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About Varied / Hobbyist Premium Member DawniFemale/Australia Groups :iconnahaiwrimo: NaHaiWriMo
 
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Daily Deviations:
your teeth leave different scarswhat they didn't tell me--
the amnesiac is
61.8% water &
on watching the night
close its eyes on you,
I only know beauty;
maybe Anne Sexton was onto something
& for the woman shamed,
arise and breathe. Seabones
with taciturn eyes
after we lost him:
mermaid thirst for
cruelest love.
Your virginity is like an envelope,
a lover's observations on
post-it notes, cupping rice
always, and always.

August 31, 2013

Daily Lit Deviations during 2014
I Am More Than BPDDon't tell me you know me better
than the people who've known me
for years. I know me too, and I know
to trust them with my sanity.
Don't tell me I don't need the hospital--
I wouldn't be here
if I didn't need the hospital. This is not
a playground and I am not
stupid. My emotional appendix
has burst and reality
tastes of copper; don't tell me
this is just
attention seeking.
All requests for help
involve seeking attention.
The patient whose leg is broken
screams for pain killers
but I am only kneeling
and asking you to help me
stay alive.
Don't tell me I am being irrational
when you are basing this
on a label only.
I am capable of great rationality:
I can begin by debating this
without calling you an asshole.
Flip the table -- call the burn victim
irrational, and I think you'll find
more volativity.
Listen when my supporters tell you
that I am sunshine
poured over candy
-- they are telling you
this is not me. Hear us:
I am bubbled laughter,
naivety and gentleness--
I do art and beauty

(March 13, 2014)

Daily Lit Deviations during 2013
Your Non-Existent CompetitionMy fingers hover over numbers I have not needed to think about for years, and I urge myself to make the call. Still hesitant, I pick out the digits that still translate to "home" in my mobile, though for years it has been only a house; sometimes mine, sometimes not. It rings once and I hang up, then try again and again and again. Third time might be the charm, but today it takes five of these hang ups before I stay on the line.
"Sorry," I say, knowing I don't sound very convincing but banking on the notoriously bad reception we get here to tick it over into believeable. "Sorry. I bet you got about a billion missed calls. My 'phone kept cutting out, you know what it's like." I laugh, an awkward bark that explodes from my mouth like our terrier chasing a cat, and she seems to accept it at face value. "Anyway, happy birthday, hey!"
She thanks me and we meander through the pleasantries she initiates, an elaborate dance of lies we move through every so often. We talk of cheap shops and craf
(we all are the) monarchwe are not born noble.
instead, we are thrust out
squalling and naked,
feather-dust fur instead of wings
and crowns built of flesh & bone.
still,
as the caterpillar into her chrysalis
we begin lowly that we may grow.

(November 17, October 13)

I Am Not Your ReceptacleI am not your receptacle,
not your Grand Canyon
to feed with the echoes
you hunger for.
See me!
I wear a three o'clock shadow,
and vodka stained walls
starved of the things
you're asking for.
See me! See the person-
I am not your echoing chasm!
See me!
You cannot pour juice
from an empty jug.

(January 30)

Artist Reviews & Compliments

(aka, people say really nice things about me and I don't want to ever forget them):

bloodawni is an incredible ray of sunshine. Regardless of the hardships she has confronted and continues to take charge of, she manages to bring smiles to the faces of so many and brightens our lives just by being here. On top of all this, she has an intensely breathtaking poetic style that holds audiences captive, and strikes straight at the heart.
Great work, Dawni. Please don't ever give up on your dreams.
-- by a wonderful deviant who chose to remain anonymous -- dACompliments.

You are a bundle of wonder and goodness. Whenever I see you doing something it's with determination and love. You are bounding and exuding such a positive, lovely energy that is truly remarkable. We've only just started to get to know each other, but I all ready know that you are an amazing person who strives to help others. ♥ -- by the beautiful and amazing IrrevocableFate.

bloodawni has always been a really kind and caring person, on top of being really talented with such moving and inspiring poems. Just as inspiring is the strength and determination to carry on in life rather than get her down. Even in her 'down' moments, she never gives up and never lets its affect her optimistic side, something which takes courage as well as strength.
Thank you for being such a wonderful and inspiring friend :hug: Keep up the good work
-- by a wonderful deviant who chose to remain anonymous -- dACompliments.

*bloodawni is a talented and modest individual with a heart of gold. -- by a wonderful deviant who chose to remain anonymous -- dACompliments.

*bloodawni is one of the kindest and bravest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. On top of which, she is incredibly talented! Definitely a deviant you should know. :heart: -- by the lovely RiseandBe

"~bloodawni, while a fairly new addition to my own watch list, has ensnared me in the beauty of her words and left me wanting--needing--more. There's a sense of real life to her pieces that is bound to leave readers breathless; the emotions pouring from each word is enough to knock a reader over and make it hard to get back up until the end. With a kind heart and an enthusiasm for participation that can't be beat, ~bloodawni is one deviant you should definitely keep an eye on!" -- by the beautiful TwilightPoetess

Dawniface, you are one of my favorite people here on deviantART. You have so much strength, courage, and love in your heart. You are such a beautiful person and your poetry is almost as good as your pure heart. But, not a lot of things compare to your loving spirit, lovely Dawni. You are an amazing person and I love you. :heart: You inspire me to give more love everyday. :love: -- by the wonderful chromeantennae

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Dawni
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Australia


I've written this several times, apparently writing about myself is difficult. ;) I caved and asked my partner to help.

30s -- female -- Aussie (Caboolture, Queensland) -- defacto -- diagnosed with mental illness -- mother to 2 butterfly children -- crazy/weird/'special' (not to be confused with the aforementioned mental illness) -- cheerful -- loving -- cheeky -- friendly.


Stamped:

Mental health awareness stamp by Superspud Prevent Child Abuse by A-Sent-Miracle ++ Self-Injury - Stamp by dimruthien ++ BPD Awareness by dimruthien
TWLOHA Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Stop Domestic Violence by f0rtunatef00l PTSD stamp by shadowlight-oak Mother of angels - stamp by xpekalx
Pregnancy-N-Infant Loss Month by jenepooh Stamp: Love Commenters by Flame-of-the-Phoenix Love Stamp by Kezzi-Rose STAMP: Giraffes by zungzwang
TARDIS Stamp by Kezzi-Rose I Foster Animals: Stamp by bloodawni Reply Comments Stamp by Mirz123 DA compliments stamp,updated and animated! by tea-cup-duck
I support BurdenedHearts by BloodshotInk Calendar Project Stamp by ginkgografix


I believe in a llama for a llama, but I don't watch people simply because they're watching me & I don't do fav-for-fav trades. Please don't feel obliged to fav my work or watch me just because I gave you a random llama/fav/comment/whatnot. Fav or watch me because you like my work by all means, though! :)
Interests

Is anyone super familiar with DA's policy on "pornographic literature" and how it relates to child abuse? 

63%
5 deviants said (I have contacted the help desk team, but I don't expect to receive an answer anytime soon.)
25%
2 deviants said I wrote up my first piece for the 100 memories project...
13%
1 deviant said From my very basic understanding without further elaboration, it's very much a shutdown on art around childhood sexual assault-- which just isn't cool.
0%
No deviants said then realised I probably can't share it because of DA's policy.
0%
No deviants said Thoughts? Advice? Other places where it would be appropriate to share actual memories, in proper literature form?
Oh look at that, it's time for another FFM feature! :D Also, apparently I missed one yesterday, so I've added it to today's.

No Trial, No AppealThere were three trials set out by the computer program "TH3 FAT3S" at the end of the world, and each one of them was presided over by one of the fates of Greek mythology: Clotho, the spinner, whose test involved the fiery strings of fate; Lachesis, the allotter, whose test held the furious, three headed steel monster Cerberus; and Atropos, the unturnable, whose test had never been passed.
The front of the great stone building that held the trials was flat and featureless, and I shook anxiously a moment before dashing through them with practiced ease: jumping over lines of racing red fire in the hall of the spinner and bowing through the low door past the hungry heads of Lachesis' Cerberus, three-headed and hungry for the taste of would-be-clever human’s skin.
It was the last test, however, that always claimed fools like me trying to be heroes; it is said that the fires of fate look backward, so I steeled myself for the strength to face my own past and to secure a future for huma
  Gossiping Wallflowers (FFM Day 16)Every day, they peel the tape from my eyelids and pry them open for moisturizing drops.  It is routine.  Tape, drops, sop up the mess with Kleenex, and tape again.  Machines bleep around me.  The tube in my throat presses tight against muted vocal cords.
It's only on Tuesdays I hear the gaudy pastel wallpaper flowers talking.  The flash of fluttering pistons and bright green stems imprints on my mind the knowledge that they see all, hear all, know all.  Tuesdays.  Family day.
"Oh, it's that devil man again," Petunia whispers, her voice puckering in the heavy air.  Hers are the most vibrant petals, thriving on the drama and the turmoil.  Acting the ringleader, Petunia is the first to know--and the first to spill the beans--about anything that happens in the building.
"Hush, Petunia!"  Violet hisses.  The bite in her voice surprises me; always shy, she hides herself in the wind.  I squint, trying to catch a gl

Raknar in WonderlandRaknar the ruthless stalked the mountains, axe in hand. These were strange lands, farther off the edge of the map than any orc had ventured before, but this mattered little. Raknar was here to kill things, loot things, challenge things to duels, and occasionally dropkick small mammals.
Even so, there was something unsettling about this place. Something told him he wasn't supposed to be here. As much as he'd revelled in defeating the mighty invisible mouth-cat, as glorious as it had been to raise the severed head of the frumious bandersnatch in victory, he couldn't help but feel it was all a bit too easy. That last lion he'd killed hadn't even put up much of a fight. Vanquishing a lion that was quivering in a corner didn't really seem like vanquishing at all.
Still, he had to admit the treasure he'd found was marvellous. The epic axe he'd pried from the dead hands of a munchkin in Munchkin town hadn't seemed like much at first: it was blunt, with a circular head that didn't seem particu
  Twelve Drowned RosesThey are waiting for him in the water.
He can see their faces – pale and fish-bitten, so swollen with water that the tide might slough them from their skulls at any moment. Their eyes are dark and hollow, but he can see the emotions swirling in their depths: love and lust and loneliness, despair, longing. They claw at him with rotted hands. Always they stay below the surface of the water; never do they reach out into the air.
He looks from one waterlogged face to another, naming them. Emma, Jamie, Kathryn, Elsie – little Elsie – she was his first, in her fluttery white dress. He remembers the flowers she was holding, roses in pale yellow and white. The petals fluttered about her in the breeze – now her dress is fluttering beneath the waves, ragged and torn, and her little mouth forms his name in silence.
She was his first, and an accident. He had never meant for it to happen. But it happened all the same; and she looked so lonely there, a single white rose burie
  FFM '14.16 GratitudeThey moved with perfect grace, as if they had been born to dance, and indeed, they had been dancing so long that they may as well have been. The music shifted around them, flowing from song to song and dance to dance, but they never faltered, never slowed, never ceased.
When his partner vanished before his eyes, the prince saw that he had been bespelled, and looked around to find that he was not in a ballroom, or rather, if he were, that it had been out of use for a hundred years or more. As it was, the room was featureless, save the crumbling walls and his own footprints tracing a maze through the dust on the floor.
“Highness.” The prince turned to face the woman who spoke and saw that she had a sword in her hand and the remains of a harp at her feet. “My lord, it’s time we got you home.”
The prince knelt before her, head bowed. “Good lady, you have freed me from this vile enchantment. I would offer myself to you in marriage as thanks.”
The ad

hilltop (FFM 16)The early morning dark was grey and gloomy, and there was a definite hum of looming rain about the air. Cassie didn't want to be out in this weather, she wanted to be curled up in bed, surrounded by her polar fleece sheets and rereading The Book Thief. But a routine is a routine is a routine, so Cassie had pulled herself out of her warm haven, tugged thermal clothing onto her body, and driven up to the base of the hill.
As Cassie began the punishing ascent up the hill, she wondered again why she continuously did this to herself. There was literally no time of year when it was pleasant to climb up the hill. In the summer, the hard gravel of the track and the dry, prickly grasses combined with the hole in the ozone layer to produce an almost unbearable heat. In the fall or the springtime, there was a constant ooze of mud that was a deathtrap to the unaware cyclist or clumsy runner. And in the winter, like today, it was simply cold and miserable.
Her habit had started as an escape. The
  (FFM 17)The morning after, Rose got home as fast as she was able. After five minutes of rooting around on his floor for her clothing, she gave up on her underwear, instead wincing at the feeling of wearing skinny jeans commando. Grabbing her phone from where it lay atop his shirt, she fled the house, dodging still-passed-out clumps of people as she went.
It wasn't a long walk to her house, less than an hour, but to Rose it somehow seemed as if the very air was amassing judgement, mockery, and shame. She felt like it was tattooed on her forehead, the words "slut", "easy", "tease", and more. Surely everyone who saw her would know immediately what she'd done. She knew, although she couldn't remember a great deal. Oh, God. By the time she reached her home, she'd worked herself into a shuddering frenzy. She barely made it inside before the tears began obscuring her vision.
"Ros- Rose! Rose, what's wrong? Come here, sit down, you're okay. Calm down, sweetie."
Her flatmate, Cara, caught Rose i
  Giving the Bride AwayThird Person Plural
Father: Teenagers are too immature to know what’s best for them.
Third Person Neuter
Mother: This country just doesn’t have the same standard of morals.
Third Person Masculine
Father: He’s the perfect choice for her.
Third Person Feminine
Mother: She’s not too young. It’s normal to be nervous.
Second Person
Father & Mother: You should be excited on your wedding day.
First Person
Bride: This isn’t what I want.

Where It BeginsOne could say this story begins the day Miriam went shopping with Hayley.  The clothes were more sparkles than fabric, and once Miriam picked up a tank top that said in glitter letters ‘here’s the booty.’  “This store is for thirteen-year-olds,” she said, “This is silly.”
But even as she said it her heart raced.  She was afraid of what she wanted to tell Hayley, afraid of what her friend would say.  Maybe it was better to keep her mouth shut, be the thirteen-year-old who shakes her head at shirts with the word booty on them.
Or, one could say this story begins soon after Miriam had gotten her first period.  That had been a hard day.  It had happened towards the end of the school day, and she’d been to scared to say anything to anyone but her mother, when she’d picked her up.  What she had said was that she was dying.  No one had told her this was going to happen.
She never did remember
  NarasimhaThere are two bathrooms: one for girls and one for boys.
There are two sports teams: one for men and one for women.
Everywhere (s)he looks it's the same. Changing rooms, clothing styles, shoe sizes, polite forms of address, even job descriptions: “Seeking a woman or man who can...”
The trouble with breaking things down into categories, Josef(ina) muses as (s)he regards the signs, is that doing so introduces loopholes that exclude outliers. There's no help for it; (s)he'll have to hold it in.
  Possession (FFM Day 17--TW)Just past city limits, the screaming gets swept across out-of-season fields and abandoned apple orchards.  Neighbors pretend not to hear, drowning out the noise in high def TV and internal monologues.  It's easy to ignore problems that don't touch them--and besides, Mrs. Graving has always been a nice lady.  It's only that damn demon girl causing her trouble again.  They don't understand why Mrs. Graving lets her stay.
---
Samantha Jean's long, skinny feet poke from beneath jeans embroidered with butterflies and flowers.  Her arms are wrapped around the thick trunk of a leafless oak tree.  She watches the sun slip below the horizon line; the sky pulls on her sleeping gown and plugs in her favorite nightlights.  On the thin breeze, her dad's voice carries across the yard.  Samantha Jean turns, lowering feet-first, sticky tree bark catching on her favorite t-shirt.  "Coming, Papa!"
By news break the next morning, five year old Samantha's gap-t

Into the DeepLena was playing in the forest when she heard the call.
It sounded like singing, or maybe weeping. It was one of the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. It slithered through the trees like silver, or crystals, or stars: a melody she knew at once, as though it were engraved in her heart, although she couldn't think where she might have heard it before. And she had certainly never heard the beautiful voice before. She would remember it if she had; she was sure of that.
She followed the voice as though it were a thread or a veil, a thing she could pick up and roll into a ball as she traced it to its source. It led her away from the path, over hills and flowers and babbling brooks, in between the trees. It led her to a dark place in the forest where everything was green and wet and mossy, except the mushrooms that sprouted from the trees and the ground. It led her downwards, into a cave, into darkness.
She remembered to be afraid, then, for a moment. Not of the voice – how coul
  FFM '14.18 Super Pepper-UpperNo matter what the babysitter tried, the dog would not stop barking. She took a flashlight outside to see if anyone was there and found nothing. She checked the rooms in the house, but only found the children, asleep. She checked the basement and saw nothing unusual, but she could still hear the dog barking from upstairs. Finally, she gave up and climbed the stairs to the kitchen.
When she closed the basement door behind her, there was a flash of light so bright she had to blink to clear her vision. When she could see, there were six demons in the kitchen, each with glowing, red eyes more unsettling than those of the last.
“It took you guys long enough.”
The babysitter realized that the dog had finally stopped barking. She looked around for the big, black poodle, and saw that its eyes, too, glowed red.
“I’ve been calling for hours,” the poodle said. “It’s dinnertime.”
  Match Made in HeavenAs the ribbon of light streaked through the sky, she looked to her boyfriend lying on the grass beside her and wished he would love her more than anything for the rest of their lives and people would talk about their love long after they were gone. And he did.
He wrote her letters every day.
He sent her gifts, many and expensive golden baubles.
He went with her everywhere she went.
Soon, she could not take it anymore. He was smothering her. He grew jealous of any other man she talked to. He wouldn’t leave, even when she screamed at him.
But he loved her. He loved her more than anything else… even his own freedom. No restraining order could hold him back. They would be together… forever.
He dressed her in all the gold jewelry he’d bought her and anointed her with frankincense.
The day after Christmas, he papers ran the tragic story of the homicide-suicide. The TV stations covered it in meticulous detail. It became one of those tragedies that just seemed to catch

The Worth of a WishA white streak passed overhead, appearing in brief flashes between the dead and twisted branches. None of the motley crew running down the path below paused, though one did bother to comment, straying slightly as his concentration was divided.
“Huh. Cool. Shooting star,” Justin said, tweaking his course slightly to bring him back in line with his allies.
“What, outside?” asked Will, his voice coming through in a faint crackle of static.
“Can’t be,” Mike butted in. “It’s starting to rain out here.”
“Oh, yeah, you did mention that earlier. Forgot you two lived in the same town.”
“Yeah, it was in the game,” Justin clarified. “Pretty cool that someone coded random stuff like that into it.”
“Make a wish,” Zack prompted, his wood elf character zig-zagging across the trail so she didn’t outpace the rest of them.
“It’s not real; it wouldn’t count,” said Will
  FFM 18: Friday NightAnother friday night.  Burnt coffee, stale cigarette smoke, and a bunch of assholes that Vlad didn’t like any better than himself.  If there was a silver lining here, it was that this would be his last meeting.  That almost brought a smile to his tired, pallid face.  Almost.  Instead, he peeled off one last sticky tag, wrote his name, and sat in the circle with the rest of the guys.
Rat King was up first.  Blah blah, all the usual bullshit about ruling the sewers.  Honestly, who cared?  That guy wasn’t a true monster.  As far as Vlad was concerned, they should’ve sent him packing ages ago, but this was a place of support, so he’d never said as much.  Twitching and fidgety, he waited for his turn to stand at the podium.
“Hello,” he began.  “My name is Vlad.  Of the Family Macnair.”
“Hi, Vlad,” the assorted murderers and thieves replied.
“As most of you know, I
  FFM 18: UghCeleste still had the pill bottle in her hand when a minor explosion rocked her onto her back. She hadn’t expected her death to be so dramatic. Funeral, maybe, although she doubted that.
“Drat it all,” said a voice. “I haven’t had a break in weeks.”
Celeste sat up to find Death in front of her. After the explosion, the appearance was a little anticlimactic, but Death’s black robes did billow ominously over the horse it was mounted on. Its skeleton face seemed to be glaring. At her.
“Sorry?” said Celeste.
“They all say that,” said Death. “And before you ask, you are dead. Well done.” It dismounted, and the horse shrunk to an easily manageable cat shape, lashing a long bony tail.
Celeste didn’t feel terribly accomplished. She didn’t feel much of anything, except for a vague floatiness.
“If I’m dead,” she began.
“I’m here to take you away,” said Death. “Usual

AwakeningShe had been sleeping for a thousand years, curled tight in her pod as it soared through galaxies and nebulae and unending vacuum, past stars that burned brighter than souls and planets that were, somehow, each unique despite their infinite number. She was sealed tightly in her pod, and sleeping besides, but she saw the universe in her dreams as it streamed past her. She saw the tiny worlds all around her being born, and growing and living, and finally collapsing. She saw the glitter of moons and starfire and space-ice.
But at last her journey came to an end. Her pod reached a planet that was green and brown and blue and white, all swirled with clouds, and she orbited it for only a few of its days before floating down into its atmosphere. Her descent was slow and careful, and soon the world's own winds carried her to her landing-place and set her gently down.
It was a good place: there was rich soil all around her, heavy with wet, and the world's sun shone bright onto her pod; she coul
  Zeltepha Abscalon (FFM Day 19)On an undiscovered planet in the Zeltepha Abscalon universe, Tristen traipses and stumbles across abandoned and depleted automatons, searching for her next charge.  The bleeping of her battery pack is second nature; she tunes it out.  Space breathes, a soundless, discordant churning.  In the five years since she's been trapped here, it's weighed on her.  She walks with slouched shoulders.
Stooping down, she rifles through a pile of rusting bodies and broken antennae.  She hasn't seen a working machine in a week.  The last one she found remote-detonated when it saw her coming.  Her eyes are halfway closed when it happens: a flash of pink, a shuffle of movement that scatters the pile.
A baby automaton--the first she's ever seen--shoots from beneath a corroded hunk of head and floats, mere inches, in front of her.  Tristen grins, a wolfish flash of her teeth.  Finally.
"&#!?*"  
The automaton--male, she deduces from the pink eyes and s
  Alienating Earth FFM19NASA is practically shitting itself right now.
After years of trying to communicate with the rest of the universe, we have finally made contact. We have tried crop circles, burning canals, time capsules, Doritos ads blasted into space for eight hours straight, golden records, nudes, and even telepathy. None of them worked, but the aliens came when they were good and ready.
They overrode all of the screens on Earth, easily hacking into our systems. Every TV, tablet, iPad, and computer in the world turned on to a black and white, fuzzy screen, most likely because our technology was not as advanced as theirs. The entire world sat huddled around these screens, watching in awe of the first alien-human interaction.
An alien spoke, his voice being translated into a young, British man’s voice so we could understand. “Can you please stop trying to communicate with us? We are very busy right now. The intergalactic bus station blew to pieces and it was because of your golden discs hur

Survey    Captain Crag hauled himself up onto the plateau and caught his breath while he waited for his survey partner to catch up. Lieutenant Jorb had a harder time with climbs than humans did. She had to use special equipment to compensate. While paws might have been great for running and hand-to-hand combat, they were fairly useless for climbing.
    When she did reach the top, though, she showed no signs of fatigue. Crag was jealous of that, but it was just part of being from Sirius Three. Their evolution had gifted them with unlimited stamina. Crag made a mental note to hit the gym after they got back from this mission.
    To her credit, Jorb said nothing about the captain’s need for rest. Instead she scanned the horizon and took readings with her scanner and waited for him to recover.
As soon as he had caught his breath, Crag stood up and signaled that they should get moving.
    They didn’t go very far before Jorb held up a paw to s
  Cleaning Up - FFM 2014 Day 19I sighed as I shoveled through the radioactive waste. They didn't care enough anymore to make us wear protective biohazard suits, so I left mine out in the break lounge. After nuclear war broke out hundreds of years ago, humans adapted to radioactivity anyways, so the worst that could happen would be similar to a stomach flu, at least at the levels this waste is emitting. I've heard some horror stories with the clean-up crew of fresh nukes, but that's not my job. Mine's at least 50 years old; there's no problems here anymore.
My job is just that of a glorified janitor, picking up remains of nuclear wars past and trying to revitalize the land for reurbanization. Sure, I have some clever gizmos that trick the uranium to decay faster that it does naturally, but that's just par for the course. It pays well enough, and I don't have to worry about impressing chicks, since this drives them away quicker than a rocket launch, saving me even more money. I don't need status, and I've got a house




On Thanking

Please consider giving me a llama rather than thanking me if that's what you're here for (and know that if I haven't already given you one, I do reciprocate), but you're very welcome either way. :heart:

Feel free, also, to start up a random conversation!

Comments


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:iconlivingdreamer97:
LivingDreamer97 Featured By Owner 17 minutes ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much for the Llama!! :iconrubcheeksplz:
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:iconnorbez:
Norbez Featured By Owner 4 hours ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the llama. :thanks: Have one back. :)
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:iconwill3style:
Will3Style Featured By Owner 13 hours ago  Student General Artist
Thanx for the Llama...:)
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(1 Reply)
:iconjrwenzel:
jrwenzel Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Professional Digital Artist
:iconthankyouforthellama:
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(1 Reply)
:iconuszatyarbuz:
UszatyArbuz Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fav, have a wonderful day :sun:
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(1 Reply)
:icontherafflesia:
TheRafflesia Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you so much for the llama! :hug: Sorry for the late reply!
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(1 Reply)
:iconshane-zero:
Shane-zero Featured By Owner 2 days ago
thx for the lama :iconllamafaceplz:
plz check out my art too :iconkaminaplz:
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(1 Reply)
:iconjuliahasagun:
JuliaHasAGun Featured By Owner 3 days ago
Thanks for watching!Lily Thank you 
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(1 Reply)
:iconseth-ravenclaw:
seth-ravenclaw Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thanks for the llama~! :dummy:
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(1 Reply)
:iconlittleemolga:
LittleEmolga Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Student General Artist
Thanks so much for the llama <3
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