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Literature
Angst and Chilling
A doglike thing sat in a nest of pillows.
A furred pile of bristles and spite hogged the main couch to himself, splayed out yet so still that a chalk outline would be all it would take to convince you of his demise.
A boy with skin like chestnut had his wheelchair parked to the right of the central couch. He beckoned, and a cold soda lifted itself through a hole in the top of the fridge, and hovered gently as it crossed the living room to his waiting hand. There, the tab clicked itself open for him, and the gentle hiss drew the eyes of the couch thing and the pillow thing. He sighed, and another two cans made their own way out of the kitchen.
A man, his coat unbuttoned, and his glasses slightly askew, sat on the other end of the reserve couch from his longest serving friend and colleague, a man old enough to snap when people still called him boy, but young enough that they did. Aaron's hair was the dark mess of someone who cared little for combs or hairdressers, and his feet rested on
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Literature
#Ceilinged
Sparrow eyed the empty recliner, and let herself fall back. A brief jaunt through the intervening space, and she collapsed into the comfortable chair.
"Rough week?" Staroui intoned, poking at a flat screen.
"Busy. Just saved a kitten from a tree."  
His furred brow furrowed.
"The tree was floating five stories up." She added. If he cared, he didn't voice it. Sighing she plucked the remote from her chairs arm and tossed it at his head. He scooched slightly to the right, and then used his shoulder to pin it in place. Damn it. They'd only just gotten it back off of him.
"What are you doing?"
Star tapped and ticked. "Checking for the next thing that drags you out of the house."
"I just got back!"
"It takes you like five seconds to get anywhere in the city. Hah! Your friend's been hitting workshops again." Star said, refusing to lift his head up from the tablet clutched in his paws.
Sparrow planted her face between her hands. "We already let him turn the hangar into an arboreum, I'll t
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Astrid-Berkelow Stresses Diagram by Anomnomnomymus Astrid-Berkelow Stresses Diagram :iconanomnomnomymus:Anomnomnomymus 0 0 Not that kind of Gorgon by Anomnomnomymus Not that kind of Gorgon :iconanomnomnomymus:Anomnomnomymus 2 0
Literature
Where there's fire, there's smoke?
Shade
Ordinary people. No weapons carried, so the metal detectors missed the real threat. And then in a flash of light, the three were standing above the crowd, faces hidden hidden behind smiling masks. One of them lifted his hand, and the bank tellers were pulled into the glass. And back. And forward again with a harder impact each time. A man had lunged for one of them, stabbed him with a pocket knife. Just a laugh and this horrible flickering as he snapped his own neck around to look at the idiot who tried to play hero, before unhinging his jaw and swallowing him whole. The final one looked from camera to camera, turning them to watch.

"Jackie, what is this I'm reading?"
The flustered teacher had held her back. Every second the lines for lunch would get longer.
"Well you said write what we thought kinetics would do to the world."
"I said write the sort of societal effects would result from the development of abilities beyond the normal, not to submit some kind of natu
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YOU THERE! Yes you. Free writing requests. by Anomnomnomymus YOU THERE! Yes you. Free writing requests. :iconanomnomnomymus:Anomnomnomymus 1 0
Literature
Kindling
    Blaise studied Abstract Perfectionist Performance art in the University of Kenharrier (Go Harriers!). What that meant was beyond her understanding. The professor's understanding. A source of befuddlement to the entire university itself, beyond a clerk who’d alighted on a brilliant idea to save a few coins after the government had made student loans that perfect middle ground of screwing over educator and educated. The course had seemed the thing most likely to convince her parents that it was just a waste of money and time, and she was perfectly happy frying food and attending concerts. They feigned interest perfectly. What followed was to be four years of a freakish mixture of interpretive dance, painting with blood and ink, and a lecturer who eventually induced their own heart attack on stage in an attempt at combining every form of art they could think of in one last desperate grasp at what it all meant. Afterwards a clerk in the audience had quit. Neve
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Literature
My Follower's Bidding: Multiversalotal
Once there was a poor boy.
He would wade into the creeks and lakes about his house, crossing the streets and roads, in search of newts and toads.
He happened on an axolotol, stuffed inside a glistening bottle.
He set it free and watched it run, and caught it again for some fun.
Its skin was night and cold and stygian, and the boy growing bold licked the amphibian.
He saw the world and saw its sun, and saw himself and his wife's son. A different world and different earth, a great mist between the turf.
And further out and further still, world's uncounted.
Mountain forest hill, oceans and seas surmounted. And then he saw his little world and all its feature, within the body of tiny creature.
And all of that and more in there, beneath thin skin without a hair.
It called itself Old Slick, its voice repulsive, the child grow sick. He dropped it and began to cry, for what he saw was meant for I.
The little thing soon wandered off, while the child moaned and coughed.
It crossed the street and
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Literature
From the files of the KNIGHT, Blaise and Chandler
Blaise, Lesley. Alias Blaze, alias Match, alias Burnout.
Woman in Early 20s. Halish complexion. Ginger. 
Known kinetic extremist. Associates;  Terrence Chandler
Pyrokinetic (micro and macro), combusitikinetic, resistant to heat. Able to enhance the heat and spread of fire. Able to control the spread and direction of fire.
Chandler, Terrence. Alias Cthugha.
Male in mid 20s. Appears sunburned. Bald. No facial hair. 
Known kinetic extremist. Associates; Lesley Blaise
Pyrogenesis, extreme resistance to heat. Increased strength and resistance to pain whilst on fire. Able to set self on fire.


Written record of KNIGHT interview
S. Interview with key KNIGHTs, dealing with known Kinetic criminals. Paul is presently disposed of, but has left sufficient notes to carry the conversation. These logs will serve as a discussion point for theories on dealing with empowered individuals, with the goal being to serve as a general guide should similar individual
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Literature
Fuel
    A last quick swig from her bottle of ginger ale, and Blaise pulled the bandana up over her nose and mouth. Soaked in water the damp cloth clung to her mouth. Plug the bottle's opening with a bit of cloth. Chandler had a worn mining respirator pinned to his chest, the mouthpiece flopping lazily by his head. In case of the smoke. Inside a couple of thugs counted their cash. It took them a day to find their car. The idiots that stole it were a load easier, the used car dealer they'd dumped it on had practically served them up on a platter. Once her Thug did his burny thing. They'd got their car back. Drove out to this little shack in the middle of nowhere.
“I mean it's like we’re being rewarded. No bystanders, no collateral, nice and empty, dirt path so no wildfire. I went and doused some of the grass just in case.”
“Good things come to those who wait, Burnout.”
“If you say so, uh, wanna do the thing?”
He gave a thumbs up, and l
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Anomnomnomymus
Calvin Alfred Turner
United Kingdom
This Bio used to be pretentious filler. NO MORE. My name is now somewhat ironic, always was. I'm an American Englishman, a former kiwi, an eccentric sort, a perplexed apprentice, and bored enough that I'll take whatever writing prompts you've got if you toss in a follow.
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A doglike thing sat in a nest of pillows.

A furred pile of bristles and spite hogged the main couch to himself, splayed out yet so still that a chalk outline would be all it would take to convince you of his demise.

A boy with skin like chestnut had his wheelchair parked to the right of the central couch. He beckoned, and a cold soda lifted itself through a hole in the top of the fridge, and hovered gently as it crossed the living room to his waiting hand. There, the tab clicked itself open for him, and the gentle hiss drew the eyes of the couch thing and the pillow thing. He sighed, and another two cans made their own way out of the kitchen.

A man, his coat unbuttoned, and his glasses slightly askew, sat on the other end of the reserve couch from his longest serving friend and colleague, a man old enough to snap when people still called him boy, but young enough that they did. Aaron's hair was the dark mess of someone who cared little for combs or hairdressers, and his feet rested on the glass of the coffee table. It had been reinforced not too long ago by a girl frustrated with people taking the thing's durability for granted. The two each extended an arm around the middle seat, and clinked their glasses together.  
"Cheers."

A loud thud deposited the final partygoer to the floor, and  a pile of orange dust besides. She pulled herself up and dusted herself off. With every step a little more sand shook  from her camouflaged trousers and collected on the carpet. Sparrow apologised as she approached the coffee machine. 

"Sorry. Taking care of business. Got carried away." 

Aaron lifted a can and dangled it in her direction. She shot him a look and he pulled his legs back, a little squeak as his shoes slid off the table.

Paul frowned behind his glasses, the lenses slipping a little further down his nose as he spoke. "She's too young to-"

She cut him off. "Already have. Once or twice. Day we won our independence. Besides. Teetotaller. That stuff messes with your head."

Paul chuckled, "Well as a qualified medical kinetic...I can tell you in good faith that it messes with you as badly as coffee. Or hot chocolate. And that I can totally undo any hangovers. You don't need to have any of that terrible swill."

"I will hear nothing against my chocolate." She drew the bird themed mug to her lips, and made to sit down, reappearing on the couch between Aaron and Paul. The original three. They met up rarely these days, too many jobs. When they did? Inseparable was hardly an exaggeration.

"There goes our chance to loosen your lips..." Laz grumbled.

"So were you guys talking about anything?"

Aaron smiled. Their chance to pretend they hadn't just been sitting here the whole time.

"Worst kinetics. Scariest. Can't be haemokinetic, because Paul's about as scary as a doctor with a lollypop."

"I could kill you all with a thought." Paul said, between sips of his glass.

His ferrokinetic friend chuckled from his seat. "I'd be scared if you didn't sound like the sort of villain Archie and Taka would beat in a two part episode."

"Fine. An Epidermeokinetic. Skin control. Flays you alive with a thought. I can exsanguinate somebody, but the thought of that makes my skin crawl, no pun intended. Just peeling someone... vivisection."

"I've seen it. Or something like it. One of the worst things I've seen."
She let her words occupy the air.

"One of. It wasn't a nice place."

She set her mug down on the glass of the coffee table.

"We'd caught an officer, who'd been executing prisoners. But he'd said, they didn't have the ammunition to spare, so he'd do it himself. So he'd gone, one at a time, and cut them. But not enough to kill, not right away. Then he locked them all in a storage shed, and left them."

"We'd caught him. It was Dalen who had the idea. Finally send a message back. So they cut him. Not deep. And they peeled off his lips. Took out his tongue. And sent him back to their lines. Walked him through the streets, with a bag over his head, and the whole time, his teeth were clicking together. The kids called him the chatterer."

"The worst part is we latched onto that. Kept going. You found a man who went too far, went crazy or cruel? You cut him."

"They wised up in the end."

"Did you ever-"

"No." Her voice was firm.

The room went silent for a while.

"Concrete control. We're surrounded by it." Star volunteered. Aaron just chuckled.

"Me and Paul. We found a girl. Locked in her room. Holes torn out of the walls, out of the floor. It was the plaster, she was a... Paul help me out here."

"Emplastrumikinetic." The older surgeon had a bottle of medicinal alcohol in his hand. He unscrewed the lid, and took a sip, swilling the methanol around his mouth.

Laz refused to just watch in horror. "By the moons how are you-"

"Strengthened immune system and liver. This is the only way to... sorry my lips are going numb. Go on."
Aaaron gave him a look and returned to his story, two hands held out to set the scene. "She was huddled in a corner, surrounded by these walls she'd made out of the furniture, boxing herself in, and these statues. You know those clay figures right? Or maybe, sort of high school sculpture classes. Ugly, no features, really lumpy, a sort of dent where their mouths should be.

"It takes a while to calm her down, convince her I'm here to help, and I feel the walls settle down, forgot to mention, whole room was shaking.

"And I ask her, where her parents are. And she goes back to crying, and points a hand at me. Not at me, behind me. And I realise that all those little holes in the room, they don't add up. Not enough to make a whole statue."
He paused, examining the gunmetal grey block on the table, a few red lights inlaid into it. They seemed to brighten at his attention.

"And that, is why you guys scare the crap out of me sometimes. I'm a guy with a gun. You can stop a man's heart, you can go anywhere, she can be anyone-"

The wild puppy in the corner cocked her head.

"What happened to her?"

"She didn't want to join. Just ran off north to Harrier. I may have pointed out a couple of roads."

"Going to give Sam a call?"

"Yeah. Things have calmed down a bit more. They owe us a favour after they palmed the firestarters off on us. We've got Lucas on that one. Thermokinetic should counter them." 

The coyote's mouth deformed, its tongue shortening a little, teeth shrinking. "Did she have a name."

"You're going to kill me for this. Her name was Paris."

She let off the keening yips of a wounded dog and padded off, resettling to curl around Sparrow's feet.
The prime spot on the couch was occupied by a pile of fur and bristles, the remote control clutched in clawed fingers. His grip loosened just an inch. Lazarus saw his chance, and raised a single hand. Star's grip tightened, and his teeth sealed together. Laz lowered his hand back to the rest of his wheelchair.

The coyote's limbs stretched and flexed, and soon Sparrow had a crushing weight on her feet, a young girl scratching her back against the carpet, dressed in plain clothes without detail. The shirt and jeans seemed to hug her skin in places, puffing out gently in others, and the frayed edges tapered off into hair rather than thread.

"Well," she said, turning her neck one way and the other. "If we're all going to be a downer tonight, I don't think people need to be a kinetic to be cruel."

She lifted herself up, or at least sat, one arm propped up against the coffee table, the other leaning into Sparrow's shin.

"I'm being chased one morning, and it takes a long, long time to get away, and people are hunting me, and I'm thinking like an animal all the while, and its this desperation that sort of catches on, and won't let go. And I'm hiding, and that's when I smell something outside a kennel. And I sneak in through the lid, and suddenly I'm scared and running away because I saw him. They dumped him in a dumpster. Bits missing. And he was still breathing."

"They killed a man?" Laz blurted.

"No. It was a dog." She said through a frown that kept the corners of her mouth pinned. Her gaze fell back to the floor.

"Oh."  

"What's so calming about that?" Star's slump vanished, and he twisted out from his sunken impression in the couch, perching atop his armrest.

"Its. You're right. Not the sorta thing I should be-"

"No. It isn't." he hissed, lips drawn back to reveal his gums.

"Fine. How we doing this then, you call a power, I call the worst thing I've seen someone do that's like it?"

Staroui smirked, the grin of a fox let into the henhouse. "Ferrokinesis."

Lazarus stared him down. "Screw to the eye."

He finished his soda. The can floated from his mouth, and crushed itself. Then it straightened, and bent again the other way, until a little hole was opened where the aluminium had thinned. Laz held his hands out, and mimed tearing a sheet of paper. The can tore apart, a jagged edge running the length of each side.

"Lots of little sharp things. I could probably be pretty scary if I went in for more than just a handful of nails."
The can tossed itself into the bin.

The girl on the carpet shook her head. "Laz. Recycling," she accosted.

"Sorry." He said, as the two halves of the can rattled their way back up, and slid over into a black bin of assorted metals.

With a dry slurp, Aaron finished a can of his own. He threw it binwards, missing his mark by a good few feet. An inch above the ground it stopped, and flew back, arcing to join its fellows.

"Aaron. Please slow down."

"No." He intoned, his voice slow and low.

"I kind of want to watch this movie without you snoring."

"Well you shall, because tonight, you get to see the true extent of Paul's powers. Paul. Undrunk me." He shouted the last part as he raised a finger to the heavens.
 
A finger pressed against Aaron's nose. "Poke." Paul giggled lightly.  

"Paul. Paul I've had a sixpack already. Paul please tell me you're not... Paul I trusted you!"

"Boop." His finger kept going, even as Aaron turned his head away to let it coast past. Sparrow leaned forward to let
her friend tilt over and fall flat, his face pushed up against Aaron's elbow, still suspended optimistically.  

"If we ever doubted he was a med student..."

Paul snored.

Sparrow vanished, reappearing on the other end of Star's couch. A twist of flesh and fur followed her, and a wolfen figure deposited herself between the two.  

The screen turned on, and the teleporter read the title aloud even as it assembled on screen.

"Der Chronicle von der Junger"

She paused. You could hear the ellipses.

"Von BLUT!"

Laz rested a hand on his breaks. "Please tell me this is a dub."

Sparrow shook her head. "It’s a good film, a musical about a group of friends who are in a band, they wind up kidnapped, there's a really cool scene where, well I can't tell you about it but just know there's this really cool scene. The effects are cool, there's all these little nods to the rest of their work and-"

Aaron and Paul interrupted, snoring in unison.

"Look. Subtitles shouldn't ruin your experience. Think of it as an opera or something. But with rock. But not a rock opera, that's a separate genre entirely."

"Sparrow."

"Yeah."

"Lets just watch the film."

"Ok."  

She put her feet up on a carefully positioned stool, and leaned left into the corner of the couch. One set of fingers wrapped about her mug, and the other about the back of her friend's ears.
Angst and Chilling

Promised sarahowen97 some words as a belated birthday present. Enjoy a fanfic of her charaters. She asked for her hero team, the KNIGHTs, chilling. Alternatively, she also asked for angst. 

This is sort of in the middle, with the KNIGHT's chilling and getting some horrible stories off their chests.

With 

Sparrowa former child soldier who teleports. 

Paul, a doctor and blood/genetic manipulator. 

Aaron, armed with a mysterious weapon that won't work for anyone else. 

Staroui, an experiment and cranky fuzzball. 

Lazarus, controls metal. 

Ally, a shapeshifter who spends a lot of time as a coyote. 

Offscreen we have 

Lucas, temperature manipulator and Sarah's emotional punching bag. 

Speculokinetic who's name I don't recall, who has been sadly coloured in my perception by my awareness of Shatterbird. 

Sam , leads another team, mixes chemicals and exudes poisons. Pretty chill guy. 

Archie and Taka , her and ArcherVale 's OCs that I was led to believe are tenuously both fictional and real in the KNIGHT's setting.

 A lot of them are probably a little OOC but... :P

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Sparrow eyed the empty recliner, and let herself fall back. A brief jaunt through the intervening space, and she collapsed into the comfortable chair.

"Rough week?" Staroui intoned, poking at a flat screen.

"Busy. Just saved a kitten from a tree."  

His furred brow furrowed.

"The tree was floating five stories up." She added. If he cared, he didn't voice it. Sighing she plucked the remote from her chairs arm and tossed it at his head. He scooched slightly to the right, and then used his shoulder to pin it in place. Damn it. They'd only just gotten it back off of him.

"What are you doing?"

Star tapped and ticked. "Checking for the next thing that drags you out of the house."

"I just got back!"

"It takes you like five seconds to get anywhere in the city. Hah! Your friend's been hitting workshops again." Star said, refusing to lift his head up from the tablet clutched in his paws.

Sparrow planted her face between her hands. "We already let him turn the hangar into an arboreum, I'll teach him to keep his weeds out of other people's toolboxes. At least tell me he was paying for them this time."

"No. Not Mister gears and flowers. The Easterner."

Her eyes widened. "Please tell me its not-"

"Suspect seen in a red facemask, goggles, people trapped inside the building. According to the news that's... just the one security guard, lost his legs... been there about five minutes."

Half joking, half pleading, and with a little sprinkle of sarcasm, she retorted. "Really? Can someone else do this?"

"Paul's visiting a hospital, Laz is out shopping. I'm getting a little cooped up, just drag me along and we'll beat him up again."

She frowned.

Star looked up from his "He has a murderous grudge Sparrow, not a crush."

The frown dragged her mouth open in disgust. She clamped it shut.

"Have you ever listened to those radio dramas? He's just doing the whole, taunt and banter thing. I know Terran is your second language-"

"Fourth." Being born at a crossroads did that for you.

Star resumed, "He's being melodramatic... Aw crap. I just pulled up some pictures..." He trailed off.

Sparrow could guess why. "Walls?"

With a lot of crime scenes, you wished they were cleaner. With Reget's, maybe a little more mess would be appreciated. The lucky ones had been uncut, a piece of them pulled out. It could reach to the bone, but it was treatable like an ordinary injury. It was the amputations, dead limbs from loss of circulation, they were the unlucky ones. She could help with those, teleporting the victim out of whatever object they'd been left fused with.

"He's updated his profile."

Startled by the seeming non sequitur, her reply was a single "What?"

He tapped the screen with a pen once, twice, and then dragged. "Paul was meant to tell you. Marvin's got a phone now. Look at this."

He turned the screen to face her, a picture occupying about half of the space.

The suit was different, but that didn't matter. It was the mask that confirmed it. A bandana supposed to look like a skinless face. That smug monster had one hand stretching out of the frame, the other held behind his head, enclosing it. The toothy grin was a few inches in front of a set of legs dangling through the ceiling. Another victim trapped between floors. He'd captioned it too. "Sympathiser."

"Motherless Ender brute." She muttered. Of course. As if the week could have gone any worse without throwing in the Hothead from Hal.

Star didn't so much spring to his feet as slink, coiling and uncoiling throughout the motion. "I'll go duck tape a battery to a set of handcuffs, a glow in the dark bracelet could stop this guy..."

The idea of a criminal struggling to escape the clutches of a slightly luminous band of plastic brought a brief smile to her face. As for her preparations, the holster she'd left upstairs was just a jump away.

*

Mere moments after uploading his portrait, the set of legs had kicked Martyn across the back of his head. A gentle tap brought the guard crashing to the floor. The timing was important. Too long, and he'd be trapped midway down the next floor. Too short, and he risked giving the man a lung full of plaster from the ceiling. He let the man stagger to his feet. Then a tap to the shoulder. The man turned, and Martyn pressed a gloved hand across his mouth, and stabbed.

The knife slipped in with that same slick ease. A moment to give it back its substantiality, and the blunt blade was stuck midway through kneecap. Insubstantial again, and pulled out, the cut's volume added to the mass of the blade. It ruined the balance after a single use, but there didn't need to be any elegance to the thing. It was only a butter knife, after all. The new hole leaked. Presumably, a sliver of an artery could have been extracted as well.

The guard screamed. Tsk. Traitor. Martyn shoved the man down another floor, watching him pass through the carpet. Water engulfing a pebble. A flick of the blade, a little bit of immateriality permissed, and the excess material washed out. A thin cross section of fat and bone landed with the same thip of a discarded fruit peel. The sheen returned to the lethal cutlery. It was getting easier. A lot easier. The abnormality, not the violence. That wasn't to say that hurting wasn't becoming more manageable, but to say transitions, transliminations... he needed a word for this. To say his abnormality was like breathing would be amusing, the way the two were mutually incompatible. Practiced breaths, slipping in and out of the physical.  

Martyn lifted the corner of his glove, checking the clock face set into the edge of where his skin gave way to aluminium. They'd better not be busy, he thought.  
#Ceilinged

Gift for a friend of mine, check out her art. And stories. Got some cool OCs. Got a nice setting. I keep poking at them with a fantagonist.

Yo sarahowen97 

Boop. Missed your birthday. Have a snip for now, but gimme a prompt and I'll write something good and proper with the OC, AU, or fandom of your choice. :D 

Cut line, but still amusing. 

"Star, have you been unstabbed? I've been unstabbed. It un-hurts." 

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An artist/writer I damn well admire made a title card for a fic I've been writing. Check it out, I guess.
forums.spacebattles.com/thread…
Astrid-Berkelow Stresses Diagram
As further problems are added, you can see how stubbornness will wear thin, and eventually life will suffer total mechanical failure.


Drew this ugly diagram to illustrate a point on a fanfic I was reading over on SpaceBattles, called Mixed Feelings. Basically Astrid Berkelow has problems. Gaining powers has solved none of them. (forums.spacebattles.com/thread…)
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Hey, a friend is thinking of doing commissions, would like to know if anyone is interested. Give her a look up, ey? drawings-of-a-madman.deviantar…

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DamonWakes Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2015  Professional Writer
You have a fantastic username. :D
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:iconanomnomnomymus:
Anomnomnomymus Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2015
I was In a mood of sorts at the time. <}:)
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:iconcarlinx:
carlinx Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2015
ty for the :+fav:
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