Barbara Brennan

@trampledamage.bsky.social

459 Followers 389 Following

British and now officially Canadian, author and poet, also she/her, old, autistic and not known to be garrulous in the company of thieves. trampledamage on ao3 Hello 😊 Avatar art is from Firepiggy Doodles, and banner is my three slimes from Slime Story

The rabbit is basically just a round ball of grey fluff with tiny ears and small black eyes.
An olive green plush that is shaped like a claymore mine, he has legs and a smiling face. Across the front it says 'Front Toward Friend' as a play on the instructions on actual claymores that read 'Front toward enemy' to show how they should be placed in combat.
The cover has an art deco border becoming street lamps in the bottom two corners, two silhouetted men walking in the centre with a background of shadowed buildings and smoke. The figures, the border and the author's name (which is in a 1920's style font) are all copper coloured, the background is in different shades of blue to grey. The title is written in copperplate script in white.
Screenshot from Meow Tower - the theme of the puzzle set is Easily Digestible Food and has previously been things like a banana, a bowl of soup. This one is a person starving!
... was an unambiguous relationship between the percentage of sufferers and the degree of childhood trauma. In a paper entitled 'The Origins of Addiction: Evidence of the Adverse Childhood Experience Study' one of the co-principal investigators, Dr. Vincent Felitti, summarised their findings in terms of addiction: In our detailed study... we found that the compulsive use of nictine, alcohol and injected street drugs increases proportionately in a strong graded dose-response manner that closely parallels the intensity of adverse life experiences during childhood. This of course supports old psychoanalytic views and is at odds with current concepts, including those of biological psychiatry, drug treatment programs and drug eradication
Chapter 1 Echo Spring Here's a thing, Iowa City 1973. Two men in a car, a Ford Falcon convertible that's seen better days. It's winter, the kinf of cold that hurts bones and lungs, that reddens knuckles, that makes noses run. If you could by some devoted act of seeing, crane in through the window as they rattle by, you'd see the older man, the one in the passenger seat, has forgotten to put on his socks. He's wearing penny loafers on bare feet, oblivious to the cold, like a prep school boy on a summer jaunt. In fact, you could mistake him for a boy: slight, in Brooks Brothers tweeds and flannel trousers, his hair immaculately...
Chapter One The largest private collection of rare artifacts from other worlds could be found in central New Jersey at Princeton University, and if anyone knew Maya Hoshimoto was a thief, they wouldn't have let her anywhere near there. Fortunately no one did. And anyway, she wasn't a thief anymore, just a thirty-one-year-old graduate student entering her second year toward a PhD in comparative cultures - who happened to know a lot about foreign artifacts
But one morning, when I wake up, the floor creaks and it sounds like the house is saying hello and that makes me feel less alone. The old house is slowly becoming my friend. My fitst American friend.
The first page reads: Chapter 1. The room she ushers him into smells of stale cigarettes and air freshener. The decor is 80s mil-spec Holiday Inn. Dark green carpet, striped armchairs, a smoked glass table, a print of two F-15s trailing vapour set high in a gilded frame. The scream of their engines outside has been softened in here to a dark low-frequency roar. Miller pulls off her jacket, drops it over the back of a chair, winces at the half-drunk coffee cup on the table, and looks apologetically at Rao. Her eyes are the colour of airmail paper, the wrinkles at their corners attest to years of sun.
A small house made out of kitkats, icing and smarties.
Two Djungelskog bears from Ikea in a packing box - they are packed face to face hugging each other.
The view of my backyard. There's an inch of snow covering everything, in mid-April... and it's still snowing.
The first page of The Robot In Red by Caroline Cormack one of the stories in AI, Robot. It begins: It was late when I got the call. I didn't know the robot in question, but that didn't mean anything. Any robot in trouble knows to call me.
A tower of squishmallows: Dinah the pink dragon, Palmer the green goat, Philip the brown horse and Olga the octopus ( who looks more like a Cthulhu because her tentacles are all at the front).