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About Traditional Art / Student Cara TuneFemale/Australia Groups :iconpeterick: peterick
Pete + Patrick = Peterick
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The hit was still unconscious when they arrived at the lake.  Numbers glared down at him as Wrench unceremoniously yanked him out of the boot and dropped him onto the gravel by the side of the road. Numbers didn’t think himself a moral human being but occasionally on days like this he felt a small sense of justice in his profession. Their victim now bleeding out on the side of the road had cut Fargo out of an important business transaction and tried to skip town. That was an everyday kind of job for him and Wrench; what made this one special was that he also happened to be a pedophile. Numbers held a special kind of hate in his heart for anyone that took advantage of children.

Why are you smiling Numbers caught Wrench asking.

Just a good day Numbers replied.

Are you gonna start singing and dancing too? Wrench ribbed him with a smirk.

Just shut up and grab the ice drill Numbers replied lifting the unconscious mans feet. He was a lean man not skinny but light. This made Numbers job considerably easier then usual as moving him was little hassle. They walked down the hill together Wrench toting the ice drill and Numbers easily carrying their hit. The sun was shining, the wind was blustery but Numbers had the next few weeks in mind. They had a gap in jobs coming up and Numbers intended on heading south.

“Its not like I never smile” Numbers mumbled as they crossed the vast frozen lake. They reached the spot where the ice was just right and Wrench fired the drill up. Numbers laid out the man and pulled out a roll of duct tape.

He stood over him preparing to bind his hands. Wrench had beaten this man senseless, the fight had been vicious and blood had pooled around his face. Numbers bobbed down and slapped him with the back of his hand. The man gave no response. Numbers thought about it for a long moment and decided if he happened to wake up under water the ability to move his arms would only increase his discomfort heading into death. Numbers taped his ankles then shoved the tape back into his pocket with a snigger.

“Hope you enjoy hell man” he said cheerfully.

Wrench pulled the drill out and put it aside. Numbers dutifully yanked their hit to the edge of the hole. He grabbed him by the legs and lifted him over the watery mouth.

“Sayonara” he said and let go.

The next few moments smashed into each other like a car crash. Two hands clasped his legs like vices. The man fell against the ice hole smashing the edge. He was swallowed in a second hands still clamped to Numbers.

“WRENCH!” Numbers barely managed to shout as he was pulled feet first into the water. He threw his arms wide and they caught the edges of the hole. He saw Wrenches expression go pale then he was dragged under.

The crushing cold water slammed the air out of his lungs and he gasped the frozen liquid rushing into his body. He remembered as the ice filled him that gasping was the worst thing he could do. He didn’t have time to feel mad, just to realize he was going to die. He looked down and watched the hit being dragged away by the current blank eyes watching him. He recognized pressure on his forearm and realized the current wasn’t taking him.

Wrench gripped him fast and hauled his drenched body up onto the ice. The moment he hit the ice he threw up, muscles contracting, chest heaving as the water emptied from his lungs and gut. Quakes shook through him and he moaned. His skin was raw with painful tingling and his breathing was a series of waterlogged gasping coughs. The sound of it frightened him. Wrench fell to his knees in front of him. He tried to sign but he couldn’t move his fingers. All he could feel was the aching cold and his pounding heart.

“Cold” Numbers cried out body racked with quakes. Wrench’s expression hardened and he nodded resolutely. Wrenches arms crossed around Numbers chest and he was brought to his feet. He could scarcely stand against the weight of his sodden clothes and weak muscles. His legs felt like they where going to give out. His heart hammered sickly.

Wrench rounded to his front, bobbed down, tucked his arms around Numbers thighs and hauled him onto his shoulder. Then he quickly began walking towards the car. The wind whipped around them biting at Numbers exposed skin. He gripped Wrenches shoulders tighter still coughing up water. As they crossed the ice Numbers noticed Wrench’s drill lying by the hole on the white lake.

“Drill” he chattered through his teeth watching it shrink with distance.

He tried to concentrate on Wrenches labored breathing. Anything but the wet fabric that clung to him. Wrench lowered him to his feet against the car and unlocked the back door.
Numbers lay against the car pointing back out onto the ice.

“Drrrill” he wheezed “can’t leave it” Wrench ignored him.

Strip Wrench signed.

“No” Numbers coughed just wanting to get in the car. He couldn’t think of anything worse then exposing more skin. “Drill”

Wrench stepped forward and shoved the huge fur coat from his body. He tossed it over the boot then pushed Numbers shoulder forward roughly. Numbers bent where Wrench moved him pliable with exhaustion. Another layer was shed jacket joining the fur coat. Wrench turned him back and unbuttoned his shirt. The cuffs stuck to his hands and it took some fiddling for Wrench to remove them. Numbers folded his arms tight around his bare chest. He barely noticed his pants being removed.

Next Wrench pulled off his fringed jacked and padded under jacket. He drew Numbers arms into the under jacket and zipped it up then wrapped the fringe jacket over the top. Numbers ducked his head low into the neck of the fringe jacket and allowed himself to be ushered onto the back seat. He lay down shivers still wracking him and curled in on himself. Wrench went to close the door but Numbers rammed one numb heel against it.

“Drill” he said as sternly as he could muster through the shivers. Wrench threw a quick look over his shoulder to where they had come from and then nodded. Numbers pulled his leg up and Wrench closed the door. He opened the driver’s side briefly to get the engine going and turned the heat up to full then was gone. Numbers lay across the back seat shuddering and staring at the leather pouch that kept their maps. The air hummed from the front of the car blowing cold for a few minutes then heating up. Feeling began returning to him in stinging bursts across his chest. He pulled the jackets tighter around himself and closed his eyes. The jackets smelled like Wrench.

Before long the driver’s side creaked open and Wrench sat down slamming it closed once more and punching the car into gear. The tires spun for a second before they caught and shot off down the road.

“W-where are we going?” Numbers called but Wrench didn’t respond. Sometimes he felt the vibrations from Numbers voice but today was not one of those days. Numbers could see the pale skin on his neck burning red and covered in goose bumps. All he had aside from his jackets was a fabric shirt.

“Hey!” Number shouted kicking the back seat “Where are we going?!”

Wrench shot a look back.

Numbers threw up a barely legible ‘where’ ‘going’.

Wrench signed Hospital

“No. No nonono we can’t go there” Numbers mumbled “Fargo. No paper trail. No…stop..No”
He signed ‘no’ and ‘stop’ kicking the back seat again. Wrench drove on.

“NO STOP” Numbers shouted kneeing the back seat as hard as he could. Wrench let out an angry yelp and pulled over. He turned around expression livid.

What!? He asked.

“Fargo. No paper trail” Numbers spoke carefully hands too sore to attempt ASL.

You’re blue! Wrench snapped his hands together impatiently You might have a heart attack or something

“Wasn’t in the water that long” Numbers said through chattering teeth “Just take me back to the hotel”

Wrench formed his mouth into a hard line.

“Take me back to the hotel NOW” Numbers ground out.

Fine Wrench signed angrily. He pulled the car around and headed back the way they had come.

Numbers let his head roll back against the seat, pulled his arms around himself and fell asleep.

He drifted in and out of consciousness. He felt like he’d been awake for hours. As though the car was driving for hours. He knew it couldn’t be possible because the hotel was only 45 minutes from the lake. He felt Wrench around him as if he was holding him. He was comforted in a way he generally tried to avoid. He mumbled Wrench’s real name as if whispering it against skin. The strangeness of it brought him out of his sleep.

His vision was blurry. He went to rub his eyes but couldn’t move his arms. He blinked away most of the fuzz and stared down at his knees. He was in a bathtub full of water. He recognized it. It was the hotel bathtub. He’d recognize those shitty cracked tiles anywhere. Numbers sighed with relief. The water was lukewarm and he was so grateful for it. He suspected even water on the hotter side would feel scalding. He saw one of his arms hanging over the edge and the other up against the wall and frowned. He looked up over his head and noticed a bandage wrapped around a tap just above his head. He realized a crude harness made of bandages was holding him up.

“What?” He asked himself. He pushed against the end of the bath with his legs to relieve some of the tension around where the bandages held him. He shook his arms and they moved like rubber. Then he saw Wrench in the corner. He was leaning up against a stool asleep. There were some unraveled bandages by his knees, a couple of coffee mugs and a towel around his shoulders. In the shower behind Wrench his clothes and Wrenches jackets were drying on hangers. Numbers watched Wrench sleep for a moment taking in how peaceful he looked.

A small insistent buzzing filled the room and Numbers noticed a timer in Wrenches lap was going off. Wrench stirred grabbing it and switching it off with a clumsy twist. He stretched cracks issuing from his back then stood. He walked over to the taps reaching up and grabbing the movable shower head. He turned the hot on aiming it at the far end of the bath and waiting for the hot water to come through. Numbers lifted the arm hanging over the side to squeeze Wrench behind the knee. Wrench jumped spraying the room and glanced down. Numbers couldn’t help a weak snicker. Wrench turned the tap off and replaced the shower head then knelt down.

Can you understand me? Wrench asked after untying the bandages.

Yes Numbers replied blood flowing more effectively into his arms.

How do you feel? Wrench asked.

Like I had one too many tequila shots Numbers answered rubbing his armpits What’s with the bandages?

It’s 5am Wrench replied sitting back on his haunches with a sour expression Knew I was going to fall asleep and couldn’t risk you slipping under the water so I tied you up. Kept a timer to get up every hour and heat your fucking water though.

You could’ve just left me in bed I would have been fine Numbers shot back indignantly.

You weren’t heating up. You just lay there shaking and you wouldn’t wake up Wrench’s hand movements where growing sharper, but there was something hurt under the anger Should’ve gone to the fucking hospital.

Fargo says no paper trail. Ever. Numbers signed calmly and Wrench punched the floor furiously. He began pacing.

You almost died. I only just caught you. What happened? Wrench demanded.

Nothing Numbers replied leaning forward challengingly.

After all the shit you put me through over the last 17 hours you better fucking answer me Numbers Wrench signed eyes wide. Numbers had never seen him like this before. He knew telling him would only make it worse but he figured Wrench wouldn’t risk even lightly whacking him as recompense. He let out a long sigh.

I didn’t tape him up before we dropped him in the hole. He was a pedophile. I wanted him to suffer even as Numbers signed it he felt nauseous at the memory of watching the man sink away into the darkness I slapped him around a bit, he seemed out.

Wrench sank back to the ground head in hands. He shook his head and sat in silence. After a few moments he rubbed his face then looked back at Numbers.

Here’s how it’s going to work from now on Wrench signed tiredly I cut the hole, you ALWAYS tape them and WE drop them in the hole together. Couldn’t drag two people under at once. We clear?

Numbers wondered if this was the same mill worker he’d picked up in a small town years back. He hadn’t noticed the change.

Alright He replied.

Wrench leaned forward grabbing Numbers and holding him close. Wide hands spread over Number’s damp shoulder blades and his head pressed into Numbers shoulder. He was shaking. Numbers drew unsteady hands up to grip Wrench’s shirt. He drew the fabric there into fists. He felt something break inside him. After a few minutes Wrench released his grasp and slid back.

This was hot an hour ago Wrench signed before picking up the two mugs and handing one to Numbers. He leaned back against the tub facing away from Numbers. Numbers sipped out of the cup and found it to be cool and chocolate flavored. He leaned towards Wrench a little as he drank.

“Thanks” He said staring down at the swirling contents of his cup.
The Close Call
They had been dumping bodies in the frozen lake for years without a hitch. This is the day that changed. It goes with this fanart -… and can be reposted on tumblr here if you feel so inclined -…
Warm Up by Seraph5
Warm Up
This is some fanart for my wrenchers fic The Close Call -…. This probably took me 7 hours and there was no tracing involved. I'm kinda proud of this'n because perspective and backgrounds aren't generally my thing. I slammed both into this picture. It's got a loooot of problems but it's a step :)

In case you want to repost on tumblr -…

It was a night like every other. The pub was busy with rough workers keen to drop their fresh paychecks onto the bar. He moved through the hustle looking for a drink and a dark corner to vanish into. The barkeep was as close to a friend as he had and always knew what he wanted. He had a full glass in his hand with little more then a wave.  

He turned to move away when a weight hit him square in the back. He fell hard against the bar fumbling his drink. The glass shattered at his feet. He didn’t expect anything but an apologetic expression from an intoxicated face. He got three heavyset loggers instead.

“-retarded fuckin-” The one who’d hit him was halfway through shouting face scrunched into an angry red glare “-out of my way!”

He turned back to the bar to get a replacement drink when fingers dug into his shoulder spinning him back around.

“-to you, you asshole! You owe me a drin-” the logger continued hell-bent on a reaction.  He drew himself to his full height brushing the hand from his shoulder with a hard snap. He pushed the logger back and pointed at him in warning. The man sneered with a jeering ‘oooh’ his friends puffing with aggressive smiles. The three where familiar to him, he’d seen those twisted smirks since he was young.

He ignored them going back to trying to flag down the barkeep. As he waited he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bottles. It gave him pause as he stared at the reflection of his face. There was a dull numbness to the features that hung limp there. He wondered at how long he had been blotting out his existence in this place. Stamping it out one day at a time.

There where eyes watching him in the reflection. He glanced over to meet them. It was an unfamiliar figure sitting behind him. Few people where unknown in this place and he could tell this man did not come from the town.

A fist landed squarely his jaw sending him sprawling onto the floor. He blinked through the surprise finding himself on his back staring up at the Stranger sitting in the booth above him. The man watched him with curious eyes before flicking his gaze up indicating the approaching loggers. He lifted himself to his feet ready for the next hit.

He pushed a kick aside and delivered an elbow to the logger’s ribs. The next came at him while the other rounded behind him and he could see the bar staff noticing the fight. Putting his hands together he belted the man in front trying to dispatch him quickly. The one behind him grabbed him in a headlock. He struggled against the arms as he felt himself being dragged towards the door. He knew outside, without an audience the loggers violence would double. He had the scars to prove it. Despite his best efforts the door opened and he was plunged into the icy air.

The drop in temperature hit him hard and he gasped as he thrashed furiously against his captor. He watched the second and third logger leave the bar a bottle each in hand. They dragged him into the alley beside the bar tossing him down against a brick wall. He glowered up at them. Through the dim light it was hard to catch the words but he snatched enough.

“-always in the corner- making trouble-you fucking faggot”

He wasn’t sure why it was this night. He supposed they’d drunk too much, finally decided it was time to rid their town of the only outsider born there but he could see it in their eyes. Could see the decision made. So he made his own.

In one swift movement he snatched the legs out from under the man closest to him and punched him hard enough to break his jaw knocking him out cold. He was on his feet grabbing the next one. He yanked his body forward bending his arm back till it broke then threw him against the alley wall headfirst. It was every torment compounded and every cruelty borne flooding out of him in a fluid motion of bones breaking and skin splitting. He knocked the second down feeling prickles of satisfaction as the mans body struck the street.

As he turned to the last one pain tore through his shoulder and he shrieked gripping the area. A shaking pistol barrel filled his vision.

“This time you’re going down, mute” the last said muzzle smoking from it’s first shot in the brisk and brittle air. He fell to his knees gripping his shoulder blood dribbling over his fingers. The agony was sickening and he swayed, the muzzle swaying with him.

The stranger from the bar emerged as through he had materialized from some other world. With one smooth movement he smashed a bottle into the side of the logger’s head. The surprised man went down before he even knew what had happened. The stranger seemed unconcerned with the scene of carnage around him as he dropped the broken bottleneck and straightened his jacket. He stepped over the unconscious body, took the gun from his hand and slipped it into his pocket. The stranger then lowered himself to his haunches before him so they where at level height.

“First time being shot huh?” He said as his hands cutting signs through the air “Yeah hurts like a son of a bitch”

He stared at him breathing hard. The stranger studied the bodies littered around him approvingly. He had dark hair that was combed back and a thick beard. There was a hawkish look about him: slick and predatory.

“Well that guy is dead he signed and pointed casually. He looked over to the perfectly still body of the logger that had first hit him. As he stared at the still figure he found it hard to muster up regret. He had little doubt that where it not for this stranger he would be lying dead in the snow. So unless I miss my mark a hospital doesn’t really seem on the cards for you. Do you want some help getting stitched up?

He let go of his shoulder hand sticky with blood. The world was going hazy at the edges. He waved his hand palm up.

Proposition for you. Being in jail not going to give opportunity to take me up on it. Going to help you and ask later He signed before holding out his hand.

He stared at it for a long moment shivers wracking his body. If he turned him down there would be one of two outcomes of which he was certain. He would either die in the snow waiting to an ambulance or live long enough to get help, be arrested and go to jail. This man could be anyone, could have anything planned for him but as he looked at the open palm he knew he’d already made his mind up.

He took it and the stranger pulled him to his feet then carefully placed his uninjured arm over his smaller shoulders. The man was much shorter in stature and the walk to the car was awkward. The blood loss robbed him of his consciousness as he fell onto the backseat of the car.

                                      *               *                *

He woke with a start shoulder causing a jolt of discomfort. He grimaced glancing down. He was shirtless with a white bandage wrapped tightly around his shoulders and chest. He was relived to find the room free of police. The walls where a pale yellow colour, the type that had at one stage, no doubt, been white. There where two beds, a tv set from the 80s and the stranger sitting on a chair in the corner reading a local newspaper. He quickly became aware of a severe dryness in his throat. He clicked his fingers and the stranger looked up putting the paper down.

Water He held three fingers up tapping them to his lips.

“It’s there” The stranger gestured to his bedside table where there was a pitcher and a glass waiting.

He grabbed it, sculling it thirstily and studying the stranger in the warm bedside lamplight. He felt strange and hazy and suspected the relative dullness of the pain in his shoulder was thanks to some strong medication.

“This place is kind of light on for excitement hey? I mean aside from the pub fights” He saw the man say as he folded up the paper.

Who are you? He signed What did you give me?

I gave you morphine and my name is Mr. Numbers. I was sent here on a job He explained hands moving through the air with ease Supposed to pick up a new partner who you killed last night.

Concern slid down his spine and he tensed. Mr Numbers, as he called himself, did not look hostile. The fact that he was alive at all suggested he was under little threat. Numbers sniggered a little before settling back in his chair.

He couldn’t beat you with two friends and a gun so I guess he was more of a small town thug then my superiors led me to believe He continued Do you feel bad about it?

He thought on it for a moment.


Why not? Mr Numbers asked. He thought about the endless bouts of jabs and fights and pranks over the years, which had only intensified with age. He thought of the loggers family and his wife’s occasional black eyes. He thought of the degree of peace his absence would create.

He was a bad man he answered Would’ve let me bleed out

“Hmmmm. Interesting” Numbers said watching him with a pleased smile but said no more.

Thanks for the alleyway He signed And for patching me up

No problem Numbers shrugged Wasn’t planning on it but you put up such a good fight. Where did you learn to fight like that?

When I was a kid he replied not wanting to go into what his childhood had demanded. He left it at that and moved on You know ASL?

Mr. Numbers nodded before looking down at his hands.

My sister he signed expression distant Learned it when she was born. You got any family? Wife? Kids?

No he replied he wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss or the drugs but he felt compelled to continue Mum died. Hate dad. No partner. No-one interested.

Why not? You’re big, tall, strong. Numbers assessed waving in his general direction Good odds for anyone.

 Not here He replied dismissively.

“Well that settles it” Mr. Numbers said standing up and moving over to sit on the bed alongside his own. As he moved into the light details of his demeanor became clearer. It was hard to pin an age on him but he looked like he was in his late 20s. He wore a plain black suit, which had seen better days. Despite the sleep deprived red tinged eyelids his eyes glinted in the light. There was little doubt that he wasn’t a criminal. The stolen gun resting comfortably in his jacket pocket attested to that.

I need a partner and you need an escape. The man you killed was going to take the name Mr. Wrench and come work with me Numbers explained signing with large expressive motions.

What work? He signed. Numbers smirked.

 The kind you did in the alleyway

He leaned back a little concerned at the turn in conversation.

Who do you work on? he signed hesitantly.

Bad men. Most of them make your logger friends look like Dorris Day. I can handle them alone but it helps to have an imposing guy along for the ride. Speeds up getting answers…carrying bodies.He signed Your blood was all over that alleyway, everyone in the bar knew you where out there so you’ve got some choices to make.

He marveled at how spectacularly strange a turn the night had taken. Numbers leaned closer shadows playing on the contours of his features. He huffed a breath out through his nose feeling his ears go red.

If you want to take your chances, try to make your own escape I’m cool with that. I’ll even leave you a couple of pain killers for the road cause I like your style Mr. Numbers signed Otherwise you can take Mr. Wrench’s name and place and we’ll get the hell out of here.

He settled back onto the bed eying the old tv as he weighed his options. He envisioned his many escape routes and the obstacles they would entail. By now going back to his house was pointless as there would be officers waiting. Escaping would be difficult regardless of painkillers, as the gunshot wound had left him weak and dizzy. He had friends in the neighboring towns but none that he would risk being accessories to his crime. He could feel Numbers gaze on him. It felt strange. He wondered how many of the people he knew would have done what Numbers had for him. Numbers wanted him as a partner. As a partner he had value. As a partner he knew he'd be safe.

He looked back over at Numbers. Regardless of motive Numbers wanted him to go with him. The corner of his mouth quirked up. He held out his hand. Numbers grinned shaking it warmly.  

 Mr. Wrench it is then.

I'm gonna be mad on every platform tonight cause thats how I feel about it. I'm hitting one of those downward slopes and I know it and yeah wingeing doesn't change anything but neither does anything else. %90 of the time I'm so happy to be a single independent lady trying to carve her way out in the world, buying nerd toys, hanging with friends whenever I please, doing whatever the fuck I want and not having to answer to anybody but myself but occasionally. Just occasionally I get low about being single. It's probably happened only like 3 times this year but it's a bloody bitch when it does happen. So here comes the bitching.   

I need to move to America because none of the Aussie boys want me and/ or the ones I like are taken or gay (surprisingly frequently gay because they're funny and smart and cheeky and fun and intelligent and FML where are the straight boys like this oh wait they're taken). Maybe I could bring an American boy back with me. Would he get the Melbourne life? Would he want the Melbourne life? Melbourne is a cruel mistress. I love everything about her except for the lack of eligible men who could be interested in me and not taken/gay/a douchebag AND the pretentiousness. Not a fan of the pretentiousness Melbourne (the kooky thing is I'm a bit pretentious too and i know it BECAUSE THATS WHAT MELBOURNITES ARE) but I mean we also know how to have fun and not take ourselves seriously which is a bit of a mixed bag but whatever the fuck.

At least I've got my cat. Now I only need like 3-5 more and I can officially give up on life. 
I'm gonna be mad on every platform tonight cause thats how I feel about it. I'm hitting one of those downward slopes and I know it and yeah wingeing doesn't change anything but neither does anything else. %90 of the time I'm so happy to be a single independent lady trying to carve her way out in the world, buying nerd toys, hanging with friends whenever I please, doing whatever the fuck I want and not having to answer to anybody but myself but occasionally. Just occasionally I get low about being single. It's probably happened only like 3 times this year but it's a bloody bitch when it does happen. So here comes the bitching.   

I need to move to America because none of the Aussie boys want me and/ or the ones I like are taken or gay (surprisingly frequently gay because they're funny and smart and cheeky and fun and intelligent and FML where are the straight boys like this oh wait they're taken). Maybe I could bring an American boy back with me. Would he get the Melbourne life? Would he want the Melbourne life? Melbourne is a cruel mistress. I love everything about her except for the lack of eligible men who could be interested in me and not taken/gay/a douchebag AND the pretentiousness. Not a fan of the pretentiousness Melbourne (the kooky thing is I'm a bit pretentious too and i know it BECAUSE THATS WHAT MELBOURNITES ARE) but I mean we also know how to have fun and not take ourselves seriously which is a bit of a mixed bag but whatever the fuck.

At least I've got my cat. Now I only need like 3-5 more and I can officially give up on life. 


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Cara Tune
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
Look alive sunshine. 109 in the sky but the pigs won't quit. Your here with me, doctor death defying. i'll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter, pumping out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you live. A system failure for the masses. Antimatter for the master plan. louder then gods revolver and twice as shiny. This ones for all you rock n rollers, all you crash queens and motor babies.

LISTEN UP! The future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary. It's time to do it now and do it loud.


Current Residence: Home
Favourite genre of music: Pretty much all exept hard core heavy metal
Favourite photographer: Ansel Adams
Favourite style of art: drawing, writing, dancing
Operating System: Mac
MP3 player of choice: itouch
Wallpaper of choice: rockstars/sherlock/supernatural
Favourite cartoon character: many...Bugs Bunny, Prince Akitasha, Wall-E, too many
Personal Quote: Oh hey

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Add a Comment:
palefire73 Featured By Owner Edited Mar 7, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Love your work!! Hug 
NekoNewee Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2014
hi I havent passed by in a while and idk if you're still on this site often (I'm guessing from your activity..not really?) but i just wanted to say hi. I'm still into FOB/bandom but have been branching out a bit to different bands, but im not unfamiliar from some stuff i see you're still into (like spn avengers and the hobbit). I still wanna pay the occasional visit because you're the one who got me into FOB all those years ago after all, haha!

Merry Christmas and have a good one!
gracegibbs98 Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for letting me put ur stuff in my group :huggle:
Falloutdaylenne Featured By Owner Feb 28, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hey cara, you must Check this fanfic out, by the way patrick dodgers is the name of patrick stump's alter ego. 
Falloutdaylenne Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Check this fanfic out
Falloutdaylenne Featured By Owner Jan 24, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hey cara tune I've got a surprise for you 
gregmcevoy Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
Thank-you, CaraTune!! You're doing some really nice work. Illustration AND design. For a future 'commercial artist', you have a very pleasingly graceful and stylish sensibility. (ps. I'm eventually doing all of the classic Spider-Man villains) ~ gm
Seraph5 Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
Thank you so much for saying so! I feel honoured to be given such praise :) I utterly love your work! Have you illustrated for any comics? Your work looks like it could be.
gregmcevoy Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
Good morning/evening, CaraTune. I'm a storyboard artist in my 'day job' but I happen to be working on a graphic novel right now. I think you could do an awesome  graphic novel based on your Haunted House series (whenever things slow down a bit and you have time)... ~ gm   
KenLawJ Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2013  Student General Artist
Thank you for the +fav 
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