the experience, if it proves jarring- and especially if someone tells you so!- reconsider what you're doing, please.

No one likes crying over spilled milk.

"Yes yes yes, Polis, I understand that the waste tunnels below the city are crawling with monsters and hideous diseases. But you have chosen the wrong word for the quest we're posting for those adventurers."

"Suicide isn't the right word?!"

</i>"Correct. We're calling it sewercide now."

  • Listening to: Attack on Titan
  • Reading: Dragon Age comics
  • Watching: cat sleep
  • Playing: VID'JA GAIMES
  • Eating: pens
  • Drinking: No, sir!

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DarthVengeance0325's Profile Picture
DarthVengeance0325
Sargon
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Hear me, O ye listener,
And know this to be true-
My pleasure comes from listening
To each and all of you.


"The day my words mean something is the day my words have meaning."


Current Residence: San Antonio, Texas, at the moment
Print preference: Large, well done.
Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock/Progressive Metal/Instrumental
Favourite style of art: Sci-fi.
Operating System: Windows XP
Favourite cartoon character: Edward Elric
Personal Quote: "The best defense is a good offense"
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:iconcamara-san:
Camara-san Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday! And please forgive me for my lack of activity
Reply
:iconcamara-san:
Camara-san Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday, friend!
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:iconlesieur:
LeSieur Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015
Thankee!
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:iconvariablenature:
VariableNature Featured By Owner Nov 1, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday Darth!
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:iconlesieur:
LeSieur Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015
Thankee. Been too long. I need to catchup sometime. How've you been, friend?
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:iconvariablenature:
VariableNature Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Been doing alright. Vague attempts at writing outside of OCT's having really panned out. But since it's NaNoWriMo, I've kind of been inspired to do at least SOMETHING this month. I guess we'll see.

Hope things have been excellent with you!
Reply
:iconlesieur:
LeSieur Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2015
Mm, mostly workdead. I need to head onto the Darth account and read you sometime, mate, it's been entirely too long.
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:iconcamara-san:
Camara-san Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
friend!
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:iconlesieur:
LeSieur Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2015
'llo
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