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Damn. Latervian Earth is looking pretty good.
One World Under Doom (2025) #1
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Hmm, Valentine's Day... a trivial American custom that I, Doctor Doom, do not partake in. We do not celebrate such ridiculousness in Latveria. However, I must offer this one piece of counsel: do not, I repeat, do not post your... disgusting boyfriend. I do not care for your relationship, but if it brings you joy, so be it. Just spare the world from such eyesores on social media. As long as you're happy, of course—your happiness is... tolerable. But that image? Utterly unacceptable.
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"There is always a price, Ms. Frost, but value is not dictated by sentimentality." Doom’s voice was slow thunder, reverberating through the vast chamber, settling into the stone like an immutable truth. The air, thick with quiet authority, seemed to hold its breath beneath the weight of his words. Towering gothic arches stretched skyward, their edges lost in shadow, while the braziers lining the hall cast restless, flickering light upon the polished marble floor. His iron mask caught the glow in sharp slashes of gold, reflections shifting as though the very light feared to settle upon him for too long. “Those who walk the edge of oblivion should know that Doom does not squander resources lightly.”
His emerald cloak stirred, its heavy fabric draping like a verdict upon his shoulders, as though even the threads understood the gravity of the moment. "A list? No. That implies limitation, and Doom does not entertain constraints imposed by lesser minds.” A blade-thin gaze turned toward her, its cold brilliance measuring, dissecting. “The scope is dictated by necessity. As for your say—” A pause, deliberate and weighted, poised at the precipice of expectation.
Then, with a quiet finality, he continued. "You call your mind a fortress of diamonds. Fascinating." Not warm, never warm, but edged with the clinical curiosity of a scientist prying apart the rarest of specimens. "Yet even the hardest of stones may be shattered, given the proper force." The words were a scalpel, gliding through pretense, leaving no room for illusion. "Diamond, for all its famed resilience, is but carbon—its rigid lattice an illusion of permanence. A single, well-placed flaw, and it fractures with ease." Silence followed, thick and knowing, a thing with weight, a thing with teeth. Then, softer, though no less absolute:
"Our interests align, for now. You are powerful, but raw material is worthless without refinement. The same can be said for allies. So, we will test the limits of what is possible. You will reach your contacts, and I will set the foundation. If they must die, then let their deaths serve something greater." A glance back, the gleam of metal catching in the firelight. "But if you have names to spare, speak them now. Doom is not without calculation. ...Oh, right. Ms. Frost; You will remain in Latveria." The�� words were not a request, nor even an order—merely a statement of reality, as immutable as the turning of the stars. "This is not a matter of trust, but of efficiency. If we are to shape the course of events, I will not have my allies scattered to the winds, vulnerable to interference."
sc. ♡ / " my contacts are going to come at a very high price. especially when these people are most likely going to lose their lives." she speaks on behalf of how her mind can intermittently connect to anyone on the planet if she put a fraction of her focus into the task. something her counterpart often overestimated her worth, charles the man who needed a silly helmet to do the things that she could e f f o r t l e s s l y . " is there a list or is it just everyone @doomologys ? and do i get a say on certain people ? " even emma had people worth protecting, albeit ready to offer her father for slaughter at the slightest mention. there were parts of her mind that lie untouched, hidden behind many layers of barriers in the form of reflective diamonds to keep these secrets at bay making it even difficult for herself to unveil without sacrifice.
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"I am Victor Von Doom, and what i offer is not mere comfort or empty words—it is certainty. You have suffered because the world is built on fragile, flawed foundations, ruled by those too weak to truly grasp the forces they tamper with. I would see that corrected. Together, we could shape reality itself, not as a fleeting dream or cruel twist of fate, but as something unbreakable. You seek answers. You seek power. But above all, you seek what was taken from you. Doom does not offer hope, Wanda. Doom offers results."
*⁺ ‧͙ ˚ . *⋆ @doomologys 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠 ━━ 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔
❝My dear, you’ve felt loss as no one else can, but you are not beyond redemption, nor beyond reclaiming what was taken from you. Under my guidance, the world can be shaped to bring back what you cherish most, not as fragments of memory, but as reality. Embrace the order Doom offers, and everything will be given to you. Your love for them is your strength—let me help you wield it. Doom does not lie or misguide.❞
❝tell me what exactly you are proposing to me? — she looked up at the unfamiliar voice that was requesting her attention — who are you exactly, and what do you want from me?❞
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Ottessa Moshfegh, from "Eileen: A Novel," originally published in 2015
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On this day, February 6th, I remind you all of your place in the grand design of our world. Here in Latveria, chaos has no hold—only the strength of unity, the precision of purpose, and the undeniable might of a nation built on intellect and power. There is no refuge in rebellion, no sanctuary in defiance. In Latveria, we follow the rule of the strong, the steady hand that leads us all toward a common purpose.
While the world outside may tremble with disorder, you are safe here. Under my protection, Latveria stands untouched by ��the chaos that threatens to swallow others. Trust in the laws I have set, and you will prosper. Disregard them, and there will be consequences. Know this: The power of Latveria is unshakable, its future set in stone.
The eyes of Doom are ever upon you. Understand the gift of clarity I provide. Your success is secured in your unwavering loyalty to the vision of Latveria. Goodnight. You may rest safely.
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— Trista Mateer, from “i still forget we’re not even friends”
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Storm #4 - "A Flame in The Wind" (2025)
written by Murewa Ayodele art by Lucas Werneck, Ales Guimaraes, & Fer Sifuentes-Sujo
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@hexweaver
"Power, no?" he said, his voice a murmur, as if he were speaking not just to her, but to the very fabric of reality itself. It was calm, deliberate—a whisper that carried with it the weight of untold ages, of knowledge earned through sacrifice and torment. "You think you control it, Wanda. You think it bends to your will like clay in the hands of a child. But what you don’t realize is that you are as much a slave to it as the world is to you. It will feed on your weakness, your hunger, your fear—until it has consumed you whole, leaving nothing but a shadow of who you were."
Optics, like burning embers, flickered with something unreadable—perhaps empathy, perhaps a hint of the abyss he had already fallen into."I could teach you," he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like velvet, sharp with promise. "How to truly command power—not as a tempest that rages out of control, tearing everything in its path, but as a symphony. How to shape it, to make it bend to your will—not through chaos, but through understanding. Through mastery. Through something deeper than what you can even feel now."
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