There once was a Miss Mary Lye,
Who always was baking us pie.
But often we’d find
It was one of a kind--It’d poison the rats, would her pie!
|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
'Old Man' Rissikov His hands are wide and blunt, the fingers worn around the tips. Calluses thicken his palms, and wrinkles scratch craggy canyons through his skin. Blue veins ridge the backs of his hands, shifting over powerful tendons, and his fingernails are yellowed, rough and split at the ends. They are old, working hands.
He shapes the wood confidently, hands moving with an easy grace born of decades of practice. Thick fingers grasp his tools with surprising finesse, planing the wood down to a perfect surface and leaving long, curled shavings to fall to the floor in fresh-scented mounds. Slowly, the form of a long, gently curved table leg is coaxed into being.
Kitwaveit is a land of highland moors and lowland marshes, where the only trees that grow are low, twisted things, more like shrubs than anything else. It seems a long-passed memory to the man before me, a fog-bank dispersed by the constant wind and revealing sun of a life which has lit
Fractured Fairy TaleBeauty and the Beast
Summary: An adaptation of the translated piece of Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont’s writing of the tale, first published in 1756 and translated in 1757. (The pirates are new.) If you wish to read the original version, it can be found here: http://pitt.edu/~dash/beauty.html.
If you missed it, part one can be found here.
And so the next morning they returned to the castle together, where the Beast let them into the entrance hall before withdrawing and leaving them their privacy. When her father failed in one last attempt to reason with Beauty, they parted with an embrace. At first, Beauty could do little but cry with her grief. But later that evening Beauty set out to explore the cast
Fractured Fairy TaleBeauty and the Beast
Summary: An adaptation of the translated piece of Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont’s writing of the tale, first published in 1756 and translated in 1757. (The pirates are new.) If you wish to read the original version, it can be found here: http://pitt.edu/~dash/beauty.html .
There was once a wealthy pirate king, a loyal man who ran his fleet with the help of his three sons and three daughters. He had once had a wife, but she fell in love with another while he was away at sea. Finding himself unwilling to bind her to a man she no longer loved, he let her leave… though it pained him dearly. He continued to love his children fiercely, however, and as it so happens this is a tale of the pirate and his daughters.
His daughters were all very beautiful, but the youngest was the prettiest of a
Slave to DeathI'm tired of hiding,
But too weak to fight;
The problem with darkness
Is you can't see the light.
I'd love and I'd live
If I only knew how.
But bad habits have grown
And it's too late by now.
So cry out, scream,
And flee from the shadows--
Nothing can save you
From the blood-scented gallows.
There Were Four There Were Four
It was a slow day, and for good reason. Chilly November rain drummed down on the streets of the city, sluicing through gutters and filling the air with the gentle scent of soaked concrete. The only people out in such weather had good reasons for braving the cold; they walked with heads ducked and collars turned, single-mindedly hurrying towards their destinations. Few of them stopped to consider a scruffy beggar huddled beneath the mediocre shelter of a bus stop, even when waiting under the same alcove for transportation.
But I didn’t mind. I was under the shelter because it kept off the worst of the rain, not because I expected coins. It had just seemed rather silly not to put down the tin, you know? Besides, there’s something to be said for spending a day watching people go by, their stories trailing behind them like the ragged ends of a tired old cloak. So while I
"Gerou? I'd like to speak with--oh." Elance pulls up as he comes into the study alcove to find Gerou pulling himself stiffly into a more alert position, pushing the slightly crumpled book catalogue, which he'd apparently been using as a pillow, away from himself. The wide window on the west side of the room lights the stone of the walls and floor with a gentle afternoon light, the clear sky a welcome gift of the all-too-brief summer. The sun-heated leather bound books in the shelves along the walls fill the room, as they do the whole library, with the welcoming scent of leather and aging paper. "Should I come back later?" he backtracks, as the other man shrugs his worn grey shawl back into place around his shoulders.
"No, it's fine. I obviously wasn't getting much done," Gerou says lightly, brushing his lank, once-wavy hair back behind his ears.
"...You're getting e
Characters of Abime SpireA brief summary of all the characters of Abime Spire I've mentioned so far. Links are to either the character bio or refsheet, if it exists, or a picture of the character (again, if it exists). This will be updated with new characters as I draw them, and may contain info not present or found in a less concise manner in their bios. It also will mention any particular formal affiliations between characters. So check back every once in a while!
Fully introduced characters:
Brian the King: The most easy-going, laid-back immortal former monarch you're likely to encounter, Brian keeps his friends close and family closer. Two-time widower and father of four:
Corglacia: Oldest child of the King, Corglacia is a bit of a withdrawn loner. Nevertheless, she share's her father's deep devotion towar
Distinct Voices 3Part three of this exercise by Luna--Rose.
There is no profanity this time round! Because I don't really curse anywhere but in my own mind.
For ease of use, here's a list of the characters linking to at least a picture, and in most cases some basic info about them.
Distinct Voices 2Part two of this exercise by Luna--Rose.
WARNING: Contains occasional mild profanity.
The names below are links to the most information-rich deviation containing the character. Not necessarily the prettiest ones, though...
9. Your character is about to leave the house in the morning when they realize that they are snowed in.
(Snowed in: when ther
A Vampire's WarningI really want to eat you,
you truly ought to know.
So think of this-before we kiss...
...under the mistletoe.
You think it's about romance,
but I just need some lunch.
I smell your blood-in dismal flood...
...so please go drink some punch.
It's best if you avoid me,
no matter what I say.
Your mortal bliss-you'll surely miss...
...if we take things my way.
I'm functioning on empty,
and kinda like a car.
So low on fumes-I live in tombs...
...if you should flee, run far.
This party's for the festive,
I lean towards mad-macabre.
I lurk in screens-and piercing screams...
...necrosis is my job.
I'd tell you all I'm thinking,
but you're already dead.
You chose my mouth-your heart went South...
...and now I have been fed.
Incompetence: A Half-Baked Tale
She disappears in a puff of smoke and leaves me standing there
In a dress of the palest gossamer, with fancy curling hair.
I take a step—my slippers pinch—“Oh dear, they’re slightly small―”
But the coachman interrupts me: “Come! We cannot miss the ball!”
He grins at me with buck teeth as he stands by the carriage door;
I climb inside; my slippers sink in the spongy, slippery floor.
The seat is slightly sticky, leaving pumpkin on my palms,
But the coachman cries, “Hooray! We’re off!” and waves excited arms.
The carriage starts with a painful lurch and soon we’re rolling fast;
I close my eyes and pray it holds together to the last.
My hair is shaken loose; I bump my head, my hand, my knee,
And I wonder if that fairy passed her Magic Arts degree.
Along we jump and jerk and jolt; I’m flung from side to side;
The carriage comes to a screeching halt to end our breakneck ride.
The Rational LoverYou say we should elope today
But I really think we should delay
You've listed all the thing we'll do
But I'm not sure you've thought it through
We'll run away and live in a village
In a Merry England thatched-roof cottage
I'll work as a farm-boy, you as a milk-maid,
And build our nest on the little we're paid
We'll soon look owt but out of town
In this world of green and brown
We'll build our life upon this whim
And take our chances, no matter how slim
Now, I'd just love to run away with you
As stereotypical lovers do
But as it is, life's got other plans
For employment's little also-rans
There's the interview for a part-time job
So your father doesn't think I'm a slob
Not to mention the doctor's appointment
And I've got to pay the rent
Eloping now sounds such a dare
But I have, although I do not care,
An essay due next week
You must think this is meek
If we stay in town things'll work out fine
And reason sides with this plan of mine
Running away isn't a good idea
So actually, let's st
I don't pay attention to the newsUkraine’s in the news lately, I’m only familiar with Nestor Makhno
I’ve no idea how that’s pronounced so just assume it rhymes with snow
Which is also something I imagine Ukraine has quite a bit of?
Just like those other countries that where the people’s names end in “ov”
So anyway on to the Ukraine and something called Maidan
I didn’t know Ukraine had a lot of fans of Iron Maiden
Now apparently Russia has moved into the Ukraine east and taken over
Which surprised me, since on my map they had it all as well as Moldova
Though know I come to think of it
I don’t think Germany is still split
Between Westen und Ost
And Yugoslavia now appears lost
And according to google maps there’s now a New Mexico hey?
Why its enough to make you scratch yer head and say “Que”?
AllergiesThere once was a little bumble bee
Who had a bad pollen allergy.
When he tried to do his job
He would sneeze and say with a sob
“Pass the tissues, I need three!”
No PasaranThe working class of the city of Barcelona
Rose up in 36 and took with them Catalonia
With clubs and guns
Kicked out priests and nuns
And sent the bourgeois running like they do in Pamplona
There's one in every AsylumNapoleon the first was one of the finest minds of the martial sort
His tactical innovation captured him cities and all types of fort
The poor sod were self-hating
And clearly overcompensating
No matter how high he rose, he always was a little short
Don't Pick Your NoseThere once was a boy who picked he nose
And picked the slime between his toes.
All the girls thought him gross and left him alone
So the boy grew old all on his own
And kept wiping the slime on all his clothes.
ghost writer needed...my poems are crap
i ain't so good
i'd wanna change that fact
if i could only could
i can't pick no good words
i got bad timing
other people is way better
i don't do good rhymer
i will keep practising
maybe i'll do some gooder
if i have wrote one someday
i will upload from a computer or something
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More