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About Traditional Art / Student Member Amber Lee GreyFemale/United Kingdom Groups :iconglobalotaku: Globalotaku
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Candice DeCilantro by CaseyDecker

To start off, I really like this piece! The suit that the character (Candice?) is wearing is very original and looks very pretty and ef...

Field by Snuffsk
by Snuffsk

First of all, this is really, really amazing, good job! For the vision, the contrast of the black and white cat, (Rail, is it?) and the...

For a start, good job! This OC is actually quite cool, but don't read on if you can't take a few...Rules, as such. Without getting Mary...

Remember Me as I Was by jess-michele

First of all, I absolutely love this piece! As for vision, I find the simplicity just beautiful- with no distracting background of othe...

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Tattoo sketch thing by amber1700
Tattoo sketch thing
Took about ten minutes. For my uncle, he wanted something with face makeup that 'Looks like that thing on your wall'. So I put the Grand Highblood's mouth paint on a sugar skull and stuck it on a woman.
Motherfucking miracles. 

I think it went ok. My mom's head nearly blew up when she saw it, and she wants it framed...ugh...It's not even that good.

What category does this shit even belong in...
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
I'm not sorry.
this is my first smut, sorry if it's terrible. 
This will be quite a touchy fic, as in, it might be a bit sensitive to some subjects and audiences, such as character death and suicidal implications.
Anyway, the pairing is KurGam, so...Enjoy my OTP.
I'll update soon.

Again, I'm not sorry.

Here I stand,
In this little white room,
Of mine.
There I go,
On my own,
In this redifined world,
Of tide.

Your name is Kurloz Makara, at least that's what they keep telling you, keep telling you to tell yourself. You are shaking like a leaf in a blizzard, your eyes glazed and white, with glistening beads of royal purple slowly seeping from them, staining your crudely painted cheeks. Your bottom lip trembles, as much as the stitches around your mouth allow it to, and you breath heavily, swallowing hard. Slowly, you move your hands, watching the words that your fingers form before you, signing what only you, and your brother can understand...And what she can understand, at least until you killed her. That's right, keep going: Your hands trace well-known patterns in the air, and you only shake more, repeating the same sequence of gestures: 'My name is Kurloz Makara, I am nearly 8.4 sweeps old, I am purple blooded, I have a brother called Gamzee Makara, I am the son of The Grand Highblood, I live on the planet Alternia...I have no morale, my matespirit is Meu-' You stop, shaking even harder, and shut your eyes. 

You focus on breathing only, the tears flooding down your cheeks, shoulders shaking, but no sobs escape your mouth; it has being restricted for so long that you can't really remember what to do with it anymore, let alone feel your lips. It wouldn't matter if your mouth opened, anyway, because you 'stitched' it shut with coils of barbed wire, which is, with small force applied, pliable. Plus, the real reason, is due to the fact that you chewed out your own tongue. You CHEWED it out, not cut it off or sliced it out, you actually tore it off with your own fangs. When you said you were sorry for taking one of her senses, you truly meant it when you decided to take one of your own. You would never speak again, at least you could keep your last promise to her, but then, you went insane. Your father didn't care about you, truly, as you had isolated yourself to the degree that you hardly knew he existed. You would shake violently when anyone except your brother came anywhere near you, anyway, so he stayed away from you. You begin again, from where you left off:
'Meulin Leijon is dead...It happened recently, exactly a season ago, in the winter...She got hit by a car and she died in my arms" you stop, nearly gagging, assured that you are going to throw up. You don't know if you can do that with no tongue, but now is the time to find out. 


So why do you take this,
Conquer and dismay this,
Peaceful sanity of mine?
Your attempting bore me,
Shatter and destroy me.
It's worthless,
It fuels my gain.
Maybe we're all insane?

Sniffing, you hug your knees to your chest, hiding your face in the fabric of your black clothing, and you sob quietly, arms wrapped around yourself. When you did this before, your brother was always the first to walk to you silently, sitting beside you and holding you, not saying anything, not (ironically enough) hushing you, he just sat and ran his fingers through your raven hair whilst you sobbed and trembled, hiding your face in his shirt. You used to do it for hours, your father not giving less of a fuck, sitting there on his throne and killing the lowbloods he was offered, laughing mechanically. That was what really sent you mad, you remember it as clear as day, even though you haven't seen day in more than a season. He engaged in it nearly every night, but one night affected you more than all the others: It was just days after you had sewed your mouth shut, and it was the dark of night, in the same dark castle that you had always suffered in:


The world seemed to be seeping around as simple grey clouds against the pitch black night, the moon in an ominous crescent, the white light seeping through your windows was unsettling. Normally, the sounds of clubs smashing into the floors and screams was something that helped you to fall asleep at night, something that calmed you, something you could drown out, but now, trembles wracked your frail, lithe body with every strike that was delivered to your father's newest victim. This lowblood was just NOT giving up, and you felt like running down there and smashing your fists into him yourself, demanding that he would just die already so you could get some sleep, sleep that you needed. 

With your fingers used to the constant moving of your new language, you felt idle and had an urge to do something with them, so now you were sat there, busying yourself with seeing how many times you could rake your claws over the flesh of your wrist before it bled. You now had five rows of perfectly aligned slashes down your left limb, and you couldn't even feel it anymore; this was not the first time you'd done this, by no means. You wanted to think that you could drown it all out, all the pain, flush it away in your blood, but it wouldn't leave. With nothing else to turn to, you don't know why, but you did something that you had been doing a lot of recently, back then: you started crying, for no reason at all...It didn't hurt, nothing hurt, it was just your emotional stability, if you even had any left. You hurt internally, really, not your mouth, surprisingly; your lips were numb and you had nothing inside your mouth to feel, you didn't hurt in your heart, like the cliché, so if not even your heart hurt, what was wrong with you? You were in pain, but nowhere in particular, you just...Hurt. It was irritating and self-degrading, two things that you hated to feel, nearly as much as you hated the events that had triggered these emotions in the first place. It had only been minutes, and your brother was there for you, no matter how quietly you tried to cry. Nearly silently, as he always does, Gamzee's figure appears in your doorway. He must be sick of you. He's your brother, yes, but he must be sick of you, being so weak and pathetic and crying like a child all the time. If he is sick of it, he's good at hiding it from you, and you appreciate it. You love your brother, you don't care how, you love him. Call it what you like, let people laugh, let people think 'incest', but you love him, no words can destroy that. 

He pads over to you, and he sits opposite you on the bed, and pulls you gently into his arms, and you curl into him, your head on his shoulder, legs curled to his chest, and he tangles his fingers in your hair, the other hand rubbing your back, silent. He doesn't say anything, he just shuts his eyes, and he lets you cry, and you do. It's choked and painful, and it comes out in ragged sobs and gasps. Why did you sew your fucking mouth shut? You can't even fucking cry! 



The only one crying should be your beloved, and she even forgives you. You deafened her and she forgives you. She doesn't feel anything bad to you; she hugs you, she kisses your cheeks, she's the same, just with hearing aids looped around her neck, even though they don't really help her at all. She never really wears them now, and she's even learned your language...You don't deserve the love or respect she gives you, you never did. She has dedication that only a man who can equal it deserves, and that man is not you. Heck, you're not even a man, and that's due to how you're freaking behaving, not the fact that you're only 18. 

Your brother's shirt is now stained dark purple, and he doesn't shift as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, turning your face so your cheek is resting on him, other than directly crying on him, attempting to prevent yourself from completely soaking him. Out of the sullen silence, a single loud 'crack!' wracks the halls, followed up by a heart-shattering scream of pure agony. Laughter follows, and another crash sounds as a spiked bat, stained in rainbows of blood, collides with the tiled floor downstairs. Just when you think you've snivelled enough and gained control of yourself, you flinch harshly at the sound, and another choked wail escapes your clenched throat, and you begin shaking. Hard. Gamzee kisses your cheek, barely touching you, and he shuts his eyes, breathing words intended to numb the piercing sensation in your heart. You shake and whimper, as he whispers, "It's OK...It's not her, it's no one we know...No one will get you, no one's coming" he refers to the nightmares that have made you petrified of sleeping, where you are always killed by some unknown troll, but you wake up screaming right before it ends, right before he strikes you or shoots you. When you scream, it's horrid, because it's a peculiar, animal-like cry, due to the fact that you can open your mouth to the capacity of about a centimetre without it hurting or ripping your flesh. That, and the memories it brings back are even more terrifying. You curl close to him, sobbing, and he just continues what he was doing when he first came in. "There, it's over...It's all over..." You wish it was. But it's never over. 

He stays with you, holding your hand until you fall asleep, sat on the floor beside your bed, singing almost silently. As you slowly slip away, he stays for a while, falling asleep himself. 
Until you start thrashing and screaming for him.
He's always there, like he promised.


Except, he's not here now.
And you need him.

There you stand,
Just a monotone pallet,
You see.
If there was a color,
Created for me,
It consists in shades of three.
I see you enjoy this,
While I exploit this,
Brief insanity of mine.
Percieve and understand you,
Is far more than I can do.
Perceptions left far behind.

Your story is made up of horrible memories and painful flashbacks, but you're still playing it over in your head as you sit there, unsure of what else to do in this room. It's all monotone and grey, with a bed in the corner and tiny windows along the corners where the ceiling and walls collide, and an iron door. There isn't much else. The only other place you can walk to is your bathroom, and that's even less exciting. You're just glad that you're actually allowed in there; some kid had drowned himself in the sink a few months back, in conjunction to someone hanging themselves with the shower curtain. Curtains were replaced with metal screens and sinks with taps were demolished briefly, but soon returned with constant water supply yet a nearly flat basin, so no one got any more bright ideas. 

Enough about your bathroom.

You could paint, however, and a couple of blocks of paper are stacked in the opposite corner to your bed along with a sprawled out array of paint and pencils. It's not orderly. That's because they won't let you hang the finished works on you walls, for the fear that you'll use the nails or tacks for something else. The room is about 4x3 metres, with the bathroom even smaller, and it sickens you to think that your father chose this place for you to go when he diagnosed you as a danger. 

And all because you caused an accident.
Back when you could speak.


You had warned her. You told her straight.
You loved your brother.
You LOVED him.
You romantically loved him. 
But she wouldn't have any of it:

You're sat on a flight of large stone steps outside your school, leading down to the back car park, and the sun is slowly setting behind the silhouettes of the autumn stripped trees.
You tell her again, you say that you love him. 

"I know, and I love my sister. We all love people"
"No, what I'm saying is-"
"Kurloz, just stop. You're probably confused. I mean, you've never had a girlfriend before me, right?"
You shake your head, frankly pissed off as you turn away from her and feel around in your pocket, grasping a foil wrapper. You take out a cigarette and your lighter, and click away for a few moments, shielding the flame with your hands. She keeps rambling about how you're loving for the first time, learning how to love and blah blah blah...You zone out, dragging smoke through the filter and feeling it seep into your throat, and you almost smile.
"Kurloz, are you listening?"
"No" you admit outright with a shake of your head and the cocking of an eyebrow.
"Ugh, why do I bother? I'm saying this because I love you!"
"And I'm trying to tell you this so I don't hurt you! Now listen to me: I LOVE Gamzee, alright, Meulin?! I LOVE him. I love him to the point that I picture him when I'm kissing you, and you deserve better. You need someone to equalise your love, Meulin...It's because I love you that I'm saying this, alright?"
"You're confused. " she says, watching you take a long drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, like you're sad to see it go. She turns your face with a gentle hand, and you stare at her almost coldly. You don't love her like you used to. You don't really love her at all, it's just a strong caring, a morale-like feeling. That's the answer. You don't hesitate:

"Meulin, one question-"
She cuts you off, pressing your lips together abruptly, and you narrow your eyes; she's fucking hopeless. You know it's a desperation: she doesn't want you to leave her, she's scared, and it's ripping you apart further, and making you dislike her. You feel her image ebb away as you close your eyes, replacing her with your brother. He has softer lips than she does, for some reason, and his hands are more delicate, which is odd, too. He's a miracle, basically. Before you know it, you're kissing him, (in your head, anyway) and you reach out a hand, tilting his face to deepen your contact as you lick his bottom lip, sliding your tongue in to meet his. You let your tongue dance with his as you run a hand through his midnight curls, and you hear him let out a breathy moan as you break apart briefly, only to rush back in to the heated make-out. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, and you inch your hand down, placing it on his waist before you reach down to brush your hand over his crotch, anticipating his moans, but before you do it- SHE goddamned moves. 

The girl stands, laughing lightly, "see? Just like we always were...I'll see you tomorrow at 10" she says, and pads away, just like that. You apparently dropped your cigarette during the fantasy, and you curse in the most colourful way that you have in a long while, grabbing the pack and putting it in your back pocket again. You walk away too, in opposite directions, and pad back to your manor, just hoping that Gamzee's up for what you had in mind.


He was certainly up for it, you can tell by the shade of your bed sheets and how messy your hair is when you wake up. That, and he's laid with his arms tangled around you, his head on your shoulder, snoring softly, his make-up smeared all over the place. You kiss his head and stand up slowly, easing him down, checking your phone for the time, only to nearly have a heart attack when it's 9:30. Crap. You have half an hour to get yourself into a decent frame of mind. 
You stumble into your bathroom, splashing water onto your face and smoothing your hair down slightly, not bothering with brushing it; it only puffs back out, anyway. You redo your makeup with the practice that seems to run in your family, and speaking of family...Oh, yeah, mom and dad are out on some freaky yearly tradition: a trip to New York for two weeks, to celebrate their first honeymoon, and probably make more little Gamzees. You roll your eyes as you pad away again to find some clothes, and you deck yourself out in your usual default attire, walking back to your room to check on Gamzee. The younger teenager has apparently started the long process of waking up, which consists if him opening his eyes, groaning, and rolling about for a bit as he tries to find the muse to sit up and get going. 

Apparently, today is a bit different, and he's already perched on the end of the bed when you walk in, and he's taken the liberty to put a pair of baggy denim jeans on, along with his shirt, of which you vaguely remember stripping him of last night, throwing it over your shoulder. He seems to have found it, regardless. You smile at him, and he grins brightly at you, holding out his arms like he did when he was younger. You wake over, embracing him warmly, and he kisses your neck and you smile, letting happiness pool over you for a change. You pull back from his embrace slowly, and you manage a quiet, "morning, babe" before he kisses you hotly, dragging his lips over yours as your tongues explore each other's mouths, your eyes fluttering shut in synchronisation. He wraps his arms around your neck, and you lean forward, deepening the contact as he moans hotly, purple dusting his cheeks as you sit back on the bed, pulling him over so he's straggling your waist, and all he does is exactly what you want him to: he runs his hands up the back of your hoodie, stopping as he grasps your shoulders, pulling himself closer to you. You don't even hear the door open three floors down as you wrap one hand around his waist to slip into the back pocket of his jeans, and you drag your free hand along his thigh, stopping right beside his crotch before you hear him whine through the kiss. You grin at the noise, pressing your hand between his legs, and he gasps as though he wasn't begging for the contact. You slip your hands into his jeans, pressing your fingers up against him, massaging him in a painfully slow manner, your face heating up as you feel how damn wet he is from this simple act, and it only makes you think about how damn much you fucking adore him. He pulls away from your mouth, resting his head on your shoulder and gasping out, "Come on~" he begs urgently, and you laugh quietly to yourself as you quicken the pace of your hand, and he moans loudly, grabbing hold of your shoulders and tensing against you, grinding onto your hand as he searches desperately for the friction. Deep purple moisture coats your fingers as you continue, only pulling away briefly (earning a distressed moan) to wet your fingers and return to palming him. "Damn, babe, what got into you?" You purr, and he just squirms in reply, thrusting against your hand. "Wasn't me fucking you enough, hm?" You question, knowing he loves it. "You're all desperate...You've never being this wet in your whole life" you remark,  "Or do you just want to come for me again?" He lets out a constricted moan as you say that, and you translate it as a, "fuck, yes!" and lick up his throat, biting his neck less than gently. "What do you want?" You purr, and he throws his head back, moaning for all he's worth as you trace your hand up 'that part' of the slippery tentacle. "I-I wa- ah...I want you to..." He's gasping as you purposely palm him harder, pushing your hand through his underwear and touching the same vein over and over with each stroke. "Tell me, baby" you press, and he looks away, saliva running from his lips, "fuck, I want you to fuck me!" He wails, and you laugh at that, squeezing his ass playfully. "Go on, elaborate" you demand, and he groans at your requests, even though he's having the time of his life. "Just-don't stop, ahh- I'm begging you, don't fucking stop! " He gasps at you, still pressing himself into your hand, spreading his legs out around you, "fuck, babe...Right there, oh fuck...Ahh~" 

And you hear a gasp that isn't him. 

You freeze, much to his apparent distress, and you turn to see Meulin stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, shock painting her face. Gamzee scrambles off you quickly, and she shakes her head before erupting into fits of tears and running out of the room. You leap up and follow her, leaving purple hand prints on everything, and she sprints down the hallway, loud sobs cascading from her throat. 

She's sobbing and wiping her olive eyes with her small fists, and she shakes her head again, backing away from you as your corner her at the end of the long hallway, reaching out your hands to her, shaking lightly, and she scrambles into the corner like she can just fall back and tumble away from you. You take her narrow shoulders in your gloved hands, and she coughs out a shaky, broken glass, just like a shattered mirror, fragments spiralling everywhere.
"How could you do this to me?"
The shards cut you, but your blood is boiling as your eyes flicker blindly, and a smile slowly creeps across your lips, and you let out a small laugh. 
"How could I do this? I, ME? I warned you...I FUCKING TOLD YOU. I TOLD you yesterday that I love him, you wouldn't listen; you're too scared. You need me to love you...But I can't, and you need better"
"No, you don't mean it..."
"I DO, I DO MOTHERFUCKING MEAN IT, YOU STUPID BITCH!" You roar suddenly, unaware that you were capable of such noise, and she flinches, hands flying to her face to shield herself, but the fear in her eyes doesn't stop you as you scream random abuse at her, hardly even thinking.
"And you NEVER. FUCKING. LISTEN!" You scream finally, and she's slid back down the wall, hands clamped over her ears and green tears streaming and pouring over her face. You finally silence yourself when you hear her sob loudly and push her way past you as she rises shakily to her feet, and she rushes across the hall and down the stairs, yelling for help and crying loudly. She races out of the huge double doors, throwing herself out onto the street. 

"Meulin, wait, I'm sorry-" 

You're cut off again.
She screams as the 4x4 Land Rover crashes into her slim frame, and with a splash of blood, her body falls back into the tarmac, her limbs bent, and blood seeping from her neck. You stare, bend over, and vomit violently across your dad's bike, which he won't appreciate, and tears run from your eyes.

She was suppose to be your new morale.
You never wanted her to die.


Maybe we're all insane.
The way that we live,
Reminiscing for the head game.
What if we're all insane?
I'm feeling so damn hollow,
Staring into the eyes of tomorrow.

You were the first to run out into the road and grasp her in your arms, lifting her head onto your lap, whispering her name as her eyes fluttered shut and you held her, and she couldn't manage a word as you watched small streams of green run from under the line of her dark curls, trailing down her perfect face. 
You wish you could have seen her smile.
That beautiful smile.
The way her eyes lit up.
But those eyes were jaded. Her smile was erased and reduced to a tiny gap on her face, thin rivulets of olive tracing the corners of her lips.

What's worse, she couldn't even hear you say that you loved her as you scooped her limp body into your arms and carried her close to you. It was a bad idea that the doctors took her body away from you after you called 999, because you could finally get a good look at her killer.
Well, it was you, but the one in the car, a tall man with thin features and a face that looked at you like you were something from a Tim Burton movie. That was one of your favourite self-compliments.

You ran at him then, your eyes flashing lucid magenta, and you threw your body at him and just smashed your fists into his jaw as you crouched over his shaking frame. You didn't stop until you saw transparent tears running down his cheeks, and you only stood up and staggered away when you could see her, screaming under you as you caused her yet more agony. Gamzee ran out of the house then, eyes scanning over the scene and his mouth falling open as he saw you, shaking, holding your arms and letting royal purple tears flow from your eyes. He ran over to you, holding out his arms, and you literally fell into his embrace, holding him and crying full-out, hiding your face from the world. 

Your name is Kurloz Makara.
And you killed the girl you loved.


Hours in the future, but not many...
She died that night in a hospital bed, with you holding her hand and crying almost constantly, silent tears running down your cheeks as she just lay there, her beautiful eyes shut almost naturally, like she was simply asleep. There were various wires hooked up to her, and she just didn't look...Right, with the translucent mask over her lips and tubes up the sleeves of her green woollen jumper. She wouldn't have slept like that; she slept curled up like a cat, her limbs all tucked together and a smile on her face. 
She'd died screaming.
"I love you" you whispered again, even though you knew now that she couldn't hear you. 
"I love you more than I deserve..."

Your breath hitches as you rest your head on the cold metal bard surrounding her bed, and you sob louder, shutting your eyes as your black curls fall across your face like curtains. You wish you could do that, pull fabric and watch the problems melt away, shut out the part of the world you don't want and only let in who you want.
"And I'm sorry, Meulin...I'm so, so sorry...You can't hear me, but I'm sorry...You're an angel, and angels should never touch the ground...So that demons like me can't hurt them..." you whisper, shaking your head as you lean over and kiss her. You stand up, then, still holding her hand as you look over her body, and the small line indicating her heartbeat is shallowing out on the screen on one of the machines, like your lips drank the life out of her. 

You lay her hand over her chest and place her other hand atop it as though she's shielding her heart from any pain or poison, and you hope she will, if there is an afterlife. You look around for something that you're unsure of, although you can feel something...Something that can round off what is unfinished. Ah, you know now as you walk to the opposite side of the small room, plucking a white lily from a tall green vase on a windowsill. You open the window while you're at it, letting the evening breeze into her room, and you tuck the stem of the flower under her palms, and you kiss her lips for the last time. As if upon cue, the beeps of her pulse die out into one endless noise as you pull away. 

You walk slowly out of the ward, ignoring the rushing nurses and you pad down the tiled hall, like a ghost, eyes on the floor, and this results on you walking head-on into a tall figure, and you force your gaze upwards. Your father stands taller than you, nearly 4 feet taller, and he scowls at you, like he usually does, and you feel tears in your eyes as you stare at him, shaking.
Where your mother was, you didn't know, but she was probably back in the waiting room with Gamzee. He was always so close to your parents. He must have called them, and they came back from their honeymoon. Oh dear God, he must be angry with you. You briefly wonder how he got here in the space of mere hours, then you remember that it was only a 2-hour flight from Cyprus, or some complicated country like that. Humans name them so many strange things, like England and Germany, and Greece, America...North and South, and they put all the little countries into little groups, seven of them, and call them 'continents'. How stupid, what a waste of time.

You let a tear drip from your right eye as your gaze drifts back to your feet, and you're shocked as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, and your eyes snap open; its been years since he last hugged you. You return the gesture and hide your face in his clothing and cry, for the second time that day, and he smoothes your hair down as you sob, shaking your head and keeping your eyes shut, isolating yourself in the dark bliss. 
"I'm sorry, daddy" you whisper, and he just shakes his head at you, pushing your shoulders back down so your face is pressed against his chest again, and you just cry quietly, like you always have. Your sobs are so quiet that you're almost silent when you cry, which is good, because you hate it when people see you cry. You don't know why you act like a child and call him daddy, like you did when you were 3 sweeps old, but he doesn't respond to you verbally, which usually means he doesn't mind. Gamzee still calls him that, even at the grand age of 16 (in these human 'years'. They're just less than a sweep, and it only complicates things), and he never says anything to spite him. 

The nurses come out then, spurting out all the ritual-like routine information that they were spoon-fed back in university, (or whatever it's called) bombarding you with the causes of Meulin's death and all the other stuff that you don't care to remember. One of the women says that it's not your fault, that you didn't do it, and nor was it the car guy's fault, either; it was a simple car accident, and you had never intended for her to run out of the door and be smashed across the road by a 4X4 truck. Well, words to that effect, anyway. It was a lovers quarrel, she says, and you feel like smashing your fist across her pretty little face. 


"I'm a murderer"
"No, no you're not. Don't you ever say that"
You know he only says that because humans think murder is wrong. He'd be living in a prison if he'd culled all the trolls he's culled on the shared planet, the newer world. He wouldn't be holding you; he'd be rotting in a cell, just like you are at the present time, which is a couple of years into the future, but not many, from that time. 
You are slowly pushed away by your shoulders as your father looks down at you, and he simply says, "Come on, your mother is waiting for you"
Eyes Of Tomorrow - Homestuck AU fic
I'm not sorry.
Just to let you know, I wrote this at 3am, so it's probably crap.
Again, my first smut, so go easy on the hate. 

The lyrics are 'Eyes Of Tomorrow' by Broken Iris. I claim NONE of the things in this fic minus the writing between the lyrics. Homestuck belongs to Lord Hussie, as do Kurly and Gamgam (leave me alone) and Meulin. Broken Iris is an awesome Canadian band, and they own all the lyrics and the rights to the lyrics. 
Candice DeCilantro by CaseyDecker
To start off, I really like this piece! The suit that the character (Candice?) is wearing is very original and looks very pretty and effective when used on her. The anatomy and pose are correct and satisfying, and he figure is very flattering.
The contrast of her aqua eyes works well against the Matt black leather of her suit, as do the silver accents and accessories ( the belt buckle, boot buckles. The grapple)
Your style suits this very well, and her expression keeps the picture from verging onto dark and depressing; her bright smile is very pleasing c:
Your simple shading also compliments the picture well, and doesn't distract.
Also, the choice if the cat anthro, and cat woman obviously work very well! (If somewhat ironically)
The background is simple yet effective, and allows the attention to be focused upon the character, as it was intended to be, but there's just a little minor thing:
The darkness around her hair and shoulders.
I know it is night, and the starry sky fits perfectly with the silver accents of her costume, but you can hardly see the lines of her subtle shoulders and her hair. This is not, however, distracting or important, it's the only improvement-based feedback I can give you (and it is probably ridiculous).
Her green goggles do well to balance the colour pallet, and overall, you should be proud of the piece! The character is pretty, as is her suit, and the background rounds it all to a aesthetically pleasing result!
I look forward to more work on your characters!

God bless, and keep drawing! C:
Hey guys. I'm working on a new story here (it's not fanfiction 0-0)
That's a new thing, right? Ha, I'm still writing 'Insanity Symptoms', though. So, this story is about a schizophrenic teenager called Louise, and what happens in her life. She also has a condition called Synesthesia, which I am more experienced with. I did a various amount of research on the mental disorders, although I'm not an expert. I appreciate people pointing out incorrect symptoms or behaviour, as I obviously need guidance on the subjects of synesthesia and schizophrenia.
Oh, it's also set in Germany (That's why she speaks German >:P

Well, enjoy of you can, and thank-you for reading everyone!

The Stars Are Flying ---  Chapter 1

Hi. My name's Louise, short for Louisiana, but I hate that name. People whom I affiliate with call me Lutz. That's because it's how I used to say Louise when I was first learning to talk. I'd forget the O, and the I, and it would come out as something like, 'Luze', and my parents laughed until I got so used to it that I wouldn't happily respond to Louise anymore. If people call me anything but, I prefer Lou. This particular woman that I am about to talk about refused to call me any of that; she insisted on Louisiana. I despise the name, and I decided very soon that I despised the woman even more so.

I wasn't normal, see: I could hear voices in my head at night, and they told me to do things, things I shouldn't have been doing. The thing that struck fear into the hearts of my parents was when I turned 7;
I was found attempting to tell Conan, my 4-year-old brother that the ghosts under my rug in my bedroom were after us, and we had to leave. Right away. He refused to leave until he was given his 'supper'- I was only appalled because it was 4am, and I resorted to dragging him along with me, and soon, the voices grew bored:

'Leave him! If you kill them, they can't hurt you'

Them? I presumed the ghosts, all the time trying to force myself to get back to bed; I was scaring my brother, listening to his crying. He didn't seem sure wether to cling to me or stand there and tremble. He decided soon to run, yelling for our mother and father in panic.
The voice then somehow made me go searching through the kitchen for the matches that my mind was seeking out. Matches. The word tastes like burned bark when I hear it, and it's colour is a dark, brittle yellow ochre. We'll discuss why I taste words and I see sounds later; I'm telling a story you need to remember.
Anyways, I found the matches, and upon the command of, 'Light it!', I did as I was told:
Sparks shot from the end of the match as I struck it, and a sharp line of orange splattered across my vision: Smoke. Orange was the colour of smoke to me, and it tasted like dark chocolate. I hate dark chocolate.

I heard other voices then, that of my parents screaming at me. These voices were real, but I couldn't obey them, I couldn't trust them, or so my corrupting invisible controller was telling me. I flinched as my mother stopped still for the first time in her life. It was a shock; my mother was built like some kind of brick shithouse, with broad shoulders and strong hands, and she flailed her arms around, screaming and grasping my brother in her shaking arms. My father was not so easily defeated: He stormed over, grabbing me by my long hair, and he dragged me away as I screamed, hitting whatever I could, and it was then that I threw the match, aiming for a vase of flowers on a windowsill by the door. It fell short and landed, most conveniently in the sink, and it singed out. The sound tasted like brittle sugar on my tongue, and it made me gag. 
My mother assumed that it was my father who caused me to do that, and she yelled at him then, other than screaming at me:
"You're hurting her! Just let her go!"
"Let go of her? So she can set the house on fire?!" he roared back, and I started crying then, dragging myself away from him and running to my mother's open arms, sobbing. She held me and shook her head, "She only had a nightmare...She must have been sleepwalking".

That's why I love my mother so much; she never truly disliked me, even after that, and she always made excuses for the behaviour I could not excuse, especially when my father decided that he wasn't going to bother reasoning with me. She loved me, and she always told me so, every day. My father loves me too, I know he does, he just can't love what goes on in my mind. It wasn't the first time I did something that the invisible people told me to do.

The next day, he called the woman in.
Her name was Susan. Ugh. It tasted like chewing on tin foil when she introduced herself, and that was what I tasted whenever she was mentioned afterwards. As a 7-year-old, I didn't quite know why she was here. I was instructed to call her Susan, as much as I hated saying it (Tin foil doesn't taste good). Her colour was a murk black-green colour, like a swamp. I don't see many people that are swamp green. I'm serious. Her voice tasted like I'd just sprayed Dior perfume in my throat, and I coughed as a result, and she laughed as she retracted her outstretched hand, curling her grey, old fingers together and resting them over her lower abdominal area. I looked at the rings she was wearing; they were the only things that were a pleasure for me to look at that had come into contact with her foul persona.

"Of course, she is shy. I'm a stranger after all. Come with me, will you, Louisiana?" she asked, her voice like the perfume that I tasted when I first heard her.
"Lutz" I replied simply, and I saw my father lower his eyes at me, and I stared back with my hollow emerald optics. It was what I preferred to be called, just as this...Woman (As it was clarified to be, apparently) preferred to be called Susan. This was my house, and she was leaving her horrific Dior and tin foil everywhere. I followed her into my living room, where she placed herself upon our white leather corner sofa, her grey hair cut into a curled up-do, which looked like a dead cat had been wrapped around a brick. Her earrings were like coils of chicken wire and peacock-coloured chandelier. Her eyeshadow was done to match the disgusting earrings, and everywhere from her fake, yanked-out lashes to her hugely arched eyebrows was engaged in stained-glass window cosplay. Her ancient face was caked in make-up.
"What was that, dear?" 
Perfume again.
"Lutz. My name is Lutz"
"No, dear, your name is Louisiana"
"Well, your name is actually Madame Grundelle" (Yes, that was her surname. It screams swamp. It must have been horrid for her, considering that Grun means Green in German, my first language. Green was her colour too, vomit and swamp green. She absolutely SCREAMED 'foul')

I paused as she raised her left eyebrow to an even greater height, and I continued, 
"But you prefer Susan. I prefer Lutz. Is it so hard to agree with?" I asked simply, raising an eyebrow to mirror her (Only I didn't now look like Jabba The Hut)
With a fake, metallic laugh, like a coin being shaken inside a glass cup, she shook her head.
"Of course dear; you are right. From this moment on, you shall refer to me as Madame Grundelle, and I'll call you Louisiana, OK?"
"Nein" I objected. The French witch probably didn't know what that meant. This pleased me.
"Schwierig sein, nicht" she replied with a smirk.
Don't be difficult? How very dare she tell me not to be difficult!
To ice the swamp flavoured cake, she could speak German. This meant that I couldn't curse her.
"Es tut mir leid" I replied. Why was I apologising?
"Speak to me in English" she commanded, and I nodded, 
"J- Yes, Ma'am" I said obediently, cutting off my signature native reply as I felt my father's stare on my as he sat on the sofa, a few cushions away from this lethal excuse of a woman. He watched me, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands linked together, just as Susan's were, and he stared at me with his piercing blue eyes. 

"So, Louisiana, I'm going to make this as easy for you as possible, is that alright?"
"Lutz isn't slow, Ma'am" my mother offered, stood in the doorway, wearing her apron. She was baking cookies and cake. I smiled at her, looking up from where I was sat atop the leather foot rest, as far from the woman as I could.
"I highly doubt she is, Rosa, but I wasn't implying that" she lied. I could taste lies. This helped considerably with people like this. It was easier with people with certain colours and flavours. For example, I'm oblivious to my father's lies; lies taste like coffee, and don't smell of anything, or have a colour that's bright. The colour of lies is a near transparent ice blue, that I often miss, no matter how hard I try. My father's voice just happens to taste like coffee, and his name is the flavour of coffee, too. His voice is blue, and he overall smells like leather, which fits him perfectly. Daniel. Tastes like expensive cars and coffee, doesn't it? He loves both.

The woman continued then, turning back to me, and she opened her mouth.
"So, Louisiana...Can you tell me about the people who talk to you?"
I was tempted to say, 'Well, my parents, Monika from school-' but I stuck to the programme, to make it hopefully end quicker.
"Well...One's called 7..."
"And another- there are three- Is 5..."
"OK" she said, taking a note on a black clipboard. It matched her suit: A black jacket and trousers, both with grey pinstripes, and a white blouse, just poking out of the top of her buttoned jacket. I continued.
"And the last one..."
"Go on"

 This was the worst one; 7 had told me to set fire to the house, 7 tells me about ghosts. 5 makes me scream and pull fits, and...
"Louise-" My father barks, and I sigh,
"9. The last number is 9"
"What's so bad about 9?"
"Well...5 is the OK one...5 always says that I should have tantrums, you know, get angry over nothing. It also tells me to stay away from people..."
"Sometimes my parents, people at school..."
"5 says I should isolate myself, but sometimes, I can ignore that one for a long time, then it goes away"
"OK, that's good. What does 7 do?"
"It tells me to try and get rid of ghosts"
"Can you see the ghosts?"
"Oh, no. I don't believe in ghosts"
"Then why does 7 effect you?"
"It's what it tells me to do to get rid of them. Like the match...It would smoke them out. I can't stop 7 very much, but I try. Certain things make 7 stop"
"My mother...Shouting...Milk..."
She says it like I said 'Oh, you know, pornography'

"Milk is my favourite drink...It calms me down, it's how I numb 5 out sometimes, but 7 sometimes keeps going, but if I distract myself enough, or like I say, drink milk, I concentrate on the taste and the colour, and..."
"White clears my mind"
A quickly brewed up excuse; only my parents knew that I saw smells and such, and my father had instructed that I  'Keep quiet about it'
"Ah, OK. That makes sense. Now, how about 9?"
I took a deep breath, looking down.

"9...Tells me to kill people"


---------------------------------------Chapter 2----------------------------------------------

Swamp woman left soon after that, hurrying out and saying that she'd send my 'results' to some French doctor by the name of Francis. Seems legit. I was confused at that point, for as she heard what 9 did, her eyes grew wide and fearful, her eyebrows practically in her hair, and she literally jumped to her feet, scuttling out of the living room. She scribbled frantically on the board, heels clcking, and I heard something smash in the kitchen as I admitted what 9 did. The glass cascaded luminous green sparks across my eyes, and I winced as the taste of sour sweets and sharp tangs of alcohol (I didn't know at that time, but I now diagnose it as vodka), flushed over my tongue. I rushed into the hall after her, and I folded my arms across my slim frame. "You asked!" I announced, my eyes wide as I bit back my tears. My father took hold of my shoulder, standing in front of me in his black suit. He nearly mirrored the woman as she dragged the door open, shoving a card into my father's hand, and she dragged in breath, swallowing hard. "I'll have her diagnosis by Saturday".
It was Wednesday.
I started to panic then. 

Conan ran out of the dining room, discarding his toy car onto the wood floor with a sharp crash and an eruption of orange sparks. The sourness was drowned out by a painful bitter taste then, and I swallowed hard. Forgetting last night, he began sobbing, jumping into my arms and clinging to me. I held him tightly, hiding my face in his dark hair, tears running down my cheeks as he snuggled his face into my shoulder. You might be asking how a 7-year-old is holding a 4-year-old right now, and Conan wasn't the lightest child on the planet. I was strong, though, with a grip of iron and strong arms, like my mother, who was gathering the remains of a thin champagne glass from the stone floor in the kitchen. Her face was twisted in slight anger and sheer panic then, and this was too much pain and negative colours and tastes and scents for me to cope. As soon as the woman left, the colours really set in:

Greens and oranges all over, practically blinding me, and I gasped in my short breaths, Conan whispering my name between sobs, tugging on my shirt. I couldn't listen to him, though; I was too busy trying to link the colours to the tastes: Sharp sourness and pure metallic tonic, with edges that were like the saltiness of blood and copper. Not knowing what else to do, I put him down gently, much to his despair, and I put a hand on my forehead, the other hand on the closest wall. My head felt like I was being intercepted from my sanity and self-control, and I experienced something similar to what felt like nails being hammered into my skull, and with nothing else to do, I screamed.

It sounded like I'd been hit straight-on by a speeding car, and I continued to wail, any breath I took in being forced back out in a high-pitched format. The colours in my eyes twisted to ultraviolet brightness, and I fell back as my mother rushed over, grasping me in her arms. I just screamed more as voices started to flood into my head, something I recognised as number 5, and I only panicked more then, pushing my mother less than gently away. I didn't know my own strength when this happened. I now call it a 'Sensory Overload', because that's what it is, literally. 

'You're just a monster...Get away from her! Do you want to hurt your own mother?'

The voice was cruelly calm in my head, and I shook my head in response, choking out a pathetic "No! I-I-"

'Well then, get away!' 

It cut me off, and I ran past my mother and my father, who grabbed for me, yelling my name in bursts of red sparks. I flung the door open, speeding into the street, blind to anything going on around me, and because of this, I ran straight forward into the middle of the road. This resulted in me colliding head-on with Mr.Robson's Mini Cooper as it took a corner, and he slammed the breaks, beeping the horn like it made a difference. I just screamed as I felt it crash into me, smashing into my right arm and forcing me back. Nothing hurt but my arm, which was bent back in an unnatural angle, and my head, which I had apparently hit as I was thrown to the ground. It was lucky we lived in a cul-de-sac, because if the road was straight and he hadn't taken a corner just as I ran out, I'm sure I'd never have been able to use my writing hand again.
My mother's petrified screams shot sparks across my visions, much like the stars that had flown across my eyes as I was thrown to the ground. My vision clouded just as Conan ran to me, collapsing on my chest and crying for me, sobbing my name, oblivious to the blood that coated the side of my face. My father was the last one I saw, and I felt him lift me into his arms before I lost sense of anything, the tastes and the voices fading away, along with the colours of the world.


---------------------------------------Chapter 3----------------------------------------------

I awoke in a bleached white room, covered over by a white sheet, and as I took it in, it soon came to my attention that I was in a hospital. I was glad the room was so white; There were nearly no colours in there, and the calming tone of the colour made it easier for me to concentrate. I sat up slowly, and as I attempted to move my right arm to brush my scarlet hair from my face, I found that it felt heavy in comparison to the rest of my body, of which I wriggled around experimentally, just to make sure that I could move the rest of my limbs. I was relieved to find that my legs and left arm were still in full function, and I gently brushed the few stray wisps of my hair away from my emerald optics, which were adjusting to the bright light. 
"Mother?" I asked, looking around. That was when I noticed my arm: Bandaged into a cast and bent so that it looked like I was permanently folding one arm at a right-angle. The stupid pointless coloured fabric that covered it was a green-blue turquoise shade, which was obviously of my mother's choosing. I smiled; she chose my favourite colour. Turquoise was her colour, the colour of her name and her words. Her voice tasted like blue raspberry bonbons, and her overall scent was like the ocean, the calm saltiness of the sea, and the sand. 

I could hear the bright violet of my brother's voice as it seeped through the door, and I opened my mouth to breathe it in; the taste of his voice was so calming to me. His colour was a pastel lilac, and his scent was that of warm milk and honey, and that was how his voice tasted, too. His name tasted like peppermint, and smelled the same, like a candy-cane. The bitterness of my father's voice flooded out the mint with black coffee and the icy blue ribbons of his voice eliminated my brother's lilac. I sighed, unable to see my own colour or smell my own voice, and I looked at my arm again, memories flooding back into my brain as I recalled what happened. Damn you, number 5.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as a tall woman in a white coat paced in, pushing a trolley full of torture equipment out of the way of Conan, who charged across the polished, white floor. Stars erupted from the clashing metal on the trolley as Conan filled the room with the honey sweetness of his laughs as he ran to me, calling my name and jumping up on the bed, wrapping his arms around my neck. He was quickly pulled away by my father, and the laughing died away as my mother called Conan gently, peppermint mixing with blue raspberry as he backed away and was scooped into her arms. She stood there, her wide shoulders slipping into a slim, curved waist, and bending back out into her hips. Her ruby hair cascaded over her shoulders in masses of ringlets, past her waist, glistening in the light. Her hair was what got her her name- Rosa. Hair like roses, just like mine, but mine was more straight until you got to the ends, and it curled into ringlets, but only slightly. Our eyes were the same, though: green as emeralds. 

Conan looks like our father, with his short, curly mop of dark chocolate hair and his blue eyes. His hair wasn't as short as father's, probably because he had his gelled and cut religiously so it only just goes past his ears. Conan's is about halfway down his neck, not quite long enough to make him look like a girl, because we tried that once, and let it go past his shoulders, much to father's despair. He got mistook for a girl at school, and he had it cut shorter less than 6 hours later, not that it bothered him what gender he was labelled as; he never spoke, anyway. He was nearly silent unless it was me he was talking to, and he often ignored his self-proclaimed girlfriend whom he went to Kindergarten with. He expressed himself through artwork and various animal noises when he was at school, mainly because his passions consisted of paint and nature's wonders. He knew about all kinds of animals, especially reptiles and snakes, and he loved slapping paint around and drawing, even though you had to be careful when guessing just what it was that he'd painted; dad had once mistook our Crayola crayon family portrait as a group of pineapples. That had led to me adapting a 15-minute-long laughing disorder, and Conan crying and spending the rest of the day under his bed until dad bought him a rubber lizard to apologise. He named the lizard Phillip, because...You know...It looked like a Phillip, and it's now his most prized possession, just behind Kevin, the plush anaconda that he sleeps with.

After a few seconds of looking me over, I took a breath, and my father wrapped his arms around me, breathing in the scent of my hair, and for a second, he looked like he was going to cry. That would've been silly, now that I consider it, because he didn't even cry when Conan had a funeral for Franklin, the house spider, who had died via my dad flushing him down the toilet. He hadn't meant to, but Franklin had gone for a walk in the bathroom, and dad had just...Well, dropped him down the loo. To be fair, Aunt Glad (We call her that because she's constantly smiling) was coming over in an hour, and she has a crippling fear of anything with more than 2 legs. 

I smiled as I wrapped my working arm around his shoulders, and he stood up quickly, brushing off his suit and clearing his throat, and looked at my broken arm and the padded bandage that had been taped to the cut on my forehead. I had discovered that by looking at the mirror on the medical trolley which the nurse had wheeled beside my bed before she left with a silent nod, and I had looked myself over, leaning across the table and trying to ignore the instruments that were sprawled across the shiny, cold metal.  
My mother then released Conan, who scampered toward me at a slower pace, and I had leaned over the edge of the hard, shiny metal of the bed frame, and wrapped my good arm around him, kissing his cheek as he laughed, still not saying anything to me.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked, remembering that the last thing I'd felt was that I'd fallen asleep, and it was quite scary, because I'd heard that it wasn't good to sleep if you hit your head, because there was a chance that you might not wake up again, or sleep for years on end.
"Only just over a day, darling...They thought you were about to wake up when they put the cast on your arm, but you didn't"
"Which made sense, considering that she would have woken up within the same hour that she fell unconcious " my father pointed out, matter-of-factly.  
Conan spoke up then, though not very loudly:
"Are we going home?" he asked, still stood beside my bed, holding my hand comparing how small his hand was in comparison to mine. 
"Of course we are; we're going home right now" my father decided.

And we did.
The Stars Are Flying (Chapters 1-3)
We'll, not much to say about this one. It's been fun so far, though. Lutz is an awesome character to write about, and I'm pretty fond of Conan, too!
Thank - you so much for reading!


Amber Lee Grey
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
United Kingdom
Cutie by over-sassed
Made by my bae over_sassed <333

ART TRADE? - Open. As long as you're ok with the picture traditionally drawn and uploaded as a photograph (my scanner died) or you want writing. My writing works like this: it's a one-shot for one piece of art, and then, if you want me to continue it, it's another 20 points or another piece of art for every 10,000 words after.

Requests? - OCCASIONAL friends and watchers only.
Don't just watch me and ask me to draw/write something for you seconds later.

Commissions? - see widget. They're reduced right now.

Obtest, the beautiful child of Object and Protest.

'what's that abomination stuck to the top of your neck, and how do I make it illegal? '

Sleep? Don't be ridiculous; I have Rammstein, I can sleep when I'm dead!

Rammstein Stamp by ZeKRoBzS You Shouldn't be Dating by Haters-Gonna-Hate-Me Italy Stereotype by Haters-Gonna-Hate-Me Kinder egg stamp by KingdomKira Opinion Stamp by DevilKue Freak: Stamp by JazzaX Boot Stamp by RPDOfficer I love being naked by OnyxNocturne Stamp: Nudity by 8manderz8 Then DO Something by RingtailFox Go away reading stamp by thebluemaiden Vegan Stamp by SaturnFinger I love animals: meat version by paramoreSUCKS yummy by Dametora just so you know by Dametora Victimizing Victims by Dametora Stamp- Depression by Dametora Pull Your Goddamn Pants Up by alaska-is-a-husky screw the wolf by sJ-eP Animal Rights by alaska-is-a-husky Misunderstood by ClockworkStamps :I'm Awkward by So-Dae Toys Stamp by KingdomKira BREAD stamp by PurpleTartan WHAT THE HELL. by LainaofthesandLOL I Love Meatballs by So-Dae {Limited Edition} by xXtoxic-infectionXx {Investigating} by xXtoxic-infectionXx {Fuckin Awesome} by xXtoxic-infectionXx I wear converse! stamp by iFreak0ut Eat my dust by OnyxNocturne No coffee, DUBSTEP by CCpotteranimator Electronic Stamp of luuuuvv by TehZee I love techno stamp by ewotion String Lights by skinnyveestamp - N - E - O - N - by skinnyveestamp Beliefs by Haters-Gonna-Hate-Me Japan Stereotype by Haters-Gonna-Hate-Me Encouraging Free-Thinking by Rebi-Valeska I'd hit that stamp by Daakukitsune Bad example stamp by Daakukitsune People will die by Daakukitsune Stamp: Potatoes by MixedSin SUPPORT POTATOES by ROBlNHOOD Stamp: Crown the empire by Ashley44598X BMTH Logo by freakenstein1313 Bring me the Horizon by old-mc-donald Three Days Grace by old-mc-donald Killswitch engage by old-mc-donald Of Mice and Men Stamp by scellix Suicide Silence Stamp by ScarsOfFreedom BVB Army by freakenstein1313 Suicide Silence STAMP by xMuffin-Wen Crown The Empire Stamp by Flynnux Alice In Chains Stamp by dA--bogeyman 30 Seconds To Mars Stamp by Kyoakuno Hole - Doll Parts Stamp 1 by dA--bogeyman Killswitch Engage Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Mindless Self Indulgence Stamp by Lady-Tuuli Difficult defenitions. by Snuf-Stamps are you? by Snuf-Stamps Sluts by Sparkleee-Sprinkle Hollywood Undead Stamp by Flynnux Stamp by GothicNai Beautiful Loser Stamp by dA--bogeyman Youth Gone Wild Stamp by dA--bogeyman Iron Maiden Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Sleeping With Sirens Stamp by Flynnux eventually you will by iLed Voices In My Head Stamp by dA--bogeyman Release Flying Monkeys Stamp by dA--bogeyman Cartman stamp- Sandy Vagina? by Reicheru25 OH NO by skinnyveestamp um, yeah by kazria-kitty No One's Dead Yet, So... by SionnaDehr But maybe some day..... by SirvanaRachana Svalbard by SirvanaRachana Kuwait by SirvanaRachana Sonnet to Genevra by SirvanaRachana Typing Stamp by MuttButt1996 Stanzas to Jessy by SirvanaRachana Halloween normal by DesuSigMaker Don't Trust Me by LaurenEatsChildren My Mind Is Blown by LaurenEatsChildren Heaven by LaurenEatsChildren KaguraUchiha bit of wisdom by SirvanaRachana Oman by SirvanaRachana An occasional prologue by SirvanaRachana Tokelau by SirvanaRachana Hannibal Hamlin by SirvanaRachana Tuscany by SirvanaRachana Veeeery good ideas... by 1Foxylady Joe Biden by SirvanaRachana Circus Circus by SirvanaRachana Don't go to sleep angry... by Katttty920 Congrats +STAMP+ by xKillingInTheName :stamp quote: by ashers-ashers DA Stamp - Ernest Gaines Quote by tppgraphics DA Stamp - Couldn't Care Less by tppgraphics It will help you by HarmonicSonic Public feeding by XxchantellexX fuunnnyyy.. by princess-femi-stamps even death by Sky-of-Dust STOP by Sky-of-Dust swear by Fyi-Sus Bullshit Does not... by SupremeSonrio Because You Cannot Deny the Past by Mintaka-TK I WANNA BAYBEH!!!!111! by Mintaka-TK I DUN LIEK UR OPINIONZ by Mintaka-TK Stamp_Their reasons are none of your business by Chivi-chivik Japanophobia by Mintaka-TK Germanophobia by Mintaka-TK Insane fangirls by TheArtOfNotLikingYou Stamp: Respect by Riza-Izumi Um.. I don't care by SoraJayhawk77 Rock on. by Snuf-Stamps I heart thigh highs by GemmilyArt I'm Tired, I Tried by shadowleigh Disappear by shadowleigh Why Did You Try To Kill Yourself? by shadowleigh I Hate by shadowleigh MSI Stamp #1 by This-Good-Killjoy MEIN TEIL - stamp by Cornebus RAMMSTEIN. by NyuuAi Rammstein by WaDaLeiN Favorite Bands Stamp by MacabreVampire Ich liebe Rammstein by MiZuInK STAMP: Rammstein by neurotripsy Rammstein by WaDaLeiN Benzin. by NyuuAi German Metal by VVraith Germany. by NyuuAi Tills Faces_Stamp by German-Blood Feuer Frei -- the GIF by ZlayaHozyayka Rammstein Fan Stamp by hosmer23 Rammstein by WaDaLeiN I Have A Dirty Mind by parliamentFunk Stamp - Rammstein by KanaScott In case you couldn't tell, I'm quite fond of Rammstein. Nightowl Stamp by Kezzi-Rose I Love Stars- stamp by AlbinoSeaTurtle The Legend of Spyro Stamp by Spyroflamesredsbum Stamp: Karkat by Michiru-Mew Mambostuck Karkat by SkaianAngel Mambostuck Aradia by SkaianAngel Meenah Peixes by SkaianAngel Porrim Maryam by SkaianAngel -AlphaAndBetaTrollsStamp!- by RobicTheEscapist Kurloz Makara by SkaianAngel Mambostuck Gamzee by SkaianAngel Homestuck Stamp by CrystheWaterNinja Homestuck Stamp by Demon-Dolphin Karkat Hate by MeanWhatuSay Gamzee Kill by MeanWhatuSay MoThErFuCkIn MiRaClEs by Dametora moiraaaails stamp by PUNURMiO Gamzee x Karkat by n-c-b-stamps Gamzee by AlClair Feferi Glub by MeanWhatuSay Kanaya Reason by MeanWhatuSay Eridan Rant by MeanWhatuSay Stamp: Gamzee by Michiru-Mew Stamp: Feferi by Michiru-Mew Stamp: Kurloz by Shendijiro Jade Mother by SkaianAngel Purple Tyrant by SkaianAngel Fuchsia Ruler by SkaianAngel Kankri Vantas by SkaianAngel Purple Prince by SkaianAngel Rufioh Nitram by SkaianAngel Meulin Leijon by SkaianAngel Mituna Captor by SkaianAngel Cronus Ampora by SkaianAngel Gender Trenders by Chiminix fetishist logic by BaconMagic BIG WURDS DUN MAKE U LOOK SMART U KNO by BaconMagic Stamp: Civil Rights by Quantization Stamp: Freedom by RottedStamps Why by Foedus-Stamps Seriously Ladies by Foedus-Stamps But but I has ADD and :shot: by PrincessFlaw Child pageantry should be illegal... by BlackJill Gay rights to marry in Churches by BlackJill Helping Others by GodIsAFake I don't get the hype. by Caution-LowCeiling Dogfighting Stamp by Foedus-Stamps Blunt by Foedus-Stamps FANDOM OBSESS Stamp by crystal-rex For the Wrong Reason... by DistantWanderer Japan by black-cat16-stamps Sutampu-san by jocund-slumber Excuses, excuses by Ramen27 Big Fucking Deal Stamp by HatakeMirukon Tolerance? by Ramen27 Human Rights by I-Take-It-Back 'cause everyone is Bi now by TheViciousViper


| Perfectly Fine | FINE | GETTING BETTER| Getting worse | Depression | WAVERING | UNCONTROLLABLE BOUTS OF RAGE | Manic | Split Personality | Losing It | LOST IT | INSANE (we're all a little insane. Some more than others) | Psychotic | Schizophrenia | SEEING THINGS | Intense Paranoia | MODERATE PARANOIA | DELUSIONAL | Giggling Habits | LOST TOUCH WITH REALITY | Amnesia | Re-living Traumatic Event | Self- Doubt | Memory Loss


| Perfectly Healthy | HEALTHY | Okay | So-So | Sick | Hurt | Injured | RECOVERING | POISONED | Critically Wounded | Mortally Wounded | Hospitalised | Dead | GHOST | God Tier


| ISOLATED | Sleepy | Exhausted | Regretful | Murderous | Uncomfortable | AWKWARD | Love struck | Crushing | Okay | HAPPY | CALM | Bold | Homicidal | DISTANT | Neutral | Excited | MIXED FEELINGS | SILENT | Deified | DISTRUST | Dread | Fear | ANGER | HOSTILITY | Jealousy | LONELY | SHY | Suffering | Jumpy | ANXIOUS | Frightened | PARANOID | Deathly Afraid |

My bby:

She DA' bae.
She's so amazing <3333333
I love her.
Daisypath Friendship tickers

My bestest vegetable porn bbu :U /// :iconover-sassed:
She's my amurikan beybe <3

My best abroad friend in Murica'/cat shipping roleplayer/Best Roleplaying friend /// :iconrandomnesssteve:


Name: Take a wild guess.
Age: I'm a teenager
Favourite artist; Van Gogh
Favourite genre of music: hard/alternitive Rock, heavy metal, Christian rock, (Three Days Grace, Rammstein, Skillet, Black Veil Brides, Evanescence, Bring Me The Horizon, The Pretty Reckless) ect, ect.
Favourite style of art: Manga. Both digital and traditional. I like all styles of art; art is what you make of it.
Operating System: Ipad 2, most of the time. My laptop.
Favourite cartoon character: Coraline, Jack, Sally, anyone Tim Burton designs XD
Personal Quote: You can only move as fast as who's in front of you.
We stopped checking under the bed for monsters, when we realised they were inside us.

I speak very bad Spanish, fluent German, and crack British. This means that whatever we're talking about, (unless you're serious) I will often say things that no clinically sane person should ever say.
I also apologise if I include various random German words in my conversations with you. I also apologise for using Bahnhof (that means train station) as a curse word.

Don't even ask.

I owe my happiness to my best friend, Catherine.

Catherine introspduced (I'm going to leave that typo word there, because it's funny) me to Homestuck.

She's basically my miracle.
As of May the 21st, deviantART will be deleting ALL dA accounts. Not the Plz accounts though. But just all the name-wasted accounts, or acounts that we think are fake, or that are usless. We are doing this to prevent something that could possibly happen in the future. If we find this message on you're deviantartID, Journal, etc. We will know that, you are not a fake.

Thank you for listening,

-deviantART staff

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Add a Comment:
chigger3 Featured By Owner Mar 12, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thx for da watch!! ^^
JabberjayArt Featured By Owner Feb 28, 2015  New member Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav!
Draakedan Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2015
thanks for the watch
mumuku Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thank you for fav  :hug:
Kenjisama Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday lady~
amber1700 Featured By Owner Feb 22, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
Thank-you :o)
UltraNovaDragon Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
:blankatparty:ByWorc SMILEY RAVE !! HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOU !! SMILEY RAVE Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time Party time 
amber1700 Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
Thank-you so much! >///^\\\<
UltraNovaDragon Featured By Owner Feb 20, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
My pleasure ^_^
Captain-Barin Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the watch! :3
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