|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Captcha fic 3- the doorways -
"Geddown, kid!" A shotgun blast comes from in front of him and the thug he hadn't seen behind him goes down when the rubber bullet takes him high in the chest. He rolls, getting a brief glimpse of the Comedian's combat-cheerful face and dives to
gather up the impossibly small life into his arms even though his hands - the ones that can manipulate the tiniest circuits with ease - feel far too large and clumsy for something so fragile and he's scared half to death. Laurie smiles up at him in exhausted triumph, and she's never looked so
crushingly dull, but this is what his father wanted and he's good at it. This bank was his father's legacy to him, and the best chance he'd have at a solid career for supporting a family someday, so he runs it now with the utmost
anxiety after hearing his friend's reaction. He doesn't know anything at all about this character, and a comic book movie? God, this cou
Captcha fic 2- commuter Mr -
She sees them all, depending on the day.
Midnight to three there are the drunks who don't want to go home yet. The happy drunks are all right, but they don't often have much money left by then. The angry ones, the ones dumped by girlfriends or the losers of fights - they're the worst. She counts herself lucky if the marks fade quickly.
Two to six is when the truckers come by on their way to pick up or drop off whatever. Sometimes all they want is someone to talk to, a pathetic substitute for the wife left behind. Other times she feels like G-18 on some travel bingo card. Lots of them have speed, though, which is a nice bonus.
From seven to eleven she can maybe get some sleep. Or eat. Both, if she's feeling ambitious.
Lunch hour onward is busy. The white collars typically start things off, sneaking off for their "meetings" and "appointments". The blue collars come later, wanting a pick-me-up before going out with the guys, or back to the ball and chain at home. Then come
Captcha fic 1- birth minutia -
"What? What did I do?"
Daniel is following him down the stairs, past the Owlship, catches up with him in the tunnel.
"Please, Rorschach, I don't understand what's made you so upset?"
The distress is genuine; he can hear it. He stops, but does not turn around. Daniel is wise and does not touch him.
"Prying, Daniel. Multiple times now."
"Because I asked you where you're from?" Bewilderment now, layered on top of the distress. Either he truly doesn't understand or he is much better at lying than he seemed to be.
"And eye color. And family. And habits." It's obvious their partnership can't continue.
Wh-- Rorschach, that wasn't prying, I was just... trying to get to know you, just a little! You're my partner, we watch each other's backs - and hell, I like you! You're my friend, that's what friends do!"
A small sliver of doubt slips in and his step falters. Daniel's voice is still ringing true.
'That's what friends do'.
...He wouldn't know.
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More