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chorusfic · 5 years

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shattering the mirror--

(note: follow-up to “a cordial invitation”. there wasn’t supposed to be a part two, but some headcanons spun out of control, and here we are.)

---

Without much exception, Alyseia’s routine had been the same every day for about a thousand years now, give or take.

She rose hours before the grand magistrix did, attending to minor cleanliness tasks and fetching her grandiose headdress from where it was stored with the rest of her regalia, setting it out with whatever outfit the magistrix herself picked the night before. If no outfit lay waiting, Alyseia chose one, and had, over the years, perfected what Elisande typically wanted without her saying so.

Sometimes, after all, they became Alyseia’s outfits, when she sometimes acted as decoy for the magistrix herself.

Still hours before the magistrix rose, Alyseia went to the people she knew Elisande would want updates from, whether she had been ordered to or not, and she went to the kitchens to scarf down the lightest breakfast before returning with all due haste to the Nighthold’s heart, where Elisande would just be waking.

From there, Alyseia became her shadow, except for those few circumstances she was not permitted to know the business the magistrix discussed with her people. She listened, remembered, and kept silent unless asked to speak.

If she was fortunate, she had a few spare moments of recreation when Elisande took her meals, but even then she could be called upon unless explicitly dismissed--it could have been pure chance that Elisande had dismissed Alyseia for her meeting with Duskwatch Captain Vyltras, an hour before her disastrous meeting with Lucarys Evonti, her younger brother, but Alyseia strongly doubted it.

After all, she remembered the last message in her recent dead-drop from Shal’aran: allies are in closer reach than you think. Reach for them in the shadows if you have need.

If the implication was true--that even the Duskwatch’s captain had defected to the Nightfallen rebellion--Elisande was far closer to losing control of her empire than she suspected. Today had proven that without a shadow of a doubt.

The dismissal had given Alyseia time to switch the bottle of arcwine from Iltheux’s blend to Margaux’s, after all, and set up the message that Lucarys had been sent to deliver: her days were numbered, and the Nightfallen’s time was coming.

Alyseia remembered seeing the wine splattered across the floor when Elisande had summoned her back in to clean up the mess, deep violet-red like blood on the stone, and felt her throat tighten.

She had allies in the shadows, so she’d been told, but in the heart of her enemy’s home, it was all too easy to feel alone.

While Elisande met with Captain Vyltras, Alyseia slipped through the Nighthold’s hidden passages and forgotten tunnels until she reached its lowest levels, where a shrouded shape waited for her, idly tossing a dagger and catching it again. His ear twitched as she approached, and he told her without looking up, “She’s going to suspect you, if she doesn’t already--and she isn’t that much of a fool.”

It didn’t take much guessing to know which ‘she’ Lucarys referred to. “I know. I can’t leave yet, though, not while I can still provide information.”

“Unless you somehow discover a brand-new tunnel directly from here to the heart of the Nighthold, you’re not much use there anymore.” Lucarys tossed his dagger one more time before sheathing it with its match. “But suit yourself. I’ll pass the word on to Thalyssra.”

“Take this, too.” Alyseia reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled free a few bound sheets of parchment. “Everything I remembered from Elisande’s meetings today.”

Lucarys took the parchment and quickly scanned through it. One long, white brow lifted. “So Vyltras’ report was accurate after all, then. Elisande really is risking a gala with the Nightfallen rebellion breathing down her neck. Tomorrow night, no less.”

“For her ‘favored allies’ in the Legion.” Alyseia confirmed. “I don’t have the details, but I know she’ll be there in person.”

“Vyltras left a note that it would be an ideal time to strike at her, and even if Thalyssra doesn’t agree, I do.” Lucarys fixed Alyseia with a considering look. “You understand?”

Alyseia swallowed. “I understand.”

“Then get back to the Nighthold before Elisande realizes you’re out. I doubt Vyltras can keep her occupied for long. She will approach you with the details about your place in the mission.” Lucarys stashed the bundle of letters in his jerkin and slipped into the darkness beyond the Nighthold’s lowest tunnels, leading to the Arcway. Alyseia waited until he was long out of sight before setting off at a brisk jog, weaving through her own hidden paths, back into the Nighthold’s center.

Like the eye of a storm, Alyseia thought, though she didn’t expect it to stay tranquil for long.

---

“Be certain of what you say, Vandros.” Elisande drummed her fingers against the table where she had, less than a half hour before, faced down her brother, magebane poison still running through her veins like fiery ants. “I am ill in the mood for assumptions.”

“I am certain, my lady.” Vandros’ hands were clasped behind his back in a loose approximation of parade rest. “I didn’t make the connection until just recently, but I came to you first. Your handmaiden has been wandering from the flock. It’s very likely the rebels know a great deal about your imminent plans, including the gala.”

Captain Vyltras had yet to answer Elisande’s summons, but that was of little concern to her--she was Elisande’s most capable Duskwatch captain, and as such, tended to remain busy. She had summoned Vandros in the interim, who had a very interesting piece of information to her--a confirmation of something Elisande had already suspected.

She could have quietly killed her favored handmaiden and swept the whole incident into the shadows, deprived the rebellion of a trusted, vital resource and left them grasping in the dark, and it might have even been the smartest thing to do.

But she could still do that and send a clear message, destroying their morale at the same time.

A grin curved up Elisande’s cheek. “The gala will proceed as planned.”

“My lady?”

“Have Alyseia report back to me. I will require her for the necessary preparations.” Elisande rose and began sorting through her sets of regalia, searching for something with long, flowing sleeves. “You’re dismissed, Vandros.”

Vandros’ footsteps disappeared as Elisande pushed through her typical open attire, reaching for the gaudiest gown in the back, something she hardly ever unearthed herself. Its sleeves easily reached her knuckles when unrolled fully, and would assuredly be just as long on Alyseia’s arms.

Footsteps, too heavy to be her handmaidens, announced Captain Vyltras’ arrival. “Forgive my tardiness, my lady.”

“You are forgiven.” Elisande turned away from the expansive armoire and returned to her chair at the room’s table. “I want to discuss additional security measures for the food and drink that passes from the kitchens to my quarters. And I would also like to discuss the gala.”

Thalianne Vyltras, as Elisande had come to learn during her long tenure with the Duskwatch, was a professional woman who could be trusted to keep focused on a task and follow through with it continuously. A bit somber for Elisande’s taste, but she was effective enough. Even now she hardly moved a muscle from where she stood, spine ramrod-straight, as she said, “I will arrange for testers to try your meals when they arrive at your quarters. What about the gala did you wish to discuss?”

“Have extra patrols ensure the Arcway tunnels remain clear, and place additional guards around my dais.” Elisande slowly drummed her fingers on the table’s surface. “Nightfallen assassins have grown more bold of late, and I will not tolerate their incursions.”

“As you will, my lady.” Vyltras bowed low. “I don’t expect it to affect our timeline, but if difficulties arise, I will inform you.”

“See that you do, Captain. You are dismissed.”

Captain Vyltras strode briskly from Elisande’s quarters and left the magistrix herself deep in thought as she planned for what she would tell her handmaiden. Not only had she forsaken the nightborne entirely, she had shattered Elisande’s trust, such a precious gift that the brat had clearly wasted in the name of empty freedom.

Elisande’s hand tightened into a fist, but with effort, she released a breath, relaxed, let a smile play across her lips.

She reached for a fresh bottle of arcwine, delivered by another servant a few moments ago, and poured two glasses.

It didn’t take long for Alyseia to return, slipping in through a hidden passage Elisande had shown her many years ago--there was a brief tightening in her chest at the thought of that memory, and Elisande crushed it. Sentimentality had no place here, not anymore.

“I am returning as requested, my lady.” Alyseia delicately curtsied in her long skirt until its hem brushed the ground, where she had cleaned up the remnants of the traitor Margaux’s arcwine earlier today.

“Very good.” Elisande smiled, and beckoned her closer. “I know you have been quite busy lately--please, join me.”

To her credit, Alyseia obeyed with all the haste she had for the past one thousand years that Elisande had entrusted her with so many things, and sat in the chair across from her, where her traitorous brother had sat. Elisande rose, and slowly pushed one of the wine glasses in Alyseia’s direction, holding her own as she moved to Alyseia’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “My lady?” Alyseia spoke, and if Elisande strained her ears hard enough, she could hear the tremor in it.

“Do enjoy some of the wine, won’t you?” Elisande tightened her grip on Alyseia’s shoulder, making it clear that it was an order, not a suggestion, and felt the muscle tense, then relax under her palm. “Do you remember what I told you when I first entrusted you with this position, as my favored handmaiden?”

Alyseia paused with her lips on the glass, then painstakingly set it back on the table, folding her hands in her lap. “You told me that you would ensure I was taken care of, so long as I did the same.”

“That is correct.” Elisande moved her hand from Alyseia’s shoulder to the smooth column of her neck. “I think it was a rather generous proposition for a waifish girl languishing in my streets, serving cheaply-made arcwine for a struggling vintner. I saw in you something special, Alyseia, a certain...quietness. A willingness to listen, where others would speak. And for so long, I assumed my words were the only ones you heard.”

“I would never betray you, my lady.” Alyseia’s eyes were downcast, as Elisande preferred, but her voice was quieter now, and in it, Elisande heard the truth. “You have given me everything.”

“If that is so,” Elisande moved her hand back to Alyseia’s shoulder, and gripped tighter this time as her voice turned cold, “then you have thrown away everything in the name of empty freedom, a fool’s gambit. And now you will pay the price for it.”

What little color remained in Alyseia’s pale lavender skin fled in a rush, and she looked up to meet Elisande’s eyes this time. “My lady--”

“Did you think I would never discover the truth?” Elisande hissed, “Or did you think yourself so untouchable that you would be forgiven? It matters not, in the end.”

“I knew I might be discovered someday.” Alyseia locked her eyes with Elisande’s again, and in them, she saw fire, held just barely in check as her voice trembled. “I knew it was a risk. You may have given me shelter, sustenance, everything--but you could not offer me freedom. You might think it empty, but I would rather die for that freedom than live under the Legion’s shackles.”

Frosty silence sat between them, and Elisande’s grip on her glass threatened to shatter it in her hand, but with effort, she set it down, where it wobbled on the table before settling. “You will have your wish, Alyseia, but it will not be here, and it will not be now. Guards!” Elisande snapped her fingers, and two of her honor guard, stationed at her quarters’ doors, entered, their polearms and shields at the ready. “Have my handmaiden taken to her quarters. She is to be kept under constant guard until the gala.”

“Yes, my lady.” one of the guards roughly pulled Alyseia to her feet, and Elisande resisted the automatic impulse to tell them to lighten their hands, as she would have before.

Alyseia was a traitor, and she would die a traitor’s death...at the hands of those she had betrayed Elisande for.

#my writing #alyseia lumes #lucarys evonti #there will be a finale/part 3 to this hopefully soon

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iamkatehardy · 6 years

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Out of Reach (James Delaney x Reader)

Hoping this time it works! I’m sorry for the mess, and I’m sorry I didn’t put the Keep Reading button, but I’m trying all the possibilities now!

Requested by : @outofbluecomesgreen The idea is hers, and absolutely amazing, so thank you babe ❤

A/N: This story will explore the development of the relationship of James and (Y/N). It starts in their early life, when everything seemed simple, before James sails to Africa.

The FF will be divided in 3 or 4 chapters, and each one of them will probably depict a different stage of their relationship. This one is about how they met. Hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Brandy is involved, just that 😁

Chapter 1

1802

London, a place where boundless wealth was the neighbor of the most hideous misery; where the luxury, wasting and extravagance of some coexisted with the famine, premature death, and vicious despair of others.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you were born into a noble lineage, in the bosom of one of the richest and most influential families of the entire kingdom. Generally, someone from outside your reality would see you as lucky; another insufferable little lady that could have anything she wanted, and possessed all sorts of titles, including the most wanted bachelorette in town. Gentlemen from all over the Kingdom tried to ask your hand, but you always made their life a hell, in various ways.

You just couldn’t abide all the rules, etiquette and protocols of the court, and that often gave your parents a headache. If you weren’t a daddy’s girl, you would probably be disowned; but you and your father shared plenty of things, including an immeasurable passion for the sea. Something about the immense blue ocean fascinated you, thrilling you and soothing you at the same time.

Another French lesson, something you could never stand, awaited you; and when you saw your father getting ready to go out, you assumed it could be the perfect opportunity to skip the class. Having business with East India Company, he spent a considerable share of his days in the docks.

“Father?”

“Yes, my precious?” – He turned around to face you, while dressing his overcoat.

“I was wondering…” – You stepped closer, giving him a sweet look you inherited from your mother.

A little chuckle escaped his lips; he knew that look: you were about to ask him something and he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“You know how much I hate Margaux and those classes…”

“Darling, your mother insisted…” - He put his hand on his forehead, sighing.

“I know, Da. But if you’d take me with you, she wouldn’t oppose to your will… Plus, I haven’t been in the docks in a while; I would love to go with you. Please?” – Both your voice and eyes were so pleading that for a while he forgot about the troublemaker within you.

“What did you ever ask me that I didn’t happily give you?” – He caressed your cheek. – “But get your coat, it’s cold out there!”

It was a chilly winter day. The wind was blowing from the water towards the land; as you took a deep breath in, a familiar scent filled your nose, calling memories of your childhood.

Sailors caused less problems if they were kept busy, so they were swamped in tasks in the ships, minding their own business, at least until they laid their eyes on you; your arrival caused a stir among them, turning heads.

James was one of the most troublesome sailors, meaning he was doomed to scrub the wooden decks, despite his expertise in other areas. The constant murmurs of his mates made him a little curious, so he got up with the excuse to get more holystone, and he finally caught a glimpse of you. You looked fierce and proud, but so damn beautiful he couldn’t stop looking at you, at least until the captain smacked his neck hard enough to bring him back to reality; the back of his neck stung, and he rubbed it to ease the pain. The captain’s yelling echoed in the whole dock, you couldn’t help but overhear it, and you turned to see what was going on. Being a troublemaker, you could relate to the situation, so it made you smile. After being lectured, he lifted his head again, and his eyes met yours; it was hard to meet his eyes for long though, they were like the ocean, so deep yet so tender, so full of life, so mesmerizing… Those were the eyes you’d never forget, the same eyes that would never forget you.

Your father was there for business, meaning he had little to no time to keep you company, and you got bored too easily to simply follow him and his friends while they discussed their affairs.

“Father? Do you think we could take a quick look at that ship?” - You walked by his side, clasping your hands behind your back.

“My love, I wish I had the time, but right now it’s impossible.”

“Then maybe someone could. “ – You stopped, pointing in the direction of the ship were James was, and giving your father a warm smile.

“I’ll arrange it for you. Just don’t get in trouble ok?”

“I won’t.” – You solemnly promised, although you knew that was a hard promise to keep.

You and your father approached the ship.

“Sailor?” – Your father called, and James turned around.

“Yes, Sir.” – James’s answer was dry; he knew that getting attention from people like you and your father often meant bad news for people like him.

“My daughter would like to have a look at the ship, could you please join her and show her around?”

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t think this ship is the place for such an exquisite lady.”- He gave you a courtly nod, but his remark outraged you.

“I insist…” – You narrowed your eyes, and he couldn’t help but think you were a spoilt little lady used to get what she wanted at whatever cost.

“Listen, boy, this is my ship, meaning it’s her ship. So if she wants to take a look, she will be taking a look, and you’ll be escorting her. Are we clear?” – The finger of your father was mere inches away from James’s face, and you smirked, victorious.

“Yes, Sir.” – James nodded. – “Ma’am.” – He offered you his hand, to help you come on board.

“Thank you.” – You took his hand. It was rough and calloused, with a firm grip, unlike all the nobles you had met before, but t seemed to perfectly fit yours.

You father left, and you wandered around the deck, amazed with every little thing. James observed you attentively; you didn’t look so stuck-up after all. Your fingers traced every detail engraved in the shiny hardwood.

“That’s…”

“I know what that is, sailor…”- After interrupting him, you came a little closer. – “I’m familiar with ships.”

He clenched his fists and teeth, calling him a sailor made you look pretty stuck-up once again.

“Oh, come on, why do you look so angry? It was you who didn’t introduce yourself! I’m sticking with sailor, until Your Grace choses to unveil his identity to me.”

He resisted his urge to chuckle.

“James. James Delaney, ma’am”

“Delaney, huh? Sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it… Anyway, James, I’m (Y/N), and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” – You extended your hand, and before he could bow to kiss it, you shook his hand firmly, surprising him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am.” – His lips broke into coy smile

“No,no, no, please, let’s dispense with the formalities shall we, James? At least when my father is not around…He takes those things seriously, I don’t really care.” - You shrugged, and fluttered your long eyelashes.

Many hours have passed, but none of you noticed it until the Sun was about to set. You were both hesitant at first, but James made you feel weirdly comfortable; you both enjoyed each other’s company, and how the talk effortlessly flowed between you, almost as naturally as the silence between two strangers would. You had known each other such a short time, and yet, it felt like you knew each other forever. You found out you had more in common than any of you had foreseen, but there was a lot more to discover.

“You’re not so bad, after all…”

“Oh, no, I’m just as fucked up as they say! Well, I must go now, or my father will really impatient. He doesn’t quite endure delays. But I’m coming back. One day…” – You gave him another charming smile.

“I’ll be waiting.” – He kissed your hand. The golden sunlight seemed to enhance the way your eyes shone; they were sweet and captivating, making it really hard for James to say goodbye just yet.

And he did, every single day he wondered when would you be the next person to show up in the docks; he would follow your father with his watchful eyes, waiting for the day he’d bring you with him again. He secretly longed for one more talk with you, for your company.

Once your father grew suspicious of your interest in the docks, you were forbidden to accompany him there, or to go on your own. Restrictions never worked with you, imposing rules only made you want to break them, this one wouldn’t be exception.

When the night fell, after stealing your mother’s darkest cloak, and your father’s most expensive brandy, you sneaked out through the window and headed to the docks, knowing you’d probably find James, since he was supposed to be guarding a ship ,that was supposed to set sail in a few days. The night breeze was chilly, and you involuntarily shiver, maybe a nice swig of brandy would help; it smelled and tasted kind of fruity, making the experience less bad than you expected it to be. A few swigs and steps after, you finally reached your destination.

“James?” - You called, probably louder than you than you meant to.

He was tired, almost falling asleep, but he could swear he heard his name being called in the distance, so he immediately got alert. After pulling back his blanket, he swung his legs off the bed, and groggily rubbed his eyes.

The tipsy version of you thought it would be a good idea to keep calling.

“James Delaney! I summon you!” –Inspecting the ships, trying to remember in which he was staying, you whispered once again.

James came out of the compartment, wondering who could be calling him so late at night; he came across you, and it left him completely bewildered.

“There you are!” - You ran towards him, shaking the bottle in your hand.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I told you I’d come!” – Giving him the most fetching smile, you delivered him the bottle.

“Have you been drinking?” – He inspected the bottle and then you.

“Hmm hmm…” – Shaking your head in denial, you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not.” – He chuckled, after a low grunt; he perfectly knew you had. – “Does your father know you’re here, by any chance?”

“Why would he? He doesn’t own me, nobody does!” - You defiantly crossed your arms over your chest.

“I bet he thinks differently, and this visit will put me in a lot of trouble.” – Taking a deep breath, he slowly tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, and you bit your lower lip.

“Don’t sweat it and spare me the speeches, I bet Delaney means trouble in some kind of dialect…” – Looking down, you kicked off your shoes.

“I wish I could tell you that you’re wrong, but you’re probably right…” – He opened the bottle and gulped down some brandy.

“Plus, it’s not usual for someone as insubordinate as yourself to fear any kid of trouble… But if you want me to go, I go!”

“No…” – He took another sip from the bottle, both brandy and your presence made him feel a lot warmer inside; something he hadn’t feel in a long time.

By the time he finished gulping the brandy, you had climbed on the edge of the ship, and tiptoed on the narrow bar; he almost spat his drink on the floor.

“(Y/N)?” – He called softly, to avoid startling you and causing you to fall overboard.

“Yes?” – You spun on your feet as swiftly as possible, turning to him.

“Can you come down here, please?” – He extended his hand to you, trying to convince you to come back to the deck.

“No, I can’t!.” – Giggling, you reached for the back of your head, and undid your hair. Shaking your head lightly, your hair fell over your shoulders, just before the wind blew through it, and made it cover your face. – “James…If I fall, will you pick me up?” – You opened your arms, closing your eyes and savoring the sensations, the freedom, with a smile on your face.

“No, the water is freezing; I wouldn’t pick the fucking King, if he fell!” – He laughed.

You opened your eyes just to glare at him, with indignation.

“Well, we shall see about that…” – You closed your eyes again and smirked, laying your head back.

He took another sip of brandy and silently approached, catching you off guard, picking you up and throwing you roughly over his shoulder, as he stepped away from the edge of ship.

“Are you out of your mind?!” – He sat down, leaning again the mast, getting his breath back. You tried to release his strong grip, but he wouldn’t let go. Managing to trap you, he made you sit between his legs, as he held you tight into his chest, so you wouldn’t get away and cause any more trouble. – “I would certainly pick you up, ma’am, but please don’t fucking jump. You crazy little thing!”

“I wasn’t going to jump!” – You laughed out loud. – “I’m not that crazy… Ok, maybe I am! But I was just curious about your reaction.” – You cheekily remarked, and stopped resisting his grip, leaning your head against his shoulder instead. Once again you stole the bottle from his hand.

“You’ve probably had enough brandy , miss…” –

“Oh, really, says who?” - You turned your head to face him.

His piercing gaze lifted from the bottle to your face, and the hair rose in the back of your neck. You wanted to believe it only happened because of the cold, but perhaps the real culprit was James’s warmth.

“Me…” – Whispering, he pinched your nose playfully, before stealing the bottle and gulping the remainder of the brandy on it.

“Hey!” – You slapped his leg, with a surprised look on your face, before bursting into laughter once again. “Since we’re on a ship… I love sailor songs… Do you know any?”

“No.” – His face was guilty, you knew he did, so you insisted.

Alcohol started working quickly once it entered your bodies, and in a matter of minutes the shyness and resistance were gone. James ended up singing a few sailor songs, and he even accepted your challenge to dance; he couldn’t dance like you did, he seemed to have two left feet and stomped on you every five seconds. For your own safety, you decided to simply link your arm on his, lifting your dress with the other hand, spinning around and singing, like you both thought drunken pirates would do. After some time, you both were so dizzy you fell to the floor, rolling on the deck and laughing.

You laid with your arms spread, getting your breath back; James was fun, he made you feel like you hadn’t in ages. Around him everything was carefree, adventurous and natural.

Being a troublemaker, James was very vigilant, even when he was drunk. Something got his attention, and he got up, looking around.

“Come back here…” – You giggled, opening your arms for him, making him sign to lay back in the neck and relax.

“Shhhhhh…”

“Don’t hush me!” – You sat down, giving him a threatening look

“Shhh!” – James saw a light in the distance, and he could hear voices of officers calling your name. – “Oh fuck, this is all I needed…” – He rubbed his forehead.

“What?” – You raised your voice.

“Shut up! Come! They already have more than enough reasons to expel me, if they find the daughter of the owner here, I won’t only be expelled, I’ll probably hang too.” – He extended your hand to you.

“We’ll hang together then!” – You shrugged, and James sighed in annoyance, grabbing your arm and getting you up.

“Put these on! Quickly, please.” - He grabbed your shoes on the other hand, handing them to you.

“I won’t, they are awfully uncomfortable, James.” – You tipsy tantrums were funny to James; he wished he could laugh, but not when you were about to get caught.

“Ok, fine…”- James took a deep breath and to clear any evidence of your presence on the ship he decided to throw the shoes, which probably costed more than his salary, overboard.

You looked at the shoes sinking, then at James’s face, and you couldn’t help it but laughing uncontrollably.

“Shhhhh!” – He made you sign to hush, but the more he hushed you, the more you wanted to laugh.

Your father was worried sick, and sent officers to search the whole town, including the docks. The officers approached, following the dim lights on every ship. James grabbed your hand and ran with you to his room, before they could get a glimpse of your both. You should be worried, but the adrenaline had the opposite effect in you, you felt more alive than ever and laughed happily.

“They’ll search here as well, they’ll search everywhere…”

“Never had hide and seek been so interesting…And your face, lovely!”

“Can you take this seriously for a second?!” – James whispered.

“Hmm hmmm…” – You shook your head, laughing. Your eyes barely open, from how tipsy you were, but it also showed how true your smile was. – “James, I’ve been in trouble for most of my life, but I swear, I haven’t had this much fun since I was twelve…” – You hug him tight, laughing against his chest.

He heard the steps of the officers in the deck, and his instinct was to hide with you under the bed. There was little room, so he laid on his cold floor and you laid over him.

“What are you doing?!” – You whispered.

James was sick of trying to hush you; you just wouldn’t comply, so he put his hand over your mouth gently. You tried to speak, but his moth stopped you, so you bit him lightly, making him take his hand back , and laughed.

“What’s so fucking amusing in getting us killed, huh (Y/N)?!” – He put his hand on your mouth again, but it wasn’t enough to muffle your laughs anymore. – “I’m probably going to regret this, but here goes nothing.”

He moved his hand to the back of your head instead, bringing you closer. As the officers stormed into the room, before you could say anything, or laughed, he firmly pulled your body against his, brushing his lips on yours. You tried to fight it as first, but you just closed your eyes and let yourself savor the moment. Lacing his fingers in your smooth hair, he lightly slid your tongue across your lower lip, causing you to gasp lowly; your lips parted and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside your mouth. You teased him, nibbling his lip, and he sighed into your mouth; you both surrendered to the delicious feeling.

The officers searched everywhere, including the small wardrobe, but luckily for you, not under the bed; they soon left, ready to search in another ship. You and James broke the kiss, and you just looked into his eyes for some seconds.

“I’m sorry…You wouldn’t stop laughing, I…” – He whispered, but he was lying through his teeth, he wasn’t sorry at all. You put a finger over his lips, hushing him.

“James Delaney, you’re quite a character! You just can’t apologize when you should, but you apologize when you shouldn’t…” – You planted a lingering peck on his soft lips, before you both came out of your hideout.

#james delaney #james delaney x reader #james delaney x oc #james delaney x you #james delaney ship #james delaney tom hardy #tom hardy characters #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #james delaney fanfic #james delaney one shot #james delaney imagine #james delaney au

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kierongillen · 6 years

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Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine: The Funnies

Spoilers, obv.

I suspect this will lean a little shorter than usual, partially because it’s more an editorial, sitting back position than any other issue of WicDiv and partially as DIE is out tomorrow, and there’s a lot of plates I’m keeping spinning.

But let’s see, eh?

Last year, when we did the Christmas Special, doing a comedy special was the other option. We decided to keep that in the can, simply because I was trying to visualise what on earth it would be like. Would I ask people to write stuff? Would I write it all? Could I somehow get The Wicked + the Canine to fill the whole issue? We went for Jamie’s idea (which required less conceptual engineering, so was easy, despite being more actual writing work) and saved this for the end.

Which is nice. End of school party, right?

Jamie/Matt’s Cover: Jamie and I have a piece of performance twitter, where I make puns and he pretends to hate them. Okay, that’s not true at all. He hates them, as is only right, as they are designed to be hated. When we have Skype calls, and Chrissy and I sit beside each other, when I drop a pun, Chrissy makes a face which… well, Jamie’s wants to grab it as a gif. It’s quite the thing.

Anyway – a variety of responses to puns. The pun is, I suspect, the best one I’ve dropped on twitter. One day I’ll write an essay on What I Do With Puns. But not today. It didn’t get a ludicrous number of retweets when I dropped it (and deleted my whole stream, as I do sporadically – don’t worry, I store everything before I do). It had an afterlife though being reblogged on tumblr (I think last time it was about 130k interactions), used in big websites’ pun round-ups, put on T-shirts and straight up stolen and tweeted by other people.

So let’s stick it on a cover, and show the variety of responses to it. Of course, Baph would like it.

I really like what Matt did with the colours here as well.

Margaux Saltel’s cover: Margaux is great. I got to know her distantly when C was editing superfreaks, and actually got a chance to hang properly at this year’s thought bubble. She’s got a real playfulness to her art, which this fascinating design sense. Adorable big dog staring at the reader was the first thing I thought of when planning this issue, really.

IFC

Intro page to explain what’s going on, with pop-comic design by Sergio, headlines courtesy of C. If you haven’t read it, give it a scan, because I big up all our collaborators.

How did we decide how to ask? Far too many options. Our comic friends are very funny. We tended to ask people as it occurred to us, see how many pages they wanted to do, and then work out how many pages we had left

The Wicked + the Canine

I lured Erica into this by basically promising her to draw six pages of as many dogs as she liked. Write for your artist.

The pun was basically to amuse Chrissy, and grew into a story. I thought it could be longer (and it could have) but realised it’s best to cut it short – the backbone of Ananke as trainer, and the dogs as untrainable pups, is basically the core of it. Plus the big kick in seeing everyone done in dog form.

I threw some ideas into the mix of how the dogs could be differentiated (For example, Sakhmet as a cat and Woden as clearly-not-a-puppy in a cone of shame) but really left it to Erica to draw whatever dogs she liked. I actually suggested they all be Labradors, but Erica wanted to stretch and play, and it’s all wonderful. The worry is in terms of race-coding the dogs, which is something we avoided.

I think my favourite is Baphopup.

The white-background and “get in the sack” is a wonderful bit of cartooning. How the lack of background stresses it all.

That it was basically done to make C laugh means that it’s part of a history of my dog based comics, which also includes the Christmas issue of Journey Into Mystery, where Loki has to give away seven hell-hounds. I think Thori is the character I co-created for the Marvel Universe who has had the longest life in terms of being used by other people. Adorable sweary murderous puppies can’t go wrong.

I’m pleased that people seemed to like it. That it’s a six page story where the joke is “Evil old lady doesn’t throw trusting pups in the river” is not exactly family comedy special material. I suspect if you’ve stuck along with WicDiv this far, you know what we’re like.

This is also a story which implicitly spoils the book, in terms of Ananke being a shameless manipulator of the pups. A lot of the stories are similar, which means this is a comic designed for relief of those who came along for all the issues.

The Wicker + the Divine Lizz Lunney is one of my favourite British cartoonists, and whole fierce scowl has petrified me for the decade or so I’ve known her. Lunney hadn’t read much of WicDiv before, so we lobbed her the PDFs, and found something fun to mock in terms of how ludicrously call-back-y we are.

Go support her stuff. She’s great.

The Lost God

Chip’s just a phenomenon, and his rising career across the last decade has been basically the most delightful surprise in the period. Immediately I have to swallow the urge to do the usual “Because he’s rubbish” chip-baiting joke, which says a lot. Chip is so much fun. That he’s both one of Marvel’s biggest, most interesting writers now and half of one of the most popular and definitive indie comics of the period is something else. Like, he’d be a legend if only for his internet jokes. That’s a footnote now. Amazing.

Anyway – we meet the first Kieron and Jamie version. Chip’s one is delightful – the over-tortured pun is on the money, but the real joy is Jamie McKelvie’s Hellboy-esque hyper-developed single arm. Every time I look at that, I laugh. Plus the accent. Marvelous.

“Wossat?! Time paste this nob, innit?” is just poetry.

Gentle Annie Vs The World

Talking about poetry…

Chrissy is WicDiv’s editor and also a poet, and has done some indie comics before – as well as co-editing the anthology Over The Line, which is an introduction to Poetry Comics. This isn’t that. This is her just channelling her loathing of Gentle Annie’s obfuscatory nonsense, and I love it so.

Clayton and Dee step in on the art duties. It was Clayton’s idea to drop in the Scott Pilgrim parody Annie at the top, which is very cute, and implicitly shows the modes he can work on. The realism of each scene, and the sense of place is great. Also, the Banshees poster in the doctor’s office is hilarious.

Making A Difference

This is fun. Romesh is a proper famous comedian, and digs WicDiv, so thought it’d be fun to write for the medium. As his script was coming together, I thought of Julia Madrigal’s Giant Days issue, and realised it’d fit well. She had to do it on her trip to Japan, which involved some hilarious jetlag.

Dee’s doing some powerhouse things here with the purple-white lighting too. That’s hyper-strong.

“Fresh Prince of Baal Air” is a hell of a line, in passing, and I think this may have the prize for the darkest punchline of the whole issue.

5 Things Everyone Who’s Lived With Sakhmet Will Understand

I loved Hamish’ Pantheon, which is a playful but entirely accurate retelling of Egyptian myth. Hamish also won this year’s Russ Manning Promising Newcomer Award, so clearly should be doing something else rather than being talked into playing around with us lot. Thankfully, he didn’t.

I think my favourite moment is Persephone’s glance up as Sakhmet walks across the keyboard.

18 Go Made In Wiltshire

Kitty and Larisa have done a bunch of stuff, but I have to put a special plug for where I first met them – TAYLOR SWIFT GIRL DETECTIVE: SECRETS OF THE STARBUCK LOVERS. It’s illustrated prose, and utterly delightful, so was honoured to have them along.

This is all an accurate and extensive skewering of what we’re doing, with a not-perfect Scooby Doo mash-up. I did try to talk them out of including all the characters, as that’s so much work, but they could not be stopped. This meant that working out speaking orders was the main formal issue to worry about.

Now, there’s lots of mockery of me in this issue, but reducing Laura down to “Everyone is so hot! Let’s make out with them!” was absolutely the I Feel Called Out Right Now moment. She’s more than that, right? Right?

While the “WicDiv is a scooby do plot” complete with “Evil old man reveal” is lots of fun, the bit which makes me laugh every time I flick through is the “I would have got away with it if it wasn’t for you meddling ki—” “Oh, fuck off.” Oh, Lucifer, Never change.

Enquiring Minds Want To Know: What’s Your Guilty Pleasure Song

Cover-artist Margaux joined by the irrepressible Kate Leth. I’m really into how the two play together – Kate wanted to cut things tight, and the “Short moment” illustrated with Margaux’s warmth is fascinating. Like, have the two other Norns ever looked more delighted and engaged than they are at the end of page six?

In terms of Kieron and Jamie baiting, Grumpy Jamie in full Captain Marvel Gear and me trying to write an essay in any given space is fun and mean (which is how we like it). And I’ve just realised that writing more about this script would only be underlining Kate’s point, so I better stop.

Secret Origin

I wrote it, and offered it to Jamie. Really, the point of the specials is to create a space in the schedule so Jamie can get ahead, but he couldn’t resist this one. It’s cathartic closure, at the least.

Choosing the puns was tricky – I realised it had to be a chain, so chose this one which amused Katie West, which was tweeted when visiting them in Edinburgh. So I was in range of punching.

As always, this is Jamie expression masterclass, and a little self-mocking of my tendency to go full clockwork in my story universes is fun. I hope so anyway.

28 pages of comics, which is quite the thing. I don’t suspect we’ll be making much (if any) money from this issue after paying everyone, but that’s fine. It’s a party, innit?

Oh, it was nearly 2000 words. It’s never short, is it? It’s never short.

WicDIv 40 is out tomorrow (December 5th), which starts our final arc, “Okay.” Hope you enjoy it.

Thanks for reading.

#WicDiv #the wicked and the divine #writer notes

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allykeenlin · 6 years

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Keenlin’s Flat

House Used: Captain Margaux's Place Max # of People: 6 Default permissions: Visitor IC Location: Isle of Skye

#House #keenlin

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tamrielhomes · 6 years

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Contest entries: Argonian Tenant

A while back we arranged a house furnishing contest with theme "Argonian Tenant" and since the Murkmire lake manor release is around the corner this could be a good time to share some pictures from the contest for some argonian inspiration! The entrants were challenged to furnish a non-argonian home with traditional argonian furnishing and style! Eligible houses were those limited from the smallest homes to the medium homes at 300k price range. The entries listed below are sorted in alphabetical order of contest entrants:

Player: @Atzepan

House: Flaming Nix Deluxe Garret

Player: @Cyrinaty

House: Mournoth Keep

Player: @D3AKUs

House: Domus Phrasticus

Player: @dominette

House: Bouldertree Refuge

Player: @GarYin

House: Autumn’s-Gate

Player: @Hadrien-II

House: Captain Margaux’s Place

Player: @Hawke64

House: Saint Delyn Penthouse

Player: @Kromwell63

House: Snugpod

Player: @Nicolina

House: Black Vine Villa

Player: @Peaceruler

House: Kragenhome

Player: @Pelcarus

House: Exorcised Coven Cottage

Player: @sa’bir

House: Exorcised Coven Cottage

Player: @saturnna

House: Snugpod

Player: @Shauriel

House: Exorcised Coven Cottage

Player: @Silvervind

House: Exorcised Coven Cottage

Player: @Sturmfaenger

House: Autumn’s-Gate

Player: @wylah

House: Black Vine Villa

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ao3feed-stevebucky · 3 years

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Snowflake

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Tj3yL21

by dreadlockholiday

Removing himself from his place by the windowsill, Bucky reaches the coffee table to fill his glass again. The bottle is already half empty, something Bucky isn't pleased with either. He wasn't supposed to drink this much on his own while waiting for Steve to come back. One glass should have been enough, it's what he initially planned, but now he's on his way toward being more tipsy than not. Oh well, Steve leaves him no other choice.

He pours some of the Château Margaux until his glass is heavy with it, and then he brings it under his nose and sniffs it, making the liquid swirl carefully with his hand.

"I've been a good boy this year," Bucky says to the quiet room, sounding petulant and whiny. His bare toes wiggle inside his fluffy white slippers. "Not fair," he repeats, and then takes another generous sip to quell his budding frustration.

—

Santa is late this year.

Words: 11502, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Santa steve, Silver Fox Steve Rogers, Sugar Daddy Steve Rogers, Sugar Baby Bucky Barnes, Old Married Couple, Spoiled Brat Bucky, Luxury, Ridiculous Displays of Wealth, Haute Coutoure, They're like Obscenely Rich, Fluff and Humor, Unexplained Christmas Magic, Rudolf has a Cameo, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Explicit Sexual Content, Lingerie, Daddy Kink, Body Worship, Rimming, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Pet Names, Soft Bucky Barnes, Embedded Images, Fanart

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Tj3yL21

#ao3feed #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stevebucky #stucky #steve/bucky #stevexbucky #fanfic

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cagedbycravings · 7 years

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Iron Necessity

Title: Agreements

Warnings: Language, Violence, Dubious Consent

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC’s and the plot.

"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler." — Friedrich Nietzsche

"I'm not asking you Price, I'm telling you-"

The screen went dark forcing General Shepherd to watch his face redden with rage. Smashing his fist on his desk, he huffed. It'd been nearly a month since Price, Mactavish, Anderson, and Lévesque were last seen. If he wasn't in such dire straits with the war at home, he'd have reported them to the brass for deserting. Regaining control of his anger, he lifted his head to hear a knock on his door.

"You called, sir?" Archer stood with his arms folded behind his back, eyes unreadable as always.

Shepherd sighed. "As the most senior member of the 141, I need you to explain to me how this happened."

Archer tensed slightly, his eyes looking past the General. "I have no idea, sir."

"No idea?!" He slammed his fist on his desk. "Four of your team members vanish and you play fucking possum?!"

Archer didn't respond, eyes unwavering from the spot he'd found on the wall.

"What Price and his squadron have done is irreprehensible." Shepherd inhaled a shaky breath. "If you…" His breathing became labored as he clutched under his arm.

"Sir, are you-"

"I'm fine, damnit!" Shepherd held his breath as Archer resumed his sight on the wall. Forcing the air from his nostrils, he rattled his knuckles on his desk. "You're experienced enough to make Captain, but you've not quite been in long enough to receive your pension, is that right?"

Archer reluctantly nodded.

"Listen, Ian…You find out where they went, and I'll see to it that you're put on the Captain's docket for the upcoming year."

He'd kept the emotion out of his eyes as Archer nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"You're dismissed. And shut the door on your way out."

Archer sighed as he propped himself against the closed door, lifting his head, eyes closed. What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?

Making his way past the rec room, he ignored the throbbing headache forming in his temples. Apart from Toad, the others had grown actively more skeptical of their CO's disappearance.

"Three years in the gulag and he pulls this shit?" Meat's voice reached his ears as a glass broke.

"I knew Ghost was unstable from the moment I saw him. But Mactavish and Price didn't seem like the type to desert."

"We don't know that they deserted." Toad protested.

"Oh? And what would you call this? Taking a leave of absence? During a goddamn war?!" Scarecrow heightened the tension, kicking the table.

A grumble of arguments spread from the open window as Archer shoved his hands in his pockets. He could feel someone's gaze on his shoulders as he turned.

"Got a spare fag?" Evans' eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he shrugged.

"Know anything about Price?"

Evans lit the cigarette he'd given her, a spark present in her face before giving way to a comforting glow. She shook her head. "Taylor said she returned to their shared room to find Levèsque's bunk emptied out, leaving no trace of ever being there."

Archer sighed, lifting his head to the moonlit sky.

"How far up your ass is Shepherd?"

The question irked him more than he'd let on as he huffed. "Nothing new."

Evans tapped her cigarette, eyeing him up. "You seem tense."

"Yeah? You got a remedy for it or something?"

Evans smirked exhaling a puff of smoke. "And if I do?"

The two eyed each other, a sneaking salaciousness filling the space between them. "I'm not one to dip in the company ink." Archer affirmed watching Evan's smirk.

"I've been told otherwise." Stepping on the cigarette, she winked at him before turning away.

Archer narrowed his eyes at her as she turned towards the women's barracks. The hell she going on about? Her hips seem to curve a bit more, her tone more inviting. Overlooking his shoulder, he debated on how much he wanted to deal with his fellow squad's nonsense.

She'd just vanished from his sight whenever he felt his legs move without thinking. This decision wasn't the greatest but at that moment, it was better than anything else he had going for him…

Margaux rubbed her bleeding knuckles as she turned towards the window; ignoring her brother's ragged breathing. Three days they'd been in Paraty, and in that time, he'd given little to no intel. He slumped forward, blood dripping from his nose. She could hear Mactavish enter the room, eyes fixed on Sabien. India's rainy season had started as the humid heat clung to the walls of the small house they'd taken refuge in. There had been a leak in the ceiling, as water rippled a filling pail.

"Sabien, this isn't that difficult. Just tell me where Esmèrie is."

"I told you," He hacked up more blood between wheezing breaths, his chest rising and falling as he attempted to sit up. "I don't know. I never kept in contact with your attack dog."

Margaux's fist connected with his face as he groaned. "Where is my daughter?"

A dark chuckle escaped his bleeding lips. "I'm surprised she never tried to contact you. Especially after the agreement."

"What agreement, you bâtard?!" She shook him by the collar. "Fucking tell me!"

Soap propped himself against the wall, eyes shooting from Sabien to Marguax. She panted, hair strung about her face, chunks of bloodied flesh ripping from her hand with every strike. Her eyes had been ablaze for days now. The effects of stress showing in her face. In comparison, Sabien while beaten was far from confessing anything substantial. The glint of deceit in his lackluster brown eyes were too vibrant for a prisoner. They'd searched through his file, looking for any hint as to where Esmèrie could have gone. They were on borrowed time with nothing to show for it. He repressed a sigh. They were spending far too much energy on this. He understood that Esmèrie held a tie to Makarov but was it worth the amount of time spent? He doubted it.

"Why?" Margaux's voice hit a guttural low.

"It was to cement a place in Makarov's Inner Circle. He took a liking to her during our Prague arrangem-" Margaux's hand cracked against his face.

"She was barely legal, you sick fuck!"

"Oui." He gasped before swallowing the increasing amount of blood in his throat. "Barely but still legal. We offered other options. You were brought up for example." He chuckled. "But he didn't want a cunt that'd been used by that Brit you like to fuck." His hoarse laugh filled the room. "Non. He wanted Esmèrie because she is- was untouched." His cackle was cut short whenever he coughed.

Rage filled Margaux's eyes as she withdrew her Desert Eagle. Jamming it into her brother's mouth, silencing him. Her finger wrapped around the trigger, mouth parted as short almost frantic breaths escaped her.

The door swung open as Price led Elyse and Anderson inside. "The police found the bodies of two foreigners this morning. One of them could be Hawke."

Margaux jerked her head in Price's direction. She slowly removed the gun from Sabien's mouth before tugging his body into the backroom. A fleeting glare ended their latest confrontation, the slammed door bringing him just the amount of privacy he needed. The stout man wiggled in his binds. They'd loosened enough for him to reach for his shoe. Ripping open the sole, he retrieved a flip phone. Flicking it open, he brought the device to his ear. "We are here." He choked, wheezing while holding his side. "Noire is here with Price. Yes, that's right. And you know what must be done?" He paused listening to the person on the other end of the call. A cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "Good."

Margaux slammed the door before entering the room she and Price shared. His footsteps quietly entered as the door closed.

"John…" Emotion welled in her throat. The words were too painful to utter as she brought a hand to her mouth.

"We're gonna find her. And she's going to be fine." Price wrapped his arms around her waist. "She is your daughter after all."

"Our." The word weighed heavy on her tongue as she felt him tense behind her.

"Margaux…" His tone shifted—deepened, his eyes narrowing. He reached for her shoulders, halting when she jerked away from him.

"Don't."

"Then explain, please…" He sighed. When she didn't respond, he made for the edge of the bed. His age catching up to him in that moment as he rested on the bed.

Her eyes fluttered close. The darkness of her lids transporting her to the past nearly twenty years before.

Her time in Makeni was nearly over as the day came when she would have to tell John good-bye. He'd invited her to his place in London, to the family home he owned. She declined, reminding him that she wasn't made to be tied to any person or construct that enforced monogamy. He kissed her eagerly that day, as always. Greeting her in French, as always. She'd asked to meet at the pub instead of the hotel. He knew something was wrong by her expression as not even she could shake the emotion that had established its home in her heart since meeting him.

"John, I have to return home. My father isn't well." The severity of her father's condition was still unclear as she'd received information from her brothers less than apt wives.

His face softened, a gleam of concern in his eyes. "My pearl, is there anything I can do?"

A sad smile crept onto her face. Her heart tucked into itself as she nodded. "You can make our last night memorable. We're both going to need it."

That night in the hotel, he'd fulfilled her desires in more ways than she could ever describe. Her back had long since pressed against the window, her legs hoisted and wrapped around his waist. Her breasts bounced in rhythm with his thrusts as they locked eyes before she pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. His nails dug into her back as he increased his speed. Unable to contain her sounds, she gripped his shoulders as they relinquished themselves into ecstasy.

John remembered that night. The way her walls clenched around him made him lose control in a way he'd not felt before.

His legs shook as he groaned in the curve of her neck. "Margaux…" Her name was a prayer on his lips. His release was his offering. And her affection, her yearning, her love for him. That was his blessing.

"When I called you that night…You were in London, readying yourself for Pripyat." Her words were slow, her gaze too heavy to meet his eyes. "I needed you…to be there. Not just for me but for our girls."

Her voice didn't feel real to him in that moment. He felt suspended from his reality as the memories of the past flooded his mind in reverse. Watching Elyse graduate from boot-camp, his eyes beaming with pride. Waving to Esmèrie from the helicopter, his heart sinking with anguish knowing he wouldn't be able to kiss away her tears at night. Catching teenage Elyse sneaking in after a night of partying. Coaxing adolescent Esmèrie to sleep after she spent days obsessing over her latest theory. Pretend sparring with toddler Elyse. Reading with Esmèrie. Rocking them to sleep in each arm. Infant Elyse's first nuzzle of approval. Esmèrie's first gummy grin of gratitude.

Her sniffling brought him out of his trance. Margaux seemed so small crumbled on her knees, tear stains lining her face. Her hands pressed into the floor, her head tucked into her chest as she sobbed. Where he expected to feel resentment, he felt understanding. He blinked at the woman who'd given him his most cherished gift, a lifetime spent with a family he didn't believe he deserved. "Margaux," He placed one hand at the small of her back, lifting her chin with the other. "Thank you." Kissing her tearstained lips, he felt her melt into him. Hands pressed against his chest, head tilted, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks.

"We're going to find her. I promise I won't stop until our daughter is safe in your arms."

He closed the door to the bedroom of the abandoned villa. The dimly lit room held thinning wood floors, peeling walls and a noisy, dripping pipe that throbbed in rhythm to his headache. Esmèrie rested beside the wall and the dresser. Her knees were slightly bent, hands tied in front of her, her wide set eyes closed. Her light snoring indicated that she hadn't woken in his absence giving him a moment to study her. She held a quiet defiance in her, a strong spirit well hidden behind that innocuous face. A spirit he'd have to break in accordance to his orders to extract without mercy.

A small yawn parted her lips as she sat up against the wall. Lifting her aching legs, she blinked curiously at her bare knees. Her stockings were gone, replaced by a rope tying her ankles together. Fear spread through her veins, her heart racing, her thoughts in a frenzy. What happened? Where is… Her frantic hazels locked with his sharpened amber. Her mind reeled. The alleyway she had been in. The arms around her torso, the grip around her mouth, the suffocation…the inexplicable ecstasy. A sudden fire ignited between her legs as she clenched her bare thighs together. Her attention shot towards Ghost as she began to tremble. "W-where am I?" Her voice shook, eyes growing wide.

"A villa."

"W-why am I unclothed?" She yanked her arms, realizing that they were tied to a hook in the ceiling. Humiliation burned her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

"Don't you remember," His stare hardened. "You were told not to run. And despite this, you did so anyway."

She flinched at his words, the visage of Lochlan's dead body flashed in her memory. Esmèrie could feel tears prick at her eyes, her voice trembled. "I c-couldn't b-be there…" Her hazels shot to his mocking amber eyes.

"Why?" His tone lowered. "Because of the shooting?"

She felt herself begin to tremble, fearing that he'd snap her in half with just a look. "P-please tell me who you are… o-or at the very least why you're doing this."

A glint of bemusement filled his eyes, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Those details will depend on how forthcomin' you are with me."

She knitted her brows in confusion, her wide set eyes made her look even younger than what she was. "I don't understand."

"You will, dove." He sighed, rising from the ground to remove his skull balaclava. Placing it on the dresser, he opened the drawer to retrieve something she couldn't quite recognize. "Now start from the beginnin'. Who are you? And what's your tie to Makarov?"

"I don't…" She shook her head in confusion. "I don't know who that is…"

He frowned at her, slamming the drawer shut as she winced.

"Startin' off with a lie isn't going to help you any. The longer you take with this, the less patient I'm gonna to be." His icy tone caused her to shudder as he towered over her.

A dangerous thought occurred to her. Esmèrie's stomach shifted anxiously, the words she uttered slipped off her tongue. "Will it change anything?" Amber eyes narrowed while he waited for her to elaborate, his steps slow and daunting.

"Will the outcome of why you're here change depending upon how long I take?"

"This isn't a game you want to play." His voice hit a guttural low causing a violent shiver to overwhelm her spine.

"But the results could change, correct?" The words carelessly slipped into the air. "Otherwise you'd have used more formidable measures to get me to speak." The naivety in her voice made him question if she realized how much of her fate resided in the hands of one of the most feared men on the planet. To say he was no stranger to torture would be an understatement. Ghost had earned more than a fearsome reputation in his time. Torture beyond fathomable comprehension. Worse yet, he'd become specialized, catering to nearly every kind of practice known to man. His knuckles cracked, irritation evident on his features when she didn't flinch from him. Her petite build hadn't yielded to stress. In these kinds of situations, he could expect to see wrinkles, under-eye circles or other signs of stress. And yet, here she was a little too well preserved for his tastes. His thoughts must have shown in his eyes, her gaze flittering until he reached to her level. Revealing a ball gag in one hand and a leather belt in the other, he watched her eyebrows knit together, her perplexed hazels meeting his. She doesn't have a clue what she's in for. He suddenly gripped the back of her head, fingers knotted within toffee curls, yanking her head upward. He muffled her yelp with the ball gag, tying it quickly behind her head as she pried at the piece. Something dormant inside him awakened. Her wide-set eyes were even larger with her mouth covered as he felt himself stiffen. Gripping the rope binding her wrists and ankles together, he tossed her over his knee.

"You called for more formidable measures…" He felt her tense, a sharp inhale slipping past the gag as she writhed. The jingling of the belt caused her to grip at something-anything near her. Settling for the rope holding her hands and feet together, she screwed her eyes shut. The slap to her barely covered ass caused her to reel upwards. Her neck craned as her hazels pleaded for him to stop. Her muffled sounds combined with her struggling kick-started a reaction he wasn't expecting.

She could feel his arousal poking at her stomach. The painful lashes fueled by more intensity with every strike. Her writhing began to slow as only her energy escaped his vice grip. Once he finally stopped, she could do nothing more than fold over his knees. Ghost was nowhere near gentle in his decision to plop her onto the ground almost pleased with the muffled scream that cracked her voice. He removed the gag, keen amber eyes watched the saliva drip down her neck to the valley between her breasts as she heard a sound akin to a groan escape his lips. Her eyes were still closed as she writhed to her bended knees. Her skin was ablaze as she clawed at her legs, whimpers spilling from her mouth.

She'd been struck by her uncles in the past, but this was different somehow. The atmosphere contained a distinctive level of punishment she'd not experienced. Her shoulders hunched, her neck raised to meet his eyes. He hardened against his zipper, seeing her on the ground, weight pressed forward on her palms. Lookin' more like a dog at her owner's feet. He placed the ball gag into the drawer but propped the belt over his balaclava. When he turned towards her, she flinched under the harshness of his gaze.

"The sooner you explain how you know Makarov, the less I'll have to punish you. She winced at his words, eyes lowering to the floor.

"W-will you please untie me?" Her voice was soft but clear as Ghost glanced down at her.

"Only when you've earned it. Understood?"

She didn't respond as a growl lifted from his throat. He stepped forward, kneeling quickly to grip her chin. "When I speak you better bloody respond. Are we clear?"

She searched his eyes for any sort of compassion. Seeing none, she gave a reluctant nod as he released her. His footsteps vanished, leaving Esmèrie to her swarming thoughts and aching nether regions. Apart from the burning from her lashes, a fervent tingling caused her sex to throb. She didn't feel violated as she had in the past. Frightened by her body's conflicting reactions, she flattened herself onto the cool floor. Her heaviest tears pooling beneath her; her sobs filling the silence of the room.

"Understood." Santiago nodded on his phone, snapping his fingers towards Mateo. The younger scientist sighed, leaning forward to hand him his laptop with an aggravated sigh. Mateo didn't bother to hide his frustration since Esmèrie officially joined Apotheosis. Having someone of a similar mindset helped ease the overbearing attitude Santiago exhibited. She was of the belief that science, education, and technology were meant for everyone regardless of their socioeconomic status. Santiago on the other hand, was intent on profiting off their inventions. In Esmèrie's absence, he'd contacted a Frenchman who had connected him with some of his business colleagues. They'd attempted to profit off the netting she'd created but were halted by the stringent French laws regarding patents and ownership rights. Whether Esmèrie knew of Santiago’s intentions were unclear to Mateo. He lifted his phone to check his message, dismay filling his expression. The iron door creaked open as Santiago hurriedly ended the phone call to greet him.

"What a surprise, Professor! What brings you here?" A feigned smile tore open his lips as the Professor grimaced.

"Has Esmèrie returned yet? I have questions about her theory on using tears to generate electricity."

Santiago gave an exaggerated shrug. "Sadly, she has yet to answer any messages from either Mateo or I. Hope everything is alright."

The Professor dusted off his shoulder, shooting the briefest knowing glance towards the younger scientist. The boy's as good a liar as a child with his hand in a cookie jar.

Mateo narrowed his dark eyes, locked in an intense stare with Santiago while the Professor glanced from one to the other.

"When she arrives, have her come see me as soon as possible." He muttered, tightening his fist.

Neither Santiago or Mateo knew Russian but from his tone, it sounded like insulting mutterings caught in the creaking of the metal door. The shadows swallowed him just as his chest began to pound excruciatingly. His breathing turned ragged, his hand gripping the wall. The dimly lit walk to his lab left him panting, the struggle to reach his work desk all too agonizing to contain. His wheezing filled the air, met only with the creaking of his chair once his legs buckled beneath him. Pressing the button on his tape recorder, he huffed, pounding his fist on the desk. Utensils and papers crashing to the floor.

"It is…" His eyes scanned the wall beside him, desperate to find the date on the small calendar. "Day 104. The treatment has ceased working…" His gasping continued. "I am beyond the window in which TP508 will prove any effectiveness…However," He swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed. "I am not yet beyond the window to continue my trials with CH777." Tired grey eyes opened to see the cylindrical ice chest on his desk. Withdrawing a needle with a shaky hand, he pointed it at his bruised vein. "12th of December…treatment 6 using CH777. Inclusive therapeutic migration has shown signs of regeneration in the cells damaged by nuclear radiation." The yellow liquid emptied from the needle as the Professor's breathing slowed. His eyes grew heavy, beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. Dizziness consumed his vision. He staggered from the table, struggling to travel the small distance from the desk to the bed in the opposite corner. He'd been grateful for Esmèrie's assistance. In his first trial using the CH777, he suffered intense hallucinations that would cause him to shout in slurred Russian. She had been patient in tending to him. Mateo was a fourth-generation doctor who switched to regenerative science early on in his career. His distanced guidance along with Esmèrie's kindness saved the Professor from injuring himself during his delirium. A twinge of worry struck his heart. The lab had grown more solemn since her disappearance. It seemed quite odd that she's promised to only be gone for a day and now, a week later, she had entirely vanished. This isn't like her. He retrieved her phone from his pocket, steadily dialing her number. Her voicemail answered as he sighed, ending the call. Reclining against his pillows, he closed his eyes. If he still prayed, he would have requested that she be brought back unharmed. Decades worth of hiding underground, burying himself from the sun let alone God's eye, made him forgo any belief in a promising afterlife. Just get back here, kid. Alive. Happy. Hopeful.

Anderson could hear the shower from the room he, Mactavish, and Levèsque shared. Their assorted sleeping bags were on separate walls, each made impeccably in accordance to Mactavish's expectations. Their assorted packs were marked with in insignia to differentiate them from each other as Anderson knelt to see Levèsque's kit. A circular symbol with Y shaped line cutting across the divided center gleamed in the moonlight. The sleek metal cooled his palm, his fingers tracing over the emblem. His curiosity got the best of him, unfocused on his surroundings. The rushing water had stopped, the door allowing a cloud of steam to reveal Elyse in her towel. She stopped mid-step, eyes fixed on the blond leaning over her bag. She cleared her throat, annoyed hazels watching him stiffen. "Can I help you, Roach?"

He stammered, rising awkwardly. "I wasn't sure what that was…" He pointed towards the insignia on her pack.

"Ah. It's the empathy symbol. Keeps Esmè close."

He nodded, apologizing, a nervous hand on the back of his head. Elyse shrugged. "No worries. You aren't harming anything." There was a surprising gentleness in her voice, her eyes trailing the emblem with fondness. "Have you…" She swallowed the emotion in her throat "Heard anything? Any updates?"

Roach shook his head, twisting his mouth. "Sorry."

She gave an impassive shrug. "Not your fault." She felt his stare linger, trailing to her breasts before darting back up to her face. A glint of mischief filled her hazels. "Been awhile, eh?"

He flushed, shaking his head in confusion. "S-sorry?"

She chuckled, licking her lower lip, eyes narrowing at the blush on her fellow soldier's face. "Where's the Captain?"

"On watch." He gulped at how easy his responses had been around her since leaving base. He knew he should have left. That he shouldn't have been so apt to allowing his stare to fall to her dripping figure. Spearmint and Eucalyptus greeted his senses as he swallowed. He could still feel her toned arms around his neck. Her heated body pressed his, the beads of sweat dripping down her face. Her gaze glancing towards the door as he shifted himself. "I should go…" He cleared his throat. "…Let you get dressed."

"We share the same room, Roach. I can dress in the bathroom."

He wanted to ask why she hadn't done so at first. Why provide the temptation in a place where they had to be close to each other? His body heated watching the steam radiate from her shoulders, her towel slipping down her cleavage as she tied her hair back. A smirk tugged at her lips. "Since you're already there, would you hand me my shirt?" Roach gulped, following her stare to the sleeping bag. A black tank top and cargo pants lie folded on her pillow. He nervously lifted the clothing, extending his arm towards her. Her scent was intoxicating, heightening his senses. Her fingers brushed against his. The thin towel doing little to hide her figure. "Thanks…" Her breathy tone sent a violent shiver up his spine as goose bumps pimples his flesh. "Roach…"

"Yeah…" His half-lidded cognac eyes focused on her plump lips spreading into a grin.

"I need my shirt."

Without realizing it, he'd clung to the fabric, just inches from her chest. His fingers tensed at her areola, unwilling to graze it without explicit consent. As if reading his mind, Elyse propped herself forward, tilting her head, her lips parting. "Scared, boy?"

His brows furrowed, lip tensing. She had him trapped. He could walk away, pride demolished, or he could lean in just…a…bit…more.

Their lips connected in a battle of wills. Inhaling each other, hoping to absorb each other's very essence. Roach felt her grip on his shirt, pulling him forward. He grunted, hands yanking her hips against his. He muffled her moan with a deep kiss. Not to be bested, her fingers rushed beneath his shirt, nails sinking into his shoulders. They pulled apart to breathe, ragged inhales meeting shaky exhales. "Their lust filled gazes interrupted by brisk knocking.

"Roach, get ready to take the next watch." Price's voice reached them as Anderson stiffened.

"Guess we'll have to resume this another time, bug."

His eyebrow twitched at the pet name, his eyes seeing the bemusement in her eyes. She rose to her toes to peck his lips. Resisting the shudder in his spine, he almost painfully stepped away from her intense stare, grabbing his pack and briskly making for the door.

Ghost exhaled the last puff of smoke from his cigarette, his foot stomping the remaining cinders into oblivion. He'd no sooner calmed his arousal whenever the muffled sound of Esmèrie's cries reached his ears. It was sickening, his reaction. He could remember a time when he didn't enjoy causing pain. The visage of his mother appeared in his mind, one of their final conversations together involved the horrible orders he had to carry out. It had been one of the last instances he could recall before his empathy became tainted.

Shuffling against the floorboards drew his attention from his thoughts as he looked towards the room where he kept Esmèrie. Replaying the way her eyes widened at the ball gag made him harden painfully against his zipper. He supposed he ought to bring her food. Grabbing the fruit basket from the counter, he shuffled towards the bedroom. The door creaked open as Ghost narrowed his eyes. While bound in the dark room, she'd managed to find her backpack. She'd just flicked open a pivot penknife whenever he charged her. Her screams filled the air as she dropped the blade immediately, kicking herself against a wall.

"Grabbing weapons now, eh?"

"I-it's not w-what you t-think…" She shook her head empathically. "I just need to cut the rope. Se vos plai…my wrists are bleeding." (L'occitane French: please) Her breathing hitched as her eyes flickered from one eye to the other, waiting for his response.

He flung the knife into the front of the dresser, the strike causing a crack in the chipped wood. She crawled into the space between the dresser and the bed, tucking her hands over her breasts and clenching her legs shut, anticipating his next move. "Take it off." His tone was even more terrifying in the dark making Esmèrie clench in a way that brought just as much tearful confusion as it did inexplicable carnality.

She shook her head, gripping her breasts harder. Her night vision had struggled due to the radiation poisoning, forcing her to rely on her other senses. Turning her head, she heard him steadying his breathing, his body heat radiated up her leg towards her knee before drifting down her thigh. The near touch of his hand in such a delicate area sent a fire into her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her breathing hitched at his scent. Sea salt trapped within musk caused her to throb, goose bumps pimpled her flesh.

"Enjoying yourself?" He chuckled darkly. When she didn't respond, he cracked his knuckles while fisting her hair, tugging her face towards his. Her weakened eyesight focused on his lips. They spread into a menacing grin that distracted her just long enough for him to grip the panties from her hip with his free hand. Carelessly ripping them off despite her kicks and cries. An all new wave of humiliation seeped into her skin when they landed with a slap against the floor.

"Are you wet, dove?"

Kicking herself into a corner, she shot one hand between her legs, the other guarding her breasts. Her blubbers filled the stillness of the room whenever Ghost's warmth evaporated from her body. He vanished into the shadows in search of the light switch. The sudden change from darkness to light was overwhelming as Esmèrie screwed her eyes shut. In a moment, his hands were on her knees, pulling them apart.

She pleaded with him to stop, apologizing in both French and English, and whimpering when she realized that her hand wouldn't be enough to stop his gaze. She'd made the decision to lessen the protection at her bra, crossing her arms down her chest, firmly pressing her palms between her legs. His fingers resumed their grip on her toffee curls, his gaze traveled to her protruding cleavage. He glimpsed the tattoo on her right ribcage, something akin to a geometric shape he surmised. His gaze shot to hers when he noticed her sniffling had all but ceased. Her eyes were wide with alarm as she overlooked his shoulder. His sight matched hers, as he turned his head. Spotting a collection of books spilling out of the bag, his eyes rested on the forest green leather ledger with gold lettering.

Esmèrie panicked, digging her nails into his face as she shoved him against the ground. Her weight wouldn't keep the soldier down long as she desperately tore herself from his grip. She managed two footsteps whenever the rope tying her hands and feet together snapped her onto her bare, aching ass. Feeling Ghost's grip on her shoulders, she thrashed and clawed at his arms. A string of colorful curses spilled from his mouth as he flipped her onto her back, restraining her in a knee-mount. In a last-ditch effort, she bit into his forearm earning a well-placed hold on her neck. The air escaped in painful gasps as she writhed beneath him. Feeling her vision darken, she lifted her head just enough to see the pile of books sprawled across the floor just inches away. Bitter tears stung her hazels as she prepared herself for unconsciousness. When the light resumed in her eyes, she frowned. His weight lifted off her chest, as she lowered her head in his direction. Feeling her arms lift above her head, she flinched feeling him rip the bra from her body. Her plump breasts bounced as she felt fresh tears of humiliation fall. Seeing the ledger between Ghost's lips brought about a new fury inside of her. But before she could object, her binds tightened around her wrists, a painful cry escaping her mouth. He lifted her to her toes, dangling her uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Tying the rope to a hook in the ceiling, he dropped down from the bed. He turned his back to the brunette, tossing the book on the creaky bed. Aside from her books, journals, phone, and utensils; he noticed some of her undeveloped inventions. Lightbulbs, a thin tube with folded gauze, he noticed her hair and face products covering a puzzle box.

Ghost passed a fleeting stare her direction, practically hearing the fear overtake her heart as she stood on her toes.

Shaking the box, he returned to the bed. "What's in here?"

"N-nothing." She shook her head.

"You lyin' to me isn't going to make this any easier."

"It has nothing to do with Makarov! I swear!" She blurted, regret instantly seeping into her features.

Ghost tilted his head. "Is that so? So then does this," He lifted the ledger, flipping through the pages. "Have anything to do with Makarov?"

"Indirectly." Her voice was just above a whisper. She sniffled, tilting her body away from him. She couldn't control his gaze, but she could control how much of her he saw. It was a thinly veiled thought; her lies wouldn't convince herself otherwise.

"Look pet," He emphasized pointedly. "I'm not a patient person. You're gonna want to start talkin' a lot faster." He rose ominously, his thumb lifting her chin. She averted her gaze, mouth curved in, mind working quickly.

"If I tell you…about that ledger." She tilted her body towards the window. "Will you prevent Cillian from hurting someone?"

"Someone other than you?"

Esmèrie nodded. "There's this kid-"

"I don't do rescue missions." His eyes glazed in apathy. She'd passed the threshold of calm. Esmèrie felt a gnawing in her stomach, warning her against pushing the matter. She hadn't managed to steer clear of the storm raging in his eyes thus far. What was the point in trying to do so now?

"It wouldn't be a rescue mission, just a preventative one. If word got out that a member of the SAS was guarding-" His vice grip around her neck caused her to choke and spasm.

"Who told you I was SAS…"

"You…" She choked. "…just confirmed it…" Her face reddened, her eyes watering. She buckled, her weight pulling the rope taught against her flesh.

Ghost removed his restraint at the last second, loosening the rope just enough to bring her from the brink of unconsciousness. She collapsed to the floor, returning the color to her cheeks through painful wheezing. "Who dares wins…" He narrowed his eyes at her, towering above her fatigued body. "That's what my Parrain taught me the day he left."

"And he went to find Makarov." His tone deepened, his body tensed, hand clenched around the ledger.

She nodded shifting from her back to her bum, pressing her weight onto her bended knees. "Yes." Her gazed lifted to the ledger in his hand. "I can't tell you about everything because I don't know about everything to do with Makarov."

He paused in a way that made her wonder if he would punish her again. Instead he knelt to her level. His hand folded around her chin, forcing her eyes to lock with his. "Then you'll tell me what you do know. And pet," He leaned in closer to her, his hot breath tingling against her lips. Flicking his knife, he held it to her throat, sliding the blade down her neck to her clavicle, furthering it until it reached the tattoo on her rib-cage. "The more you hold back, the less I will."

Author's Note: What are your thoughts on character development? Plot? Anywhere I can improve on?

#iron necessity #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price

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isriana · 8 years

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@rawremilehh replied to your post “I browsed through all the upcoming housing options last night, trying...”

I'm having the exact same problem as you are, I saw the perfect place for one of my characters but I'm lost on the others. I thought Captain Margaux's or even Ravenhurst would be good for Noelie? A nice Breton home, mostly dependent on how much room she wants for activities. And maybe one of the ones in Craglorn for Davius? Or a nice Nord-style home in the Rift? I can't believe how elaborate they got with some of the houses! "I don't care how beautiful it is, Em, you DO NOT NEED IT."

Oh, yeah, tell me about it! Some of those homesteads are absolutely stunning. It’s going to be a struggle to keep myself from buying some Redguard palace or Orc fortress, lol.

Captain Margaux’s place would indeed be nice for Noelie, but it doesn’t have a garden and I absolutely want one (already looking through a list of achievement items to decorate it with, haha). So, now it’s a pretty close tie between Ravenhurst and the Gardner House... The Rivenspire house feels slightly more like Noelie’s style, but on the other hand owning a place in Wayrest is really tempting, too. :D I think I’ll start with Meirami’s little Khajiit place and see how all that furnishing business works before I decide how much room I want to get for the other two. As for Davius, at this point I’m considering getting that Imperial house in Craglorn (because the place itself is pretty much perfect for him) and just... actively pretend that it’s located somewhere else. :’D

#rawremilehh #reply #teso #player housing #noelie morcant #davius martenus #meirami

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gokinjeespot · 6 years

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off the rack #1251

Monday, February 25, 2019

It was so windy last night that it blew over our amaryllis flower that was inside the house. That was the crash I heard overnight. Actually, this amaryllis bulb produced a mutant flower stem that was the tallest I've ever seen. We got two stalks, each almost 2 feet tall, topped by three huge red blooms each. I had rotated the pot regularly so that they wouldn't grow at an angle but there was enough of one to make them topple. I should have supported them sooner.

Black Widow #2 - Jen & Sylvia Soska (writers) Flaviano (art) Veronica Gandini (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). I like this new Natalia who doesn't have to hold back like she has a license to kill now. Her mission to shut down a torture porn site based in Madripoor is a good story but a couple of things bothered me about this issue. Clayton Crain's cover is very nice but you couldn't tell that one of the women was the Black Widow in disguise compared to what's shown inside. I thought the veil Nat wears was dumb and the next issue teaser spoiled the last panel. A better match on the hair colour would have fixed the cover problem and a different image for issue #3 in the next issue ad page would have been nice.

Catwoman #8 - Joelle Jones (writer) Elena Casagrande & Fernando Blanco (art) John Kalisz (colours) Josh Reed (letters). Something Smells Fishy part 2. We find out what the Penguin wants Selina to do and she goes and does it. This story isn't too complicated and I expected better. I didn't like the facial expressions that the artists used when Selina was puling off the heist. I thought that it was an amateur imposter trying to steal the artefact. Catwoman should never look like she's afraid. I hope the next issue is better.

The Unstoppable Wasp #5 - Jeremy Whitley (writer) Gurihiru (art) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This is a wonderful issue dealing with mental health. Nadia needs help but will she reach out before it's too late? Read this great issue to find out.

Stronghold #1 - Phil Hester (writer) Ryan Kelly (art) Dee Cunniffe (colours) Simon Bowland (letters). Meet Michael, just a cog in the wheel of life. Or is he? The Stronghold is a sort of cult and their mission is to protect Michael from the Adversary. The mystery of what Michael really is and what happens if he is awakened is more than enough to make you want to keep reading. This is a good comic book about people with super powers without the spandex posturing.

Auntie Agatha's Home for Wayward Rabbits #2 to #4 - Keith Giffen (writer) Benjamin Roman (art). I fell in love with the art and the quirky characters after reading the first issue and I want to thank my Jee-Riz partner Chris for lending me his copies to read so that I can finish this story. There aren't many funny animal comic books on the racks other than the Disney stuff so this one is a rare gem. It's a great David versus Goliath story.

Hulkverines #1 - Greg Pak (writer) Ario Anindito (art) Morry Hollowell with Andrew Crossley (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). It's good to see Weapon H back on the racks and a classic Hulk villain being their evil self. This new book is blatantly targeted at die hard old Marvel Zombies like me but it's well written and well drawn. Read the title page to catch up with what's going on in Clay Cortez's life and then jump right in to watch as Hulkverine and the Hulk duke it out in a battle to the death. The last page surprise made me pine for the next issue.

Naomi #2 - Brian Michael Bendis & David F. Walker (writers) Jamal Campbell (art) Carlos M. Mangual (letters). I like how the mystery of Naomi's true self is progressing naturally. There aren't any leaps and cuts in the origin story that I find annoying. Please give this book about an adopted daughter looking for answers a try. You won't be disappointed.

Sharkey #1 - Mark Millar (writer) Simone Bianchi (art & colours) Peter Doherty (letters). I can't pass up a comic book with those names in the credits. This sci-fi series is about an interstellar bounty hunter. The art is out of this world. Sharkey is going after a huge bounty but the competition is fierce. It's going to be fun to see who wins.

Love Romances #1 - This $3.99 US anthology of "love stories that can only be told in a comic book" should have hit the racks February 13 in time for Valentine's Day but it's still worth reading. All stories were lettered by VC's Travis Lanham.

"The Widow and the Clockwork Heart" by Gail Simone (writer), Roge Antonio (art) & Jim Charalampidis (colours) takes place in a Steampunk future where robots mend broken hearts.

"Heartbroken from Beyond" by Margaux Motin & Pacco Dorwling-Carter (story & art) & Lee Loughridge (colours) is a haunting ghost story of love and loss.

"French Quartered" by Dennis "Hopeless" Hallum (writer), Annapaolo Martello (art) & Jim Charalampidis (colours) is about an overprotective father in old New Orleans.

"Gone Like the Wind" by Jon Adams (story & art) & Tamra Bonvillain (colours) is a love lost and found story.

Each story has a clever twist that makes them special. Give this to your sweetie as a belated gift.

Guardians of the Galaxy #2 - Donny Cates (writer) Geoff Shaw (art) Marte Gracia (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The Final Gauntlet part 2. Team books can be unwieldy but this isn't a real team book anymore. There are many factions trying to either stop or facilitate the resurrection of Thanos. This involves either killing or saving Gamora. There are many good guys and bad guys to keep track of but Donny and Geoff do a great job of keeping everybody straight. I'm happy to put this book back on my "must read" list.

Batman #65 - Joshua Williamson (writer) Guillem March (art) Tomeu Morey (colours) Steve Wands (letters). The Price part 3 of 4. This story is all about Gotham Girl wanting to resurrect her dead brother. I didn't read part 2 in the Flash and didn't feel like I missed anything. I don't care what happens to Claire Clover/Gotham Girl so I'm not going to read part 4 either. I'm sure some of the buying public doesn't like being coerced into picking up a couple of extra comic books off the racks that they don't normally read to get the full story. DC should have spun this story off of the Heroes in Crisis books instead of interrupting the Tom King story. I can't wait to get back to that.

Wolverine: Infinity Watch #1 - Gerry Duggan (writer) Andy MacDonald (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). These new Infinity Stone stories hurt my head. I read the first one where Thanos got them all with the Gauntlet and the Avengers stopped him from killing everything but after that, every time these gems showed up things got more confusing. Now the stones all have souls thanks to Adam Warlock and they are inside humans. The Time Stone is still on Earth and that's not good. A big bad alien named Warbringer has landed and wants the stone for himself. Cue Logan's involvement. He's supposed to protect the hapless human. The appearance of Loki and Phoenix Force Wolverine was fun and since Logan was dead during the Infinity Wars, this will be a way for him to get caught up with Marvel continuity. If you're a fan of Wolverine being the best at what he does then you'll want to get in on this 5-issue mini.

Doctor Strange #11 - Mark Waid (writer) Jesus Saiz with Javier Pina (art) Jesus Saiz & Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The Dread Dormammu, what a doofus. Stephen defeats the demon again and all is well. The Doc had a little help from his friends with one friend returning as a big surprise. I'm looking forward to the bad guy on deck in the next issue. He's big, he's red and he's hungry.

Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #3 - Tom Taylor (writer) Juann Cabal (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). Mother of Exiles part 3. Wow, talk about an underground society. Welcome to Under York, miles below New York City. Spider-Man and the Rumor mount a rescue mission which is sort of successful. I can't wait to find out what happens next.

Avengers #15/LGY #705 - Jason Aaron (writer) David Marquez (art) Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). The team is caught in the middle of a Vampire Civil War and one of their own has been forced to switch sides. Can the Ghost Rider break his evil bondage? I'm guessing yes. I loved the devil dog riding in the ghost car with its head out the window. It's artistic touches like that that adds enjoyment to reading a comic book.

Miles Morales: Spider-Man #3 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Javier Garron (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The team-up with the Rhino and Captain America ends with fighting a new super villain. Snatcher is a lame super villain name but the good guys still have a tough time taking him down. There sure were a lot of expletives deleted in this issue.

Avengers LGY #709: No Road Home #2 - Al Ewing, Jim Zub & Mark Waid (writers) Paco Medina (pencils) Juan Vlasco (inks) Jesus Aburtov (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). It's the big fight issue with Voyager and her team trying to beat Nyx, goddess of darkness. She just killed all the gods of Olympus so good luck with that. Fortunately for the good guys, Nyx reveals her plans, which saves the heroes from certain death. This issue has a running narration by Hawkeye and it takes a surprising turn in the last few pages. This twist makes me glad that the next issue hits the racks in a week.

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