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I am a New Artist
twilightwitch
17/Female/United Kingdom
Why I Am Here
No reason given yet
Last Visit: 1 day ago
Heather
Art Zone
Personal Zone
Misc. Zone
This is the place where you can personalize your profile!
But, how?
By moving, adding and personalizing widgets.
You can drag and drop to rearrange.
You can edit widgets to customize them.
The left side has widgets you can add!
Some widgets you can only access when you get a premium membership.
Some widgets have options that are only available when you get a premium membership.
We've split the page into zones!
Certain widgets can only be added to certain zones.
"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.
Don't forget, restraints can bring out the creativity in you!
Now go forth and astound us all with your devious profiles!
"Critics are like eunuchs in a harem: they know how it's done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves." - Brendan Behan Irish Author.
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I did not turn back. I pressed on, and eventually passed over the border, beyond which lies a place that is wordless and cold, so cold that it, like mercury, burns a freezing blue flame
Much love
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98% of teen girls would be dead if Twilight said breathing wasn't cool. Post this if you are part of the 2% laughing.
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"Van Gogh kept painting himself because he was the only model he had."
Flickr [link]
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...nothing lasts forever if we never try...
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~» ◊ And when He falleth, He falleth like Lucifer: ne'er to ascend again. ◊«~
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Sometimes pain can be the sweetest pleasure.
"Critics are like eunuchs in a harem: they know how it's done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves." - Brendan Behan Irish Author.
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TLC: No Scrubs Allowed
I stole the pink fifties 'cause I'm a cheatin' whore.
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I did not turn back. I pressed on, and eventually passed over the border, beyond which lies a place that is wordless and cold, so cold that it, like mercury, burns a freezing blue flame
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