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About Varied / Hobbyist Asa Of The SandMale/United States Recent Activity
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Asa Of The Sand
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
I'm a male, a YouTuber, a entertainer, and a writer in my spare time. I play pokemon, and most nintendo games. I also enjoy XBox (more so than PlayStation), and my main source of entertainment is actually PC gaming. I do dramatic short story readings, so if you want me to read yours, then send it in and I'll see what I can do.

On another note, I found one of my poems on another person's account (shall not be named), and while I wasn't really all that upset (honored really that someone would want to copy me), it did kind of hurt that they stole from me an expression of who I am, a piece of (what I'd like to call) literature, claiming it to be their own. It would have been different if they'd added it to their favorites, but the fact of the matter is that they didn't, and that's illegal, as I have Creative Commons Licenses on all of my stuff.

So I simply ask you that if you find something of mine ANYWHERE AT ALL, even with a link leading back here, please tell me about it so I may investigate. Even if the account says it's mine, just send me a message notifying me. If you find an account with my stuff on it that I recognize, I'll post it on here as an approved post.



Moving through bodies, reaching out but never able to touch - He lived like this for nine years: the world whirring by, the universe flashing past three times as fast as it should have.  He could hear it all as a jumble, but none of it was really clear.  He wandered the halls aimlessly - no he was not dead, he was forgotten in time - he had gone unnoticed for so long that the universe decided he no longer existed, and so he could see and hear and feel and smell everything just as he normally would, but the people all left him behind and passed right by him and through him the same way the universe had.  For him it had only been three years, but three years of total isolation among the largest crowd is longer than any human can normally bear.  He had not needed to eat or sleep or relieve himself in all those three years, but he could smell the food, he could feel the weight of being awake for so long, and he could feel the emptiness in his bladder and his bowels.  The universe just seemed to pass him by, and he had grown used to the solitude and the speed at which everything moved around him, but then, as he sat against the windowsill, staring at the front doors with the new students pouring through, everything slowed down - or returned to normal, but he'd grown used to the speed of everything - and he saw her entering the doors.  Her hair... Her dark, shining, black hair was in minor disarray, her shirt was slightly off-center, and her white stockings had smudges on the knees.  Around her, though it was light, the room seemed to dim and all motion slowed even more: her green eyes pierced that dimness and met with his for an instant, and in her eyes he saw that she had seen him - she knew he was there - and just as quickly as they had made eye contact and everything slowed down, everything returned to the pace he was used to.  She looked around, then looked down and moved on, walking the rest of the way through the doors and into the school.  He sighed heavily, and went on his way.

She walked through the front doors of school - it was her first day in high school and she was terrified.  She'd already had her lunch stolen from her, and she'd been pushed to the ground, which had left her stockings a bit smudged.  She hadn't even gotten to her first classroom and she was already praying for the end of the day to come as soon as possible.  As she walked into the front doors of the school, she looked around, patting down some of the mess her hair had become - to look a bit more presentable - and it was in that instant that everything seemed to speed up.  She saw his slender figure first - he looked as if he had not eaten for a year or had at least not eaten well - and his dim blue eyes were next.  Even though the room seemed to brighten up, the dimness and darkness behind his eyes washed over the brightness and flooded her with the urge to cry.  It felt as if he was peering into her soul - or maybe she was peering into his, she did not know - and she felt such a sadness from it that she had to hold herself back from crying.  She took in his stance - the way he leaned against the windowsill was not out of boredom or arrogance and it was not a facade to look cool.  He leaned against the windowsill because he was tired and needed rest, this she could tell just by how he held himself.  His hair was brown-and-red, somewhere between mud and burgundy satin, and it was pristine.  And yes, just as quickly as the room had gotten brighter and the world had sped up, it all returned to normal, and he was no longer there.  She looked around, confused; she thought she'd imagined him, and she went on her way.

He wandered throughout the school, making his rounds, listening to all of the classes, and seeing all of the different expressions.  He wondered how long it had really been since he'd talked with anyone - that is how long it had been for the rest of the world.  He counted the classes and the teachers as they flew by in his mind.  At least he had seen some interesting things wandering the halls - a murder, a kidnapping, and a fire or two - and it dawned on him that "interesting" was not the word he would have used back before he'd been forgotten by time - these things were tragedies in their own right, and they were destructive and painful - but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care and he couldn't bring himself to remember why those things were bad.  His mind shifted, seeing the faces of the new students, and he wondered how long it had been since he had last made expressions like those - how long had it been?  Surely he'd made expressions like those back before he'd been forgotten.  No, no, he... he couldn't remember - the last he could remember was the mirror.  The mirror.  He couldn't see himself in the mirror for about a week before this had happened.  He remembered something else - why had he been born?  Or at least that was the question he'd asked himself so often.  No, he was not dead, he was forgotten in time, and the longer he stayed forgotten, the more he forgot about himself.  How tall was he?  What color was his hair?  His eyes?  When was he born?  What was his name?  Who was he?  Who was he?  ...  Who was he?

She made it to her classes and everything seemed to breeze by - the same introductory nonsense she'd been through a hundred-thousand times already, and she made it through the day.  There was nothing interesting going on and there was nothing for her there - at that school - because she knew that it didn't matter if she listened or not, it only mattered if she could fake the grades.  She was knocked down once more at lunch, the dust was kicked in her face.  She spent the next class crying numbly in the restroom - why did it have to be her?  She was just another nameless face in the crowd - nothing special - so why should she be the object of such torment?  Why her?  She knew that she was average in aesthetic beauty, and she felt sub-par in internal beauty, and she wasn't in great shape nor poor condition.  So why her?  Was she too average?  There was nothing she could do for that - it was who she was.  Who was she?  ...  Who was she?

It continued like this day after day - he would lean against the windowsill and watch for her to come through the doors, and every time they would make eye contact, and he would notice something different about her - her nose, her jawline, her bosom, her skin, her eyelashes, her brow, her neck, her lips - and he would think to himself how sad it was that she would always come to school looking like she had been abused on the way there, and he would think to himself that someone should help her - but not him, no.  He couldn't do it - he was too weak, he didn't know who he was, he couldn't touch anything, he couldn't help her.  He wouldn't because he couldn't - that's what he told himself - not because he knew he was afraid to help someone.  But no, he could not help her either way.  And so it continued, each meeting lasting longer and longer, each time they made eye contact, he felt something stir inside him that he had not felt in such a long time.  And the winter break came - and he did not see her for two weeks.  During that time he cried - he did not know why - for hours upon hours.  He had no idea why or what the feeling was that was causing it - he only knew that he cried.

And with each passing day she saw him again and again - noticing something different about him each time - his skin, his brow, his complexion, his height, his build, his jawline, his neck, his arms, his legs - and she would think of how she wished to talk to this strange, disappearing man, how she wished to hear his voice and know his tale.  She told her friends about him and they laughed at her, they said she was never normal - they said it was in jest, but that did not stop it from hurting her.  And each day that passed by she was conflicted between her lust for the winter break and her desire to speak to the man.  Winter break came sooner than even she had expected, and in the first week, she found herself crying for no reason - or at least she thought it was no reason - she only knew that she cried.

It was the last day of the winter break and he was leaning against the windowsill, waiting, when he felt a rush of air as the doors in the abandoned building opened.  The air was cold and it blew past his face in such a way that even he caught chills down his spine.  Through the doors, a figure cloaked in dark winter clothing approached him, and though the mask of scarves and hoods - he could still see her eyes, and they made eye contact.  He stepped forward from the windowsill and everything stopped.  The snow outside stopped falling and the stars stopped twinkling and the moon simply glowed.  He approached her one more step, and then another.  She saw him and he stepped closer and closer, time stopped for them both.  That is not to say they were forgotten by time - this was closer to being the only things that time cared about.  As he stepped down the stairs to the landing where she stood, he reached out.  She reached out and touched his hand with her own and everything went dark for him.  The only thing he could focus on was the feeling of a smile cracking his face in two and tears streaming down his cheeks.

He said something - but that thing was forever lost in time.

She decided she'd had enough and on the last day before winter break ended, she bundled up and went out into the snow.  The moon glistened and the stars sparkled - changing as often as the snow touched the ground.  She trudged to school, only to find the front doors unlocked.  She pushed them open and a rush of air swept past her into the building - and though she was warm, the rush of air chilled her to the bone.  She looked up to where the man usually stood and there he was.  They met eyes and time seemed to stop.  He took a step closer to her, and then once more and once again.  He proceeded down the stairs to the landing upon which she stood.  He reached out and their hands touched - she had reached out as well - and as they did, the man began to sob while laughing - a crooked smile moving itself onto his face - he was happy and so sad and torn inside that it came out as great, heaving, laughing sobs, and she pulled him closer, embracing him.  It was obvious this close that he was not three years older than herself and she had wondered how long he had been there.  He sobbed and the tears ran down onto her shoulder, wetting her clothes, and she held him tight against her.  As he cried he began to vanish from the feet upwards.  He turned into a sort of dust that flowed into her as she held him - through her clothes and into her very soul.

He said something - but that thing she could not hear - and it resembled a "Thank you."

It was in that moment that the girl felt everything and learned everything about this man.  He had not left the school because he could not - the universe would not let him.  He had become like this because he had been forgotten by so many people that even he forgot himself - and without someone to remember him, time also forgot him, and he became trapped.  He had been like that for what had been three years to him and nine years to the rest of the world.

She saw his family and his friends and one by one they forgot about him.

For the past year he'd been leaning against that windowsill hoping one of the new students would notice him - until she came along.  She had noticed him - she had remembered him, but it had already been too long - she could not pull him back into time's memory - she could not pull him back into the universe's eyes.  And so he stayed like that, while every morning she remembered him and time tried to recall him to memory.  She felt his sorrow and his agony and his anger and his depression and sadness and she felt the hollowness that followed - until she came and brought it all back.

And just as she had come to the school building to meet him, so too did she leave the school building with him in mind.  This time, however, when she left the building she vowed not to be forgotten or to forget herself.  She walked all the way home with time stopped, and as she stood in front of her own home, time began to move again - the snow began to fall and the stars began to twinkle once more.  The moon glistened in the sky with its gentle glow, and she knelt down in the snow and cried into her hands.  She cried for everything she'd ever been through and she cried for everything the man had missed out on.  She cried for the feelings lost by the man and she cried for the feeling felt by the man.  But most of all she cried for the fact that even after learning everything about him she still did not know his name and she knew that if he had remembered it then she would have been able to save him from his prison of being forgotten by time.
This was actually a piece that had been sitting on my mental back-burners until a friend showed me a very wonderful song, which sparked the story into existence.  This is actually one of my favorite things I've ever written, just because I stepped outside my comfort zone in narrative style and - to a lesser extent - subject matter.

I also did a reading of this piece over on my YouTube channel, with my friend Hirapyon. You can find that here.
I recommend finding the other Asa Reads pieces on my channel, because I won't be posting those stories here.
She told me it was a key that would allow me to open any door at all; whichever one I chose.  The thing about it was that once I closed the door, I'd never be able to open it again.  Not with that key, anyway.  I didn't believe her - it wasn't the first time she'd lied to me, and so I was certain that it wouldn't be the last.  I was positive that if anything, it was just another set of meaningless words that she was throwing my way.  She told me that as soon as I held the key, she would vanish - gone into oblivion - and that if I should ever drop it after using it, I too would be no more.  I scoffed at her, rolling my eyes.  She looked me up and down and she told me in earnest that she had not raised her daughter to be so unwilling to accept the truth.

I put my hand out and told her that if it was to be done, it would be done then and not later down the road.  If she was going to disappear when she handed me that damned necklace - the necklace with the so-called "key" on it - then she had better hurry it up and give it to me.  She choked up for a moment and drew back, and I was sure that it was her falling back on her lie.  She said to me, I guess you'll get to make the decision for me."  When she handed me the key, she vanished.   Where she had been standing, there was now emptiness.

I looked at the thing in my hand, utter disbelief strewn on my face, I'm sure.  What could this thing be?  True, she had never taken it off as far as I'd known, but how could I have known that it leaving her possession was truly going to make her disappear?

She told me it would.  Stupid question.

And so I tried it once, on my neighbor.  I tried to use it to open his door.  Seems silly enough, but the door opened with a turn of the key.  I wasn't even near the door, and I hadn't even touched it.  When I turned the key back the other direction, the door closed.  I tried again, but this time the door did not open.  I'd simply imagined it the first time, and that was the only explanation that I would accept.

I won't bore you with the details of how I decided to believe what my mother had told to me when she handed me this key, but I did decide it was true.

At first I used this newfound power to do the things one might expect - the door to the vault of a bank, the doors to people's cars, the doors to rooms better left closed.  The thing I did learn the hard way was that opening doors is not the same as opening locks.  Once I opened the car door and got inside, it closed behind me and I found myself trapped inside.  Never mind that I could just use another door to escape, I could not unlock any door, simply open it.

The vault was more tricky to escape once I was inside.  There were no other doors to speak of, but I needed to escape regardless, as being found within the vault once it was opened next would be a terrible thing indeed.  I had to be creative.  With my creative thoughts, I said to myself "There is a passage that leads through the walls and out to the other side, and where there is a passage, there is a door to be opened."  I had to firmly believe it and I had to hinge every fiber of my being on that belief, because I knew that should I lose the belief part-way through the passage, I would surely die.

So I turned the key, and an entire section of the wall vanished, leaving a passageway outside.  As soon as I stepped out of the passage, it closed behind me and I could not open it again.

So this key not only let me open any door, it let me create ones where none previously existed.  Naturally I got into great deals of mischief with this, but things truly went south when I became bored of having everything I've ever wanted.  I looked inwards and said, "why do I feel this way?"  And so I opened a door to my own mind and I probed around, learning how my emotions worked and why they felt the way they did.  I proceeded to do this to many others, and I learned more than I think ten thousand years of life would teach me.

I next opened a door to the past, something my cleverness forgot to fix, and I saw my life from outside, from the version of me that was older.  I opened the door to the future and I stepped through to see things I cannot begin to explain.  I used this new-found idea to go back in time and see exactly what everything was like on exactly what days and months and years.  I learned everything.  I knew everything.  And that's when I realized I didn't know everything.

And so here I sit, in front of the door to understanding everything that ever was, is, and ever will be.  I sit here staring into the great oblivion and I have this strong urge not to walk through it, but to close it without walking through.

I think instead I'll open a door to another world in another time and I'll let another make that choice for me.
Any Door
I don't remember too much about what I was going for here, but I do remember there was the idea that there was a key that could open any lock, and I kind of ran with it.
He opened his eyes and looked about.  It must have been a dream - he must have dozed while he was waiting for his train.

As he sat, watching the trains fly past, he wondered what it was like to ride them.  He wondered what it was like to be surrounded by other people and share a destination with them.  He gazed out at the marvels that were the trains, and he longingly watched as people boarded the train and others departed from the other side.  He waited for his chance to stand up and join them, but some primal urge kept him firmly in his seat.  Maybe he was nervous.  Of course he was nervous - he'd never ridden on a train before.  Perhaps he was scared.  Of course he was scared - he was worried he might bump into someone and upset them.  It was possible that something else was what bound him to his seat.

As he sat, contemplating, the sun fell behind the horizon and the moon began to rise.  The people stopped coming up the stairs, and the last trains departed from their stations, going wherever trains go when they stop running for the night.  As it grew dark, he took that time to once again examine his surroundings.  A guard came up the stairs, flashlight in hand.  He shone the light on the floor: naught but a metal mesh on top of steel girders.  The light drifted across the depression in the platform that held the tracks within it, and it shone on the other side, illuminating the benches.  The light swept upwards and shone on the pigeons resting on the edge of the roof of the platform.  The guard sighed and turned around, the light passing over the bench as the guard went down the stairs, back to his position.

And so he sat there, watching the stars through the gap in the roof between the two platforms.  He could not smell the food from the restaurants below, but he knew that they were there.  He could not hear the cooing of the pigeons, but he was more than aware that they were there.  Even with the trains no longer moving, he could hear the pitter-patter and clackity-clack of the wheels on their tracks.  He could hear the station voice declaring the station number and the next destination.  He could smell the people around him as they hustled and bustled about, getting on and off the train.

But he couldn't go, not yet, because his train had not arrived.  And so he waited all through the night, until the moon went down and the station opened up once more.  The people he imagined disappeared and the faint sound of the trains was lost to him once again.

With the day having just begun, he watched as the first train approached around the curve.  He stood up, and began walking to wait in line with the commuters.

He tripped, and he fell, and the train pulled into the station.


He opened his eyes and looked about.  It must have been a dream - he must have dozed while he was waiting for his train.

As he sat, watching the trains fly past, he wondered what it was like to ride them.  He wondered what it was like to be surrounded by other people and share a destination with them.  He gazed out at the marvels that were the trains.  He just wanted to know what it was like to ride in one of them.  Just once, he'd like to know.
He Sat Watching Trains
This is a piece I'm pretty proud of, in both message and execution.  The idea came to me pretty late one night, and I'm glad I reached out and grabbed at the story before I lost the chance.
"There's something blissful about disobeying the guidelines, breaking the rules, being a nuisance.  There's a feeling of freedom where one wouldn't normally feel it.  I pity any who spend their lives constrained and unable to experience life in all its ups and downs, and anyone who cannot experience just once what it is like to step outside of the boundaries and do something that you're not supposed to."

He sat quietly in his bubble, flipping the pages, scanning the words and pretending he cared what they said.  He was so tired of endlessly reading these books, so tired of experiencing the supposed vastness of the world from inside that room.  He wanted nothing more than to just open up his little bubble, to just once venture outside of his sweet, calm prison.  He was tired and pale and grey, and he knew that there were things outside of his little house, outside his little world - he knew that his bubble wasn't all of it.  It wasn't like there was never any evidence before he started reading - his bubble had windows to the outside world, and through them he'd seen lightning, rain, snow, hail, the sun, the moon, clouds, the sky.  He knew all of it was out there, and he knew what all of it was called, he just never had the chance to go there.

So he set down his book and peered outside at the glistening, shining dots in the night sky.  He watched as hundreds streaked across the sky every hour, and he awed at those same lights - the lights that could appear, grow, and fade once more, like tiny fires in the sky or like lightning compressed down into tiny bursts of motion.  He felt like if he could just open the window, he would be able to reach up and catch one of those falling stars.  He felt like he could just reach out and grab anything that was beyond his short grasp.  He felt like he could take some of that outside world and bring it in next to him.

But no, his arms were too weak and his reach too short to bring the stars into his bubble.  He knew that people wished on those stars - the ones that fell from the sky - and he knew that Maybe if he didn't say the wish, it might come true.  What could he wish for in such short time between each dot appearing and flying out of existence?  What could he possibly have the time to wish for?

He stared at the beauty beyond the border of the walls that surrounded him, bemused and bewitched at the boundless energy and excitement within the sky past the boundary or his bubble.  Everything outside seemed so much better, and he had often read about those who wished to have what they had not, and he knew what happened to those who received it - he knew that "the grass was always greener on the other side of the fence" because it was what could not be had - and yet he could not help but want that which he could not have.  He touched the cold window with his fingertips and he stared at the frail appendages, the digits shaking as they touched the pane of glass; he stared at the weak hand and arm they were connected to, knowing that they had not and would never have the strength needed to escape his prison.

He picked up the book once more, its soft leather cover a reminder of the animals that lived outside and how he would never be able to see or feel them.  He ran his hands over the smooth, soft face of the book, taking in its texture, consistency, and its warmth.

He had spent his whole life there in that closed-off place, in that prison, that bubble, that protective and suffocating building, and as he looked out upon the stars falling so gracefully from the sky, he realized what he wanted to wish for.  As he watched one particulary large star begin to fall, he closed his eyes and wished for freedom.

He got it.

The star fell hotly and heavily through the wall of his bubble, blasting a hole in it just smaller than the door.  He was terrified at first, but he realized that it had not in fact killed him.  Excited to finally have this opportunity, he stood up as quickly as he could - which was not very fast - and he walked over to the hole in the room.  He stepped out onto the grass and felt it below him.  It was cool and slightly wet, and it felt like nothing he had ever experienced before.  He didn't know how to describe it.

He didn't need to - he was outside.  So he spent as much time wandering around outside as he could.  His weak body screamed at him to stop moving after only about ten minutes, but he wanted so badly to see more of the outside world, that he ignored the aches and pains.  He wandered on and on and on until he physically could not go any longer.

He stopped to rest by a tree, leaning up against the rough bark.  Sitting down next to it, he felt as if his lungs were going to explode, and his heart was beating so fast he felt it would beat out of his chest.

But he had made it.  His sickly, tired self had made it outside the bubble.

There was something blissful about it.
In His Bubble
Dumping short stories and other files from my external hard drive.  It's about time some of these got some air.
The cold air was gripping, brisk and thin, as he sat on the cold stone bench.

It was an evening, in the second half of an already-too-cold autumn, the type of day that seemed a transition point from fall into Winter.  The trees wore upon their branches vibrant yellows and entrancing reds, the leaves proudly donning their colors as they floated gracefully to the ground.

He wore two layers, an outer Winter jacket of a deep, harsh Black, and an inner shirt of cotton.  He wore jeans and ankle-socks with tennis shoes, muddy and plastered with dried and frozen dirt.

Though it was cold, the tranquil pond held no signs of freezing or of frost, the leaves of the trees, so proudly donning their bright autumnal colors, hitting the surface and offering up small ripples, creating distortions in the reflection of the man in his Black coat, sitting in the stone park bench only a few feet away.

He sat there, breathing, waiting for Winter.  Hours Passed, and the sky Faded; people Passed, the sky turned Black; and overhead, the moon Passed.  He waited for days, almost a full month.

Winter came.

A woman wearing all Black came by one day.  His wife.  She leaned over and looked at the memorial plaque on the back of the bench, brushing it gently, almost longingly, with her fingers.

"Hey," She said, quietly, the word catching in her throat, pushing the word into the air as if speaking with someone, as if wanting a response of some kind but not expecting one.  "It's amazing, isn't it?" She asked, presumably to him, "Ever since it happened, this little lake hasn't frozen over even once."

He nodded, and seeing her getting ready to sit down next to him, he moved over to his right to free up a little room.

"I... I've moved on..." She said hesitantly, "I just wanted you to know."

A bittersweet smile formed on his lips, and he reached out from the pocket of his Black jacket, reaching for her soft hand.

"I'll still come every year, like we promised," She said, her voice wracked with what sounded a cross of sadness and pain, an attempt to ease her own guilt and hopefully appease him.

His hand made contact with hers, clutching it tightly and lovingly, and in that instant, his image, his reflection in the water, became apparent to her, that same bittersweet, comforting smile on his face.  She saw and gasped, the fleeting image broken up by the ripples caused by a leaf proudly donning its colors, the Last leaf of the autumn, falling and striking the water expressly for the purpose of dissipating his image.

That entire time, he'd been waiting for Winter, the time when she promised she'd be there, and he would still wait, for as long as she came by once every year, their love would never be forgotten.

And finally, as he felt the warmth of such happiness, he began to Fade, all of what he saw, Faded to Black.
Fade To Black At Last, His Time Has Passed
This was originally written for a prompt in my senior English class, but I revised it a few times and this is the final result.

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rwetzel Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2016
Tks for the :llama:!!
rwetzel Featured By Owner Mar 12, 2015
Tks for the watch!
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Mar 12, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
No prob!
WolfRoxy Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thanks a bunch for the watch =D!!
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
It's no problem!  Just keep doing what you do!
RyuujiTakeshi Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2014
Thanks for watching me ^-^
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem.  You sent me here via Chatango, and I was really impressed.
Riaka-the-Cat Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
we should play League :3
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Well yeah.  I only get a limited amount of internet time a day, though, so we gotta be online at the same time.
Riaka-the-Cat Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Okay!! ^^ Well I'm on most of the time so hopefully we can soon!
Sakura-Pumpkin Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch ;v; <3
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Is no problem~!<3
Tofu93 Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the watch!
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
It's no problem!  I love your art.  Your pieces are colorful, they convey great emotion, and the characters have designs you execute wonderfully.
Of-The-Sand Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
:iconfalcon-punchplz::iconsaysplz:FALCON PAWNCH!
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dianabokchoytan Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Student General Artist
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