#my art project is a fucking barricade

[depressedtheatrekiddo]

My teachers don't know I'm making all my projects about Enjolras

[alicedrawslesmis]

my little barricade day "advent" calendar is coming along nicely! I'm gonna paint over it with more wood-like tones and then draw the boards in with pen, hopefully it looks more graphic and less crafty

on the flip side of the movable window squares I'm thinking bright red? and then add the number in the front using one of my supplies from when I was studying architecture for one year that I never touched (a little plastic sheet with holes shaped like numbers for you to draw with)

I have a list of drawing prompts for each window but I also hope to upload them separately as drawings lol

[todayisafridaynight]

in my heart sawashiro and arakawa have the same thing going on that minedai do but slightly to the left...like theres a visible difference and a different vibe but...its there yknow...less crazy but also more crazy because theyre older are you getting the vibe im laying down this is difficult to explain

no i get the vibe i got you. it's like minedai but with dads and less willingness to murder his boss out of grief

[silentium-symphony]

Work of Art Modern AU (Link x Reader) I

(a/n) AAAHH I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! i've reached that point in the semester where i've got either a project or an exam due every week, and i haven't had any time to write :( but i'm here now with a brand new fic for you! so thank you for waiting :)

parts will be linked and will also be available on my masterlist when they're available!

cw: link experiences unwanted sexual advances in the beginning (nothing too explicit) so please proceed with caution, afab!reader, swearing, zelda and link are besties :}, breathless conversations in a stairwell, you and link are just some awkward goobers

wc: 2.3k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"And this one-of-a-kind masterpiece depicts the moments leading up to the Hero's decisive victory over the Demon King. For just a moment, let's draw our eyes toward the finer details the artist has decided to depict. Look with me now at the use of light in this scene, and how it starkly contrasts..."

Is that a new crack?

Blue eyes absently traced the thin line that fractured the pillar's marble surface. A wisp of gold tickled the tips of his lashes and he huffed, coursing his fingers through his hair in a bid to keep it in place. He kept his eyes trained on the small, black fissure that coursed through the white stone.

Definitely a new crack.

Taut fingers absently fumbled the ring of keys latched to his belt while the other hand thumbed the baton's cold metal. Link's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft sigh, adjusting his feet to abate the blood pooling in his heels.

"--Ahem."

His broad shoulders twitched and ocean blues met irritated meadow greens, which juxtaposed the seemingly sweet smile Zelda flashed him. Link dropped his hands immediately, causing the metal nuisance to sing a dying song against his thighs; a quiet chorus of giggles served as the encore.

"Thank you," his best friend cleared her throat, "as I was saying--"

Hylia, he was so bored. He rocked on his heels and watched Zelda motion to the large, newly restored painting before them. He knew how hard she had worked on restoring the old thing, and he was proud of her for sure, but if he had to listen to her spiel about the painting's history one more time--

"Hands off the rope please." He uttered softly to the woman dangling off the red velvet. She scoffed, but her look of disdain eventually softened into something... heavier. A sultry smirk snaked its way onto her lips and her eyes turned lidded.

"Sorry, sir. I just couldn't get my eyes off such a gorgeous masterpiece. It's a work of art, y'know?"

"I understand ma'am," his knuckles tersed. "But please refrain from touching the rope."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." She dragged out. "Can I make it up to you with some coffee?"

"No thank you. I suggest you turn your attention back to the presentation. That is why you came, right?"

"Well, what if I told you I actually came for something--or in this case... someone else?"

A shudder wriggled down his spine; she continued before he had time to draft his next sentence.

"I know you've seen me around... Why do you think I visit this dump of a museum so often? To stare at the same paintings day-in-day-out?"

Her fingertip traced the velvet rope, nails softly scuffing the luxuriously-textured barricade. He kept his eyes focused on the little strands of hair peeping out of the mole on her forehead, his throat constricting and drying at the waft of cheap perfume.

"C'mon... After the museum closes, let's grab some food and head over to my place, yeah?"

"He said 'no,' ma'am." A soft voice deadpanned behind the both of them. A pair of bewildered eyes locked with calm, unblinking (E/C)s. "No means no."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop harassing him." You spat, cold venom honeying your tone. "No. Means. No. Do I need to scream to get that through your fucking head? That would draw the crowd's attention to you, don't you think? I wonder how they'd feel watching you harass someone in broad daylight...”

“Tch… Worthless piece of shit.” Red heels clicked right past you as she side-bodied your smaller frame, sending you back a step or two. Your eyes followed the storming figure as she dipped past the grand marble staircase.

“--And with that, I would like to extend my most heartfelt gratitude on behalf of all our curators here. Without your support, our work in restoring these priceless historical pieces would not be possible. So from the bottom of my heart--“

“--Thank you.” He mumbled, his pulse quickening.

You flashed him a soft smile.

"No problem. I'm sorry you had to go through that.

"It’s okay. This... Isn't the first time."

"What, she tried pulling this shit on you in the past?"

"Oh, no, I mean..." He sighed. "It's not the first time someone's done something like this. I never really knew what to say, so I just... didn't say anything, so… Thank you."

"Well, I'm glad I could help." Your smiling eyes averted towards your buzzing phone. “Oh, fuck... Sorry officer, I gotta run! Have a good night!”

"W-Wait, can I ask for--"

--your name?

You raced down the same path his unwanted suitor went a few minutes prior, back disappearing past the staircase. The warmth of gratitude in his chest chilled into a growing, aching hole. Gods, if only he had gotten your name!

"Soooo... who was that?" Zelda snickered, saddling up to the flustered man. Link's cheeks reddened and a small pout bloomed on his lips.

"No one."

"Really? So 'no one's got you all hot and bothered?"

"'Hot and--?' Nah.."

"Uh-huh, whatever you say." She slinked an arm onto his shoulder and dangled off his steady frame, watching the thoughtful wander of the museum's patrons. The air about her turned somber, and her voice dipped to a volume only the blonde could hear. "... Did someone bother you again?"

Link's lips curled into a soft smile--a rare sight, even for his lifelong friend. Confusion ticked Zelda's features as she saw this new reaction.

"Well, the one who ran off helped me with another 'admirer.'" A dreamy sigh. "I was just thanking her."

A soft, contrite smile graced the curator's lips.

"I'm happy to hear that... I'm sorry this is such a regular thing for you. I wish there was some way to know what kind of person we're selling our tickets to..."

Link waved off her concerns and shrugged her off, throwing his arms above his head and feeling the sweet, satisfying pops in his joints. His neck craned from side to side, filling the air with a chorus of crackles; Zelda visibly grimaced.

"Stop doing that! You're gonna snap your own neck one day."

"If I do, does that mean I get a day off?"

"Of course not." She retorted mirthfully.

"Man..."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Of course the elevator was broken.

Link heaved open the heavy metal door which led to the winding staircase unused by most tenants.

And of course he lived on the 6th floor.

With a huff, he lifted his foot on the cement step blackened from gunk and other dubious substances. He tried to pay little mind to how his shoes grew stickier with each step, or how the flickering light's buzzing drilled a dull ache through his temples. He rounded the first of many corners and kept an even pace, already beginning to feel a bit spent.

Hands fiddled around his hoodie's pocket, feeling for the familiar roundness of his earbud's case and the soft edges of his phone. As he popped his earbuds in, his eyes glazed over the dozens of unorganized playlists that littered his screen, eventually resting on the simply named 'workout' playlist. His music's volume amped up to an almost painful level in a futile effort to blend his rapidly beating heart with songs from his chosen playlist.

"ᴼ⁻ᴼᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳˀ"

He stopped to respond to a meme Zelda sent and texted an equally unhinged one back. The greasy scent of takeout wafted to his nostrils and he looked up, slightly confused.

"ᴼᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳ, ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘˀ"

A body filled his peripheral; pure fear coursed through his veins as his overactive imagination transmogrified a very real and alive person into eldritch nightmares unutterable by man. His phone leaped for safety, clattering down the flight of stairs for what felt like an eternity before rolling into its final resting place by the suspicious goop in the corner.

A moment of shock-spawned stillness blanketed the two persons--before Link was racing down the staircase.

"Hylia! Are you okay?!" A familiar voice called out. He stopped, fingers hovering a few hairs away from his phone as he slowly careened his face behind him.

There you were--gorgeous, gorgeous you--donned in sweats, a hoodie, Crocs with Socks™, and a steaming bag of takeout. The harsh fluorescent light softened your silhouette, casting an almost ethereal aura about you. Link gabbled an... exclamation of sorts as he grabbed his phone. He slinked the grimy thing into his pocket as he cooly made his way up the steps, shame and a newfound desire to drink lava inapparent on his blank face.

"Yes, thank you." He rubbed his (clean) hand against the back of his reddening neck. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I can say the same to you!" You laughed, shifting the takeout from one hand to the other. "How was the rest of your shift?"

"It was uneventful, thankfully. I'd like to thank you again for helping me out earlier... I really appreciated it."

"Aww... Of course. I'm really glad I could help you out back there."

Gods, how could a smile both ease and excite him all at once?

You both started up the steps once more, silently thanking and cursing your luck. After such a hasty exit you thought you'd never see the man again, but here you were, walking side-by-side up a neverending staircase. You looked down at your food, making sure the handles weren't gonna snap or anything, and happened to catch a faint mustard stain right by your heart. If only you didn't look so... grimy.

"S-So," you started, praying he didn't catch your stutter for air, "uh, what were you listening to?"

"Um..." He panicked slightly, "Just... workout music."

"Yeah? What song?"

"Something that... always gets me pumped." He cleared his throat. "What'd you order?"

"Oh, just some poultry pilaf from the Gerudo restaurant that opened up recently!"

"The one by 3rd Street?"

"Yeah, that one! Have you tried it yet?"

"Nah. But let me know how it tastes."

"For sure!"

A much-needed silence filled the air, both of you desperately trying to hide the fact that you were fighting for your next breath. A bright red '4' filled your vision and you groaned, throwing your head back.

"Gods, these stairs go on forever."

"Tell me about it." He hissed shakily. His eyes wandered to your slightly trembling arm holding your dinner. "Do you want me to hold that?"

"Oh, no, I'm okay." You subtly wiped the sweat beading your brow. "My floor's coming up. Thank you though."

"What floor do you live on? If you don't mind me asking."

"The 6th!"

6th...?

"Me too."

"Really? I'm surprised I never saw you around though. I’d definitely remember someone as cu—“ You coughed suddenly, rubbing a fist into your chest. "C-Cool as you!"

That... wasn't much better.

As you proceeded to curse the day you were born, furled golds and narrowed blues widened in disbelief before softening into a bashful smile.

"T-Thank y--

"Oh look, our floor!"

With a hop, skip, and a step, you bounded up the last flight of stairs and swung the hefty metal door, your frame teetering on the loose door handle.

"After you." You gestured grandly, giggles flitting between the two of you. He raced up the last of the steps and grabbed the edge of the door a little ways past your head, pulling it gently from your grasp.

"No, after you."

"Why, thank you, um..."

"Oh! Link." He stuck his hand out, a boyish grin splitting his lips. "My name is Link."

"Link?" You took his hand. “It's nice to meet you. I'm (F/N)."

"(F/N)..." You hated how your heart swooned just now. "What a cute name."

You canned the need to scream into the void as you slinked through the threshold, laughter alight. You waltzed to the crossroad leading to the separate wings on your floor. “I’m going this way. What about you?”

“I'm heading that way too.”

"O-Oh, okay!"

He strode to your side and you descended down the long hallway, the silence stiffening your throat. It felt... kinda weird knowing where he lived or vice versa; your eyes flitted to the wall's yellowed moulding, a path your eyes had taken hundreds of times.

You rounded a corner; so did he. You trailed along the gentle bend in the hallway; he did as well. Your heart started to race. A prickle of doubt heated your chest as you approached your door. He wasn't following you... was he?

When's he gonna turn when's he gonna turn when's he gonna turn when's he gonna

"You're my neighbor?!" Heads whipped around to catch the other's surprised gaze. A stiff laugh cracked between the two of you and you creaked your gazes away.

"W-Well." You coughed out. "Um, goodnight..."

"N-Night.."

Your bodies slipped past your respective thresholds and softly clicked the door shut. You sunk your body into the door; the thick metal drew the extra heat from your back, but it did little to remedy the red in your cheeks. Knees wobbling, your frame slid down, down, down onto your doormat as you cradled your face in your hands, heart thundering in your ears.

It was almost loud enough to drown out what was undoubtedly tapping on the wall.

You clambered to your feet, plopped your nearly forgotten dinner on your countertop, and skated to the source of the sound, pressing your ear against the drywall with bated breath.

There it was again!

You returned his taps with the same level of enthusiasm. If you listened past your drumming heart, you could trick yourself into thinking you heard a laugh. You giggled as well, heart fluttering at your newfound, totally-platonic-and-definitely-not-love-laced relationship you managed to foster all in one night. A tight knot ached your sides and your belly protested loudly.

Oh right! Your pilaf!

[trash-bats]

2024 has been an incredible year for me to be a Davey Havok fan:

new DREAMCAR songs & footage of their amazing performances

the DREAMCAR rat I drew being shared on Davey's Insta

the creation of the Substack blog and all of the amazing stories he's been telling (plus, being able to leave heartfelt comments that he acknowledges)

the AFI show in August & meeting two of my online pals

Blaqk Audio show on the fucking barricade with my friends, being acknowledged by and sung to by Davey himself...

And the year ain't over yet. I am making it a priority to finally finish my Trash Bat illustration of Davey full of dozens of references to the band's entire history by the end of this year, I have an idea for a DREAMCAR design featuring my beloved rat Endri, I have so much plotting to do for future art projects, and I have no time to be sad with post-concert blues because all I can think about is that we're getting a new AFI album sometime next year -- which means we're also likely getting an AFI headlining tour. Right now, the dream I am chasing is someday drawing a piece of art that is offered for sale as official merchandise for one of these projects, and for possibly the first time in my life it actually feels like it's attainable if I keep working towards it.

AFI, Blaqk Audio & DREAMCAR genuinely saved my life. Not just when I was a teen, but they continue to do so. When some really bad shit happened to me in 2021, I drowned my darkness in their music, I clung to their lyrics and found new meanings that brought me comfort and understanding. Being faced with my mortality made me realize how important it was to embrace my passions and follow my dreams in the present. I used to be really quiet in the fandom and try not to "bother" people with my special interest because I faced a lot of eye rolls and sighs when I would constantly talk about them, but I'm never letting that stop me ever again. I am so much happier now that I am more honest and unafraid to share my love for these musicians, I have many more connections with people around the world who feel the same way, and I'm making the steps to finally create art that tries to capture my pure love and respect for these bands when mere words fail me.

Truly, thank you to everyone who have read my insane ramblings, to those who have refrained from unfollowing me even when this is the only topic I'm capable of posting about, to anyone who has ever made the time to listen to even a single one of these songs because of me, and especially to the fellow fans who have shown me fellowship and solidarity after all the years I self-isolated. It means the world to get to be a part of this fandom & to connect with others who feel similarly deeply connected to these beautiful songs that have changed our lives.

[beyondthebackup]

Masterpiece

"I want you to create a masterpiece!"

Chroma's wrinkly hands weigh heavy on B's rigid shoulders. He smells of alcohol. He always does.

"What?"

What's the point in trying to hide his irritation? This man won't remember their conversation in the morning.

"Think of it as...an end-of-year assignment. A final exam, if you will, but I am offering this opportunity only to you.

I want you to create something - it can be anything - that captures the core of your being. Your soul. Your essence. Whatever that may be! I want you to dig deep, and give me an explosion of self-expression! Rules be damned! If you can do that, you'll be top of my class for the rest of the year. No questions asked. You don't even have to show up to class."

B stares at Chroma as if he just arrived from another planet.

Chroma shakes him.

"Listen to me. I know that you're special, Backup. All this...detective stuff, everyone knows they're going to pick that A kid. He's safe, he sanitized, he's...well-behaved! But you. You have the mark of true genius. It takes pain, it takes darkness, it takes insanity to create art! What do I always tell you? I will not allow your talent to go to waste!"

B slaps Chroma's hands off his shoulders, barely able to contain himself from going any further.

"I don't understand anything you just said. That's not an assignment. That's not even a prompt. You're telling me I can just make anything?"

"No! Absolutely not! Not just anything! And believe me, Backup, I will know if you do..."

Chroma sticks his finger in B's face. In his mind, B pictures in graphic detail biting it right off.

"I will only accept it if I can see without a doubt that it tells me who you truly are."

B stands still as a statue, searching Chroma's glossed-over eyes for some indication that this was a joke.

Always with these fucking special projects, ALWAYS with these fucking speeches about how troubled I am and how much I remind him of himself...EVERYTHING I EVER MADE was some reflection of the kind of bullshit he expected from me... THAT'S the deal.

A masterpiece...

My true self...

WHAT THE FUCK IS HE TALKING ABOUT!?

B's shoulders relax. He smiles at Chroma.

"Understood."

---

B slams the bedroom door and kicks his desk chair over, tears up the work of the unfortunate soul that used the desk most recently, rips the blankets and the sheets and pillow cases off both his and his roommate's beds, and for good measure, opens a window and tosses out the nearest lamp.

He locks himself into the bathroom and faces his own reflection.

The core of your being. Your soul. Your essence.

Who you truly are.

B searches his own impenetrable reflection,

and finds nothing.

He screams at the top of his lungs and punches the mirror once, twice, and a third time before his hand hurts too much to do it again.

B glances wide-eyed at the shards of glass and ribbons of blood slithering down his fingers, panting. More than the pain, so much more...B can hear something in his ears. Buzzing, like a thousand wasps being baked in an oven. Static, growing louder every second.

One thought, over and over and over and over and over and over and-

B jumps onto the toilet and loosens the one of the ceilings above. He retrieves a bottle of stimulants and swallows a handful of them. B seals his stash and flees the room.

Chroma is passed out in his chair, so he doesn't notice B returning to the art room and hauling off its entire supply of charcoal, pencils, and paint, along with two enormous rolls of canvas. It's all dumped in the common room, and lucky for everyone else, it's currently empty.

B shuts the giant double doors and barricades it with anything he can reach before falling to his knees in front of an unfurled sheet of canvas.

Nothing.

B grabs a pencil scratches out the pulsating, ever-present image in his mind.

---

"Doc...

...can you hear me?

Hey, B!"

B startles awake, sitting upright like a wind-up toy and swiveling around to stare at his interrupter with wild eyes.

Obelus.

"Jeez, I was getting worried...you've been locked in here for over 24 hours. Are you okay?"

B doesn't hear a word he says. His gaze drifts vacantly back to the canvas beneath his body.

An incomplete, but panoramic and hyper-realistic sketch of Wammy's House.

Strange lines dotted the skies just above their looming towers...like an outline for a future finishing touch...

But B doesn't remember a single thing.

"Doc?" Obelus repeats himself.

"WHAT!?" B screams, turning to Obelus again in a moment of genuine rage, only now realizing that several children and a staff member or two are wandering into the common room to inspect the commotion.

Obelus furrows his brow, and points at B.

"It's just...I think your hand is broken."

[stigmvtas]

( @eclvpses )

"Sure took your sweet fucking time," Viktor announced as soon as they'd opened the door to Mercy, hand clasping against the frame to barricade him outside. "Are you fucking other bitches? But the baby's due any minute now - I can't do it alone Mercy! I've no money to my name, no family to support me -" Their lament, slathered in the tone of a forlorn transatlantic farmer girl, bordering on Dorothy, cut off as they decidedly fucked off further into their apartment - cluttered with old art projects that somehow made their way up the stairs leading down to their studio, and stuffy with the smoke they never bothered to open a window for. "You hear Leo's gonna have a fucking kid? And I'm about to have a fucking - stroke, Christ, I'd fucking - kill myself, I think. You want a beer? A friendly joint?"

[thepiecesofcait]

25 SING

Gavroche had only fallen the better to rise again; he stayed sitting there on his haunches and, with a long trickle of blood streaking his face, glanced in the direction whence the shot had come, and began to sing.

v.i.xv

@themiserablesmonth

[nezoriy]

life in kyiv is pretty much back to normal, at least on the surface. kinda feels like lockdown times. no luxuries like cinemas or mcdonalds (i really miss junk food at this point), but also nothing which screams hey we're at war. you know, except for alcohol being sold only from 11am to 4 pm. and an obligatory couple of air raid sirens a day but who cares about them anymore amirite

last week i got to see my best friend and even went to her place (and to her parents who fed me borshtsh and salo) to boryspil, the satellite city which actual fighting haven't touched thankfully. the city administration building is all barricaded. they have this red signs with sculls and bones near it "warning, mines" - they're ours.

i landed two jobs, as a freelance writer (in english, for a blog of an architectural CGI company, pays really well for the amount of work i'm actually doing, still procrastinate as hell) and kinda as an art teacher. it's an art studio i first went to in 2015 when i only started learning academic drawing. and then i got my aforementioned best friend a job as an administrator there. and now she just kinda shoved me into teaching classes couple of days a week bc not one of the actual qualified art teachers who work there are back in kyiv now. (and i'm really really unqualified in academic drawing and even less so in oil painting, but my friend haven't had any income all these two months bc the studio obviously wasn't working so now we're just trying to keep things afloat with the couple of students which are willing to attend. some of them are preparing to enrol art schools this year. in kyiv. like yeah good luck with that. i'm so glad im both an adult and dropped out of my art school before the war)

that day i went to boryspil with my best friend i had too much to drink and broke out crying for like the third time since the war started bc part of me (a large part) doesn't want to be an Ukrainian Artist or rebuild the country or any other patriotic bullshit, i just want to live normal life, get a proper salary, transition, get a wife, you know. the proper old europe stuff yall arent valuing near fucking enough. but if i stay here it'll never be just normal, and if i emigrate it'll also never be normal, just in other ways. yeah, it's not fun being a melancholic with a looong history of depression in the times of war. while some people just Do stuff, i still tend to overthink. although to be honest less than i normally did in depressive episodes. 

you know, depression actually prepares you quite well for the war: you're way too familiar with this feeling that everything is wrong and nothing will be okay ever again and still you have to live somehow, and you do live somehow, it's just that this time this feeling Nothing Will Be Okay Ever Again is not subjective, it's a thing your whole generation in this country is subjected to. yeah.

ughh i wish i had a happier note to end this rant with?

well i'm drawing and painting quite a lot and it still brings me joy and i have this les mis project im doing and i actually plan to do more traditional paintings and start trying to build up my portfolio and maybe hit some open calls and shit to become A Proper Artist and that's a happier note for me.

[faithinlouisfuture]

hi emmy! how is your day going? your tags are very entertaining today😏!

life is so unfair!!! i mean, i understand louis is irresistible but i'm so fucking jealous of all the people standing at the barricade in his shows😤! they also had a meet and greet without me😭😭

though i was a little busy the past two days i somehow did manage to watch both the zurich and milan shows. louis was amazing as always and the fan projects were soooo good. the rainbow lights looked so beautiful in milan! the fan project for walls was really cute too. and he wore an england jersey in italy?!?!? he is asking for chaos, isn't he? also, it looks like micheal is whipped and yearns for louis' attention so much that he would probably do everything he could with his fingers😳 (when playing his guitar of course🙂) just to impress him!

and my anonymity is really not to tease you or to keep my mutuality status from you! you are a really fun person and I've been following you for quite sometime, I'm just a little introverted and very awkward at starting conversations😅.

-🦹

Hi hi! My day’s been good 😌 hope yours has been too! My brain is actively trying to forget that the ‘incident’ ever took place, it’s also failing miserably at it. I genuinely do it know how to go on 😭 that should be me, caressing his beautiful face so tenderly, and getting a dimpled smile in return as a reward! This kitten 😭😍 I’m so in love

I’m glad he had two absolutely amazing shows back to back! Hoping tonight will be the same also. Both shows had an energy of their own, but yesterday’s was just on another level because of the simple fact that it was the largest yet. He belongs on that stage in front of giant crowds! He’s so in his element, living his best life. And allowing us the absolute privilege of witnessing his mere existence, let alone his gargantuan talent 🤍

Louis wouldn’t be Louis if he didn’t instigate absolute chaos every chance he gets lol. The crowd didn’t let him live it down either, love that there’s this give and take between Louis and his fans. Honestly don’t know anyone else who’s got this kind of a relationship with their fans. We’re blessed.

Oh and Mikey Mikey Mikey, where do I even begin!?! That boy is whipped! Who can blame him though? He’s an absolute god on that guitar, and Louis loves it, loves showing him off too! *insert will smith - look at this - meme*

I’m superrrr excited about todays show cuz I’m looking forward to what this maniac demon will wear in Vienna, home of Klimt and graffiti art and culture. I have a very special in my heart for Vienna.

Aww I didn’t mean to push you about sharing your identity 🤍 I completely understand, I’m the most awkward human alive in real life social interactions. But instead of introverted I manage to come off conceited and bitchy apparently 🙈 as I’ve been told by many!

LOUIS IN AN HOUR! 🥳

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Goth Boss

Request 

warning: fluff, language, angst

summary: Tony stark x daughter goth reader. The avengers find out that Tony has a secret teenage daughter and make tony ask her to visit. But when they meet her the avengers find out why she was kept secret.( could bucky and Steve he terrified of how y/n looks since they are from a different time and seeing a goth girl for the first time scares them) (tony has a strained relationship with y/n as she grew up without him and he kept her secret) 

It was dinner time and everyone was sitting at the table eating peacefully and having conversations. Everyone expect Clint who was just staring at Tony intensely. Tony tried to ignore him but it was really hard to ignore the eyes burning two holes in his head.

“Alright, what is it? what do you want?” Tony said dropping his fork and glaring back at Clint.

“Remember, when you met my family and you were kind of upset and made a lot of jabs at me hiding my family. That was all very hypocritical seeing as you have a teenage daughter you’ve been hiding” 

Now that got an uproar out of the entire table. Tony tried to get up and leave but everyone pulled him back into his chair. They bombarded him with non-stop questions from every end of the table to the point he couldn’t even get in to answer.

“Can we meet her?” Peter asked everyone quiet down and waited for Tony to say yes he never denied Peter anything he was like his own son.

“Listen, kid, I don’t think-”

“Yes. I went through your phone and called her up it took some convincing but she’ll be here Friday afternoon.” Clint smiled slightly.

“So did what now,” Tony said standing up.

Clint knew what he was doing. He picked up on Tony and his daughter’s strain relationship as soon as he picked up on the phone, which by the way took a dozen calls before she actually picked up. He wanted to know why the relationship was so strained and too meet Tony’s mini-me so he convinced her to come over tomorrow after school. Of course, he told a small fib about Tony being hurt a bit to actually get her to agree to come along. He was curious about their relationship. She was his only daughter yet they wanted nothing to do with each other.

“She should be here on Friday after school.” Tony was up and out the door before Clint even finished talking. This was going to be very interesting.

-

Tony had just emerged from the elevator after being ghost all week and went straight to the bar. After dinner, he had barricaded himself in his lab and this was the first time anyone had seen him since. There was a ding signaling the elevator and Steve jumped up prepared to greet their guest.

“Hello, my name is -Woah,” Steve said taking several steps back and retracting his hand. In front of him was a teenage girl covered in all black. In black boots, a short black dress, black tights, a black leather jacket, black lace fingerless gloves, a black beanie on her head, dark makeup eye shadow, eyeliner, black lipstick, all top off with a single ring piercing hooked in the middle of her bottom lip. And Next to the goddess of darkness stood their happy sunshine, Peter. He waved.

“Hello Woah, (L/n), (y/n) (l/n)” she said with a blank expression

Bucky stepped up “This is actually Steve, Steve Rogers. And I am Bucky Barnes” He stepped forward offering his hand she looked at him for a moment before actually taking his hand extremely slow.

“I’m Natasha, this Clint -”

“The guy who called me”

“Right. And everyone else. Wanda, Vision, Sam, Bruce, Rhodey, and Thor. We’ve heard-”

“absolutely nothing about me”

“Yeah pretty much didn’t even know you existed until about three days ago. Why don’t you fill us in.”

“He’s not dead or dying” she pointed to Tony who was leaning on the bar with his back towards her drink his whiskey” so I’m leaving”.

And with that, she was out the door and no one stopped her.

“Well that was rude she didn’t even tell us her name.” Natasha scoffed.

“Yeah, I don’t know what that was,” Peter said looking at where she had disappeared to. “ Her name is (Y/n) (L/n) and she’s usually really nice. I mean she’s this sweetest person I’ve ever met. She helps me with my homework, class projects, assessments, We study together... She likes reading, poetry, and books Edgar Allen Poe, Bram Stroke, H. G. Wells, Mary Shelley, and Shirley Jackson. I didn’t even know who those people were until I meet her... She’s an artist too painting and taking pictures. You should see her work it’s truly beautiful, stunning the most breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen I promise.

(Y/n) (L/n) is the kindest, sweetest, caring ...the most beautiful person I’ve ever met” Peter seemed to go into some kind of daze as he spoke about the girl. He just stared off into space as he rambled on and on about the girl a goofy smile plastered across his face. In every other sentence, he mentioned her beauty and by then everyone figured out that Peter had a hardcore crush on the girl.

“Peter’s got a girlfriend ” Sam teased 

“What?! oh no she...” Peter sat on the steps clenching his backpack strap “ She’s gorgeous, she’s a queen, a goddess. and I’m PeTeR pArKer” his voice cracked as he said his own name that got a laugh out of a few people. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Not everyone is what they seem, Kid”

“You don’t even know her,” Peter said standing up the room fell silent Peter never ever raised his voice or spoke against Tony. This was indeed a surprise.

“I’m her father”

“What’s her favorite food, book, movie, tv-show?”

“I- pepperoni pizza, some dark poetry shit, I don’t fucking know”

“her favorite book is the entire Harry Potter series, she doesn’t have a favorite move because she hasn’t seen every movie, her favorite Tv show at the moment is The Boys, and she’s FUCKING PESCATARIAN SO SHE CAN’T EAT PEPPERONIS” and with that Peter took his leave and left the tower. Everyone was shocked.

-

“HEY” Peter screamed as he ran trying to catch up to (y/n) she slowed down to a stop allowing him to make it to her side.” I’m sorry I... I didn’t know Mr. Stark was your father.”

“No one did, Bug boy, that was the point.”

“B-bug boy, I don’t-”

“Yeah, I know your secret you’re shitty at hiding it.”

Peter shook. Truth be told they have never had a conversation outside of the classroom and all of those conversations were about class and the assessment or test they were handed. The only reason Peter knew so much about her is that he was a nasty habit of eavesdropping on her conversations with others. He didn’t even know if she knew the first name she only ever called him Parker.

And Honesty on (y/n)’s part she knew a lot about Peter. She only began to pay attention to him when she heard he was Tony’s intern. She wanted to make sure he was okay and taken care of. And while observing him she does one he was spider-man, I mean come on she saw his suit hanging out of his bag anyone with a pair of eyes could connect the dots pretty easily, and two Tony treated Peter than he had ever treated her. Knowing that alone severed any friendship or relationship between Peter and (y/n) before it could begin.

“I haven’t and won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you”

“But seriously you have to work on your lying skills. I figured it out in less than 10 minutes and that was only because I was taking a test and had to divide my attention.” Peter laughed as he took a seat next to her on the train.

“Can-Can I ask a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to I mean it’s a personal question and I would get it if you didn’t want to hear it. I probably shouldn’t even ask it because it isn’t any of my business.-”

“Give me the god damn question Parker before I leave you on this train.”

“Why don’t you like you your dad?”

“I was conceived through a one night stand. My parents weren’t stranges they knew each other beforehand they were friends but after that night he didn’t want anything to do with her. It took him a while to find out about me as he wouldn’t pick up her calls... I’m not like him, I’m no science smart, I can’t build anything, I’m not social, I can’t charm a room, I can’t be a superhero.

I Like history, art, I’m anti-social, I avoid any and all social events, I trip over air, I’m not normal... I’m not you” And with that, she stood up Peter watched as she left the train he was to stun to get up and get off himself even if this was his stop.

She had been jealous of him.

-

After (y/n) meeting with the Avengers Peter became distant spending less time with the team and more time chasing (y/n) who was doing everything in her best abilities to ignore and avoid the boy. She even went far as to skip several classes or entire school days when he was just too much to handle. It’s not that she didn’t like the boy he just reminded her too much of Tony and it didn’t help that he constantly called the boy even in the middle of school, he was always worried about him. 

He never showed that kind of worry for her.

“Hey (Y/n) are you busy this -” Peter tried to ask for the 20th time 

“yes” and she replied with the same answer for the 20th time.

“Like what,” MJ asked she and Ned had Joined in on the whole corner and attack (y/n).

“If you must know I’m babysitting on Friday, Saturday volunteering at the orphanage, and then the senior center Sunday morning.”

“what? Why?” Ned asked as if (y/n) just said something crazy or grown two heads.

“I want to help people. I plan to grow up and get a career in nursing. I like children best but I’ll work with all people. I like making people feel better.”

“Peter You’re drooling” MJ pointed out to said boy as he looked at (y/n) in a daze with a goofy smile as she spoke. He didn’t even hear her point him out.

“Bye” (y/n) began to walk away, that Peter noticed.

“wait, Can I join you? Saturday and Sunday, please?”

“Okay”

“what?”

“Saturday and Sunday you can join me. I will message you the address and times. Don’t be late. I’ll wait.” and she walked off leaving Peter vibrating from pure excitement. And His friends watching the goof he was.

-

Peter was in the mirror as he straightens his shirt preparing for his date. was it really date? She had invited him to come along with her and help it wasn’t really a date. She didn’t say it was a date he was just assuming. He probably shouldn’t do that. It probably wasn't a date. He was probably just a tag-along friend.

Even if it wasn’t a date it was something. She was inviting him to spend time with her and that was something. It was an improvement.

“look at you, so handsome,” May said as she came in pinching her nephew's cheeks. He swapped her hands away best he could but with her aunt strength, it was impossible. 

“Stop, you’re crushing me. Go away” 

“You’ve got a date with a pretty girl”

“It’s not a date just going to the orphanage with her to volunteer. That’s all” May smirked as she just walked away. Her little man all grown up.

Peter pulled out his phone getting ready to text (y/n) and let her know that he was on his way but before that could happen his phone rang it was Tony. Tony never called.

“Sir? what’s wrong?” 

“Suit up and swing over we’ve got a mission, kid”

“um...um okay. Okay”  He could do this mission quickly and come back to his date hangout with (y/n). He’d just text her and let her know what was happening and why he would be late but before putting on his suit and swing to the tower.

“Alright, what’s up? Where’s the fire?” Peter asked as he landed on the platform. Everyone looked confused as to why the spider child was here but no one said anything just shrugged it off.

“Come on kid we got to get going.”

The mission was in Texa an enchanted person was there but they weren’t the only people looking for them, Hydra was too. A fight ensued but luckily they won taking down Hydra and saving the enchanted person which happened to be a little boy. The Boy was registered with the Avengers as an enchanted but due to his age,12, instead of joining them he was sent to Xavier's school for gifted youngsters. The only unfortunate thing about this mission as it took so long. It took upwards of four hours to finish the mission and return home. It was 4:50pm when Peter finally made it to the Orphanage.

Peter cursed as he saw (y/n) exit the orphanage. He was more than late.

“(Y/N)” recognizing voice she didn’t even bother turning around instead walking faster “(y/n)” she was heading towards the subway. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear Peter webbed her hand as she touched the railing.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to catch up with you. Why are you running away from me?”

“Because I don’t want to see you”

“I’ sorry I didn’t show up today I had a mission-”

“So you didn’t ditch me”

“of course not. I messaged you explaining I had to go and didn’t know when I would be back and... It didn’t go through.” Peter opened his phone to his last message to her and saw that message with a red exclamation point. “ But I tried to see” Peter showed her the message.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s okay I guess. Saving someone is a good and acceptable excuse” and it was she spent most of the afternoon waiting for Peter’s arrived and was a bit devasted when he didn’t show up. She has a lot of trust issues and although he didn’t promise to show up she still felt duped for believing in him. Now it didn’t hurt so much knowing he at least tried. “ Could you cut me out, please”

“oh, yeah, sorry”

The two of them ended up taking a slow walk home and on the way, they stopped for ice cream and to a long way through the park. The whole way they talked (Y/n) talked about her mother Peter talked about his dorktastic aunt and friends. Peter was very surprised to discover that her apartment was a block away from his place. He ended up walking her to her door.

“I have one last question. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. I was just curious. If you don’t like Mr. Stark why did you come to see him?”

(Y/n) didn’t even hesitate to give him  a straight answer “ I thought he was on his death bed I figured I would give him the courtesies than he gave me.”

“I don’t understand”

“I told you I’ve transferred from three schools. The first time it wasn’t my fault someone did something and I was blamed for it, The second time the schools' star quarterback aka the principles son touched and said something inappropriately to me no one believed me, and third time around I got jumped and was beat so bad  they had to put me in a coma.

I use to live in Miami that’s where the quarterback thing happened. My mom wanted to move us away from that and she asked my dad if he could take me until she could transfer in her job, he said no He didn’t want my drama. So I had to spend the rest of the school year there, it was ...rough. Um I moved to New York the next year and at that school, I was bullied by a bunch of rich girls, mommy and daddy gave the school a lot of money so she could do what she wanted. She had ner friends Jumped me and while I went to the hospital and almost died... um when I was in my coma my mother called him and I heard everything he said and it wasn’t nice

“Listen Tony (Y/n) is in trouble-”

“again”

“wait please listen-” She tried to get a word in as she wiped her tears and try to explain the situation.

“No, no, I won’t I can’t, I don’t want to. Every time you call it’s because she’s done something wrong or gotten herself into some trouble. And I’m not bailing her out again.” Her tears were gone and she was filled with rage.

“blaming her out.  YOU’VE NEVER BLAMED HER OUT OF ANYTHING. HELL YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HER FUCKING NAME YOU CONSTANTLY CALL HER KID.” 

“Every time I see or hear from her there is some kind of problem. She has never brought good news. She is a problem child nothing less nothing more. I’m not taking the blame for her bull shit.”

“(Y/n) is a beautiful little girl with a heart of pure gold and innocence. The kindness little girl to ever walk this earth. She is not a problem child she the perfect child, my perfect child. There is nothing wrong with her. There never was and unfortunately, you’ll never know that.” He didn’t hear that last sentence as she whispered it and he wasn’t going to strain his ears to hear it.

“Tony, what happen you said you’d never be like him?”

“what- What are you talking about?”

“ You’re just like your father” hanging up she threw the phone across the room shattering it to pieces. She sat down and handled her dying daughter's hand.

“ I don’t mean to knock your hero off his pedestal. He’s not a good father at least not to me. I wonder how he’ll treat his future children will they be precious little angels or problems he wishes to hide them, like me... Did you like that answer?” Peter didn’t answer shrugging his shoulders and taking a step back.

“Maybe it’s because I look like this, dress like this or maybe it was because I’m not a boy. Who knows. I don’t. All I know is he doesn’t want anything to do with me never has and never will... Bye Peter Parker”

(y/n) slowly opened the door and slipped inside slowly closing it watching Peter the entire time until the door was closed.

“Where have you been, young lady? it is late the street lights have been on for hours.”

“walking” (Y/n) said in a bit of a daze as she sat down on the couch

“Walking?”

“with Peter Parker”

“Peter Parker? Oh, the boy you don’t like but talk about constantly”

“MOM”

-

After their late-night walk, Peter and (y/n) became close and good friends. They were constantly hanging out together before and after school. Aunt May met her and immediately liked the girl after hearing about her relationship with Tony Stark she decided she didn’t like the billionaire as much anymore no matter his treatment towards her nephew he was neglecting his own daughter. May had invited her over for dinner along with her mother and her mother had returned the generous act by inviting them over as well. The two little families were becoming close.

-

“You’re in a rush kid.”

“Yeah, I got somewhere to be” Peter answered vaguely. All the answers he gave Tony recently were vague.

“Where is this place you need to be? a date?” Natasha asked wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

“no, no, Aunt May and I are going to dinner with (y/n) and her mom”

“You’re still talking to her”

“Yeah, she’s my friend did you think I was going to stop hanging out with her just because she’s your daughter.”

“Her mom still bad-mouthing me?” Tony asked. He expected it they were bad-mouthing him as Tony had been distant recently or more like when (y/n) showed up.

“No Mr. Stark they haven’t been bad-mouthing you. Honestly, they don’t even talk about you they avoid any topic that will somehow lead to you.”

“Then why have you been distant lately?”

“Usually when I talk to you it’s about my day and I’m now spending my day with (y/n). I didn’t think you want to hear about that... plus she has deliberately asked me not to tell you anything about her” Peter said that last thing really quickly and tried to make his way to the elevator as an escape.

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky asks successfully making Peter stopped in his tracks the young boys sighs heavily before spinning around and facing Tony who was sitting at the bar. Peter had a look of guilt and dread as he spoke.

“You don’t want her or at least you act like you don’t. She believes if you don’t want her you don’t need to know anything about her.”Peter wasn’t looking up anymore so he didn’t see the look of anger and pain take over Tony’s face “ And honestly, she’s constantly on my mind so I don’t know how to talk to you without mentioning her so I simply stopped talking to you. She’s important to me I’m not going to lose her because I blabbed to you about something I shouldn’t have... I should go before I’m late for dinner.”

Tony poured himself a few more glasses of whiskey his eyes were burning and a headache began to form. The others cleared the room Bruce and Clint were the only ones left with Tony.

“Tony, why didn’t you tell us about your daughter?” Bruce asked in a gentle voice. He could tell Tony was on the way to getting drunk now was the best time to ask him.

“... I wasn’t ready to be a father I was still in my playboy phase I guess... She’s not normal she’s not like me or her mother I didn’t know what to do with her, I still don’t.”

“But she’s your daughter. I don’t completely understand my children their not exact copies of us they’re going to be different.” Clint said placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze“ I don’t understand how you could leave your daughter because she was different and I don’t believe that’s why you left her. So what’s the real problem?”

Tony looked up at bruce “ I was scared to be like my father and I was scared she’d be just like me. Best way to avoid that is to avoid her altogether. She won’t end up like me or who I use to be”

“Tony the best way to assure she’ll end up just like you is to treat her like your father treated you. Which is what you’re doing”

“I didn’t mean to” Tony looked like a small vulnerable child who had just discovered that he had done or been doing something really bad. He was nearly in tears. Bruce pulled him into a hug “ I just don’t know”.

“It’s alright, we’ll figure out. Let’s go rest for a while”

Bruce moved Tony off his seat and maneuvered him towards the elevator trying to walk him to his bedroom for a few hours sleep. He knew Tony would wake up and skip off to his lab sooner or later. Clint watched as Bruce lugged Tony away he wasn’t wasted he was just processing a lot and that apparently took his legs away. 

Clint simply didn’t understand. He could never abandon his children they were his everything. He just couldn’t imagine his life without them he probably wouldn’t have a life if they weren’t in it. He was a very reckless man but the thought of his children always grounded him and brought him back.

This was just too much Clint was going to schedule some time away and with his family. It missed them. He’d be sure to hug his daughter when he saw her.

-

In the living room (y/n)’s mother and Peter’s Aunt were squealing over baby pictures while the two teens were in her bedroom trying to escape embarrassment. 

“I didn’t even know my aunt brought my baby pictures” Peter groaned as he flopped on her bed

“My mom probably messaged her beforehand. She does stuff like that, she likes to embarrass me.”

“Yeah. But you know she’s right”

“About what?” (y/n) asked as she laid down next to Peter.

“You made a very cute baby” and that got him a pillow to the face he laughed as she pouted “ And even as you aged that cuteness hasn’t gone away” (Y/n) smiled giggling slightly.

“Do you realize what you just said?”

“Yes, I’ve been working up the courage to say it for the past 20 minutes.”

She giggled some more bopping his nose “Keep giving me compliments like that and you might get somewhere, Pretty Boy.”

“Ya think so?” He turned to her. They really close a few inches between them he could feel her breath on his lips and she could see the brown glow in his eyes.

“Yeah”

“Can I ask you something?” she nodded “ We’ve been having a lot of these dinners and they’re sort of like dates”

“with our aunt and mother but yes”

“So I’ve taken you on a lot of dates”

“I guess so, where is this going Peter?”

“W-would you be my girlfriend?” (y/n) laughed as Peter stuttered. He was just so cute. He blushed and tried to look away but she placed a hand on his cheek.

“Where did that courage go?”

“I-I think I ran out, sorry”

“Yes, Peter I’ll be your girlfriend. But under one condition. You take me out for ice cream.”

“Of course” Peter leaned forward kissing her she hummed into the kiss before pushing him away.

“Like right now.” Peter laughed.

-

“Mommy, I’m home. You will not believe the day I’ve had. Peter brought me flowers there was a spider in them. It’s gone now. Aren’t they... beautiful?” (Y/n) walked into the apartment she saw her mother standing arms cross glaring hard at someone in the living room. Looking around the corner she found Tony Stark standing stiff in the living room. He smiled as he saw her she cringed.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you I’ve come to talk to you”

“I can kick him out if you want,” her mother said not even looking away from him.

“No, let's see what he wants first. Can you put these in a vase, please?”

“Of course love”

(Y/n) nods for him to follow her and she leads him to her room. Tony had to take a deep breath as he entered her bedroom because it was... dark. She had black curtains, black bedsheets, black bookshelves, and dark painting covered the walls. The bookshelves against the wall were filled and stuffed with books and there wasn’t any dust meaning she read them all regularly or dusted regularly, Tony was leaning towards the first one. In one corner of the room were canvas and paints and in another was a desk where her laptop was.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Tony said picking up one of her canvases it was truly beautiful.

“Yes, I sell them online. I’m sure you’re not here to talk about my painting, Are you Mr.Stark?” She called him by his surname he was a direct jab at him meant to hurt him and it did its job but he wasn’t going to let it show.

“Yes, actually. I want to know about your painting and your books, and school work. I’d like to know everything... I know I haven’t been good to you I’ve been an absolute dick and three is no excuse for it I was just being a dick. I just... I’d like to to start over.”

“I’m 16, I think it’s a little too late for that.”

“I guess I’m a bit late.”

“A bit late would have been when I was 5, Mr. Stark. Really late would have been when I was 10,... I’m 16... you never showed up.” Tony cleared his throat and put down her painting.

“I’d like to start over”

“From where? Half the book has been written already. I’m not going to start over for you when so many people have already been written in.” Tony sat on her bed as she sat on her window seal he sighed.

“I know I’m not the best I don’t deserve to be your father but I would like to be involved in your life in some way. Hell, I’ll be your bank if you want.”

“I don’t want your money... What made you change your mind?”

“I had a shitty father and I promised myself I would never be like him but look and behold I’m just like him. I just ... please give me another chance.”

“alright” (Y/N) said not even looking at him Tony jumped up 

“Really?”

“Don’t mess up”

Tony smiled he looked around the room he was really happy he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself. He was just standing there like a fool.   “ Should we-should we go do something together? Ice cream or dinner?”

“ No I have a study date with MJ in30 minutes and  I’m having dinner with Peter later on tonight. If you really want to do something how about you go talk to my mom you hurt her more than you hurt me. I’m going to head out.”

“you right. Can I have this?” Tony picked up one of her paintings she just glared at him. He took that as a yes putting a hundred dollars on her desk and backing out of the room with the painting.

“Hello,” Tony said Awkwardly as he stood in the middle of the kitchen clenching on to  (y/n) painting. (Y/n)’s mother was busy running around cooking her way of staying claim staying busy “ Um I’d like to talk to you”

“About?” She said angerly

“Everything”

-

“The goth Boss has arrived” (Y/n) said as Aunt May let her in she twirled showing off her new dress.

“oh, you look beautiful, sweetheart. Peter tell her she looks pretty” praised her and demanded her nephew do the same.

“She looks beautiful she always does” 

“Smooth Parker. Real Smooth” (Y/n) said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulder kissing his forehead.

“What are yo u doing here? I was about to go pick you up”

“Um... Mr. Stark is my house. He’s talking to my mom right now. He says he wants to change things he wants to be there now.”

“A bit late for that” May mumbled under her breath but the teens clearly heard it

“ I ... I think I’m going to give him a chance.”

“well, whatever happens, I’ll be there to support you through it”

“Thank you” And they kiss. And Aunt takes a picture of this kiss but they didn’t know that.

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[thisblogisalsoboundforglory]

WHAT I HAVE BEEN READING LATELY

Kage Baker’s Company Series

In the Garden of Iden

Sky Coyote

Mendoza in Hollywood

The Graveyard Game

The Life of the World to Come

The Children of the Company

The Machine's Child

The Sons of Heaven

The Empress of Mars

Not Less than Gods

Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea

Black Projects, White Knights: The Company Dossiers

Gods and Pawns

In the Company of Thieves

Ø  Science Fiction written by a woman with Asperger’s. Wildly uneven. Main protagonist is female, but there are lots of POV characters, male and female.

Ø  Big ideas.

Ø  Lots of adventure, some action.

Ø   Small doses of humor.

 Neil Gaiman

Good Omens (with Sir Terry Pratchett)

Neverwhere

Stardust

American Gods

Anansi Boys

The Graveyard Book

The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Ø  Neil’s books are a road trip with Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and a baggie full of sativa.

Ø  Ideas are incidental. The Milieu’s in charge.

Ø  Adventure happens whether you like it or not.

Ø   Cosmic humor. The joke’s on us.

 Connie Willis’s Oxford Time Travel Series

Firewatch

Doomsday Book

To Say Nothing of the Dog (and the novel that inspired it – Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat)

Blackout/All Clear

Assorted:

The Last of the Winnebagos

Ø  Connie loves her historical research. Blackout/All Clear actually lasts as long as the Blitz, but anything in the Oxford Time Travel series is worth reading. Doomsday Book reads like prophecy in retrospect.

Ø  One idea: Hi! This is the human condition! How fucking amazing is that?!?

Ø  Gut-punch adventure with extra consequences. Background action.

Ø   I’d have to say that Doomsday Book is the funniest book about the black death I’ve ever read, which isn’t saying much. To Say Nothing of the Dog is classic farce, though. Girl’s got range.

Neal Stephenson

Snow Crash (After the apocalypse, the world will be ruled by Home-Owners Associations. Be afraid.)

Cryptonomicon

Anathem

Seveneves

Ø  Neal writes big, undisciplined, unfocused books that keep unfolding in your mind for months after you’ve read them. He’s a very guy-type writer, in spite of a female protagonist or two. Seveneves, be warned, starts out brilliant and devolves into extreme meh.

Ø  Big. Fucking. Ideas.

Ø  Battles, crashes, fistfights, parachute jumps, nuclear powered motorcycles and extreme gardening action. Is there an MPAA acronym for that?

Ø   Humor dry enough to be garnished with two green olives on a stick.

  Christopher Moore

Pine Cove Series:

Practical Demonkeeping

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror (Okay, yeah, Christmas. But Christmas with zombies, so that’s all right.)

Fluke (Not strictly Pine Cove, but in the same universe. Ever wonder why whales sing? They’re ordering Pastrami sandwiches. I’m not kidding.)

Death Merchant Chronicles:

A Dirty Job

Secondhand Souls (Best literary dogs this side of Jack London)

Coyote Blue (Kind of an outlier. Overlapping characters)

Shakespeare Series:

Fool

The Serpent of Venice

Shakespeare for Squirrels

Assorted:

Island of the Sequined Love Nun (Cargo cults with Pine Cove crossovers. I have a theory that the characters in this book are direct descendants of certain characters in Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon.)

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal (So I have a favorite first-century wonder rabbi. Who doesn’t?)

Sacre Bleu

Noir

Ø  Not for the squeamish, the easily offended, or those who can’t lovingly embrace the fact that the human species is pretty much a bunch of idiots snatching at moments of grace.

Ø  No big ideas whatever. Barely any half-baked notions.

Ø  Enthusiastic geek adventure. Action as a last resort.

Ø   Nonstop funny from beginning to end.

 Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London Series

Rivers of London

Moon Over Soho

Whispers Under Ground

Broken Homes

Foxglove Summer

The Hanging Tree

The Furthest Station

Lies Sleeping

The October Man

False Value

Tales From the Folly

Ø  Lean, self-deprecating police procedurals disguised as fantasy novels. Excellent writing.

Ø  These will not expand your mind. They might expand your Latin vocabulary.

Ø  Crisply described action, judiciously used. Whodunnit adventure. It’s all about good storytelling.

Ø  Generous servings of sly humor. Aaronovitch is a geek culture blueblood who drops so many inside jokes, there are websites devoted to indexing them.

  John Scalzi

Old Man’s War Series:

Old Man’s War

Questions for a Soldier

The Ghost Brigades

The Sagan Diary

The Last Colony

Zoe’s Tale

After the Coup

The Human Division

The End of All Things

Ø  Star Trek with realpolitik instead of optimism.

Ø  The Big Idea is that there’s nothing new under the sun. Nor over it.

Ø  Action-adventure final frontier saga with high stakes.

Ø  It’s funny when the characters are being funny, and precisely to the same degree that the character is funny.

Assorted:

The Dispatcher

Murder by Other Means

Redshirts (Star Trek, sideways, with occasional optimism)

Ø  Scalzi abandons (or skewers) his space-opera tendencies with these three little gems of speculative fiction. Scalzi’s gift is patience. He lets the scenario unfold like a striptease.

Ø  What-if thought experiments that jolt the brain like espresso shots.

Ø  Action/misadventure as necessary to accomplish the psychological special effects.

Ø  Redshirts is satire, so the humor is built-in, but it’s buried in the mix.

  David Wong/Jason Pargin

John Dies at the End

This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don’t Touch It

What the Hell Did I Just Read?

Ø  Pargin clearly starts his novels with a handful of arresting scenes and images, then looses the characters on an unsuspecting world to wander wither they will.

Ø  Ideas aren’t as big or obvious as Heinlein, but they are there to challenge all your assumptions in the same way that Heinlein’s were.

Ø  Classic action/adventure for anyone raised on Scooby-Doo.

Ø  Occasional gusts of humor in a climate that’s predominantly tongue-in-cheek.

 Jodi Taylor’s Chronicles of St. Mary’s Series

Just One Damned Thing After Another

The Very First Damned Thing

A Symphony of Echoes

When a Child is Born*

A Second Chance

Roman Holiday*

A Trail Through Time

Christmas Present*

No Time Like the Past

What Could Possible Go Wrong?

Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings*

Lies, Damned Lies and History

The Great St Mary’s Day Out*

My Name is Markham*

And the Rest is History

A Perfect Storm*

Christmas Past*

An Argumentation of Historians

The Battersea Barricades*

The Steam Pump Jump*

And Now for Something Completely Different*

Hope for the Best

When Did You Last See Your Father?*

Why Is Nothing Ever Simple*

Plan For The Worst

The Ordeal of the Haunted Room

Ø  The * denotes a short story or novella. Okay, try to imagine Indiana Jones as a smartassed redheaded woman with a time machine and a merry band of full contact historians. I love history, and I especially love history narrated by a woman who can kick T. Rex ass.

Ø  The ideas are toys, not themes. Soapy in spots.

Ø  Action! Adventure! More action! More adventure! Tea break. Action again!

Ø  Big, squishy dollops of snort-worthy stuff.

 Laurie R. King’s Mary Russell Series

The Beekeeper's Apprentice

A Monstrous Regiment of Women

A Letter of Mary

The Moor

Jerusalem

Justice Hall

The Game

Locked Rooms

The Language of Bees

The God of the Hive

Beekeeping for Beginners

Pirate King

Garment of Shadows

Dreaming Spies

The Marriage of Mary Russell

The Murder of Mary Russell

Mary Russell's War And Other Stories of Suspense

Island of the Mad

Riviera Gold

The Art of Detection (Strictly speaking, this is in the action!lesbian Detective Kate Martinelli series, but it crosses over to the Sherlock Holmes genre. If you’ve ever wondered how Holmes would deal with the transgendered, this is the book.)

Ø  Sherlock Holmes retires to Sussex, keeps bees, marries a nice Jewish girl who is smarter than he is and less than half his age and he’s mentored since she was fifteen in an extremely problematic power dynamic relationship that should repulse me but doesn’t, somehow, because this is the best Sherlock Holmes pastiche out there. Mary should have been a rabbi, but it is 1920, so she learns martial arts and becomes an international detective instead. Guest appearances by Conan Doyle, Kimball O’Hara, T.E. Lawrence, Cole Porter, and the Oxford Comma.

Ø  Nothing mind-expanding here, unless the levels of meta present in a fictional world that is about how the fictional world might not be as fictional as you thought come as a surprise to anyone in the era of tie-in books, films, tv, interactive social media and RPGs.

Ø  If these two geniuses can’t catch the bad guys with their dazzling brilliance, they will happily kick some ass. Adventure takes center stage and the action sequences are especially creative.

Ø  Amusement is afoot.

 Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next Series

The Eyre Affair

Lost in a Good Book

The Well of Lost Plots

Something Rotten

First Among Sequels

One of Our Thursdays is Missing

The Woman Who Died a Lot

Ø  In a world where Librarians are revered and Shakespeare is more popular than the Beatles, someone has to facilitate the weekly anger-management sessions for the characters of Wuthering Heights, if only to keep them from killing each other before the novel actually ends. That someone is Thursday Next – Literature Cop.

Ø  Mind-bending enough to give Noam Chomsky material for another hundred years.

Ø  Adventure aplenty. Action? Even the punctuation will try to kill you.

Ø  This is a frolicsome look at humorous situations filled with funny people. Pretty much a full house in the laugh department.

 Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series/City Watch Arc

Guards! Guards!

Men at Arms

Feet of Clay

Jingo

The Fifth Elephant

Night Watch

Thud!

Snuff

Raising Steam

Ø  If this were a game of CLUE, the answer would be Niccolo Machiavelli in Narnia with a Monty Python. Everything you think you know about books with dragons and trolls and dwarves and wizards is expertly ripped to shreds and reassembled as social satire that can save your soul, even if it turns out you don’t really have one. Do not be fooled by the Tolkien chassis – there’s a Vonnegut-class engine at work.

Ø  Caution: Ideas in the Mirror Universe May be Larger Than They Appear

Ø  The City Watch arc has plenty of thrilling action sequences. Some other of the fifty-million Discworld novels have less. Every one of them is nonstop adventure. Most of the adventure, however, takes the form of characters desperately trying to avoid thrilling action sequences.

Ø  Funny? Even though I’ve read every book in the series at least ten times, I still have to make sure I have cold packs on hand in case I laugh so hard I rupture something.

[harrieatthemet]

Other Mama

in which you come home early as a surprise but Harry seems to have an even bigger one waiting for you..

The hotel beds are always stiff.

The air conditioning is always too high, or not high enough. The middle of the night rolls around and you’re woken up to hair matted by sweat on the back of your neck, or teeth mildly chattering from excessive cold air.

Ironic as it may be, it’s almost impossible to fall asleep without the hands of a toddler resting on your arm, or a knee pressed into your gut. It’s even harder without a body pressed into the back of your arms, lips on the back of your neck, even a faint snore or two echoing in your ear.

It’s not home. Your bed consists of three people, aside from trips that confine you to a night’s sleep in a bed with only you to occupy it. And each time you can’t seem to help orchestrating a few pillows amongst the empty space of the mattress, just to make it a little less empty. Just to make it feel a little more like home.

“Checking out, Mrs. Styles?”

It’s like music to your ears, every single time. The sweet smile of the concierge is nothing compared to the smile that paints itself on the face of your daughter each time you return from a trip; a smile that is always followed by a kiss to the cheek and sealed with a hug.

It’s like music to your ears because yes, you are checking out, you’re going home. It only seems to feel better this time because it’s an entire three days earlier than you had planned.

A surprise. It wasn’t an intentional one, which is partially the reason you had failed to mention it to Harry over the phone yesterday afternoon. Another 3 days of meetings and other business endeavors had been etched into the schedule on your phone, only to be promptly cancelled just mere hours after you had bid your goodbye to your husband.

You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of guilt each time you packed a bag, folded clothes before stuffing them into a suitcase equipped with your laptop and other work necessities. Each time you left, Harry had just gotten back, and as understanding as he portrayed himself to be it didn’t ease the burden of having to take off for a week.

But surely, this would amount to something. This would make up for it, even if it was only a little bit. Your foot hasn’t even hit the front steps yet and you’ve already gone and painted a picture in your mind; the bliss of being back at home, the shrieks of excitement from your girl, an anticipated kiss from Harry.

Nobody hears the door open. You had expected something, anything; music maybe, the lull of the TV from the room just off the foyer, giggling, chatter, even the clanking of the dishes because it’s nearly 7 in the evening and Harry’s almost always got dinner going by now.

The playroom holds everything you had expected. A few toys are strewn across the floor, a stray building block in particular barricading your heel before you brush it aside. The couch is covered in scrapped art projects and different blankets that Anne had sewn up for her granddaughter; all exactly how you left it just a few days ago. And to the left is the mop of brown hair you’d been in search for, sitting in a sloppy ponytail to keep her hair from her eyes while she colored her picture.

“Mind if I take a look?” your head hovers just above her shoulder, peeking at her picture as you eagerly await the expression on her face.

Her grin takes up majority of the space on the lower half of her face, teeth showing briefly as she squeaks your name in excitement. It’s exactly what you had anticipated; pudgy hands fly to your cheeks as she welcomes you back home with kisses all over your face before she lets you give her a quick peck to her nose.

And she does let you see her picture, holding up her sloppy drawing of lines and squiggles as high as her arms would let her as she practically bathes herself in your slew of praises and compliments

“Where’s daddy?” your question comes out in a hum before you plop another kiss to the top of your head.

“Making dinner,” she shrugs, crayon clutched tightly in her hand, “with other mama.”

“Other mama?” and your brow involuntarily cocks, “You mean nana?”

“Nana is old, other mama is young.”

There’s a brief, dull ache in your chest at the response of your toddler. Her nonchalance and laid back answer to your question is oddly uneasy, leaving you with furrowed eyebrows and bewildered expression on your face. She goes back to coloring, her attention devoted to the paper laid out before her, letting you place your bag down on the couch before exiting the room and looping around the hallway.

“Kitten,” he asks mid-hum, “mind grabbing a couple plates?”

She’s quick to obey, lying them out on the kitchen island alongside the glasses he had put out. And she’s even quicker to wrap her arms around his torso, pressing the front of her to mesh with his back as he tends to the pot boiling on the stove.

If the looks of it didn’t make your stomach churn enough, him humming in response was almost enough to coax you into throwing up. There’s an unfamiliar burn devouring your skin when her lips coat the bare skin of his neck with fragile kisses, her lips turned upwards into a smirk. You can see the look on his face; the content in his body language tells you plenty, maybe more than you had wanted to know at all. It’s comfortable, which is enough to tell you that this isn’t new, this is comfortable. This has been long term.

“Jesus Christ, Harry.” it comes out breathlessly because, for a minute, you had almost forgotten how to take normal, sufficient breaths.

It’s like every hair on the back of his neck sticks up all at once, limbs nearly going stiff after he feverishly writhes free of the woman’s grip. It’s like he’s seen a ghost; his face goes white almost, mouth agape in the form of a small o as he sighs anxiously.

She stands off to the side, quickly realizing that since you’re home, she’s become extremely out of place. She doesn’t belong here. But you’re sure she’s known that prior to now, because she’s not in the wedding photos hung on the hallway walls just outside the kitchen. It’s not her in the honeymoon photos decorating Harry’s bedroom nightstand.

“Early,” he blurts, “y’home, didn’t think you’d be back this early. ”

“I didn’t think you’d have a whore in my house,” you breath, “looks like we’re both wrong.”

There’s about a hundred different things you could do right now.

You could cry; you might cry, because there’s a stinging sensation behind your eyes and a lump metastasizing in your throat the longer you feel the gaze of the other woman on your face.

You very well might just throw up. An uneasy feeling that started in your stomach has now consumed half of your body, the room is spinning and your gut is twisting and turning a million different ways.

And there’s a chance you could throw a fit, cause a scene so theatrical that even the neighbors down the block may sprout some concern. You could yell, you know you feel the urge starting to make itself prominent. But you won’t because words are tangled with one another in the back of your throat and you can barely do so much as take steady breaths. Because this is too much. This is overwhelming. This is fucked.

He mutters under his breath to her, asking her to grab her things and head home. You would’ve let her stay, would’ve let her sit in the argument. There was plenty to say to her, as well. But she takes advantage of the opportunity, as she’s clearly uncomfortable while she nods in agreement before fast walking out, head down as she tries to avoid eye contact as she approaches you to exit the room.

“Don’t say a fucking word to my daughter.”

Your tone is berating, vicious, and she’s receptive of it. Because the door closes only seconds after she books it out of the kitchen.

And now it’s just the two of you. An uncomfortable silence wafts around the room before it settles completely, sending a chill of panic down Harry’s back as he studies your face for a reaction.

Are you mad? Are you gonna cry? Gonna yell? The look on your face is doing nothing for him, because your blankly staring at the wall behind him with a stoic expression. There’s no tears, no raising of your voice. For a second, he doesn’t even know if you’re breathing or not. Nothing. Your face is telling him nothing.

“Say something,” he bursts, “please just, dunno, yell a’me.”

Still nothing. For fucks sake, you don’t even blink. Nothing. But you do swallow, hard, closing your eyes to assure no tears present themselves. You’re not sure what to say, how to address this. A slew of emotions are swelling you and you’re not sure which to draw on first, especially when he’s this desperate to get something out of you.

“She called her other mama,” your voice is so low he nearly misses it, but when he does catch it, he can feel his body go numb, “other mama.”

“S’a fucking mess,” he chokes, “know tha’. Don’t know how I let it get this bad but I’ll talk about it, tell y’everything, just let me talk to yeh ‘bout it.”

“Talk to you?” and when you scoff he knows, very well, there won’t be a conversation, “Harry I can’t even look at you, and you wanna talk about it?”

The very second the words fall from your tongue he can almost feel his face hit the floor. No conversation relating to this will be had, he’s realized that quicker than he would have preferred to. And it’s true, you can’t look at him, which only seems to make him feel that much smaller. He’s surpassed minuscule, seeing how disgusted you are even be in the same vicinity as him, to even be sharing the same space as him. Your eyes stay glued to the wall behind him for a few minutes, silence as loud as ever as neither of you say anything to each other.

“I’m gonna go,” you exhale, “can’t stay here so.. I’m gonna go.”

“Can yeh just,” he respires, “please (Y/N), let me talk first.”

“We’re gonna go,” you repeat, and now the pain in his chest is throbbing, “me and the baby, we’re gonna go.”

He knows the pleas are nothing but white noise to you. He can tell you’re drowning them out, him steady on your heels as you head down the hall to grab your daughter and a few of her things. He’s doing his best to keep his composure, keep his voice leveled so she won’t be clued in on what’s going on. His pleading and begging is bordering on desperate, but it’s just white noise to you.

And after all the nights spent griping over hotel beds, you never thought you’d long to sleep in one as badly as you do right now.

[comicsfishhook]

►  Support me on Patreon  ◄

This next week I will be finishing the first chapter of my Les Miserables Graphic Novel, so I decided to post the cover of Chapter 1 outside. 

I’ll be posting a new page once per week! If you like the comic and you want to help me to keep working on this project think about supporting me on Patreon, where you can find already the first chapter almost finished (I post the latest page this Monday). 

Thank you to all my awesome Patreons supporters for all their help, support, tears and laugh!

WARNINGS: Angst, suffering, a lot of crying, everything hurts, enemies to martyrs to lovers, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt(S), self hate, internalized homophobia, VERY slow burn, a lot of religion references (from somebody who doesn't have a clue (ME)), fucked up landscapes and backgrounds.  

This comic starts on 7th June of 1832, the date of the last barricade and the death of Javert. He just left Valjean at home and went to the Préfecture de police of the Rue de Jérusalem and he's going to Pont au Change (you know why). 

It’s my first try with a long comic, so I can’t promise there will be no mistakes. Sorry about that. It will be based on the characters from the book with a couple of nods to other characters from other media that I personally love.

I’ll not reply to any questions or messages on this account. Any questions should go to my main account and art blog.

[themockingcrows]

Companionship Through Circuitry Ch. 3: Uploading

Not all uploads are created equal. Bro/Hal Also available on AO3!

    Upload me, Bro.

    “Don’t you need a stronger interface than that? Would you even work with that thing?”

    I was designed to functionally overwrite data when necessary, and if that means re-writing the code of a simple wrecker then so be it. Upload me.

    Bro sighed a bit. He had his reservations now that he was starting to get used to Hal’s voice and attitude, and the concept of potentially losing him because he didn’t want to take a lengthy detour was kind of obnoxious. But hey, what did he know, he was just a post-war guy taking directions from an AI who seemed to know his own capabilities far better. Against his better judgement, Bro took the shades off of his face and fished out the connection cable, following Hal’s advice to locate where an entry port could be positioned based on the make and model of the machinery at hand.

    The massive structure was meant to replace cranes for more basic movements, the continuous track treads far superior to wheels and the mobility vastly improved. The behemoth whirred to life a few moments after Ambrose finished the upload cycle, glasses still gently dangling by their cord till he ducked forward and tucked them somewhere less conspicuous. The droid moved its appendages, orienting itself as Hal took control and sussed out the operational maneuvers for each piece. It was a strangely human motion, the sensors of the face looking down at the pincer hands before giving them a whirl and twirl, clicking them together a few times to gauge the pressure.

    Right. Step back.

    Thank fuck this was temporary. Hearing the modulation of Hal’s voice was jarring, booming and decidedly electric from the audio core even with its damage and residue. When he stood fully upright, many times taller than Ambrose, it was with the soft screech of abused metal and rust. This wasn’t going to last forever, but it should last long enough to move a few barriers out of the way. Hal whirred forward excitedly and clasped both pincers into the edge of a stacked vehicle long since crashed, tugging it a few times before the body gave way to motion and the entire pile began to move. Ambrose wasn’t certain what all would be beyond where they could see, but he had a feeling that getting through the blockade would open up some options.

    Or, you know, trap him underground to die a horrible death. But who’s keeping track of anything, right?

    With much whirring and churning metal, Hal eventually moved several wrecked cars that had acted as a barricade between them and the rest of the bridge that seemed sturdy enough to cross as far as he could see. So the asphalt was gone in a few places, the girders and skeletal aspects of the bridge were still plenty intact for a man and a pair of sunglasses to pass unhindered so long as they didn’t gain too much attention. Or at least got away from the ruckus of attention they were currently causing right now.

    I changed my mind, can I stay in this longer?

    “No. You cleared the junk and I can cross now, get back in the glasses so we can leave,” Bro said, already sensing where this was going.

    What if there’s more junk on the other side of the bridge? Or in the center? Wouldn’t it be handy to have someone who would be able to move it easier? Hal asked, giving his hands another whirr for emphasis as if Bro could have somehow forgotten the difference between a set of pointed shades as a fully fledged wrecker droid.

    “I said no. How much power does that thing have left anyways?”

    Enough to enjoy getting over the bridge in style.

    “And if I don’t feel like travelin’ with a gigantic fuckin’ target on my back?” Bro asked. “What then, hm? Everything in a mile prolly heard all this noise, you’re not exactly dainty with your maneuverin’.”

    I believe you’d benefit more from me in this shape for a while. I’m enjoying having hands, that’s a bonus. And being able to move where I want to, Hal said as he backed up and did a quick turn as he could on the tracks. I could serve as a shield if required, or lift things to be a shield for you.

    Bro ran his tongue over his teeth. The offer DID sound kind of appealing when put like that… but he knew it’d bite him in the ass just as soon, knowing his luck. He shook his head and went over towards the shades, tapping them with his fingers.

    “Nope. In you go.”

    But what if I just followed along behind you.

    “And if we get separated how’m I supposed to get to your body then, huh? Want me to get there on my own, without you, and put somethin’ stupid in there?” Ambrose asked with a smirk. “The best body they could have created for you, the body your creator dude wanted for you, all goin’ to waste so I have someone to play Pong with.”

    Hal was silent for a moment before the massive droid looked down with a creak of metal. He could practically hear him squinting.

    You wouldn’t dare.

    “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know me very well,” Ambrose said with a shrug, both hands lifted up for emphasis at how helpless he was in the situation overall. “You think I wouldn’t kill to have a good quality droid be my butler and play stupid games with me? Dude, my kid left for the city already, who’s gonna fill the void for me now if not that or a bitchy AI.”

    The droid looked towards the bridge again, sensors trying to run how he’d normally run to assess risks before realizing the hardware just wasn’t up to spec to do what he wanted to do. This body was made for moving things, for lifting and toting, for sorting, not for detecting stealth routes a companion could take to an objective. Ever so slowly the droid bowed down and let its arms go limp, the shades chiming and beeping a short time later to alert Ambrose it was time to remove the connection and put him back on safely. While Ambrose wouldn’t say he missed having the weight on his face and the shade over his eyes, there was no denying a bit of fondness for the habit. It was nice not having his retinas toasted.

    “I see my offer was too much to resist.”

    You’re a bastard. I’ll not have my body sullied like that. If it does something foolish it will be because I will it to do something foolish, not any other way.

    “Sure thing,” Ambrose said as he started up the bridge, pulling his blade out to keep it at the ready, grip light. He resisted the temptation to spin it or do bored tosses like he would while at home or doing detail work on it, keeping his hands ready to put lethal force behind the steel at a moments notice. The bridge itself seemed like it had been used in the past as shelter, or a lookout point. Chairs were arranged beneath a sheet metal roof with a standee wall against the side of a toppled truck, and garbage lay strewn about the broken glass that crunched beneath Bro’s boots. At every turn there could be a human being or worse.. yet all seemed quiet for now. Abandoned. Empty.

    Packrat by nature, Bro took a moment to peer into different cars that they passed to see if any of them had been used as more shelter, or used to store any spare belongings that nobody would miss. There didn’t seem to be much on hand, however. Spent shells, empty cans and bottles, ragged blankets, clothes that reeked of sweat and in one car the sweet sickly smell of feces. One front seat had a few gadgets that slowed Ambrose’s steps to peek however, grinning in amusement.

    “Oh, hey, I remember readin’ about these things,” he mused, reaching through broken glass to pick up a blocky hand held game system with a melted looking cartridge. The screen was cracked, but the buttons looked well worn. Must’ve taken a lot of abuse to wind up like that, those things were supposedly indestructible in their time. He dropped it back onto the seat it had come from and the bit of bones that rested here and there as well. The original owner? An art project by some bored creep? Hard to guess honestly and not really his place to wonder about.

    There’s something else there, Hal pointed out, zeroing in the target t’s to direct Bro’s attention to the keychain looking item shaped like an egg. He reached again and plucked it up, rubbing a thumb over the dirty screen with a hum. A flip over and he nodded a bit.

    “Some other kinda game I guess..? Looks like it’s self contained and takes a smaller battery. Doubt it’s like yours, is it?”

    No, most likely that type of device ran on a watch battery. Do you not know what it is?

    “Is it not a game?”

    It is a game where you are tasked with keeping a small creature alive by meeting all of its needs and wants.

    Bro snorted. “I’ve raised a baby, I think I can live without a game reproducin’ the experience.”

    Yet.. it had been some of the best years of his life. Boiling water to make sure it was safe for Dave’s baby bath, washing hair so fine it was barely there. Messy cheeks in the high chair as he figured out how to feed himself, skinned knees and bandages, late night visitors to his bed whenever there was an electrical storm outside or when the winds screamed out over the desert like hungry dogs. Those big red eyes in the dark asking if it was safe when people came too close to their hidden home, listening to the distant explosions of deterrents and traps going off left and right. Those same red eyes staring up at him for the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth time he’d knocked him down to make him get back up and keep fighting.

    Bro swallowed hard for a moment, throat suddenly uncomfortably dry. He knew it was wrong. He knew deep down it had been too much, but there was no choice. Not when the world wouldn’t hesitate even a single second before putting a bullet in his head if he didn’t take the initiative and attack first. He could tell himself that a thousand times and yet it didn’t change anything.

    Bro closed his hand around the toy and stuck it into his pocket without a second’s hesitation.

    “Might make for a fun project later though. Maybe I can re-program it, give it a better battery. Somethin’ simple like a time waster to take the edge off should be easy.”

    How many pet projects do you intend to keep on your person?

    “As many as I feel like, considerin’ one is already on my face. What, suddenly attached to the idea of being an only child?”

    I am not a child. If anything, I would prefer if you spoke to me like an adult instead of like one of your wards. Keep it in mind, Bro.

    “Yes Mom.”

    That is not what I meant when I sai-

    “I’m kidding,” Ambrose said as he fished his hand back out of his pocket and continued to walk, suddenly less interested in browsing the potential second hand belongings than he was about getting off the bridge and continuing Northwards. He’d dallied too long as it was, and while things seemed plenty deserted up here, he didn’t want that to stop being a thing any time soon thanks to their broadcast position.

    You know, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before. But I have radio functionality, if you would enjoy to listen to something as you walk.

    He snorted. “Yeah? The same ten stations, no thanks. Propaganda, interviews with dumbasses, or the same fifty songs over and over. Nobody knows how to find decent music, and the songs that’re any good get played so often you get sick of them. Nobody makes anything new either.”

    I also possess some selections Dirk enjoyed, if you would prefer listening to those. They may prove to be something more to your taste, he was particular about what he listened to.

    “Particular how?”

    He was particularly ardent in enjoying what he liked and stubbornly sitting through what he didn’t like before deleting it from any device he listened to it on. Let me play a sample, Hal offered before going quiet and chiming softly to signal he was changing focus.

    Bro stopped walking when the music started, quiet near his ears to not block out incoming noise but loud enough to hear the quickly pronounced words and heavy beat, the tempo driving into his skull enough that he tapped his foot in time with it. Soon he was bobbing his head, catching the tune even without knowing the words, and smirking in amusement.

    “Not quite what I’m used to, no. But it’s nice. Feel free to keep’em coming while we head on, yeah? Turn them off if you detect something approaching,” he instructed.

    But of course, Bro. I’m not an idiot, said Hal in a more modulated voice than usual behind the thrum of the music.

    When he began to walk again, the beat added a new cadence to his step and made the walking go by quicker than before. In no time at all he was over the bridge and on the other side of the water, taking in his surroundings with the same eyes of the curious and the mildly kleptomanic. Every new venue was a new opportunity, especially when there were what looked like stores in the distance. Hell, now that he had his new pet project he’d need a few parts, wouldn’t he?

    “...Mm. Hal, that sign says ‘Toys’ in part of the name, right?”

    It would seem so. It was likely a location of the Time For Toys brand from before the war, Hal offered. It could potentially be something else, but the orientation of those letters makes the likelihood of it being anything else quite low.

    “Perfect. Let’s go shoppin’.”

    Giving another glance to the toy in his pocket, guessing what size of batteries to keep an eye out for adjustments sake later on, Bro strode towards the building bearing the toy slogan and let himself inside without a second thought.

    Perhaps he should have thought twice. There were few places as unnerving as an abandoned toy shop that had sat this long through destruction and disuse. Rows and rows of figurines, dolls, moth eaten soft toys, accessories, and toy cars rested on the shelves and from dangling sorting rods that stuck out at even intervals. Everything was silent save for his footsteps, and Hal kept focusing the t’s on various rodents that were startled by the sudden invasion. As far as humans went, it seemed most had stayed clear. There just wasn’t much use for toys after the war he supposed.

    ...Okay, bullshit, he kind of wished he’d known this place existed when Dave was a baby. He probably would have loved a lot of these things, instead of making do with the things Bro could make him. Smuppets were amazing, and so were the other puppets and the electronic things, but sometimes a kid just needs a teddybear. He poked one with blue button eyes and sawdust stuffed feet, its floppy soft arms resting alongside its torso with fabric claw tips resting alongside its thighs. The bear fell over with a soft whump and a bit of dust in the air, leaving Bro free to quietly explore the graveyard of toys.

    Past a section of toy balls that had long since deflated, baseballs and mitts, were electronic toys. Dollies that talked and horses and dogs and cats that made realistic noises seemed to be all the rage, but along with them hung more of the egg shaped toy he had in his pocket in different colors, still in the package. Whistling softly, still nodding along with the tempo on the song Hal continued to play, he grabbed several of the packages and batteries from the end of the display cap to stuff into his bag.

    That was when he saw it. Soft, fluffy, and apparently capable of movement and speech. The small creature was hard to decipher at a glance species wise. It had a beak and two big eyes that could apparently blink when they weren’t staring into your soul, a small sensor in its forehead, and two massive ears. Two fat, pudgy paws rested at its base in front of a set of wheels that offered free movement.

    Furby.

    An apt name, Bro supposed. The little thing was furry as hell, soft to his rough fingered touch and fairly sweet looking with its black and white fur pattern. The external fluff seemed to safeguard a sizeable chunk of electronics from what he could guess thanks to a testing squeeze. ...Interesting.

    What are you so distracted by now.

    “You think you’d be capable of driving one of these?” Bro asked curiously. “It’s got wheels and seems like it can maneuver around on its own from an AI. Talks too.”

    I’d rather die. So there is your answer.

    “But it’s possible,” Bro continued. “You were able to work that droid back there just fine. Think of how useful this would be for checking out crowded buildings.”

    Wouldn’t an RC car be more useful for exploration purposes.

    “Hey, I never said I wouldn’t mod this thing,” Bro said as he continued to feel the edges of the furby before turning it and cutting the edge of its fur open, removing the skin messily to get a better look at what lay beneath. “Look. See? A lot of these guts’re useless. Could take them out, put better power and mobility, maybe add a weapon.. Maybe connect the innards of a walkie talkie in there too, or some radio parts to keep in contact.”

    It was a whole new project idea. The egg toy was one thing, but this. This was something entirely new. And the fact that Hal hated it so much on sight was kind of appealing.

    Are you implying you plan to weaponize a furby.

    “Yes. I’m also implyin’ I’d like to see you pilot the damn thing if I can make it work how I want it to. Could set you loose on a floor and let you roll around doin’ your own damn thing, keep shit off you left and right, let me know what you see. You’d be able to help me out.”

    And the reason I couldn’t do that with the big droid is…?

    “Batteries, bein’ inconspicuous, and portability. I can stuff one of these things in my bag easy, and nobody would expect one of these to be anything important,” he hummed, mind already going wild. Dave would love it.

    No, Dave would probably hate it and say he was taunting God but Dave wasn’t here right now and Bro was itching to customize. He glanced back the way he’d come before putting his tongue between his teeth, thinking.. and then grabbing another furby identical to the one he’d de-skinned. He’d need to strip it cleaner, treat it nicer, figure out how these fuckers ticked. Manual was probably in the box somewhere, but even if it wasn’t how hard would it be to figure out a children’s toy?

    “I think I know where we’re campin’ tonight. Lemme just grab a few things and we’ll find a spot to nest down.”

    I’m never touching that thing, I have no idea why you look like a child with a new toy.

    “Because I’m a man-child with several new toys,” corrected Bro as he wandered the aisles, looking for radios or walkie talkies. Paydirt came in the form of a pair of ‘authentic army navy walkie talkies’ whose authenticity he seriously doubted even with their rather pretty camouflage patterning just based on the materials he felt beneath his fingers. These casings would be easy enough to pop with his hands, let alone with his tools, they could really have stood to make these sturdier. He’d kill for a good blowtorch though, maybe make some kind of a shell underneath the furby fur to-

    You’re a maniac. You do know that, correct? I can’t hear your thoughts but the things you’re looking at are alarming when placed with the potential logic.

    “I think you mean genius, thanks. Shoosh now, I’m tryin’ to find Frankenfurb some more parts,” Bro hummed, tucking the walkie talkies beneath his arm before finding a shopping basket. There. Much better. Like a pre-war man he wandered the aisles, snagging things that looked useful or interesting or, in the case of his eventual sleeping, soft. His sleeping spot back behind the main register ina  protected circle of countertops was soon piled high with plushes and surreptitiously dotted with his electronic findings and various tidbits he planned to use for parts. Doll clothes, while overall worthless to him, still had elastic bands inside of them and the fabric wasn’t flammable. Useful. He even found a child size pair of sunglasses he’d already made plans for, so long as he was able to control the melting properly.

    Peeling off his boots and settling back with his supper, Bro opened his bag and set to work toying with his new toys. First everything had to be opened and examined, taken apart, and in some places scrapped entirely down to their base components until he had a small pile of tidbits at his disposal. The toy from earlier seemed to be damaged even when he tried to power it on, but the new packaged replacements just needed to have their old battery removed and replaced with something new to turn on. He already knew how he wanted to update it, especially since there seemed to be a data port that would fit Hal’s cable to it. He failed to say it, but it would be a good emergency backup for transportation should anything ever happen to the shades.

    The furby would be his prize. Off went its two toned furry skin, out came its voice box and innards, and in went an assortment of new parts.. Including a salvaged port from one of the extra egg toys Bro had grabbed. He’d worked well into the night by the time he put the skin back on and proudly wiped the beak clean before adding the tiny shades, grinning proudly at it.

    “Might need some more tweakin’, and I wanna get a proper laser to put in the thing.. But for now it should be able to move around easier and communicate back to the matchin’ walkie talkie,” he said, gesturing over to his creation with both hands and a wide smile.

    It’s hideous.

    “You’re gonna be in there eventually, Hal, mark my words.”

    If it comes down to being a matter of life or death, I consider my life to have been a full one until you can repair me properly.

    “You’d rather be dead than have some mobility and autonomy while helpin’ me out?” Bro asked, rummaging in his bag for some water to quench his thirst, using a bit more to wipe his face with now that sleep was settling into his brain.

    Did I fucking stutter.

    “All I hear is someone who’s bitchy and in denial about the frankenfurb.”

    Bro’s vision faded briefly to display those red eyes once more, though this time they were giving a decided roll before his vision faded back in.

    When a furby is on the line, Bro, I will be as bitchy as I please.

[barbex]

Writer interview thing

I was tagged by @gothkimmyschmidt. Thank you so much for stroking my ego! This was fun!

Q: What is your coffee order? Black and very ungermanly weak. I drink my coffee like the americans, this may be considered treason in this country.

Q: What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done? It's not like I have done much but I did have one adventure. When I traveled in Mexico, we visited the pyramids in Uxmal, which is a minor tourist spot. Took the public bus there and intended to take the bus back. This place is surounded by wilderness, one road crossing the area and one expensive hotel that none of us backpackers could afford. After visiting the site, we waited for the bus going back to the village, where we could switch to the next bus. Me and my german friend, one american we dragged along and I think two french students. We waited and waited. I got suspicious when only us tourists were left at the bus stop, waiting. So I went into the hotel (I was apperently the only one in our group who spoke a bit of spanish) and asked one of the staff when the bus would come and her answer was "no hoy", not today. And the pueblo proxima was quite far away. While we debated how to go from here, the bus from the village came, going in the opposite direction. Then we learned why our bus didn't come: the rebels were angry about the results of the last election and had blocked the road. The bus driver then offered to take us to the barricade (it was getting dark) and he would turn around and drive back to the village. We got into the bus and the driver drove up to the barricade of burning tires, left us alone in the bus and escorted his passengers through the barricade. And then he managed to turn this huge bus around on this strip of loose asphalt, barley wide enough for a car. He took us to the next village, where the bus broke down and we tourists were the higlight entertainment for the people because we had to push the bus to start it again. In the village after that, our connecting bus was already gone but a guy in a VW beetle offered to take us to Merida for a few pesos. He was a bull fighter and told us stories. That was honestly my coolest adventure.

Q: Who has been your biggest mentor? I don't think I have one. I'm my own mentor.

Q: What has been your most memorable writing project? That first fanfic. How I just decided, at age 43, that I can write bad porn like everyone else too and wrote down that first chapter in 3 days. And then people liked it! It was such a rush to get comments on it. I owe everything to those first commenters.

Q: What does your writing path look like, from the earliest days until now? I know that I wanted to be a writer at some point as a child and I remember typing out horse stories on a mechanical typewriter. But as I got older and more rational (I was so very rational) I realized that the chances of getting published in Germany with the kind of things I liked, scifi and fantasy, were close to nil. I remember looking at the shelf of fantasy in a bookstore and every single book was translated, not one was by a german author. So I gave that idea up and didn't pick it up again until many years later when I wrote my first Mass Effect porn.

Q: What is your favorite part about writing? To see it how it grows, to plant that seed and then watching the characters grow with the story. To foreshadow something that looks insignificant at first an then becomes important.

Q: What does a typical day look like for you? On my work days, I don't get any writing done in the morning. After having kicked out the family, I can eat my own breakfast and then I have to get ready for work. But on my off days and on the weekend, I try to get as much writing done as possible, with varying success. I should learn to write first thing in the morning but I just love to scroll tumblr and chat instead.

Q: What does your writing process look like? I have a scene, an idea, a character moment and then I start. If I have ideas that don't fit yet, I put them in a scrap file for later. I try to keep a simple list of bullet points to know where the story will go but if I outline too extensively, I get bored by the story. I'm a discovery writer. I just write and see what happens.

Q: What’s the best advice you’ve gotten? Focus on the characters. The characters make the story.

Q: What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned? Good enough. It's good enough.

Q: What advice would you give someone who wants to start writing? Learn about structure. Use every free lesson you can find to learn about the craft. Write often, try things out. Learn the art of good enough. Learn to say "fuck it, it's good enough".

Tagging: @storybookhawke, @seigephoenix, @gremlinquisitor, @lucyrne, @aban-asaara, @hollyand-writes and whoever else wants to do this!