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Ludi Price [userpic]

Arrow of Time now available as a print book!

April 4th, 2016 (09:40 pm)

Current mood: sick

Dear friends and readers,

After a long hiatus, I'm finally happy to announce that Arrow of Time- the third and final book in the House of Cards trilogy - has now been released on Lulu!  You can click on the image below to go to the product page. :)

Please do buy if you’re so inclined, and please also be assured that I receive no revenue from sales - all you’ll pay for is the cost of manufacture and shipping.  I have tried to keep costs down via black and white illustrations (colour is expensive!), and trying to keep page numbers down (it still amazes me how much I have written…it becomes more obvious in print form, less so in serial form on FF.net and AO3). However, I know it’s still pricey for some, so here’s a link to a useful discount site that does coupons for Lulu (which is great for me also, since I have to buy my own products. Yes, there are no concessions for authors :p).  Make sure you plug in the codes at checkout!

To buy the first two books, you can find them here. :)

Ludi Price [userpic]

Vote for House of Cards

June 12th, 2015 (04:05 pm)

Current mood: nervous

So there are only a couple of days left before the first round of voting on the Fanatic Fanfic Awards is over!  This is just a plug to ask that if you enjoyed reading House of Cards, please do head on to the site and give my fanfic a vote.  I will appreciate your loving forever! xxx

Ludi Price [userpic]

Sharing House of Cards

February 2nd, 2015 (10:06 pm)

Current mood: crazy

Well folks, since the House of Cards trilogy is winding down very soon, I'm going to put it out there on a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. That means that you have permission to share it, adapt it, write your own fic about it/the world, draw pics of it, etc., as long as you a) give me credit for the source material; b) share the material under the same license as the above.

Use the characters, use the world, expand on the AU, draw illustrations for it, make games, do cosplay, whatever the hell you want... and let me know about it. I'd love to see what you come up with! :)

-Ludi x

Ludi Price [userpic]

Rogue & Gambit's journey in Twist of Fate

November 1st, 2014 (08:45 pm)

Current location: United Kingdom,
Current mood: listless

This map is more for my benefit than yours, but I’m posting it anyway.

This is the route Rogue and Gambit take from New York to Chicago in Twist of Fate. First there’s Boonton where they meet Deveraux; then I mentioned the Penn Lincoln Parkway and that ‘nameless Pennsylvanian town’, so I put that in there. There’s a long stopover in Ohio with Rachel in the vacation house at Grand Lake St. Marys…. And then a pretty straightforward route to Chicago where they meet up with Logan around Wells & Lake.

Actually they do quite a few detours, especially on the Pennsylvania - Ohio leg of the journey, so this map is not entirely accurate, but it’s not important.

Got it all figured out, y’see… ;)

Ludi Price [userpic]

House of Cards & Twist of Fate illustrated books!

October 31st, 2014 (10:20 pm)

Current location: United Kingdom, Epsom
Current mood: accomplished

Happy Halloween, my dear Romy friends!

For those not already in the know, I have some exciting news!  I have now self-published House of Cards and Twist of Fate through Lulu!  I will gain no profit from the sale of these books - what you pay is for the material costs and for the postage and packaging.  I've tried to keep the price down as much as possible, but please bear in mind these are long stories and each book is nearly 500 pages a piece! O.O

To buy them, please click on the pictures below!

product_thumbnail product_thumbnail (1)

To all those who do buy - I hope you enjoy the story in print form as much as you did on screen! :D Arrow of Time will be up when I've finished posting it on Fanfiction.net and completed all the editing and typesetting. :)

Ludi Price [userpic]

On Tanya Trask

August 22nd, 2014 (10:00 pm)

Current mood: productive

When I first started playing around with the idea of a sequel to House of Cards, there wasn't a lot I had in mind, but Tanya Trask seemed to loom fairly large from the get-go.  I don't really know why.  I was never a huge fan of hers in the comics, and to be honest she is not a very attractive character.  But she just started forcing her way in there and who was I to deny her?

sanctity03In the X-Men comics, Tanya is the older daughter of Bolivar Trask, the inventor of the Sentinels, whose brother, Larry, is a mutant (I jettisoned Larry as a mutant in HoC, largely because it was a complication I didn't need).  Tanya is also a mutant who has the power to enter the Timestream, or to chronoskim.  Whilst experimenting with her powers she gets stranded in the Timestream and loses her mind.  Rachel Summers, travelling through the Timestream after abandoning the Days of Future Past timeline, finds Tanya and saves her life by repairing her mind and 'anchoring' her in another timeline; this turns out to be the Askani timeline.  Here Tanya becomes Madame Sanctity, the slightly unhinged second-in-command of Mother Askani, Rachel's future self, and protector of the Askani'Son (who is actually Nathan Summers, Cable, the son of Scott Summers and Madelyne Pryor, who was sent to the future in order to protect him from the techno-virus).

Confused yet?

Madame Sanctity continues her trips through time in an insane bid to control the past and thus control the future.  One of her ideas is to go back into her own past and stop her father from creating the Sentinels and making things difficult for mutantkind.  Rachel only just manages to prevent her from creating a fatal paradox in time by wiping Bolivar's mind of the memory of his daughter's future self, whereupon both Rachel and Tanya return to the Askani timeline.

Now in the midst of all this convoluted backstory, there was something about Tanya that just stuck out to me.  Maybe it was the self-serving insanity; or maybe it was the fact that her powers exactly mirror Rachel Summers' (check out their powers and abilities on the
Marvel Database).   I had this idea that Rachel was still important in the HoC universe, but she needed a something to drive her, and I sensed that something (without knowing what it was) in Tanya Trask.

Meanwhile, I was playing around writing little scenes from a projected HoC sequel, and somehow Tanya started popping up in a lot of them.  The only thing I could do was to grudgingly give in and accept that Tanya was a part of this world and wasn't going to go away.  At first Rogue starts going flaky with Destiny's psyche; Gambit goes back to Essex to figure out his relationship to him; Essex, having lost Rachel, wants Tanya instead; Gambit is sent undercover to 'collect' her and ends up having an affair with her.

Tanya_Trask_smallThose were the initial seeds of Twist of Fate, bits and pieces of which I kept in the final storyline.  Almost as soon as I started writing her in ToF, her history began to reveal itself.

Tanya Sarah Trask is intelligent, resourceful, creative, closer in personality type to her father than her mother or her brother.  (She is also, for some reason I cannot quite pinpoint, curly-haired in my mind).  Bolivar is proud of his daughter's accomplishments, but one thing comes first for him - his research.  He is disinterested in raising a family and his bigotry towards mutants fuels his desire to create the Sentinels and unleash them on the world.  At about the age of fourteen, Tanya first started manifesting her telepathic powers, which she hid from her family.  Later, when her ability to travel the Timestream kicked in, she was unable to hide the fact that she was a mutant any longer.  Unable to control her powers, and more than that, suspicious and afraid of them, Tanya was unable to leave the Timestream and spent a long, traumatic time lost in it.  This trauma affected her grip on reality, and when she was finally able to control her powers enough to leave her prison, her mental stability had been severely affected.

Growing up in a bigoted household, Tanya had never felt fully loved or appreciated by her father, and this was compounded by the fact that Bolivar was horrified by his daughter's 'abnormality' and sought to hide it.  He funded research into nanomachine technology, a technology that would be able to mask the X-gene from any scan.  The process was long and painful, both physically and mentally, but eventually it worked, and Bolivar was satisfied that his daughter would now pass as 'normal'.  But Tanya was deeply hurt and damaged by her father's actions, and whilst she loved him deeply she could no longer trust him.  Caught between a vengeful hatred of her father and a craving for his approval, she excelled in school yet infuriated her father by continuing to use her powers and risk exposure.  Throughout this rebellion, Tanya's intelligence and exuberance masked her inner tendency towards depression, self-loathing, and inadequacy.   Her mental health further deteriorated when her parents divorced and Tanya was left in New York with her father whilst her mother moved to Chicago.  Tanya grew even more unmanageable, and Trask was eventually forced to enrol her in the University of Chicago in the hope that the change of scene and the move to her mother's would help improve her increasingly erratic behaviour.

Unfortunately for Trask, the rather more liberal atmosphere at UC gave Tanya an outlet for her frustrations and a platform to stand on.  She became active in the Mutant Rights Movement, which drew enough attention to her that people started to notice - including a certain mutant named Wolverine...

Ludi Price [userpic]

22 Drabbles - Drabbles #12-22

August 2nd, 2014 (10:29 pm)

Current mood: gloomy

Continued from here

Unseen Eyes

      She wallows neck-deep in the water and closes her eyes.  This is the closest she’s felt to being at home in her own skin.  She allows herself to dream.

      She dreams that he comes knocking, that she lets him in.

      That he sees her naked beneath the bath-water.

      She wants him to see her naked.  She wants to know what he thinks when he sees her with nothing between them but themselves.

      Sometimes she wants so much she aches.

      A knock on the door.


      His voice is soft, uncharacteristically uncertain.

      She slides down under the bubbles and says nothing.


      He runs like the devil’s on his tail, leaping over puddles and rooftops with the same practised ease.

      The rain stings his face, the air sears his lungs.  He can hardly breathe.  His power is thrumming under the pores of his skin, electric, crackling through every nerve and for the first time in a long time he feels pain, raw and physical.

      He throws himself between the space of two buildings, lands clumsily, bites dust.

      There is blood in his mouth, on his stomach and fingers, and he tries to ignore it, he tries to push himself up, but -


      Sleek and satiny, she crosses the room in a red dress and walks right up to him, says:-


      She places a gloved hand on his abdomen and he winces.  She moves her hand, confused.

      “Ribs got busted,” he explains, snatching back her hand and placing it higher, on his chest. “Punctured a lung…”


      He smiles.

      “All in a day’s work.”

      “No dancin’?”

      “No dancin’.  Sorry.”

      The mistletoe sparkles in the twilight.  He doesn’t even joke about it anymore.  He lifts her hand to his lips and she feels the heat of them on her fingers.

      Not.  Close.  Enough.



      The cards rain down all around him like a snowstorm, landing at his feet with the rest of his nearly-destroyed room.

      He cracks his knuckles, his fingers, willing a spark, anything.  Nothing.  He’s nothing.  Naked.

      It isn’t coming back.  The power.  It’s gone.  Gone forever.

      Well shit.  At least he can still pick pockets, kick ass, screw women and…


      Not enough.

      He kicks a piece of chair across the room.

      He’s naked.  So is she.  He doesn’t like it.  It freaks the hell outta him.

      He picks up a card, tries to charge it.  Scowls.

      Queen of Hearts.


      Syncopated beats and neon lights; Kitty is lost in the crowd, and she plunges headfirst into the tidal wave of bodies, all sweat and pheromones and touch after touch after touch after touch…

      Later she stands outside on the street, the bass thrumming through her stomach, her skin raw with sensation.  Her bare flesh prickles with more than just the cold; her heart is in her mouth.  The memory of contact is almost too much to bear.

      She shivers now, wide awake.  Everything is suddenly new and tumultuous, vast and endless.

      Only now they unfold before her.

      All the possibilities.


      He dares himself to be naked to his soul.  He is all at once scared and elated, but he does it for her, for them.  He can’t tell her what this means to him.  He doesn’t have the words.

      “I love you,” she tells him.

      She wraps herself around him, so soft, so warm, so willing, and this time he is not being selfish because somehow she has disarmed him and he’s not in control anymore…

      Neither is she.

      He can do whatever he wants to her and he does, not because he can, but because he loves her too…


      Sugar and spice and all things nice.  That’s what little girls are made of.

      Sugar and spice.

      She laughs.  It’s bitter.

      Rogue, concentrate! Emma’s voice resounds in her head.

      She spins on her heel, smashes a gloved fist into someone’s jaw.  She feels bone crunch beneath her knuckles and feels a surge of satisfaction flood her senses.

      Sugar and spice.

      Blood inside her gloves, between her fingers…

      That’s what little girls are made of.

      Boot heel in solar plexus and the crunch of teeth biting dust…

      Not this li’l gal.

      She’s made of nails an’ if y’touch her you’ll die.


      Itchy feet, itchy fingers.

      He doesn’t run – he walks – but inside he’s running, and the knuckles of the hand holding the emerald are white.

      The darkness swallows him up like ink.  When it spits him out it is back out onto the streets, wading through soupy air thick with the scent of spices and the sound of jazz.  He’s come home to run away; he’s come home to seek refuge.

      The girl on the corner smiles his way.  Waxy brown curls glisten in the lamplight.

      He picks the pocket of a random passer-by and smiles back.

      He walks on over.


      Remy isn’t good at keeping still.

      Even when he’s silent his fingers are moving, fanning a pack of cards, back, forth, whirr, shlick.

      It’s been six months, and she’s not angry anymore.  She thinks she might be ready if he is.

      She finds his foot beneath the War Room table, bumps it with her own.  He bumps it back, silly, playful, forgiving.

      And he’s still now, the cards quiet in his hands.  His foot hooks her calf, twines their legs together.

      Gawd, Ah’ve missed yah, she broadcasts breathlessly, impulsively, and though he can’t hear, she couldn’t care less who does.

Last Breaths

      It isn’t funny.  Staring death in the face.

      It’s goddamn beautiful… Humbling.  Here he is light, he is perfect.  He is new.

      Let’s dance.

      But she calls his name and, “Ah love you,” she says, just like the first time; and in this place he sees what it really means – so many nuances of emotion he’d never known existed, and this time he’s not afraid to say it, he’s not afraid to mean it.

      She fights for him, the way he couldn’t for her, so damn stubborn…

      And he turns back from the light.

      Because it’s what he does best.

Seize the Day

      Her toes curl in warm sand only to be washed by the tide, and on it goes, on and on…

      And her hand curls around his, as if she had never let him go.

      This is what it is to be ‘normal’.  Quiet.  Static.  Years of running have brought her here.  How long she’ll stay, she doesn’t know but… right now, she’s happy standing where her footsteps fall.

      Only the sea changes now, ticking away time – but they’ll ignore it, just for a little while.

      She smiles.

      Together they slide into the sunset without even a word between them.

Ludi Price [userpic]

22 Drabbles - Drabbles # 1-11

July 20th, 2014 (10:24 pm)

Current location: In bed
Current mood: discontent

My plan was to have finished Arrow of Time (HoC Book 3) by July, but that is looking increasingly unlikely.  I'm about 9/10 of the way through the that last 1/10 is being a bitch.  Instead, to tide us both over, I figured I would post some Romy drabbles I wrote as a Christmas present to a dear friend and fellow writer several years ago.  You know who you are.  Thanks for all the joy and inspiration.

All drabbles are exactly 100 words long.

Room 47

        “Whatever’s in there,” Jean-Luc had said, “it ain’t likely t’ be pretty, boy.”

        Two decapitations, three guttings, and one gibbering mess.

        “And no one even knows what’s in dere anyways.”

        He’s  young,  seventeen; he’s full of cocksure arrogance and he’d liked the odds.  He’d just had to try it.

        Heart thudding, adrenaline pumping, breath belaboured… Who needs sex?  Between his fingers the skeleton key doesn’t even make the whisper of a sound.

        His gut churns with anticipation, and Death is right there on the other side of that door and he’s ready to tango.

        Lock open.  He grins.

        Let’s dance.

Living Walls

        Walls have ears.  Hers have a pulse and a voice.

        She hears them at night.  Cody and the old guy.  Whispering.  Muttering.  Heartbeat fluttering.

        She itches her palm through her glove, takes a swig from the bottle.  It’s all teenage angst and rebellion.  She loves it.

        The old guy remembers the taste of beer.  Cody goes “uuuuurgh, gross!” and she laughs.

        Wimp! She jeers.

        But when she tries the cigarette she coughs and splutters.

        The old guy sighs an appreciative sigh, flush with memories.

        Ha ha, told ya so! Cody heckles from the sidelines.

        Go ta hell! she snaps back.


        From way up here he can see the world; just a stretch and he believes he can touch it.  Nights like these he was made for.

        “Remy!” the woman calls from the room behind him.

        He teeters on the balcony railing, breeze cooling the flush of his body, and he wonders what it would be like to fall, to lose himself in something other than flesh and shame.

        He wants intensity of feeling.  Not sensation.  It isn’t the same.

        He wants to dare himself to be naked to his soul.

        He sways. 


         He opens his eyes.  He steps down.


        He was smoking a cigarette.  It reminded her of the first one she’d tasted.

        “Bad habit,” she quipped from the doorway.

        He noticed her.  She noticed him.

        “Have a feelin’ somethin’ else will get me first,” he grinned.  Lopsided.  The curve of his mouth unnerved her.

        “New guy?” she asked.

        He stuck the cig between his teeth, held out a hand.

        “Gambit,” he said.

        She took it. “Rogue.”

        His fingers were long.  She liked the feel of them against her gloved palm.  He used his hands a lot, she thought. 

        “So what d’you do?” he asked.

        “Read palms,” she replied.


        She was sweating.

        Back home it was winter.  Not here.

        “Oh Gawd,” she complained, fanning herself with a glove.  Her hands were white.  Not white white.  Just the pale blush of skin that had never seen a tan.  Nice.  Delicate.  Untouched.

        “Do we have to wait out here for the others to come?” she groaned.

        He leaned against the wall and shuffled his cards.

        “You heard what de boss said,” he said.

        “Screw Cyke!” she exploded.  “Ah'm boilin’ here!”

        She tugged the zipper right down to her cleavage.  More skin.  Unwitting striptease.  He swallowed.

        “Me too, chere,” he muttered back.

Sleep Tight

        It’s hard to be sceptical around him.  Especially when he’s half-naked and staring at you like you’re a box of cherry liqueur chocolates.

        “So.  Dinner.  Tomorrow?” he asks.

        “Uh huh.” She stares at his pecs.   And a little lower.  Does he have to go walking around the mansion right after he’s showered?

        He’s tricking her.  He has to be.

        She feels stupid because she’s standing outside her door in pink teddy bear pyjamas and fluff-ball slippers.  She tries not to look at his pants.

        “Seven?” he asks.


        She turns the handle, her cheeks flaming.

        “Sleep tight, Rogue,” he says.


        She laughs and throws her arms round his neck.  They hug under the sweltering moonlight and it’s only in that moment that he lets himself think I’m home.

        A pot of gumbo on the stove and the scent of Southern Comfort on the upholstery.  Tante Mattie’s the only woman who never lets him down.

        He swirls his supper round the plate and thinks of what he can’t make his.

        It’s unfamiliar.  Rejection.

        Mattie hugs him and makes him feel like a little boy again.  He doesn’t have to be a man with her.  Just a boy.

        “Welcome back,” she says.


        She gives Bobby the finger.  She’s so not in the mood.

        He shrugs and walks off.  She fumes by the car.

        And the old guy says grow up, darlin’, and Cody laughs at how bad she is for telling Bobby to fuck off, and Remy says…

        Well, nothing really.  He just smiles.  Smirks.

        “What are you smilin’ at?” she mutters mutinously, slamming the gas pump hard into the tank.  And his smile widens.

        Chere, I can’t wait till de next time we get to tussle.

        She drops the pump and the gas splashes all over her jeans.

        “Damn,” she swears.


        The pews are hard and cold.  He sits there with the smell of frankincense swirling around him, not sure what this means.  Not sure why he’s here.

        Her heels clap against the mosaic floor.  When she slides in next to him he says nothing.

        “It’s cold,” she whispers.

        He nods.  Warmth is his sanctuary.  Warmth is being held.  Being safe and loved and connected.

        He sits in the cold to see what it’s like to be her.

        “Let’s go,” she pleads, but he can’t and…

        Her gloved hand curls round his own.  And she is warm.

        And he is loved.

Residents Past

        The wall is made of damp brick, notched and slimy.  She runs her fingers over it, trying to read it like she reads flesh.

        Logan sniffs.  He’s standing next to the mutant’s body with a grimace on his face.

        “No scent,” he growls. “He’s long gone.”

        She’s touched this wall before.  In someone else’s memory.

        When she touches the wall she sees this room as it was.  Occupied by the smell of death and human detritus.  And the man…

        She heaves.  Hyperventilating.

        “You okay, stripes?” Logan asks, concerned.

        “I need to get out,” she croaks, and oh God, she vomits.

Alternative Therapy


        He’s hooked her.  Line and sinker.

        Four rotating hips and acres of tanned flesh.

        He needs this, and all he needs now is not to compare.  This is just about need.  About filling a hole.  Scratching an itch.

        And he can’t compare.

        He’s hardly touched her, for Chrissakes.  Hardly knows what she feels like, and yet…

        The texture of her is imprinted on him.  All it took was a moment.

        They dance.  They swirl.  They parry and they spar.

        Back and forth.

        And when he’s done he wants to cry.

        Because nothing in the world can compare with her.

Continued here

Ludi Price [userpic]

Checking in

May 29th, 2014 (09:27 pm)

Current mood: pensive

I'm aware I've been neglecting this blog of late, mainly because both work and studies have been eating up my time.  In the meanwhile, Twist of Fate has been completed, and the third book in the HoC series, Arrow of Time, is about 2/3 of the way finished and awaiting the return of my muse.  Rogue and Gambit, it seems, have decided to take a vacation, and those plot bunnies have gone along with them.  In the meantime I'm just gnawing on pencils and waiting for them to come back.

There's a lot I still want to say about Twist of Fate that I missed saying when I was actually posting the story.  Plot points like Gambit's Omega powers and the Black Womb project actually come from the comics, and the greater part of Rachel Summers' story is from the Days of Future Past timeline (comic universe, not movie universe).  It was my intention to expand upon these here, but it would involve scanning in pictures and thinking about what I'm writing, and I just haven't had that time recently.  Apologies.

Since ToF and the projected Arrow of Time are basically incomplete works (as in, largely unedited), I'd really appreciate if any readers could bring to my attention any areas that need improvement, especially where I tend to repeat myself or where aspects of the plot or characters don't ring true.  I would find this most helpful as I am planning to make limited, illustrated print copies of the books when they're all done, and of course want them to be as good as they can be before I do so.  Please feel free to post your thoughts here, or on fanfiction.net, or by email -- whatever works for you!  I really appreciate every little help I can get!

In the meantime, here's a little something I found to share with you and make you smile... :)  It's a sketch of the black and white ball chapter from katjenfic's Bad Touch.


Ludi Price [userpic]

The butterfly pendant weirdness

January 11th, 2014 (11:00 am)

Current mood: giddy

You know, shortly after I finished writing House of Cards way back in 2006, I just happened to go into H. Samuels (a UK jewellery shop), a place I never go to……and guess what I find? The butterfly pendant! So of course I had to buy it (although I didn’t have to shell out the kind of money Remy did on it).

Coincidence or fate????


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