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Sunny DaysIt was a lovely warm morning, a rarity these past few months, and many people were taking advantage of it. The streets were bustling with people and merchants trying to sell frozen treats and fresh fruit.
Even Paul had deigned to have his breakfast in the garden. Having had the servants bring a table and chairs there, he was now sitting in the shade, enjoying a cup of coffee and the quiet morning. Until Darren came bursting into the garden, cursing and muttering profanities.
"That little wretch. Good for nothing... If I find him," Darren cursed, pacing back and forth in front of the table.
With a sigh Paul set down the cup and prepared for a rant, "Is something wrong?"
"I'll wring the bastard's neck when I find out who it was," Darren said, stopping behind one of the chairs and gripping it's back until his knuckles turned white. Paul sat quietly in his chair, waiting patiently for his friend to continue.
"You remember that theft I've been planning?" Darren asked after
A Wish"I wish I had some work," Darren said lazily.
"You can go and clean up the stables if you need something to do," Paul said without taking his eyes off a book he was reading. No doubt another dome packed full of history of philosophy.
"As am I. Look, if you need work then go out and find some instead of sitting here all day long and complaining."
"That's easier said than done," Darren laughed sourly. "You know very well that what I do is considered illegal by most people, the king among them."
"Then do something that isn't illegal."
"Well,"Paul began to say, finally taking his eyes off the book, when a servant entered.
"There is someone to see you Sir."
Darren, having been lounging in an armchair up until now, suddenly sat up straight.
"Front of back door?"
The servant frowned. "The front door," he said without even trying to hide his annoyance.
Darren frowned as well and sank back into the chair with a small grunt and a look of disappointment on his face.
Can you hear me?In which Darren faces the prospect of being shot and eaten.
"Can you Hear me?" Darren yelled at the innkeeper. The white haired old man standing on the other side of the bar didn't look at him and continued cleaning a beer glass.
"HELLO?" He tried again, this time waving his hand in front of the man.
"Stop yer shoutin'! I can hear ye just fine," the innkeeper snapped, finally noticing his customers, "Whadda ya want?"
Darren let out a sigh: "Just a glass of whiskey."
"Whiskey!" Darren growled, his patience worn thin.
"Oh. Why didn't ya say so. We're fresh out of the stuff up here. If ya want any you gotta go down them stairs into the basement," the innkeeper gestured behind him, "And bring a cask back up. My back isn't what it used to be."
"Really? You don't look that old and frail to me." Darren remarked. The innkeeper was as big as a bear and most likely had the strength of one as well.
He got angry at the remark, began to say something then b
The Bear Girls
If I told you this story happened once upon a time, would you believe it then?
Perhaps, perhaps not.
Whether you believe me or choose not to, it happened. There were two little girls, and a bear.
And that is all I know.
At least, it is all I know for certain.
You were expecting more, weren't you? Very well.
One little girl was blonde, with skin white as snow, the other rosy and raven-tressed, so they say, but that doesn't seem very likely unless they weren't sisters at all, and I have always assumed they were sisters. It is almost inevitable that they were sisters. No story ever says much about the father. He was dead, or abandoned them. Perhaps they had two different ones. It's impossible to say.
I could tell you the girls were beautiful princesses who ran into the great dark forest to escape their wicked stepmother. Or perhaps they were abandoned by their poor woodcutter father who could no longer afford to feed them but could not stand to see them starve. Or were they just two ordin
Fairy of DeathShe's the prettiest woman on earth. A dress woven from ivy and lilies whispers of death, unheard.
Is she even human? the prince thinks to himself as he tries to get closer. He wants to touch those rosebud lips. A faerie's kiss means immortality, doesn't it...
But she takes a delicate, white fingertip to prod his nose, and he falls back beneath the surface. Cold, black water embraces him. Sinking deeper, the prince hears only the first few notes of her song.
After the ritual is finished, the cursed witch of the woods cackles with laughter. She'll last another hundred years from now. A royal child’s bones, a drop of blue blood in the pond of youth... These days, she has given up rivalling dragons and stealing away fair princesses.
No one ever sets out to save the prince in a fairy tale.
Help from the EighthIt was calm. Quiet. Content.. Things Ichbur didn't think he would ever find pleasing, only to be proven completely wrong. Everythign was perfect in his 'life', now. Not feigned perfection, no pretense, no stretching the truth.. Everything was truly perfect and he couldn't ask for better. There -was- no better. He had an amazing, gorgeous wife who adored him, for whatever reason she might see in him being 'worth it'.. He had Three wonderful, unique children, even if two of them might not be truly blood related, it couldn't make less of a difference to the Warlock. They had a quaint little house cosy and snug and away from too much 'hustle and bustle', unless the family, themselves, caused it.. He finally had a family. A life to br proud of. something to look forward to existing for. Both in the quiet and in the chaos.
Today had been particularly chaotic. The Twins had been coaching Sera on shadow-crafting, which he was proud to say she was quickly mastering. However, it did still have i
ArrivalThe forest was covered in a thick, white blanket. The soft rustling of the falling snow muffled the scrunching of the lone wanderer's footsteps. Her hair had the same colour as the snow around her and her worn down parka was hard to see against the confers around her. The imprint of her feet were quickly filled by freshly fallen snow. The lone wanderer was on her way down the mountain. In a long forgotten time ago, her father's court had been up there, but now, there were only rock and snow left for her. Staying up there alone would not help her and she knew it. The way down would be exhausting for a human, but the wanderer wasn't one. She wasn't even mortal, as she had discovered to her own surprise. But that didn't make her careless. It would be a shame if she would get caught by an avalanche. This was her home and her domain, after all. It had been way too long since her last visit. It was good to be back, even though things had changed. The air was differently and glaciers had retr
Early WinterDeath drives a green Packard. Depression era, with modern bumper stickers and parking tickets which, if you look closely, were written out by Hammurabi. I met him once, he’d pulled up outside my house and hopped out for a smoke break on the street. He looked like he didn’t have anything to do when, far as I know, somebody dies once every few seconds, somewhere. I went outside and asked him who he was after.
"You. But not for a while. Y’know Arnold Rothstein got shot just three blocks from here?"
"I thought he was killed in New York. Definitely in America."
"Who you gonna believe?"
Death flicked his smoke to the asphalt and crushed it with a casual twist of his purple dress shoe. Then he drove off, leaving me feeling a little melancholy and a little drained. Never could get the hang of snow in October.
Pottery TGPottery class dragged on. Darryl stared at the lump of clay spinning around on his wheel. He placed his hands on the top, compressing the clay. A wash of cold swept over him, and if you looked closely you could see him shortening just a bit. He smoothed out the clay and centered it, and his skin smoothed and his fingers slimmed. As he dropped the hole, he shifted in his seat as his hips expanded.
Darryl began to raise the walls, thinning the clay. His legs lengthened and slimmed as his waist grew thinner. Darryl moved clay up the walls, two mounds began to grow on his chest and his body slimmed. He put some final touches on the rim of his vase, flaring the lips out. His lips puff and redden, and his face softens. He finds an odd lump at the base of his vase, and pushes it in. He begins to trim the pot, smoothing hard edges. Red hair began to stream from the top of his head, and his form solidified. Her
Seasell meets Kei Seasell disliked being teased about not having a boyfriend. She hated when Aslin and Travis mentioned it.
"I'm waiting for Blackie!"
Seasell frowned, shoving her hands into her pockets. Aslin shook her head and Travis smiled, innocently rolling an empty soda can across the floor to where Seasell's tail rested on the carpet.
"Seasell, we understand that you have a history with this guy, but you haven't spoken to him in months," Aslin sighed.
"Fuuu! You don't understand. I know you care and everything . . . but I need you to leave me alone. I'm visiting the hospital on the weekend"
"Sea," yawned Travis "you said that last week. But you didn't go"
"I worked overtime"
"And the week before"
"I had a stomach ache!"
Seasell bit her lip and angrily slashed through the pop can.
"I'm . . . going for a walk"
Seasell slammed the apartment door without meaning to, and walked Aslin's bike down the narrow hall.
How're ya feeling?
No, thank you
We serve the same god, she and I.We serve the same god, she and I.
She the northerner, child of the raven, who lusts for power, and her power is lust.
My every death, my every life, has been given to him.
And she'd no soul to give, only a vessle opened.
My sacrificed are in honor: the bones of my enemies, drenched in richest fat, and their souls offered up to him.
I sing his songs of praise, and carry the calling bells, and the temple I had built up smokes and hangs with silk finer than what I wear.
Yet she builds no alter, and her silks are draped about her form covering little.
Can even the god of death be more interested in the act of creating life, than in the souls he rules?
50 Word Mini Sagas"What are you doing?"
"What does it looks like I'm doing? I'm trying to... argh... see if I can... oww... get to the roof... bloody nail... from this window."
"But does it have to be the window that's facing the street?"
"Think of it as advertisement!"
"Look Bob, Darren's up to something again."
"I've been tellin' ya: if ya need somethin' done hire Darren. He'll get it done and for cheap! Unlike the rest of 'em cut-throats down at the docks."
"Didn't ya say the same 'bout Mad Mort yesterday?"
"My god, Martha, what is this city coming to? First people climbing out of windows and now beggars fighting in the middle of the street! Where's the watch when you need them?"
"I'm telling you, dear, it all because of the pollen."
"You're probably right, dear."
"All right, you proved that you can get to the roof. Can you come down now? People are starting to gather."
"Say... are these yours?"
"How did they...For god's sake give me those!"
"I didn't know you were into such
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More