Mugeenman

So the time has come for me to shift away from DeviantART. Life's begun to properly take over in an overwhelming form of professionalism. I'm engaged to the love of my life, and looking for a decent full-time job to live off of alongside her. On top of that, I'm now a writer for Whatculture on the side. It's not the same as writing my own stories, but it helps. I still intend to make many novels in the future, but in a way off of DeviantART so that I can actually make something of myself with it. I'll still be on DeviantART as a user, adding art to my favorites and such, but don't expect any more content from me. It's been a great run, quie

"The best gift she could have for Christmas is me being there on time." he thought to himself. He'd been away for a long time and was finally making progress homeward. His old green truck pushed forward as he struggled to keep it centred on the lane. The strong winter wind pushing the vehicle towards the middle. Eventually the old automobile gave in, just as another car came by. He swerved to avoid it with success, but at a cost in which his truck lodged itself into the snow bank beside the road. The tapping of wet snow against the windshield became instantly incessant. "How far is the house?" he wondered to himself. His conclusion was a full

"Has there ever been a crazy person that wasn't dangerous?" What do you mean? "Like most of the time you see people with disorders who always get locked up or put on medication to cut out everything. Has there ever been a person who didn't ha-" No. "Never? I mean they can't all be dangerous." You know as well as I do that that's not true. Especially you, after what you've done. "But why can't there just be someone who hears voices that don't tell him to do bad things?" There are people like that, it's called the conscience, even you have one. "I do?" What do you think I am? There's no one in the cell except for you...

The woods are deep and dark, night has descended upon this planet. “Woods,” exclaims Catherine. “We’re always in woodlands, I swear, first it was Gameworld Gamma, then Shallana, and it just keeps going.” “Oh hush, I thought you’d feel better after I got us behind stage to meet David Bowie.” “I still can’t believe it.” “What? That we met him?” asks Artist as leaves crumple underfoot. “No, that he had an alien inside his stomach.” “Hitchhiker, that’s what they’re called. It’s not like it hurt him.” “You cut it out

Look at him. That tool. He's just sitting there on the couch with a girl on each arm, while I sit in the corner, virtually invisible. They only hook to him because he's the generic Jersey Shore bugger, tan skin, sun glasses, and a thin stubble with part of it packed together because of his faulty smirk. They drink, smoke, all that shit. I hate it. It can't be good for him. I decide to leave, I go to the washroom to puke up my humanity. I step into the room and take a long look at myself. "Are you okay?" Asks one of the girls. I look at myself. The tan, glasses, and the stubble. I'm the part of his personality he destroys to impress people.

In the vast wonderful existence that is the universe, there is a small grouping of land known to all as The Rings Of Akhaten. This area contains a menagerie of magnificent beings of all shapes and sizes, some that are even just coordinated colors. Artist Blue walks through these busy streets, he carries in his hand a hand-sized blue berry, which he happily munches upon. He leans in towards a man who seems to be staring into the distance, he’s clearly a humanoid of some sort. “Excuse me, sir,” says Artist kindly. He looks at the Timelord with a smile. “Sorry, I’m busy right now.” Artist looks around curiously. &

The painting rests on the dead house wall. A life sized portrait of a Asian woman laying on her back underwater. "This is the one," says the man in a fedora, cards numbered 10 and 6 in the brim, designed in style. He lifts it off the wall and places it very gently on the dusty cement floor. "She looks so peaceful," says the girl with him, admiring the portraits almost, but not entirely, realistic beauty. "Yeah, she does." He replies before looking at her with the smirk of a madman. "Let's wake her up." He dives his hand into the painting. Rather than his hand cracking against the cement, it enters the painting. He grasps the woman's shoulde

America in the 16th century was a time filled with mystery and curiosity, but most of all it was a time of hardship, and a moment in human existence that was filled to the brink with a fear of the unknown. “I shall return,” speaks John White to the slowly forming English settlement below him as he stands atop a massive wooden ship. “Soon this land will permanently become our home, Roanoke. It shall forever be remembered as a great triumph.” The crowd cheers as the ship sets its sails and travels far from the views of the ladies and gentlemen among this new colony. One of these women is named Margaret; she walks politely o

The last words of Simon were "I do not believe in magic." The things that were uttered after that brought events most tragic. Upon his trek he found a girl named Marceline Her later days have made her the vampire queen. He protected her under his wing. To keep his mind he needed to only sing. He hoped for a place where everyone knew his name. He forever teeters around, clearly insane. His minions will walk around like mice. As he wanders his kingdom of ice. He is forever the ruler of a frozen wasteland. Eternally forgetting the girl who once took his hand.