#light fury is epic

[octolanternz]

how i feel when im free to talk about the light fury without a little annoying gnat in my ear whining about how useless and overfeminine and sexualized she is

[justinadelmann]

[damienkarras73]

An essay on Furiosa, the politics of the Wasteland, Arthurian literature and realistic vs. formalistic CGI

Mad Max: Fury Road absolutely enraptured me when it came out nearly a decade ago, and I will cop to seeing it four times at the theatre. For me (and many others who saw the light of George Miller) it set new standards for action filmmaking, storytelling and worldbuilding, and I could pop in its Blu Ray at any time and never get tired of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I was deeply apprehensive about the announced prequel for Fury Road's actual main character, Furiosa, even if Miller was still writing and directing. We didn't need backstory for Furiosa—hell, Fury Road is told in such a way that NOTHING in it requires explicit backstory. And since it focuses on the Yung Furiosa, it meant Charlize Theron couldn't return with another career-defining performance. Plus, look at all that CGI in the trailer, it can't be as good as Fury Road.

Turns out I was silly to doubt George Miller, M.D., A.O., writer and director of Babe: Pig in the City and Happy Feet One & Two.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is excellent, and I needn't have worried about it not being as good as Fury Road because it is not remotely trying to be Fury Road. Fury Road is a lean, mean machine with no fat on it, nothing extraneous, operating with constant forward momentum and only occasionally letting up to let you breathe a little; Furiosa is a classical epic, sprawling in scope, scale and structure, and more than happy to let the audience simmer in a quiet, almost painfully still moment. If its opening spoken word sequence by that Gandalf of the Wastes himself, the First History Man, didn't already clue you in, it unfolds like something out of myth, a tale told over and over again and whose possible embellishments are called attention to in the dialogue itself. Where Fury Road scratched the action nerd itch in my head like you wouldn't believe, Furiosa was the equivalent of Miller giving the undulating folds of my English major brain a deep tissue massage. That's great! I, for one, love when sequels/prequels endeavour to be fundamentally different movies from what they're succeeding/preceding, operating in different modes, formats and even genres, and more filmmakers should aim for it when building on an existing series.

This movie has been on my mind so much in the past week that I've ended up dedicating several cognitive processes to keeping track of all of the different ponderings it's spawned. Thankfully, Furiosa is divided into chapters (fun fact: putting chapter cards in your movie is a quick way to my heart), so it only seems fitting that I break up all of these cascading thoughts accordingly.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility

Furiosa herself actually isn't the protagonist for the first chapter of her own movie, instead occupying the role of a (very crafty and resourceful) damsel in distress for those initial 30-40 minutes. The real hero of the opening act, which plays out like a game of cat and mouse, is Furiosa's mother Mary Jabassa, who rides out into the wasteland first on horseback and then astride a motorcycle to track down the band of raiders that has stolen away her daughter. Mary's brought to life by Miller and Nico Lathouris' economical writing and a magnetic performance by newcomer Charlee Fraser, who radiates so much screen presence in such relatively little time and with one of those instant "who is SHE??" faces. She doesn't have many lines, but who needs them when Fraser can convey volumes about Mary with just a flash of her eyes or the effortless way she swaps out one of her motorcycle's wheels for another. To be quite candid, I'm not sure of the last time I fell in love with a character so quickly.

You notice a neat aesthetic contrast between mother and daughter in retrospect: Mary Jabassa darts into the desert barefoot, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, her wolf cut immaculate, only briefly disguising herself with the ugly armour of a raider she just sniped, and when she attacks it's almost with grace, like some Greek goddess set loose in the post-apocalyptic Aussie outback with just her wits and a bolt-action rifle; we track Furiosa's growth over the years by how much of her initially conventional beauty she has shed, quite literally in one case (hair buzzed, severed arm augmented with a chunky mechanical prosthesis, smeared in grease and dirt from head to toe, growling her lines at a lower octave), and by how she loses her mother's graceful approach to movement and violence, eventually carrying herself like a blunt instrument. Yet I have zero doubt the former raised the latter, both angels of different feathers but with the same steel and resolve. Of fucking course this woman is Furiosa's mother, and in the short time we know her we quickly understand exactly why Furiosa has the drive and morals she does without needing to resort to didactic exposition.

Anyway, I was tearing up by the end of the first chapter. Great start!

2. Lessons from the Wasteland

Most movies—most stories, really—don't actually tell the entire narrative from A to Z. Perhaps the real meat of the thing is found from H to T, and A-G or U-Z are unnecessary for conveying the key narrative and themes. So many prequels fail by insisting on telling the A-G part of the story, explaining how the hero earned a certain nickname or met their memorable sidekick—but if that stuff was actually interesting, they likely would have included it in the original work. The greatest thing a prequel can actually do is recontextualize, putting iconic characters or moments in a new light, allowing you to appreciate them from a different angle. All of season 2 of Fargo serves to explain why Molly Solverson's dad is appropriately wary when Lorne Malvo enters his diner for a SINGLE SCENE in the show's first season. David's arc from the Alien prequels Prometheus and Covenant—polarizing as those entries are—adds another layer to why Ash is so protective of the creature in the first movie. Andor gives you a sense of what it's like for a normal, non-Jedi person to live under the boot of the Empire and why so many of them would join up with the Rebel Alliance—or why they would desire to wear that boot, or even just crave the chance to lick it.

Furiosa is one of those rare great prequels because it makes us take a step back and consider the established world with a little more nuance, even if it's still all so absurd. In Fury Road, Immortan Joe is an awesome, endlessly quotable villain, completely irredeemable, and basically a cartoon. He works perfectly as the antagonist of that breakneck, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote-ass movie, but if you step outside of its adrenaline-pumping narrative for even a moment you risk questioning why nobody in the Citadel or its surrounding settlements has risen up against him before. Hell, why would Furiosa even work for him to begin with? But then you see Dementus and company tear-assing around the wasteland, seizing settlements and running them into the ground, and you realize Joe and his consortium offer something that Dementus reasonably can't: stability—granted, an unwavering, unchangeable stability weighted in favour of Joe's own brutal caste system, but stability nonetheless. It really makes you wonder, how badly does a guy have to suck to make IMMORTAN JOE of all people look like a sane, competent and reasonable ruler by comparison?!?

…and then they open the door to the vault where he keeps his wives, and in a flash you're reminded just how awful Joe is and why Furiosa will risk her life to help some of these women flee from him years later. This new context enriches Joe and makes it more believable that he could maintain power for so long, but it doesn't make him any less of a monster, and it says a lot about Furiosa's hate for Dementus that she could grit her teeth and work for this sick old tyrant.

3. The Stowaway

Here's another wild bit of trivia about this movie: you don't actually see top-billed actress Anya Taylor-Joy pop up on screen until roughly halfway through, once Furiosa is in her late teens/early twenties. Up until this point she's been played by Alyla Browne, who through the use of some seamless and honestly really impressive CGI has been given Anya's distinctive bug eyes [complimentary]. It's one of those bold choices that really works because Miller commits to it so hard, though it does make me wish Browne's name was up on the poster next to Taylor-Joy's.

Speaking of CGI, I should talk about what seems to be a sticking point for quite a few people: if there's been one consistent criticism of Furiosa so far, it's that it doesn't look nearly as practical or grounded as Fury Road, with more obvious greenscreen and compositing, and what previously would've been physical stunt performers and pyrotechnics have been replaced with their digital equivalents for many shots. Simply put, it doesn't look as real! For a lot of people, that practicality was one of Fury Road's primary draws, so I won't try to quibble if they're let down by Furiosa's overt artificiality, but to be honest I'm actually quite fine with it. It helps that this visual discrepancy doesn't sneak up on you but is incredibly apparent right from the aerial zoom-down into Australia in the very first scene, so I didn't feel misled or duped.

Fury Road never asks you to suspend your disbelief because it all looks so believable; Furiosa jovially prods you to suspend that disbelief from the get-go and tune into it on a different wavelength. It's a classical epic, and like the classical epics of the 1950s and 60s it has a lot of actors standing in front of what clearly are matte paintings. It feels right! We're not watching fact, we're watching myth. I'm willing to concede there might be a little bit of post-hoc rationalization on my part because I simply love this movie so much, but I'm not holding the effects in Furiosa to the same standard as those in Fury Road because I simply don't believe Miller and his crew are attempting to replicate that approach. Without the extensive CGI, we don't get that impressive long, panning take where a stranded Furiosa scans the empty, dust-and-sun-scoured wasteland (75% Sergio Leone, 25% Andrei Tarkovsky), or the Octoboss and his parasailing goons. For the sake of intellectual exercise I did try imagining them filming the Octoboss/war rig sequence with the same immersive practical approach they used for Fury Road's stunts, however I just kept picturing dead stunt performers, so perhaps the tradeoff was worth it!

4. Homeward

Around the same time we meet the Taylor-Joy-pilled Furiosa in Chapter 3, we're introduced to Praetorian Jack, the chief driver for the convoys running between the Citadel and its allied settlements. Jack's played by Tom Burke, who pulled off a very good Orson Welles in Mank! and who I should really check out in The Souvenir one of these days. He's also a cool dude! Here are some facts about Praetorian Jack:

He's decked out in road leathers with a pauldron stitched to one shoulder

He's stoic and wary, but still more or less personable and can carry on a conversation

Professes to a certain cynicism, to quote Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, but ultimately has a capacity for kindness and will do the right thing

Shoots a gun real good

Can drive like nobody's business

So in other words, Jack is Mad Max. But also, no, he clearly isn't! He looks and dresses like Mad Max (particularly Mel Gibson's) and does a lot of the same things "Mad" Max Rockatansky does, but he's also very explicitly a distinct character. It's a choice that seems inexplicable and perhaps even lazy on its face, except this is a George Miller movie, so of course this parallel is extremely purposeful. Miller has gone on record saying he avoids any kind of strict chronology or continuity for his Mad Max movies, compared to the rigid canons for Star Trek and Star Wars, and bless him for doing so. It's more fun viewing each Mad Max entry as a new revision or elaboration on a story being told again and again generations after the fall, mutating in style, structure and focus with every iteration, becoming less grounded as its core narrative is passed from elder to youth, community to community, genre to genre, until it becomes myth. (At least, my English major brain thinks it's more fun.) In fact there's actually something Arthurian to it, where at first King Arthur was mentioned in several Welsh legends before Geoffrey of Monmouth crafted an actual narrative around him, then Chrétien de Troyes added elements like Lancelot and infused the stories with more romance, and then with Le Morte d'Arthur Thomas Malory whipped the whole cycle together into one volume, which T.H. White would chop and screw and deconstruct with The Once and Future King centuries later.

All this to say: maybe Praetorian Jack looks and sounds and acts like Max because he sorta kinda basically is, being just one of many men driving back and forth across the wasteland, lending a hand on occasion, who'll be conflated into a single, legendary "Mad Max" at some point down the line in a different History Man's retelling of Furiosa's odyssey. Sometimes that Max rips across the desert in his V8 Interceptor, other times driving a big rig. Perhaps there's a dog tagging along and/or a scraggly and at first aggravating ally played by Bruce Spence or Nicholas Hoult. Usually he has a shotgun. But so long as you aren't trying to kill him, he'll help you out.

5. Beyond Vengeance

The Mad Max movies have incredibly iconic villains—Immortan Joe! Toecutter! the Lord Humongous!—but they are exactly that, capital V Villains devoid of humanizing qualities who you can't wait to watch bad things happen to. Furiosa appears to continue this trend by giving us a villain who in fact has a mustache long enough that he could reasonably twirl it if he so wanted, but ironically Dementus ends up being the most layered antagonist in the entire series, even moreso than the late Tina Turner's comparatively benevolent Aunty Entity from Beyond Thunderdome. And because he's played by Chris Hemsworth, whose comedic delivery rivals his stupidly handsome looks, you lock in every time he's on screen.

Something so fascinating about Dementus is that, for a main antagonist, he's NOT all-powerful, and in fact quite the opposite: he's more conman than warlord, looking for the next hustle, the next gullible crowd he can preach to and dupe—though never for long. For all his bluster, at every turn he finds himself in way over his head and writing cheques he can't cash, and this self-induced Sisyphean torment makes him riveting to watch. You're tempted to pity Dementus but it's also quite difficult to spare sympathy for someone who's so quick to channel their rage and hurt and ego into thoughtless, burn-it-all-down destruction. When you're not laughing at him, you're hating his guts, and it's indisputably the best work of Chris Hemsworth's career.

It's in this final chapter that everything naturally comes to a head: Furiosa's final evolution into the character we meet at the start of Fury Road, the predictable toppling of Dementus' precariously built house of cards, and the mythmaking that has been teased since the very first scene becoming diagetic text, the last of which allows the movie to thoroughly explore the themes of vengeance it's been building to. A brief war begins, is summarized and is over in the span of roughly a minute, and on its face it's a baffling narrative choice that most other filmmakers would have botched. But our man Miller's smart enough to recognize that the result of this war is the most foregone of conclusions if you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention, so he effectively brushes past it to get to the emotional heart of the climax and an incredible "Oh shit!" payoff that cements Miller as one of mainstream cinema's greatest sickos.

Fury Road remains the greatest Mad Max film, but Furiosa might be the best thing George Miller has ever made. If not his magnum opus, it does at least feel like his dissertation, and it makes me wish Warner Bros. puts enough trust in him despite Furiosa's poor box office performance that he's able to make The Wasteland. Absolutely ridiculous that a man just short of his 80th birthday was able to pull this off, and with it I feel confident calling him one of my favourite directors.

[magnoliasandarson]

gods of gotham- apollo

In the songs and stories, the nature of Apollo was generally agreed upon as vapid, self-serving, womanizing, performative, and endlessly bright. Farmers, doctors, and scholars alike prayed at his altars. But there is an oft-forgotten truth hidden amongst the gilt—Phoebus Apollo’s light not only shone but burned.

The people sang odes to his beauty, to his mercy, to his power. The faithful wrote hymns and poems describing his epic deeds; the wrongs righted through his wisdom- the glory of the sun god. Fanciful artists sculpted his form- the lithe frame and the smile. He was beloved, for how could he not be? A beacon of truth, light, and hope. And yet…

Crops withered under his gaze, plagues spread on his whims, arrows struck down the faithless and villainous, cities burned with his rage, and entire civilizations trembled at his fury. Let them write him off as a peaceful god; let them forget who saw Achilles struck down; let them forget the creation of disease. Let them write him off as a merciful god; let them forget who slew the beast sent to harm his mother; let them forget why he carried a bow. 

In Gotham and Blüdhaven, the nature of Nightwing was well-known and well-loved. The cheerful, performative, endlessly bright, and eternally heroic. Civilians and first responders alike knew that his presence meant safety and hope. But there are truths unuttered and ignored about the blue-crested hero- Nightwing’s light not only shone but burned.

In the streets, people spoke of his mega-watt smile, the way his suit conformed to his muscled frame and his unending good humor. Other heroes called on him when in need and spoke fondly of his brightness and honorable nature. Graffiti artists painted his symbols in alleys and on train cars. He was beloved, for how could he not be? A beacon of justice, light, and hope. But…

Bones shattered under his fists, buildings turned to ash heaps, electric shocks made the villainous fall to their knees, criminal enterprises burned with his fire, and entire planets grew to fear him. Let them write him off as the peaceful vigilante; let them forget who killed the Joker; let them forget who allowed Blockbuster to die without blinking. Let them write him off as the merciful vigilante; let them forget the way hunted his parents’ killer; let them forget his escrima sticks had a lethal setting.

Welcome back, Apollo- your people have missed you.

In Greece and Gotham,  when screams echoed through the air and the warriors and wounded alike prayed for salvation, a glimmering grin appeared in the shadows. After the blood was shed and the flesh was burned, they would forget the brutality and praise his virtues. But words could no more change the nature of the sun than the clouds, for the light cannot exist without the blaze.

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Tête-à-Tête

Rating: Teen

Synopsis: Nightmare and Epic have a chat. A deal is struck.

CW: Referenced/mentioned canon of Nightmare and Something New Chara’s abuse to Killer, though no abuse is depicted

Word Count: 1,604

Part 1 of A Guardian, A Scientist, and A Parlay

The living embodiment of negativity and a pseudo immortal skeleton walk into a cat cafe run by a skeleton who ran on spite and coffee alone.

It sounds like the start of a nonsensical joke, one Epic could appreciate with a mental laugh as he slides into the unoccupied chair by the table the self proclaimed King of Negativity sat.

Nightmare’s gaze lifts from his book to glare at a grinning Epic as he twirled the wooden chair by its top rail. His eye narrowed further when he finished his risible twirl and sat backwards, languidly crossing his arms atop the rail and propping his chin upon them to beam beatifically.

“…”

Epic tilted his skull to the side, his scarred eye remaining closed while his right crinkled into a half crescent as he continued to silently grin.

Nightmare snapped his book closed with one hand. “Epic.” His eyelight narrowed into a slit. “To what do I owe this unprompted…mingling?”

Epic shrugged. “Wanted to talk to ya, figured you’d be here, and I was right.”

Nightmare’s eye twitched. Before he could voice his displeasure, Epic called out, “I’ll take a matcha latte if ya can, Ccino.” Despite the projection of his voice, his eye remained on Nightmare.

Nightmare tasted the familiar flare of ignominy and curiosity and glanced from his seatmate to the front of the cafe, where the sound of ceramics clashing against one another and a startled yelp was caught by his keen hearing.

The named skeleton startled, jolting with wide eyes in his surprise as an embarrassed beige blush tinged his cheekbones at having been caught.

“O-oh, sorry, yeah,” Ccino mumbled, “just that?”

“Yep!” Epic lifted an arm and crossed his thumb and index finger.

Strange. Nightmare assumed the good luck gesture was composed of the pointer and index. But why would Epic wish Ccino luck at all? Did he assume the barista to be inept with his livelihood?

“Pretty plez and ty bun bun!”

Ccino nodded, bustling off to one of his machines. “Okay.”

Nightmare returned his gaze to his sudden acquaintance, who hadn’t taken his own gaze off of him. Unlike Ccino, Epic’s emotions were not reflected by his outward lackadaisical, pleasant expression and body language. No, there was something dark, something that made his tentacles undulate in delight, corruption greedily absorbing the potent, bitter negativity of a vindictive, protective fury, of agony and pain and death simmering low and deadly in LV that spanned decades.

However, what made him weary was also the positivity that burned on his tongue. Bright, bubbly mischievousness and affectionate ardor so deep and profound that it roiled his corruption and stirred flickers of, unfashionably, envy within the dark lord himself.

“A chat, you say.” Nightmare allowed his mouth to grow wide and crooked, his now jagged, razor sharp teeth glowing teal under the warm lights “Come for a Faustian bargain, have you?” He purred.

His echoed voice drips with honey as he croons invitingly, teal eyelight glittering bright and hypnotic. “I can taste your torment, Epic. The suffering you hide from the world and loved ones both.” With faux gentleness he intoned softly with a hooded eye, “I can take it all away. Your terrors of the night given life, the endless death, the hopelessness of it all…”

Epic’s façade was immaculate, he begrudged. If Nightmare couldn’t sense his emotions he’d assume the man was pleasantly engaged in their conversation.

“Wouldn’t you like a blissful night of rest for a change? You’ve fought for so long, you deserve to rest.” Nightmare’s tentacles dipped slightly at the tips, beckoning him forward. “I can grant you the peaceful slumber you so desire.”

Epic hummed. “Nah,” he declined. “Even if you could, you’d just eat up all my bad mojo an’ still leave me to deal with those damned creatures myself.”

“What if I did so out of the kindness of my heart?”

That pulled an abrupt, disbelieving snort out of the man. “You don’t have a heart, Nightmare.”

Nightmare’s gentle smile widens. “Yes, I do,” It morphs into a jagged smirk. “It’s cold and black, just like yours.”

A shame he didn’t fall for his taunt. Instead, Epic sighed and sat up straight. “Let’s cut to the point.”

It was at that moment Ccino appeared. Epic thanked him for the drink, exclaiming in delight at the adorable foam art of a cat that looked like Epic, eating a macaron Ccino had carefully added. Epic thanked him for the lovely drink and with a playful compliment and wink, and pointedly pressed the center top of Ccino’s gloved hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

Nightmare watched, unimpressed, as Ccino blushed under the grateful gesture, sputtering that he had to go feed his animals as his skull flushed and he ran off.

After taking a long, indulgent sip, Epic sighed blissfully. “Damn, that’s good. Anyways,” Epic carefully set the ceramic cup down with a gentle clink. “You’re gonna pay for what you did to Killz.”

Nightmare’s tentacles twitched. “Ah. My mutinous right hand.” He tilted his skull to the side. “What of him?”

Epic’s baritone deepens further as his eyelight flares in his open eye. “How you hurt them, made them suffer and broke them almost as much as their Chara had. And every time he tried to escape, tried to heal himself, you’d hurt them all over again.”

Dark, amused chuckles rumbled out the dark one’s chest. “I gave Killer purpose. Whatever worth or greatness they achieved is because of my direction.”

How Killer himself was thankful to Nightmare and he couldn’t say exactly why when asked.

Epic opened his mouth to speak but Nightmare cut him off. “And how exactly do you propose to enact this “righteous vengeance” of yours?” A tentacle coyly tapped the center of his chest. “You can’t kill me.”

A pearly-white smile mirrored his own. “Exactly.”

Epic took another, longer sip of his drink. “If I die, I come back. You can’t die, period, unless by Dream’s hand. Fighting’d be pointless.”

A nod of agreement as Nightmare drank from his own cup. “An immortal quarrel, yes.”

“So,” Epic suggested, “let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Of wit and charm.”

Intriguing. Nightmare perked up. “Oh?”

“Whoever can accurately glimpse into and freak the mind of the other wins.”

“Hm.” Nightmare mulls it over. He won’t admit it aloud, but Epic can tell by the gleam in his eyelight and the tiny wags of his tentacles that he’s intrigued. Aloud, he inquires, “The guerdons?”

Epic set his cup down. “If I win,” his smile fell, the glacial fury of Epic’s agitated LV simmered and burned delightfully when Nightmare absorbed it. “You stay away from Killer. No contact, no reaching out through a third party, nothing.”

Before Nightmare could speak, Epic persisted. “And that includes alternate timelines.”

Nightmare continued to smirk, unaffected.

“Yeah, I know about them, and you’re not putting Killer through that shit.” Epic’s voice is cold as verglas when he intones, “Any version of him.”

How droll. “Is that all?” Nightmare gave an unimpressed quirk of his brow. “I have no use for a traitor. What,” he taunted, “are your other companions not nearly as important?”

“It goes without saying you stay away from them. All of them.”

A dark claw idly tapped at the elegant table cloth while Nightmare rolled his eye and scoffed. “Please, as if I care about your little band of misfits. The rainbow was a persistent annoyance but he's Killer’s problem now, and the orange one tears himself apart far better than I ever would.”

He grinned as he brought his cup to his mouth for a long, pointed sip. “Though it would be interesting to perhaps invite Cross back to the draw,” he emphasized. “Second to only you, his torment is,” his forked tongue slid over his jagged teeth, “simply exquisite.”

Ah, Nightmare thought giddily, corruption greedy as it absorbed Epic’s anger and fear for his dearest friend. That got him.

Electric indigo sparked and spread along Epic’s body as he opened his left eye, the violet orb burning within its onyx prison. His words dripped with verglas, the frost on his ivory bones glittering under the lighting, “Everyone.”

As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. The biting cold easing away as though it were a bitter breeze. Epic took a deep, steadying breath when he sighed, slipping out of his chair and turning it to sit in a side straddle.

“And,” Epic held up two phalanges. “A favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“An ROI. An I-Owe-You. Save for later, Chekov’s succor, whatever ya wanna call it. And,” Epic added, “When I cash in, you pay up. No take backs, no cut corners, nothing.”

Nightmare chuckled. “How titillating,” he crooned derisively. Epic’s mouth quivered at the corner in a reluctant chortle.

“Ha, you wish.”

“Cheeky. A thought I’ve had for this proposed game,” Nightmare vaguely gestured to himself. “How do you propose to beat an empath that can See you for all that you are?”

He doesn’t answer the clearly baited question. Instead, Epic shrugs carelessly. “I guess you have nothing to lose, then.”

Nightmare's tentacles writhe behind him, betraying his eagerness. “Very well, I accept. And if I win,” shadows grew and lights flickered, several cats and a few dogs scurrying to hide. His form melts and shifts with the echo of his voice sounding like several overlapped into one. “I get to devour your negativity. Permanently.”

Epic leaned forward and held his hand out, not even flinching once as Nightmare’s own claw dripping with viscous corruption encircled his. “Deal.”

[thy-valhallen]

Batfam Voices as Instruments

Batfam voices as instruments bc i think of things very musically and it struck me others don't

Bruce: bass guitar. he's low and deep and when he speaks, you feel it in your eardrums, straight into your jaw. his words are like injections into your skull, feel intense and impossible to ignore-- but he has softer moments, too. quiet, gentle plucking of strings, the careful, slow strums of a man who plays only for the ears who will know what the notes will mean

Alfred: viola. slightly deeper than a violin, but mostly just warmer. a voice you hear and want to hum along to, a voice that sits in your ears before it sinks into your chest. it's gentle and sways with grace across strings and notes, it plays a harmony that supports and compliments, that is a steady through-line for everything that surrounds it

Dick: trumpet. brassy and loud and present and fuck do you KNOW when he's in the room. he's so bright and warm and MEANT to be heard. you hear him in your heart, every time he speaks, feel it deep in every vein like he's writing gospel into your DNA. and usually it's jazzy, it's excitement and riffs and improv and leaping off the page and doing cartwheels across a music staff-- but he's just as capable of whispersoft confessions of heartbreak and loss in D minor, can let loose a lament of all he's lost in an elegy of epic proportions

Barbara: harp. a challenging instrument to understand and play, and one she plays with ease. she is plucking strings with careful fingertips, strums across them all with a single hand. she's a melody that glides past your ears, a song that doesn't sink in-- if you're not paying attention to the hooks that latch into your brain. she is careful compositions and sweeping songs arranged for each audience with care. yet when she feels wrath, she shreds herself to make sure you feel it-- she takes scissors to her own strings to cut deeper than the song could alone

Jason: cello. deep and contemplative, with a sort of vibration that bites into your bones from the moment he opens his mouth. waxing poetic is his native tone, and it sounds like a bow dancing across strings and fingers traversing the frets like they were made for it, a soothing melody that could be a lullaby. when fury comes, the sound alone is so sharp where it's settled into your joints that you can't fight back; it's vicious strokes across the strings that shred the bow's hairs without care, wrath in every pull like it's a sword. he can settle into the orchestra or he can sweep them all offstage to stand alone against the conductor that dared to direct him

Cass: marimba. light and soft and so very deliberate. all those bars close together, and each hit with precision, because when Cass speaks, each sound and syllable is effort and choice and control. she is range and gentle dancing note to note and a sound that settles on your skin like a gentle rain, clinging and soft and so very present. to hear it is to hear if a storm could sing and serenaded the sky it calls home. she is echoing in an empty room until she fills it herself (i think of this specifically)

Tim: piano. it's all about the force put into it-- he can be the most careful, calculated guy in the room, playing with all the rigor and rigid professionalism of a NY Symphonic pianist. but the real Tim is the one who's fingers flutter playfully over the keys, who's voice cracks from laughter and sleep deprivation and stress, who trembles between octaves as his fingers tire but makes the leap anyway. he is clear ringing notes in a crowded room and rambling words like a glissando back and forth across the ivories, he is a song quiet enough to fall to the background but a complex and delicate tune if you care to listen

Steph: drum kit. she is all intensity and living in the moment and sharp impacts and a beat that never stops, never waits for the rest. she can get lost to the rest of the voices in a room, but you'll never shake that she's in your head, that her voice is there and present and presses against the base of your skull like it wants to worm straight in. she's rhythm and motion and changing things up just to do it; her voice hops from the snares to the bass to the snares and back to bass and never lets you think between notes, she's moving so fast, because it's all her, nothing she ever has to question, even if she makes you question with every slam on the cymbal

Damian: violin. he is careful in his every motion, ever meticulous with all he does; he lives in fear of being out of tune, of off-key notes for a long time, and so each one is practiced and known to the point of monotony. but over time, he thaws and the notes become more loose, more free-- he speaks less like his eyes are glued to the page, furiously tracking each note he'll play and more like the natural he is-- he becomes sharper in a different way than the rest of him, notes out of place that jut from the rest and it's okay that they do, a hum of songs that don't follow classic melodies and don't feel the need to. don't mistake it though-- his voice has always been as regal and pointed as the rest of him was raised to be, and his voice grabs both your ear and your eyes, dragging you to look at him, for him to be seen and noticed and given attention

Duke: saxophone. he is deep and rich and resonating. his voice is emotion and expression and honesty. his voice sits on your tongue because hearing him makes you want to speak, want to talk and chat and ramble with him, to reply to his melody with any harmony to match. he is a voice meant to be heard by many, who may not stand out in a room naturally but makes himself stand out by the passion in his voice. he is a slow, experimental hand that plays notes with hesitance until the rhythm hits him and suddenly, it's a melody of energy and power and a presence that he doesn't even know he has

[denofimagination-blog]

Tell me, Bail Sharr, who can withstand the light of your faith and the shadows of my fury?

No one, Tyberos. We are the Emperor's sword and his shield united in glory. ⚔️🦈

👉 Want your models to look epic? Contact us at service@denofimagination.com and start your journey with us today!

[temperedink]

my favourite ACOTAR fic by authors not on tumblr

I wanted to give some love to stories that aren't often mentioned on Tumblr and don't get reblogged over and over because their writers don't have accounts here. (I also just want more people to read some of my faves and scream about them with me.)

A Court of Ash and Sunlight by aturner1205 (Elucien; complete)

This Elucien fic had me on the edge of my seat and making up wild theories while it was posting. (I was incredibly wrong in said wild theories.) Elain and Lucien start to get to know each other better when they both are mourning her father on his birthday, and she confesses to him that she's never felt their bond. They're getting closer, and then Lucien is sent off on a dangerous mission, there's an accidental pregnancy, and Koschei after the Archerons. Tons of twists and turns here!

Fury and Siren by hurricane (next-gen; complete)

Next-gen fics where the kids are already adults are sometimes a hard sell, but these two interconnected stories get you deeply invested in Nyx and his cousins (their parents are all still around too). The first one is Nyx and an Illyrian shadowsinger (hmmm...) who's secretly been avenging abused and clipped Illyrian females, and the second is Nessian's son Caden and the only female Darkbringer who's been sent to assassinate him. These boys are definitely their fathers' sons, with their charm and flirting, but their partners do not let them rest on their privilege.

I Miss You (When the Lights Go Out), I Want to Taste the Way That You Bleed, and I Am Done With My Graceless Heart by greenvelvet_couture (Nessriel; ongoing series)

Soooo much Nessriel smut that kicks off when Azriel returns from a mission injured and Nessian want to take care of him (physically first, then sexually). Also a lot about Nesta training her post-ACOSF powers and the dangers that go along with that. But the author is VERY dedicated to the smut, bless her. Part 2 has just started and picks up with Bryce in the Night Court.

A Long Way Down by becauseofreading (Nessian; ongoing)

This one is a tough read, but it does a beautiful job of showing the recovery process from trauma and a suicide attempt. Nesta is suicidal and has deeply convinced herself of her unworthiness. Cassian is taken to task for his treatment of her and the words he's levelled at his mate, and the Valkyries, Azriel, and Elucien rally around her as she tries to heal and love herself with proper therapy. Cassian is ashamed of his treatment of her and is allowed in to help her heal if he doesn't upset her.

Where You Used to Lay Your Head by loveL (Gwynriel; complete)

This one is a bit of a time mindfuck, so you have to just accept that the Archerons and the Valkyries were born much earlier than they were in canon. Sixty years ago, Azriel and Gwyn were happy in their secret 20-year relationship (the IC knew he had a partner, but didn't know who she was) when suddenly Gwyn up and left him. Now she's back in the Night Court with Nesta and Emerie after creating the Valkyries in the Day Court, and Azriel is finally going to try to find out what happened that made Gwyn leave and stay away for so long.

Forgive Me, A Court of Shadow and Smoke, and The High Lady, the Shadowsinger, and the Omega, Part 1 and Part 2 by darcyshandflex (Elucien, Azris, next-gen; ongoing)

This epic series starts with Elucien and explaining why Elain has avoided him for so long--but now she's ready to fight for him. In A Court of Shadow and Smoke, we have omegaverse!Azris finally getting together (Azriel's the alpha, Eris is the omega) and all of the emotional and political issues that causes. The final two parts span 30+ years with Azris raising their three girls. When the girls are adults, their future partners are discovered, and that has long-lasting impacts on multiple courts in Prythian. This one is still ongoing, and apparently the final part is going to be sad and I'm not ready for it.

And here are three writers I would have included on this list who have since gotten on Tumblr (I procrastinated on writing this post for THAT long, but they were on the original draft!):

A Little Bit of Light Reading by @infinitefolklore (Elucien; complete)

One of my all-time favourite ACOTAR stories that I have reread a bajillion times. Elain and Lucien are alone at the townhouse and start flirting, which leads to other things, including library sex, a sorta blood duel, a reconciliation, a solstice sex party in the Summer Court, PLUS a threesome near the end, as a little treat.

I Can Wait For You at the Bottom by MissFreakingFortune/ @missfckingfortune (Elucien; ongoing)

Listen, if you're not reading this super-sexy modern Elucien rockstar second-chance romance, I don't know what you're doing with your life. Elain and Lucien were high school sweethearts who had their lives together all planned out, until Lucien left to chase his rockstar dreams. Ten years later, he's returned home for Beron's funeral and once they're back in each other's orbit, they both can't stay away. Lucien is determined to win her back, but Elain is much more wary, even though the attraction is definitely still there. There's also a great big bro Eris, and Mama Vanserra finally has her freedom from Beron so she can maybe start something up again with hot French professor Helion...and also tell him about their child, who is also going to need to know about his true parentage.

Phoenix Rising by Vivienne1412/ @annaskareninas (Elucien; complete)

I need you to drop everything and go read this fic. Yes, NOW. No, I'll wait.

Beron has seized control over all of Prythian and has either killed or exiled all of High Lords and other powerful fae (Feysand and Nyx are in the Hewn City dosed with faebane everyday; Nessian escaped to Hybern). The humans have also gathered enough power that they're a dangerous threat to the fae. Elain has been working as a nurse for the fae resistance efforts, and her latest patient is the long-thought-dead Lucien, the only free heir of any of the High Lords. They go on the run to protect him, as there's a prophecy about him that makes him the last hope to defeat Beron and Autumn for good, and shore up support from the Continent to get a fighting force. This is an incredibly well-written fantasy story with crazy-high stakes and DRAGONS. Go read it.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 00 Chapter 00 | Blurb⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology.

Your stomach twisted violently as the man stepped into view.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his weathered armor scuffed with dirt and streaked with dried blood. A jagged scar ran across his jawline, disappearing into a patchy, grizzled beard. His eyes burned with a dull gold light, glowing faintly under his furrowed brow as he glared directly at you.

The mercenary spit onto the ground, the sound sharp and deliberate as he reached back for another arrow. His movements were slow but precise, the kind that came with years of experience.

Your mouth dropped open, horror spreading across your face. ❝T-That's... that's one of them, isn't it? The mercenaries?❞

Hermes' gaze flicked briefly toward the hunter, but his expression remained frustratingly calm.

❝HERMES!❞you screeched, throwing yourself into the god's arms without a second thought in blind panic.

His arms came up instinctively, one curling firmly around your waist while the other caught your wrist. His body shook slightly with laughter, his breath brushing against your ear in a warm, uneven rush.

❝Oh, you're precious,❞ he said, his voice low and amused. ❝Guess it's time to run, little thief!❞

❝Run?!❞ you managed to shriek, just as the hunter loosed his next arrow.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

To steal from the gods is to play with fire—but you've always been good at staying one step ahead.

One daring heist, one gleaming treasure, and now Apollo's fury is hunting you across the realms. Curses, omens, and divine wrath shadow your every step, yet you've somehow gained an unexpected ally: Hermes, the Trickster God—a man as dangerous as he is charming.

To him, you're a game—something to amuse him in the endless boredom of immortality. But beneath his smug grins and golden wings lies something far more unsettling: a loyalty you didn't expect and a spark you don't dare name.

The gods want retribution.

Mortals want your head.

And Hermes? He just wants to see how far you're willing to go.

But here's the truth they all forget: you may be mortal, but you're no one's pawn.

..... ... ..... ━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━ ..... ... .....

╭─↬ ❗𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆❗ ↫─╮ There will be mentions/descriptive scenes of the following:

╭ ⁞ ❏. Language ┊ ⁞ ❏. Stealing

🔺 Reader Discretion Advised.

Lol, I don't know if I got them all, so if you see anything I didn't list, come back and comment right here so I can add them to the list later ➡

Also, before you start, if you're new here, welcome! But if you're a returning reader/came from my other books, hi winxies🥹❤️ Enjoy (•͈˽•͈)

[cookie-nom-nom]

Had this dream about lich forms Lup and Barry but it was distinctly in the form of a ballet duet set to a dream version of Scylla. IE some verses were word for word but others were whatever the dream felt like it. Their lich powers shifted wildly depending on mental state. There was this orchestral solo section with Lup where her fire became more celestial themed, and she was resplendent with constellations gleaming across her skin. In elegant twirls and leaps she crossed the stage, the arena of the crowd encircling and enthralled. Her smile stretching ever wider from the fame and adoration, basking in stardom. (There was definitely some Taako bleeding into this part). Spinning faster faster in this swirl of elation and starlight.

And then she suddenly stills.

And then the words kicked in.

Drown in your sorrow and fear

It's this moment of pure collapse as the stars in her eyes, the countless universes she's experienced, all quenched by the Hunger. Where once the audience was lit up now it was inky black surrounding Lup. That desperation that lead the 7 Birds to forge the relics, and the intolerable guilt of what they cause.

Live out your life as a wraith

And then we see Lup. Horrific and blistering, this overwhelming destructive force scorching all. Her body is barely one at all, as she's transformed into apoplectic destruction. She is the phoenix gauntlet. She's utterly lost control of her lichform, dissolving into fire and fury incarnate. Because have they not earned a little wrath?

Enter, Barry. He swirls with dark necrotic clouds, this ominous shadow piercing into the heart of the inferno. The pair dance around each other, these titanous forces of darkness and light, so completely anathema this raging radiance and gentle gloom. And he is reaching for her.

We must do what it takes to survive.

In Epic, this is the moment when two have chosen to be monstrous. And in Taz it was too, the Lovers becoming liches. But it's so, so much more. Because it is bonds that have saved them through that wretched stolen century, and love is what it takes to survive. And he is reaching for her, begging her to remember the love that has kept her from falling apart for so long. Yes it is asking her to bear the pain and guilt of what they have done to try and save the world time and time again. But he is also asking her to do what it takes for any of the planar realms to survive the Hunger.

We are the same you and I.

And Lup reaches back, pure light entwining where Barry gently cups what is becoming her face, willing her to resemble a person again. Fire melts into her elven form, grounded once more into a controlled form by the love for each other that keeps them same. She sinks into his arms, and the pair collapse to their knees, clutching each other so tightly they're forced to be made of flesh and blood. They both begin to weep, both in crushing pain and relief. The spotlight above shrinks until they are alone in a small pool of light.

The world becomes pitch black to thunderous applause.

[octolanternz]

dreamworks not making this into an actual scene is KILLING ME this is HOMOPHONIC!!!!!!

[shiyorin]

This came from a joke between me and my friend. And it is heretic :v

#Yandere chapter space marines? Yeah….

#Blood Angels, Flesh Tearers and Lamenters.

#Don't ask me, I don't know what I'm doing.

Blood Angels

You awoke with a start, heart pounding. Another nightmare, yet this one lingered behind closed lids, elusive yet unsettling. Rubbing sleep from eyes, moonlight filtering through stained glass recalled where you lay, guest of the Blood Angels once more. 

Rising, soft slippers padded silent halls as restless feet sought solace. Marble gleamed ethereal, statuesque giants flanking your passage like solemn sentinels. A turn, and shadows shifted, was that movement ahead?

"You should not wander so late, mortal." Brother Varrael's rich timbre sent shivers down spine, lips curving a lover's smile yet eyes hooded, intent. "These halls hold memories better left undisturbed." 

His massive hand enclosed your smaller one with surprising gentleness, leading unresisting to familiar chambers. "Rest, and I will stand guard over you." Lingering kiss upon brow held an edge of desperation you dared not know. 

Days passed in diligent company, recording heroic epics for future generations. Yet unease grew, visions' shadows slipping between waking and dreams. Hands grasped where none should be, voices crooned foreign desires in loved tones warped. 

Heart seizing, you fled, only to collide with Varrael's towering form emerging from shadows. His strong arms imprisoned your struggling form against massive chest as velvet words whispered of dark devotion no lips should know. Livid scars criss-crossing pale flesh spoke of daemons conquering will through flesh alone.

Days blurred into restless nightmares, reality twisting beyond recognition. Every interaction held veiled intimations too intimate to comprehend, too blasphemous to accept. Yet denying the truth invited madness. 

His helm obscured his features, but you'd know Varrael's scent anywhere. Hot breath whispered your name against your ear as his other hand pinned your waist possessively. You shivered, seeing not fury but desperation in his stance. 

"Varrael, please..." Your plea was lost in a needy kiss, tastes of blood and longing upon his tortured lips. 

His mind swam in a crimson sea, torn between devotion and rage's call. Your light soothed the beast within, yet each parting fed its hunger for your touch alone. When next you stood together on the field of battle, survival instinct blurred with a need to shield, claim, destroy. 

Days passed in blissful torment, stolen moments reaffirmed devotion, yet bloodlust simmered nearer the surface for him. Try as he might, control was fleeting against the curse's tide. And when passion overcame his iron will whilst lost in your embrace, fangs slipping to graze your throat in ecstasy.

Flesh Tearers

You knew accepting this assignment with the Flesh Tearers meant danger, yet how could you refuse such a historic opportunity? Now you regretted agreeing as the Astartes' unhinged nature was laid bare. 

The Astartes spared you no glance. Except one, Tahareil especially unsettled you, his ice blue eyes tracking your every move with disturbing intensity. When allies fell in battle, his enraged howls shook the very foundation, an unearthly sound that raised primal fears. 

In coming weeks, your recordings captured noble Astartes in acts of valor against xenos and heretic alike. All performed duties with grim resolve. And Tahareil, who revelled in slaughter's ecstasy with abandon that chilled your soul. His thirst for blood appeared unquenchable, beyond duty's call. 

"Be at ease, mortal." he rumbled softly. "No enemies shall reach you whilst I stand vigil."

His protective claim should have reassured, but an undercurrent chilled your blood. When had a simple recording become so fraught with subtext unspoken? 

When battle was done, you worked alone editing recordings in sequestered chamber provided. Yet lingering unease persisted you were not alone. Sometimes catching fleeting glimpse of shadow beyond the chamber's edge, scent of musk and iron lingering where none walked. Paranoia's creeping fingers closed about your mind, were you truly an observer here, or had another thing found you?

One night exhaustion took hold, dropping guard enough to drift to fitful dreams.There terror's form coalesced, hulking figure looming over helpless prey pinned trembling in grasping claws. Feral grin split nightmare's maw as it dipped to sample sweetness on quivering flesh, revelling in lifeblood's rich perfume.

A gasp tore your throat awake, soaked in cold sweat upon rumpled pallet. But no, the nightmare lingered still, a shadow stirred beyond veil, eyes glinting some primal madness barely leashed. 

"Pretty little thing, almost forgot your scent..." Tahareil's rasp caressed your fears incarnate, large hand capturing trembling wrist to draw you against him. "Tell me mortal, did you use your witchery on me?" 

He inhaled your racing pulse, claws tracing your quaking form with possessive. Lips parted to protest yet words died, transfixed by the scare blazing beneath visored dark. 

"Let me taste it." his growl reverberated, "See what witchery makes me like this." 

His grip was iron, struggling futilely. Gauntleted claws rent flesh baring pulsing artery, raging beat filling bestial senses. Jagged fangs plunged deep, agonizing ecstasy flooding nerves as blood flooded.

Lamenters

You awake with a start, the shadows of another nightmare slowly slipping away. As consciousness returns, you become aware of a light pressure around your wrists and ankles. Panic rises in your throat as your eyes adjust to the dim light of phosphor stones. 

That's when you see him, sitting vigil at your bedside. Chapter master Malakim Phoros of the Lamenters looks exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a sharp contrast to his pallid skin. But his gaze, as it falls upon you, holds only concern. 

"Forgive me," he rasps, voice rough from disuse. "The others thought it best until you'd rested. They mean no harm, only to keep you safe." 

You struggle to calm your racing heart. Abductions were not unknown, with the Lamenters' curse of ill fortune. But Malakim had always watched over you with a devoted, tender care unlike the others. 

His guilt-wracked smile is gentle as he administers sips of water through a straw. "The night terrors will find you. We could not risk you wandering in such a state.” 

You nod weakly, the adrenaline fading. His haunted eyes hold only relief at your return to lucidity. His love for you is palpable, yet shaded by a darkness borne of endless suffering and self-loathing.

In time your bonds are removed, though Malakim remains at your side. His brothers drift past your cell-like chamber, gaunt faces lighting momentarily at glimpses within. They meant only protection, you know, but their shattered minds leave little room for trust beyond their brethren. 

And you, their one ray of light in an ocean of gloom. Their luck, as Malakim whispers reverently whilst stroking your hair, sent to lift their cursed spirits from the depths of madness and despair. A blessing too precious to abandon to fate's cruelty, whatever the cost.

[tylermileslockett]

Protogenoi 2: The Castration of Ouranos

         Gaia (earth) and Ouranos (heavens) lays together, giving birth to the twelve Titans, the three Cyclopes, and the three Hecatonchires; with their hundred arms and fifty heads. But these last children Ouranos despises, and forces them trapped deep under Gaia in Tartarus, depriving them of light. Gaia, groaning in pain, creates a jagged toothed sickle from adamant, and begs her children to punish Ouranous. Only one child musters the courage: the Titan Cronus, who lies in wait and castrates his father with the weapon. The bloody drops falling to earth birth the Erinyes (goddesses of vengeance/Furies), armored giants, and Meliad (ash tree nymphs) Ouranos’ bloody testicles plummet to the sea, where from the surrounding foam is birthed the goddess of love, Aphrodite, followed by her attendants; Eros and Desire.

Here we have the first of a reoccurring theme in Greek myth of a son overthrowing the authoritarian father; which will happen again when the son of Cronus, Zeus, overthrows his father in an epic war called the Titanomachy. There was a prophecy that a child born from Zeus and his first wife, Metis would overthrow him, so Zeus swallows a pregnant Metis, but eventually gives birth to Athena from his head.

The 12 Titans arepowerful deities which personify natural elements. The six males are Cronus (god of time) Oceanus (Ocean and rivers) Coeus (intellect) Hyperion (heavenly light) Crius (constellations) and Lapetus (mortality). The six females are Rhea (fertility) Themis (justice) Mnemosyne (memory) Phoebe (prophecy) Tethys (sea) and Theia (sight). The 3 Cylopes are Argos, Brontes, and Steropes and are known for their craftsmanship skills, forging such powerful weapons as Zeus’ thunderbolts and Hades helmet of invisibility. The 3 Hecatonchires are Cottus, Braireos, and Gyes. With their hundred arms and fifty heads, they are feared for their terrible strength. The Hecatonchires go on to assist the Olympians in the Titanomachy, and in the aftermath, are appointed guards of the imprisoned Titan siblings in Tartarus.

[kitsune024]

Stucky Fics

WinterFrost Fics

WinterIron Fics

*

Operation Hindsight by @dcangstfiction I Chapters 24/24 I Completed Time Travel Fix-It, Bucky & Winter Soldier, Dehumanization, Captain America Sam, Alternate Timelines. BAMF Bucky Barnes

Bucky and Sam follow Jack Rollins through time from 2024 to 2014. Armed with knowledge of the future, Rollins wants to make sure Project Insight succeeds and Hydra rules the world. Bucky and Sam take on the challenge of stopping him and preserving their timeline. To do that, Bucky has to take on the Winter Soldier.

The Life, Death, and Resurrection of James Buchanan Barnes by @dcangstfiction I Chapters 35/35 I Completed Winter Soldier Bucky, Bucky Barnes, Recovering, Multiverse, Alternate Universe - Canon, BAMF Bucky, Time Travel, Amnesia, Epic Bromance, Whump

One day in 2012, Steve Rogers encounters a doppelgänger of himself who says three words that change everything: "Bucky is alive." This is a story about friendship that survives war, tragedy, and the devastation of time. It eases into things with a glimpse of two friends growing up together in the 20s and 30s. It then goes DARK (mind the tags). Darkness doesn't last forever, though. It yields to light. COMPLETE. Thanks to Fictitious for beta-reading!

Avalanche by MuzzledRavings I Chapters 19/19 I Completed Winter Soldier Bucky, Secret Identity, CEO Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Remembers

When an experiment to improve the effectiveness of the Winter Soldier’s supersoldier serum is a little too successful, James regains his mind and his memories. After breaking free from HYDRA’s grasp, he finds the world is infested with HYDRA. Desperate for purpose, he puts the muzzle of the Winter Soldier back on to fight against his old tormentors from the shadows. When New York is attacked by aliens, the masked Avengers assemble. Not knowing who this new superhero team truly works for, James tries to find out while still hunting HYDRA. When it becomes clear to him that the Avengers can’t be trusted, he decides the best way to protect the world is to do it himself. So, the Winter Soldier founds a terrorist organization. TL;DR: The Winter Soldier founds a terrorist* organization *Terrorism subject to interpretation

Avengers: Search for the Winter Soldier by Wolverine6Claws I Chapters 58/? I Winter Soldier Bucky, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychological Torture, Emotionally Repressed, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Aftermath of Violence, Rape Aftermath, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Borderline Personality Disorder, Hydra Bucky, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha

Steve Rogers was adamant about finding his friend whom he thought had died decades earlier. Seeing Bucky behind the Winter Soldier's mask had stunned Steve. His mind had been reeling at the time, but now he was totally focused and committed to finding Barnes and helping him regain his identity. The Avengers team agrees to help him do just that.

paint me as the villain by TheCockyUndead I Chapters 21/21 I Completed Bucky & Clint Friendship, Manipulative Nick Fury, Blood and Torture, Past Torture, Steve & Tony

Out of everyone that could have captured the Winter Soldier, Fury hadn't expected to be the one to do so. But he didn't question it. After all, who was he to argue when a sharpened weapon was given to him?

Kill Strike Trigger by llethe I Chapters 17/17 I Completed Gen or Pre-Slash, Bucky/Natasha, Bucky & Sam, Bucky Remembers, Steve/Sharon implied, Hydra, World Travel, SHIELD

Rumlow actually smiles and crackles “our puppet, like you,” his voice so quiet and the words so distorted that Barnes just barely makes them out. He tells himself that they’re just words, and they’re just words designed to elicit an emotional response. It’s been just two months; there’s nothing HYDRA could have done by now, to make those words true. Right? A story of how far three people will go to bring Steve Rogers home -- and of how far HYDRA will go to bring home their Winter Soldier.

Oneshots

Falling and The Fallen by @iamshadow21 BAMF Bucky, Soul-Searching, SHIELD Agent Bucky, Post-World War II, 20th Century, Amnesia, AU- Different First Meeting, AU- Canon Divergence

You're in some kind of convalescent home in New York when you're visited by two men in uniform. Captain Steve Rogers, killed in action, they say, and that's how you learn his name. An AU where Bucky Barnes falls and is found by the Howling Commandos.

what departs at death by magdaliny World War II

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. Instead of giving in to his impulse to shout invective, to demand to know why Bucky broke camp without telling anyone, why he keeps doing that, Steve says: “Who you talking to, Buck?” Bucky pats something on the ground and shifts his leg.

Running Through My Veins (An American Masquerade) by @cheesethesecond Winter Soldier Foreshadowing, World War II, Implied/Referenced Torture, Hurt/Comfort

For all Steve’s bravado, his disregard and his blind determination, Bucky knows that neither of them thought they’d end up here—Bucky, with a body full of poison and secrets, a head full of landmines; Steve, with the weight of a nation on his newly-formed shoulders; both of them, with eyes for each other first. At least that part isn’t new. [Or, Bucky Barnes, from the rescue to the Commandos.]

Keep You Going Through the Show by Lauralot Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Pain, Implied/Referenced, Torture, Self-Harm, Blood, Gore, HYDRA Trash Party

The first time Bucky breaks his fingers, Steve thinks nothing of it.

Fulcrum by @laporcupina World War II, Military, keeping an eye on Steve is sometimes a thankless business, POV Bucky Barnes

Bucky really wishes that Steve understood all of the ways that this wasn't a back alley in Brooklyn, that this was war, and that he had a half-dozen men who would follow him to hell but he could try a little harder to keep those excursions to a minimum.

they came in by the dozens by orphan_account Captain America: The First Avenger, World War II, Canon-Typical Violence, War is hell and they're just trying to get through it, Team as Family

“Y’know,” Dugan gestures vaguely, “senators, war profiteers, generals. Big men don’t care if a few of us get blown up as long as we win the battle.” “Yeah,” Jones joins in, “we do the fightin’, they get the glory, and don’t care what else happens as long as they get their name on the front page.”

Bookmark Series

Blue-eyed matador by @flamingo-queen-writes I Part 1-2 I slow burn Bucky/Clint, Steve/Sam, Mute Bucky, Asset Bucky, Implied/Referenced HYDRA Trash Party, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers, Kinda dark to start out, Dehumanization The Claws That Catch by MuzzledRavings I Part 1-2 I Completed Amnesiac Bucky, BAMF Bucky, AU - Canon Divergence, BAMF Tony, Avenger Bucky The Hollows by ealcynn I Part 1-4 I Standard Winter Soldier Warnings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, hydra All Life's Evils by @bridge-agent I Part 1-2 I Past Winter Soldier/Natasha, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha, Action/Adventure, Drama

Bucky || Winter Soldier with Fanart

I've Heard That Song Before by @pokimoko I Chapters: 10/10 I Completed World War II, Minor Peggy/Steve, Winter soldier Bucky meets the Howling Commandos, Time Travel Winter of the White Wolf by @klecrone I Chapters: 89/? I Winter Soldier Bucky, White Wolf Bucky, Captain America Sam, BAMF Dora Milaje, Post-Canon Fix-It, Wakanda, Friendship

Bookmark Series

Bucky and Sam in 1946 by @dcangstfiction I Part 1-2 I Completed James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Time Travel, AU - Canon Divergence, 1940s, BAMF Bucky, Alternate Timelines, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism

[pinespittinink]

🌿 pinespittinink reintro 🌿

hello and welcome to my blog 💌 i'm easing myself back into writeblr and hope to meet some new people and continue to vibe as i always have on here. this is not my main blog, so while i may follow you, it won't be from this account. i don't follow or engage with minors; all my work is adult and queernorm unless otherwise indicated.

ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ

a little bit about me: catherine ~ she/her ~ capricorn ~ pan & poly ~ 28 ~ 18+ only

ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ

i've been around here sporadically since 2018 and always tend to come home; i like prompts and ask games and tags and fun things. i write love stories in sci-fi and fantasy settings, and i'm working towards traditional publishing always. currently i'm querying my adult fantasy standalone, The Great Glavenisean Theater (The Night Circus x House of Leaves). i enjoy writing nsfw content, lush scene setting, and detailed emotional headspaces.

ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ

🖋 my wips 🖋

the great glavenisean theater 🎭 {wip intro} {general tag} spec fic/fantasy standalone. a tailor goes to the big city and gets swept up by a phantasmagorical theater with an interdimensional portal in the stage, gets a crush on a cute guy working the rigging, and maybe starts to lose his mind as shit gets Weird™️

in the deep of the trees 🍃 {wip intro} {general tag} high fantasy, romantic subplot, standalone. (bi4bi otp). a social-climber uses subterfuge, blackmail, and murder to achieve his ambitions, and the court eccentric that he's in love with gets weirder and weirder when a new discovery is brought back by an exploration team.

star white 🌟 {wip intro} {general tag} romantic space fantasy, standalone. (gay otp) one man searches for the love of his life after he's been abducted by sentient dark matter, and spends millions of years travelling through space with a semi-organic AI ship.

solene's verse 🌊 epic fantasy, duology. (t4t otp) a young self-taught wizard makes a ton of bad decisions, as a group of ragtag youths from the cesspit of the world try to rescue the elder brother of one of their own from a tower of cultists.

the revenant (working title) dark fantasy, duology(???? who knows). a one-woman-war-machine who cannot die fights alongside her childhood best friend and lover and their loyal band of vagabonds to bring down the corrupt royalty desecrating their kingdom

the wasteland (working title) weird spec fic/dark fantasy, novella. a lousy hot-tempered fire elemental and a shitty light necromancer embark on the world's worst walking roadtrip to a castle on the wasteland falling away at their feet.

[odyssey solomon's wip - mad max fury road x the road x the locked tomb, post-apocalyptic fantasy. father and son against the world plus a weird shapeshifting bitch]

[gentle poly cathedral wip - romantic fantasy, novella. gargoyles and psalms and stained glass, my beloveds]

[soft poly space wip - romantic sci-fi, duology. androids and black holes and librarians, oh my!]

ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ

🎐tag guide🎐

my writing 🌸 my edits  🌸 my poetry 🌸 sap spill 🌸 {original text posts, not always writing related} uwu romance 🌸 {umbrella tag for everything love and romance related} trope talk🌸 {umbrella tag. overlaps often with uwu romance} character work🌸 {what it says on the tin} compilations🌸 {tumblr web weaving posts} i live here🌸 {stuff i jive with on a molecular level}

ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ  ꕥ

[ Romantic and indulgent prose full of filigree, worlds full of whimsy, mystery and a hint of danger, a core of tenderness rooted at the heart of every story. Your writing is always penned in the manner of a love letter not just to the craft or even as an ode to romance but to the subject of love in itself. ] – @aninkwellofnectar​ 🌹

“for whom / and to whom all this love, / all this light falling.” 

–@ragewrites, Film Still, for pinespittinink. 

[jadegretz]

Kolin: Frozen Fury by Jade Gretz

The night was eerily quiet in the outskirts of Metro City, a place where the urban jungle met the fringes of a dark forest. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, and even the wind seemed to whisper secrets of ancient evils. Kolin, the beautiful and enigmatic ice queen of the Street Fighter universe, moved with purpose through the shadows, her mind focused on the task ahead.

She had heard rumors of a powerful fighter with devastating fire abilities, one who had been wreaking havoc and leaving a trail of charred ruins in his wake. This rival fighter was no ordinary opponent; he was a master of pyrokinesis, and his flames were said to burn hotter than the sun. The elemental clash between Kolin’s ice and his fire was inevitable, and tonight, the stage was set for their epic showdown.

As she approached the clearing in the forest, Kolin could feel the temperature rising, a sure sign that her adversary was near. The trees around her began to glow with an eerie orange light, and the smell of burning wood filled the air. She stepped into the open, her icy blue eyes scanning the surroundings, her breath visible in the cold night.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness, his body wreathed in flames that danced and flickered with a life of their own. He was tall and imposing, his fiery aura casting long shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, and a cruel smile played on his lips as he regarded Kolin.

“So, you’re the ice queen I’ve heard so much about,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Kolin’s expression remained calm and composed, but her heart pounded with anticipation. “You must be the fire user who’s been causing so much destruction. I won’t let you continue.”

The man laughed, a sound that echoed through the forest like the crackle of burning wood. “Bold words, ice queen. Let’s see if you can back them up.”

With that, he raised his hands, and a torrent of flames erupted from his palms, surging towards Kolin with incredible speed. She reacted instantly, summoning a …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)