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I say, has anyone seen Gregory?
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Frequencies: Chapter 1

F

Frequencies: Chapter 1

Chapter 1. Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Present day. Despite the majority of British forces having withdrawn from Afghanistan, there were still a few hundred troops on the ground. These soldiers were euphemistically referred to as “advisors”, although their sole job was to train the Afghan National Army in counter-insurgency tactics. One of the aspects of training involved patrolling for possible Taliban hideouts. It was a dangerous job that frequently got troops killed. 24 hours ago, all contact had been lost with an ANA patrol. It was now the responsibility of a platoon from 2 Company, 1st Battalion The Rifles to take their ANA counterparts in search for the missing soldiers. Times like this, Lance-Corporal Daisy Laing kinda wished she’d followed her mother’s advice and become a primary school teacher. Although on balance the Taliban were probably less dangerous than two dozen six-year-olds in a confined space. As far as Laing was concerned, the whole see-the-world

Don't Tell Me You Never Saw This Cummings

D

Don't Tell Me You Never Saw This Cummings

There was a distinct lack of cheer to be had in Yorkshire at the end of May 2020. With everything bar Christmas already cancelled for this year (and even that was looking a bit dicey), the fact that this big yellow thing had appeared in the sky and was making the weather, to quote one local by the name of Reg Duckinfield, “reight ’ot,” did bugger-all to quell county-wide unrest at being stuck in the bloody house all the time. That is to say, those that weren’t complete twat-bags that went round spreading COVID-19 to the elderly for shits and giggles, then justified their actions on social media in all-caps posts like &

Pedestal

P

Pedestal

They called him the Kōtei, from a Japanese term for ‘emperor’. The Kōtei in this instance was a 17-year-old boy that had been raised from birth as the reincarnation of his nation’s spiritual leader. For over 500 years the Kōtei had given legitimacy to their religion’s near-absolutist role of over 20 million people in southern Asia. When one died, a child born at precisely the same moment would be located, anointed by the priests as the reborn Kōtei, stripped from his mother’s breast and raised to be his people’s conduit to the gods themselves. With the Kōtei leading them, the people

Social Isolation Worker

S

Social Isolation Worker

As the United Kingdom entered its fifth week of Covid-19 related lockdown, Milkman was going stir crazy. True, he was able to go out and deliver milk to the good burghs of Acomb, but there was a clear ban on extra-curricular activities. The riot van full of very angry rozzers he encountered on the first week of lockdown made that exceedingly clear; and he still had the missing teeth to prove it.    With masked vigilantism frowned upon by the authorities at all times, but especially in times of near-quarantine, Milkman was spending most of his time in the lair he referred to as The Dairy. In point of fact this was a cold-room made out of two

Frequencies: Prologue

F

Frequencies: Prologue

Philadelphia Navy Yard, United States. 28 October 1943. ‘It’s not gonna work, y’know.’    Doctor Alan Starr sighed loudly at his colleague’s pessimism. Fred Goldberg was an excellent physicist, but he was nothing if not constantly miserable.     ‘The math works, Fred,’ Starr replied. ‘It’s no different to counter-illumination camouflage, just for radar.’     ‘That thing should be part of the Manhattan Project and so should we,’ Goldberg shot back. ‘Hell, I was til you dragged me out to Phily.’     ‘It’s going to work,’ Starr reiterated,
See all

Frequencies: Chapter 1

F

Frequencies: Chapter 1

Chapter 1. Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Present day. Despite the majority of British forces having withdrawn from Afghanistan, there were still a few hundred troops on the ground. These soldiers were euphemistically referred to as “advisors”, although their sole job was to train the Afghan National Army in counter-insurgency tactics. One of the aspects of training involved patrolling for possible Taliban hideouts. It was a dangerous job that frequently got troops killed. 24 hours ago, all contact had been lost with an ANA patrol. It was now the responsibility of a platoon from 2 Company, 1st Battalion The Rifles to take their ANA counterparts in search for the missing soldiers. Times like this, Lance-Corporal Daisy Laing kinda wished she’d followed her mother’s advice and become a primary school teacher. Although on balance the Taliban were probably less dangerous than two dozen six-year-olds in a confined space. As far as Laing was concerned, the whole see-the-world

Don't Tell Me You Never Saw This Cummings

D

Don't Tell Me You Never Saw This Cummings

There was a distinct lack of cheer to be had in Yorkshire at the end of May 2020. With everything bar Christmas already cancelled for this year (and even that was looking a bit dicey), the fact that this big yellow thing had appeared in the sky and was making the weather, to quote one local by the name of Reg Duckinfield, “reight ’ot,” did bugger-all to quell county-wide unrest at being stuck in the bloody house all the time. That is to say, those that weren’t complete twat-bags that went round spreading COVID-19 to the elderly for shits and giggles, then justified their actions on social media in all-caps posts like &

Pedestal

P

Pedestal

They called him the Kōtei, from a Japanese term for ‘emperor’. The Kōtei in this instance was a 17-year-old boy that had been raised from birth as the reincarnation of his nation’s spiritual leader. For over 500 years the Kōtei had given legitimacy to their religion’s near-absolutist role of over 20 million people in southern Asia. When one died, a child born at precisely the same moment would be located, anointed by the priests as the reborn Kōtei, stripped from his mother’s breast and raised to be his people’s conduit to the gods themselves. With the Kōtei leading them, the people

Social Isolation Worker

S

Social Isolation Worker

As the United Kingdom entered its fifth week of Covid-19 related lockdown, Milkman was going stir crazy. True, he was able to go out and deliver milk to the good burghs of Acomb, but there was a clear ban on extra-curricular activities. The riot van full of very angry rozzers he encountered on the first week of lockdown made that exceedingly clear; and he still had the missing teeth to prove it.    With masked vigilantism frowned upon by the authorities at all times, but especially in times of near-quarantine, Milkman was spending most of his time in the lair he referred to as The Dairy. In point of fact this was a cold-room made out of two

Frequencies: Prologue

F

Frequencies: Prologue

Philadelphia Navy Yard, United States. 28 October 1943. ‘It’s not gonna work, y’know.’    Doctor Alan Starr sighed loudly at his colleague’s pessimism. Fred Goldberg was an excellent physicist, but he was nothing if not constantly miserable.     ‘The math works, Fred,’ Starr replied. ‘It’s no different to counter-illumination camouflage, just for radar.’     ‘That thing should be part of the Manhattan Project and so should we,’ Goldberg shot back. ‘Hell, I was til you dragged me out to Phily.’     ‘It’s going to work,’ Starr reiterated,
Artist // Professional // Literature
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Super Albino: Llamas are awesome! (217)
My Bio

The saga of Big Dave, The Pontefract Llama Dresser is a long, long story. So we won't dwell.

Dave was born at an early age to parents of both sexes, in Pontefract hospital on 31st October 1980 (Hallowe'en. Speaks volumes). The irregular heart rythm in the womb, and subsequent smack on the bonce with a concrete floor aged 6 may have done their part to contribute to his current state of insanity. Going through university in order to drink himself into a coma, Dave actually managed to get a degree in Politics at the end of it. This was a shock, as he'd intended studying Journalism.

SOME SALIENT INFORMATION ABOUT DAVE:

* Dave was investigated into involvement in a ring smuggling illicit teacozies into the Soviet Bloc in the 1980s

* He lists his hobbies as beer, girls, PlayStation and yelling at articulated lorries

* Jim NEVER fixed it for him. He is now somewhat thankful for this fact.

* Has a strange, intangible hatred of the number 47

* Is currently holding auditions for a comedy sidekick, but only if he's called Ron

* Almost got suspended from school, age seven, for starting a pontoon school using Monopoly money

* To this day doesn't know where his rosemary grows

* The death ray is in the works, and one day we shall all bow to him, his giant space station and fleet of funky orange space shuttles

* Only some of these facts are correct


Favourite Visual Artist
Andy Warhol
Favourite Movies
Star Wars, MCU, Stanley Kubrick movies, far too many to mention
Favourite TV Shows
Almost anything SF/fantasy related or surrealy funny
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Danko Jones, AC/DC, Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Metallica, Foo Fighters, Audioslave, Pearl Jam, loads more...
Favourite Books
Discworld series, The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy, Adolf Hitler: My Part in his Downfall, Rise and Fall of the Soviet Empire, The War of the Worlds
Favourite Writers
Douglas Adams, Spike Milligan, Terry Pratchett
Favourite Games
Metal Gear and Resident Evil series'
Favourite Gaming Platform
PlayStation in all its flavours
Tools of the Trade
Have laptop will travel
Other Interests
Cosplay, cricket, rugby, shouting at lorries on the motorway

Sod Eclipse

Sod Eclipse

The Eclipse style Deviantart is shifting to in a couple of weeks is an absolute nightmare for submitting literature. I really don't want to stop using DA for posting my writings, so if Sta.sh writer was retained that would at least be something. Please take a look at this petition: http://chng.it/2sgqfxcsp8 Not convinced it'll make a difference but you never know...

Time has ceased to have meaning

Time has ceased to have meaning

Social Isolation day 3x10⁸m/s: with no prospect of getting out of this fucking house for more than an hour in the immediate future, I am already working on a new Milkman story. And an idea for a longer-form horror story. And then there's the two books I've already started writing, the multiple comic scripts unfinished, the book I've just started reading, oh and at some point it might be an idea to, y'know, actually do some fucking work for a bit, maybe...

Fuck. My. Life.

Fuck. My. Life.

Every now and again, you read something completely moronic on social media. A post or comment so utterly stupid that there is no word short of "retarded" that can be used to describe it. A reality-bending interpretation of the facts used to try and justify a position that has no moral reasoning behind it. Something that is completely against the writers' own best interests, but they can't see that because blindly continuing down their ludicrously fuckwitted path is preferable to admitting that they've ever been wrong about anything. So then you start writing a response. And as it reaches its tenth minute of composition, it hits you: this is

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thx for the watch, feel free to comment ;)

ShohndonStudent Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave!
dave-llamamanProfessional Writer
You are more than welcome :)
Maligayang Bagong Taon!! Which is Happy New Year to you!! Happy New Year dave-llamaman . Yours pjackaugusto from the Philippines. :)
dave-llamamanProfessional Writer
And to you, good sir
F-art-Photography Photographer
Hi, Thanks for the fav!
dave-llamamanProfessional Writer
You are very welcome :)