#colouring gifs and having no colour vision is literally so evil

[chuuguins]

ARTBEAT, yubin (outros)

[prose-for-hire]

Hostile 16

Pairing: spike x demon!reader

Request: not requested. Originally this was going to be a longer, multi-parted fic but I’ve stuck to a shorter story for now. Perhaps if you like it I could make another part in the future !!

Desc: You wake up locked up with no recollection of how you got there. Things soon become clear when a vampire winds up in the same place and you try and make your escape.

Warnings: allusion to violence by the initiative, violence/threat, swearing, biting and the reader and Spike don’t get on at least to begin

You had the mother of all headaches. It was more than any hangover. Than any blow to the head. Not just by your own experience, but you were sure that it was the worst in the history of the world. It killed. Half of you had been convinced you had actually died and this was some purgatory readying you for the impending hell you expected to find you at the end of your life.

You hadn’t led an evil life, per se, but you weren’t an angel. You tried your best to make good choices but increasingly found yourself caught up in ridiculous (and often dangerous) situations. Plus, hello, demon – you weren’t exactly expecting good things when you kicked the bucket. No heaven, no kind hand to greet you at your final breath. You see, nobody ever created statues or fine paintings to honour your kind. You had been shunned by many, even now, people had a tendency to see you as fickle no matter how you tried to prove them otherwise.

You were a demon, able to shift into different forms to suit your will. In your true form, you appeared human except for certain tells under direct light, such as scales that shimmered beneath your natural skin tone and the red of your eyes that you could only hide when you shifted forms completely.

This is the reason you had ended up here, your demon heritage, not that you knew that yet of course. You had come to on the floor where you had been dumped on arrival, where you had discovered the (possibly literally) worst headache on the planet. The room you were surrounded by was small. The fluorescents that didn’t appear to shut off no matter the time of day were so bright they were almost blinding. Direct lighting was hell for someone like you that liked to try to appear as human as possible when not shifting.

“Fuck” You mumbled more to yourself as you heard the angry buzzing of the current that was ensuring you were locked in the small cell you had been assigned. You were trapped. And, as you began to lose the blurring of your vision – you noticed there were others trapped with you. Demons of various shapes, sizes and colours surrounded you, looking just as miserable as you.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what you were doing here. You were here because you were a demon. This was confirmed to you when a soldier came to your cell, addressed you as hostile 16 before telling you to ‘eat up’ as a tray dropped from a hatch.

“Yeah, that’s not happening” you muttered.

You lived a solitary life seeing as people didn’t tend to trust you. No matter how hard you had tried people let you down, didn’t trust you or were just plain cruel. So, you learned to enjoy your own company. You were the only person you could rely on after all.

Eventually the empty cell opposite you was filled by a man that started to shout and pace before a bag of blood dropped from the ceiling. Vampire. He began to tear off the top when you couldn’t stop yourself from warning him.

“Don’t eat that. It’s obviously drugged” 

To which he dropped it and almost completely ignored you and instead continued to rant about the slayer finally getting funding.

“It’s, uh, not often you see this in a person but it might actually be possible that you were born yesterday. Did they cook you up in the lab or something?” You snapped, finally having enough of his ongoing commentary of every stupid thought that entered his head.

“Oh every buggers an expert now. You think you’re so smart well you’re still stuck in here like a useless hunk of nothing-”

“So, you agree? You’re a useless hunk of nothing?” You retorted catching him in his own words.

“Bugger off.”

“Suit yourself.”

This brand of interaction continued the more you both began to feel more and more trapped in the initiative. You periodically became irritated with each other as time went on. Between brief intervals of torture courtesy of the soldiers, of course. They didn’t speak much, just bark ‘hostile 16’ at you. You couldn’t tell the time in there, the lights were always on and you were struggling to stay sane with only the four walls for company. Even someone like you, who was used to being alone, was struggling in these conditions.

You needed to get out. And, you noticed that he appeared to be thinking the same thing.

Later on, you had returned to you cell after another run-in with the soldiers who had been merciless. They were testing how much pain it could take to make you shift into another form. It took a lot.

“Enjoy your trip, pet?” He said smugly, noting the black eye you were now sporting after your most recent

“Shut up”

“Make me” He smirked, “I could do this all night… or day?” He questioned, looking up at the fluorescent lights realising like you that he didn’t know the time. When he looked back towards you from his cell, he was looking at a mirror image of himself. Down to every last physical detail. Even the smirk was the same. You had shifted and enjoyed the confusion on his face before he realised what was going on.

“Look at me I’m a very angry vampire that don’t know any manners, please beat me up mr soldier men” You said, in an imitation of his accent and mannerisms as you paced the way he had earlier.

 He cursed you and turned away and you turned back into your true form, having to sit down as it made you feel suddenly nauseous. That’s strange... you never usually felt that way. Shifting was usually as natural as breathing to you.

After what felt like days but could have only been an hour, food came out of the hatch again. You saw something in it, confirming it had definitely been drugged. You made a decision. You had to get out. You pretended to eat your food before lying down, not before seeing that he appeared to have caught onto what you were doing and imitated you. You both ‘passed out’ and waited for the soldiers to come and collect you.

As soon as your respective doors opened you jumped up and began to fight the best you could. He was clearly a much better fighter and you let him take the lead as you ran through the corridors hoping for a big ‘exit this way’ sign. He caught up with you and you rounded the next corridor and got cornered by the soldiers. Spike grabbed you and pushed you into the armed men, hoping it was enough of a distraction to let him get out unscathed.

You managed to fight off the main soldier that had hold of you enough to slam him to the floor and grab something from him as you did. You had an idea.

You slapped a handcuff you had just retrieved onto Spike’s right wrist and attached the other side to your own left wrist before he could run off and leave you to get surrounded by the soldiers. He shouted every curse under the sun at you before being forced to fight them off with you rather than leave you there as he intended.

You managed to flee eventually, stopping to catch your breath only when you were sure you had run to the other side of Sunnydale.

“You were going to leave me to die!” You accused once you had caught your breath.

“And you’re what? Shocked and disappointed? I’m evil!”

“No, just expected a little gratitude for being the one that had the idea that got us out might be nice” You muttered.

He scoffed at this but didn’t reply. He heard you taking another breath, ready to speak again and decided he’s had enough. He stopped you, taking your shoulders which unintentionally raises your own arm too. He began to lean into your neck, his face had shifted but the smirk stayed the same.

“Dragging a corpse around would slow you down. You need me alive” You insisted and he groaned. You were right.

“Y/n” You said and he gave you a perplexed look as you continued, “My name. It’s Y/n” He ignored this attempt at pleasantries.

“Look here, I got unfinished business and you’re just along for the ride. Until we get these damned things from our wrists, you’re mine”

“Um, maybe you’re mine” You insisted, however your voice began wavering slightly at his hard tone in a way you had never found yourself doing before. You had faced many bigger and scarier beings and yet, suddenly you found yourself walking alongside him in silence as he led the way. You sulked as he directed you to the first stop.

You were looking for something to remove the cuffs but there was no use. You had tried almost everything. There was some kind of technology that appeared to make them indestructible and in all of the chaos you had forgot to check for keys. After this realisation that it was hopeless trying to remove them, you went everywhere he would usually frequent: the bronze, several cemeteries and a cosy little lair he used to share with another vampire. Harmony, her name was, but her demeanour was anything but Harmonious as soon as she saw Spike enter.

“Love the colour scheme” you commented as you trudged back out of the lair with Harmony still shouting that she was a strong, powerful woman at them as they left.

“Not. A. Word” He snapped as his stomach began to make noises in the hunger and he began to eye you every so often as you walked.

Eventually you slowed down, not keeping up the pace with him and he sensed that the sun was beginning to rise. He found an abandoned crypt with a (highly convenient) old mattress that had been discarded in there. You both just stared at it and then at each other. He raised an eyebrow but it really was the best option you had.

“We could spoon” You deadpanned as you both awkwardly lowered yourselves onto the mattress and tried not to wind up sitting on his lap. You didn’t know why half of your brain started to scream at you in excitement at the prospect. You buried that part deep down and hoped that it would go away. God, you must be lonely if it got excited at the prospect of intimacy with someone like him. Well, it had been a while…

“No bloody way” Spike grumbled, lying down and turning away from you, bringing your arm with him that made you yelp and then pull your arm back towards you, which made him make a similar noise before coughing to try and hide it.

Despite the tug of war you both ended up playing through the day while you attempted sleep, it was better than trying to sleep at the Initiative. Although, anything would be better than the initiative. What happened there didn’t bear thinking about. Plus you hadn’t yet discovered the half of what they had done to you both.

“Spike” He had said, the next morning while you both lay there pretending to sleep.

“What?”

“Name’s Spike” he murmured before rolling his eyes at himself in the darkness.

You continued to crash in abandoned crypts and motel rooms continued through the coming days, while he tried to find a source of food and a way to sever the ties between you. Things were a little less biting after he had introduced himself for a time but as you both got frustrated, and he got hungrier you would descend back into annoying each other or arguing for entertainment.

One afternoon, the hunger became too much and he rounded on you (which, was pretty easy to do considering how close you had been living).

“You can either let me bite you or die slowly. Your pick, love”

“That kind of seems like the same option twice”

“Just need enough to stop the pain” He stated, looking upwards and grimacing as he felt the pangs of hunger again.

With that you rolled your eyes, you couldn’t help feel sorry for him. Plus, it was your fault you were both stuck like this. You began rolling up a sleeve and scowling at him. You had eaten pretty much every day and, to his credit, he had been happy to help you raid fine establishments for your own nourishment. So, you decided if only to shut him up that he could have a bite.

He moved in, his lips grazing your skin for a moment as you shivered and waited for the sharp sting that eventually came. It didn’t last long, however, as he ripped his mouth away in protest.

“Ew! Bloody hell, that’s-” He spat out what he had tasted, “Urgh”

“I have been told I’m an acquired taste” You muttered rolling your sleeve down and folding your arms, ignoring the blood still weeping from your shallow wound.

“Too right” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he complained about false advertising. Apparently, you had smelled really good to him which you had decided to tease him about for the rest of the night.

After that, he never asked again. Not even when he was getting more and more desperate. You weren’t human anyway and human blood was what sustained him. So, at least now you weren’t actually going to die. Not at his hands, at least.

Finally, one evening had become the final straw. He turned to you, after spending the night previous once again not being able to find anything to eat, it appeared seemingly out of the blue but he had been thinking it up since you had escaped. 

He began to pace as he started to word it the right way. Which meant you also began to pace, or he would have wrenched your arm out of its socket. He wanted you involved in his plan and he was trying to gauge how much murder you had actually participated in (the answer was: none but he didn’t need to know that).

“Got a plan. Two birds, one stone type. Now, you just sit pretty and-” He groaned in annoyance as you cut him off yet again.

“Aw you think I’m pretty? That’s cute”

“Pretty corpse if you don’t mind what I tell you”

“Whatever”

“Requires a witch, two free hands each and by the end of the night: one dead slayer” His eyes glistened as he finished, he could almost taste the Slayer’s blood already. He was salivating at the very prospect of killing her. You guessed it was non-negotiable so you decided to go along with it. Once you didn’t seem phased by his words, he began to get into the finer detail.

“Plan’s this…” He began, lowering his voice as if the Slayer herself could barge in at any moment as Spike ran through his plan. You couldn’t help yourself watching his lips as he spoke, leaning into you in his eagerness. You remembered the way they had grazed your wrist, your mind a moment from wondering how they would feel grazing other places. The proximity made your breathing irregular, made your palms sweat. The tone of his voice was rich, his accent adding a depth now that you really listened to it.

He smelled of leather and cigarette smoke, a smell that you were beginning to enjoy. You leaned in subconsciously, your eyes meeting every so often as he spoke animatedly at the carnage he wished to unleash on the slayer and her friends. Of which you were apparently a part of. A partner in crime. 

Partner…

You had to blink hard to snap yourself out of it. Out of whatever it was that had (briefly, oh-so-momentarily) possessed you after spending only a week in his company. Although, living so closely left very little to the imagination. You didn’t even believe in love at first sight, sometimes you weren’t even sure you believed in love. But it set your mind racing, set your pulse rising. He did.

What did this mean? Why was this the most you had lived in a long time, whilst being so close to death?

And, not just close in a literally being chained to a walking-corpse way – in a being on the run with a suddenly very attractive guy way. He still irritated you relentlessly but it was almost as if you were living some kind of daydream, the kind you would usually conjure to make the hours pass easier. This was it though. The type of moment that you would be able to pinpoint years from now, as the moment that changed everything…

If, of course, you lived that long.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 12

Home again

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n returns home

Warnings: steve almost cries, swearing maybe, kissing, mentions of violence and scars

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Steve was distraught. He sat completely still, head buried in his hands as his mind whirred. I string hand on his shoulder caused the man to look up, blue eyes meeting Tony's brown ones which were filled with sorrow and pity.

"I know you love her, but it's over Steve. They have her there's-" a crack in his voice made the billionaire pause, "there's nothing we can do this time."

"But I left her, Tony!" Steve shouted, standing up abruptly. "I could've saved her, and I didn't!" Steve's face was red, Tony's face taken aback. "She's your daughter and I didn't even save her..."

"Hey, stop." Tony snapped, pulling Steve's attention to him instantly. "I know she's my daughter but I also know that you love her enough that you wouldn't give up on her if you did t have too!" Tony wanted to shout, to scream at his friend.

"He's right, Steve. Well all know you love her." Nat smirked, arms crossed over her chest as she now leant in the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?" Steve asked and Nat simply quirked a brow. Steve nodded and realised she'd most probably been there the entire time. "And how do you know...?"

"That your in love with y/n?" Nat clarified. Steve nodded. "It's obvious, Capsicle. You literally give her heart eyes whenever she's not looking and you always fidget when you're around her. But my favourite part," Nat pushed off the door frame, walking into the room, "is that you act like you hate her. I new you didn't have great experience with women, but I didn't know it was that bad." She remarked and Steve made to protest but was cut off.

"She's right, y'know. There's no way in hell a girl's gonna ask you out if you critique every last thing about her and give her the evil eyes every time she looks at you." Tony added, making Steve shut his mouth and stare at the ground again.

"B-but it's been weeks." Steve stuttered. "What's if she's... what if they killed her, Tony? I think that's on my. Her blood would be on my hands." He rambled, and Tony was about to reply when Bruce appeared at the door.

"You guys might want to come downstairs." He said quietly, and the three avengers already in the room looked at each other, confused. Steve quickly swiped the threatening tears from his eyes, him and Tony making their way down the stairs as fast as they could.

...

I burst through the doors, immediately met with the sight of Tony pointing to some papers the person next to him was holding and discussing something with them. My face broke out into the biggest smile, the sight of my dad after the hell I'd been through like a shelter from the rain.

I waved frantically, already breaking into a run towards him, his head snapping up at the wild movement and his face morphing into one of shock and relief, his arms held open.

"Lil?" His voice was full of concern as my arms wrapped around his neck when we collided, my legs wrapping around his waist and his hands finding their place on my back. "Oh my god, Lil, you scared us so much, scared me." He whispered into my hair, pulling back enough to cup my face in his hands. "It's you." I smiled.

I nodded my head furiously, burying my wet face into his shoulder, jumping down from the embrace.

"Lily?" The unsure voice from the edge of the room caught my attention, a grin spreading on his lips seeing me. I held back tears looking at him, my smile still wide. He walked towards me, enveloping me in a hug so tight it could crush a normal person. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He kept saying, his hand tangled in my hair.

I shook my head, sorrow filling my eyes as in stared at the man that had engulfed me with his body. He pulled back, looking sternly into my eyes.

"I know you think I hate you. But, I wouldn't wish what happened to you on anyone, Lily. Not even my worst enemy." Steve whispered, his eyes clouded with pity.

"Well that's new." Tony remarked seeing us hug, confusion lacing his tone. "Hey, kid, what's with the mute?" He pondered as I gave no verbal reply, Steve now looking deeply concerned for me too.

I sighed through my nose, pulling back the collar of the jacket to reveal the long, vermillion scar across my neck.

"You should go see the others, they'll be happy to know you're back." Tony said with a pitiful smile.

...

A million warm embraces later, tears shared and hearty laughs exchanged, I was just about ready to fall asleep and never wake up. I was about to excuse myself when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned to see Steve, a stoic expression on his face.

"Can we talk?" He asked, nodding his head towards the door. I nodded, following him out into the hallway. I laid my shoulder against the wall, observing Steve's constant pacing.

So what's up?

I quickly jotted down, handing the small electronic device Tony had retrieved for me to Steve, raising a brow. He stopped, looking me in the eye. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, I let him do that to you. It's my fault. I don't even know how to live with myself, I should've come looking for you, or-" I cut him off with a tap on the shoulder as I handed him the pad.

Cap, it's fine. I'm fine.

I stressed, writing in italics. The man read it with furrowed brows. cleared my throat before continuing.

I just don't know how long I can keep pretending to be happy, I just want to die.

I finally confessed, vision blurred and screen obscured with tears. A tear rolled down my cheek.

I don't know how to go on, every tome I close my eyes all I see him, what he did

My gaze averted from his as he read.

"Hey, hey. You're strong, you can do this. Let's go get you cleaned up." Steve suggested, looking at my through his lashes and placing a careful hand on my shoulder, which I flinched away from. I gulped.

Steve, there's a reason he let me go

I wrote down, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were full of questions he didn't dare ask.

He let me go to send a message. He said that if we interfere with him again what happened to me will be child's play compared to what will happen.

His face dropped.

If a few days of torture is child's play, what does he have planned?

I asked, sobbing now.

"Lily, you were gone for three weeks." Steve added quietly, making me look up from where I'd been starting at the floor to meet his eyes. My eyes widened. Steve grimaced, nodding solemnly.

"Go have a shower, I'll grab you some fresh clothes and a towel. We'll talk more when you're feeling warmer and cleaner." He suggested again, and was met with a nod from me this time.

We reached my room, Steve holding the door opening for me and me giving a tiny smile that said 'thanks' as I walked in. I headed straight for the bathroom, taking my time in peeling the ripped tank top from my body and throwing the muddied shorts on the floor with them. Just then, the door opened, Steve walking in with a towel and some cloths folded on top. His eyes widened and he instantly apologised.

"Sorry, lily, I thought you'd be in the shower by now." But before he could walk out his eyes finally locked on me. His eyes raked over me, his eyes surveying my wrists, which were rubbed red-raw from chains and ropes; my neck, which was red and violently bruised; my bruised upper arms; my waist that was covered with finger-shaped bruises; my thighs, that were also bruised and finally my back that starred at him in the mirror. It was a mess of diagonal cuts, which were not longer bleeding but were still a blood red colour. I looked down at my feet nervously, feeling weird under his gaze.

"He did this to you?" Steve asked, tears in his eyes. I nodded, slowly looking back up at him. Before he could say anything else I cupped his face in my hands, smashing my lips to his in a kiss that conveyed everything I could never say out loud. After a moment, his hands reached for my face, returning the kiss. Our lips welded together, his tongue poking at my lower lip, begging for entrance that I granted. His tongue rolled over mine in languid stroked, soothing. I pulled back first, turning and pulling the shower curtain open. I climbed in, turning on the water and getting lost in the warmth and steam that swallowed me.

...

I walked out the bathroom, clad in one of Steve's T-shirt he grabbed for me, some shorts and fresh underwear. He must've noticed that I liked stealing Tony's shirts and given me one of his instead. Rubbing my hair dry with a towel, I dumped it on a near-by chair when my hair was only damp. Steve instantly stood from where he was sat on the edge of my bed when he saw me, looking at me with an unreadable expression.

I began writing, but before I could finish his lips were on mine and the little device was dropped to the floor. It was less desperate that the last time, more passionate and slow. It expressed everything we needed to say, and that was enough. My arms hooked around his neck, my fingers playing with the hairs at the base of his neck, whilst one of his tangled in my hair, the other resting on my cheek.

"You talk too much." He mumbled against my lips and we both let out a breath meant to be a laugh. "Too soon?" He asked before leaning in for another, our lips locking together. He pulled back and looked in my eyes, his hand running through my dampened hair.

He cleared his throat, stepping back from me, his gaze flitting from the door before landing back on me.

"I should go." He spoke, heading for the door. As he placed his hand on the door knob he froze at when I tapped on his broad back.

Don't.

The little device said. He had a hopeful look in his eyes.

Go. Don't go. Please.

I wrote , looking at him with pleading eyes. He nodded, walking back over to me.

I don't think I can be alone tonight.

I stated before climbing into my bed and patting the spot next to me. Steve hesitantly climes in beside me, laying behind me and draping his arm over my waist, pulling me into his firm chest. His body heat radiated over me and sleep soon took over as I sunk into him, his hand playing with my hair.

...

"Lil? Lily? Lily!" I shot up, panting hard and sweat covering my forehead. I slowly look to the side where Tony sat, a concerned look filling his eyes. My gaze looked at the door, where Steve stood, looking over me with what looked like fear, before going back to Tony. "Hey, kiddo, what happed?" He asked, stoking my hair. I swallowed thickly, breathing calmed down.

"You were restless, moving about in your sleep." Steve clarifies from the door, not wearing what he was before. He must've left after I fell asleep. I motioned for Tony to pass me the device which sat on the bedside table and he handed to to me.

I was back there. He was

I couldn't finish writing, the device falling from my shaking hand onto the duvet as I bit back tears, sinking into the embrace Tony held me in.

[thesteamhat]

the making of Something Old, Something New TLDR: Paintings are Essays and stories of their own creation. This is how I Fan art. Fantasy Art is more than just dragons and wizards. I owe a lot of my integrity to the work of Wizards of the Coast. If you don’t want to read it, thanks for being an audience, if you like this piece as much as I do, maybe consider buying a print HERE So now and then, very rarely in recent times, you make the piece you are most proud of, what makes pieces like this, to you, so important is often they act like little essays of what’s going on in your mind captured in your visual artistic abilities. Firstly, I only found out I was a part of the @lightgreyartgallery Gallery, Link HERE  (<= CLICK IT, there are some AMAZING artworks in there and I am humbled and honored to be amongst some of them) about 20 days after I should have, I had roughly ten days to make this piece happen.  But this piece has been rattling around my head for a very long time, for multiple reasons I have wanted to paint my reimagining of Wurmcoil Engine for several months now, taking influence from Old Phyrexia moreso than it’s more smooth styles now, the old grimy exposed biomechanical monstrocities they were when they first struck fear into the multiverse of Mtg. And I have loved drawing gnarled monstrous teeth since I was like, 14 and found my first salvation from the Anime style black hole, with the work of Dave Allsop. The piece clicked after a while of me researching angels and their less common eldritch appearance, I love angel mythology because it’s some of the first cases when Fantasy Art as we first would understand it, was born, when artists, with patronage from the church, began to capture the more mythological visuals in a realistic believable way, these were the stepping stones towards imaginative realism, and with this classical painters began adding realism to images of the Minotaur and Gorgons. Naturally tribute goes to Frazetta and his pulp colleagues for making Fantasy Art a valid genre of Art, but Angels and Demons have their seats at some of the earliest forms of what we now know as fantasy art. In this there are many scriptures that make the ranks of angels far more than just winged humans, ranging to anthropomorphic shoggoths of wings and animals to 6 winged seraphim covered in eyes and the strange mechanical flying objects of the ophanim or thrones. In taking inspiration for these and looking up eldritch angels, finding the obvious references being made with the Eldrazi as they stretch between @bugmeyer art and the Angel Eldrazi of Shadows over Innistrad. Suddenly my speculative Vorthos fired up and I couldn’t stop thinking of this simple story I wanted to tell. So, there’s a fairly obvious storytelling theme a lot of my work recently, it’s an inevitable marriage of what I want to draw and paint from what’s inspiring me, and a drive to improve the storytelling purposes of illustration, there’s an easy way to tell a story visually and that’s through duality. Duality is simple, it’s a clear and obvious conflict presented to an audience, old vs new, mechanical vs natural, good vs evil, light vs dark or simple, Thing vs ANOTHER Thing that isn’t the first Thing: This was sort of struck on when I found the work of @gallerygerard and I was hooked, there’s a lot of pieces depicting smaller warriors facing off Balrogs or Giant Wolves and the narrative being presented is inescapable, so yeah, I wanted to be able to do that too. So this piece is definitely not the last of something like this I’ll do, I hardly think I’ve mastered the simple diorama of this at all, but this piece was definitely all because I started pushing for that. (also helps that I can make some money off designs like this because they make killer playmats.) So before I get to Magic and it’s influence on me... I need to talk about Paint. I am not a painter, every time I have attempted to mark a canvas or board with wet or traditional has failed horribly and I escaped to the confines and safety of digital from a young age, on the upside it’s definitely saved me a LOT of money avoiding paint, but truly, I never really have touched it all again. But then I gave a good proper look at the work of Ryan Pancoast, Steve Prescott and the Man who taught me about colour, Jesper Ejsing . I have SO much respect for their work, nothing comes close to how much a piece inspires me as seeing it in physical paint, there’s a strange sort of magic (hehe) with the bravery of what is being done with a brush to capture wholly what makes a piece unique when it’s literal material smeared, dabbed and layered on a canvas. I tried to capture this by making the design intricate and filled with visual eccentricity and natural texture, as well as using the literal shape of marks made to really push the values to try to tell a bolder narrative with this piece. I cannot list the ways I think I failed at this, but I only want to learn and keep practicing when a piece like this comes just a little close to capturing that magic. An additional mention on the artists above, the pure bravery of making work that looks so perfectly not of this world in an industry plagued by stoic realism is nothing but inspiring, I truly want to achieve as Elsing puts it: “a window looking into another world.“ Interestingly I struggle with fan art, every now and then there’s a thing I like at the time so I make something to celebrate it, I however often lose interest before making it an actually good ‘to my own standard‘. Magic allows me to still stretch my own creative wings, my own imagination being allowed to play amongst an established universe that no other Fan Art allows me to. Magic’s art direction told me it was okay to be a bit weird. It’s no secret that I aspire to work on Magic the Gathering art, to give contributions that could only come from myself and aren’t just attempts to be ‘that kid who makes art that looks like it was made by Prescott/Ejsing‘ so the eclecticism there, while attempting to learn the secrets their work holds and putting it into my work. I love the fact that through the years I’ve seen work come out of Mtg, that has truly allowed artists to put their own unique vision into a game with such a flowing world. To follow the gushing about Mtg, this card game has had a massive effect on my development, whilst it’s definitely John Howe’s Smaug to be the piece that opened a door to me to Fantasy Art, it was also a little card called Vizzerdrix from Starter, that fully made me fall in love with Magic’s art, that made sure that one of my aspirations would be to make art alongside pieces like it. Once I’d grown up a bit Magic’s art and art direction allowed me to discover artists, some already mentioned, that would show me how it’s done: Throughout my portfolio in the past I have made little attempts at the sharp lighting and texture of a Tyler Jacobson facet or the bold journey of colour through an Ejsing and the brave shape of a Raymond Swanland . And I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that Magic has taught me both a love of games and the value in just going outside and meeting someone new, and having a conversation with someone over our mutual love of slinging spells, beating people’s faces in with an array of creatures and the elegant game of drawing and flopping cards.  I love that whilst I needed it to be there for me, Magic was, from the fact that when I’ve been at my lowest darkest moments, I could go out and enjoy playing Magic with someone, to the marvelous time of becoming more aware of challenging myself with more diversity to my characters and worlds, Magic’s art and story seemed to agree. Thank you Magic. So here’s this piece, what I see as my way to pay tribute to 25 years (that’s almost my age) of Magic the Gathering, it’s only a whisper of it’s effect and influence on me whilst I am hoping it feels as awesome a piece as I feel it is right at this moment. This month is insanity for me, my participation in the Gallery is a true first, my partially developed tabletop game Disastles is making massive progress over on Kickstarter (please take a look at that HERE) and that product and the relationships it’s making are laying the groundwork for something to be announced in the near future which is literally a career moment for me. I needed to just talk about this exact moment in time and I am so happy that I have this piece that’s just a small snippet of my life where a lot is going on, as in every life, and it’s just (as Fantasy Art almost always is) a lot more than a monster fighting another monster. Thanks for reading if you did I tried to share a lot of my influences both for context but especially because if you like art, you owe it to yourself to know some of these names and see their work, I owe so much to them myself

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #499

Top Ten Everything Ever

Four hundred and ninety-nine. That’s how many weeks I’ve been doing this four. Four hundred and ninety-nine.

Next week is the big five-oh-oh and I’m doing something typically stupid, but I wanted to make it a real celebration. That means for the next three weeks you’re going to get some rather meaningful and special Tops Ten; lists that have been long in the making, or that are just bonkers-level awkward for me to do. Like this one.

I mean, I’ve ranked films, games, fictional guns, and robots that made me cry. How much longer can I do this for? How many more weeks am I going to put myself through this?

Give me a barrel with bottom unscrap’d.

There’s nowhere to go but up, ladies and germs, and so I present to you the list to end all lists. The most definitive list possible. A list of everything. A list of my favourite things in all of time and space. A list of the official best things ever.

I mean, what more is there to say? This covers everything. I’ve tried to avoid it being really specific to one film or one person. And, of course, it doesn’t include people I know in real life, or events that have happened to me. These are, in their own way, big, sweeping things; film series, franchises, bands, stories that have in their own way changed my life. Just the greatest things I’ve come across in my nearly 40 years on this planet.

And you can’t say fairer than that.

The Transformers comic: this should be obvious to anyone who knows me well, but there’s no greater influence in my life, in terms of storytelling or entertainment, than Transformers. And of all the variants branching off from the Prime Timeline (pun very much intended), it’s the comic that’s greatest. Whether it’s the melodrama of Simon Furman or the intricate plotting of James Roberts, I’ve been addicted to the Transformers comic for the vast majority of my life. It has fundamentally shaped how I consume fiction and the sorts of things I’m into. It’s also really changed how I write, and, in fact, the original Marvel run is at least partly responsible for the fact that I write at all. I drew Transformers comics as a kid. I planned out elaborate multi-issue arcs before I was a teenager. I wrote detailed synopses and snatches of scripts for Transformers movies that would never be made. And I robbed, wholesale, motifs and lines of dialogue for the original books and comics I was working on too. It changed my life. It’s not hyperbole to say Transformers is the single biggest piece of fiction I’ve ever touched. Till all are one indeed.

The films of Steven Spielberg, 1975-1982: Spielberg is my favourite filmmaker, but it felt a bit weird to just say “Steven!” as one of the entries here. So instead I’ve decided to hone in on his early career, despite the fact that knocks out one of the biggest influences of my life, Jurassic Park. But everything I love about Spielberg is in these movies. His skill with a camera, his love of light, his great eye for casting, his way with actors; I mean, Close Encounters, which I probably first saw aged about twelve, is just a microcosm of all my interests in my teens: aliens, government conspiracies, determined men going on a crazed quest, and above all a pervasive sense of hope and optimism. Spielberg’s craft is exemplary, but that’s also true of many of his peers. His flair for action scenes and love of spectacle is entertaining, but there are many directors of whom you could say the same. What I love about him – what keeps bringing me back to him – is his warmth and optimism, his belief in the best of us. Even in his darkest movies, in Schindler’s List and A.I. and Munich (which has one of the bleakest endings of his career), there’s still joy and warmth and something worthwhile and wholesome to fight for. And whilst Raiders is a thrill-ride and E.T. an emotional tour-de-force, all of his preoccupations are encapsulated in Jaws, a tense horror film, a buddy-comedy, an entertaining rollercoaster, an acting masterclass. But it’s still Jurassic Park that made me want to make a movie.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe: so when I was a kid I was reading Transformers and Ghostbusters and other Marvel-published adaptations, but not really any actual Marvel comics. However, as a result, I became very loosely familiar with who Iron Man and Doctor Strange were (and Spidey of course) through references and back-up strips, and that time Death’s Head fought Tony’s nephew Arno Stark. No, when I started reading “proper” comics – mainstream superhero stuff – it was DC. I loved Batman, so I bought Batman, and that was a gateway to the rest of the DCU. However, despite the successes of the various DC movie adaptations, it’s the MCU that really, really got its hooks into me. For one, they’re really good adaptations, well-cast, with some great set-pieces. But the interconnected stuff is what really sings. Not just the characters popping up in each others’ movies, or even the overall arc leading up the crossover events; no, it was the actual shared-ness of it, the way the destruction of SHIELD had an impact, or the Sokovia Accords, or Asgard, Skrulls, magic… everything has an impact, an effect. And sure, it’s incredibly good fun to follow the breadcrumbs and try to work out where things are heading. As we enter a new phase – literally and figuratively – I just can’t wait to find out what’s next.

Grant Morrison’s Batman: talking about interconnectivity, no one does it better – or weirder – than Morrison. His Batman arc – and I’m referring to the character not the title, as it spans multiple series and even, arguably, includes work he did on JLA years earlier – is a web of connected theories, images, themes, events, and references. What does the Zur-En-Arrh graffiti in Gotham mean, not just in the here-and-now, but also as a long-standing reference to decades of Batman’s past? The anticipation of uncovering the next breadcrumb, the excitement of deciphering the next reference; it was long-form storytelling as a form of existential theatre, and it was sublime. But he also did two things that have utterly changed my view of the character. On the meta level, he presented a Batman where everything was canon; the grim thirties Shadow-inspired vigilante, the goofy fifties space adventures, the hairy-chested love-god of the seventies… it all happened to one man over a span of about 15-20 years. Fair enough; that’s cool storytelling. But his idea that Batman was not a miserable, psychopathic loner, that he was not insane or struggling to cope or still traumatised by his parents’ death, that Bruce Wayne was a nice guy with friends and family, who’d used his pain as a weapon, who’d gotten past his rage and grief and turned all the negative stuff outwards. Batman was what was built from all that, and Batman allowed Bruce to grow. And what did he do? He found other lost children and saved their lives, allowing Dick Grayson to take over. Batman is a force for good, in a similar way to Superman in Morrison’s All-Star book, making people better by association. And his confrontation with Darkseid in Final Crisis is extraordinary; brilliant as-is, as a piece of comicbook badassery on the page, but the metatextual resonance it’s given – Batman as a good man versus the font of all evil, David versus Goliath, Theseus and the Minotaur – is brilliant. How it ties in to Morrison’s wider Bat-epic, the whole Black Glove stuff and the devil and time travel and the myth of Batman’s creation and all of it… and just the simple thing of Batman’s last act being shooting the embodiment of evil, saving a human life, and then saying “Gotcha,” before dying, is perfect. Perfect.

The Secret of Monkey Island and Monkey Island 2: LeChuck’s Revenge: when I was little, I played Spectrum and C64 games at my cousins’ house. Then I got an Amiga – I think maybe I was ten? – and I started playing Amiga games. And it was fun and all, but then I read a review in Amiga Action, and my life changed. It was something called an “adventure game”, and it let you walk around chatting to people and interacting with the world, with great big colourful graphics and characters whose mouths moved when they spoke. And then I played it. My love of the medium and its possibilities was cemented then; and, fittingly, it was through the wordy, hilarious dialogue and comedy antics of a wannabe pirate who may, or may not, be selling these fine leather jackets. It’s not overstating things that my gaming tastes were defined by this game and its technically superior sequel. The quirky set-pieces, the weird puzzles, the playing with form (like when you “die” in Monkey 2), and the smart use of Lucasfilm in-jokery. The first game’s “How to Get Ahead in Navigating” gag/puzzle will live with me forever, as will the second game’s bonkers, nightmarish, beautifully constructed ending. As good as they were, none of the subsequent games could hold a candle to it, especially as the whole aesthetic changed into something much more cartoony. But these two? They’re my Big Whoop.

Star Wars: I imagine I know a lot of people in real life who would be surprised – nay, astounded – that I would list my ten favourite Things of all time, and yet Star Wars would not manage to break the Top Five. That’s because that as much as I love Star Wars – and I do, I really do – it didn’t hit me, didn’t speak to me, apart from one brief and weird moment in my late teens. It was games that made me fall in love, I think; games and toys. And, I have to confess, it was the prequels; the intricate digital visions of gleaming cities and impossibly acrobatic Jedi. I love the goofiness and ultra-seriousness of Lucas’ vision, sadly muddled now by the earthy chaos of the sequels. Star Wars is cool; for a while, it defined my idea of cool in cinema. An exciting sci-fi reimagining of ancient and endless myths, a confusing smorgasbord of weird stories and arcane philosophy. Plus spaceships and rapscallions and laser swords. So yes: whilst it was never my faith, so to speak, it’s still one of the coolest and most original pieces of fiction in my lifetime, and to this day there are very few things at all that I find more exciting and evocative than the thought of a Jedi pirouetting through the air with their ‘saber lit.

Middle-Earth, in print and film: one of my most vivid memories of childhood is my mum reading me The Hobbit (and also Macbeth, funnily enough). Then I bought myself my own copy, read it as a kid, read it again as a teenager, wrote (aged about 12 or 13) a sequel in which Gollum comes back to reclaim the ring. I remain to this day baffled that my teacher did not think to tell me that there actually was a sequel to The Hobbit. Eventually I did hear about it, watched the Ralph Bakshi version, and – when I read in Empire that it was gonna be a film and Sean Connery, of all people, was gonna be Gandalf – I thought it best to take the plunge. And I adored it. whilst there’s something about the lyrical simplicity of The Hobbit that I prefer, the depth and scope of The Lord of the Rings – and Tolkien’s subsequent, more disparate writing – that moves me on a profound level. It’s not just the epic nature of the work – the story itself, with its grandiose tales of heroism and adventure – but the sheer balls of the man to make such a thing, to craft wholesale an entire mythological ecosystem. And then the films! I can’t believe they managed to do that; it was pure lightning in a bottle, and we know that because they didn’t quite manage to do it a second time with the Hobbit movies. But all those glorious moments: “Fly, you fools”, “For Frodo”, “I can carry you”, “Go away and never come back” – bloody hell.

Empire magazine: it feels a bit weird, for some reason, citing a magazine as a Favourite Thing. It’s a magazine, a periodical, a journal; it tells you the news and recommends films. it’s not supposed to be part of the culture, part of the fabric of one’s being. But whilst you could debate whether criticism itself is culture, Empire definitely has a culture. It’s a club, nay, a family; something that has been entrenched in recent years through its podcasts and live shows. But for me it began as an education. I started reading it, really, to find out more about Jurassic Park (there we are again, the secret eleventh part of this list). But it went on, showing me more films and filmmakers, introducing me to esoteric industry concepts, broadening my horizons. I always liked film, but Empire made me love film. It reflected my tastes but then it enriched them, codified them, offered me new flavours. It was the first magazine to put Lord of the Rings on the cover; it celebrates Spielberg and the MCU; it had articles about The Greasy Strangler, for goodness’ sake. So much of what I love about film I learned from Empire over the last (nearly) thirty years, and so much of what I love about Empire now is because of what I learned. Bangily-bang.

Traveller’s Tales’ LEGO games: the games that did not make this list, I don’t know. Halo; man, I love Halo. Or what about classics like Lemmings, Worms, or SWOS? What about Mass Effect, Deus Ex, or Fable? What about Mario Kart, what about Civilization? They all deserved a place, really. But there’s something esoteric, timeless even, about the heights of the LEGO games. I remember playing a demo – on the first Xbox, I think – of the first LEGO Star Wars, and being blown away by the fact that, well, it was good. When the games started coming out on the 360 – Star Wars II, Batman, Indiana Jones – I was in the gloriously fortunate position of getting a lot of them for free at CITV, and I devoured them. The simple mechanics, the generous, forgiving gameplay, the satisfying tactile feel of smashing objects and collecting studs. There was something just so rewarding about playing them. And the fan-service! Giving you all those beloved characters, all those worlds, all those genuinely funny in-jokes, references, and cut-scenes. Plus they’re great to play with kids. Time went on, some games were better than others; I feel they reached their peak with the first LEGO Marvel Super-Heroes game, presenting us with an open world New York to play in and a collection of comic book characters that fitted the gameplay perfectly. Subsequent games have either put new restrictions on play, or given us more complicated stories and mechanics, or – really – just over-egged the pudding slightly. I’m really, really optimistic and excited for The Skywalker Saga, long overdue, and promising something of an overhaul. it began, really, with Star Wars; and I feel with Star Wars they’ll have their greatest hour.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: fun fact: finding the tenth spot on these lists is very hard. How about a brand I love, like Xbox, or the BBC, or even Disney? Or another writer or director – what about Aaron Sorkin? Or a TV show – Doctor Who, perhaps, or Star Trek? Or how about, oh I dunno, Shakespeare? I like him. But I’ve not talked about music, so let’s do that; we’ll go out on a number. I’m not a musical person; I didn’t grow up frequenting record shops or listening to mix tapes in my room. I liked songs, but mostly I came to music through film. That was even true with Nick Cave, who I first heard in an episode of The X-Files, and read about in the X-Files magazine. But he remains one of the few artists, The Bad Seeds one of the few bands, that I continue to seek out and listen to regularly (rather than just saying “Alexa, play nineties rock”). I love the different styles, from the distorted noise of the early, post-Birthday Party years through the sombre melodies of Nocturama. I love Cave’s lyricism; his evocation of myth, his use of imagery. I love how he manages to get phrases like “morally culpable” into a song. I love the humour as well as the tragedy, the references to things both real and mythological, the sadness and eloquence of it all. I love how so many of his songs are about sex but are also really moving and meaningful; how much of the music is infused with pain and sorrow but is also uplifting. The horrible evocations of Cave’s own abuse in Do You Love Me, through to the references to his son’s death in Girl in Amber. I love Cave’s voice. I don’t know if this has come through in this list, but something I really like is stuff that makes me cry but isn’t necessarily sad. I cry when I read Sandman, when he wins the Oldest Game by challenging the end of everything by becoming “hope”; I cry when Donna tells Josh, “if you were in the hospital I wouldn’t stop for red lights”; I cry when Steve Rogers jumps on that dummy grenade. I think it’s hope and heroism and love. And that’s something that I get constantly, mainlined, intravenous, from Nick Cave. As Morgan Freeman says in Seven, “The world is a fine place and worth fighting for – I agree with the second part.”

God, there’s so much stuff not listed here. So many things I love that I feel are core; no Pixar, no West Wing, no other filmmakers cited, really, apart from Spielberg. But ten’s not a big number, and I contain multitudes.

Thanks for reading.