#I haven’t drawn in like a week this is what happens I get deranged

[softfuzzyships]

i want you so bad it’s stupid. like a hapless pet cat.

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader) - Part four

Summary: Y/n and Draco find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every night

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader ft. Pansy Parkinson, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini

Warnings: Excessive smoking, Drinking, mature language and themes, sex, masturbation, 18+ content, reader discretion is highly advised

A/n: as always, thank you for reading WOS. This story has gotten so close to my heart over the last few weeks of writing it and I am grateful for every one that read part 1,2,3. And to everyone who guessed the Astoria plot line, Damn ya’ll are too good! 

I’d like to stress that smoking is injurious to health.

Word count: almost 4000

Part One, two & three if you haven’t caught up already

Thursday (Continued)

With his palms resting flat on the shower wall and his grey eyes fixed on the floor below, Draco allowed the lukewarm water to trail down his body and calm his nerves. 

Between the restlessness he’d felt after his father’s visit and the stinging feeling of remembering just what was expected of him, he’d barely managed to sleep a wink for three consecutive nights.

And how could he have gone to sleep when he knew you were in that classroom—waiting for him in your silky little dress. 

Oh..wait a minute. 

He smirked to himself when he remembered that he had destroyed the top half of your dress in an attempt to tug it off your shoulders. 

You looked absolutely stunning with the bottom half of your dress pushed back as you spread your legs wide open on top of a classroom desk—he had fucked you so fucking hard that day. 

Draco wrapped his hand around his length and began to pump slowly as he recalled the way you wrapped your legs around his torso as he moved in and out of you.

Your moans. 

He wondered if you were even aware of the effect your moans had on him. 

The way his name slipped out of your cherry lips and the way your tits bounced with every thrust only made him want to drive deeper into you. 

He let out a sharp grunt as he started to pump harder, fantasising about all the places he’d fuck you in.

He’d press you up against the shower wall and push himself deep into your cunt from behind, he’d lay you down on his desk and eat you out till you were a quivering mess before driving in and out of you, he would bend you over one of the common room sofas and fuck you so hard and fast if he ever got the chance to. 

He’d make you cum time and again till you were sore and dripping with his release—fuck. 

Draco let his high take all over him for a brief moment before opening his eyes when he heard his dresser drawer creak. 

He dismissed the strange sound and washed the remaining soap from his body before stepping out and towel drying his hair. 

“Draco! Y/n is here to see you.”  

Astoria? What on earth is she doing here? This can’t be good.

He frantically wrapped the towel around his torso and stepped outside the bathroom.

“Y/n what are you doing here?” He asked, observing the eye bags under your eyes. You were wearing a loose fitted white shirt with the sleeves pushed back and the top two buttons undone.

If Astoria wasn’t gaping at the exchange between the two of you, he would have had you pinned against the wall already. 

“I—I Just—” you began but before you could reach the end of your sentence, Theo jogged up to his door and stood right next to you, panting.

“Oh, you’re all here.Good.” He said with excitement saturated into his voice. “Apparently, there’s a party this Saturday night in the room of requirement and we are going—I am not taking no for an answer.” 

“That sounds like so much fun.” Astoria grinned and looked at Draco expectantly,making your stomach twist.

“It’s not like we have a choice.” Draco muttered still looking at you while Astoria beamed at him. 

“So, Y/n you were saying something?” Astoria politely turning the conversation back to you.

“I actually just came in here to talk about the party too.” You lied looking Draco directly in the eye.

Friday

Even though you were walking to class while bumping into a sea of students, your head was somewhere else. 

But of course Malfoy was sleeping around with other girls!

How could you have forgotten?! Maybe he was shagging Astoria outside that classroom the other nig—

“Going somewhere?” Draco asked as soon as he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into a gap in the corridor. 

“Yes, Away from you!” You spat angrily. “And I don’t appreciate you lurking around, pushing me into a wall every chance you get.”

“I just needed to talk to you y/l/n.”

“About what? Your girlfriend?” You blurted, instantly regretting your decision.

“She is not my girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Then what is she?!” 

What you heard next made the ground crumble from beneath you and you couldn’t help but wish you had paid more attention to your mother’s letters—especially the one about the announcement at the New year’s ball. 

~~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~

Dear Y/n,

Your father and I are looking forward to having you back home for Christmas. 

It will give us some quiet family time before the New Year’s Ball hosted by the Malfoys. I’ve heard it through the grapevine that young Malfoy is getting betrothed to one of the Greengrass sisters and they will officially be announcing the betrothal that night. 

Isn’t that absolutely fantastic?  

Let me know what sort of dress robe you’d like to wear to the Ball this year. I will make necessary arrangements. 

Send my regards to Adrian. 

Love,

Mum

~~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~~

Saturday

Vodka always tasted unpleasant to say the least. In fact, it burned. 

But it burned a lot less than the burn you felt watching Astoria reclining against Draco across the room.

Vodka always gave the worst type of hangover and with every gulp, you knew you were on a steady path to a regretful morning after. 

But the morning after drowning yourself in unadulterated vodka shots was better than watching the soon to be Fiancé of the boy you were slowly harbouring feelings for wear his blazer on top of her silver sequinned dress. 

What kind of a deranged person gets jealous over someone that was never theirs to begin with?

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the ridiculously attractive blonde boy dressed in all back, knocked back a few shots and happily accepted Pansy’s hand as she pulled you to the dance floor. 

One minute you were jumping around with Pansy, Blaise and Theo and the next minute, you were seeing nothing but pitch black darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Firm arms gripped your waist as you staggered back to your room after blacking out at the party. In all honesty, the person walking you wasn’t much help either with his bloodshot eyes and unsteady footsteps. 

“You— you shouldn’t have walked me to my room.” 

“I know.” Draco said simply as he watched you walk shakily up to your door.

“Go back to the party Draco.” You said with your voice wavering as he slowly inched closer and closer to you till you were firmly pressed against the door. “You know you shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I know.” He said once again before pressing his own Firewhisky laced lips with yours. “I know.” 

Maybe it was the intoxication, maybe it was the way he held firmly onto your waist as his tongue collided with your own but you used your wand to unlock your door with your mouth still attached to his. 

Both of you entered the room bumping into furniture, leaving a trail of clothes all the way to your bed.

Sunday

“What is happening to this world again? Can someone please walk me through?— I am simply too hungover right now.” Pansy groaned, scratching her head as he opened the door to your shared dorm with Theo and Blaise right behind her. 

Having partied all night long, all three of them were too tired to make sense of the scene in front of them. 

“Yeah, I thought Malfoy was with Astoria now.” Theo scratched his chin at the sight of your head on Draco’s chest as you both slept. 

Pansy’s eyes widened when she heard Astoria’s name as she quickly ran inside the room. 

“Wake the fuck up you idiots.” She yelled using her wand to draw away the curtains making Draco groan as the morning light hit his eyes. 

“What’s all this ruckus about.” You mumbled snuggling closer to Draco as your eyes slowly opened to see a glaring pansy accompanied by Theo and Blaise. 

“I have invited Astoria up here to hang out with us, so both of you have a lot of explaining to do before she gets here.”

Monday

“So let me get this straight.” Theo began, as he took a long drag from one of Draco’s cigarettes. “Both of you have been fucking around—traumatising poor Blaise for the last two weeks, correct?”

Draco rolled his eyes, scoffing as he lit up another cigarette while you shrugged. 

The four of you were at the astronomy tower, reclining against the railings as the day faded away into a chilly winter evening. 

“And you two claim that you are not together, correct?”

At this, both you and Draco turned to look at each other—as if questioning each other about the status of your relationship. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You finally said, slowly breaking eye contact with Draco. “He is getting betrothed to Astoria anyway.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Pansy asked, her face barely visible from all the smoke she was exhaling. 

“Never been better.” You lied, reaching for a cigarette for yourself. You placed the filter end in between your lips and lit it up, inhaling quickly. 

The second you did, tears automatically started to stream from your eyes as you started to cough. 

Draco shook his head and turned to you. 

“Here.” He muttered taking a step towards you, before taking a deep drag from the cancer stick in between his fingers. 

With his free hand raked inside your hair, he pulled your face closer to his until his lips were barely touching yours.

“Inhale y/n.” He murmured, as wisps of smoke left his lips and entered yours. 

You were too preoccupied by his proximity to notice the gagging sounds your friends were making beside you. 

Tuesday

On your way to the library after class, you heard the voice of Lucius Malfoy right outside the dungeons. 

He was going on and on about a ring and how irresponsible Draco was for not getting one made already. Christmas holidays were nearing and Lucius was sure Draco would tarnish the Malfoy family name by not having a ring made on time.

You simply didn’t understand why the Malfoy’s couldn't just use an old family heirloom but you decided to not question it as you walked past them—watching the tired and defeated expression on Draco’s face.

Wednesday

Draco lay on his bed, fiddling with an oval cut emerald ring with the letter “M” engraved on the back of it. The ring had been with the Malfoy women for generations and he simply could not picture the ring on Astoria’s fingers. 

And even though he had no say on his betrothal, he wanted to have a say on the ring and so he had insisted on getting something else made for Astoria. 

But the last two weeks had gone by in a matter of seconds so he did not find the time to, and could not even be bothered to go and have another ring made.

He had known about his impending engagement since the beginning of the year. He’d taken Astoria out several times but he knew there was nothing to that relationship besides sex and chaste kisses on the cheeks exchanged during family dinners.

He didn’t really mind at first, everything felt fine and he simply craved the validation of his father. 

Draco was doing just fine before you came along. 

Sure, life was a little lacklustre. The sky wasn’t as azure, his morning coffee wasn’t as aromatic, and cigarettes were simply means of deteriorating his lungs.

But now, things had shifted a little. 

He felt happier than he had felt in a really long time.

Just as he was opening up his drawer to put away the family heirloom, you knocked on his door—looking breathless. 

“I’m sorry but I overheard your conversation with your father and I think I might be able to help.”

“Huh?” Draco asked, tilting his head,watching you as you grabbed his left hand and dropped a shiny Amethyst ring in the palm of his hands. 

“I had it made for my birthday last month.” You shrugged, it’ll help you keep your father off your back till you get another made.”

If he hadn't fallen in love with you already, he surely did in that particular moment, as he pulled you into his arms, desperately crashing his lips on top of yours. 

Fuck validation. 

Fuck everything. 

Fuck everyone. 

Thursday

Your back firmly pressed against his bare chest—his heart beat calm and steady. 

Draco had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he possessively pulled you closer to him the way he always did. 

That is how you had woken up. 

Cuddled up with him in his incredibly snug and comfortable bed within four walls enclosed with the smell of bourbon, mixed with the smell of soap, sex and his absurdly expensive cigarettes. 

Even with your eyes still shut, your lips couldn’t help but curve upwards when you felt his breathing gently tickle the back of your neck. 

That is how you had woken up that morning and you honestly wouldn’t mind waking up like that for the mornings to come. 

“Morning Y/l/n.” 

His raspy and deep morning voice sent shivers down your spine as his soft lips came in contact with the spot right below your ears. 

“Morning.” 

He continued to sensually suckle and nibble that particular spot and you suddenly found yourself wanting to be suckled and nibbled on other places. 

“Draco.” You hummed pushing yourself further into his embrace. There was something so fulfilling and satisfying about the way you fit into each other's embraces. Entangled arms, limbs and all. 

The hands that were wrapped securely around your waist now trailed upwards until they found your breasts. 

The feel of his hands taking their own sweet time—softly kneading your sensitive flesh was enough to have you writhing against him 

He made sure to take his time and give equal attention to both your breasts, using his slender fingers to pinch and tug at your hardened buds till you were pushing your hips further back towards him—craving friction, any type of friction really. 

“Easy now.” He lazily whispered into your ear as you started to grind your hips urgently against his erection aching to feel him inside of you again. 

You were empty and missed the feeling of being full but he was nowhere near done with worshiping your breasts—making you restless and impatient with each squeeze. 

“Draco.” You tilted your head backwards and sighed into his neck.“I—I need you to fuck me. Please—I just want to feel you inside me.” 

Draco let out a small chuckle at the directness of your words.

If someone had told him that the same girl that tried to hex him so many times in the past would be saying that to him, he would have told them to get themselves checked at st. Mungos. 

“Relax Darling. I’ll take take of you.” He murmured before trailing his lips down your neck and towards your shoulder placing mellow and relaxed kisses all the way. 

“Draco please.” You whined, grinding your hips harder—desperate tears threatening to leak out of your eyes when you felt his hand on your hip, slowing you down. 

“That’s it. Such a good girl.” He whispered encouragingly into your ear as you let his hands guide you—moving your hips in excruciatingly slow circles against him while he resumed kissing your neck and bare shoulders. 

“Atta girl. Yes that’s it. Keep doing that.” 

His kisses were a stark contrast to his lustful, ravenous and angry kisses from the previous night and the kisses only left you craving even more.

“Please Draco—Fuck me. Please just fuck me.” 

“Look at you, begging for it.” He said in a hoarse whisper as the tip of his cock made contact with your already soaking wet folds and all you could do was let out a muffled moan into your pillow. 

The tip of his cock only slipped halfway inside of you before he pulled out again, teasing.

“You’re dripping wet.” 

“Draco..” you whined.

“Tell me darling, who made your pussy this wet?” 

“You did. Draco Lucius Malfoy—Only you.” 

He loved hearing you beg, he loved it only second to the way you said moaned his name and so he finally entered you allowing his cock to completely stretch you out and fill you up. 

With his perfect teeth bared, Draco peppered kisses onto your shoulders, nibbling gently as he rocked his hips at a slow but steady pace—all the while mumbling sweet nothings into your skin about how well you took him, and how good he felt being inside of you.

The way his skilled hands tugged, twisted and pinched your nipples made you feel an other worldly sort of pleasure—causing you to whimper and moan his name,moving your own hips, trying to feel him deeper inside your walls.

“Shhhh—easy there.” He whispered against your neck. “Just let go.. Focus on feeling every inch of me buried deep inside your pretty little cunt. Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded and stopped moving your hips and used  one of your arms to hold onto his neck as you relaxed into him. 

“That’s it y/n, Just like that.” He coaxed, running his hand up and down your body before firmly resting on your hip as he fucked you nice and slow. 

There was something different and unexpected about his thrusts, something strange and foreign about the way he used his thumb to rub slow and sensual circles on your clit.

“You feel so good y/n. Your pussy feels so amazing.” 

Your moans muddled into one and his movements rocked the bed as he made love to you, pushing you closer and closer towards your orgasm. 

“Fuck—Im so close.” You moaned, burying your head deep into the pillow as Draco picked up his pace pushing his cock in harder and deeper with each thrust. 

“Oh fuck. yes Draco..yes.” You moaned as he dug his nails onto your hips forming crescent shaped indentations as he pushed himself deeper, hitting just the right spot over and over again, making your walls clench up. 

“Draco…” 

“Cum for me, Angel. Cum with me.” He groaned,making both of you ride out our highs till his warm seed spurted deep inside of you. 

When he pulled out of you, some of the warm liquid had already managed to seep out of you and trickle down your inner thigh.  

After taking a brief second to catch his breath, Draco shifted lower into the bed till he was in just in between your legs. 

“I could get used to waking up like this.” He smirked looking up at you. His platinum blonde hair was slightly wavy and kind of fluffy, falling on his forehead but not yet covering his stormy greys. 

“Like what?” You teased. 

“Don't play with me y/l.n.” He warned with a wicked gleam making the grey hues in his eyes brighten into a brilliant. It felt like his eyes changed colors from blue to grey according to his moods. 

“I could get used to waking up like this too.” You said softly as he tried to push back everything that had managed to trickle out. 

Right before Draco could even reply, his door creaked open. 

“Malfoy, Astoria is waiting for you in the common roo—fuck not this again.” Blaise groaned as you pulled the sheets over your body. 

Friday

On your last evening at school before Christmas break, you found yourself perched on the windosill, nestled in between Draco’s arms and limbs in the classroom that started it all.

The pad of his right thumb traced slow, almost lazy circles on your hand while he held his cigarette in his left hand. 

The lit tip of his cigarette was the same shade as the sunset in the tangerine sky and you took deep breaths to try and soak him and the smoke rings that escaped his lips up because you weren't sure if you’d get to be with him again. 

“What are you doing y/l/n?” He asked when he noticed you breathing in and out. 

“Nothing.” 

“Please.” Draco chuckled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You have that look on your face.”

“What look?” you asked, turning your head to look at him—the way the last rays of the setting sun caught up on his eyelashes only making you fall harder than you already had.

“This look y/n.” He kinked his eyebrows and tried to mimic your expression. “This is the look you have on your face wherever you are up to something—like  when you try and fix your failed potion in Potions class. Actually, you even make this face when you mix sugar into your tea.” 

“Im just—” You clicked your tongue in frustration. “I’m just going to miss this, I guess.” 

Your words made his expressions soften because he understood. 

How could he have not?

He had spent the whole of last night watching you sleep—the way your chest was rising and falling, the way your heart was beating against his.

He had spent the last hour trying to store the scent of your fruity shampoo deep inside his memory banks because he wasn’t sure if there would be a next time. 

“Let’s stay back at Hogwarts”  He mumbled, pulling you closer to him. “It’ll just be us, it will be good.”

“If only.” You sighed as you rested the back of your head at the crook of his neck. “But I have to go back home and explain the whole situation with Adrian and you…” 

Both of you went silent for a bit. 

“Give me your hand y/n.” He finally broke the silence as you turned around and  looked at him quizzically. “I want to give you something.”

You turned your body around so you could face him better. The strong winter breeze blew his hair towards his eyes, making you want to reach up and push those stray hairs away. Instead, you simply placed your hand on his. 

“Close your eyes.” 

You rolled my eyes at him before squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Are they closed?” 

You nodded and you felt him slip something onto your finger and you quickly  opened one eye to take a peek and It didn't even take you a second to realize he had slipped an emerald ring from onto your finger.

“Draco. I really don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“I thought I told you to keep your eyes shut.” He snapped. 

“But I can’t take this.” 

“I owed you a ring y/n.” He said holding your hand in his to look at the ring on your finger making a type of warmth spread over your entire body. “Keep it till I get the other ring made.” 

You simply stared at the ring unable to form words with your mouth until you felt him shift beside you as he got back up to his feet. 

“Don’t overthink it y/n—I’ll see you at the ball.” 

You hummed as you quietly watched him walk away from you, ignoring the stab your felt in your heart with every step he took. But before you could process your emotions fully, Draco turned on his heel and walked towards you— instantly cupping your face in his hands. 

“Draco what are-”

His lips ardently crushed yours before you could even finish your sentence

There was an abrupt kind of finality in the way he moved his lips against yours. It was like he was kissing you for the last time . 

“I’ll be thinking of you y/l/n.” 

To be continued..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 5 teaser:

Draco’s features softened as he slowly shifted and got up from the reading nook in his bedroom to fully open his window.

You shielded yourself as cold drops of rain started to hit your face. “What in the actual fuck?”

“Shut up and follow me.” He said as he climbed out of the window and onto the ledge.

“Are you mental?”

“Just do as I say.” He said helping you onto the ledge.

Both of you laughed hysterically as the rain seeped through our clothes as you sat on the ledge with you bare feet dangling in the air.

One wrong move and both of you could fall to your respective deaths. But there came an adrenaline rush with the risk of it all.

___________________________

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Love,

V

[logicallyanxious]

Cold-Hearted

Fic based of off this post by @sandersfanders

Words: 1827

Warnings: Sympathetic dark sides. “Evil” Patton (not because I dislike Patton, but because he’s mentioned from Deceit’s point of view).

Summary: After the sides are separated into “light” and “dark” Deceit develops ice powers to go with his cold heart. He hides them well, until an incident with Remus that causes him to reveal them.

Liar. Cunning. Untrustworthy. Silver-tongued. Manipulative. Selfish. Cold-hearted.

Cold.

Cold.

Cold. 

Deceit had heard them all. All the insults, descriptions he heard whispered as he walked through the mind palace, distrustful eyes lingering, watching him as he went. The other sides, the “light” sides, fell into defense when he appeared, ready for a fight he never meant to bring. It didn’t bother him, he knew his place.

Callous. Merciless. Dispassionate. Evil. Uncaring. Insensitive. Dark. Icy.

Icy.

Frigid.

Cold.

Deceit watched his breath puff, a smoky cloud floating before him. He hugged his arms to his chest as he listened to the ice crackle under his feet, his walls becoming lined with a thin layer of frost.

It was a secret he kept guarded, close to his chest. No one could know about his powers, not even the sides he considered friends. If the word got out…. If the “light” sides discovered what he could do…. Well, they already knew he was a snake, Deceit wouldn't dare think about how he’d be treated if they added sorcerer to the list.

He thought he understood why he was the one cursed with these powers. Morality had been the one to divide the sides up, choosing who was “good” and who was “bad”. Breaking apart the sides like an apathetic soccer coach at the start of a new season. Tossing out the kids who didn’t hold up to the standards, who cost the team the trophy at the end of the year.

He didn’t blame him — everyone had their role. Their own way to help Thomas. 

When he was pushed into the subconscious, told to stay away, it’d been done with a strained smile. Guarded eyes that didn’t dare reveal how much pain this decision had caused. The final verdict had been made, lying being deemed bad. An unwanted characteristic. 

“Liars,” Morality had whispered, his voice tense and forced, as if the words were barely able to escape his mouth, “are cold-hearted.”

Deceit felt the insult stab through his chest like an icicle. He frowned, fighting against the father-figures’s tight grip as he held his arm, dragging him towards the subconscious. He’d tried to explain that self-preservation was necessary.

This only caused Morality’s grip to tighten, his tense smile becoming a tight line. His guarded eyes turned to anger, a burning disapproval that Deceit shrunk away from.

When him and the others were sent away, he could feel the waves of biting chill radiating from his chest, growing colder as the door slammed shut. 

The subconscious, from then on, had always been cold.

There was a reason Anxiety was fond of his jacket.

It was assumed the place was cold because of how dark and closed off it was. Hidden away from the rest of the mind. Deceit alone knew the truth. He hid it well.

At least for a while.

It was easy to keep a secret, being the embodiment of deceitful behaviors. Furthermore, Anxiety usually kept to himself, closed off in his room, loud music playing, drowning everything out. And, well, Remus wasn’t the most observant side. Especially not at first.

The first few months were hard on everyone. But Remus in particular had it the worse. He’d waited each day, determined they’d be welcomed back.

“The door will open any second now,” he mused, sitting nearby and watching it. “They’ll come back for us, I know it.”

Anxiety had only hunched his shoulders, shaking his head and muttering something about hope being pointless. Deceit just watched, his eyes sad.

After a few weeks, Remus grew more subdued, the bruises around his eyes darkening.

“I know we fought a lot,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “but he’s my brother. He’s...He’s supposed to rescue me. He…” Remus shook his head, wiping at his eyes. His expression grew more fierce as his gaze bore into the door handle. “He will come for me. I know it.”

Deceit didn’t have the heart, a heart, to tell him to give it up. To tell the truth, the fact that this was their new home, forever. So instead he did what he did best. He lied.

Alone in his room, Deceit watched the tendrils of frost escape from his fingertips, snowflakes hanging in the air. His sorrow and anger pulsed through his veins, ice escaping in its place.

But it was easy to control, his emotions easy to push away and ignore. 

After a while, Remus’ subdued behavior grew restless. He went back to his regularly scheduled shenanigans, and without Roman to act as a buffer or any kind of impulse control, Deceit was having to save him on a daily basis.

Deceit wasn’t sure if this was pent up energy from sitting still for so long, or if Remus was acting out on purpose, in hopes that Roman would come and stop him.

It was during one of these particular outbursts that Deceit was forced to reveal his secret.

Remus stood at the top of a skyscraper, something he’d summoned and climbed like King Kong. Deceit stood underneath, squinting up at the other side, watching helplessly as Remus toed the edge.

“Remus, get down from there!” Deceit demanded, his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

“I’m going to jump!” Remus proudly announced, a manic gleam in his eyes as he let out a deranged laugh.

Deceit froze, his eyes going wide.

“Remus, don’t! I won’t be able to save you from that height!” He warned.

“But haven’t you ever thought about jumping off of a building before?”

“Not even once!” 

“Well I have!” Remus revealed, leaping over the edge with a shout of glee.

Deceit felt a strangled shout rip out of his chest as he reached out. As Remus fell, a stream of ice hit him. The skyscraper dematerialized as Remus went limp.

Luckily, Deceit was able to slow his fall and soften his impact, a bed of snow catching him when he landed.

“Remus!” He shouted, running over to his side. 

He was unconscious, his skin sickly and pale. He was cold to the touch and a white streak marred his brown hair.

Deceit heard a horrified gasp and his head shot up. He looked over to Anxiety, whose eyes were wide, a hand pressed against his mouth.

Of course Anxiety would be drawn to the scene of a disaster. 

He shook his head and backed away but Deceit reached out to him. This motion caused Anxiety to flinch and Deceit looked down at his hand, his eyes full of sorrow as he lowered it.

“Please, help me!” He called out, looking back down at Remus. “He’s hurt.”

Anxiety finally moved, making his way toward them. He looked down at the two with a grim expression.

“We need to get Roman.”

Deceit paled at the light side’s name.

“Please, no. He already hates me, he can’t know about this.”

“I hate the idea of involving a light side too, but it’s the only way. Roman’s the only one who knows enough about magic to be able to help. He’s the only one who can save him.”

“But will he?” Deceit asked, his voice quiet as he stared down at Remus, who’d spent months waiting for his brother to rescue him, to no avail.

Virgil nodded. “Of course he will. Remus is his brother, he wouldn’t let him die… Right?”

They shared a sad look before Virgil got up, disappearing. 

They weren’t supposed to go into the conscious since being sent away, but he knows Anxiety has ways.

A few minutes later he returned, pulling Roman behind him.

“Unhand me, fiend!” He struggled against Anxiety’s grip, seeming annoyed. “If this is a trap I will run you through with my blade! No one disturbs Prince Roman while-” his voice cut off as he took in the scene before him. “Remus?” He asked, his voice quiet.

He took a hesitant step forward before breaking into a sprint. He fell to his knees at his brother’s side, cradling his head in his lap.

“Oh, Remus, who did this to you?” He asked, his voice hoarse.

“It...I-It was an accident,” Deceit muttered, backing away.

Roman looked up, his eyes blazing. 

“You!” He lunged forward, brandishing his sword.

Deceit flinched away, waiting to be impaled, but the weapon fell to the floor with a clatter as Remus stirred.

Roman fell back to his side, fight forgotten, and held him close.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” He whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “Your brother’s here. Roman’s here. I’m going to save you, okay?”

“So you can help him?” Anxiety asked, standing nearby, his eyes worried.

Roman nodded. “Of course I can. I’m Prince Roman, after all.” He examined his brother’s head and let out a sigh of relief. “It’s just an ice spell. As long as I remove the shard from his head he’ll be good as new.”

He worked quickly and when he was done he picked Remus up, carrying him to his room. Anxiety and Deceit trailed behind him, but didn’t dare disturb him as he went. Roman gently laid Remus in his bed, tucking him in and giving him a kiss on the forehead. 

Once he left the room he whirled on the other two sides. “Don’t you dare let this happen again,” He warned. They rambled out assurances and apologies and  Roman allowed himself a small, relieved smile. “Good.”

He turned to walk away but Deceit reached out, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“Wait, you’re just going to leave? You aren’t going to at least wait for him to wake up?”

Roman’s gaze hardened and he forced a stiff nod. “Of course, I’m a busy man.”

Deceit could feel the words tug at his gut. A lie.

“He’s been waiting you know. Sitting at the door for months, saying his brother will come rescue him.”

Roman turned away, “Remus has always been foolish.”

“Roman-”

Roman pulled his arm from Deceit’s grasp, stepping further towards the consciousness.

“I’m sorry. It has to be this way.”

His voice was tight, full of pain as he continued forward. Deceit called after him, but Anxiety shook his head. It was no use. Roman was gone.

When Remus woke up, he muttered Roman’s name, and Deceit felt his heart sink in his chest.

Remus’ eyes searched the room and his face fell. He focused his attention on Deceit and tilted his head.

“What’s with the yellow gloves?” He asked. When Deceit didn’t reply, he decided to try a new question. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Deceit replied icily. 

“Are you sure? I had this weird dream. There was magic involved and you were there and-and Roman and then-” His voice trailed off as Deceit fixed him with a hard stare. “Never mind.”

Remus frowned to himself and Deceit let out a sigh, his gaze melting.

“Just… Be more careful in the future.” He stood, walking away. He stopped in the doorway and turned toward Remus, his eyes almost pleading. “Please.”

Tagging: @therubyjailcell and @limitededitionsanderssidesblog because they both seemed interested in a fic for this idea in the notes of the original post. I should really make an official tag list for my fics in the future

[birdsdontwearshoes]

Little Drabble For Gabriel’s Birthday

So, this is a day late, but better late than never? Thank you @jesseblackthorns for giving me the idea to write the headcanons that inspired this story. :) Basically all of this belongs to @cassandraclare . Enjoy? 

- - -

Gabriel spurred the horses. He had to get to the Institute. Quickly. Cecily was in labor, and the baby was five weeks early. He was working himself into a panic, worrying about everything that could go wrong. She could bleed, the baby could be too small, it could be born dead. They might not get to the Institute on time, or the Silent Brothers might not arrive soon enough to save her.

He knew he was being silly. Cecily was strong. And as far as they’d been able to tell, so was the baby. Of course it would be. It had its mothers blood, after all. It. He hated referring to his child as an it.

Soon, he thought, soon you will know.

Yes. He would.

Unless.

He banished the thought. They would all be fine.

He skidded to a stop in front of the Institute and raced to the door. Cecily was still in the carriage, but he could come back for her once the Silent Brothers had been contacted. She would be fine.

“Will!” he burst through the doors. “Will, Cecily is in labor!”

Will’s smiling face appeared in the entryway. “Oh! That is a fabulous excuse to get Jem to come, isn’t it. I was just trying to think of one…” he trailed off, probably noting the fear in Gabriel’s eyes, as well as his ragged appearance. He’d forgotten a hat while leaving, and the wind had rumpled his clothes on the ride there. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head.

Will let out a string of Welsh. Tugging his hair nervously, he began pacing back and forth across the hall, cursing under his breath.

Gabriel was not sure what to do. His mind was still reeling in panic.

Thankfully, Tessa chose that moment to come down the stairs. “What is going on?”

“Cecily,” Gabriel managed.

Comprehension dawned on her face. “Already?” she glanced around the hall, taking in Will’s deranged pacing and Gabriel’s frozen state. Seeming to be missing something, she added, “Where is she?”

“In the carriage.”

“Well, go get her.” Though it was an order, her expression was soft, and she laid steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’ll call the Silent Brothers.”

- - - 

After what seemed like an age of waiting outside the infirmary, Sophie poked her head out the door. Gabriel straightened, equal parts excitement and fear making his stomach turn. Sophie and Gideon had arrived at the Institute not long after the Brother Zachariah and Brother Enoch, and Sophie had immediately gone to Cecily’s side. None of the men had been allowed in the room, seeing as they were all “highly anxious and would disturb Cecily and the baby”, but both Tessa and Sophie had been in there for more than half and hour.

“Is she alright?” he asked.

“She’s fine.” Sophie smiled. “So is the girl.”

The girl.

“Can I--”

Sophie nodded. “Come in.”

She moved aside, and he rushed past her. At the far end of the Infirmary, Brother Zachariah, Brother Enoch, and Tessa were crowded around a bed. As he approached, Zachariah turned around.

Hello, Gabriel. Come meet your daughter.

Tessa moved aside, and he saw Cecily. She was propped up against the pillows, a tired but content expression on her face. “Why don’t we leave you to meet her?” Gabriel nodded, and she and the Silent Brothers left the room.

“Would you like to hold her?” Cecily asked. Gabriel nodded again. He found his throat was tight, and he was unable to speak.

Taking the girl from Cecily’s arms, he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat. Gazed down at his daughter. His daughter. Elation washed through him. She was red and prune-like, a soft tuft of black hair adorning her head. She blinked, and he caught a glimpse of dark blue eyes. “She looks so much like Will,” he breathed. Cecily coughed, and he realised his mistake. “So much like you.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “What should we name her?”

“I like Anna.”

He thought about it. Anna. Yes. “Anna is beautiful.”

- - - 

It was almost a week after Anna had been born, and Gabriel had hardly slept. He couldn’t. It wasn’t that Anna was waking him. No, whenever she began crying he had already been awake.

Tonight was no different. He lay in bed beside Cecily’s sleeping form, the same worries that had been needling him for the past eight months keeping him up. What if he was like his father? What if he turned out to be an awful parent who neglected and hurt his children? He couldn’t let that happen, but what if it wasn’t his choice? What if--

Anna’s cries interrupted his train of thought. She was a sweet baby, but like all children, she was quite restless at night. Rolling out of bed, he made his way down the hall to Anna’s room. She was lying in her cradle, crying, but he scooped her up in his arms. “Shh,” he whispered as he rocked her. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe. Daddy’s got you.”

Slowly, she calmed down, her shrieks turning into whimpers, her whimpers turning into calm breaths. Once he was sure she was asleep, he laid her back in the cradle and turned to leave.

He stopped short in the doorway.

Cecily was leaning against the opposite wall, her gaze tired but focused. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

He paused. She’d been so busy during the days with Anna, he hadn’t thought she’d noticed his weariness or the way his face had become more drawn as the week passed. Of course, he should have known she would. She was Cecily. “No,” he said. There was no point in lying. She always saw right through his lies, ever since they’d met.

“Why not?”

He looked down. “I--What if I’m like him?”

She took a step closer and laid a hand on his arm. “You won’t be.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” she raised her chin, and in her eyes he saw her faith, clear and bright.

“How?” he believed she was certain, but how could she know? “How do you know I won’t be awful? I don’t--I can’t hurt you or Anna. I can’t.”

“I know,” she said, reaching up to cup his face, “because I know you. I don’t think Benedict ever rocked you to sleep at night.”

She was right.

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

She always knew. He leaned down and their lips met.

[notionsofasimpleton]

Buford Radio

We had been on the road for four hours now, it was sometime after 3 a.m. and the cheap coffee I bought from the gas station 80 miles back had gone cold already. The road stretched out only as far as the headlights, I was sure if I turned off the lights we’d drive into an empty darkness that could only compare to that of a black hole or the bottom of an endless pit. The heater was broken and for that reason we were both layered in thick jackets and double pants with socks that tested the space within our shoes. The radio was turned down so that the volume was only slightly audible. An advertisement of a new dating website, a week trial if you sign up now. The only light in the car came from the green station numbers on the stereo, and the small light from a pen hovering over her notebook.

 “A nine letter word for crazy…”

“Deranged.”

“No that’s only eight words.”

“Demented?”

“No that’s eight again.”

“Okay, what about delusional?”

“Delusional…hmm. Let’s see…Yes! That works.”

The sound of the pen scratched against the paper as she slowly wrote each letter one after the other, I glanced over at her as she did this. Moments later she scribbled down another word and finally closed the book.

 “How many more hours till we get there?”

“Maybe nine more if we don’t make any stops. Don’t know how many more hours I have in me though, might pull over if we pass by a motel soon.”

“That’s fine with me, I’m going to try to sleep some.”

“Okay. Mind if I turn the radio up some?”

“Go ahead.”

           She unbuckled her seat belt and made her way to the back seat, throwing one leg over the other as I maneuvered my head to avoid being hit. I could hear her rustling around as she tried to lay still. After a few moments I heard nothing but the low sounds coming from the radio, I turned the nob some to make out what was playing. The melody faded away slowly and I only caught the last part which sounded like a tune I couldn’t quite remember, Lou Reed maybe? After the song ended there was an interruption that cut into what sounded like a talk show. I reaffirmed my grip on the steering wheel and began to pick up speed.

 “Weeeeere back again with our special guest Dr. Simmons, who studied psychology for over 20 years and he’s here to answer any and every one of your questions and concerns. Let’s  get our next caller on the line. Ritchie from Buford, Wyoming. What do you got for us today Ritchie?” the host said.

“Well you see, it’s hard to explain. I have these dreams, and they feel very real to the point I constantly wake up in a sweat. I haven’t slept in three days.”

“And what happens in these dreams you have?”

“Lots of stuff. There is one that has been reoccurring. It always starts the same, I’m in a small classroom and the instructor informs us we’ll be taking a small trip. Instantly we’re in a snowstorm at the top of a steep hill that looks down onto a pure white scenery. The instructor, he tells us we must make a decision.”

“What kind of decision?”

“It’s a decision of faith I guess, but I’m not sure in what. He asks us to jump down the mountain and everyone…everyone just jumps.”

“Into nothing?”

“Into nothing. And then everyone is gone and I’m left standing at the peak alone. The instructor then says something.”

“What does he say?”

“He says ‘that’s all for today, time to head home.’ And he walks through a door and the dream ends.”

“Indeed, that is a very strange dream Ritchie. Have you ever thought of jumping?”

“Yes.”

“Why haven’t you?”

 At this point I was going just over 75 on the highway, and all my attention was drawn to the radio. I checked the rearview mirror momentarily and she was fast asleep in the back.

 “Well it’s not that simple. When I watch everyone else jump I’m stuck there on top of that peak. I have no awareness of my body, it’s almost as if I’m watching through someone else’s eyes. No matter how hard I try, all I can do is watch.”

 “I believe that might have something to do with…it’s almost as if…”

 The radio kept cutting in and out until all I could hear was static. I kept glancing back and forth between the stereo and the road as I attempted to fiddle with the radio. Each station I turned to was complete static. Out the window now were mountains that filled the skies which could explain the bad reception. I had already been so invested into the story that I began to grow frustrated. What was the doctor going to say? What did it all mean. I thought about the dream and tried to piece together what was actually going on. There was the instructor, but he didn’t say exactly what he taught. Then they’re all there just on that cliff. Everyone makes their choice and jumps, and he’s stuck there. Everyone is taking a risk, and he’s frozen still.

Once we passed the mountains the land went flat and the road opened up to empty plains that stretched as far as the night sky. In the distance was a sign for a motel and next to it another sign that was almost completely faded, all I could make out was the first letter, “B”. There was also the population written, but the numbers after “1” were gone. My eyes were heavy by now and I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it much further on the road. I pulled off on the exit and turned into a small parking lot that was occupied by an even smaller hotel. It was a one story building made of logs with eight doors lined up one after the other. At the edge of one side was a room I assumed was the office, dimly lit. Above this small section was a small painted sign labeled “Buford Motel” and just below it a neon green light that spelled out “Vacancy”. I pulled into one of the spots and looked to the back seat, she was still sound asleep. I figured I could check in and then come back to get her.

           I entered the small office and was met by a ring just above the door. The room was lit by a small lamp just above the desk. Behind the desk was a young man who looked to be a few years younger than myself with his head ducked under a book. He wore glasses and had an energy I couldn’t quite explain, but almost familiar. From a corner of his desk was a small radio just loud enough I was able to make out what they were saying.

 “Well that’s all for tonight’s show, I want to thank Dr. Simmons for spending time with us and all of my listeners for tuning in, until next time!”

 It seemed I wasn’t the only one tuning into that talk show. The man lowered the volume on the radio and stood up to greet me. He wore a blue dress shirt with a brown tie that was loosened. When I looked at him now he appeared to be older, bags under his eyes that showed signs he hadn’t had much sleep.

  “Hello, My name is Ritchie. What can I do for you tonight?”

[silavut-the-wizard]

Silavut the Wizard, Chapter 16

It’s finally done! Sehlan has very strange experience.

In-Between

Sehlan found herself in total darkness. She was on a hard floor—stone, perhaps?—and there were indistinct, muffled sounds. Am I in a dungeon? How did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was with Silavut in the cabin. Oh no! Silavut! Oh, I hope he’s OK. Worried as she was, her thoughts started running together and her concern for Silavut nearly outweighed her own predicament, but she couldn’t let that distract her. She had to figure out where she was and get back to him.

Suddenly she heard shrill, malicious laughter. It sounded like it was coming from another room beyond where she was. Then silence. Footsteps, dull and slow mixed with quick, short, clacking ones. A chaotic rattling. A voice.

“She is here,” said the baritone voice.

“Oh goodie. I can’t wait to meet the one who tamed this supposed wizard.”

Tamed? Wizard? What in the world? Sehlan wondered. “Who’s there?” she called.

A high-pitched giggle. “Oh, just someone interested in who caught the heart of a certain someone I’ve heard so much about these last few weeks.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know.” Another giggle.

“No. I don’t know. How about you tell me.”

“Nope. I’m surprised you haven’t figure it out by now.”

This exchange, and—what Sehlan assumed to be—the girl’s voice was really getting on her nerves. She was in no mood for such games. “Who are you and how did I get here? What do you want with me?”

“Oh no, no no no. It’s not that easy.” The clacking resumed. She was circling Sehlan. “You tell me what I want to know. Then maybe, just maybe, I might give you something. If I’m feeling generous. So, tell me, why are you with him?”

Sehlan decided to try and play dumb. “With who?” She felt a sharp blow to her back, pinning her down. Yet when she tried to reach around and grab hold of who- or whatever it was, there was nothing.

“You know exactly who. I’ve heard you and he are hunting for the ‘insane sorceress bent on destroying the universe’. Now tell me”—there was more pressure applied to Sehlan’s back—“who…is…he? Why are you after her?”

Sehlan grunted with the invisible weight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed through gritted teeth.

“I think you do. What would it take for you to tell the truth? Hmm? Oh! I know!” The woman snapped her fingers and in Sehlan’s mind, she saw Silavut searching for her, his despair, and attempt to scry for her. “You see, he’s distraught without you. Who knows what’ll happen next. Maybe he’ll stop searching. Maybe he’ll stop thinking about you. Or maybe he’ll just… No, I don’t think he will. So tell me…”

Sehlan wept silently, not giving the woman the satisfaction of hearing her anguish. “I will not. There is nothing you can do to me that will help you. I would rather die.”

“Oh. Well. OK, then.”

Sehlan heard some shuffling, a muted whisper, then a long, drawn out sound of something scraping. She waited for the inevitable with eyes squeezed shut.

Nothing happened.

The invisible weight on her back disappeared. As she scrambled away, she sensed something was off. The air seemed stale and all sounds had ceased. It was as if time around her had stopped.

Slowly, the room started to fill with light, but there was no visible light source. As it got brighter, Sehlan could start making out the figures of the brute and lady. Eventually it was bright enough she could see their features, and she nearly fell over with shock.

The lady had a grotesque figure, her face twisted and gnarled, and her body bent out of shape. The brute was a bulbous form, head shrunken and body large and round, his legs and feet seemingly nonexistent.

What are these horrendous things? Sehlan thought. She then caught a glimpse of some kind of weapon in the bulbous brute’s hands. The weapon he was going to destroy her with. I need to get out of here. Now! Looking around, she could find no way out.

“I know the way out,” said a disembodied voice.

“Wha—who—where—” She turned all around but just as with the light, there was no source of the voice.

“You’ve been trapped in an in-between place. The creatures you see before you are creations of the poor, deranged sorceress. As for me, I guess you could say I’m the caretaker of this in-between place. I’ve been here for centuries. I was once trapped, like you are now. I was wandering through a forest and was caught unaware by its curse. I remember a flash, darkness, and then here I was. Somehow, it managed to remove me from my body, but kept my essence here. So now I help innocents like you.”

“Me? What about them?” Sehlan gestured at the two poor, twisted figures. “You say they’re creations of her, so wouldn’t that make them innocents, too?”

“Unfortunately, after her powers corrupted them, they could not be helped. They have been trapped here because of their unfortunate fates. There is no escape, no help, for them. You, however, can change that. You, along with the wizard friend of yours—”

“Wait! Hold on. She”—Sehlan pointed at the lady’s twisted form—“mentioned a wizard and showed me him, my…travelling companion. Is he actually a wizard?”

“Yes, he is. Did he not tell you?”

“No…I guess he didn’t feel it important enough to mention it…” She crossed her arms in a huff.

“Well, no matter. Now you know. Just don’t get upset at him for it. Maybe he didn’t feel it was the right time. Or he didn’t know how to tell you. You still have your secrets, too, that you haven’t yet told him.”

Sehlan sighed, defeated. “I guess you’re right. So. How do I get out of here? Oh, and thanks, by the way. For stopping them before…you know.” She again gestured toward the figures, specifically the unusual weapon.

“I didn’t stop them,” said the voice, puzzled.

“Then…how…did…?”

“There must be another force at work. You must go, quickly. To leave this place, you must close your eyes and picture yourself where you want to be. It must be someplace familiar to you, not someplace you haven’t been, lest you get lost and permanently trapped in-between. Good luck.” The voice faded out.

Sehlan settled herself and did as instructed. At first nothing happened. Then after a few moments, she could feel an odd tingling sensation throughout her body. She kept concentrating on the place she wanted to be: back at the cabin, so she could find Silavut. She blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, she came to. Sehlan was on the bed she shared with Silavut. Hurriedly, remembering the direction he went from the vision she was shown in the in-between place, she went after him, picking her way through the debris, following a path she guessed was his.

After some time, she could see where he was dragging the packs wherever there was a clearing. She couldn’t be too far behind. Picking up her pace, she continued following the path, climbing over, around, and through the detritus as quickly as she could.

Once she felt she was at a good enough distance, she started calling his name. No answer. She continued calling hoping for some kind of sign. Still nothing.

It was now getting dark and there was still no sign except the trail he left with the dragging packs. Now shivering with the oncoming cold of night, and no visible shelter, Sehlan thought she might freeze to death. She would eventually have to stop and rest; she couldn’t go on forever.

Suddenly she saw light up ahead. A fire? Is that him? With renewed vigor, she carefully continued making her way through the debris. As soon as she got within sight of the light, she froze.

[lavieenprose]

When the loss of romantic love no longer breaks your heart, life finds another way

Last week I heard from a friend who’s heartbroken. The details of her particular situation are incidental; it’s always the same story. As it happens, she’s much younger than I am, but I knew better than to tell her any of the perfectly true things — that she was a brilliant, beautiful young woman and would, without doubt, fall in love again, with someone more deserving of her, that this would pass, that she’d be happy again — that would’ve been of no use to her. I didn’t want to condescend to her as though she were some silly little girl head over heels with hormones, and also didn’t want to sound like some desiccated old person who’s forgotten what it’s like to be in love.

I myself am not unfamiliar with the etiology of heartbreak. Let’s not dwell on this: I’ve written about it at length elsewhere, and it’s frankly embarrassing. A typical scenario involved me curled up on the bathroom floor weeping piteously into a smelly old towel. (“Weeping into the towel” became verbal shorthand for the whole ordeal, one that I’m afraid got wearisomely familiar to my closest friends.) The particular strain of love my young friend was suffering — unrequited, or unavailable — is one of which I made rather a vocation for a couple of decades. In my own experience, a recurring attraction to people who are unavailable usually means you’re not ready to fall in love with someone who is. Some form of love that’s impeded or incomplete (illicit, unilateral, long-distance, epistolary) may be all you can take — or, more importantly, give — at that point in your life. It may be, despite your protestations, what you really want. My friend Margot likes to ask, of people in such situations: “If you weren’t thinking about [x person] all the time, what would you be thinking about instead?” — because the answer is usually what you’re trying to avoid by burying yourself alive in your romantic/sexual obsession.

It’s been over a decade since that last happened to me. I hesitate even to write those words, like a superstitious pitcher afraid to break a streak. My loves used to be operatic; my heartbreaks, Toscan; and my jealousy not just Othelloan but Medean — the kind where you send someone a poisoned dress, murder your own children, and drive off in a chariot drawn by dragons. But my last bout of insane jealousy and rage, which commandeered my brain like a parasite for the better part of a year and had to be extinguished with vipassana meditation, seems to have burned out the circuit in my head. Since then I’ve had whole relationships in which my partner and I saw each other only on weekends, I didn’t know or ask what she did during the week, and the question of whom else she might be sleeping with didn’t seem like any of my business.

Having had so many inconvenient, and frequently disastrous, crushes eventually affords you enough experience, enough of an emotional buffer, that you can learn to recognize them in the early stages and let them discreetly wither instead of cultivating them. If you’re lucky, eventually you get tired of your own pathology, exhausted by all the energy it takes to fall deliriously in love and get horribly heartbroken again and again. Like an addict driven into recovery, you get sick of the endless vacillation between euphoria and agony. In Seymour: An Introduction, Buddy Glass (Salinger’s alter ego) writes: “I can’t be running back and forth forever between grief and high delight.” Ideally, you learn to love in less volatile, precarious ways.

Though even this explanation gives me too much credit: mostly it’s just a matter of deranging chemicals gradually ebbing from my brain. (I tell my girlfriend that I only became datable within the last five years. I think she thinks I’m joking.) But my young friend is still at an age when love really is the most important thing in life — evolutionarily speaking, finding a mate is the most important mission of youth, besides survival — so it’s only natural that she’s deep in the summer storms of endorphins. It’d be facile for me to give her my dumb adult reassurances now that I’m no longer susceptible to those debilitating bouts of infatuation and heartbreak. Equanimity is a virtue of age, not youth. Youth’s virtue is passion — even my students’ angst and ennui are more intensely felt than my own dull depression and boredom.

But I mostly refrained from giving wise older-person advice because I don’t believe there is some state of wisdom we slowly mature toward and eventually attain. (When would that even be — the moment when our personalities are complete and our understanding at its peak? Sometime, presumably, between infantile and senile incontinence.) The problems I had at age seven were no less serious than the ones I have now — they were more serious, in fact, since my current problems do not include any likelihood of being sat on and having my hair pulled. Every age has its own truths, particular to the needs of that phase of life: childhood truths and teenage truths, young-adult and middle-aged ones, and, if we live long enough to learn them, the unwelcome truths of old age. They tend to arrive in the form of retrospect: you really get good at being a kid around age 11 or 12, on the idyllic eve of destruction; you finally feel like you might be getting the hang of adulthood right around the time you’re diagnosed with something that’s not going to go away. An optimistic projection would be that, on our deathbeds, maybe we’ll finally have figured out what life was all about.

These truths also don’t seem to be transferable, at least not backward. When I was a college freshman, we would mock upperclassmen who didn’t go out and get black-out drunk every night — we were never gonna turn into boring old stay-at-home 22-year-olds! There would have been no way for those sagacious juniors to explain to us why they no longer wanted to get drunk nightly, anymore than parents can explain to the childless why all the forfeitures they’ve chosen are worth it. If you were to ask me whether it makes me sad that I haven’t been heartbroken in over a decade (but no one ever asks questions like that), I’d say it makes me a little sad that it doesn’t make me sad. It’d be like missing going out and chugging Jägermeister on a Tuesday. I just don’t want my head to feel like that, ever again.

The other night I was talking with a friend about how relieved we both were to have outgrown the hopeless crushes, doomed affairs, and obliterating heartbreaks of our younger years. We’re no longer capable of hurling ourselves as heedlessly into love as we did back then; we instinctively hedge our affections, the same way you learn, if you survive your teens, not to drive 120 miles an hour on twisty backroads with the headlights off. Later, over a second or maybe third round, we segued into more somber and mature problems: the unbearable sadness of watching the slow dissolution of our parents’ personalities — their forgetfulness, hallucinations, delusions. As an adult, you try to meet this with as much equanimity, compassion, and humor as you can, but some little-kid part of you is enraged at seeing them so diminished, and panicked at being abandoned. After a glum pause, my friend said: “Remember those heartbreaks we said we were lucky to have left behind…?” You could almost hear the whanh-wah-whaaahh — that trombone mock-lament at the end of the sitcom as our heroes realize that the joke, once again, is on them. Punchline being, life’s just one goddamn heartbreak after another.

It’s a truism, post-Freud, that heartbreak feels so eviscerating — regardless of which incidental jerk or wacko it happens to attach to — because it’s really an abreaction, a reenactment of much earlier, more primal losses we’ve forgotten: Oedipal triangles and abandonments, bad breakups with your first loves, whom you never really got over. But causality is only one-way in human perception: you could also interpret them not as repressed memories but premonitions; distant, preliminary shivers of the arctic desolation that awaits us at the other end of life.

Anyway, soon enough I’ll be weeping as I eat this essay, sneering through my tears back at past me, Mr. Smart Guy, who postured as wise and imagined himself past silly afflictions of youth like love and sorrow. I’m about to discover what heartbreak at 52 feels like. The details are incidental; it’s always the same story. This one feels a little like death: I’ve always known it was coming, intellectually; I just didn’t think it would be yet. Now it’s looming like a meteor or tsunami, too late to outrun. Hopefully it won’t be as crippling an experience as it was in my twenties (though the adolescent fear that No One Will Ever Love You Again has a new shadow of plausibility the older you get). Maybe it’ll be like the difference between Tosca or Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique — wrenching, histrionic — and something more like Beethoven’s Cavatina, or Mahler’s Ninth — an exquisite melancholy. Probably it’ll just suck. But I don’t really know, any more than I can know what it’s like to see people who aren’t there, or confuse dreams with memories, or forget your children’s names. But I guess we’ll find out.

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1161

Monday, May 1, 2017

 It's a great week to be a geek. The TV adaptation of Neil Gaiman's "American Gods" starts airing now. Thursday, May 4th is Star Wars Day. The "Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2" movie opens in theatres on Friday, May 5th. Saturday the 6th is FREE COMIC BOOK DAY. Sunday the 7th is another CAPITAL TRADE SHOW at the Jim Durrell Arena where Jee-Riz Comics & Appraisals will be hawking their wares. Fly your geek flags high.

 Ben Reilly: The Scarlet Spider #1 - Peter David (writer) Mark Bagley (pencils) John Dell (inks) Jason Keith (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This follows the "Clone Conspiracy" debacle as Ben tries to start a new life in Sin City. If you like your Spider-Man a little bit unethical then this book is for you. Ben also talks to imaginary people which can make for some confusion but it's a quirk that sets him apart from the other Spider-Men. I don't know if I'll keep up with this mentally unstable version but I like his new costume a lot.

 Batman & The Shadow #1 - Scott Snyder & Steve Orlando (writers) Riley Rossmo (art) Ivan Plascencia (colours) Clem Robins (letters). A murder in Gotham City sets Batman on the hunt for the killer with the victim's name giving us a clue to who that might be. Lamont Cranston's death leads Bruce to the Alps to visit an old teacher after some detective work talking to old associates of The Shadow. I liked how the similarities between the two dark crime fighters make this an interesting chess game between two masters of mainpulation. I wonder what the motive was if The Shadow did indeed kill his own descendant. Maybe the rest of this 6-issue mini will reveal the truth.

 Big Moose #1 - This double sized one-shot features Archie Comic's iconic dumbbell jock Marmaduke AKA Moose Mason. I did not know that he had the same name as a comic strip great dane, and I don't mean Scooby Doo. The first story "Moose vs. the Vending Machine" by Sean Ryan (writer) Cory Smith (art) Matt Herms (colours) & Jack Morelli (letters) is your typical dumb jock story that would fit right in an old Pep comic from the fifties. The second story "Have It All" by Ryan Cady (writer) Thomas Pitilli (art) Glenn Whitmore (colours) & Jack Morelli (letters) shows a more intelligent Moose juggling all of his stressful high school responsibilities. I felt for the guy, especially his struggle with an English lit paper. It made me suspect that Moose might be dyslexic. The last story "The Big Difference" by Gorf (writer) Ryan Jampole (art) Kelly Fitzpatrick (colours) & Jack Morelli (letters) has Moose making a new friend that's a little "after school special" but the kids will get the message. All in all a nice feature of a minor Archie character.

 No World #1 - Scott Lobdell (writer) Jordan Gunderson (pencils) Mark Roslan & Charlie Mok (digital inks) JUANCHOo (colours) Zen (letters). I picked this off the rack to read because of the sexy hot cover by Jordan Gunderson & Peter Steigerwald. Plus, Scott Lobdell wrote some comic books that I used to like. This one did not impress me. The Aspen Comics imprint seems to cater to good girl art fans, of which I am one, but a comic needs more than just T&A to keep me reading. I wasn't given enough information about the two main good girls in this debut to care about them so I won't continue reading.

 Wonder Woman #21 - Greg Rucka (writer) Liam Sharp (art) Laura Martin with Hi-Fi (colours). Part 4 of "The Truth" finds Veronica Cale getting ever closer to finding Themyscira and saving her daughter. I am looking forward to the conclusion of this story in Wonder Woman #23 to see what Ares' role is.

 The Old Guard #3 - Greg Rucka (writer) Leandro Fernandez (art) Daniela Miwa (colours) Jodi Wynne (letters). Two of the five team members are in the clutches of the bad guys so it's three to the rescue. This issue is a great example of a good writer making you care about the characters. Part of it has the origin story of one of the mercenaries. Another part shows how much two of the members care about each other. There's plenty of action over many pages beautifully illustrated by Leandro but also lots of action we don't see that is clearly implied in just one panel. That's good comic books.

 Deadpool vs. Punisher #2 - Fred Van Lente (writer) Pere Perez (art) Ruth Redmond (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). Round two has 'Pool and 'Pun in a shoot out with the Don of the Dead, a crazy Mexican bad guy as deranged as Deadpool. Round three next issue should be fun with a new bad guy who you'll recognise right away. I can't wait

 Action Comics #978 - Dan Jurgens (writer) Carlo Barberi (pencils) Matt Santorelli (inks) Hi-Fi (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Part 2 of "The New World" continues the review of Superman's origin story including his romance with Lois Lane and the birth of their son Jonathan. The identity of the villain is also revealed. What he has planned for the Man of Steel isn't anything new but it never gets old.

 Kill or be Killed #8 - Ed Brubaker (writer) Sean Phillips (art) Elizabeth Breitweiser (colours). Being spotted by the police while killing his last victim has complicated Dylan's life. It seems like every law enforcement officer is looking for him, which makes it even more difficult to find and kill someone else to keep the demon at bay. This could be the end of our killer vigilante.

 The Mighty Thor #18 - Jason Aaron (writer) Russell Dauterman (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). In part 4 of "The Asgard/Shi'Ar War" the Shi'Ar gods Sharra and K'ythri act like a couple of spoiled brats and decide to unleash their ultimate weapon to destroy the universe. The opening pages have the good guys seeking help from one of my favourite mutants. Russell's art is crazy good and he's close to Geof Darrow in the details that he puts on a page. When the force unleashed can take out The Destroyer in the blink of an eye you know the good guys are in deep doo-doo.

 Detective Comics #955 - James Tynion IV (writer) Marcio Takara (art) Marcelo Maiolo (colours) Sal Cipriano (letters). I was enjoying this issue right up until the very last page. It's one of those deus ex machina moments that I better get an explanation of or else "League of Shadows" will be the Detective Comics story that benches this book.

 Josie & The Pussycats #6 - Cameron Deordio & Marguerite Bennett (writers) Audrey Mok (art) Kelly Fitzpatrick (colours) Jack Morelli (letters). I loved the Michael Allred cover. I really appreciate that all the ad pages were gathered at the back so that we get to read an uninterrupted story. This is one comic book that I read just for fun.

 The Wild Storm #3 - Warren Ellis (writer) John Davis-Hunt (art) Steve Buccellato (colours) Simon Bowland (letters). If Aspen Comics had done as good a job as these people in redefining their cast of characters I would endorse their books. Here we have a fire fight that's even prettier than the one in The Old Guard #3 thanks to the work of John Davis-Hunt. New readers should not be afraid to pick this series up because it's got cool characters and Warren Ellis always entertains.

 Elektra #3 - Matt Owens (writer) Juann Cabal (art) Antonio Fabela (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). It's all out action as Elektra battles through Murderworld. Just when you think she's won her freedom, Arcade springs another surprise. He never fights fair. I really like the covers by Elizabeth Torque and would love to see a comic book drawn by her.

 Old Man Logan #22 - Jeff Lemire (writer) Eric Nguyen (art) Andres Mossa (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Looks like Jeff is showing us Logan's greatest hits as he winds down work on this title. Maybe it will make some fans buy a few trades.

 Hulk #5 - Mariko Tamaki (writer) Nico Leon (art) Matt Milla & Andrew Crossley (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I read recently that fans won't buy a Hulk comic book unless it's Bruce Banner as the big green galoot. Those fans are narrow minded and don't deserve to be called comic book fans. This book is great and has made the Hulk interesting to me again. I don't care who the Hulk is or who Iron Man is as long as there's a good story and nice art for the book. It's been 5 issues of this title hitting the racks and we haven't really seen the Hulk once. It doesn't matter because this story about Jennifer coping with the recent changes in her life is a good one.

 Infamous Iron Man #7 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Alex Maleev (art) Matt Hollingsworth (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). See, this is how you make a major change in an iconic character so that fans will want to read the book and not feel sick to their stomachs. I love this new version of Victor Von Doom. Brian has shown him evolving into the Infamous Iron Man instead of what happened with Captain America seemingly out of the blue saying "Hail Hydra". Here's another character that's been made interesting again and I will promote this title to anyone looking to read a good comic book.

 Ms. Marvel #17 - G. Willow Wilson (writer) Takeshi Miyazawa (art) Ian Herring (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Okay, I don't get how Ms. Marvel and her friends defeated Doc.X but maybe it's because I'm an old luddite. I don't have a cell phone and barely know what apps are. I did appreciate the group hug that started this issue because I grew up in the sixties and that's what we wanted to do back then too.

 Star Wars: Darth Maul #3 - Cullen Bunn (writer) Luke Ross (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). This young disciple of the Sith is a lot less interesting than I first thought. He is merely motivated by his hatred of the Jedi and that's seems to be all that he's about. One dimensional characters aren't that interesting. It's the evil auctioneer that is making me stick to this story.

 The Totally Awesome Hulk #18 - Greg Pak (writer) Mahmud Asrar (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The evil aliens find out what happens when their food fights back. Amadeus showed a side of him that surprised me and made me like this Hulk even more.

 Doctor Strange #19 - Jason Aaron (writer) Chris Bachalo (pencils) John Livesay, Victor Olazaba, Al Vey, Jaime Mendoza, Tim Townsend & Wayne Faucher (inks) Chris Bachalo (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Yay, Wong is saved from Misery but I might be miserable after the next issue because it will be Jason Aaron and Chris Bachalo's last.

 Weapon X #2 - Greg Pak (writer) Greg Land (pencils) Jay Leisten (inks) Frank D'Armata (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The bad guys are on the Warpath and the mutant super hero is outnumbered. Sabretooth and Old Man Logan are still free but it looks like that won't last. Once Greg adds in the Domino effect the gang will all be here. I like Greg Land's art a lot more with Jay's inks.

 Invincible Iron Man #6 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Stefano Caselli (art) Marte Gracia (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). RiRi meets with Stark Industries, M.I.T. and last but not least The Champions. I'm most excited about her possibly joining the young super hero team. I wish Marvel would find a way to change the title to Ironheart. RiRi has been wearing the armour for a while now and calling this book Iron Man is just awkward.

����

[aion-rsa]

INTERVIEW: Adam Warren on A Decade of ‘Goofily Sexy’ Series Empowerment

Time flies when you’re tied up and having fun. Adam Warren and Dark Horse Comics kick off the 10th anniversary of their popular “Empowered” series this month with a three-issue miniseries titled “Empowered and the Soldier of Love,” with the first issue on sale this week. Promising the usual hijinks, damaged personalities and meta-commentary on the depiction of women in comics, the series pits Empowered against a Sailor Moon-inspired “soldier of love” who finds her abilities aren’t so endearing as an adult.

Series creator Warren is joined by illustrator Karla Diaz, author of the webcomics “Cute Sins” and “Coffee Shop,” for “Empowered and the Soldier of Love,” making her the first person to drawn an extended Emp story besides Warren himself.

CBR asked Warren some questions about the aluminum anniversary for “Empowered,” what keeps the series fresh, handing off artistic reins and what other 10th-year treats are on the way.

CBR: Adam, what’s the thrust of “Empowered and the Soldier of Love”?

Adam Warren: Well, this miniseries asks two key questions: 1) What happens to a “Sailor-Moon”-style “magical girl” who discovers, as a disillusioned grown-up, that having unearthly “love powers” isn’t quite as awesome as she thought it would be as a naive teenager? 2) And then what happens when this embittered magical girl sets her sights on an already chaotic and semi-deranged superhero universe like that of “Empowered”? Not surprisingly for the “Empverse,” what happens is everything goes to hell — but a goofily sexy and romantically supercharged kind of hell, needless to say! (Or did I need to say that, after all? Yes, I did! Ignore that previous “needless to say,” please.)

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 by Karla Diaz.

Emp and Ninjette have certainly gotten into some tangled situations in the past. How does this new foe’s arrival push them into new territory?

As “Empowered” readers well know, our long-suffering heroine Emp has endured plenty of cluelessness and stupidity from her fellow superheroes — or, less charitably, “douchecapes” — during her time in the field. Ah, but until this miniseries, she’s never before had to cope with the overheated, hormone-addled goofiness of godlike beings unhinged by love and/or lust — well, usually, both — as a mercenary magical girl’s powers turn the entire “supracommunity” upside down! As uncontrolled mask-and-tights sexiness rampages unchecked through her passion-paralyzed city, can a beleaguered Emp puzzle out the Soldier of Love’s apocalyptic endgame and save the day — or at least stop herself from slapping the crap outta her love-lobotomized, endlessly horny, perpetually “sexting” teammates?

Meanwhile, Emp’s BFF Ninjette is just along for the ride at first, katana and beer(s) in hand as she sardonically Shakes Her Damn Head at the unfolding spectacle. Ah, but by the story’s end, Ninjette will find out the hard way that she’s heartbreakingly vulnerable to the Soldier of Love’s misused magic, with shockingly dire consequences for everyone involved. Look out, Ninjette! (Also, look out, everyone involved!)

What other members of Emp’s crew will be most affected by Soldier of Love’s antics?

Well, the members of the “Superhomeys,” Emp’s already rather dysfunctional superteam, are hit hard by the Soldier-triggered surge of so-called “supraromantic churn.” In fact, three of Emp’s infatuation-incapacitated teammates spend much of their time onscreen—or “on-page” — more accurately, drooling into their smartphones while incessantly sexting back and forth with newly met superlovers — or “capes with benefits,” if you will. While the blobby Protean tests the waters of polyamory, Major Havoc and Yummy Mummy each drown in their own one-on-one sea of love, with an oblivious Yummy creeping out Emp and Ninjette with her incessant, disturbingly sexualized “daddy” chatter. (As Emp and Ninjette both have distinct sets of daddy issues, they have no time for such supposed “sexy talk.”) Meanwhile, hapless leader—and stainless-steel golem—Capitan Rivet struggles to hold the team together, making the Superhomeys HQ ring with the sound of one frustrated, Picard-style “facepalm” after another. Clang!

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 interior page by Adam Warren and Karla Diaz

You’ve worked with other artists on “Empowered” before, but this will be the longest “Empowered” story that you haven’t drawn yourself. Does that change your approach to writing?

To a degree, certainly. With a regular “Empowered” volume and its generous—if not excessive!—200+ pages, I’m allowed the luxury of planning out the book ahead of time, but then writing and drawing its pages essentially one at a time. This allows me a degree of spontaneity and flexibility that’s alien to my previous experiences in print comics, but not unlike how many webcomics are produced. Ah, but when writing for another artist, I need to take a more pragmatic and measured-out work approach, while still angling for as much playfulness and creative freedom as possible.

Gotta say that, while I’ve worked with “Guest Artists” — note the important capitalization! — on “Empowered” before, each previous occasion was a one-shot story. While I enjoyed each of these one-off collaborations, I found the abbreviated format a bit limiting, especially compared to the wide-open page count of regular “Empowered” volumes. Often, as a writer, I felt like I was just getting warmed up to both the story and the artist just as the single issue’s ending arrived. So, when Dark Horse and I were envisioning a new round of Guest Artist “Emp” projects for the series’ 10th anniversary in 2017, I was eager to try something more ambitious. Bolder, even! Daring-er! Also, importantly, longer—as in, hello, multiple-issue miniseries!

What does Karla Díaz bring to the page?

Well, from the moment I first stumbled across Karla’s work online, with her romantic comedy webcomic “NON-NON” as well as earlier online series “Cute Sins” and “Coffee Shop,” I was struck by both her hilariously expressive character work and her equally strong sense of high-energy visual humor. Of course, being a self-centered jerk as many if not most comics writers are, I immediately began obsessing over how these fine artistic qualities could be employed—nay, synergistically employed, to tell an “Empowered” story. The “Soldier of Love” character actually dated back to a separate, failed comic pitch years ago, but I’d long considered bringing her into the wacky ol’ “Empowered” universe — and Karla’s comedic sensibilities made her the perfect artist to handle the task! (Alas, all the ribbons, bows, pleats, frills and flounces of the Soldier’s flowery workwear drove me crazy every time I tried to draw her myself.)

So, after tracking down Karla online — bless you, sainted interweb! — and commissioning some sample artwork, I was thrilled with the character designs she worked up for the Soldier of Love and her magical pangolin mascot—er, that is, the Soldier’s magical mascot, not Karla’s. (I don’t think she has a talkative pet pangolin, but I could be wrong.) Her takes on existing characters Emp and Ninjette were just as much fun, with the wild “floofiness” of the latter’s ponytail being a particular flourish that cracks me up everytime I see it. Her pages for the actual issues have worked out even better, with all the energetic humor, visual flair and charming facial expression work I was hoping for — with a key bonus being her beautiful color art, as the Soldier’s story was one that very much needed to be told in full color. (Well, full color with a noted emphasis on pink, that is.)

Plus, gotta admit that I’m pleased to be able to give an opportunity to another manga-influenced artist, as the North American (print) comics field isn’t overwhelmingly open or welcoming to my sisters and brothers of that persuasion.

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 interior page by Adam Warren and Karla Diaz

As a follow-up to that thought, does manga’s large audience, but strangely small overlap with traditional comics market readership, ever affect your approach to “Empowered”?

Even though I’m all too aware of the divergence between audiences, I can’t say that it particularly affects my approach to the series. I just try to tell the best stories I can—whether humorous or action-packed or emotionally charged or daringly structured—and hope that they can reach some kind of readership. And so far, despite the inherent difficulties of being a manga-influenced series in a genre and field sometimes indifferent or even hostile to such a storytelling preference, “Empowered” has indeed managed to find an appreciative audience. Yay!

I should add that, now that “Empowered” is being serialized online from the series’ beginning, I’ve encountered yet another avenue of audience divergence—and that would be the often stark divide between readers of webcomics and print comics, two groups whose Venn diagrams seem to have surprisingly little overlap at times. Well, given the neither-fish-nor-fowl flexibility inherent to “Empowered,” I’m always happy to bl under the series headlong into areas of comics bifurcation!

Even after you started the first “Empowered” story, well after the first drawing that planted the kernel of an idea, could you ever have imagined it thriving 10 years later?

Ah, no, not in the slightest! In those bygone, dawn-era days of noodling aimlessly away at the one-off jokes that would gradually evolve into “Empowered,” I could not possibly have imagined that these modest, low-key, ambition-free strips would somehow transform themselves into the most epic, emotionally charged, surprisingly ambitious and longest-running project of my entire g-d career! Back in the beginning, I wasn’t thinking 10 days ahead, let alone 10 years. In fact, back then I assumed that I was just temporarily messing around with these goofy superhero strips before starting work for a major publisher on one of my other “Real Serious, All-Grown-Up, Brace Yourselves For My Career-Fulfilling Magnum Opus” comic proposals. Ah, but none of those big-deal pitches ever got off the ground, while “Empowered” still soars ever higher skyward! Fly, “Empowered,” fly!

“Empowered and the Soldier of Love” #1 interior page by Adam Warren and Karla Diaz

What else do you have in the works?

Well, as 2017 represents the 10th anniversary of Empowered’s first publication, Dark Horse and I are aiming for a big push for the series during this upcoming year. Next up will be the summer release of “Empowered” vol. 10, the next 216-page, drawn-by-me installment in the regular graphic-novel series. Beyond that, we’ll have more exciting Emp-related announcements throughout the rest of 2017, including further—and bolder!—developments on the Guest Artist miniseries front!

Lemme also hasten to mention that “Empowered” is now being serialized as a webcomic, with extensive — if not exhaustive — creator commentary on every single g-d page, folks! Why, we even have the very first “Empowered” merchandise ever created now available on the site, as a series of 12” X 18” color prints over in the “Store” link! You can check out the webcomic here: http://ift.tt/1HLU2fw

Beyond “Empowered,” I can assure you that I’m also hustling and scheming and conniving to get a few other projects underway. No, really! “Irons in the fire” and all that, blah blah blah. As much as I enjoy working on “Empowered” — and have no intention of stopping work on it any time soon — I do have other stories I’d like to tell.

“Empowered & The Soldier of Love” #1 is on sale now from Dark Horse Comics.

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