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About Varied / Hobbyist Empress of BonesFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 11 Years
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I work in a variety of mediums and my works have a variety of themes. You'll find everything from painted found animal bones and other nature art to fantasy pieces, to original writing and even lots of fanart for some of my favorite things.

Random Favourites

deviation in storage by AGLArmsFactory
My tastes are varied and, thus, I favorite a variety of things. Some things here are gifts to me, some things are fanart, some are original, and there are even some photographs here.


I don't really have any room on my walls for prints, and expect no one to ever get them for me, but I do like these. Think of this as a secondary Favorites gallery.


My mother sent me an email today informing me that a favorite restaurant of my family and extended family that has been a Phoenix-area icon since the 1950s is closing down, including its franchise restaurants - the the entire company... 

Bill Johnson's Big Apple is gone as of today.  

I haven't been able to eat there in over ten years, due to moving to Pennsylvania, but for you Pennsylvanians, it's like if Rita's Water Ice folded up shop, or if Pat's and Geno's went into the night.  

The place was a part of my childhood.  Best barbeque ever (or at least outside of Texas.  I sadly never got to go to any of the famous places there during either time I'd been there).  My favorite sauce - I asked for bottles of it as Christmas presents from my folks.  

I need a black armband with their bull-head logo on it.  
  • Mood: Stunned
  • Listening to: Not BBQ pits being opened
  • Reading: Not a BBQ Menu
  • Watching: Not a BBQ plate coming to my table
  • Playing: Not with a coloring book at the BBQ place
  • Eating: NOT BBQ!!!!
  • Drinking: Not a tall glass of iced tea with my spareribs
Some days, I wonder why I'm still alive.  I think these are most days.  Sometimes I have my grit up, my "live for spite" attitude, but today I just have a crashing depression.  

I've been thinking of my place in the world for a long time.  I think some of this started a week ago when I saw one of those Fox News "The poor are entitled lazy bastards!" pieces that was made fun of on the Daily Show.  Even though the show was making fun of it, I know that elsewhere, those were real sentiments.  

I hate myself for not being able to hold a job, for having a disability - and one that a lot of people don't even think is "real" because it's a brain thing.  I hate it that every job I've ever held has never paid enough and has ended in one kind of a disaster or another.  I hate that ArkNorth works his ass of and is looking for better work but he's still see as a "parasite" by those powers that be because he didn't get some kind of special well-paying job/had to downgrade/was a victim of the economic dive and most people won't give him a chance because he's in a certain age bracket.  I try to console myself by saying "Hey, at least I play the housewife part" - contributing to the world by making dinner and cleaning up the place and generally cheering my man up, but even there... yeah.  Never enough, it seems, when we worry about our power bill and I have to call my mother to borrow money.  

Did that today again.  I actually told my mother over the phone that I thought I was a failure at life and that maybe I should die.  She told me that dying would not solve anything.  ArkNorth tells me that dying will make things worse.  

And I've been reading commentary/forumish/website stuff of people giving their opinions on the meaning of life and it's lack, and how "the meaning of live is just living well and making yourself happy."  And it leaves me cold, because the other day, (as fodder for some depressing original work I'm farting around with), I realized that there are some people who are just born never to be happy.  I am one of them.  I had a flashback to the moment when I was driving home from somewhere in my stupid old constantly breaking-down Chevy S-16 back when I lived in Arizona where I realized "I am never going to be happy."  - That is, consistently, that "pursuit of happiness" junk that everybody is after, I decided that I don't fit it, that even if I achieved all my dreams and became wealthy enough to never worry about things again, that I don't think I'd get true "happiness" out of it, that I'd always second-guess myself as to whether I deserved it or always be looking at the greater pains and injustices of the world, or just the plain old chemical imbalances would come up.  It's just the way my brain is wired.  

I'm not like other people.  

You know, loads of people will call you or imply that you're weak if you need to believe in a greater purpose for existence.  Like, if you believe in "sky fairy" (it's a deragatory word for "God," not the Great Fairy from the Legend of Zelda, though imagining God as the Great Fairy provides me a terribly amusing mental image), you're seen as weak and lumped in all the injustices done by organized religions you might not even agree with, you know?  Having the meaning of life be in "making yourself happy and being reasonably useful to the rest of the world" is supposed to be enough... and for some... it's not.  I can't make myself happy.  I can't even be reasonably useful.  

I have to, time and time again, borrow money from my parents who had a very good pension and were lucky enough to be union-folk in their working days, but who aren't rich themselves just to survive.  I have no more just barely-paid-off cars or anything else particularly valuable to emergency/right away sell.  It's frustrating and annoying and just drives home for me that I'm mere evolutionary flotsam who's failed the basic task of being an adult human.  

I don't even have friends.  No, really.  I'm an introvert, most of my friends are online. I tend to "not need friends" because I have so much trouble trusting people. I'm awkward in real life.  The only real-life/meatspace friend I have right now is more of a relative (AN's nephew, whom we couldn't bring out for a visit like we were planning because of money-issues).  It would have been real nice to play 3-way Smash Bros. or to take a long walk in the local nature park, like  I wanted to do with ArkNorth and him.  I think it would have cheered me up.  

I think about death a lot - as anyone who's seen my Bone Art gallery would know. I'd like there to be a heaven.  I've already decided that if there's a hell, I'm going to argue with the "Great Fairy" until it goes away and all the captives are freed, and if it really is all just darkness, maybe that's okay, too.  I feel like drifting into the dark, if it feels in any way like sleep, maybe won't be so bad.  I've pondered this a lot and even wrote the short story "Pursuit" as a response that, to work out some of my thoughts in symbolic form.  Also, the skull-headed dog was fun to draw... I still haven't posted my sketches.  I don't want FEAR to be the thing that keeps me from dying.  I've been in that place before - the place where heaven/hell/judgement/darkness just does not matter to the idea of "I'm deburdening myself from people and giving myself what I deserve."  I've been to that place once and have come close to it a few more times.  I definitely need reasons to live that aren't based upon the simple fear of death.  I know one day, if it is, that fear will fail.

Right now, I feel like I am a spectacular failure at life and maybe "failures should leave it."  

The things that I know I'm good at are the things that people don't pay attention to/ aren't things I can make a living at.  (The one really good set-for-life graphic designer job I once had betrayed me because they didn't actually want to give me health insurance).  I have a book up on Kindle, but very few people have bought it and I'm not related to or sleeping with the right people to get it "actual real published" with the right promotion.  I feel like maybe my art and writing are things to be discovered after I'm in the ground or maybe I'm just not that good.  I also feel like, since I am such a weak person, my voice doesn't deserve to heard.  Maybe my perspective and my voice are "things that are keeping the world mired" in some way.  I have strong suspicions that I just do not belong in the future.  

Don't worry or call hotlines and stuff for me.  I have ArkNorth with me and he knows that if I really start going wonky, that we can arrange for me to go to a local clinic I've been to before.  (He's my main reason for "still wanting to hang on... he fell in love with a worthless person, but has had too much grief in his life already") I also do not keep any firearms in my house to be impulsive with.  

In fact, I am feeling a bit better for having gotten out this rant.  I really needed to ramble.  Ultimately, however, I'm looking for anyone who comes here to my page to look at my art... maybe send me a word to try to cheer me up a little?  I think I'd like to know that my art touches you in some way - and how it does.  I just need a little grease to unlock my soul from this stiffness it's in... if it's not too much to ask.  

And if this strikes you as annoying, attention-grabbing whining, don't worry. I already know my place.
  • Mood: Depressed
  • Watching: The Simpsons
  • Playing: Hyrule Warriors
  • Eating: Slain Cuccoo, Kiev-style
  • Drinking: Tea
Dryworld by Shadsie
This was done as a contest entry to  - the "WORLD REDESIGN" contest.  

I decided to draw Pit and Dark Pit as if they existed in a Wild West version of the Kid Icarus universe.  They are, indeed, on Skyworld, although it is Dryworld now - a bunch of desert islands in the sky that resemble where I grew up (southern Arizona). 

Dark Pit's outfit is modeled after the style of Livio the Doublefang from Trigun Maximum.  Pit's clothing is completely my own.  Haha, bolo-tie.  Of course, white-hat Sheriff Pit needs a faithful steed.  I do not know whether that is Phos or Lux - I do not think it matters.  Whichever one of them is a mare if both of them aren't.  Outlaw Pittoo is carrying a spittoon - which he is not happy about.  

Anyway, if anyone wanted to see an Old West Skyworld, here you go.  
Silenced Songbird by Shadsie
Silenced Songbird
A character without a formal story so far.  

The Silenced Songbird:  A partially-mechanical creature that used to sing beautifully until someone wedged a knife in her throat.  She cannot remove the blade herself.  She waits for a kind person to remove it for her so she can sing again.   It's kind of like one of those fantasy videogame sidequests.  

I think all artists and writers at some points feel like the world wants to silence them or like they silence themselves, feeling awkward or inadequate.  Sometimes, all we need is for a kind word or few to take out that jammed lock.  
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: violence/gore)
The Bonekeepers’ Union

Chapter 6

“One thing I will never understand about the world is how afraid we are of each other.”  

Ragged skin stuck to the grainy asphalt along with blood that glimmered in the daylight.  The bicycle lay with a bent frame and its front wheel twisted, still spinning.  The rusty truck that had struck it was stopped.  Its driver chose not to run.  Witnesses ran to flag down the city guardians and physicians.  

Tara had jumped off her own bike on impulse and had run to where her younger sister lay.  She’d heard before that injured people should not be moved from the place where they fell except by medical professionals.  Tara did not care.  She acted on pure big-sister instinct and lifted Clara into her arms.  The little girl moaned in pain and hissed as the fabric of Tara’s clothes brushed her raw scrapes.  

Clara looked up at Tara’s face and smiled.  

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tara assured.  “Doctors are coming.  You’re going to be okay.”  

“No, I’m not,” Clara said softly, “but I’m glad you’re here.  Her smile was serene.  As Tara shivered and felt the world turn gray, young Clara’s gaze turned skyward, her eyes almost-but-not-quite rolling into the back of her head.  

“I see light,” the girl said.  

“Huh?” her big sister asked.  

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Clara whispered.  “Everything is shining.  There’s a bright white light all around us and it’s so warm!  I have to go now.  I’m sorry.”  

Tara was sure that there was nothing but sky above them – red that day as it often was over Flynn.  

“Stay with me, please? Clara?”

“She didn’t stay,” Tara stone related to Joe Murrika.  “We had been racing each other on our bikes.  The man who hit her stayed and faced my family and paid what he could to us.  He was braver than many would have been in that situation.  I never rode my bicycle again.  I can ride and still do if I need to borrow a bike to get anywhere – but that particular bike: never again.”  

Murrika listened quietly as he and Stone stood before a particular section of the Wall.  

“I suppose I’ve learned a lot about courage since then,” Stone said, licking the dry bottom of her lip.  “I still would rather have my sister back.  I’ve also learned a lot about fear, as in how much some people can fear the powerless.  For a while, I dealt with people – perfect strangers, though some were once ‘friends,’ who feared a dead little girl.”

“How so?” Murrika asked.  

“It all has to do with what she told me she saw as she died.  Others who saw the accident and were around heard it.  On one hand, it was a beautiful vision and I couldn’t ask for better than for her have gone in peace as she did.  On the other hand, I wish, for my sake, that she’d kept it to herself.  

“There were bystanders that heard her mutterings.  I also spoke to some people about it, trying to make sense of it all.  My fellow Bonekeepers were supportive of me in my grief, as to be expected.  Tony was probably the best of them all back then.  I’ve come to think that maybe those that hurt the most, especially those that keep their pain in secret places – they may be the best of all of us in regards to having open hearts.”

“I’ve known people who’ve suffered things that are anything but bitter about them,” Murrika said.  

“That’s not to say that people in pain can’t be jerks, not by a long-shot,” Stone said, giving him a small smile and a gentle shake of the head.  “It’s just…Empathy and compassion are the cast shadows of pain.  Not everyone gets it.  Some people use suffering as an excuse to stew in anger and to hate others or to take some kind of revenge even on people who were uninvolved in their lives, but I think there is always the potential for empathy.  I’m sad to say that I’m not sure human beings would connect with each other very well without sadness.  Or, at least, I, myself, feel like I’m better at commiserating than I am at celebrating.  I don’t understand people who flaunt their constant good luck in life very well.”

Tara Stone sat down on a crust rise of earth and drew her knees up to her chest, resting her elbows upon them.  She gazed out, dully and longingly, her mind lost in recollection.  

“The Bonekeepers used their pain well enough to help me deal with mine,” she said.  “Others in Flynn, however…  Yeah…There were some people who held that since Clara saw something that didn’t make sense that she must have had no sense.  They took it as a mark that she had a lesser brain, I guess, the way they talked about it – even at the investigative hearing with me in the room.”

“Terrible,” Murrika muttered.  

“I’m glad you agree,” Stone said with a sort of bright bitterness.  “I was treated even worse by some people – and I say worse because I was alive to deal with it and because the salt in my wounds came from people I thought I could trust.  I confided in a friend who wasn’t one of the Bonekeepers, someone whom I’d known from the tail end of my school days.  I am ready to talk about it now:  I’d see Clara sometimes – at night and in the empty places out in the desert.  The haunting stopped years ago.  I do not know if it was really her trying to tell me that she was safe and well in one state of being or another or if I was merely experiencing hallucinations in my profound grief – but the people in my life who learned of it treated me like I was crazy.  They didn’t treat me in the ‘good’ manner of treating the ill – they shunned me and started further rumors.

“I was called irrational and other epithets.  I didn’t even claim that I was sure what I was going through was real, nor did I expect them to start seeing her or anything, but it didn’t matter.  One ex-friend who learned of my predicament from the other, someone who had already distanced himself from me upon my formally taking up the family business… he told that a brain like mine should not be and that it would do Flynn and the world some good if I were to join my sister.  I did not ask anyone to believe me, only to help me make sense of things.  At the very best, I was treated like a child – a small, particularly stupid child.  When people said ‘there, there’ to me and started speaking to me in slow, deliberate sentences, I took to smacking their hands away.  It took all of my self-control not to actually spit on them.  I thought about it more than once.”  

Stone plucked a long piece of stray wheat that was next to her in the earth and held it between her fingers, playing with it.  “I was seeing things I did not understand,” she continued.  “I wasn’t a drooling idiot.  I don’t recall acting like I was the sudden recipient of a traumatic brain-injury.  Sometimes, I think our brains just don’t know how to parse each other.  Something goes ‘duh’ in people and they don’t know how to react to something new and strange.  You could say that I’ve decided that cultivating a sense of adaptability is important for this very reason.  I don’t want to ‘duh’ – out if something interesting comes my way.  

“My job was never in danger as you may have well guessed.  However, I learned that even the lowliest can get lower.  A few folks from the Temple thought that I was seeing a deceptive demon of some sort and that something must be wrong with me on that account – that I was somehow inviting some manner of spiritual danger, not that my visions had ever come invited.  At least they didn’t label me ‘crazy,’ like the others.  I’ve learned that being labeled ‘nuts’ is worse than being rumored to be immoral.  Too many people falsely equate crazy with stupid.  I’d rather be thought of as wicked than dumb.  

“The visions stopped when I told the ghost that I could not see her anymore.  I would remember Clara, but I had a life to live.  Telling whatever I was seeing – whether it was ‘real’ or ‘just in my head’ pretty much worked.  

“As for other losses in my life – I am glad that Anthony has been polite enough not to bother me.  Either I’ve gotten control of my brain or he knows that I am not to be bothered.  Of course, there is always the fear that he is trapped somewhere he does not deserve to be.”

“I would hope not,” Murrika said, trying to be assuring.

“Maybe he’s somewhere better, if anywhere.  Despite the control I’ve gained, I know that there remain those who see me as having an inferior brain.  No amount of change or settlement can appease them. I suppose they’d better hope they are rational enough to fade out the way they want to right up into the last moments before they’re ready for the Wall. Otherwise, maybe they’ll find out that my sister’s crazy brain, mine and theirs aren’t so different.”

“I feel privileged that you chose to share this with me,” Murrika answered with a nod.  “It must be a difficult thing to share.”  

“Not really, not with you,” Stone assured him.  

“I try my best to be easy to talk to… given my profession.”  

“It’s not that.”  


“You aren’t a citizen of Flynn,” she explained bluntly.  “You aren’t planning on staying with us for the rest of your life, or of becoming a part of our Sacred Wall.  You were not born and raised here and I assume that you have no plans to die here.  You have no family-roots here, or any other kind of roots.  You are a traveler, come to collect tales – no more, no less.  You are easy to talk to, I’ll give you that, but the reason why I have the courage to talk with you about things I have come to learn are not worth the trouble I get for sharing in my own hometown is because you are not of my hometown.  You will be gone from this place soon enough.”

“Wow, that is…” Joe Murrika said, quite flustered, “is rather harsh.  I was hoping that I had gained some friendship among you and your compatriots.”

“You have,” Tara Stone said flatly.  “But we have allowed you that friendship because we have a low expectation of you betraying our trust.  Although some of us have family and friends that have left to other cities and even to your land, we can’t say we care too much about what others think.  It is those who stay and live in our own city who will give us grief – or joy – depending on the circumstances and our luck.  If the people who will one day read what you have written about us in your own city think of my colleagues, friends and I as a bunch of gruesome fools, so be it.  It is doubtful any of them will venture here to bother us.”

“I don’t think most people will think that,” Murrika said.  “At least, if I get the prose right.  One can never have total control over what others think and those that think they do become the subjects of improbable dystopian novels.  Now, if I think like an advertiser, perhaps I can sell a positive image to a majority… I really want to put the Bonekeepers in the best light possible.  Your work has a grisliness to it, particularly in coming from a culture where the inevitable is handled differently, but I find it fascinating.”  

“Perfume, flowers and ashes.”  Tara Stone muttered.  

“Come again?” her interviewer asked.  

“It is how you handle the dead, right?” Stone continued.  “Boxes and markers and people’s shells filled with all kinds of preservatives to make what’s not pretty look pretty one last time.”

“Uh…y-yeah,” Murrika answered hesitantly.  

“We each have our ways,” Stone said, pointing at the bones forming patterns in the wall before her.  “Maybe we are just more honest.  Maybe we aren’t and are still desperately clinging to the past.  We can still visit our loved ones in-body as well as those we never knew.  They existed.  The Wall is testament to that.  Everyone can see that they existed in our flash-made fossils.  We are desperate to keep it that way.”  

“It’s very human,” Murrika answered.  

Tara Stone gave him a quizzical look and a kind smile.  “Human?”

“I find what you do and… more importantly, who you are as I’ve met with all of you so far… Your mission, even if you’re pushed to the margins and made to do it… It’s all very human.”  

Stone chewed her piece of grass, mulling it around as if it were a cigarette – the half-dried stalk being a replacement for one who did not smoke but needed something for the lips to play with, something to gently gnaw.  “Some believe,” she said, “That someday all the bones will dance off the wall and that the wall will crumble.  Even though it will undo my life’s work, it’s a nice story.  I hope it happens.”  

“A local legend?”

“Of sorts.”  

“One of those things I ought to ask Mr. Guile about?”

“Yep,” Stone said, pulling the grass from her teeth and tossing it aside.  “The Darklands, the Light-Country and the gray place in-between that is our world of walls, rock and bones… Beliefs, stories and the local mythology fall under his domain, mainly.”

“I’ve researched some of it,” Joe Murrika explained.  “It is… more personal, more authentic to hear it from those that live with it as a part of their fabric.”  

“I don’t care about where I’m going,” Stone said, her gaze traveling up the Sacred Wall, resting long on one small skeleton with its arms outstretched with abstract designs evoking wind and water flanking it. “I can come to nothing and if the going-into it is peaceful, I’d be fine with that.  I could go to the Darklands and be okay with that.  What I want more than anything is something better than those fates for other people.  I do not want a ‘heaven’ because I am ‘afraid of the dark.’  I just want more life for those who never had enough.  I want justice for those who never saw any – for those for whom it is too late in our gray world.  I want something better for the people I love.  I don’t care what happens to me.  Does that make any sense?”  

“I think it does,” Murrika said softly.  He gazed at the same portion of the Wall that Stone’s watch was fixed on.  He wore a small sad smile.  

“That kind of thing is exactly why Guile is a part of the Temple.  I am not formally, but I understand what some would call an odd devotion.  He’s not in it for himself.  I’m not in it for myself.  The Darklands may be our fate according to its teachings, but doesn’t care that he has no good destiny, nor do I.  What we want is something better for everyone else, as many as possible.  Fear has nothing to do with it.”  

“Perhaps you see enough of what everyone fears that some of it erodes away?”  

“Nah,” Stone replied, getting up.  “It’s just love.  Enough of it casts away fear.”
The Bonekeepers' Union Chapter 6
Very much a rough-draft chapter.  I'm not happy with the dialogue.  I think it's too blocky and that it maybe runs around in circles, but I'm not sure what I can do to break it up.  

I had an idea back... almost two years ago?  That one of my characters would have the dreaded "dead little sister" fiction trope going on.  It doesn't lead to anger or revenge, but does serve as a mild motivation.  While some of the stuff in this story comes to me as I move along, trying to discover the story, some stuff was there from the beginning.  I'd always had it in mind for there to be two Bonekeepers who are "able to handle children" for different reasons.  Guile because he's steeled up by faith and Stone because having her sister die as a a child gives her a strong desire to honor people who die young.   The "ghost" idea is fairly new, though.  She doesn't know if it was ever real.  

Chapter Links: 

Intro Image:…
Chapter 1:…
Chapter 2:…
Chapter 3:…
Chapter 4:…
Chapter 5:…
Chapter 6: (Here)


Empress of Bones
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Hello, I go by Shadsie. If you want to know my age, I "live outside of time."

I am an artist of varied mediums, some of them unusual. My favorite medium is acrylic paint and I frquently use animal bones as a canvas. I find these out in natural places and meticulously clean them - I don't kill any of the animals to make my art, they're all just found.

Otherwise, I paint on canvas and paper. I draw, I sculpt a little and I even do a bit of digital work - in short, I work with whatever I can get my hands on and do a lot of experimenting.

I have an associate's degree in graphic design, but it hasn't seen much work. I have written fantasy novels that I'm seeking publication for and have not obtained yet. Otherwise, I am prone to becoming obessed with various entertainments and will do fan art for such. My gallery is split between fan art, works on skulls and bones, artwork related to my unpublished novels, original misc. artwork and my jewelrymaking experiments.

I am willing to take concrit on all works unless specified, even on older works for which I am too lazy to enable the new "critique" feature on.


Current Residence: Hyrule.
Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock, Alternative, Various
Favourite style of art: Fantasy, Nature Art, Surrealism, Realism, Anime.
Operating System: Windows XP
Shell of choice: Hmm... something made of bone?
Wallpaper of choice: Painted animal bones cover my walls.
Skin of choice: No skin. Bone.
Favourite cartoon character: Vash the Stampede.
Personal Quote: The more I learn about nature, the less guilty I feel about eating its creatures.
My mother sent me an email today informing me that a favorite restaurant of my family and extended family that has been a Phoenix-area icon since the 1950s is closing down, including its franchise restaurants - the the entire company... 

Bill Johnson's Big Apple is gone as of today.  

I haven't been able to eat there in over ten years, due to moving to Pennsylvania, but for you Pennsylvanians, it's like if Rita's Water Ice folded up shop, or if Pat's and Geno's went into the night.  

The place was a part of my childhood.  Best barbeque ever (or at least outside of Texas.  I sadly never got to go to any of the famous places there during either time I'd been there).  My favorite sauce - I asked for bottles of it as Christmas presents from my folks.  

I need a black armband with their bull-head logo on it.  
  • Mood: Stunned
  • Listening to: Not BBQ pits being opened
  • Reading: Not a BBQ Menu
  • Watching: Not a BBQ plate coming to my table
  • Playing: Not with a coloring book at the BBQ place
  • Eating: NOT BBQ!!!!
  • Drinking: Not a tall glass of iced tea with my spareribs

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Add a Comment:
lilith-chan Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
I figured out a trope we should add to The Great Desert Page. Genre Savvy for Link for knowing being nice to old people gets you free food and mention how in fairy tales refusing to help the elderly meant you would end up crippling yourself. Plus the guy who helps the old person marries the Princess... Hey, wait a minuet of forest here.
Shadsie Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
If you want to, you can go ahead and add that.  

I was skimming the fic the other day, and thinking of the remake I never kept up with.  Playing Hyrule Warriors, I think that Warriors Link's vision-animal would be a bull.  With the other warriors, he's a part of a herd.  He charges into enemies like a bull... and if I did anything where he were included, it would be a joke on how I "bullfight" a lot of enemies in waiting for them to reveal their weak points.  
ever-so-excited Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2013  Professional General Artist
Hey! Thank you so much for adding my Sparrot piece to your favorites! :love: So glad you liked it enough to do so. :nod: Thanks again for your support!
Keyshe54 Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2013   Traditional Artist
I tagged you for a meme-- you don't have to do it if it's a bother of course. I had a few questions in there I was curious about.
TheBlackNova Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2013
You may need to look up the Skyward Sword Manga to understand that fic I sent you.
AltaicTiger Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks a lot for the fav! It's really appreciated!
Keyshe54 Featured By Owner Sep 21, 2012   Traditional Artist
Hello, this is a little random. I am sorry if it's a nuisance
But if you feel like it (no pressure!) I tagged you for this meme/ questionnaire:
wisahkecahk Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
you have a wonderfull gallery of art!!!!inspring!!!!!thank you for posting such great works!!!!!!
aranea-designs Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello! We've featured you for the month of August in the #skull-painting group! You may get a few requests from me for work that hasn't been submitted to our gallery yet and if you have anything new to add, just do so as you usually would and I'll make sure it gets to the Featured folder! :)
Shadsie Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist

Sadly, I don't find as much fresh material as I used to, since I live in a suburban apartment now (strangely enough, a few skulls have found me on roadside walks, still)...

I do live next to a cemetary but... no... just no... though it has been joked about in my household. XD
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