#BUT MY HEART IS DESTROYED FROM READING THEIR COMICS

[meltedmush]

This is definitely the largest bulk post I’ve ever done,,,,

[gollancz]

Guys. Christmas is coming. Consumerism is in the driver's seat and GAWD don't I know about the existential ennui of all these faceless corporations trying to schill you their wares. It's cold. Impersonal. Bleak.

So I, a fellow tumblr user, will instead try to schill you MY wares, so that when you purchase these items you can say "Hey, that person from tumblr worked on this", and feel the warmth of HUMAN CONNECTION in a way that is completely normal and not parasocial at all. We really are friends. I promise. Yes, you. Love you, bestie. Remember the boop war? Good times. Fond memories.

THIRTEEN STOREYS and FAMILY BUSINESS by Jonathan Sims

Tumblr's favourite Nightmare Factory @jonnywaistcoat has two novels out and they're phenomenal horror that also punch you in the throat with SOCIAL COMMENTARY and FEELINGS. He's so adept at tapping into the specific part of my brain that feels fear like a small child - not the adult creepy scared that I normally get around horror, but specifically the kind of fear that almost freezes your limbs and vocal chords with a terror you don't quite understand because there is so much in the world that you don't know, but you know that somehow this thing might be quick enough or smart enough or sneaky enough to get you before you can get to the safety of your parents sort of fear.

THIRTEEN STOREYS is a haunted house novel, but set in a refurbished block of flats. Each chapter follows a different resident being haunted in a different way, with a style to match the flavour of ghost. It's all tied together phenomenally and brutally.

FAMILY BUSINESS is a story about ghosts in a different way, following a woman who joins a post-mortem house cleaning service while grieving the death of her best friend. But as she removes the stains from the houses of the dead, she begins to suspect something else is removing even more.

Both of these titles are available from Gollancz worldwide!

THE LAST UNICORN, THE WAY HOME, THE INNKEEPER'S SONG and A FINE AND PRIVATE PLACE by Peter S. Beagle

Obviously Peter's work needs no introduction, and our editions aren't available in the US and Canada, but I've had a wonderful time working with Peter and his team to bring these beautiful books back to the UK. Meeting him at Worldcon this year was such a magical moment, and he was jet-lagged and I had gone through sleep deprived into hyper and was bringing an Extremely Weird Energy to every interaction I had that day, resulting in this photo:

THE LAST UNICORN and THE WAY HOME are a matched pair of wonderful fairy stories. THE WAY HOME has two novellettes in it, and the first - 'Two Hearts' - won the Hugo award. It will also destroy you.

A FINE AND PRIVATE PLACE was Peter's first ever novel, and it's wistful and romantic and so beautiful.

THE INNKEEPER'S SONG is his epic fantasy quest, it's an adventure story that reads almost lyrically. Also there's an orgy in the middle which caught me by surprise when I was reading it for the first time on the train into work.

HIGH VAULTAGE by Chris and Jen Sugden

It's possible that someone on this website doesn't know I was involved with this book but don't worry, I will HUNT THEM DOWN AND TELL THEM. This is the first book I took all the way through the editorial process from end to end and I am SO PROUD of it and Chris and Jen and their wonderful world of @victoriocity. Officially one of the seven funniest books published in the UK this year, shortlisted for the Wodehouse Prize for Comic Fiction. It's a chaotic, bonkers murder mystery set in an alternate Victorian London which is the most gleeful dystopia I have ever encountered.

Featuring:

Grumpy Sunshine besties

The Victorian Equivalent of the Chuck Norris Meme

A robot who undertook a course in People Management

An indefatigable beagle

This is another book that you can get from Gollancz all over the world, and you SHOULD because it's amazing. Go into your local bookshop and ask them to order it into stock. It's a great Christmas present. It's my firstborn book baby (like that's a completely normal thing to say when I didn't even write it). Also if you're a fan of the podcast, why not tell the Guardian how great it is, and make a nuisance of yourself until they review. (I would, but the form asks for your name and then they'd know I didn't suddenly discover Victoriocity this year. Either that or think I was a very careless editor.) If you've not listened to the podcast yet, you absolutely should. It pings all my Douglas Adams receptors in the best way. If you like HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE, if you like CABIN PRESSURE, VICTORIOCITY is the perfect addition.

HAMMAJANG LUCK by Makana Yamamoto

SLIGHTLY cheating because HAMMAJANG LUCK isn't out in North America until January (pre-orders make great Christmas presents guys), but it IS out in the UK and the rest of the world next week! This is my second big editorial project and it's a Big Gay Space Heist ft. disaster lesbians, trans characters, and a tech billionaire getting put in his place. It's joyous and energetic and crammed full of Hawaiian pidgin as a love letter to the diaspora. @makana-yama is a phenomenal writer and this is their love letter to their communities, families both born and found, while also a statement on the victims of gentrification (and how those are disproportionally BIPOC communities). PLUS:

friends to enemies to cautious allies to lovers

trans cyborgs

Suck It Space Elon

You know that One Scene in Charlie's Angels where Cameron Diaz is in the white body suit and breaking into the safe and has to stretch out to hit two buttons at once? Yeah. That's the vibe.

Being able to work with Makana is a delight, and HAMMAJANG tapped into all the feelings I got watching LEVERAGE for the first time, so I went to watch it again while I was editing. Also OCEAN'S 8.

DEEP BLACK by Miles Cameron

So, barring Branderson, Miles Cameron may be one of our most prolific authors. He writes a minimum two books a year, one SFF and one historical fiction (as Christian Cameron) and he is... An absolute phenomenon. He IS the Chuck Norris meme. I'm obsessed with him. He's former US military intelligence turned naturalised Canadian Hippy, has written over fifty novels, can turn his hand to any genre and write it fantastically, is a practical archaeologist - running large scale re-enactments from a variety of periods ranging from Bronze Age right the way up to the Victorian era, using traditional techniques to allow academics to study how the practicalities of weapons, clothes, food etc. would have worked in practice. Two years ago he won a medieval combat tournament in Verona, a clear ten years older at least than the next oldest competitor, he teaches Historical European Martial Arts, but ties it into the history of martial arts globally. He can make his own clothes, ink, leatherwork. He's a ballet dancer. I once took him for a day out and he ended it in a different shirt and shoes from the ones he'd started in. I asked him for an author photo and he sent me this:

DEEP BLACK is the sequel to his critically acclaimed SF debut ARTIFACT SPACE, where he has taken his research and experience of global historical cultures and extrapolated to create an interplanetary future where the best of all are celebrated. And then Aliens Happen. And then, in reaction, Capitalism Happens (which is covered in the short story collection BEYOND THE FRINGE).

He's such a thoughtful and erudite speaker, if you're curious about his work, I'd recommend listening to his episodes on the Friends Talking Fantasy podcast, and also his appearance on The Publishing Rodeo.

If SF isn't your bag, he's also got:

Arthurian fantasy

Bronze Age fantasy

Medieval Mages fantasy

A CURSE OF CROWS - Lauren Dedroog

I actually inherited Lauren when a colleague of mine departed for fresh pastures, which gave me the great opportunity to work on this series which is so vastly different from my usual fare. It's epic, sweeping, romantic and lush, with such detailed description and complex political machinations, while also being brutal, dark and heavy (tw: for sexual assault, torture etc, etc.). If you like Sarah J Maas and Cassandra Clare, this should hit the sweet spot. Lauren is an ICU nurse when not writing, and this was somehow created when she was putting in a million hours in hospitals during COVID. The feat boggles my mind.

A CURSE OF CROWS is out now in the UK, Australia and Europe, and it won the People's Choice for Standaard Boek's Book of the Year award in 2023, in her home country of Belgium. It will be hitting shelves in North America next September! A DANCE OF SERPENTS is where I get to pick up the editorial mantle, and that has just landed in my inbox this week so I am excited to dig in.

Featuring:

Harold, they're lesbians

Murder baby is actually a cinnamon roll

Sensitive wings are sexy

For serious, though, I'm lucky enough to work with a lot of authors I'm genuinely obsessed and astounded by. And yes, I do get to work on Joe Abercrombie, Brandon Sanderson and Andrzej Sapkowski, but they're not MY authors - they're led by the incredible Gillian and Marcus who I'm not 100% certain sleep. There are so many people on the Gollancz list who I could recommend for DAYS (and will, if you so request), but this is my stable of superstars.

[genericpuff]

LORE | REKINDLED EPISODE 41 - TOWER 4

< Previous episode | Next episode >

Nothing quite sets in the holiday spirit like SPOOOOKY SHIT-

Can you believe it's been a year since Rekindled actually started? The way time flies when you're having fun. I had actually forgotten I had redrawn a lot of those first few episodes when I made it an official "thing" (i.e. when I put it on an update schedule and signed my life away foreverrr /j) so tracing back when Rekindled officially 'began' had me finding old versions of those first few episodes that were oooooof bro-

Okay, but for real, Rekindled's come a long way, and it still has a long way to go still which makes me so excited. As much as those who see what I do here like to assume it's purely out of spite and hate, I really do love working on this comic, and that includes the part of the process where I revisit old episodes of LO that, even after everything, I still love. The newer seasons may be dead to me, but what it used to be has a special place in my heart, and Rekindled has really helped me explore what could have been. It's made Saturday nights a thrill for me again - I get to enjoy two whole doses of LO content now, with a fun balance of flavors that makes being a part of this community twice as fun as normal. You could say it's really rekindled my flame for LO-

A very special thanks to @banshriek, who's helped me bring Rekindled to a whole new level that wouldn't exist without them. They've been an amazing assistant and a wonderful friend and I'm so thankful to have them in my corner <3

And thank you! All of you, for following along with Rekindled, reading my essays, destroying my ask inbox, and just being an awesome community full of awesome people. I've got a busy year ahead with lots of stuff planned, from art markets and expos to plot threads in Rekindled that I'm hyped af to get to; not to mention Lore Olympus officially ends this year, meaning I'll undoubtedly have loads to talk about (which fills me with both a strange sense of excitement and dread at the same time LOL) I'm gonna try and take it all in the best spirit that I can, I wanna come out of this shit sparkling like one of Hades' diamond golf balls.

Let's make 2024 a fucking banger.

[gabriellaeva2005]

I really cannot express how much this piece of work means to me! As corny as it sounds I really found this story at the perfect point in my life, I initially started reading the impulse 1995 comics when I was 14 and I ended up falling upon this story when I was 17 I just immediately fell in love! The concept was so creative and fit into the pre-existing plot line perfectly! All the new characters are so enjoyable to read, Nathaniel and Jude have such a wonderful and also sad dynamic, as a twin my self every scene with them just really hit me in the heart! Six especially in the first several chapters was so comically annoying and clearly insecure, in a way that I think a lot of us can relate to, one way or another especially when we got to here is internal monologue, I’ve always been a sucker for the asshole character with an air of insouciance and superiority, who by the end of the story, just ends up being a pretty all right guy! And Five oh my god five! I love this guy so much! he’s just so genuine and someone who clearly cares deeply, and him being technically the physically oldest in the room, but also being the one with the least amount of experience is a very literal take on an experience I think a lot of people have felt, myself included, And I think we all know I’m a Three apologist, his whole story is just so devastating and haunting, part of me is always rooting for him, whilst also being terrified for what he might do to the other characters, there is so much complexity with his relationships with the other characters, such as five and four, every time theirs a seen with three and four the writing always makes me feel so on edge and is really able to puts me in three’s shoes! And god! The way three and five interact is so sweet and sad there relationship is just too much! The last chapter absolutely destroyed me!! And Bart and Thad are so perfectly characterized it truly just feels like a natural progression of their characters, the way they both are just really struggling to deal with the inevitability of change hit me so hard, like I said I started reading the impulse comics when I was 14 so these characters have such a place in my heart, so now being able to read about them going through these struggles, when I was also experiencing a lot of change, is such a comfort to me, it was like in a way these characters got older with me, and you know it’s always nice to see some of your childhood characters going through the same stuff as you, currently being a slightly terrified 18 year old, it was great to be able to read about two other slightly terrified 18 year olds, anyways I wanted to post some of my sketches from the past few weeks, and don’t worry there are definitely more to come cause I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop drawing these guys!

@cryptocism you really sent me on a journey, thank you for that!💖💖

[the-viking-goddess]

Long rambling post incoming...

This has been going round and round in my mind and I have to get it out.... I just have to say it. I do not want a BTVS reboot, and my stomach drops every time I think about it. I am happy for the people who are excited, but quite honestly I am dreading it. I have loved Buffy since I was a child, and I watched it through properly as an adult 15 years ago. Spuffy is my OTP, my number 1 ship. It goes without saying that I love Buffy, but Spike is one of my favourite fictional characters ever, and their fictional relationship literally changed my DNA. The ending of BTVS was bittersweet, but perfect; no, they didn't end up together, but I found my peace and happiness in their beautiful ending. And of course, Spike was then ressurected, so I could also headcanon that one day they would find their way back to each other. I NEED that headcanon. I was perfectly content in my freedom to believe what I wanted to without it ever being confirmed either way, and I would give anything to just be able to live in that space of freedom forever. I have had Spuffy as a beautiful gem to love and cherish for 15 years and return to for comfort whenever another of my ships gets destroyed, it is everything to me.

There is now a good chance that the Buffy reboot will come back and confirm anything and everything that I never wanted to know- that although Spike was alive, he and Buffy did not get back together; that God forbid (sorry Bangels) Buffy and Angel got back together; that Buffy ended up with some random guy (the Sookie treatment); that Spike's life wasn't happy after his ressurection; that he and Buffy never played a meaningful part in each other's lives ever again. I just don't want to KNOW that, and if anything that goes against my headcanon is confirmed, I can never unlearn it. I wish I could be like the fans who just choose to ignore canon that they don't like and don't let it ruin their ship/show, but I can't, I've never been able to. If I learn something about Spuffy, Spike or Buffy that goes against everything I ever hoped and dreamed about, it will change and potentially ruin my love of the ship and the show, and I don't know if I can handle that.

Also I've never read the comics, but checked in with the storyline every so often- and although I don't consider it canon in the way the show was (I know it *technically* is but YKWIM) it was always a HUGE comfort to me that they continued with Spuffy's story and actually had the end up together! (I know they ended the comics apart, but again, I can headcanon that they reunited down the line).

Again, I'm happy for those that are excited. If they just bring Buffy in as a guest star role to mentor younger slayers and never confirm how the specifics of her (love) life has played out, that would be great! Spuffy, Bangel, Fuffy, other Buffy x ? shippers, fans of single Buffy and anything else can all keep our own headcanons alive. I doubt it though. If they confirmed that her and Spike ended up in together and are still together, that would be a fucking dream come true and my soul would literally ascend from my body, but again... I highly doubt it.

It's just if there was anything I would have wished to stay ended, it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I have already had so many ships destroyed that I now try to just have low/no expectations anymore when I'm enjoying new fandoms, but Spuffy was a ship I thought was frozen in amber and that I could love with all my heart, forever. I feel like the reboot is about to change that and I am on a slippery slope to getting my shipper and fandom heart irreparably broken, and... I don't know what I'll do.

[im-a-ramblr]

So it's been ages since I've watched Miraculous Ladybug. I stopped watching it at the start of season 2, got back into it because of Reverser, and watched a couple of episodes throughout 3, but I never bothered with 4 and 5. I would watch clips and read fics and find things that focused on Marc and Nathaniel, but that's it.

So now that Nath and Marc have moved into the spotlight via s06E15 The Ruler, I'm getting back into it. So let's talk about it! This post is about my thoughts on the surface level. There was a lot of subtext (and just actual text, tbh) and allegories and whatnot, but this isn't a post about them. I'll talk about those later.

Also, I tagged this post with spoilers, but in case I missed any of the spoiler tags, everything is under the cut.

First off, I love that we got to see their parents! I don't like Nathaniel's parents; that's the point of them, so that's not a surprise. We only got to see Marc's for a tiny bit, but I love them.

I really love his mom's outfit. The suns on the skirt, the little rainbow earrings, it's all so cute. His dad's unbuttoned vest and plaid pants give him a refined but chill look. Love what little we can see of their home, too. Very cozy and lived in.

What is Hal Stewart from Megamind doing? Why is he wearing a half-hearted, knock-off Austin Powers suit? The mom doesn't look horrible, but there's just something off-putting about her design. I'm also not a fan of the ruler in the hair. The house looks fine. Very staged, very impersonal, could be a hotel, to be honest. Not a fan, but that's a personal style thing.

I ADORE the fact that like half this moment was just them silently talking with their eyes. Such a good way to make it clear there's a connection between them. And I love how understanding Marc was. I know some people think the whole 'nothing will change between us' was a lie, but I don't think it was. I think that if Nath hadn't drawn the comic, then Marc wouldn't have cared. I think it's the fact that he drew it and then destroyed it, that's what hurt Marc.

I also love Marc's eye makeup, the pop of colors, the sparkle! And the earring is such a cute touch, I honestly thought it was his miraculous at first because I forgot it was a ring.

The fact that Nathaniel doesn't feel completely safe and comfortable in his room is heartbreaking. Marc really comes in clutch with the excuses. But! The paint splatters on Nath's overalls are the colors of the Bi flag! I noticed it earlier, but this was one of the better pictures I got to show it.

The fact that neither of his parents does anything when he breaks down, starts just sobbing, and runs out of the house like a madman! Like, what if he had just disappeared instead of coming back home? What if, in his blind panic, he'd gotten hurt? Not like Akumaizted, but like tripped and fell into the river or in front of a car. He could have very well been Akumaztized as well.

If I had seen a child running in that state of panic, I would assume that something horrible had happened and try to help. If I ever made a child hurt like that, I would hate myself and stop everything at once to make sure they were okay.

Marc trying to be strong for Nath was so sweet, but so sad. He knows that Nathaniel doesn't have a support system like he does. He has his parents, their friends, Nath, and possibly some others. Nath has Marc. Their friends support him, but they don't impact him the way they do Marc.

It breaks my heart that Nathaniel doesn't seem to understand why this upsets Marc. Because it's not about the comic, it's about the fact that Nath is making choices that will hurt him. That he doesn't understand how important he is to Marc, that he can't just 'get another illustrator'.

This scene felt so so reminiscent of season 2. Like all the confidence he'd built up over the last 4 seasons, just gone. If Nath had seen it would have broken him.

Marcaniel being Ride or Die, in the line of fire for each other, is sooo good. And the fact that Nath basically said 'you can do whatever do me, but don't you dare touch him' was chief's kiss. Really fun to get to see the passion and dedication we saw when they were Akumatized in civilian form.

LOVE LOVE LOVE Caprikid's transformation, it was so cute and sassy. The little flick for the mask? Perfection! And his new suit looks so good. The changes aren't super big, but they're impactful. (though I will admit I did sing 'apple bottom jeans, and the fur frindge' when I saw it)

Oh, and I haven't mentioned Nath's Miraculous but it's cute. Maybe it's because we never really it disguised when he was wearing it, but I like how they look in this than I did in Saga One. Which leads me to my next point!

Marc's Miraculous! It's way harder to see in the episode than Nathaniel's, but I like it a lot! I honestly like it more than any other version of the Rooster Miraculous that we've seen so far. Though it does seem to be the same when he's transformed, so that's interesting

I've seen people say Nath has no impulse control, but he does actually pause before revealing himself. He refuses to keep Marc in the dark. Meanwhile, Marc, who up until this point has been doing a pretty good job at keeping it together and covering his identity, processes what he sees and immediately reveals himself in turn.

I think this might be the happiest we see Nathaniel the whole episode.

[loopyboom666]

NIGHTSTAR vs I AM NOT STARFIRE

CHAPTER 0: Introduction

You're probably wondering, WHY did I bring back one of the most forgotten pieces of DC here (obviously talking about I Am Not Starfire) and why am I now writing so much about this mediocre medium comparing it to Nightstar (my goddess)'s comic.

FIRST OF. I AM NOT STARFIRE NEVER LEFT MY MIND FROM THE MOMENT I READ IT TO TODAY. RESPECTFULLY, WHEN IANS WAS ANNOUNCED, I THOUGHT IT WAS NIGHTSTAR'S COMEBACK. THE DISSAPOINTMENT THAT THEY MADE THIS INSTEAD, AND THAT THEY SHAMELESSLY COPIED NIGHTSTAR.

Now, the reason of why now specifically, well... I've always wanted to compare these two pieces but never found a place I could share my ideas. Tumblr has found a place on my heart, and I feel free to express my opinion and full analysis, giving me an understanding fandom who reads and discuss the topic. So, now is the perfect time.

But, WHY IS IANS A SHAMELESS COPY OF NIGHTSTAR? Let's see the external structure:

A black-haired half human daughter of Starfire stars this comic. She has parental issues, lives under the shadow/memory of her mother. The comic revolves around a villain vs hero plot, nevertheless the villain isn't really important (they are not the antagonist). The main character has a huge crush on someone who's a love interest, but due to some differences on morals, the characters distances themselves to get back together at the end of the comic. On top of that, and back to the parental issues, the main character feels neglected by her parent who they are developing an arc with during this comic, and feel a little rebellious about them. She has grown on earth, barely even knows Tamaran, and now she has to face her fears so earth isn't destroyed.

On the next couple of posts, I'll try to analyze the similarities, just as their differences, understanding why Nightstar was more enjoyable that IANS. The chapters in questions will be distributed this way:

CHAPTER 1: DESIGNS

CHAPTER 2: PARENTAL ISSUES

CHAPTER 3: LOVE INTEREST

CHAPTER 4: VILLAIN WHO ISN'T AN ANTAGONIST

CHAPTER 5: MAIN CHARACTER

CHAPTER 6: OVERALL PLOT

*THIS LIST IS OPEN TO CHANGE

I hope we get somewhere interesting <3

[juicycoutureheaux]

Ladybug! Reader x Omni!Mark

A/N: This is my first Invincible fic, like ever. I’ve finished what’s released of the Show and I’m obsessed. (I’m going to start reading the comics. It’s seriously great.) I’ve seen different fics of Miraculous Ladybug crossovers and thought I’d give it a try. (I am SO sorry if it’s trash)

(I’m also going to be releasing a multi chapter fic that’s going to be another crossover, it’s just another beast entirely. ) 🙃

TW: Mentions of CA, and death.

The Invinci-War had begun.

Chaos broke out everywhere. The whole world was affected by the destruction the variants were orchestrating.

“This is disastrous,” Tikki said from the safety of your purse.

“I know. This is worse than anything we’ve ever seen. Do you think… there’s a version of us in every universe too?” you asked, fiddling with your ear — an old habit from childhood.

“There is. Kaalki creates portals, just like the man behind all this chaos,” Tikki said gravely.

Angstrom.

You’d learned Angstrom Levy had brought the “evil” Marks into your dimension to destroy your Mark — and everything else with him.

No one knew your identity.

Not Cecil.

Not the GDA.

Not even the other heroes. It was the only way to truly protect herself and those close to her. It was a massive burden to bear.

You had always used the kwamis to cover your tracks. Mark had once saved you while you were in civilian clothes, but you used Trixx’s illusions to create a false “Ladybug” appearance at the same time, throwing off suspicion.

But you hadn’t considered other universes.

Had your identity been revealed elsewhere? Had those other Marks killed you?

Or worse — had you helped them destroy the world?

You pushed the thoughts away. Doubt was dangerous.

You had been entrusted with the Miraculous for a reason.

Master Fu wouldn’t have chosen you if your heart was corrupt.

Believe in yourself, Y/N.

You took a steadying breath.

“Tikki, spots on.”

You were gliding through the ruined city, helping survivors reach safety, when you saw them:

The Marks were gathering.

What are they doing? you wondered, staying hidden behind a crumbling wall.

The neighborhood had already been evacuated. Only wreckage remained — and a few familiar places every Mark seemed to recognize.

Out of the original nineteen variants, only eight remained.

You stayed low, listening.

“I miss Mom. I’m gonna take her and bring her back to my world,” one Mark said, voice cracking.

“You fucking crybaby,” another sneered — the one with the mohawk.

“I’m gonna hang that bug on her stupid fucking yo-yo,” said a Mark wearing a black and yellow suit.

The others went quiet for a moment.

“…You have her in your world?” asked a Mark in Viltrumite garb.

“Of course he does, dumbass! We all do!” Mohawk Mark said, laughing cruelly.

They began arguing — about you.

You listened in horror as they confirmed it:

In almost every universe, you existed — and somehow, you were always the thorn in their side.

“I executed every single one of those “heroes” in my world,” one Mark bragged. “She’s the only one who outlasted me. I’m going to find out who she is — and then I’m going to kill the bitch in every universe,” the one in black and yellow growled.

“…You don’t know her identity?” asked a Mark hidden under a full hood.

“Do you?” Mohawk Mark mocked.

“No.”

Sinister Mark roared. “What the fuck! None of you?!”

They were quiet from anguish and humiliation.

It’s kind of sexy, though,” Mohawk Mark snickered. “Skin-tight costume and all…”

The Mark in an Omni-Man suit cut him off sharply.

“That’s enough.”

“What, you got a crush on the Ladybug?” Mohawk mocked.

“No. She’s a worthy opponent. Would you talk about her like that if she were a man?”

Mohawk Mark blew a raspberry in response.

“Whatever. The Mark of this universe is such a pussy. The Ladybug here must be a lot less feisty,” Sinister Mark muttered.

“How can you be so sure? We haven’t even seen her!” Hooded Mark pointed out.

You knew you couldn’t risk staying hidden much longer.

You whispered, “Trixx, I need your help.”

“I got you, Ladybug!” Trixx said cheerfully.

“Trixx, let’s pounce!”

Moments later, a fake Ladybug illusion zipped by, taunting them.

The Marks took the bait, racing after the illusion.

You were exhausted after fighting the variants, ducking behind rubble to catch your breath.

Tikki was fading fast, her glow dimming.

You thought you were safe — until you turned around and saw him.

The Omni-Man variant of Mark.

He stood there, silent, arms crossed.

You hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

Your stomach dropped.

“I don’t know who that is,” you said, clutching your yo-yo tighter.

He smirked — a broken, rigid thing, like it hurt him to show any expression at all.

“I know it’s you. You don’t have to hide. You pinch your earlobe just like she did.”

You didn’t move. You’d always seen the good in people — maybe even too much.

But your instincts screamed at you to be careful.

He stepped closer. You tensed.

“I never thought I’d see you like this. Grown up. A hero. You’re strong in this universe.”

“What about the Ladybug in your world?” you asked carefully.

“There was no Ladybug in my world.”

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, listening to Omni-Mark as he recounted the horror of his past.

In his universe, you hadn’t been adopted by John and Edward.

You’d grown up with your biological parents — abusive, cruel people treated you like a burden.

The only person who cared for you had been Mark.

He had promised he’d save you when he got his powers.

He never got the chance.

“They killed you,” he said bitterly. “Claimed you fell down the stairs. But I knew it wasn’t true.”

You stared at him, numb.

In your world, your adoptive fathers were gentle, loving — your whole world.

The idea that another version of you had suffered so much shattered something inside you.

“I hope your parents in this universe are more kind–obviously they are, you’re alive.” He spoke, the weight of carrying the anguish so long on his shoulders cracking his calm facade.

“My parents would never hurt me,” you said quietly. “I have two dads. I’m an only child.”

Omni-Mark looked confused.

“In my world… you had a mom and a dad. And siblings.”

You buried your face in your knees.

“In that world, I must have been with my birth family,” you whispered. “My dads mentioned my mom didn’t…she had too many kids already. That her husband–

He reached for you, but stopped himself.

“I just…” he said hesitantly. “Can I see your face? Just once. Please. Even if you’re not her.”

You hesitated.

How could you trust him?

“What happened after?” you asked instead.

His hands clenched at his sides.

“I snapped,” he said. “Cecil wanted me to help defend humanity. I couldn’t. Not after what humanity did to you. My mother… she told me there was no proof they hurt you. She lied. In a way she sided with the monsters.”

You sat there, frozen, as he confessed it all.

He smiled softly. “You used to love fairies. Always carried books around about them.”

You blinked.

You had been obsessed with fairies when you were ten. It had been the last summer you and your Mark were inseparable.

“I still dance,” you said quietly. “I studied in Paris once. That’s where I met the Guardian of the Miraculous. I saved his life, and he gave me the Ladybug.”

His smile grew bittersweet. “I believe it. You’ve always had a pure heart. You blamed yourself for everything back then…why they were hurting you… but it was never your fault.”

Moved by something you couldn’t name, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He stiffened, then relaxed, unclenching his fists.

He asked again, so softly you could barely hear it:

“Please. Let me see her face.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Tikki, spots off,” you whispered.

Your transformation faded.

He stared at you, tears glimmering in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “You look like…who she would have grown into. Who she should have…”

He gently cradled your face, his hands trembling, like you would disappear before his eyes.

Before you could even react, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft. Sweet even.

Your first kiss.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

“I might’ve ruined everything in my world,” he whispered, “but I’m not going to let it happen here. I swear it.”

He pulled away, his expression fierce with determination — and then he was gone, flying off into the chaos.

You sat there, heart pounding, wondering what you had just unleashed.

[mousathe14]

Remember when I talked about how Cissie was still a main character even though she quit the superhero biz? And how she can’t escape the life despite her best efforts?

You know, she competes in the Olympics and there’s a nation of supervillains that entered?

Or how Red Tornado comes to her school and entrusts her to watch over his daughter, Traya?

Well you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Look at all the fan mail she got just from being an Olympic gold medalist in archery.

I think there are isekai anime that start like this.

Okay, the isekai normally just kill you. Nah, in this Cissie is embarking on a journey that is much much worse than any isekai.

That’s right, it’s Space Jam. Evil aliens are trying to conquer the planet YJ was just at and they play baseball in order to decide if they conquer/destroy you or not.

The reason why Cissie here is simultaneously sweet and stupid.

Man, she just can’t get out, can she?

But only because her friends miss her, bless their hearts.

They truly have been feeling her absence, I know that I miss her particular skills, background, and personality and what that perspective adds to this group of oddballs.

COME ON AND SLAM

IF YOU WANT TO JAM

Using the power of friendship and Impulse’s super fast fast ball, they are creaming these losers.

Damn, that commentator’s going through it. I’d say that’s a face only a mother could love but that would imply that he still had a face.

Impulse also showed this level of athletic aptitude in his own comic. It’s amazing what you can do when everything around you is going in slow motion.

Also, it’s cute that everyone gets a baseball version of their costume. I love that kind of thing. Something I should do more with my own heroes honestly.

This poor commentator. He’s just doing his job and getting hella blasted for it.

You know what’s funny? I interrupted reading Impulse to read Young Justice because I’ve been wanting to read YJ for a while and there was a spot in Impulse that said I should check YJ for context.

I don’t even remember that that context was, so now I don’t even know what’s going on in Impulse’s own comic.

Well, we know this team’s secret weapon isn’t Secret. Has she been zoning out this entire time?

I’m almost surprised Cissie can’t hit but she’s a marksman, batting probably involves a different type of aiming.

I get that she’s jealous but simultaneously I have difficulty comprehending it. I get it, there’s a new girl on the team so she feels like she’s being replaced.

Even though she, in her own, decided to leave the team without being forced out or anything. She likes her friends, but she chose to walk out of the superhero portion, but there still could’ve been the possibility for them to hang out outside of heroing.

Robin continues to demonstrate his excellent leadership skills.

And but Cissie still has to make this about her being insecure about a black queen. Even trying to project her mother issues on to Ms. Empress.

In fact I even mentioned previously that Empress was in the mall to bear witness to the day Cissie had and then rejected her Peter Parker Moment.

Empress is just here causing no problems and being the best and you’re here, questioning her place because you left.

Well well well, Kon, aren’t we a bit chivalrous today.

Been getting awfully protective of Wonder Girl, aren’t we?

Even though realistically she is probably as strong as you if not stronger since she’s powered by god magic.

I wonder if the story is trying to set up something.

The answer is “probably yes”. I’d say they’ve been setting up Kon (the real one, not Matchstick) having affection for Cassie basically during Sins of Youth if I were to pinpoint a specific spot though he was also mourning the loss of his girlfriend which happened basically right at the beginning of the event.

I have thoughts about this that I’ll probably say elsewhere.

Oi oi oi, treat Empress with some respect, S-curl.

Hell, having Lobo agree with you probably means you’re definitely the major league jerk here. Work on yourself, Kon El.

As for Empress, man, she cannot catch a break with any of these people despite her best efforts. She’s saved them, she’s joined them despite her old man often being in conflict with them, and she’s helping them out with this stupid baseball game, and what does she get for it?

Undeserved Flack!

She may not be able to aim with a bat but she’s still got the arm and back muscles of someone that’s been forced to learn archery basically as soon as they could stand.

Ha ha Simpsons reference technically?

Awwww, they’re so cute

Look at them bring precious little savers of the planet Myra.

Ain’t they stinkers?

So due to reasons that I will explain in a different post, Young Justice bounced. It was very chaotic, they didn’t intend on forgetting Cissie, but they basically forgot her by the next story.

But don’t worry, this is a western isekai. So she didn’t die when a mountain of fan mail landed on her, she was merely displaced. Which means she can be un-displaced.

Welcome back, Cissie!

Is there a logical explanation to all this? Certainly! Will it ever be stated? Absolutely not.

With all due respect Ms. King-Jones, and that’s very little, mother does not in fact know best and definitively not you. The narrative may want to try to redeem you but I won’t accept it yet.

But yeah, this was “Cissie is still here and also Space Jam happened.”

This will, in fact, not be the last time Cissie returns. There’s a whole date thing between Lobo and Empress that I keep foreshadowing and she’s in the story after that that I stopped in the middle of.

Bringing Arrowette into Young Justice means she is here forever whether she likes it or not, and that’s kind of neat.

[acoraxia]

[ SONIC | ESPRESSO AU | MASTERPOST ]

"I can't relate to desperation / My give-a-fucks are on vacation / And I got this one boy and he won't stop callin' / When they act this way, I know I got 'em."

[ PLAYLIST ] [youtube version]

* [🔓] content is already up patreon, not yet released to the public ** [🔒] content is patreon locked and will not be released to the public *** [🔐] are asks with important information **** [🔏] means this is still a wip/being worked on

[ LORE | FANFICS ]

Chances are Slim, We are Right (fanfic)

[🔏] Infant and Violent

Obsessive (Sonadow)

Introduction

Black Arms Biology (one)

[🔏] Please Please Please

[ COMICS ]

Metamorphosis 01

Metamorphosis 02

[ DOODLES | ASKS ]

Sonic but Worse (first post)

siblings

I STILL LIKE YOU!!!

first doodle dump

[🔐] pov: U are the hivemind now

[🔐] blocked bc of chaos usage ew

[🔐] oh gaia that’s MY successor

[🔐] Hybrids? (Yes)

Mentor Acquired

[🔒] Super

[🔒] Little Brothers

[🔒] Do you like me??

[🔐] Maria (draft design)

[🔓] Kill’em Miles!!!

[🔐] anything can happen.

[🔐] Dog relationship

[🔐] UHHHHH gloves

[🔐] ages!

[🔐] protective (sonadow)

Try harder.

[🔏] I miss you

[🔏] Who have we become?

[ ANIMATICS ]

Impacto

Meemaw

Fooled you

A date?!

[🔒] Shut up Silver

[🔒] Please love me

[🔏] Winner

╔══ ≪ BOUNDARIES | FAQ ≫ ══╗

What is espresso AU? Espresso AU is an AU where the Black Comet was destroyed years prior to the events of the main game timeline and the Hivemind hides until the start of Shadow 05. Eclipse is sent to retrieve Shadow and get him to join him but instead he gets captured by GUN and everything goes downhill from there. Also Unleashed plot but worse Will there be [insert archie storyline]? No. Will [character] appear? Nope! I have not read much of the archie comics and I have not kept up with the IDW comics either. Do not expect characters like Surge or Sally to appear. I may mention Starline but that’s it. What canon does the AU follow? Unleashed, Forces, Frontier, Sonic Adventure 1-2, Colors and Lost World but only a lil bit so I didn't add it to the main drawings oops What ships are canon? Hm. Can I dub/voice your stuff? If you want to! Just show me if you do plspslplspls pls i would love to see it Can I make fanfics? Absolutely!!!! GO HAM!!!! WRITE TO YOUR HEART'S CONTENT!!! MY AO3 IS @ACORAXIA AS WELL How is Chaos tied to Sonic? Alexa play Shiny by Moana [spoilers]

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 8: Demeter, Goddess Of The Harvest]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Is it a story worth telling? I think so. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than watching raindrops slither down the cracked concrete walls until the prison guards come back to bloody us again.

Today I’m sending John McCain taps in the shape of the tale of Io. John has a hard time tapping back—they’re doing something to his shoulders, they’re destroying him—but he likes to listen. He’s getting it a lot worse than I am; perhaps even the North Vietnamese fear Aemond’s retribution if I die here. They should be afraid of him. He thinks he owns everything he touches, and he’ll snap bones to keep it.

So anyway, Io was a king’s daughter, a mortal who Zeus saw and wanted and took when her father kicked her out to avoid the god’s wrath. That’s easily half of Greek mythology, right? Zeus appears, irrevocably fucks up someone’s life, vanishes in a plume of clouds and thunder. He leaves human rubble behind him: ribs, nerves, disembodied hearts that leak blood from torn ventricles, minds broken in two. Zeus impregnated Io and then turned her into a cow to hide her from his wife Hera, ever-watchful, ever-vengeful, an aspiring mass murderess. When this disguise failed, Hera condemned Io to wander ceaselessly through the wilderness, tormented by the constant stinging of a gadfly. Eventually, Zeus returns Io to human form and she pops out a few bastard kids, as if Zeus needs any more of those. Then he ditches her and she marries some Egyptian dude. There are other details that I’ve forgotten. I don’t think John McCain will know the difference.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I acquired all this fabled trivia. I don’t seem like the type to lie around under trees reading folklore from religions that died thousands of years ago. You’re right, I’m not. But Aemond is. He would tell the stories, and Helaena would embroider scenes on quilts for us to burrow under in the winter, and I would dramatically act out the best parts (mostly murders), and Aegon would scribble comics in jagged black pen strokes. He has all these notebooks down in the basement filled with his new versions of ancient myths: Poseidon as a horny dolphin, Aphrodite as Marilyn Monroe.

Wait, I remember what I skipped. While Io was roaming across the globe, she bumped into Prometheus—chained to a rock for giving humans the gift of fire—and he cheered her up somehow. I guess meeting a guy who gets his liver continuously chewed out by a giant eagle would make me more appreciative of my circumstances too.

I have a lot of time to myself here in solitary confinement. My social circle is microscopic. I tap to John through the wall, I have dinner dates with Tessarion the rat. And I think about my family. They’re fucked up, but I miss them. I miss going to Monmouth Park with Fosco to bet on horse races, I miss getting hammered with Aegon while he sings Johnny Cash or Beatles songs. I miss my mother and Helaena and Criston. I even miss Aemond’s wife, though I only met her a few times before I deployed. She’s sharp, she’s hilarious. She’s mean as hell to Aegon, and sometimes he deserves it.

At first I wondered why Aemond hasn’t gotten me out yet, but I understand now. It sounds a lot better to have a brother being tortured as a prisoner of war than one who received a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It’s the kind of thing Aemond would consider. He understands which stories are worth telling.

I feel kind of bad for her. Aemond’s wife, I mean.

I don’t think she knows about Alys.

~~~~~~~~~~

On a chilly mid-September morning cloaked in fog, Mimi is laid to rest in the Targaryen family mausoleum at Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Most of the golden plaques already have names chiseled into them: Viserys and Alicent, Fosco and Helaena. Aegon will one day be interred beside his wife. You have a spot reserved next to Aemond. All of you have already lived and died and been entombed; all of this was predestined by the stars eons before you had blood or bones.

Ari’s vault—an unnaturally tiny drawer, less than half the size of anyone else’s—is located just above yours. You can’t stop staring at it. You can’t hear anything the bearded priest in his black robes is chanting. Then Cosmo squeezes your hand and you look down at him. Mimi’s other children are somber but seem to be coping well enough—they are used to being raised by consensus, they would probably be more affected if one of the nannies died—but Cosmo always wants to be near you. He gazes up with those vast, wet, murky blue eyes, so much like Aegon’s, and you offer him a sad, reassuring smile. Cosmo smiles back. And you think: Life goes on.

Alicent is sniffling noisily; it echoes off the walls of the mausoleum. Criston—a man with no plaque assigned to him—is trying to console her. Aegon is watching you from across the cold granite chamber, grim and red-eyed in his black suit, the first time you can remember seeing him in one since your wedding. He wears no small gold hoops, only a row of stitches in his right ear. He wants to say something, to do something, but he can’t. Aemond is beside you, a hand heavy on your waist but muttering something to Otto. Back in Omaha, Otto had spent a few hours alone with the medical examiner, and when the death certificate was issued it revealed that Mimi died of a heart defect, a perfectly blameless sort of misfortune, an innate impending disaster. And so that’s what the newspapers printed, and any gossip to the contrary is confined to salacious rumors, untrustworthy and unproven.

When the ceremony is over, journalists are waiting to scavenge for photos and quotes under the guise of expressing their sympathies. It’s a shameless display, though they at least have the decency to wait by the cemetery gates. Aemond and Otto go to meet them. Alicent, Criston, Helaena, and Fosco, protective of the children, keep them far away from the feeding frenzy, hungry-eyed reporters like sharks without fins. Ludwika is reapplying her lipstick. Aegon is smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to his oldest son, Orion, a stilted exchange that holds the promise of turning warm with time.

You sit on a stone bench and Cosmo curls up beside you, rests his head in your lap, dozes off as you thread your fingers through his wavy blonde hair. In the mist there are shadows of gravestones and trees that turn skeletal as they shed their leaves.

“He is okay?” Fosco says as he ambles over, meaning Cosmo. He has his hands in the pockets of his slim black trousers that stop at his ankles. His suit is velvet, his eyeglasses speckled with drizzle from the slate-grey sky.

“He’s alright. He’s resting. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Fosco sighs mournfully. “I keep thinking someone is missing. We came into this family together, Mimi and I. We got married six months apart. I have never had to do this without her. And I know she had her problems, but she was different when she was younger. She always liked a party, that’s why she and Aegon got along so well at first. But she was so loud and so funny, always telling these long stories, and everyone in the room would be grinning as they waited for the good part. Viserys loved her. Otto loved her. And then she had all those children one after the other, and that was hard, and Aegon self-destructed when he was the mayor of Trenton, and that was worse, and she was supposed to fix him and she couldn’t, the harder she tried the farther he ran from her. She started drinking her Gimlets before dinner, and then after lunch, and by the time you showed up it was never ending. But that wasn’t who she really was. She was like a moon that got smaller and smaller until the only thing left was a sliver.”

This family breaks people. This family kills people. “We’ll make ossi dei morti for Mimi tonight. I’ll help you, and we can teach the kids.”

Fosco smiles, swipes a tear from beneath his glasses, squeezes your shoulder with one wiry hand. “I am very glad you are still here.”

“I’m not trying to race you to that mausoleum.”

Fosco laughs. And then he says as he spies Aegon approaching: “Um…I will go avoid the paparazzi somewhere else.”

“You don’t have to leave, Fosco.”

“It is no trouble. And I suspect you enjoy your very rare privacy.” Fosco gives you a knowing glace and then heads back to where Helaena, Alicent, and Criston are lingering with the rest of the children. Now Ludwika is fluffing her blonde curls with her French tips, a smoldering Camel cigarette tucked between two fingers.

Aegon comes to you through the mist, plops onto the bench, and looks fondly down at Cosmo—now fast asleep, his face smooth and peaceful—before he speaks. “I can’t grasp that she’s really gone. We barely spoke for years, but she was always there, you know? Christ, she deserved better than this. She could have been happy somewhere else.”

“Your children need you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but it’s the first time he believes you. He nods, staring out into the fog. “They have to get away from this whole circus for a while. And you have to learn how to be a real parent.”

“I’ll have time to work on it. I’m staying here. I’ve already been informed.”

You are alarmed. “What? By who?”

“Aemond and Otto.” Aegon says. “When the rest of you fly west, my kids and I will be at Asteria.”

“They’re getting you off the campaign trail,” you realize.

“They’re putting me on house arrest.”

Not seeing Aegon, not being near him? How long can I stand that? “I’m sure you’re relieved. You hate the grandstanding and the media.”

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Fosco and Ludwika.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that they need to look out for you.”

“Aegon, I’ve been doing the political wife thing for over two years.”

“But it’s different now.”

He’s right, it is.

“You’ll call, won’t you?” he asks. “You’ll let me know how the trip is going, you’ll tell me if anything bad happens? Because I can always get on a plane and meet you wherever you are. Otto might pay someone to murder me, but I’d risk it.”

“Of course I’ll call.”

“Hey.” Gently, he turns your face so you can’t hide from him. “Will you be okay without me?”

I have to be. I don’t have a choice. Instead you reply: “I’ll miss the weed.”

The tension breaks and Aegon smiles, and then he pats your cheek twice with his open palm. “Behave yourself.” He waves Ludwika over, interrupting her meditative chain smoking.

“What, what?” Ludwika says. “Are we leaving soon? Yes, it is so sad what happened to Mimi, but us standing around in the rain won’t resurrect her. And I look terrible in black.”

“I can’t be there for the last leg of the campaign.” Aegon points to you. “I need you to pay attention and check in with her at least a few times a day.”

“This is a common request. I should get a degree in it so I can charge people.”

Aegon furrows his brow at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ludwika smirks as she puffs on her Camel. “You are not the first person to ask me to keep an eye on her.” She nods subtly towards Aemond, then sashays off to give a quote to the journalists.

~~~~~~~~~~

In San Diego, Aemond meets with residents of a new public housing complex to hear their concerns about neighborhood jobs and infrastructure. In San Jose, he visits labor activist Caesar Chavez—being treated for debilitating back pain at O’Connor Hospital—and expresses support for the ongoing boycott of all grapes produced in the state. In Sacramento, he attends a Jimi Hendrix concert and receives a standing ovation from the audience; the next day he joins high school students protesting for a more inclusive curriculum. In Oregon, he makes a speech at Portland State University acknowledging the tremendous cost of the Vietnam War—in money, in time, in blood—and pledges to begin dismantling U.S. involvement as soon as he is sworn into office in January. Aemond talks about hope and despair, the bleak reality and the American Dream, and he is so overwhelmed by the crowd that he doesn’t even notice when someone takes his cufflinks as souvenirs. His lack of concern for his own safety exasperates Criston, but Aemond can’t be convinced to increase his security or his distance. If he expects the disaffected masses to carry him to the White House, he has to be real to them.

“What if another Wallace supporter tries to shoot you?” Criston demands. “What if a Nixon stooge stabs you or a crowd tramples you?”

“No one can kill me,” Aemond says, grinning wryly. “I’m not supposed to die yet. I’m supposed to be the president. It is God’s will.” And how can anybody disagree when that appears to be so true?

The earth dies as you drive north, summer withering into autumn. That familiar brisk cuttingness reappears in the air. You shake thousands of hands, smile for countless photographs. Mothers and wives of dead soldiers sob into your shoulder as you embrace them; teenage girls ask how they can get a good man like Aemond. Only one thing is missing from his glorious pilgrimage: something he wants desperately, something he cannot have (though he’ll never know why), you conceiving his child in time to announce it before Election Day. Each morning you sneak a pill and every night you bite the bullet. As often as you can, you duck into Dairy Queens to order lemon-lime Mr. Mistys.

George Wallace is in the South, galvanizing segregationists and accepting the endorsement of the Ku Klux Klan. Richard Nixon is working his way across the Midwest. He has chosen a politically moderate Greek as a running mate, Spiro Agnew; this does not strike you as a coincidence. He even shares a name with Aegon’s second son.

Nixon promises “peace with honor” in Vietnam, which means no immediate end to the draft. He makes speeches about “states’ rights” and “law and order,” ambiguous euphemisms designed to attract Wallace’s white supremacists without alienating too many suburban moderates. He commiserates with those lamenting the proliferation of sex, drugs, and divorce. He says he will return the nation to a more moral time. You wonder what he means. You can’t think of any such refuge in the bloodletting, spine-crushing history of mankind.

A kindergarten teacher tells you in Olympia, Washington, her eyes alight with reverence usually reserved for heroes, saints, gods: “People are voting for Aemond, but they’re voting for you too.”

And you find yourself thinking as a thousand miles roll by beyond the glass of limousine windows: How many people will I condemn if I don’t help Aemond win? How many lives is mine worth?

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hotel Sorrento in Seattle insists on giving you and Aemond the honeymoon suite: a retreat from the breakneck campaign, a romantic oasis for the future president and first lady…according to half the country, anyway. You are in the impractically large pink bathtub, surrounded by snowy dunes of bubbles. The wall to your right is a mirror, foggy around the edges; just a few yards to your left is the king-sized bed. In the top drawer of your nightstand is the card Aegon gave you in July. You aren’t sure where Aemond is, and you don’t especially care. You are relieved to be alone.

There’s a passion-red phone built into the rim of the tub, conveniently located for sudden room service revelations, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, steak and lobster. You have a different idea. It’s 7:15 p.m. here, so after 10 on the East Coast. On the steam-slick keypad, you dial the number for the main house at Asteria.

Eudoxia picks up and demands gruffly: “Geiá sou? Ti?”

“Hi, Doxie. Is Aegon around?”

“Where else would he be? Making himself useful somehow? Killing communists, driving a rocket to the moon? No. He is a burden as always.”

“Please be nice to him. His wife just died.”

“And so he cannot put his empty cups in the sink?” Without waiting for a reply, she sets the handset down on the kitchen counter with a clunk. There is distant, muffled shouting in Greek; she seems to back and forth with somebody. Then Eudoxia returns. “Antio sas,” she says, and hangs up just as a phone elsewhere in the house is lifted from its cradle.

Aegon answers with something halfway between a groan and a yawn. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey!” You can hear it riding the wire like electricity: a rustling as he sits up, a fresh clarity in his skull. His voice is deep, hushed, still husky with sleep. “What’s up, little Io? Any interesting happenings to report from your neighborhood of the solar system?”

“I just left a riveting tea party. Apple cinnamon scones and smoked salmon sandwiches. We talked about what kind of couches I should get for the White House and I wanted to kill myself. Are the kids okay?”

He’s smiling; you can tell. “They’re alright. I could have used you this afternoon. I was trying to help Spiro with his math homework. Trying, not succeeding.”

“Well he’s in middle school and thus beyond your skill.”

“How’s Jupiter?”

You know who he means. “I don’t want to talk about Aemond.”

“Okay.” Aegon says, curious. “So what should we talk about?”

A few seconds tick by, silent and perilous. “Where are you right now?”

“In my lair. Like a beast.”

“Alone?”

A transitory pause. “At the moment.”

“On the shag carpet or your futon?”

Now he’s very intrigued. “Futon. Why?”

“I just want a visual.” Beneath the water, your free hand is resting on the velvety inside of your thigh.

“Where are you?” Aegon asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Maybe I want a visual too.”

You chuckle, peeking over at yourself in the mirror. Your skin is dewy with steam; stray wisps of hair stick to your face. “I’m in a gigantic pink bathtub. It’s ridiculous, it’s shaped like a heart and everything. They have a phone installed right here in case I find myself in desperate need of filet mignon.”

“Oh.” And then he hesitates, like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing. “Big enough for two?”

“More like five. You should get a tub like this for your basement, it would delight the campaign staffers.”

“My basement’s been pretty empty recently.”

Softly, vulnerably, glass offered for him to shatter: “You aren’t seeing other girls?”

“Nah, babe. I want something they can’t give me.”

You picture him, messy hair falling over his forehead, drowsy eyes that gleam with clandestine wisdom. You can smell the smoke and rum that bleeds from his skin. “I wish you were here.”

“In Seattle?”

“No. Right here.”

Aegon exhales shakily, swallows, takes a few seconds to collect himself. “How’s the water?”

“Extremely hot and full of bubbles.”

“So I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“No,” you say, baiting him.

“But I could touch you.”

“You already have.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs. “Nowhere close to enough.”

“Do you remember what I felt like?”

“Oh God,” he whispers, and you envision him closing his eyes, rubbing his face with the open palm of his left hand. “Yeah. Of course I do. I can’t get it out of my head. But I’ve been trying not to…you know…it felt wrong to think about you that way unless you were cool with it. Like I was betraying your trust or taking advantage of you or something.”

“No, I want you to think about me.”

You can hear Aegon moving around on the green futon, repositioning himself, yanking down a zipper. When he speaks again, his breathing is quick and jagged. “Where’s your other hand, huh?”

“Under the water,” you reply coyly.

“You bitch,” he says, laughing. “I miss you so fucking much. The house isn’t right without you in it. You belong here, you belong where I am.”

Beneath the veil of bubbles and steam, there is no scar on your belly, no infidelity, no campaign, no distance of almost 3,000 miles separating you and Aegon. Your fingers slip between your legs, finding slickness the water can’t wash away. It’s a familiar sensation, though you haven’t felt it in a while: rising steadily until you hit a plateau like a jet reaching cruising altitude. From here, it will either glide along smoothly until it dies out, or eventually turn sharp and painful. “Tell me about you,” you pant.

He can hear it in your voice, a needful surrender that sets him on fire. He can’t believe this is happening; he never wants it to end. “I mean, I’m…I’m insanely hard.”

“Stroke yourself, imagine it’s me. I wish it could be me.”

“Oh fuck,” Aegon whimpers. “Okay, okay…I want you. I want you with my fingers, I want you with my tongue, I want you to beg for it, and then…”

Impossibly, incomparably, your own pleasure is climbing faster than you can reconcile yourself to it, no longer a hunger but a violent aching, a crushing gravity you can’t fight against, a ship being dragged to the floor of the ocean. What’s happening? When will it end? You moan into the phone, amazed yet petrified. You can’t get enough air; it feels like drowning, like dying.

“I need to see you,” Aegon says. He’s close to the climax that you know men experience, he has to be; he’s gasping. “I need to be with you, let me give you what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me.”

“Io…babe…oh my God, you’re gonna kill me…”

There are sounds out in the front room of the suite: a lock clicking, footsteps, keys and a wallet tossed onto the kitchenette counter. You’re so consumed you almost don’t notice. Aemond is back. Aemond is back!! And every ion of your ascending euphoria evaporates. “Gotta go, bye.”

“Wait—!”

You hang up just as Aemond is opening the bedroom door. He walks in—immaculately tailored dark blue suit, polished black leather shoes trampling soft pink carpet—and turns to you. He has already taken his glass eye out and put on his eyepatch. Vaguely, fleetingly, you wonder where he’s been. His gaze darts to the red phone, your fingerprints in the condensation. “Who were you talking to?”

“My parents.”

If Aemond doubts this, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bathtub, peers down at you with an omniscient metallic glint in his eye. He’s always been less a man than a force of nature. “I know this year has been hell.”

You envision Persephone being stolen by Hades, Orpheus searching for his dead wife Eurydice, Charon ferrying souls across the River Styx. “You haven’t made it easier.”

There’s a flash of something in his scarred face, blazing and instantaneous like lightning, and then it fades. He reaches out to touch your hair, swept up and neatly bound with clips and pins. “We can’t forget everything we’ve accomplished together,” Aemond says. “I still need you. You’re my Aphrodite.”

He’s going to tell you to get out of the tub, to lie down on the bed, to open yourself so he can fill you. You distract him, forestalling the inevitable. Each morning Prometheus dreads the return of the eagle that pecks out his liver; as every summer ends Demeter mourns the loss of Persephone. “Any luck with Nixon?”

Aemond sighs, furious, brooding. “He still won’t agree to a debate. Wallace is onboard, he’s rabid for it, he’d show up if we held it in the fucking asteroid belt, any opportunity to spew his idiocy. But not Nixon.”

“Because he knows standing on the same stage as you can only hurt him. People thought he looked bad in 1960, can you imagine now? Television has gotten so much clearer. They’ll be able to count his sweat drops from their living room couches.”

“So how do I get him to do it?”

You look up at Aemond. It’s not a hypothetical question; he’s really asking for advice.

“I have to debate Nixon,” Aemond insists. “It’s close in the polls, which means it will be even closer on Election Day. I’ll underperform whatever is projected, my coalition is less likely to show up when it counts. College kids, hippies, transients. That’s just a fact. But the old people vote. The suburban housewives vote. Nixon’s resting on his political experience and accusations that I’m a communist, an agent of chaos. But I could slaughter him in an hour on ABC.”

You think of the mutilated Vietnam veterans waving their signs and screaming at LBJ from the other side of the wrought-iron gates of the White House. “Challenge him in public. Say that the American people deserve to see the candidates debate, and do it where everyone can hear you.”

“What if Nixon still refuses?”

“Then you call him a coward. You say he must have something to hide. You ask how he’s supposed to square up with the Russians and the Chinese if he can’t even face you.”

Aemond grins admiringly. “You’re vicious.” And he lifts your hand from the rim of the tub so he can kiss your knuckles. Once you licked up drops of his approval like Tantalus, cursed with eternal thirst. Now it is poison that turns your veins black.

“If there’s a debate, everyone should go,” you say, seized by sudden inspiration. “We should have a united front, including Aegon. It can be his return to the public eye. A month will have passed since the funeral, the timing is right. He can pose for a few photos with the kids to show the nation that they’re doing well and distract from any lingering rumors about Mimi.”

Aemond isn’t grinning anymore. He’s studying you with his cold blue gaze; no, he’s trying to intimidate you, to overpower you. “Otto and I will decide what to do with him.”

“He’s a Targaryen. He should be with the rest of us.”

Aemond stands and motions for you to follow, a snap of his wrist like a man calling a dog. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Panic, tension, an iron sinking in your belly. The water is only lukewarm now, but you don’t want to leave it. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yes you are.”

There’s nothing else to say. Legally, a wife’s flesh is one with her husband’s. You slip as you step out of the bathtub, and Aemond grabs your forearm. Not like he’s helping you; like you’re something he owns.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two knocks, swift and forceful. “Hey, it’s me. You ready? Everyone else is downstairs in the lobby waiting for the limos.”

You hurry to open the door, almost twisting your ankle as you stumble in your heels. They’re an inch higher than what you’re used to. Aemond chose them, and your dress too, and your sapphire teardrop earrings, and the silver chains around your wrist and throat, and your future and your past, and your life itself. It’s mid-October, and the night of what will almost certainly be the sole presidential debate of 1968. Aemond’s retinue is staying at the Hotel Saint Louis. It’s harvest time, the fields beyond the city being reaped of their soybeans, wheat, corn, cotton, and rice, the beef cattle culled in mechanical underworlds. Aegon’s flight must have just landed.

As soon as he sees you his eyes drop, wide and bewitched, ensnared everywhere except your face. You say: “Can you help me zip this, please?”

He blinks a few times, then shakes it off. “Sorry, what?”

“The zipper’s stuck. I need you to get it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He steps into the suite and stands behind you. The gown is a vivid blue like the Greek flag, gorgeous and shimmering but a size too small. It wasn’t tight a week ago, but now it is, and you aren’t pregnant just always gaining and losing weight in new places, first the baby and then the pill, and it wouldn’t bother you if Aemond didn’t seem so confounded by it. Aegon says as he tugs at the zipper: “I don’t think it’s gonna fit, babe.”

“It has to fit.”

“Even if I miraculously get this closed, you won’t be able to breathe.”

“Do whatever you have to. Just…just…” You push every last molecule of air out of your lungs, suck in your belly, and you hear the triumphant squeal of the zipper. “Yes!” Oh, but Aegon was right: you really can’t breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You’re not gonna last the whole debate in that. You’ll be sweating more than Nixon.”

“I’m fine.”

“Io…”

“I’m fine. Come on.” You snatch your matching purse off the coffee table by the couch, check your makeup one last time, and hobble in your heels as you walk with Aegon out into the hallway.

At the Kiel Auditorium a few blocks away, the Targaryen children—Aegon’s five and Helaena’s three—are presented for photographs before being escorted back to the hotel by the nannies. And even in the few weeks that have passed since you last saw Aegon’s kids, there have been extraordinary changes. They talk to their father, and he talks back, and he ruffles their hair and rests his hands on their shoulders and asks them about what they’re learning from their private tutors. Cosmo tackles you before he leaves—a powerful bear hug, though he can only reach your legs—and he says he hopes you’re coming home to Asteria soon.

“Me too, kiddo,” Aegon tells him, and then smiles at you; but above his gleam of teeth his cloudy blue eyes, like the Atlantic in a storm, are gloomy and troubled.

As the audience takes their seats and the journalists are poised to capture the best images and quotes of the night, the three candidates and their wives (minus Wallace’s dear departed Lurleen) meet briefly backstage to exchange the perfunctory well-wishes. Pat Nixon is introverted and bookish, though she tries to hide it; but Aemond reels her in like swordfish until her eyes are filled with him. George Wallace gets one glimpse of your venomous glare and escapes, claiming to need one last trip to the restroom before the debate begins. But Richard Nixon beckons you to accompany him to a quiet, discrete corner of the room.

“I tried to call,” he says. He’s a remarkably normal man: medium height, receding dark hair, rough voice, weathered skin, not a god but a mortal, and—you have the impression—more aware of his flaws than his fiercest critics will ever be. “But no one at that damned beach house would ever put me through to you.”

You aren’t sure what he means. “Oh?”

“I never got the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was for your loss in July, Mrs. Targaryen,” Nixon says with unglamorous, plain, genuine compassion. “Pat and I, when we heard, we wept for you. We truly did. And for your husband to be clear across the country…I can’t even imagine. It must have been awful for you. A parent never gets over something like that. It stays with you like a scar.”

“It does,” you say softly.

“I lost two brothers. Arthur died when he was seven, tuberculosis killed Harold in his twenties. God, it just about destroyed my mother. You’re a remarkable woman. You’re lightning in a bottle for Aemond, do you know that? You’re like one of those Kennedy gals, but even better. More personable than Jackie. More intelligent than Ethel…although, to be frank, who wouldn’t be? And you’re not afflicted with any ghastly vices like Ted’s wife Joan. What would Aemond do without you? He’d lose, that’s what he’d do.”

Nixon’s smart, but he’s wounded. He’s capable, but he’s so desperate to prove it. Power could ruin a man like this. “You’re very kind, sir. You did some great work under Eisenhower. Self-made like my father was, a devotee of the American Dream. I believe you have an important role to play in this country…” You smirk, a bit mischievously. “Just not as the president.”

Nixon chortles. “No matter what happens tonight, rest assured that I hate Reagan more than I could ever dislike your husband,” he says, meaning the Republican governor of his home state of California. “You know that bastard tried to primary me?”

“Actors don’t belong in politics.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nixon says, and then bids you farewell as the lights turn blinding and the curtain begins to rise.

As soon as the adrenaline begins to fade, all you can think about is that you can’t breathe. You take your seat in the audience between Aegon and Ludwika, who won’t stop making jabs about Nixon: “He looks like a troll,” “He looks like a sasquatch,” “Do you think Pat makes him wear a  Creature from the Black Lagoon mask in bed so she is not so repulsed by him?” The most you can offer is an occasional distracted nod in response.

“You alright?” Aegon whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“I’m great.”

“Sure,” he says, and he acts like he’s teasing, but there’s something tremendously sad underneath. He can’t save you from this. He can’t save you from anything. What must that feel like?

On the debate stage—broadcast to a national audience—Aemond performs brilliantly. Nixon salvages what could have been a bloodbath with a handful of clever retorts that Aemond pretends not to be rattled by. The real loser of the night is Wallace, who is brutally attacked by them both: Nixon because Wallace is commandeering some of his voting bloc, and Aemond because of his near-assassination back in May. After an hour, the contest concludes and the candidates descend to the main floor to pose for photos and get lassoed into brief interviews with various journalists. Everyone in Aemond’s entourage besides you and Aegon flock to his side. By now you’re gasping in shallow gulps, close to tears and in agony from your ribs to your wobbling feet.

“I told you,” Aegon says. And then: “Come on. We’ll take the first limo back.”

In the front room of your hotel suite—one yellowish end table lamp glowing dimly, the rest of the space like twilight—Aegon wrestles with the zipper as you struggle for every breath, trying not to pass out. “Ow,” you whine. “Oh fuck, this was so stupid…”

“Don’t let him make you wear shit you don’t want to wear.”

“I have to do what he says, Aegon.”

“He doesn’t own you.”

“Legally, he does.”

He’s tugging futilely at the jammed zipper. “Are you planning on using this again?”

“I believe that would be wistful thinking.”

“You probably look better out of it anyway.” He grabs his Zippo lighter from the pocket of his emerald green suit jacket and flicks it to life. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Got it.”

You can feel heat, intense but not painful. Aegon has pulled the edge of the fabric as far away as he can from your skin and is singeing it until it turns black and charred and brittle. Then he tucks the lighter back into his pocket and with both hands rips your dress down to the small of your back. Cool air rushes to meet the ridge of your spine; goosebumps prickle all over. Aegon is marveling at you; you can see it when you glance over your shoulder at him. Then he lays a palm against your bare skin, leans into you, inhales everything you’ve ever been: smoke and sex and starlight, strategies, shadows, secrets.

The others will be pouring into the hallway from the elevator any minute. Aemond. Aemond could find us.

“We can’t,” you whisper, hating yourself for it.

Aegon kisses the nape of your neck—so slow, so kind—and then goes to the doorway. You wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at you as you hold up the ruined gown so it covers your belly and your chest. You gaze back helplessly, wanting him, needing him, a moon chained to another world’s gravity.

We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

And only then does Aegon vanish.

[hyperfixationcenter]

My full review on the Eltingville Club comics

After a long month of work I've decided to treat myself to read ALL of Eltingville Club, overall this was one of the funniest and saddest comics I've seen AND BEFORE I START!! If your new to the fandom or haven't found a place to read it: https://batcave.biz/27970-the-eltingville-club-2016.html have fun!!

Alright, this is a long one so if you love extensive overviews your in luck!

My favorite moments ੈ✩‧₊˚ Jerry being geeked out is really funny to me

THE WAY THEY LOCK IN 😭

Josh being a bisexual for a panel

I actually love jerry in a hoodie he looks so cutie

Good to know that Pete knows how to read

Me listing off my hyperfixiations to make me feel better

Idk why but Pete's reaction is so funny to me 😭

For some reason Joe looks way better in the comics, still a dick head tho

A moment of clarity for the boys

Common Josh L 😭

fuck'n 😮

Top 10 moments before disaster

THE ZONEEE

Josh being an absolute hater

The slow decline of man

Greedo318 gotta be my favorite character

Bill being a classic manipulative little shit

The one time Josh and Bill actually team up 😭

PREACH PETE!

You wont like me when I'm angry ahh Bill 😭

This Fan, This Monster ੈ✩‧₊˚

One of the most saddest chapters and the one that absolutely broke my heart as much as anyone who's read this comic.

Now we know what happened to Iron Jaw

It was kinda sad seeing Bill in shock that Joe isn't really that cool

I feel SO BAD for the geek girl

Its nice to see Pete stand up for the others

THE INFAMOUS FIGHT SCENE!!

PETEEEE MY KINGGG 😭😭😭

The most HEARTWRENCHING PANEL OF MY LIFE

My Overview ੈ✩‧₊˚

They just wanted to enjoy friends who liked the same things they did but power and greed can corrupt anyone and so manipulative minds that were raised from broken families learn that if your not at the top your nothing in this life. I understand that people have hyperfixiations and obsessions but what happens when someone loves something so much they lose what they have in their real life.

Many times mentioned in the comic people who were ex fans tell Bill to repent and stray away from his fandom that has corrupted him and twisted him into a man with no soul for anything else than a lust and hunger for things that aren't even real.

It does show a real harsh lesson of obsession and how far people will go to achieve such heights. The eltingville club was a very funny comic but the end made me think for a minute about how people like to go so far for things they can't achieve, in doing so destroying their own lives. I feel we could learn a lesson from this comic, weather it be about obsession, relationships, and oppressing sexuality to keep a quota. I loved this comic, and now to read the epilogue.

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT POST!

ELTINGVILLE CLUB FAN OUT!!! 📕

[earlgreylatte]

recs.

Stay - (Barry Allen/Reader) Loverboy Barry at his finest + being together in every reality! Really enjoyed flashsnikes exploration of Barry’s powers!

Want Want - (Hal Jordan/Reader) flashsnikes carrying with this series, a great read with so many emotions, loved every chapter!

A Lifetime In The Dreams Between - (Hal Jordan/Reader) so underrated, ragingbookdragon is just so creative, might be my fav hal/reader, miss when the tags were filled with their work

Conversations - (Kyle Rayner/Reader) messenger of babel can destroy readers so easily with their angst, and this is no exception…hurts so good

No, you! - (Booster Gold/Reader) Gilverr just has a brilliant mind, this fic had me melting…

A Moment Of Respite Between Struggles - (Ted Kord/Reader) it was hard to pick just one more work from ragingbookdragon’s masterlist, but this one in particular is what I always come back to…I want to spoil ted…

Heat of the Moment - (Peter Parker/Reader) Groundhog Day, final destination type deaths, and bf Peter, and a likeable reader?? The creativity is unmatched, I love timeloops and the exploration of death/increasing apathy!!

I Know I Always Come and Go - (Yandere Peter B. Parker/Reader) the best Yandere fic I’ve ever read?? Masterful tension, awesome dialogue, unheroic use of webshooters, I’ve read it seven times

Milky Blues Keep You Up - (Matt Murdock/Reader) some love for pretty boy comic Matt!!

Push & Pull - (Johnny Cage/Reader) great dynamic between Johnny and the reader, love the reader’s personality! (I feel like you could pretend it’s torch, that’s what I do with a lot of cage fics, lol…)

Chains - (Luis Serra/Reader) Love how they write Luis, so in character and charming, the tension here is soooo good

Race Against the Sunset - (Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Reader) criminally underrated, I adore all of songsofadelaide’s fe3h works, but this one is my fav, love the family dynamic, politics, and softness of Felix, also love that she uses ‘imogen’ instead of y/n bc it means ‘maiden’ or ‘girl’💙

An Outlaw and his Advisor - (Clive Rosfield/Reader) clive is so hot, and so in love…I want to eat him…

Beyond You - (Gintama Various/Reader) Aria never misses, my fav fic, the impact and purpose of every sentence, the metaphors, the look of love, sacrifice, comedy—a work of art

No Soft Sounds - (Gintama Various/Reader) so much love for this fic and the characters, the emotions, the dynamics, I’m in tears

therefore you and me - (Sabo/SI Lami) canon divergence I love you! Sabo is so soft and stupid and I’m in love with him! Love Lami too, she’s so funny——family dynamics at their best💙💙

The Amazing Graysons - (Invincible OCs) A masterpiece, if I read this before making EDS, I wouldn’t have bothered because this is peak family, big brother mark and sung have my heart—

Kind, Sober, and Fully Dressed - (SpideyTorch) Is it gay when your best friend asks if you want to watch his sextape together?

Just Married - (SpideyTorch) of course these two only confess after getting married…a must read for this ship

The Spider and the Last Spark - (SpideyTorch) Love exploration of darker versions of such good characters, Johnny is so tragic here, why does he need to be a hero😔

look what the cat dragged in - (Felicia/MJ) when her love language is gift giving, I just love these two together

When in Vegas - (Boostle) They’re slowly killing Max! JLI Boostle at its prime! Read all of ShibaScarf’s works!!

A Groovy Kind of Love - (Boostle) the Boostle fic, so much love for these two, jli, and music, was such an experience reading this!

‘Twas the Groundhog Day Before Christmas - (Boostle) TIME LOOP!! Ted centred and so good, love the appearance of other characters, the exploration of ted and his relations, and ofc how in love he and booster are

I Second That Emotion - (HalBarry) emotional spectrum ruining hal’s life but it gets him a bf

Just A Mark - (HalBarry) Civilian soulmate au?? Hal pining? He fell first, but he fell harder??

[sxveme-2]

Dance With Me Tonight // Bucky Barnes

MASTERLIST

DESCRIPTION:

"ᴀ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ."

After you lose the beat in your heart, what happens next? What happens when your heart is splintered in two, and no one in the world can put it back together now that the only person who could have is dead? Can life go on? Can a person keep living when their lungs' breath is stolen?

Ninety years ago, Clara Phillips lost the very light in her eyes. The gentle girl began to rot from the inside out, corroding in on herself until all she spat was venom from the forked tongue of a snake. HYDRA stole the girl away from the small slice of solace she had secluded herself to and turned her into their own personal snake in the grass—their Black Mamba. Brainwashed and tortured beyond recognition, Clara took on the mantle of Anastasia—HYDRA’s secret weapon and the Winter Soldier’s knife in his back pocket.

Only when HYDRA falls does a girl with a broken mind and a destroyed spirit escape. Not Clara, not Anastasia, but someone else. A girl with a ruptured mind searching for small pieces of herself to put back together—all while her heart ached and pulsed for a singular man that her now broken mind did not know.

Follow Clara as she stumbles through the world around her, searching for a man, or myth, that could sew the torn stitches of her heart back together again.

DISCLAIMER: My works are only published here on Wattpad, Tumblr and AO3; thank you!I do not own any original characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Studios and Marvel Comics. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else. This work handles mature things such as nudity, sexual content, emotional distress and trauma. Do not read if you are not comfortable with these. I am not responsible for your media consumption and what you choose to read. This fanfiction is semi-canon compliant; there will be a deterrence in certain points to fit the story.

STATUS: Unedited

Chapter One

Warnings: Suggestive Comments, Mentions of Torture and War

Word Count: 2303

April 4th, 1944

      It was nice to see him smile. Shortly after the 107th returned and the platoon went to London, Peggy invited me to accompany her to bombard Steve and his hand-picked crew—I was hesitant, but she had reminded me that a certain Sergeant would be there with him. I hadn't wanted to bother Bucky since he returned from HYDRA's base—I didn't want to pressure him. I missed him, I thought he was dead. Seeing him again....Well, I kissed him.

      I couldn't look him in the face after that.

     Peggy had fitted me with the best dress she owned—second best, it seemed the red number I had initially eyed was for her to wear. So, a navy blue dress with a delicate off-the-shoulder neckline with a bow and a slight flare to the skirt was my choice. When we got to the speakeasy, I nearly walked back out when I saw him.

      He was quick to stop that from happening.

    "Where you off to so quick, doll?" He cooed, his New York accent hanging onto each word as he laid a calloused hand on her arm, a smooth smile on his face.

     "My father—"

     "Isn't here," Bucky hummed, head tilted as his deep blue eyes peered into her dark brown ones, "You mean to tell me that you were just going to ignore me after kissing me? I head out tomorrow, doll, that isn't fair."

      "Which means you could die out there, James," She snipped, pulling her arm back from his grip. "It's not fair to either of us to continue whatever this is when you don't even know if you're coming home to me."

      "Whatever this is?" The man scoffed, "I love you, Clara."

—

     Her lips were tightly pursed as she ran her finger across the withered and stained paper before her, the weather of her diary worn. She slammed the rough leather cover shut on his picture, taking a few steps back away from the box and shoving it back into the abyss of her closet. Tears pricked at her waterline as the memory ate at her mind, bits and pieces working to corrode whatever sanity she might still have underneath the serum that pumped through her veins.

      She pulled her knees to her chest, the shivers racking through her body. Her heart clenched like a fist, her stomach turning into knots along with it. It felt like her body was shrivelling in on itself, the poison curdling her system in the same way the memory was trying to throw her back into the 1940s. Her throat tightened, and the tears fell down her cheeks like a broken dam. Something was missing in her life, and that something seemed only to grow whenever she opened up that worn leather diary, reading one entry at a time to try and piece together the life she lived before.

      Clara didn't remember her life before. She could recall bits and pieces whenever she was given something to stimulate her. The only thing that worked recently was that damned book. It ended the same every time—her body revolted, and she wound up curled in a ball on her closet floor like a feeble animal hiding from a thunderstorm on the street. She clawed at her skin and tried to rip whatever was inside of her free from the confines of her flesh, wounds and scars piling up on top of one another just as they did when she was in the labs, when she wasn't Clara, or Eileen.

      "Anastasia—are you ready?"

      She lurched upwards from the floor and stumbled across the wilting floors of her Washington apartment, fumbling for the bathroom door and throwing herself at the toilet. The vile poison in her body came up in a burning bullet through her throat, winding up in the toilet. She laid her forehead against the cold porcelain, letting it cool the heat that rose through her.

      "My name is Clara Phillips. I was born on September 17th, 1918. I am the daughter of Colonel Chester Phillips and Helena Phillips. I was a nurse with the 107th during the Second World War."

      The words fell in rapid repetition a few times until her breathing calmed and the halo of sweat around her brow dissipated. She felt the cool tile beneath her again, and the cotton of her sleep shirt no longer felt like it was suffocating her. She wiped the remaining sweat from her forehead and regained the strength in her legs to stand, gripping the sides of the sink to steady the shaking in her muscles. When her eyes met the shadow in the mirror, it was startling, as if she were seeing the skeleton that lived within her. Her cheeks were hollow, the chocolate brown of her hair was stringy and dirty, and her eyes were deeply sunken. The delicate pink skin on her lips was cracked and bloody, her shaking fingers lifting a square of toilet paper to dot at the blood that slipped through.

      She grabbed the box that sat atop the toilet and ripped it open, her fingers fumbling with the objects inside. She needed a new start. She couldn't be a shell of what she was in the 40s.

—

     Her breath was shaky as she wandered through the somewhat vacant sidewalks of Washington. Ever since the fall of SHIELD and all that occurred beforehand, the city had been empty, as if people were too scared to be near the area anymore. She couldn't blame them, after all—who knew if Captain America would drop another helicarrier on top of Capitol Hill again for the sake of justice. She pushed past the odd group of kids that gathered around a few still-under-construction structures, subverted the odd empty tour bus, and eventually wound up in front of the exhibition at the Smithsonian.

      She swallowed hard and fumbled with the still slightly warm plastic card in her pocket. As she shuffled through the small line at the front, she felt exposed, as if someone would recognize her in this crowd. She hoped the rough cut of her hair and the newly done blonde-dye job might be able to conceal her, but truthfully, it was likely she'd be just fine. No one cared about a World War 2 nurse who went missing after the war had ended.

      Still, the exhibit featured a blown-up picture of her. Her eyes were wide and glossy, and a smile spread across her face in anticipation of something grand happening. She actually remembered that night. Nothing grand was happening—just a cute boy asking her to dance. She kept her ball cap low as she read the carouselled words along the screen.

      "Clara Phillips. Nurse. Was captured by remaining HYDRA agents in the Spring of 1946, shortly after she and her husband, Arthur Daniels, had welcomed a baby boy, James. She was a nurse alongside Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes in the 107th, helping nurse Sergeant Barnes back to health after his capture by HYDRA. Many attribute the success and health of the 107th and the Howling Commandos to Clara, who stands as a reminder of those who took part in the war effort outside of those on the front lines. Her son, James, kindly dedicated his mother's old military nurse uniform to our archives."

     Clara took a few steps backward from the board and tried to keep her breathing steady. She knew she had a son, the images of him as a baby coming in waves in her nightmares. She hadn't had the guts to find him; she couldn't stand the thought of him no longer being alive and her being the same as she was when he was a baby. No one deserved that—no one deserved that wretched of a punishment.

      "She was beautiful, wasn't she?" A gruff voice muttered from behind her.

      "Quite," Clara responded, her voice cracked and weak as the tears threatened her disguise, "A shame, for her son to grow up without a mother."

       "He became a great man," the voice continued, "Worked for SHIELD with their field ops. Before it turned out to be corrupt, apparently."

       "His mother would be proud," Clara nodded, nearly choking on the ball of phlegm that gathered in her throat. "I'm sure his father is."

       "Was. His father died a few years ago. Liver cancer—he wrote about his wife's life. Beautiful book. Sad love story."

      Clara furrowed her eyebrows and dared a look at whatever man was speaking to her. She couldn't get a good look without turning fully, and she knew it would be too risky to show her whole face so close to such a large picture of what she looked like in the 40s. Whoever was speaking to her seemed knowledgeable about her life though, about the family that grew from her death. The agent that hid deep within her brain clawed at its cage, begging to find more information out and dissect the woman that she once was.

      "Sad?" She questioned, thumbing at the fake ID that sat in her pocket.

      "Well, she loved Sergeant Barnes. Arthur Daniels would have never stood a chance if he hadn't died," he continued, "Or that's what the letters they found had detailed. Both Barnes and Phillips seemed quite keen on writing their love on paper."

       The same heart-shaped fist clenched in her chest, and her stomach twisted into knots again. It was true—even the broken mind and soul of Clara Phillips now knew that if Bucky hadn't died, she would have chased him to the ends of the earth. Even now, nearly eighty years removed, she still yearned for him. Her mind had been shattered, remoulded, and broken once again, yet her heart stayed steadfast. She still looked at the clipped pictures of the man and fought back against the hijacking serum to remember every tiny detail about him, every small moment that made them fall into one another.

      "Love was all they had back then during the war," Clara grumbled, her voice coming out harsher than she intended, "Or so my grandmother told me."

      "I never asked your name."

      "Helena."

      "Did you take that from your mother?"

      Clara quickly swung around and found a gun pressed to her hip, just as she cocked hers to his—a stand-off hidden behind two trench coats and baseball caps. A man with a scarred eye and a dangerous gleam in his eyes stared down at her, head tilted to the side in a dare. He wanted to know if she would shoot him, if she were still what Black Widow had released to the public. HYDRA's favourite secret weapon, the snake that would slide through the grass and wait for the wolf to finish feasting. The snake that would curl up its victim's legs and whisper venomous words into their ear until they squealed like a pig. HYDRA's Black Mamba.

      "Clara Phillips. You're supposed to be dead in a river."

      "Who are you?" She hissed, her voice low and deadly.

      "Nick Fury. Someone who is also supposed to be dead. We've got that in common. We have much to talk about, Ms. Phillips."

      "I don't do the things you think I do anymore. I got out. I don't know what else you want from me."

      "That's the issue, Miss. Phillips—Or I suppose Mrs. Daniels—you may not do that anymore. But what you have done is now public knowledge. If you think you were run out of Idaho, just wait until Washington gets their hands on you."

       Clara's face went pale at the realization that all of the files on her that Black Widow released would be at the easy disposal for all of the public. They would know she isn't dead; they would see that she was still somewhere out there, possibly still an armed and dangerous weapon for HYDRA to use. She wasn't; she knew that, even though her mind still felt splintered and broken like a puzzle, each day was a fight to find the pieces that fit together. Her entire life was a mystery she was trying to solve, and every day it only grew, the picture becoming fuzzier, the memories becoming murkier. Something was missing to her, and every day she hoped it would return overnight, and every day, she woke up disappointed and unsure of her own body and mind. She wasn't her—but she didn't know who she was.

        Perhaps he was the way to figure it out again. Whoever this Nick Fury was could lead her to the answers she so desperately wanted, no, needed to know. Who she was before the serum, who she was before HYDRA made her a weapon. She could see glimpses, she could see small flashes—but her life was a mystery still. She had the titles, just not the details.

       "And you can protect me?"

       "I can do more than that. If you'll trust me."

      "The last time I trusted someone, I wound up a HYDRA assassin."

      "Then you'll enjoy what we're doing instead."

       Fury reached into his jacket pocket, and Clara's finger twitched on the trigger. Before, she wouldn't have hesitated to pull the trigger and leave his entrails across the floor. But the idea of that now left her sick to her stomach, and instead she sheathed the weapon back into her holster and watched as his fingers nimbly pulled out a docket. Taking the manila envelope into her hand, Clara thumbed through the pages, the passports, and everything that she needed to be hidden from the world once more. But along with that came a catch, and the final page outlined just precisely what this new life would cost her.

       "So I go from being a secret assassin to a secret agent. This isn't the life I want."

       "And what life do you want, Clara?"

[thattimdrakeguy]

I HAVE BEEN READING ZDARSKY BATMAN, AND I HAVE DECLARED: I FREAKING LOVE IT!!

I'm reading the Batman Zdarsky run in reverse. That way if I see any bull I can back out at anytime: and to be honest--besides a few things. I really enjoy it

LIKE YO, THAT IS JUST STRAIGHT UP TIM DRAKE RIGHT THERE. It knows who he is as a character. his motives, it's great.

Screw the people complaining "oh why is tim still robin :((", THIS IS WHY HE IS STILL ROBIN. Because this is when he's at his BEST. When he gets to hit his character purpose, WHEN HE GETS TO BE HIM AT HIS MOST HIM. It's FANTASTIC.

Reading in reverse because I know I hated the first story, it was so contrived and ridiculous.

But this--this is some good shit.

Tim being an underdog fighter, having to use his wits to win the fight? MY DAWG, MY DUDE, MY GUYS, MY GALS, MY THEMS, MY THEYS, THIS IS SO TIMMY DRAKE. This is so damn Tim Drake, guys. Oh, my gosh, I am loving this so far.

Dick has his temper back? And trust me, he isn't normally like this. But he's hitting a limit AND IT'S SOMETHING NEW, NOT JUST A REFERENCE. HE'S ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING HE'D DO, 'CAUSE HE'S AT HIS LIMIT. That's wonderful, man. That is so wonderful.

Plus Tim is the heart of the Bat-Family again? This feels like someone actually went back to read these characters before writing it. I'm not saying everything is perfect of course, but these high marks are exceeding all my expectations. And I STOPPED reading comics because of how the beginning of this run destroyed any hope I had.

You guys have no idea how much I'm enjoying the few issues I've read. Besides the cussing (I remember after a bit they decided Tim was someone who used funny words instead of proper cusses), this feels like the Tim I know and love during the era I especially loved him.

Tim comparing himself to his predecessors? Tim not being a natural? A WRITER REMEMBERING THAT?? It's been so long since I've seen that! Most writers treat him like he was another prodigy when he wasn't. AND THIS GUY REMEMBERED THAT!

I shouldn't be so happy at just seeing Tim do Tim things, and serving his character purpose. BUT YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE A WRITER KNEW WHAT TIM WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE.

Only complaints I have is that Jason feels like a typical Bat-Family member, and not the sketchy outsider that he is. Making him so close makes his character more bland in my opinion. And Steph is--also generic af unless she's wacky quirky...which is a characterization I hate for her, because she started off so damn interesting, but they made her a freaking trope instead, which is such a disservice to her, but she barely does anything so far, so whatever I guess. Doesn't mean much.

--

This is the first honest thing I've seen that I hated.

No

Not this

This isn't the Bat-Family

This is a sitcom world the fandom wants to be the Bat-Family and some comply with

They're not a sitcom. The conflicts, and uniqueness of the characters is what makes things feel alive and well.

This stuff is cheap fanservice for the fanon demographic that doesn't buy comics to begin with.

Fanon doesn't belong in canon.

--

I mean sure Tim could be drawn smaller, the gag of him looking 12 when he's nearly 18 doesn't work when he's bigger than Damian who is 15 (and contrary to some bullshit comics isn't meant to be small. that was a random thing added for writers who aren't clever to write better humor. it actually contradicts things that were already established).

Don't see the big deal though for most of this.

Can't wait to find it, though. Oh boy.

This whole obsession with Zur Batman, is way over done though. So--I wouldn't be shocked if that was the problem, because my golly does that plot point not seem to be stopping--and it was there from the start and part of the reason why I didn't read it 'til now.

Good Tim tho, at least. So heehee, yey for that--I think--I guess.

Oh, well.

It let me peak at a pseudo-version of an AU I made up years ago. So that's pretty freaking cool.

Always a plus.

And redoing Red Robin story beats but better? Normally I'd hate references to Red Robin, 'cause that changed the perception of so many characters for the worst, but ayy, a bit of redemption isn't bad.

Man, just seeing simple stuff like Tim and Bruce being good ol' classic Batman and Robin warms my heart. It's been so long since Batman and Robin has acted like a proper classic Batman and Robin. It's dynamic that's been sorely missed by many.

OH, MY GOSH, WHY DID THE FIRST STORY HAVE TO STINK SO BAD. THIS STUFF IS GREAT.

Like, DUDE, this is such a Tim thing for him to do!!

And he's showing emotion?? He's crying like how he does?? Because he's not a typical Bat-Family member who just angsts his way through?? THEY'RE MAKING HIM STAND-OUT AGAIN BY MAKING HIM, HIM??

WHY DID THE FIRST STORY HAVE TO SUCK SO BAD?? THIS IS GOOD SHIT.

Like this part is why I originally stopped reading, not because Bruce should think Tim is his soldier, and not his son, THE FREAKING OPPOSITE.

But because the original story has Bruce acting weird when unneeded, just to say this was so unneeded, and adding in all these stupid corny Bat-Family moments was so groan worthy.

This run started off with a story that was a total turn off for me.

To end up being a run that could've kept me enjoying DC, rather than running away from it from as far as I have.

Chip Zdarsky started off awful, but really, he ended up great.

And I've seen people complain about his run, and TRUST ME, there's stuff to complain about. But I have only ever seen the stuff worth complaining about, or stuff I WOULD complain about.

WHEN MOST OF THE RUN IS GOOD

At least when Tim is around.

Go figure.

Maybe I should've paid sole attention to how he wrote Tim and nothing else at the very least for that first story.

'Cause even in the first story, Tim was well-written--it's how cheap the rest of the story telling was in that first story that turned me off--and the weird knew about the movie plans that I am still fully judging harshly. (Love the new Superman film suit, though)

[elsa-fogen]

At first i was going to reblog this from @justashadowlooker

but then it got too long and off-topic, i started retelling and quoting my own 10 years old fanfic, so i'm making it it's own post jjdsfjkdfgh

Too long don't read, was a Bloom fan, killed her hundreds of times, than became Icy fan, killed her few times as well, still a huge fan, wanna revive some of my old ideas

When i had just started watching winx, Bloom was my fav AAHAHHAH (it was 2008-2009 year i think). Buuut... being my fav means that you gonna SUFFER. It was always the case, even when i was little. But young me didn't know better than to just kill of a character. And Bloom died SO many times in my early fanfics and arts. I still remember one fic, it was also the first ever fic i posted on the internet, and it was horrible. I typed really slow at that time and i was looking at like 10 A4 pages of handwritten fanfic and was like... weeeell i don't need this part with description of the boat... i don't need this part about wind flowing in her hair or smth... i don't need spaces after dots and commas either. These were real thoughts of 9 year old me lmao.

the fic was about Bloom and Sky going for a boat trip date, but there was also some bitch that fell for Sky and her best decision was to throw Bloom away from the boat. As a result she was sucked into the screw of the motor or whatever this thing called. Sky dived after her and brought her back on the boat, but she died due to the blood loss.

In my handwritten version it was really long and tears queezing scene, but i was too lazy to type it all, so it basically was shortened to 1 (one) sentence: Bloom didn't make it to the port.

i also had a picture attached, it was i think a cover of some of the comics where Sky holds Bloom on his arms and they're stepping out of the water, but i photishoped it and added many wounds and BLOOD BLOOD EVERYWHERE!!!

I also remember photoshopping screenshots from the first winx movie, adding bloody wounds on Bloom and tears and trying to make her face sad lol. And also i remember, i didn't have access to the computer all the time in my childhood, and there was a weird time... when i'd got a chance to be on the computer, i would made a specific search in google, to find that one art with Bloom, being fucking stabbed, lying on the ground and crying, and touching the golden heart-shaped locket with the name Sky on it, and you could see that it was Sky's sword that stabbed her, and he was walking away in the distance. I could stare at that art for hours, imagining how it happened. I also remeber how the art suddenly stopped showing up at the search and i had only tiny squeezed jpg version of it, and i thought that google banned this art for being so violent lmao

Btw i found that art, it's by Chibiusa-Moon, here it is, and i remember it diffferently, i thought Bloom had enchantix on her lmao

BUT THEN SOMETHING CHANGED. I DON'T KNOW WHEN. I DON'T KNOW WHY. BUT ICY CAME AND DESTROYED MY LOVE FOR BLOOM, AND TOOK HER PLACE.

I suspect that it happened after i saw ep1 of season 3, because HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN IN THAT EPISODE?! SHE WAS ✨✨S L A Y I G✨✨ DAMN!!! She freed herself looking fab as fuck (i've only seen her battle uniform at that point, and her casual outfit shocked me, i was like HOLY SHIT?? DIFFERENT COLTHES?) (and it's if you forgen the HOLY SHIT, TRIX IN THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE SEASON?!!!), sayed the edgiest thing in the world, then freed her sisters, skated away from the giant snake ON HER DAMN HEELS AS A QUEEN!!!!! I think this was the moment when i fell for her. Maybe i'm wrong and it happened earlier, but this is all i can remeber.

Well, i also remember when my mom got me my first winx magazine and i was really disappointed that there were no Trix in the comic AHHASJGDAJS it was comic about bloom and diaspro going to the land of the dragons.

And, funny enough, i think i didn't kill Icy in my fics (mostly)

wait fuck. i remembered one (that was actually properly published and finished), let me just refresh my memory real quick- (gonna cringe soo hard ahaha)

oh shit i also remembered some stuff. In my later fanfics i was tending to make Bloom real psychopath, who decided to straight up destroy all the witches and all the dark magic. Hey. Hey. I bet 13 year old me wouldn't mind if i borrowed this idea fom her...

EHM ANYWAY, BACK TO THAT ONE FINISHED FIC!

It's so cringy written, but it's got the spirit HASHDHA. The trix summon some another army of darkness that was created to destroy fairies (hey), but at some point they lose control of it and the army turns against them. They have no ther choice but to seek help from the winx. winx of course don't want to help since their army attacked alfea... but the trix didn't give this order.

by the way tehre's one dialogue that i think is actually good and i think is in character

"But how do we know that it isn't one of your tricks?" - asked Tecna. - "Probability of this equals 85,9%!" Everyone froze. Nobody had this idea before. Then Icy shook her head. "No, it's not." "How do we know?" Stella said suspiciously. "If we wanted to trick you, we'd choose less humiliating way" Icy replied coldly.

in the end witches and fairies teeaming up, and going on an adventure to stop this army with some artifacts. Significant part of the way they had to make on their own without magic, and during that winx and trix are actualy growing to like each other. OH THERES ALSO A FUNNY THING LOL

But as a night roommate she [Icy] turned out to be very restless. She was moving all the time and mumbling something. And then at some point she screamed: "Damn fairies, i wish you all dead!" Bloom jumped on her place and still half sleeping replied: "Shut up, witch, or you're done for!" and fell back asleep. All in all, it was hell of a night.

i still think this is funny af-- damn these dialogues are only getting better. Next day they getting closer to their destination.

Suddenly they heard Stormy's voice: "Wait! there's some sign! Icy, can you read this?" "Why her?" Stella asked offended. "We all here can read!" "Except for you," Darcy noted gloomily and everyone laughed. "Ha, well, if you're so smart, come here and read!" Icy said with the sweetest voice. "And next time we'll ask you." Stella understood that she was cornered. To save the rest of her dignity, she came closer and started staring at the sign. "I-I cant for some reason, this handwriting is awful!" with dispair sloar fairy realised that she doesn't understand these letters. "And this cold is driving me nuts! Give me cup of hot coffee and warm blanket!"

then Icy teaches Bloom how to skate. And then Aisha (Leyla) dies by falling into some bottomless pit- After that they make it to their destination, but the army was waiting for them there

another dialogue

"Let's go!" Icy said decisively. "No, wait! I'll go alone. If they catch me, you all get out of here as fast as you can" [...] "No!" Bloom said. "I'll go with you!" "Fine. But they'll kill you immediately" "And you?" "And I will be tortured" Icy smiled.

I can't with this lol, Icy smiling at the thought of torture as a true psycho she is.

Icy touched the wall, making sure it's quite hard. "Well? What's next?" "You're the brain of the operation, you tell me!" redhead replied, crushing piece of the rock in her hand

i just like this interaction here.

"Winx Believix!" Winx screamed. And Trix didn't scream anything, Icy just snapped her fingers and all three were already in their witch uniforms.

yeah classic.

the fight begins, Icy is trying to understand what to do with the artifacts, Musa dies, then they teleport to some other planet where they can perform the ritual to destroy the whole army at once. They're reading the spell, but something is missing, and the army attacks them here too. This time Bloom is left to figure out what were they missing, and some drops of her blood fell on the artifact and that was the last piece of the spell. The army is destroyed, but Icy was seriously injuried when covering Bloom from attack from behind. Now they're flying back to Magix

FUCK-- guys i'm sorry. More dialogues on the way.

"Why are you here?" she [Icy] asked, opening her eyes. "Doesn't want to miss your death!" Stella screamed, she overheard the talk. "Shut up!" I [Darcy] replied. "Or I'll hit you!" "Oh-oh, I'm so scared!" "Discussed my funeral already?" Icy asked, surprisingly, without sarcasm. "Come on, don't listen to that fairy! She has only fashion and straw in her head." Icy smiled weakly. "Magix!" Bloom screamed looking out the window. Fairies came closer to the glass. "Where?!" Icy got worried. Golden-green disc of the planet surrounded by thick ring of asteroids was hanging in the center of the window. Icy could see it without moving. "And here my dream came true. I got Magix!" she lifted her arm and closed her fingers around the planet. "Didn't think that the view from the space is so beautiful..."

DSHGJADFKAJHSFDJG what have i done. This line about her dream coming true HITS HARD. Fuck, 13 y.o. me knew which buttons she should push.

Icy dies. Darcy and Stormy were forgiven because they helped to stop the army and for Icy's "sacrifice" and everyone very conveniently forget that they started the recent war. The end.

Damn that was a ride.

um, so where were we?... right i was saying that Icy became my new hyperfixation instead of Bloom...

And i had the whole trilogy planned, in the first one she'd escape from some prison and attempt another plan to counquer Magix, but fail, in the next book she'd be KILLED by Bloom but came back to life by making a deal with someafterlife owner (HA) and the last one where she actually succeeds... this one i din't think through at ALL.

I kinda wanna revive that plot fron the second "book" tbh, i still remeber it really well.

In a comic.

(i'd make it a crossover with Hazbin but it won't work unfortunately)

okay i don't know where and how to end this post so i'm ending it here, have a nice day thanks for reading i hope that at least someone made it to the end.