#but expecting a variant of some kind

[yardofblondegirls]

one thang i will say about gifted kid burnout discourse is. its very annoying when people make it a huge part of their personality. but also like. yeah things that happen in your childhood affect how you exist as an adult. but also a lot of the problems with gifted education programs are kind of more reflective of why the american public school system AS A WHOLE needs reform

[tokoyamisstuff]

Random thought how good do you think each invincible variant would be at eating 😺 is there any of them who would be an actual munch

18+ explicit content

Sis, don't- it's not worth it...

Other variants under the cut!

Omnivincible is more skilled than most of them. I just feel like he's got a mature approach and wouldn't just mindlessly delve in like some horny teenager.

He'd take his sweet time, enjoying himself without necessarily wanting something in return. In general he takes great pride in causing you pleasure. Is also pretty creative. After all his strenght allows him to eat you out in positions you didn't even know were possible.

Thought you can only come once at a time? He'll prove you otherwise.

Movincihawk constantly brags about his 'superior technique' but at the bottom line he's not all that good at it, sorry.

It's not like he isn't skilled, but he's pretty selfish and impatient. Any kind of foreplay is not a priority for him in general, he likes to go straight to the point.

Fucks pretty well to make up for it though.

Sinister Mark acts like he's doing you a favor, but with how eager he buries himself between your legs it's evident to say he enjoys this as much - if not even more than - you.

This man pins your thighs apart and eats you out like a man starving. Your taste drives him fucking crazy, so yes it could happen that he bites down harder than he intended to.

Likes to eat you out on your period. No I will not elaborate.

Striped/Target Invincible is super vocal during the whole thing. His grunts and groans vibrate against your folds, he doesn't even notice the effect you have on him.

Hope you're ready for the whole range of dirty talk, mostly degrading but occasionally throwing in words of acknowledgement. Tells you how this is your place - beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Uses his fingers better than his tongue, but is fairly good at both. The combination will send you straight to heaven.

No Goggles Invincible is probably the biggest tease on the entire planet.

This man will push you to your absolute limits, reducing you to a whining, moaning, begging puddle of lust. But he's got no mercy, prolonging your sweet torture for as long as he can - you're only allowed to cum if he says you're done.

With him the thin line between pain and pleasure is blurred into a mixture of pure overstimulation, but goddamn it's worth it.

Viltrumite Mark isn't familiar with earth's customs of intimacy. In their culture, canonically, they solely have sex for procreation. Though we never saw Debbie complaining about Nolan either, so I'm confident he can learn.

Gets the hang of it pretty fast, and quickly grows insateable with this new form of closeness he never got to experience before. He's an absolute mess, almost breaking the bedframe as he pathetically humps the mattress, wanting more more more of you.

Needs lots of cuddles and to be told he did a good job afterwards, pretty please.

Prisoner Mark was in solitary confinement for over a year - prepare to be destroyed. R.I.P.

He'll dive in between your legs and won't leave this place until he's got his fill of you, which could take him a while so get cozy.

Not an inch of your body is left untouched, as if he intents to memorize every detail, just in case you'd slip from his grasp once again.

Be prepared to cum until your body gives up. Man's got to make up for the time he spent away from you.

Unmasked Mark is very gentle, almost cautious in his efforts as if you were a fragile flower one needed to properly care for or it'd wither. He still can't fully believe you're here with him, so he's extra anxious about doing something wrong.

You'll slowly and sensually be guided towards your orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reverently observes your every reaction.

Expect some premium aftercare!

Fully Masked Invincible knows you inside and out, has memorized all the weak spots that make you sing for him. He is completely and utterly devoted to your pleasure, maybe even a little too eager in his efforts since he tends to forget himself in the process.

To him your body is a temple meant for worship, so you'd relentlessly get showered in praise and compliments while he explores your body.

Will initiate at every given opportunity, but never pushes it. He just wants to make you happy, really!

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑴𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 ☞ ♥•♥•♥•

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader | Viltrumite!Mark x f!Reader | Sinister!Mark x f!Reader | No Goggles/Lensless!Mark x f!Reader | Omni!Mark x f!Reader | Shiesty!Mark x f!Reader | Mohawk!Mark x f!Reader

Warnings: Umm there’s a mention of Lensless making his dick jump LMAO but that’s it

Tags: Fluff, comedy, romance, just cute silliness – you get the vibe

Word Count: uhhh the whole thing’s 3,236 but each part for all the variants is between 350-650

Synopsis: It’s so nice to have a superhuman boyfriend who relishes in the idea of you being so weak and helpless, he does EVERYTHING for you. Except, also, sometimes it’s kind of annoying and you just want to do things on your own. So when he’s gone on a mission that’s supposed to last a few days? You plan to take FULL advantage. Only, he comes back sooner than expected…

a/n: man, sorry i’ve been dropping the ball on posting lately. i wasn’t lying when i said losing all my old shit really killed my motivation. BUT i’ve been going dumb reading this comic and bruhhh i’m SHOOK by some of the differences – i digress. i feel myself slowly getting back to my usual grind so pls hang in there with me lovies!!!!

also, Shiesty is DEFINITELY my fav from this series lmaoo

The Set Up...

The thing about being home alone was that it gave you the rare chance to get things done.

No overprotective Viltrumite boyfriend hovering the moment you touched anything over ten pounds. No “babe, let me do it” every time you reached for the step stool. Just peace, music, and the triumphant satisfaction of moving the bookshelf to the wall it should’ve been on this entire time.

You’d nearly gotten it there, too—angled just right, towel under the bottom, scooting it across the floor one slow, squeaky inch at a time.

Main!Mark

You were mid-push, maneuvering the big bookshelf across the floor with a towel under it for glide, when you heard the familiar whoosh of a landing behind you.

“Hey, I’m—whoa.”

You turned around, sheepish but proud. “Hi!”

Mark stood there, mask off, still in his suit, eyes flicking between you and the halfway-moved bookshelf. “Were you… moving that by yourself?”

“Technically yes. But, like, strategically. No lifting. Full physics. Minimum chaos.”

He blinked. “That’s… kind of impressive.”

You beamed. “Thanks!”

He nodded slowly, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah, no—super cool. Really cool. Totally capable. Independent. You got this.”

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah. I’m good.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Mark.”

He scuffed his foot across the floor, eyes cast down. “It’s just… you didn’t wait for me.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to help me push furniture around after flying halfway around the world.”

“Still,” he muttered, glancing at the bookshelf. “It’s kind of my thing, y’know? Being helpful. Picking up stuff. Making your life easier. Super strength is kind of… my niche.”

Your chest ached a little. He wasn’t mad—just quietly, adorably bummed. Like a golden retriever watching someone else throw the ball.

So, naturally, you took two steps back, turned just slightly, and just happened to stub your toe on the side of the coffee table.

Loudly.

“OW—oh my god, ow, okay nope, I’m dying,” you yelped, grabbing your foot and hopping in place.

Mark was instantly at your side, arms out. “Wait, what happened?! Are you okay?!”

“Stubbed my toe,” you whimpered. “On the corner. I think it—ohhh nooo it’s broken.”

He crouched in front of you like a concerned EMT. “Which foot?! Can you walk? Want me to carry you to the couch??”

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Would you?”

He was already scooping you up, like a knight cradling a wounded princess. “Of course. I’ve got you.”

You let your head fall dramatically against his shoulder, hiding your grin. “My hero.”

He smiled. A real one this time. “You can move bookshelves, sure. But I’m still the toe-stubbing emergency response team.”

You kissed his cheek. “See? Still irreplaceable.”

A pause.

“…You faked that, didn’t you.”

“No comment.”

Viltrumite!Mark

“…Sweetheart?”

You froze.

“Are you… are you moving that? Alone?”

You turned to see Mark standing in the doorway, uniform still on, brow furrowed in a mix of horror and disbelief, like he’d just caught a toddler wielding a chainsaw.

You opened your mouth to explain—but something in his expression gave you pause.

So instead, you took a slow, shaky breath… and rested the back of your hand against your forehead.

“Ohh…” you sighed. “You’re right. That was… so reckless of me.”

He was at your side in a blink.

“[Y/N],” he murmured, already cradling your face in his hands, inspecting you like you might crumble. “You should’ve waited for me. What if you got hurt? That shelf is solid wood.”

“I just… I didn’t want to bother you,” you said softly, leaning into the moment. “But I feel so faint now…”

He gently brushed your hair from your face, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You shouldn’t be lifting a finger. Not when I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

You almost felt bad.

…Almost.

Mark pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go sit down. I’ll finish this.”

You gave him your best helpless nod, then flopped dramatically onto the couch as he lifted the bookshelf with one hand and carried it across the room like it was empty.

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want it?”

You sat up, pointing. “Against that wall, just—yeah, right there. No, wait—actually a little to the left.”

He adjusted.

“Hmm. No, sorry, more to the right.”

Another adjustment.

“Okay, now turn it a bit. Clockwise. No, my clockwise. Yeah, okay—wait, back a bit.”

He tilted his head. “Back? Or back back?”

You squinted. “Like… scooch it. A half scooch.”

He sighed (very soft, very loving), and scooched.

You stared.

“…Okay, I think it’s—wait. Nope. Now it’s too far.”

Mark blinked. “Sweetheart...”

You gave a long-suffering sigh and dropped your head into your hands. “This is why I just wanted to do it myself.”

He chuckled—low and warm—then gently tapped your knee. “And miss out on being treated like royalty? Why deprive yourself of such a treat?”

You smiled softly "Very good point..." Then you paused, glanced at the shelf and looked up at him again. “If I’m royalty, does that mean I can tell you to move it back to where it was?”

His face went stony for a moment, but then was already turning. “Only for you...”

You smiled. “I love you so much.”

Mark was ready to move planets that point.

Sinister!Mark

You were halfway through dragging the bookshelf across the floor when your body stilled.

The hair on the back of your neck rose. The air shifted. Then you heard his voice. Smooth. Amused.

“…Interesting choice of project.”

Your blood froze. No. There's no way he's already back, is he?

You turned your head slowly, painfully, like a horror movie character about to meet their doom.

There he was. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly red, with the kind of cold smirk that said “so this is how you betray me.”

Without even thinking – no hesitation, zero shame – you let out a gasp, dramatically tripping over the edge of the towel you’d been using to slide the shelf on and falling down in what felt like slow motion.

The entire bookshelf tipped sideways with you, crashing to the floor with a thunderous BOOM.

Books everywhere. You sprawled in the wreckage like a tragic Victorian heroine struck down by an airborne piano.

“OHHH NOOOO!” you wailed, arm flung across your face. “Why did I think I could do this alone?! I was so foolish! I was so fragile!”

Mark was in front of you before the dust even settled, crouched low, eyes narrowed as he looked over the scene. Not at the bookshelf. Not at the mess.

At you.

You peeked between your fingers. “Is it bad? Am I concussed? Paralyzed?”

He tilted his head. “You’re not hurt.”

“I’m emotionally hurt.”

“You don’t have a scratch on you.”

You whimpered. “But what if I had? I—I thought I was strong enough, but I’m just a weak little thing, aren’t I?”

He leaned in close, his tone syrupy and sharp. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

You gave a broken little sigh. “You were right. You were so right. It was arrogant of me to think I could do things on my own.”

Mark finally smirked something deep and you felt a wave of relief rush through you. “Well. At least you’ve learned something today.”

He gently lifted you into his arms, stepping over fallen books like they were debris after an explosion. “You won’t be lifting so much as a fork without my help from now on.”

You clung to him like a damsel in distress. “Oh nooo, what a shame.”

He paused at the doorway and looked down at you.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” he asked, voice suddenly low and flat. “Because you know I’ll find out.”

You blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Mark. My bookshelf fell on me. I’m lucky to be alive.”

His eyes searched your face for a long, unnerving moment… then he smirked again. Kissed your forehead.

“Good girl.”

You sighed dramatically, burying your face in his chest as he floated you off to the couch.

Another day, another tragedy avoided. Except for your bookshelf, you supposed...

No Goggles/Lensless!Mark

You were really just starting to make progress on the move when you heard it.

Click.

Thud.

“Hey,” Mark said casually, suddenly perched on top the bookshelf and looking down at you with a lazy grin. “Didn't realize you were this strong, babe. You ever think about joining the Viltrumite army?”

“Wha—Mark!” you gasped, heart racing just a bit. “W-What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just watching you work, babe! Gotta say—I’m impressed. Keep going. Show me whatcha got.”

You flushed a bit. “…But you’re sitting on it.”

Mark gave you a dramatic blink. “Yeah, and? I mean look at you! You’re so strooong, move it with me on it.”

“Mark...”

“C’mon!” He kicked his feet a little. “Let’s see that strength. I’ll just stay here and supervise.”

“…Can you get off please?”

“Nope. You’ve got this. I believe in you.”

You furrowed your brows, pouting for a bit. “Alright. Fine.” You braced yourself and tried to nudge the bookshelf forward, only for it to not move an inch under the added weight of your lovely, idiotic boyfriend.

He grinned even wider. “Aww, is the strong woman struggling?”

You scowled, leaning back off the piece of furniture. “I can’t do it with you on it. Get off.”

“Nah, I’m comfy.” He shrugged. “But if you really need help, I guess I could show you how it’s done.”

Before you could say anything, he jumped down and scooped you up in one smooth motion, plopping you onhis shoulder like you were a prize.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” he says with a sigh. “I got this.” He reached over with one hand and picked the bookshelf up like it was a cardboard box.

“Wait, but—I didn’t even tell you where to put it!”

He grinned as he moved it toward the far corner of the room. “Right here’s perfect.”

“Noo, I wanted it on that wall.”

“Ehh, I’m feeling this spot more. Looks better, don’t you think?”

“Mark, I’m serious, that’s not—”

“You’ll love it,” he said with a laugh, already walking away from it and towards the sofa. “Trust me. I’ve got an eye for these things.”

You thought about arguing but stopped yourself short, realizing there was no point. He wasn’t even listening.

Mark kicked the couch aside with a careless boot and dropped down into the cushions like a king on his throne, moving you smoothly to straddle his waist. His grin was wide and feral, hair a little messy, pupils blown.

He looked very pleased with himself.

“Yup,” he said, hands sliding to your hips, smug as hell. “Pretty strong, babe. Got, like... crazy stats.”

You couldn’t help but look a bit amused. “….Stats?”

“Oh, you know,” he said casually, voice dropping as his eyes dragged slowly over your body. “Strength. Speed. Stamina. Core control.”

You bit back a smile.

“Wanna see what else I can do?” he grinned, and didn’t wait to hear your answer. You suddenly became very aware of the repeated tapping between your thighs.

He was making his dick jump.

You choked.

“Mark!”

Omni!Mark

You were halfway through dragging the bookshelf across the living room when his voice cut through the space like a blade.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.”

You froze, hands still on the edge of the shelf. “Jesus—Mark?”

He stepped into view from the hallway, calm and unreadable, but his gaze was locked on your hands. On the effort. On your shoulders straining beneath your t-shirt.

“I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” you said, breath catching just slightly.

He said nothing to that. Just looked down at the shelf. Then back at you.

“I’m fine,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light. “Promise this might come as a surprise, but humans move furniture all the time. There’s a whole job field for it, actually. Movers. Crazy, right?”

The corner of his mouth twitched downward. Clearly not amused.

“I know you’re capable,” he said, stepping closer. His voice dropped a little. “Of more than you’ll ever give yourself credit for.” You blinked. “But this?” His gaze flicked to the shelf again. “You shouldn’t have to do this. Not with your hands.”

“My hands are fine.”

He reached out and gently took your palm in his — and suddenly, the shelf didn’t exist anymore. The room didn’t exist. Just his fingers wrapping around yours, warm and impossibly careful.

“These hands,” he said, brushing his thumb along your knuckles, “shouldn’t be calloused from dragging wood and steel. They should stay soft.”

You opened your mouth — probably to argue, maybe to scoff — but no words came out. Just heat. Everywhere.

“I don’t protect you because I think you’re weak,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I protect you because I can. Because you’re the only softness in a world that doesn’t deserve it.”

And just like that, you were putty. Your entire body went slack under his gaze, your throat thick, breath gone. Your fingers curled a little tighter into his without even meaning to.

“…You’re not playing fair,” you whispered.

His other hand lifted to your face, thumb brushing just under your cheekbone.

“I never said I was fair,” he said quietly. “Only that you’re mine.”

You nodded, helplessly. Of course. Obviously.

And when he leaned down to kiss you — slow, reverent, like you were something holy — you realized the bookshelf could stay exactly where it was.

Forever, even.

Didn’t matter anymore.

Shiesty!Mark

The bookshelf barely budged as you leaned your weight into it with a frustrated grunt. You were so close to getting it where you wanted it.

“You tryna remodel or build muscle, bae?”

You froze at the very familiar but very unexpected voice.

Mark stood in the doorway, one brow raised, smirking like he’d walked in on you cheating with another man — who just so happened to be made of plywood and frustration.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you said, trying not to sound as guilty as you felt.

“Clearly,” he said, strolling in like he owned the floor (and the ceiling, and probably you). “You out here grinding furniture across the floor like a damn forklift. Did I miss the call for backup?”

You sighed. “It’s not that heavy. I’ve almost got it.”

Mark leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like a man enjoying premium entertainment. “Oh no, go on. Don’t let me stop you. I love a strong woman. Grrr,” he teased, flexing his bicep in mock solidarity.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf. “It’s just gotta slide like three more inches—”

“Oh you tryna get precise with it,” he cut in. “Okay, okay, I see you. Interior design. Feng shui. Heavy lifting. Very sexy of you.”

“I swear to God, Mark—” Before you could finish, he was already behind you.

“I got it,” he said, voice suddenly softer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t hurt yourself, pretty.”

You stepped aside reluctantly as he crouched, rolled his shoulders back, and—because of course he did—lifted the bookshelf with one hand.

You blinked. “Did you... just curl it?”

He grinned, looking at you over his shoulder. “You like that? That was rep one. Want me to rack up a few sets? Maybe do a little shoulder press while you admire the view?”

“Mark.”

“Say it again like that and I’ll drop this bookshelf just to carry you to the bedroom instead.”

You would’ve choked if you’d been drinking something.

He moved the shelf exactly where you’d wanted it, then turned and leaned in close, mouth brushing yours. “See? I do listen. Sometimes.”

You melted. A little. Maybe a lot.

“So,” he said casually, already lifting you like a backpack, “wanna rearrange anything else while I’m warmed up? Your guts, maybe?”

“Mark!”

“Babe, I’m just tryna be helpful.”

Mohawk!Mark

You braced both feet against the floor, gave the bookshelf one last stubborn shove, and managed to move it a grand total of two inches.

You stepped back, breathing heavy, hands on your hips.

“Gotta ask,” came a gravel-rough voice behind you, “you movin’ that thing for fun or outta spite?”

You jumped. “Jesus—Mark! Warn a girl!”

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, suit already halfway unzipped and his hair looking a little messier than usual.

“You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” you muttered, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Clearly,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and strolling in with that easy, heavy gait. “Figured I’d come home and find you curled up on the couch. Not out here goin’ to war with a damn bookcase.”

“I wasn’t—I am perfectly capable, thank you.”

“Sure you are,” he said, like he was humoring a toddler insisting they could drive.

“I am!”

He stopped in front of you, looking down at your flushed face and dirt-smudged palms. His gaze dropped to your hands, then back up to your eyes.

“Babe,” he said, voice lower now, quieter. “You don’t gotta play tug-of-war with your furniture every time I’m not in the room. You miss me? Call me. I’ll fly in, carry you and the couch if you need.”

You opened your mouth as if intending to explain your reasoning, but he was already moving. Already crouching. Already sliding one hand beneath the bookshelf like it weighed nothing.

With a casual exhale, he lifted it off the ground and nodded toward the other wall.

“Point where you want it.”

You furled in your lower lip, trying to ignore how hot this was. “...There,” you mumbled.

He walked it over. No strain. No effort. Just raw, grounded strength like it was part of his muscle memory now.

He set it down exactly where you needed it before turning to you again, rubbing sorely at the back of his neck.

“You good now?” he asked. “You wrestled the inanimate object. I showed up to finish the job. Domestic bliss achieved?”

You smiled, trying not to laugh. “I’m good. Thanks.”

He gave you that familiar crooked smile. “Next time just call,” he muttered. “You think I won’t drop a whole planetary threat just to come move furniture? Priorities.”

You snorted. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He stepped a little closer, lifting your chin with two fingers. “You’re never a bother,” he said, voice just slightly softer now. “Maybe a bad decision, sometimes. But never a bother.”

You were biting hard into your bottom lip at this point, really trying to hold back your smile.

“…Bet you want me to carry you around now, too?” he asked, already bending to hook an arm under your thighs.

All you could do was squeal and giggle as he hoisted you up bridal-style, with a dramatic grunt that was absolutely just for show.

“There we go,” he muttered, planting a kiss on your temple. “Soft hands, remember? You keep ‘em pretty. I’ll do the heavy lifting. And the thinking. And the rescuing. You? You just sit there and look smug.”

You melted into his chest with a sigh. “Well, I was doing just fine before you showed up.”

He snorted as he lowered onto the couch, pulling you into his lap. “Yeah, you moved it a whole two inches. Might as well call NASA.”

You leaned back slightly, lips twitching. “I did move it though.”

He gave you a slow, unimpressed blink.

Then muttered, “You want a trophy or a chiropractic bill?”

You laughed—loud and warm—and when he leaned in to kiss you again, you didn’t even mind the dirt smudge still on your hands.

[gatorbites-imagines]

could you do something were one of the mark variants likes ftm reader who has a 1 sided crush on his mark (if that makes sense lol)

bottom/sub reader pls😔

Shiesty Mark x ftm reader 

Drabble 

I just... really like this Mark. The mask does something to me. I also learned that shiesty Mark was inspired by Cole Cash from DC, which is really cool. 

Bit of a mixed bag when referring to readers bits, and hinting at front hole penetration at the end.  

It's been so long since ive written smth like this, so bear with me. 

You hated this fucking city, and country, and probably world. Just because you had powers, because your mom just happened to be some hero, who fucked some government guy, you were expected to keep her legacy. 

Your dad wasn't much of a dad, even less so when your mom kicked the bucket when you were little. Your powers weren't even that impressive, you could make force fields and different shapes with your will, but it was nothing compared to the powerhouses of this world. (imagine like an off-brand green lantern, but without the ring) 

Dear old dad had you trained from the very moment you could walk, and it was clear from a young age that you were not his son, or rather daughter at the time, but an asset. But what else could be expected from the guy that turned your mom's corpse into a reanimen. 

Life was a chore, a drag, you didnt get a social life, it was all about training and becoming a better asset for the GDA, for your so called dad. There were days you wanted to use your powers to just... kill him, to kill everyone.  

Or yourself. Those days were growing more and more common. It made you wonder if your will was so strong you could surpass the human want to survive, and just... take yourself out. 

At least your top surgery and testosterone were given to you for free, like some kind of reward, like the GDA were dangling a carrot, after you had sacrificed so much of yourself with as little as a thank you being given in return. 

It all became a little less shit when Invincible appeared. In the beginning you liked him only because your dad feared him so much, after seeing what omni-man did to the guardians and world.  

Invincible, or Mark, didn't help these blooming feelings. He was just so kind, so willing to help and so determined. He hadn't been crushed under the weight of the universe, of his father's legacy, like many others would have. Like you had. 

You two had worked together on multiple occasions, since you didn't have much of a choice about joining the new guardians.  

Being raised by the government to live as a tool meant your ability to communicate and build relationships was very lacking, so you two never became more than acquaintances, but Invincible still made your heart flutter and your body heat up. 

Maybe that was why it was hard to fight these alternate variants of him. It wasnt like your forcefields and will created tools were much help, as they shattered under the punches and kicks of the Mark variants.  

The Mark variant you had ended up with was an extra rude one, he cursed and spat and growled like some kind of animal. He fought manically, clawing and bloody from all the lives he had taken. Maybe dying wasn't too bad, if you got to die by Invincibles hand. 

That was why you had ripped out the earpiece you always wore, even using your will to shape a little sharp contraption to dig out the one that had been placed under your ear with surgery, a long time ago. 

It could explain why you allowed this veiled Mark passed the multiple layers of glowing green walls, when you let him clasp a bloody hand around your throat, and why you only groaned a little as he slammed you down, the very pavement shattering into rubble. 

“Im getting tired of your fucking lightshow” he snarled, his voice so similar to Marks put different in its roughness. There was a familiar heat pooling in your gut, your thighs clenching together as this Mark variant choked the very life out of you. 

You weren't reaching up to hit him as he choked you, instead gripping onto the veil he wore. Part of you wanted to look him in the eyes as he killed you, so you could at least see the face of the one person who made you feel alive, even if those feelings were never returned. 

Black spots were swimming across your vision, your grip weakening and focus wavering, enough for your green domino mask to disappear in a flicker of green.  

There must have been something in your eyes, as this Mark variant furrowed his brows, his hand loosening just enough for you to gasp in a few breaths of air, ripping the sweet release of death out of your hands once more. 

“Shit, you are into this, aren't you? You disgusting freak” he snarled, a cruel animalistic smirk growing on his lips, Marks eyes widening like a tiger spotting a wounded rabbit. His pupils were blown, but if it was adrenaline or lust, you couldnt be sure.  

One thing was sure, that expression on his face, was never one you would see on your Mark. He would never look so wild, so feral and violent. It made your cock throb and front hole grow wetter than you had ever been before, the inside of your suit growing uncomfortable. 

The Mark variant gave a snarl, grabbing you like a ragdoll and blasting off in some random direction, his veil falling back in place as he did so. 

You weren't sure where you guys ended up, but it was somewhere not destroyed by the invasion. The near-death choking had left you with an aching headache and blurry head, so you ended up just flopping down on the ground Mark threw you on. 

“I love nasty freaks like you. Always aching for dick as much as you ache for pain.” the Mark variant purred, settling between your thighs, his hands strong and tight as they gripped onto them, spreading them apart far enough for it to burn. 

“Fuck, i could break both of these, and i bet you would just beg for more” he groaned out, voice somehow more growly and hotter than before, as he squeezed your thighs, right above your femur. 

“Come on, give me that dick” he chuckled, bending forwards just enough for his veil to move, enough for you to see his hungry shark-like grin, and the way his tongue licked against his teeth. 

There hadn't been much thought in your head about your body this whole time. You had never been very active in that regard, what joy was there in jerking off and exploring when you were always under watch.  

So, you hadn't thought of this Mark variant's reaction when you willed away your suit, just enough for your crotch to be freed, your t-cock hard and filled with blood as your slit oozed. 

Mark stopped for a second, his brow furrowing so visibly you could even see it through his veil, and for a moment you felt something akin to dread. Damn, did you fuck it up? Maybe he was disgusted by it, it was a fear you had of your Mark, that he would think you were a liar, or something. 

That was, until the Mark Variant laughed, his tone like somebody who just won the damn lottery. “Shit, fuck yeah! Spread those fucking legs, open up for me” he cackled, hands pushing at the back of your thighs, almost folding you in half. 

You weren't given much time to reach before he leaned down, his veil almost innocently covering your pubic mound, before his lips closed around your engorged t-cock. 

Your legs kicked at the sudden feeling, a noise leaving you like he had just punched you in the gut. There was no damn finesse in this Marks movements, as his arms kept your folded in half, as he feasted on your slit like a starved animal. 

It was so loud and wet, his tongue and lips pulling you open, sucking, biting and flicking anything he could reach. Mark groaned as if your slit was a five-star meal, his tongue wiggling inside your slit as he released your legs with one of his arms, only so he could pinch and jerk your t-cock in cock cruel movements. 

There was no control over the noises you let out, your hands gripping at his hair, his arms, shoulders, anything, the blank yellow goggles of his veil staring back at you as Mark slurped up all the juices you had gushed out. 

“Ffffuck, I could suck this cunt for days” he gurgled out, even his voice sounded wet from feasting upon you like this. Marks tongue returned to your t-cock, his fingers plunging inside you and fucking back and forth with a speed that had you wailing. 

Not being able to see what was happening only made your legs shake more, your spine arching upwards as he wrenched an orgasm out of you.  

“There we go, god damn, fuck. I wanna see you fucking squirt” Mark panted, his mouth descending back on you as his fingers twisted and worked even faster. He sounded near drunk, almost as much as you as your entire body tensed and jolted from overstimulation. 

But you had nothing against viltrumite strength, and hunger, it seemed. “Come on, come on, on my face, give it” the Mark variant growled, and for a moment, you could imagine it was your Mark, slurping and licking at you like a hound lapping up a puddle.  

The noise you let out must have been loud, as your throat ached from what you could only assume was a scream, or perhaps a screech of some kind. Your entire body felt like jello, as you shivered and shook through what must have been the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced. 

It was difficult to open your eyes, even as Mark dumped your legs back down, letting them splay open to give him a perfect view of your sore reddened cock and slit. 

When you finally succeeded, you almost shut them again. Marks blue veil was soaked, giving it a darker hue. It was so wet that it stuck to his face, draped over the bridge of his nose so you could see his pink wet lips, and his wet tongue as he licked at his chin, trying to lap up the last of your fluids. 

“Shit, might just have to keep you if you keep doing that” the Mark variant chuckled, voice rough as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  

“I'll have to be sure though, might have to make you do it again” Mark borderline giggled, as he ripped the front of his suit, letting his own very large, aching problem, slap against your abdomen.  

“You gonna show me freak? Huh?” the tone was so degrading, but hungry. “Let's see if it's just my mouth you can't resist, or if this works too” Mark groaned, slapping his length against your t-cock, before shuffling down to press it against your hole. 

Maybe it wasn't all bad... and they couldn't say you hadn't distracted one of the invincible variants, so technically you had done more than others at the end of the day. 

[slutoru1207]

Variant!Invincible x Variant!Reader funny imagine

haha i had fun writing this

The battlefield was pure chaos. The Invincible War had brought together versions of Mark from across the multiverse, and now? Now there were also multiple versions of you.

And it was absolute insanity.

One Mark—dressed in a sleek black and red suit—landed beside the original Mark, wiping blood off his face. "Okay, not gonna lie, I was not expecting this many versions of your girlfriend."

"Tell me about it," Mark groaned, dodging a stray blast. "They’ve been all over me for weeks!"

"Sounds like a dream."

"It’s not!"

Meanwhile, across the battlefield, your variants had found their Marks.

"Hey there, handsome," one of you cooed, sidling up to a Mark with a scar over his eye and a much darker aura. "You look dangerous. I like that."

Scarred Mark raised a brow. "And you don’t look scared of me."

You smirked. "Why would I be? I’ve got a thing for bad boys."

Somewhere else, a more unhinged Mark—eyes burning with bloodlust—was being held back by two versions of you, both giggling. "Aww, you’re cute when you’re trying to kill people."

"Let. Me. Go," he snarled.

One of you poked his cheek. "Nah, you’re kinda fun to mess with."

Back with the original Mark, he turned just in time to see three versions of you hanging off different versions of himself. One had her arms draped around a Mark with a robotic arm, whispering in his ear. Another was poking at a Mark with white streaks in his hair, teasing him about how cool he looked.

And the worst? One of you had cozied up to a Mark in a full Viltrumite uniform—the kind that screamed evil overlord.

"So," she purred, tracing a finger down his chest. "Conquering planets, huh? That’s hot."

The Viltrumite Mark smirked. "You’re intriguing."

Original Mark nearly had a stroke. "ARE YOU FLIRTING WITH A VILTRUMITE?!"

Your variant shrugged. "I mean, yeah. Have you seen him?"

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t deal with this. I can’t."

Meanwhile, the Guardians of the Globe watched the multiversal madness unfold, completely dumbfounded.

"Dude," Rex whispered, eyes wide. "I don’t know whether to be jealous or terrified."

Dupli-Kate sighed. "Both. Be both."

As the battle raged on, it became very clear that the variants—both of Mark and you—were a force to be reckoned with. Some worked together perfectly, back-to-back in combat, protecting each other without hesitation. Others? Well…

"Babe, heads up!" One of you flung a chunk of debris toward a Mark locked in combat.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t her Mark.

"THAT'S NOT MY MARK!" the original you shrieked as the wrong Mark got flattened.

"Oops."

Mark groaned. "I hate this war."

Suddenly, a new portal ripped open in the sky, and out came even more Marks and Readers, their outfits and battle stances making it very clear they had been fighting in their own universes. One Reader stepped forward, looking around with a smirk. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

One Mark, wearing an old, tattered cape, scoffed. "Oh great. More of you."

Another Mark, who looked far too comfortable covered in way too much blood, tilted his head at one of your variants. "I know you."

She grinned. "Yeah, you killed my Mark. Wanna make it up to me?"

Even Original Mark had to do a double take. "WHAT?!"

The battlefield somehow became even worse. One of your variants challenged a Viltrumite Mark to a sparring match, another was actively helping a villain Mark take down a Guardian, and one had somehow convinced a half-robotic Mark to carry her bridal style mid-battle.

"She actually pulled it off," one of your other selves whistled, watching in awe. "Respect."

At this point, even the universe itself seemed exhausted by the sheer amount of chaos. But through it all, one thing remained the same.

It was chaos. It was madness. And, somehow, it was the most entertaining thing that had ever happened in the multiverse.

Because, at the end of the day, no matter what universe they came from—

Marks were Marks.

And Readers? Readers would always drive them insane.

[gksweetdreams]

Caught in a Web

Sinister Mark x Reader

Here’s part 2 I felt really inspired and kind of fell in love when writing and creating it so I hope you enjoy it and I hope you like the way this story is moving along :)

The world was chaos. Different variants of Mark Grayson were tearing each other apart, destroying the cities and killing innocents. Some of the Marks were heroes, some villains—others barely more than mindless beasts. But Sinister Mark? He stood still; eyes still locked onto her.

Y/N had fought many threats before like gangs and alien invaders—but something about him unsettled her. He wasn’t like the other Marks, blinded by rage or loyalty to the Viltrumite empire. No, there was something else behind those eyes.

A memory.

And love...

She fired a web to the side of a crumbling skyscraper and swung away, her senses screaming to put distance between them. She didn’t trust that look he was giving her—the kind that made her spidey senses go off and give her a headache.

The kind of look where it felt like she belonged to someone she had never even met.

But Sinister Mark wasn’t about to let her go so easily.

In an instant, he was right beside her in the air, flying. His cape blowing behind him, and despite the destruction around them, he looked almost… calm… too calm

“Running already?” His voice was smooth, teasing. “You’ve fought aliens before, haven’t you? You don’t strike me as the type to back down.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, and he continued

“My Y/N always faced issues head on… maybe that’s why she died” 

Y/N twisted mid-air, firing another web toward him. But this time, she reinforced it with electricity, her version of a venom blast.

Sinister Mark caught it—again—but this time, the energy crackled up his arm, his jaw clenching from the pain. Yet instead of anger, a smirk played on his lips.

“There she is.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. Why did it sound like he knew her? She hated it…

“Alright, buddy, listen,” she said, flipping onto a nearby rooftop annoyed. “I don’t know what kind of tragic backstory you’ve got, but I am not her.”

Sinister Mark landed with a soft thud; arms crossed over his chest. “I know.”

That caught her off guard. Not expecting him to just agree.

“I know you’re not my Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “She’s gone. I lost her. And before you ask—no, I wasn’t the one who killed her.” His fists clenched slightly. “But I should have stopped it.”

Y/N’s spider-sense tingled—not from danger, but from something else. He wasn’t lying. His pain was real.

For a brief second, her mind flickered to her own Mark—her version of Invincible, the one she fought beside. Would she be standing here, looking at him in another life, if things had gone differently?

She shook the thought away.

“Look, I get it,” she said, keeping her distance. “Loss changes people. But don’t mistake me for a second chance.”

Sinister Mark exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh. “Who said I was?”

Another scream could be heard leaving no time for Y/N to respond. One of the more savage Marks—scarred and monstrous—ripped through the battlefield below, his bloodstained eyes locked onto hers from the distance.

Sinister Mark’s expression darkened.

“Get behind me,” he ordered.

Y/N scoffed. “Yeah, no. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” His gaze flicked to her web-shooters, the subtle twitch of her fingers, the way her body tensed. She was already calculating a hundred ways to take down the incoming threat. And he found himself... fascinated. It was strange to him how this Y/N and his Y/N were so similar but yet so different.

Then the monstrous Mark variant lunged.

Y/N moved first, flipping into the air, dodging a powerful punch that shattered the rooftop. She fired a web at his face, pulling herself toward him to deliver a venom-charged punch—only for him to catch her mid-air.

Her breath hitched as she felt his grip tighten.

Before she could react, a blur tore through the sky.

Sinister Mark hit him like a meteor.

The monstrous variant barely had time to register what happened before Sinister Mark grabbed his head and slammed him through the rooftop, sending them both crashing into the streets below.

Dust and debris filled the air.

Y/N landed gracefully on the edge of the destruction swiping her hand left to right to move the smoke they both caused, heart pounding.

Sinister Mark stood over the now-dead variant; his fist still embedded in the pavement. Blood dripped from his knuckles—none of it his own.

He flew back to her, the expression unreadable.

Y/N crossed her arms. “I had that.” Trying not to act like that didn’t just give her the scare of a life time.

Sinister Mark wiped the blood from his knuckles. “I know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then why step in?”

His lips quirked up into a smirk. “Because I wanted to.”

A beat of silence passed between them, heavy with something neither wanted to name.

Then he took a step toward her.

Y/N tensed but didn’t move.

“I won’t pretend you’re her,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you are... something. And I don’t ignore things that make me feel alive.”

She swallowed.

“Careful,” she murmured. “You might start sounding like a hero.”

Sinister Mark chuckled. “Unlikely.”

Above them, the sky continued to crackle with energy. The war between variants wasn’t over yet.

But for the first time since arriving in this reality, Sinister Mark wasn’t just looking for a fight.

He had found something far more dangerous. Something that made his heartbeat again…

Something he wasn’t sure he could walk away from…

And Y/N didn’t know what to think.

Thank you for all the love and support!! It truly amazed me, and I am really happy everyone liked part 1. Sorry once again for the grammar and I hope everyone enjoys this story as much as I like writing it :)

← Previous Part | Next Part →

[maria021015]

Penpals - Part 1

Fred Weasley x FemHufflepuffReader

What happens when Fred’s new owl accidentally sends a letter meant for George to the wrong person? The mysterious recipient might just write him back. And it might end up being the best mistake Fred has ever made.

Part 2 out now.

———————————————————————

To: George (Or so he thought…)

Sent via Owl Post

Oi, George—

I’ve just had a brilliant idea for a new product and couldn’t wait until Madam Pomfrey decides I’m okay to tell you. Picture this: a quill that looks completely ordinary… until someone starts using it, and then - BAM! - it starts dramatically narrating everything they’re doing like an overly enthusiastic announcer at a Quidditch match.

Imagine McGonagall trying to give a lecture with her quill going, “Professor McGonagall is now frowning disapprovingly at a third year who clearly has no idea what she’s doing…oh, and there goes the eyebrow twitch!”

Anyway, we’ll call it Quill of Commentary. Think about it. We can tweak it to be snarky, romantic, heroic - the whole range. I’ll start prototyping this week. You handle the charmwork, I’ll wrangle the packaging.

Also, I may or may not have replaced Ron’s well with disappearing ink again. His reaction was magnificent. You’d think he’d check by now. Honestly, it’s too easy.

Write back when you can - though if you’ve already started testing that Puking Pastille variant again, do us all a favour and test it on yourself first.

Your better half (obviously),

Fred

———————————————————————

To: Fred Weasley.

Sent via Owl Post

Good evening Fred,

I’m assuming the intended recipient of this letter was your (admittedly far more endearing) other half, George.

Unfortunately for both of us, your letter has been sent to the wrong dormitory by your rather confused owl. Though I must say, your Quill of Commentary sounds like an intriguing invention. I must order one (once they’ve been thoroughly tested, of course).

As for poor Ronald, do take some pity on him. After all, I’ve heard he struggles to complete his work without the ink disappearing.

Kind regards,

Your anonymous letter recipient.

———————————————————————

To: The Mystery Mischief-Magnet Who Is Not George

Sent via Very Confused Owl

Well, now this is unexpected.

I must admit, I didn’t anticipate a response from someone with clearly impeccable taste in joke products. And yet, here you are, anonymous and delightfully cheeky. You’ve got me curious now. Not just because you called George the “far more endearing” twin (he’ll be insufferable if he hears that), but because you clearly have a sense of humour…and, dare I say, excellent timing. It does get rather boring being cooped up in the hospital wing.

You read the whole letter, didn’t you? Even the bit about Ron. That’s how I know you’re not a prefect - unless you’re the kind who enjoys a little chaos on the side. In which case, I’m intrigued.

Now, the question is: who are you?

Clearly a student. Intelligent, perhaps? Observant, certainly. Ravenclaw or the better half of Slytherin? Possibly Hufflepuff with a secret streak of mischief. And brave enough to write me back instead of chucking the letter in the bin. Could you be from my own house?

How about a trade? You give me a clue about yourself, and I’ll give you one in return.

Here’s mine: when I was five, I tried to charm Mum’s cooking pots into forming a marching band. It ended in singed eyebrows and a very cross chicken, but I regret nothing.

Your move, Mystery Girl.

Awaiting your next owl with great anticipation,

Fred (the clearly superior twin)

———————————————————————

To: The person who thinks he is the superior twin

Sent via slowly learning owl

‘Unexpected’ is the perfect word for the situation, for I also was not expecting a letter back.

I did indeed read your entire letter, and while I do not participate in (or wholeheartedly agree with) the rule breaking chaos you and your brother often partake in, I must admit it is entertaining for the rest of the student body.

As for your numerous questions - and assumptions - about me…

Well I’m not so keen to give myself up too easily. But I’ll play your little game as I am intrigued to hear more.

A cooking pot marching band sounds dreadful to the ears yet delightful to the soul.

I’m not going to make this easy for you, so you’ll have to pay close attention, but I’ve left a hint pertaining to my house somewhere in this letter. I wonder if you can find it? I await your response with eagerness.

From, your mysterious penpal.

———————————————————————

To: My Mysterious Penpal (who is either very clever, very bold, or both)

Delivered via Owl with a tendency to nip if ignored

I must say, you’ve got a flair for suspense. Subtle clues, a riddle in your words, and now. hidden symbols in the wax seal? You certainly don’t make it easy, but I suppose that’s part of the fun. Most people wouldn’t notice a badger tucked away like that…but most people aren’t me.

So. Hufflepuff, are you?

That narrows it down to roughly…a few dozen people. Brilliant.

You don’t strike me as the type who trips over their shoelaces in Herbology or forgets their wand in the loo. No, you’re one of the sharper ones, the type who sits quietly in the background but has already figured out exactly how many steps it’ll take to sneak out of the castle undetected. I like that. Calculated chaos. My favourite kind.

I’ll take your challenge and raise you: tell me the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done at Hogwarts. No need to incriminate yourself. Just a taste. I’ll even offer one in return:

Once, George and I bewitched every single toilet in the prefect’s bathroom to sing Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits anytime someone sat down. McGonagall gave us detention for a month, but we got a standing ovation from the Gryffindor common room.

Your turn. And do feel free to make it as vague and infuriatingly cryptic as you like - I’m starting to enjoy the puzzle.

Yours in mischief and mystery,

Fred

———————————————————————

To: A not-so-mysterious man

Sent via Owl who is very polite thank you very much

I’m glad you were perceptive enough to pick up on my hint - Hufflepuff indeed. I fear your expectations of my house mates delve into stereotype. I promise we are not all blundering and forgetful. We are actually splendid at finding things.

Though your assessment about calculated chaos is correct. I, like most people, do enjoy a tad bit of mischief every now and then. Although more often than not I enjoy observing rather than partaking.

The most rebellious act I’ve committed at Hogwarts pales in comparison to your various achievements (which are heard about even deep down in the hufflepuff common room).

I’m afraid the story is not that exciting, but I did once hex that Slytherin git Draco Malfoy for running his mouth about what muggleborns he wanted to be attacked next. Not so brave of me to attack a second year who was two years my junior, but he did deserve it.

Perhaps you could convince me to be a bit more daring?

I believe you’ve asked two questions in a row, making my turn overdue. It’s all well and good to tell me of your various pranking feats, for which you are known for throughout the Hogwarts student body. But the real truth of who you are lies beneath all that. I’d like to dig deeper. Who is Fred Weasley, really? The boy behind the prank master. Tell me, what is something the rest of us don’t know about you?

Sincerely, your mystery hufflepuff.

———————————————————————

To: The Surprisingly Fiery Badger in Disguise

Delivered via owl who seems to like you more than me now (traitor)

Well, well, hexing Draco Malfoy, were you?

I take back what I said about you being the quiet type. That’s the kind of rebellion that earns you a secret round of applause in the corridors, even if the professors pretend not to notice. Trust me, I know the sound of a muffled cheer when I hear one. For the record, I’d call that brave, not cruel. Sometimes people need a reminder they’re not as untouchable as they think.

Now, as for convincing you to be more daring…challenge accepted. I’d wager there’s a whole world of untapped chaos lurking in you, waiting to be unleashed. And when it is, I’d like to be there to see it. Or possibly help. Definitely help.

You’ve turned the tables on me though, and fair’s fair.

Who am I behind the gags and firecrackers?

Well. Most people see the jokes and assume that’s all there is. Loud, laughing, a bit reckless. But the truth is: pranks are just another kind of magic. They’re distractions. Shields. Ways to twist something heavy into something light. And when things get too dark - too real - I’d rather make someone laugh than let them feel the weight of it all.

There’s something else not many people know: I actually like working late at night, when the castle’s asleep. That quiet, that calm, it’s when ideas come alive. The fireworks, the products, the laughter…they’re all born in the silence.

So there you have it. A little honesty from the Weasley with the wildest hair and the biggest plans.

Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.

Now, I’ll trade you for another clue. You’ve got sharp wit and a hidden temper, but tell me: if you weren’t at Hogwarts, what would you be doing? No magic, no wands. Just you, out in the world.

Curious as ever,

Fred

———————————————————————

To: The boy behind the wild hair and nature

Sent via my new best friend

As far as vulnerability goes you certainly exceeded my expectations. Perhaps you aren’t as difficult of a book to read as I originally thought.

I’d always imagined your love and flair for the dramatic and fantastical was a way to seek attention and stand out among a family where I assume it would be easy to disappear, given there are so many of you. But your real reason is rather…endearing. In truth I find it quite admirable. We all need a little bit of light in the darkness, now more than ever with the recent attacks at the Quidditch World Cup. I’m happy that you are there to bring that light back into everyone’s lives at Hogwarts.

I enjoy working late at night in the dark and quiet as well. It is easier to think when the world is asleep. It brings a certain kind of peace that is hard to find at Hogwarts among the hustle and bustle. And do not worry, your secrets are safe with me. We Hufflepuffs are an honest and loyal bunch.

If I were to be out in the muggle world I imagine I’d like to go into healthcare. Learn how to help people, heal them. Though I suppose that’s not too different from what I want to do in the wizarding world.

What would you want to be if magic did not exist?

Equally as intrigued,

Mystery Badger

———————————————————————

To: The Healer in Hufflepuff’s Den

Delivered by an owl now carrying your letters with far too much pride (I think it’s showing off)

Well, that might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all term.

And yes, you’re not wrong about the whole “Weasley chaos” theory. It’s rather easy to become another blur of red hair and hand-me-down jumpers in a family like mine. So I suppose I turned up the volume a bit. Not to be seen, exactly, but to make something mine. George and I…we found our way by making people laugh. But you’re the first to look underneath all that and say it out loud.

That’s rather bold of you, Mystery Girl.

I like it.

And I especially like the sound of you being a healer. You’ve got the soul for it, I can tell from the way you speak. Thoughtful. Grounded. The kind of person who’d stay up through the night to make sure someone felt just a bit less alone. Magic or not, the world could use more of that. More of you.

As for me…no magic, huh?

That’s tough. I think I’d still want to create. Something loud and ridiculous and a little brilliant. I’d probably try to make jokes for a living. Maybe sketch things, invent weird little gadgets that no one needs but everyone wants the moment they see it. Something to remind people that life doesn’t always have to be so serious. That it can still be fun.

And if I’m being really honest…I’d want to make something that makes people remember me. Not for fame. Just so they smile, even for a second. Like, “That bloke Fred? Yeah…he was daft, but he made the world a bit brighter.”

So.

Another layer peeled back. Your move.

Next question, for you: If you could take me anywhere at Hogwarts - your favourite spot, your best-kept secret place - where would we go?

(And before you say the kitchens, I’m already quite familiar, thank you very much. The house-elves adore me.)

Yours, more intrigued than ever,

Fred

———————————————————————

To: Fred, the boy who made me smile today.

Sent via Owl that deserves to be proud

Your words were unexpectedly sweet for someone with such a roguish reputation. Perhaps your charm is why the ladies at Hogwarts love you.

Who knows, maybe one day you’ll be in need of my healing services, with all of your dangerous experimentations.

I could certainly see you as any and all of those things you described. It’s exceedingly honourable to simply want to make the world a better place with laughter - something so simple but something so often overlooked. I can tell you that your mission has succeeded today. I witnessed your little stunt in Herbology and while Professor Sprout may not have been impressed, I certainly was.

As for my favourite secret spot at Hogwarts…your guess was close. The kitchens are a close second, and the house elves have indeed told me about your midnight escapades. Though they may not have used the word ‘adore’ when describing you. Again, another secret of yours that I hold close to my chest. My favourite spot has to be the astronomy tower at dusk or sunrise. I love watching the colours that bleed across the sky. You’ll have to try it sometime.

And for my question, I heard you tried to enter your name into the Goblet of Fire this week and it ended in an unfortunate prunage of the skin and greying of the hair. Tell me, are you a handsome old man Weasley? But in all seriousness, why did you want to enter?

Looking forward to your response,

A smiling Hufflepuff

———————————————————————

To: The Hufflepuff Who’s Made This Whole Mad Castle Feel a Little Less Mad

Delivered by one very smug owl who now refuses to carry anything but your letters. I’m considering a name for him. Something noble. Like Earl.

You saw that, did you? The Herbology stunt?

In my defense, the Venomous Tentacula did not need to be that dramatic. I gave it a party hat, not a reason to attack. Though I suppose, in its own way, it was participating in the celebration. Of what, I haven’t decided. Tuesday, maybe. Or life. Plants are unpredictable like that.

And you, my mysterious healer, have a dangerous gift for making me grin like an idiot when no one’s watching. I’ve read your letter three times now, and I’ve got half a mind to find that astronomy tower this weekend just to see if the sky looks as lovely as you describe - or if it only gets that way when you’re up there.

Now, to your question.

Yes. George and I may have tried to skirt the age line around the Goblet of Fire. I’m not entirely fond of what happened. Mostly because I now know exactly what I’ll look like in seventy years, and frankly, I was hoping for a little less nose hair. But you asked why we tried, not how miserably it failed.

Truth is…it wasn’t about glory. Not entirely.

I mean, sure, part of it was the thrill of it - the chance to prove we’re not just class clowns. That we could do something bold and win. But also…I think I just wanted to shake things up. Show people we’re more than the punchlines they expect. That we can fight for something. That we will. The gold prize would have been nice too.

But maybe that’s a silly answer. Or maybe it isn’t. I suppose you’ll be the judge.

Now it’s my turn again, isn’t it?

Tell me this: what’s the one thing you wish people noticed about you, but never seem to?

No rush.

The sky will still be there when you’re ready.

Yours - still slightly grey, still quite proud,

Fred

———————————————————————

To: My still-grey Griffindor

Via Earl

I’ve grown rather fond of Earl, though I think he likes me even more. But that may have something to do with the extra fruit snacks I feed him.

I’m glad I’m not the only one reading our little secret letters with a smile on my face. My friends are starting to get nosy and ask questions. Don’t worry, I keep my lips shut tight about our secret conversations.

You should make a visit to the astronomy tower this weekend. I can’t promise I will be there but I may leave something for you to find. If you can, that is.

As for your reasons to enter the tournament, you needn’t concern yourself with what others think. It may not mean much coming from someone you don’t even know, but if you want my opinion, I think you and George are both extremely gifted academically. The spells and skills that are required for the level of magic used to execute your pranks and make your products is extraordinary. You are far more than class clowns.

Not many people do notice me to be fair, and the people who do don’t seem to like me very much. Of course I have my close circle of friends - Luna, Cedric, and now perhaps you?

Something I wish people did notice was that I may seem like a bitch, but I am seldom cruel for the fun of it. I simply have very strong personal morals that I hate to see broken. If there is an injustice I will do my best to right it.

As for this week’s question, Fred, will you be at the first task on Sunday? I want to know if I should keep an eye out for you in the crowd. Perhaps I’ll come say hi, though I imagine I’d be quite hard to point out in the crowd of girls who do so.

Well wishes from the hufflepuff who notices you.

———————————————————————

To: The Hufflepuff Who Notices More Than Most

Delivered by Earl, who now refuses to leave without a snack and a scratch behind the wing (I’ve created a monster)

You have no idea how tempting that astronomy tower invitation is.

I’d say you’re cruel for teasing it, but something tells me you’re the type who prefers the thrill of the chase to the prize itself. Which is very unfair of you, considering how terribly impatient I am. But all right, Mystery Girl. I’ll play your game. If I do find something up there, I’ll consider it a sign that I’ve earned a little more of your truth.

And thank you, for what you said about me and George. Most people laugh and dismiss what we do as silly, but you saw the work in it. The craft. That means more to me than I can properly write in a letter. I think you’ve got a habit of seeing through the noise, don’t you?

Now then.

You may not be the easiest person to spot in a crowd, but something tells me I’d know you if I saw you. You’ve got a presence, even in ink. I’ll be at the first task, yes. Somewhere near the front. Probably shouting something highly inappropriate and getting side-eyed by McGonagall. If you’re there, look for the bloke who’s too loud, wearing Gryffindor colours, and scanning the crowd like he’s trying to find something he’s not supposed to see.

Because I will be looking for you. And if you come say hi…I’ll know.

Not because of your house colours but because I think I’ll feel it. The way I feel it now, when your words show up in my hand and suddenly the world feels a bit warmer.

As for what you said, you’re not cruel. You’re fierce. Loyal. And maybe a little sharp around the edges. But only because you care more than most. People like that? They’re the ones worth holding on to.

Now, for your next question:

If you could ask me anything face to face, no matter how bold or personal - what would it be?

Yours until Sunday (and hopefully after),

Fred

[ravenstargames]

✦ LOST IN LIMBO DEVLOG #19 | 06.02.2025

Happy Pride month besties! 💜 Yes, this year too we'll have a Pride month piece, but it's in the making!

This month has been packed with concept art and getting the new update ready, so there's not that much to write about. Showing all the concept art would spoil the artbook, so apologies if this devlog looks shorter than it should. Don't worry, we are still going full-speed ahead! Let's jump into it!

World, meet your trustworthy sidekick, she who has had your back since the beginning—Evie!

You already know a bit of her; she likes everything related to the occult world, is a prime member of the Faybourne Waterpolo Club, and her favorite color is blue!

Evie's base sprite is finished, so now we gotta jump to her expressions. Those are fairly easy and quick (Raquel's words, not mine), so I expect to start coding kind of soon! ✨

Also, concept art on the MC's dear mom is done! So we've moved on to the sprite phase, and also started working on the concept art of MC's troublemaking grandmother. Kickstarter folks will have ✨juicy✨ previews on that content, so y'all will have to wait for a bit as per usual!

May has been Amon's month. I've been writing the first chapter of his route, as well as editing the prologue following our editor's guidelines. I think this month will be packed of corrections, and I'm excited to tackle them!

As y'all know, demo update 1.1.0 (now 1.1.1, as some characters were very insistent in partaking in some floating activities) went live! This month I've been working on patching stuff as well as refining the android build. I originally used two different projects for the PC version and the mobile one, but after lady and savior Feniks graced me with knowledge once more, I dipped my toes into Ren'py variants; and it's been going great! After publishing these devlogs, I'll start uploading the new android build everywhere 💜✨

Kayden has been working on more mini-CGs to enhance the ✨experience✨of the new prologue! Amongst those CGs, we have the Sovereign's hospitality in the shape of breakfast. I wonder who delivers it...?

So now that we've seen how the concept art / sprite part of it all works with Airyn's addition to the team, we're confident things will be up to speed in the upcoming months! Airyn works like a beast, has amazing ideas, and executes them flawlessly, with the addition of being a great friend of ours!

What else...I'm still working on my investigation plan (my PhD, hahaa...), Raquel is now taking driving lessons, and she's also been working on the Pride Month piece. We got a sketch yesterday but agreed to modify it a bit after some thought. Initially, Gael was going to be the one getting an illustration for Pride Month this year, but things didn't go as planned (Raquel was frustrated with not being able to come up with a good idea for him) and Amon has taken his place. Happens to the best of us!

Work this month has been good! A lot of concept and planning that we can't show (well, Kickstarter folks will see more of it) but that is vital for the development of the game. I'm not going to ramble a lot in this one—sometimes you've to go straight to the point!

Thank you everyone who played our 1.1.1 update; thank you for the comments, well-wishes, feedback, and everything else. Also, thanks for keeping our ask box lively and overflowing! 💜

Let's see each other around!

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 3.2k words

fic masterlist previous part pt seven next part

angst but kinda fluffy? straight after; mention of past violence (minor) — you wanted to know what those spanish sentences miguel made you say meant, him having kept that to himself. and when you do, having scouted miles, you’re left…well…shocked. your friends are also left shocked wondering who asked you to say those things. when you go to question miguel about it you find him in a state you’ve never seen him in before.

You had desperately wanted to translate the Spanish Miguel had chosen not to tell you. So much so, that you had began to scout HQ for a Spanish native speaker. You were too prideful to use your phone for translation, plus Miguel said nothing on not asking someone.

You remember Miles saying his mum was Hispanic. Even if his Spanish wasn’t top notch you’re sure he’ll understand at least a few words. Understand the sentences Miguel made you say.

You spot Pav talking with some other spider variants, using large hand gestures. "Pav!" You call, walking up to him.

He shifts his gaze to you, a smile soon following. “Y/n. How are you?”

You smile. “Good…yeah, no I’m good. I was just wondering if you knew where Miles was?”

“Oh.” He spins. “I swear I saw him over there.” He points in a random direction. “…now he’s gone. Maybe with Gwen.” He nudges you, raising his brows. You chuckle, understanding the meaning of those raised brows.

“Well, this will only take a moment. I just need translation for something.”

“Translation? To what language?” Pav asks.

“From Spanish to English. And I heard Miles knows a bit.”

“Ah…wait, but doesn’t Miguel fully speak it?” Pav pauses. “Yeah, he’d know a lot more than Miles.”

You nod. “He just won’t tell me.” You mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” Pav asks, brows furrowed.

You look back up. “Miguel’s just kind of busy right now.” You had no idea if he was or not. “And so I thought Miles might be free.”

“I see.” Pav nods. “Come on, I’ll help you find him.” Pav begins to head down one of the paths in the communal area where bunches of spider variants sat and stood talking.

“Miles!” Pav called out to nowhere in particular. “Miles!?”

“Is yelling his name really gonna help?” Your brows furrow.

“I like to think yelling will conjure up the whole ‘spider-sense’ thing.” Pav says, still gazing around. “Wait, maybe I need to sound more in distress.”

You chuckle, looking around. And that’s when you spot Miles and Gwen. “Miles!” You walk over with a smile. Pav is hot on your heels.

Miles turns, and copies your smile. “Y/n, hey.”

“Okay look, I’m sorry to ask this but can you translate something for me?” You ask, hopeful.

Miles tilts his head slightly. “Yeah, sure. As long as it isn’t French, or Dutch, or Russian. Or practically any language I don’t know.”

Your smile widens. “No, no. None of those. It’s just Spanish.”

“Oh.” Miles stands straighter. “I’ll warn you I don’t know a heck of amount. But I can give it go.”

“Thank you.” You grow more excited in way. All of last night you had been thinking about what you had said, really trying not to just roll over and grab your phone.

“Okay, so it’s two sentences.” You begin. Miles nods. “The first one is…’Me encantaría usar…tu cama para otras…cosas’.” You say it somewhat slowly, making sure you got it right.

When you look back to Miles, he’s staring at you blinking. You stare back. “What?” You ask.

“Um.” He scratches the back of his head. “I’m probably hearing it wrong.” He mutters to himself before he’s looking back to an expectant you.

“What was the second one?” He asks, a little more curious this time.

“Uh…’¿No crees que…me vería bonita atrapada entre…tus sábanas?’”

Now miles is staring at you. You eye him, brows furrowed. “What does it mean?”

He coughs. “Who said that to you?”

“Oh, no I said it to someone.” You answer. “Well, they asked me to say it…”

“You said it someone…” he drifts off, slightly gulping.

“What? Is it…bad?” Your brows are further furrowed. “Come on, Miles, please. I’ve been dying to know what it means all of last night.”

“Well, the first one…it means ‘I’d love to use your bed for other things’.” He mutters it out extremely quickly. That you think you don’t catch it right.

“What?”

“And the second one means ‘don’t you think I’d look pretty trapped in your sheets?’.” Miles’ has looked away, scratching the back of his neck again, clearly a fraction flustered.

This time you’re staring at him, or more so through him. Then you blink. “What?” You repeat stupidly. That can’t be right. Why did miguel ask you to say something about his bed…

Now you weren’t dumb you were just…in shock. Because how does that make sense. And as the words settle in your mind a little more, you begin to feel the familiar burn in your stomach.

Recently your skin had begun to feel hot. In specific scenarios, around a specific someone. Every moment that he had touched you in some way you had either been injured, or fainting, so you hadn’t realised the reactions in the moment. But now, having your mind clear and your body healthy enough your skin grows prickly.

Then there was the touches on your chin…

At first you thought that they were a form of showing his superiority. It seemed like something he’d do. But when you really thought about it, you realised that he wasn’t grabbing Peter’s face like that, he wasn’t leaning over a chair that Gwen was sitting at.

Now you’ve grown hot. And your cheeks are probably bright red, considering how Pav is eyeing you. “Um.” You nod. You don’t know why you’re nodding. You just need to do something that isn’t stare off into space.

“Who, um, asked you to say that?” Gwen asks.

You shift your gaze to her, still slightly stuck in your own head. You felt the urge to fan yourself, but realised how implicating that would seem. Miguel got you to say that stuff? That seemed to be a repeating question in your head.

“Oh, uh, nobody.” You didn’t really want to tell them that it was Miguel. You felt it would put pressure on something that you were sure wasn’t even something. It wasn’t…right?

But now as you quickly thank miles and skim past them, your mind is whirring. Did Miguel…? You press your lips together at the thought, unbuttoning the first button of your dress shirt. You were sure you were reading into it. Though…part of you was actually hoping the underlying meaning you were thinking of was the truth.

You were even slightly shocked at yourself at this revelation. It’s as if it had always been on the tip of your tongue. Not falling off because Miguel is well…Miguel.

;;

“What was that about?” Pav asks, watching your leaving form. Gwen watches you go as well, eyes narrowing in her own inspection.

Miles was still going over the sentences in his head, really double checking he got them right. “Yeah…nah, that’s right.” He mutters. “My translations right.”

“Who asked her—“

“Asked who what?” Hobie appeared, clearly just back from a mission, as he leaned against Miles, resting his arm on his shoulder.

“Y/n.” Gwen says. “She asked Miles to translate something for her.”

“See, I knew this guy would be helpful.” Hobie slightly shakes Miles’ shoulders.

“I think someone has a crush on y/n.” Pav says, making Hobie shift his gaze to him.

“Who?” Miles asks, suddenly interested in the small ordeal.

Pav shrugs, but Hobie shakes his head, scoffing. Pav hadn’t seen you and Miguel interact a hell of a lot. Gwen didn’t pay that much attention to people’s gazes, and Miles was well…new. So, maybe Hobie could give them a break, but he still couldn’t believe how oblivious they were.

Hobie began to figure out Miguel’s little crush on you when Miguel had called him in for a last minute mission that Miguel could have easily done himself. He hadn’t needed Hobie.

And when Miguel’s jaw clenched at the mention of how he was supposed to be hanging out with you, Hobie began to clock on.

“Come on, you lot.” Hobie says staring at them. “Tell me, who speaks Spanish here? Fluently?”

Gwen looks down, thinking. “Miguel.”

Hobie nods. “Uh huh.” He presses, seeing their slightly furrowed brows. “Oh bloody hell, you lot are thick.”

“Oh…” Pav mutters. “Oh!” He realises, and Hobie gestures to him, sighing in relief.

“Thank anarchy.” He mutters, thankful one person caught on.

“Miguel likes y/n?!” Pav practically exclaims, earning a few side glances from other spider variants.

“It’d seem so.” Hobie smirks.

;;

Later that evening, you stood, not meaning to feel as flushed as you were. Standing in front of Miguel's bedroom door, you felt hot, your breathing quickening. After having found out what he got you to say—and having gone through the stages of confusion, denial and then shock—you've arrived back to sweaty palms.

You take a breath, knocking, but instead of the solid feel of the door, your hand falls through, the door having been cracked open a fraction—your nervous state must have forced you not to notice. It swings wider and your breath hitches.

Miguel's room is a mess, and not just his bed this time. Things are smashed, and his chair is thrown, lying lifeless on the floor. You then shift your gaze up to a heaving Miguel. He finally notices your presence, meeting your wide eyes.

Miguel had always been someone who was controlled. Sure, he got agitated easy, and clearly had some anger issues to deal with, but 'messy' was never a word you associated with him. And here he was hair ruffled, wet from the outside rain, and covering part of his eyes. His chest heaved to a mismatched beat, as his nose twitched in a snarl, his fangs very visible in the dim light. He looked like the definition of ‘a mess’.

"What are you doing here?" His low tone breaks you from your silent stance, your lips coming closed to rub against each other in...thought? You weren't entirely sure.

You gulp. "Did something...happen?" You scan his body for injuries, but find none. You glance at his open window. "Did you go on a mission?"

"Did you need something?" Miguel doesn't mean for his tone to come out so harshly. And watching your face twitch a fraction made him grind his teeth in annoyance at himself.

"I was going to ask you something, but..." Now you weren't so sure that this moment was the right one.

Miguel gulps, turning slightly away from you. "If you have nothing to say…go."

Yes, Miguel was acting clip and rude with you. And yes...maybe he did turn away so he wouldn't see your expressions. But then he hears your steps slowly draw closer. He shifts his gaze back to you.

Right now was the worst time to see you, he didn't want you to see him, he wanted you to go.

"I thought you had nothing to say?" Miguel briskly asks, but you caught the slight crack in his harsh tone. A crack that displayed a mix of emotions—stress, anxiety,...fear?

Before you know it you're moving closer, your feet, the rain and his breathing filling the other wise silent room. "Now's not a good time." His tone cracked even more. This time with anger.

You stop, a decent distance away. And maybe you should leave, leave him to this. But what is this? You voice that. "What is this?" 'This' as in the mess. 'This' as in Miguel's body language. He looked like he was not even a minute away from exploding.

"Are you...okay?"

Part of Miguel's facade broke at that. "I'm perfectly fine. Do I not look it?" He spits this, fully turning to you. Some droplets of water, that had drenched his hair slides down his cheek.

You know not to be taken aback by Miguel's words. But you'd never seen the word 'crazed' written in his eyes before...'frantic'. "No...you don't look it." You say, eyeing him. "You look...you don't look like yourself."

Miguel mockingly nods, his tongue dragging across one of his fangs, and actually drawing blood. "Right." He forcibly chuckles. "I forgot, I'm supposed to look...what? Composed? On task? In control?" He's stepped closer to you, each word coming out like a snarl.

"Not everything stays the same." Miguel is saying. "Not everything goes the way we plan." He grits out 'plan' like he despises the word altogether.

And as you glance from his hair to the window, to then his too clean of a suit, you realise something. It wasn't a mission, but he had gone somewhere.

"Miguel, where did you go?"

"I didn't go anywhere." He scoffs out.

"Yes you did." You say, narrowing your eyes in thought. And maybe now would be a good time to leave, leave him be. But of course you wouldn't, 'worry' now tieing you up tight. Then you pause. "Why are talking about things that don't go to plan? What hasn't gone to plan?"

"You know, you can be real nosy sometimes." Miguel wanted to punch himself. Why did he say that? You had never been nosy, only observant. Maybe too much for your own good, but it was surely a talent of yours. And here he was shaming you.

But in this moment you weren't fazed. Something was wrong. "Miguel, you've clearly just come in here angry. You're hair's wet from the rain, so obviously recently. Your room is a mess. It's never a mess. You're...never a mess."

"Oh, plenty of things can become a mess, y/n."

"Yeah, but never you. Sure, you've gotten angry before, but you've never trashed a room. There's glass on the floor...you broke that mirror." You gesture to the one hanging on the wall, a prominent fist imbedded in the middle.

"Don't tell me you're gonna deduce where I've fucking been by the glass?!" He was yelling. Not at you. Never at you. At himself. But he's always been very good at projecting. Especially when you're around.

"No." You breathe. "I'm asking you." You say, letting a hint of your concern shine through. You were concerned. Very concerned. Maybe Miguel would have noticed your concern, if he wasn't slowly loosing it. If the messed up room wasn't enough of a tell, he's hit his peak.

"What happened?" You ask again, and this time you finally get a response.

"I fucked up, okay?!" He exclaims, his heart pounding a mile a minute. "I can't take it back. And I've tried. I've really tried. But you know what? Maybe this is meant to happen. Maybe I'm meant to screw everything up."

You stare at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I..." Miguel drifts off, fisting his already disheveled hair. "I let them take it..." Hs voice has softened. But not to a nice kind of softened—a broken one.

You step a fraction closer. "Who? And take what?"

You can visibly see Miguel's strength ebbing away. He looks exhausted, and all in all done. Done with everything. You didn't like that look, you didn't like the inclination of it. "Miguel." You say slowly.

But he's going farther and farther back into his mind, getting tangled up in thoughts you could tell had begun to haunt him. Screwed up? What had he supposedly screwed up?

Then before your mind could work on overdrive, millions of questions wanting to surface, and before Miguel could step further back from reality, you stepped much, much closer, reaching up on your tip toes. And then you wrapped your arms around his neck...hugging him.

Miguel is frozen. Entirely frozen. His mind stops trying to murder him and the drowning sounds in his ears fade away. Now he can hear your breathing, a nervous beat clear. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know if he should do what he’s thinking.

But then you’re slowly drawing back, arms leaving his body. And he can’t have that. He swiftly wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back to him, as his hands clench around your shirt.

Your breathing hitches as Miguel’s breath hits your collarbone, his head choosing to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing part of your skin.

No. He had told himself he wouldn’t think like that anymore. It was exhausting, and he was tired enough as is. His grip tightened around you. To all the doubtful voices in his head, he was using you to say ‘shut the hell up’.

You could feel Miguel’s entire body practically slump against yours. And though your cheeks were red hot, and your heart was screaming you wrapped your arms back around his neck, your wrists meeting together by his hair.

For once Miguel heard silence. He had always had too many voices in his head telling him this and that. And that ‘this was what has to be done’ and that ‘no, you can’t get distracted’.

Now he felt a much relieving calmness engulfing him. You. His breathing slightly shuddered against your neck, the open of his mouth leading his fangs to lightly brush across your skin.

You shivered at this, earning Miguel to lean his head back. But he didn’t let your waist go. You stopped those voices and he’d be damned if he let you step away from his body now.

Your breathes met, as did your gaze. You were close, the seeming millimetre making you seem even more so. You could feel Miguel’s fingers fiddle slowly with the back of your shirt, your front still pressed against his.

“I’m…” You gulp, your voice coming out much shakier than you intended. “Sorry…I probably shouldn’t have hugged you.” You could practically taste his breath.

“Yeah…you probably shouldn’t have.” His tone is breathy, sounding out of body, as his gaze flickers to your lips.

They’re dry—of course. And now at the close proximity licking them made you feel ten times hotter. You prayed he couldn’t see your blushing cheeks.

“I’m sorry that I just…sorta came in.” You felt you had to fill in the silence. Miguel didn’t seem to mind it though, cause it meant that he could listen to your voice. And replacing your voice with the one’s in his head is probably the smartest choice he could ever make.

Well maybe the second smartest choice… He stared at your freshly wet lips, breathing harder. His thoughts had changed from ‘how much more could he take’ to ‘how much more…more…more’. He wanted more. More of your closeness, this seemed to not be enough.

In response to his thoughts his hands glided up your back, making your body lean more against him. Chest to chest.

“A-and I probably shouldn’t have assumed all that stuff…” you breathe out, as Miguel tilts his head, looking down at you. It’s safe to say your were flustered.

“I think you did alright.” He partially whispered.

“Well…you’re not throwing a chair..so..” Stupid, stupid, stupid—you think to yourself. “I mean…”

And to your shock you notice his lips begin to curve up. And not just to stop at a certain point. No. His lips continued to widen until he was smiling. An actual, genuine smile, that oozed amusement, and it made him look…happy?

“Careful.” You say. “You look like you’re expressing a ‘sparkly emotion’.”

“Oh no.” His grin doesn’t fall, and it only makes your heart beat faster. “We wouldn’t want that…would we?”

You quickly shake your head, and Miguel presses his lips together with further amusement, his eyes darting. “…cute.”

You freeze. And Miguel seems to realise his small slip up, as his eyes grow a fraction wider. He had slipped up in English. Goddamn English. You understood.

But what he didn’t know was that you understood a lot more than just that word. And as the reason for your arrival to his room came back to you, the simple word ‘cute’ seemed to mean a whole lot, lot more.

I’m sorry this one’s kinda short, and not too much is going on. but I wanted them to have a close moment like this before they…well…y’know.

at this point I’ve decided to do nine parts (it fits better) so next part…mhm…FINALLY we can get some closer HaPpIniNgS

plus next part im gonna go onto a deeper dive of where Miguel went and who the masked men are — i just needed a bit of tension filled fluff

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3 taglist #4 taglist #5 taglist #6 taglist #7

[irisbleufic]

Happy Trans (and any kind of gender non-conforming, as far as I’m concerned) Day of Visibility! I’ve always liked the contrast between that casual post-high school graduation day photo of me with long hair (June 2000) and the photo of me with short hair in the constellation sweater (June 2018), because I can see myself, a biologically intersex person (short version of this story: thanks to a couple of abdominal surgeries in my late 20s/early to mid 30s, I learned of some internal anomalies classed as an intersex variant that explained a lot about some weirdness I experienced growing up, looking back) whose gender identity has comfortably settled as gender-neutral nonbinary, even if I look back to the time when I was definitely a tomboy who was expected to conform to traditionally feminine presentation. I still love that face and that hair; I still love that photo. The two photos below the 2000 and 2018 photos were taken in February of this year (2025). In my early 40s, I’m aging better than I expected I would as a relatively recent cancer survivor. In a country that’s working hard to legislate me and my community out of existence by the day (I have an X passport and an X state ID; no piece of documentation I have says anything other than X), I refuse to be invisible or stay silent.

[heretyc]

Outlast Characters On Your Birthday

It's my 23rd birthday today so I thought I'd release something for everybody! Enjoy 🥳🎂🍰 Have a slice on me! [Also, a debate: best flavour of cake? Tuxedo and strawberry shortcake always take the cake for me, wink wink]

Miles and Waylon both throw you a party; the only difference is Miles includes alcohol [assuming you're of age] and Waylon prefers there be sweets and milkshakes. Miles will throw you a surprise party whereas Waylon will ask you what you'd like at your party. Guests, decorations...all up to you.

Miles gives you something comedic or something useful, like a harmonica or a comb with a blade in it. Never know when you have to comb and jab, y'know?

Waylon prefers wholesome things. You know how he is. Or self defense gear.

Jeremy, the bastard, goes all out for it; if you want, he'll bring you to Murkoff and the entire staff can celebrate. Hell, the variants, too! How funny would it be to experiment on variants wearing party hats?? [Not...very funny, but Jeremy has an odd sense of humour.] Because Richard and Jeremy are close, Richard gets you a present. What's inside is up to you. [It may be phallic or just a new wallet or something.]

Trager's not a party kind of feller, so he'll throw you a small party in his office and tell you "me not cutting your fingers off is a gift, sweetheart".

Just kidding, he buys you anything you ask for. He's not fond of surprises, so he'll straight up just go to you and ask you, outright, what you'd like. He gets you two shirts: his says "I love to finger paint" and your shirt says "I'm paint".

He thinks he's funny, please just laugh and get it over with.

Chris is a total sweetiepie and he makes the cake himself [if he's able]. He remembers the subtle details of your interests and he'll know exactly what to get you. One of which being matching sweaters with cats and dogs on them.

Eddie is a master of party throwing and this is a hill I'll die on; he'll buy wine, cheese, gifts and toss in some handmade works of his. He loves to bake, and despite a few failures - and a hole in the wall - he's more than happy to celebrate your day of birth by making you a homemade cake!

Walrider steals a guy, steals a car, drives to Walmart and brings you just about any expensive gift he can grab. You didn't NEED an airfryer, but...the effort he put into his theft was too much to ignore. He purrs when you put chicken strips inside of your new airfryer.

Knoth gives you a bible about himself and tells you stories about how big his penis is. That's...that's as much as you're going to get. I see why Val left. He'll also ask you to convert, seeing as how "God is your birthday gift". No thanks.

Marta's fond of flowers, so expect a bouquet as well as a rosary. She's not as forceful as Knoth is [unless directly told to be], so the rosary is moreso a suggestion to convert.

Val surprises you with heretics, fire, bodies and sex. And more sex. And sex 24/7 7 days a week, no holiday breaks. Jokes aside - or are they jokes? - they'll ask a Heretic to steal something from Knoth to give to you. That, or they'll deceive a delivery boy into getting you something from the outside world. It might be just a small Snickers bar or a bottle of penicillin, but it still means a lot. Val can't really bake considering their circumstances, but they'll try and get you something sweet if all else fails. Coyle thinks his loyalty and his protection of you is a gift, there's no party necessary. That's all you can ask for, right? But he'll grumble about how "greed like yours is what collapses a respectful nation" and try to get you something. Expect something like a necklace or handcuffs. Maybe he'll even set up a few mannequins in a circle to celebrate your special day with cop hats in place of party hats.

Gooseberry is obsessed with gift giving and party throwing, so the entire theme park is completely yours to enjoy for one trial. No ex-pops, just her, you and Dr Futterman. Futterman is just glad you're not ruining his daughter's time as she works away in the Root Canal. Franco loves parties, especially if he throws them! Mainly because his parties are full of sex, booze, drugs and murder. But for you, doll? He'll make an exception...he'll ask the staff to make you a cake and serve it to you himself. Easterman makes sure you're given a day to yourself. Cake, gifts and naps. What more can you ask for? He can't show favouritism, letting you out would be unfair to the other patients, but this is enough.

[tiramissyoucake]

could you write something for prison mark? he gets no love💔💔

Dunno much about him besides being a sadist freak! Here's him finding reader, CW for unwanted kissing and a little choking, Fem reader:

It was almost comical, the end of the world and it was at the hands of copies of the geekiest loser you knew, you couldn't waste time guessing where they would start causing chaos and got to work; alerting your loved ones, taking safety precautions and packing yourself a bag to head to whatever location public safety officials deemed suitable for shelter.

The TV played in the background as you got your bag and threw a few bottles of water, snacks, flashlights and essentials inside, you could hear a news reporter explain what's happening and a few messy and cut up shots of men who resembled Mark destroying the town, moving too quickly for the eye to witness.

There was a rumbling, silence, and rumbling again, a continued loop as you prepared to head out, making sure you're packed and ready to go— you opened the backdoor and hurried out, phone in hand.

You dialed your parents and siblings when you were inside, your friends messaged you so they didn't need the message, you decided to check in on Mark's family, dialing Debbie's number as you locked the door.

"Hey! It's me, did you see the ne— I mean, of course you saw, fuck- y-yeah! I'm leaving now, I'm heading to the closest shelter.." your keys jingled, refusing to cooperate with you.

A shadow loomed over your head, your eyes were too focused on the keys.

"Wha? Yeah, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?... listen, I'm abo—!!" A gasp caught in your throat as you heard an abrupt landing behind you, one louder than Mark's. "So, you're still alive here." The stranger stood up straight, you had to squint to realize that he wasn't just bald, his skin looked.. burned. you weren't sure if it was from a fire or a chemical disaster. He rolled his shoulder as he approached you. "Sorry I'm late, it's a long trip from Russia, y'know?" He could hear Debbie begging you to answer or continue over the phone, prompting him to snatch it quickly from your hand. "Wh?! hey!! give it back you jerk!!" "Aw, I'm hurt." He dropped it onto the ground, boot crushing it immediately, the voice on the other end immediately died off. "You don't recognize me?" the dots connected that he was a variant of Mark, but he's not your Mark. "a freak from hell version of Mark?!" You regretted your words immediately as his hand shot out to grip your throat and stop you from spewing anymore nonsense, you could feel the battered texture of his skin. "Watch your mouth, if you wanna dish it, I expect you to take it." he looked too happy watching you struggle to breathe, were you some kind of enemy where he came from? Moving you aside, he kicked your backdoor open, the splinters flying as the lock broke easily under the force of his foot. he threw you inside. on one hand you were glad you could finally breathe but the pain spreading at your back was not worth it. he loomed over you as he stepped inside. "Figured we needed some privacy, so let's start over. and I expect you to play nice." As you coughed and glared up at him, he smiled, like he was happy you did. "Yeah, that's what I'm looking for." he shuddered. "you fuckin' hate me, huh?" He dropped on his knees to straddle your waist. "Y'know, you were crazy about me in my world." "you wish." you strained with gritted teeth as he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look up at him properly. "You were so upset when I was thrown to prison, we traveled the whole damn galaxy together." No response, you couldn't as he tightened his grip and examined you. "like some horned up version of Bonnie and Clyde." His breath fanned over your face, he was getting more and more excited as he finally had you in his hands. "Fuck, you even smell just like her." You defiantly grunted, trying to look away as he leaned in. "Stop moving, I know you recognize me. And I know for a fact I'm better than your world's Invincible." His lips pressed to yours forcefully, you couldn't purse your lips in time as he snaked his tongue into your mouth. Mark's hands let go of your jaw to grab your wrists and stop you from shoving at his chest, using his weight and strength to lower you to the floor, murmuring between kisses. "You taste good," as if he wasn't enough of a creep he had to say that. "Probably better than me, huh?" he let out a raspy laugh, self depricating at his current physical state his fingers jabbed into your fists, opening your palms and intertwining your fingers together. "It's like your body knows-" he let out a long hum into another kiss. "like it knows you were mine, how about we ditch this place? huh?" you grunted once more, turning your head away forcefully. "Yeah, keep being difficult." his hands came back to your throat, your own immediately coming to his wrists with a grunt and hiss. "See where that gets you when I turn this town to dust."

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘌𝘋 𝘈𝘍𝘍𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚 - 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘛𝘞𝘖

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark x Reader | Sinister!Mark x Reader

Warnings: none

a/n: i definitely planned to do more with this chapter but when i tell you this dialogue fried my brain 🫠 poor reader doesn’t even show up. i really do love all the variants tho they’re so fun. more reader x mark interactions in the next one - promise 🤞

→ 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙊𝙣𝙚 ←

It had been a very long and slow process of rebuilding public image for all the Variant Marks. Understandably so, when considering the storm cloud of chaos and destruction they’d originally drifted in on all those months ago. But even with that in mind, things had seemingly gone from bad to worse for the poor citizens of Earth. Every day there was numerous reports of villains across the globe; albeit mostly weak, but enough to keep the lower level heroes more than occupied.

And it was in this light that the population was collectively getting over – possibly even forgetting – the heinous acts committed by the gaggle of Invincibles. Which lead that very group to where they stood today, circled in the Guardians of the Globe HQ with Cecil and this worlds’ Invincible heading the pack. Cecil had just given a rundown on the plan, designating each variant to a certain part of the planet.

As was to be expected the conversation wasn’t without its hiccups – namely the lensless Invincible who seemed to have a snarky quip or challenging statement for everything Cecil said. And typically, the edgiest of all the Marks – the one with the most daring hairstyle – would be right along side him. Those two had come to be the closest out of the group, not to anyone’s surprise.

But today, the usually rebellious Mark felt more rigid, his charcoal eyes more or less remaining focused on the variant who dawned the black and yellow suit. This tension wasn’t lost on Cecil, but in all honesty the man was tired – exhausted, to be exact – and as long as nothing was coming to blows he couldn’t be bothered to speak on it.

This universes Mark, however, wasn’t quite as lenient with what he would let stand when it came to his variants. Just the sight of them still put a bad taste in his mouth. “This isn't going to work if we all try to take on everything. We need to split things up. I’ll start by taking North America—it's the biggest responsibility and I’m the original, after all.” S.Mark grinned at this, rolling his head back and to the side as he eyed his mirror image.

“You think you're the "original," huh? That's cute. I’ve seen how this plays out. Trust me, the real work happens in places where the action's happening. I'll take the major cities in Europe. Less of the “nice guy” heroing, more actual power. Maybe the United States can be your playground while I actually get results.” The Mark who proudly still wore his Viltrumite uniform responded back coldly,

“Don’t kid yourself. You act like this is about being nice or having fun. This is about survival. I’ll take the more dangerous territories. Africa and the Middle East. The kind of places where the people really need someone with... teeth.” The variant who kept his face hidden behind his black mask now spoke up, his tone laced with seriousness and sincerity.

“We’re all focused on the wrong thing. People need more than just saving from disasters and villains. They need better systems, cleaner energy, more food. I’m taking responsibility for Asia and the Pacific Islands. I’ll focus on sustainable practices and infrastructure. Trust me, I’m the only one here who knows how to actually help the world.” The lensless Invincible interjected sharply at this.

“Hold up. You're seriously telling me you're going to sit around handing out kale smoothies while the Earth burns? You’re wild for that.” He tried to exchange a look with M.Mark, but his stare was still fixed on S.Mark. Uncaring of this lack of reaction, however, he continued, “I’ll take South America, handle some of the hot spots there. I’m more than capable of cleaning up after the messes you’re all too soft to handle.”

The Invincible who wore no mask, and seemed to be the most oddly polite of the group, spoke up. “Everyone’s talking about big territories, but no one’s thinking about the real problem: people. We need to work on the long-term emotional damage. I’ll take all the places suffering the most from war and famine. We can’t just punch our way through everything.” The main universe’s Mark sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Look,” he started, giving each of his variants a steady gaze to make sure they were all truly engaged in what he was saying. “I get that we all have our strengths, but we need a unified plan here! Are we focusing on taking out threats or building a better world? We can’t do both if we’re all going in different directions!”

“You think that by holding hands and singing kumbaya, the world will be saved? You all sound ridiculous. I’m not here to be everyone's friend. The world needs a heavy hand, not a weakling’s hope.” Of course this response would come from S.Mark, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

“You’re missing the point,” retorted the full masked Invincible. “It’s not just about taking down the bad guys or fixing the infrastructure. It’s about healing. You can’t just come in with brute force, you’ve got to help people rebuild from the inside. Have you considered what your violence does to the people you’re "saving"?”

Lensless Mark rolled his eyes, his body hunched forward slightly in a dramatic show of annoyance. “We are rebuilding, but first we need to deal with the fun—I-I mean bigger issues! South America is crawling with dangerous factions. If we don’t stop them, all the rebuilding in the world won’t matter.”

For the first time that morning the Invincible who replicated Omni-Man spoke, his voice somehow simultaneously stern and soft. “You’re all missing the bigger picture. Even if we defeat the bad guys, there’s always someone stronger and more dangerous waiting around the corner. We need to be training to make sure we’re all at out our peak and ready, for whatever that might be.”

The original Invincible sighed, holding his hands up as if in admission. “Okay, okay! Fine! We’re not getting anywhere like this. Let’s just agree that we all have important parts to play.” He paused a beat, and surprisingly no one had anything to say. For a second Mark thought he could smile just from the sheer relief of feeling like they were finally more or less on the same page. He continued,

“So you’ll take the long-term stuff,” He gestured towards the full-masked Invincible. “But remember you still need to keep the bad guys off the streets.” He moved his attention to S.Mark. “You can handle Europe—keep it under control, but don’t go too far.” A part of him anticipated a challenge but by some grace of god none came. Moving on, he looked to the lensless Mark. “You’ll go to Africa, but don’t burn the place to the ground.” An excited smile lit up the variants face, clearly pleased with this decision.

Main Mark looked now to his maskless counterpart. “You can take care of Asia, maybe put some focus on the emotional fallout. And you—” he turned next to his wanna-be-dad variant. “You can take South America while you—” his gaze moved to the Viltrumite loyalist. “Can handle Central America.” His stare finally landed on M.Mark. “That leaves you with North America.”

“And what about you?” Lensless Mark asked, head cocked slightly to the side in childish curiosity.

“I’m going to work on the smaller nations and islands, but really I’ll be making sure you idiots stay on task.” He took the time to once again meet the stare of all his variants, just daring one of them to challenge his directive. Miraculously, no one did.

“I’ve gotta say kid, I’m impressed,” Cecil stated, speaking for the first time in awhile. “Spoken like a true leader.” Mark shot him an irritated look, knowing full well he was still lingering on the idea of him becoming the new leader for the Guardians of the Globe. Not missing a beat, Cecil continued by addressing the group. “I don’t think I need to remind any of you, but in case I do: I recommend you all keep in mind the wastelands we saved you from. And then remember it’s nothing for us to send you back.” The energy of the room fell serious, all of the variants suddenly stiffening in discomfort or anger.

After letting his words sit with them for a moment, Cecil turned to Donald who was stood near the entryway. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes sir,” Donald answered promptly. Cecil nodded, turning his back on the group before lifting his hand almost dismissively in the air.

“Let’s do some good today,” he finished dryly before all the variants teleported in a blink to their designated areas. When the room was at last cleared of everyone outside of himself, the original Mark, and Donald, Cecil let out an exhausted sigh.

It had been a painfully long day, and it wasn’t even noon.

→ Part Three ←

[strkie]

is it really you? logan/wolverine x male winter solider variant reader

logan has never really met a winter soldier before, and you’re not entirely what he expects. he’s not complaining, though.

notes. i love both these characters so obviously i had to mash them up - i actually like how this turned out ^_^

details. deadpool and wolverine spoilers, 1,500+ words, he/him pronouns, soft angst, depression mentioned, blood mentioned, winter soldier canon truama.

They meet you in the Void, naturally.

It's not easy to see nor tell what you are at first— you stay clear of them for a few miles after they escape Cassandra, but Logan can smell your dull and metallic scent on the winds and is aware enough of that to keep an eye out, but either Wade doesn't know or doesn't care and keeps distracting him. Logan only knows you're actually a living thing and not just a trick of his mind until he meets the survivors group of hero's that got pruned in Gambit's hideout, seeing you standing in the back shadows like some kind of menacing monster and instantly recognizing your smell. You wear your mask and combat gear, but the most noticeable thing to Logan is your entire left mechanical arm. The metal plates and gears shift together whenever you move, sparking wires when you push your arm a certain direction.

No one really acknowledges you except Laura and Wade, but he only gives you a big gasp and a quip of "the Winter Soldier too?!" before getting caught up in the task of convincing everyone to take down Cassandra. Even so, Logan can't help but stare at you sometimes, acutely aware of your presence and how dead silent you are. You don't talk, you hardly move, but Logan can tell you listen to everything with a vivid sense of attention.

When the hours pass into night, when Laura talks to Logan by that fire pit, he follows her back into the camp after a few long moments and into a separate room overlooking the forest that surrounds the back. It's easy to follow her but he's sure that's just because she knows he is, walking into the room to see you hunched over a table and digging into the machinery of your arm. You clink around with a screwdriver and welder, moving your metal fingers occasionally to see if you fixed anything. When you see Laura though, you pause, letting her grab the screwdriver from your available hand and helping you. You do not flinch when she pokes and prods, so Logan can only assume you don't feel anything or have the pain tolerance near Logan's own, but either way it's an interesting sight to see the two of you huddled together.

Logan shifts his weight on the doorway, rubbing his knuckles distractedly. Your mask is off, letting him see your face clearly, your eyes staring hard but not entirely unkind at him from your spot by the table. You're attractive, in a begrudgingly way to Logan. He's not used to being attracted to someone, no matter if it's a man or not, and it freaks him out a little— so he buries that feeling deep within himself to ignore.

When the fight comes the next day, when everyone is in the middle of their own world and killing, is when Logan actually sees how deadly you are. Your fast, strong, and take the fight on like you have nothing to loose or gain. When the fight ends though, when Cassandra is gone and everyone is crammed into Wades shitty apartment, Logan thinks about you with a heaviness he doesn't expect. You are there too, of course, but for some reason he doesn't know how to interact with you, especially since he hasn't heard you talk once all this time and how you have this brooding demeanor that rivals Logan's own.

But you interact with Laura with hand gestures and sometimes a whisper to the ear, but he never hears and never tries to actually listen since it's not him you are talking to. Still, you cling to Laura's side unless she's in the middle of a bigger group or conversation, and it's only when Logan gives Dogpool to Wade again is when he fishes you out.

You're by the boxed off kitchen, leaning against the wall near the fridge with a red solo cup that Laura obviously is making you drink, just holding it awkwardly in your hand. You have your combat gear still on but there's a red flannel on your shoulders over the rest to hide your arm, not that it really matters in this crowd, but you seem insecure about it. Logan pretends to be there for something else, obviously— getting another round of fruit punch before he acknowledges you.

"So what's up with you?" He tries not to actively be an ass, but it's hard considering you acutely remind him of himself. Your eyes turn to stare at him, and even without your facial mask covering the bottom half of your face you are still stoic and nonchalant. You don't answer him for long enough that Logan almsot shrugs and calls the whole attempt off— but then you answer in a quiet, albeit rough voice.

"I don't know how to socialize." You say it so pitifully that Logan stops all his movements to consider the situation. He nearly wants to groan in frustration because, even though he is trying, he really doesn't want to try sometimes. But you stand there sadly and still and Logan does internally groan this time.

"Well," He says going to stand next to you, though a comfortable distance away. "How do you know Laura?" You don't turn to the side to look directly at him, but he can feel your surprise radiating off of you at his attempt at socializing. Shifting from foot to foot, you answer slowly.

"I was pruned when I didn't kill Howard Stark, so I'm not- I wasn't in a good headspace. Laura found me before Cassandra did and helped me be... human again." You continue to look forward awkwardly, but you do seem more comfortable the more Logan listens to you.

Logan sits with your explanation for a moment, letting himself have the opportunity to think over his next words. It's not everyday someone like you comes into his life, and he doesn't even mean that you're attractive— he means how complex you are, especially with your long past and how you're trying to find yourself again. He can relate, honestly. When he met the X-Men— Charles— for the first time, Logan wasn't anywhere like he is before they died, or even who he is nowadays. He was a shell walking through life with no help, only looking to survive instead of live. So, yeah, he can understand, but actually seeing someone else be like that hurts in a very vulnerable manner.

"Do you have a place to stay?" He blurts out, surprising himself. You don't show much emotion besides what you reply.

"Laura said I could stay with her." You pause for a moment, pondering. "But I'm not sure what I'll do in this world, especially if their Winter Soldier is still... here." You talk slowly, trying to keep up the conversation yet also trying not to be depressing.

"I'm sure Wade wouldn't mind an extra roommate." Logan says, not caring if Wade actually cares or not because either way he's sure Wade can be persuaded by a couple good stabs.

You actually turn to look solely on Logan now, obviously shocked at the prospect, but you don't seem unwilling either. You let it sink in for a moment, and that's when Logan sees you smile for the first time.

It starts like that, although slowly. You eventually do talk to Laura and Wade about the apartment situation— Laura is obviously very pleased with this outcome if her expression is anything to go by, and Wade is actually quite happy too— but you do talk to Al about it too, who says you and Logan eventually do need to make an income if you can live here. You're not surprised nor upset by this— if you're gonna live in this new world you need employment unfortunately, but you also know the TVA set you up with your own documents to help with that.

You sleep on the couch that rolls into a bed and (some awkwardness on his part aside) Logan eventually bunks with you. You're not complaining at all— when you were in HYDRAs hands the situations were very vastly different and worse, so loading up with someone is not uncomfortable for you, especially when this person is not actively trying to kill you. But also because of this, you are used to curling up into tight spaces despite your bigger size and you don't understand why Logan finds that sad at first, so you stick to one side of the couch bed easily. When Logan realizes the reasoning for this, he slowly starts to move into your space each night. You're not complaining with this, either.

When you're not asleep, you've found yourself a bouncer job at the local nightclub down the street, just near enough that you can walk there. With the Super Soldier Serum still in your veins that grant you heightened senses and strength, it's a relatively easy job, though you get home at weird hours. This isn't really a problem since Logan hardly sleeps, Wade is Wade, and Al has a separate room. But if you're not sleeping before work, Laura has taken it upon herself to teach you how to bake and do laundry the "normal" way, which basically means not just stealing someone else's clothes or washing out primarily blood.

But it's... nice. It's domestic and healthy, two things you aren't accustomed to, and it gets even better since Logan always joins too. At first he didn't— he made it very apparent that he knew how to do these things and found no fun in it, especially baking— but then he joined anyway and hasn't left since. Maybe it's for you, maybe it's for Laura or maybe it's for other reasons you don't know, but you're happy he's around. He's never really involved with the process, but he always stays around to quip or talk about whatever Laura talks about, sometimes just asking you about your job.

Since you technically have no name in his dimension, it's easy to blend into life and start new, but honestly Logan is the one that makes you realize that. He's not nice, he's mean and tough, but then he asks about your day or makes sure you're comfortable when there's a crowd or finishes your dinner plate secretly just so Wade doesn't get offended that you didn't have a lot of his food. You don't understand immediately that you love him, and he can say the same. You just do, and he just does, and it's perfect, even when it's not perfect.

Overtime, you gradually heal your inner wounds and Logan does too, if not slowly, but it happens nonetheless. You kiss him one night coming home from work after waking him up by bouncing on the couch bed, making him grumpy then happy when you suddenly kiss his face. It's obviously unexpected, but it's too easy to continue kissing and loving on him, especially when he reciprocates, and that's how you fall asleep: tucked under him as he sleeps nearly on top of you, nose in your neck and smiling. You both sleep in til one in the afternoon, only waking up from the Dogpool climbing over you both.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 6

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Attempted sexual assault

CHAPTER 5: This Boy is a Choking Hazard Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

Wisteria was fancier than what you expected from a nightclub. Cleaner, too. It was glass and steel and purple to pink neon lights. Artificial wisteria flowers hung from the ceiling and walls. 

The place was freezing and reeked of sweat, booze and a plethora of perfumes.

You were close to throwing up from sensory overload when someone yelled your name amidst the chatter and you found Amber waving at you from the bar. 

You wove past the jittering bodies to join her.

“Mark invited you, huh?” She didn’t seem mad or jealous, but she did sound defeated.

“Is that bad?”

She shook her head, smiling weakly. “Nah. He’s a good guy, I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. Just don’t forget what I told you. Mark has a way of wriggling into people’s hearts, especially pretty girls’.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Amber.”

“No problem.” She glanced down at your clothes. “You look great, by the way. I love your jacket.”

You resisted the urge to scoff and thought back to several hours ago.

This body’s taste in clothes was similar to yours, if a little juvenile. The system said that it was because it relayed some of your memories to the World Consciousness. Being a tutorial level mission world certainly helped too.

[Do not expect this to be the same in every mission world, though. As I have said before, the World Consciousness is imperfect. A lot of its programming ability goes to replicating your defining physical features like eye color and complexion, but that leaves everything else subject to variation.]

“I get it already, limited energy or whatever, right?” You waved it off, trying to find the best outfit for the club. 

The system huffed–it did not appreciate getting brushed off like some nagging wife–and pixelated smoke puffed out of the corners of its screen, dispersing in the air as tiny dots of light. Deciding to get back at its Host, the system waited for you to pick up a t-shirt and then played that buzzer sound quiz shows would use when a participant got an answer wrong.

[Too plain.]

You raised an eyebrow but agreed. Your hand went for another top. 

[Too gaudy.]

Fine. You reached for something else–EEEEHH. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at the floating holographic monitor. 

The system made an innocent face.

[Too ugly.]

[Too vibrant.]

[Too frumpy.]

It didn’t take more than two minutes of getting bombarded with that obnoxious EEEEHH for you to put your foot down. You settled for something comfortable but more party-coded than your usual wear. The most noteworthy piece on you was a denim jacket decorated with a few pins.

Amber was admiring the one shaped like a semicolon while you used disinfectant wipes on the barstool next to her.

“So,” you started, taking a seat. “How was your test?”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “What’s done is done. Tonight, I’m just going to focus on dancing. Hey, you’re still coming to my party tomorrow, right?”

“Uh-huh.” To be honest, your social battery was drained to half capacity just by entering this place. If this was a purely social endeavor you would’ve already prepared a whole story about your not-grandmother being in a hospital and wanting to see you tomorrow, but this was a job. If playing nice and pretending to have fun is what your job needs then so be it.

Besides, it would feel wrong to say no to her now.

“I like your blouse,” you said. 

She wore a gold sequin halter top with a pair of high-waisted jeans. 

“Thanks! A friend of mine picked it out for me, I thought it was too much but she said it’d be a waste not to get it. I think you’ll really like her, she’s an architecture major.” Her eyes flickered over your shoulder and she beamed, waving at someone. “There she is now.”

[Ding.]

“Hey, Amber.” The voice was undoubtedly feminine and clear. The kind of voice befitting an important woman.

Red-orange flickered from the corner of your eye.

Amber stood to give the new arrival a quick hug and then introduced the two of you.

The emerald-eyed stranger offered you a smile and her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

[Samantha Eve Wilkins has arrived.]

Long fiery hair fell delicately over bare freckled-kiss shoulders and her green eyes popped thanks to the lavender silk of her blouse. She was even more striking in person, there was no doubt in your mind that she was an important supporting character. Hell, she could probably pass for the main character. 

You gave her hand two shakes. “Hi.”

The bartender arrived, sliding a cool root beer towards Amber and asking you, “What can I get you?”

“Lemon lime–” “–peach soda”

You and Eve exchanged glances, then you giggled at the same time.

The bartender nodded and left to get your drinks.

“Amber tells me you’re a total genius,” Eve said, sitting next to you instead of Amber and effectively sandwiching you between the two beauties. If you were as old as this body was, you would have thrown up from anxiety. Luckily, you have learned to be more adaptable before you died.

“I’m not a genius,” you replied, accepting the bottle of lemon lime from the bartender with a smile and barely audible ‘thank you.’

Amber waved her hand. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You always get the highest score in every test and pop quiz–and you only make what, one or two mistakes? It’s insane.” She leaned closer and said to Eve, “The professor thought she was cheating so he had her retake a different version of a test in essay form.” 

“No way.” Eve’s jaw dropped. “Is that even allowed?”

“We’re not sure, but jokes on him, our girl here–” she gave you a friendly elbow jab “–got perfect marks on that.”

You groaned internally. You weren’t a genius, but you were technically a college graduate, one who already suffered through chemistry, biology, psychology and so many other -ies. 

Daily study sessions, a stringent schedule, different tutors and a sprinkle of all-nighters here and there can go a long way. You also genuinely enjoyed learning, and in this reality, you didn’t have to worry about time or money, so you can focus your energy on studying. The only catch is that you have to go above and beyond for one particular, very specific subject: Mark Grayson. 

Your interest in other people who are too distant to be considered friends is usually limited. Relationships are hard, at least for you. Humans can say one thing but mean something else. For example, if one is invited for a drink with their boss, technically, they can say no, but they don’t because it is a faux pas to reject a social invite from an important person. One has to smile and nod when another speaks, even when the topic is boring or nonsensical or disagreeable.

Etiquette and expectations. Tradition versus reason. 

Confusing, annoying, but necessary, you admit. 

You stared at the cartoon logo on your plastic bottle. 

Speaking of confusing things, where the heck is Mark?

[Ding. The system is offline.]

[The system was called “useless” and “unnecessary” by the Host.]

[Since this system is so “useless” and “unnecessary,” it shall stay away for now.]

[(˶˃⤙˂˶)]

Little punk.

You rolled your eyes and let it be, deciding to survey the area. According to Mark, tonight the whole club was reserved for the college or something; an immediate celebration after the first major exams of the academic year. 

Expectedly, the entire floor was swarmed with young adults, from freshmen to seniors. Some held beer, others went with sodas or juice. 

“Great place, right?” Eve asked, pulling you out of focus mode.

“Yeah, it is.” You turned to face her. Sharp green eyes smiled at you. 

“I gotta say, I haven’t been to a lot of nightclubs but I can already tell that this is relatively high end.”

“Amber tells me you’re an architect.”

“Well, studying to be one.”

“That’s cool.”

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. There’s a lot of math involved.”

“Not a big fan?”

“It’s not my favorite subject.”

“Here, here.” You raised your unopened bottle and she toasted with her peach soda. “I despise mathematics.”

Amber laughed. “Really? I thought you’d eat it up for sure.”

“Math is not as fascinating as chemistry. Or biology.” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but what kind of things do you do for fun? Eve and I have been itching for a girls’ night.”

You opened your mouth to reply but the lights dimmed and the multi-colored lasers focused on the stage.

A young man with green hair and studded leather pants announced into the mic, “Ladies, gentlemen and dear nonbinaries; friends and enemies, congrats on finishing the first Hell Week of the year!”

The two girls beside you cheered with the crowd. Not one for screaming, you opted to clap your hands.

“We got a lot of great performers lined up today, folks. Starting off strong, we present–Indigo Muse!”

Your peers erupted into applause.

The black velvet curtains behind him parted, revealing Mark and his band. 

The guy behind the drums lifted his sticks and began the count, “Three, two–”

Your ears perked at the familiar guitar riff–and soon, the entire floor was dancing.

I’m on my way, but I don’t know

What to do or where to go

Despite being the bassist, Mark was the lead singer and of course, he had the voice of an angel.

You felt your back being pushed and your arms getting pulled.

Eve yelled behind you, “Come on!”

“Let’s dance.” Amber dragged you off your stool. 

“Wait, I don’t–”

The two were stronger than they looked and you found yourself standing in the middle of the dance floor, getting squished by varied-smelling bodies.

I’m so nervous, I feel sick

I hope I don’t come off like a jerk

You gripped hard on your lemon lime, trying not to vomit.

You lifted your chin and found Mark’s eyes on you. 

I went all out, I washed my hair

I searched and found some clean underwear

There was that gaze again, like you were the only thing worth focusing on in the whole room.

It was too much.

She’s so hot, I can’t resist

I don’t know what I’ll do if she gives me that first kiss

Suddenly feeling extra thirsty, you tried to open your soda, but the condensation made your hand slip. The bottle dropped to the floor and a stray leg kicked it away.

“Crap.” Your two dance partners were too preoccupied to notice you crawling away.

“Excuse me, excuse me! Sorry!” You braved through stiletto heels and heavy boots. The smart thing to do was to get a new soda, but you didn’t want to be responsible for someone slipping on the bottle and causing a domino effect of fallen dancers and a really busy ER.

The bottle hit the legs of a nearby sofa, finally stopping.

You sighed in relief, but just as you approached forward, a girl bumped into you and dropped her bottle.

She rubbed her head. “Ow… Sorry.”

“I’m fine.” 

You picked up both drinks and stared at them. Huh. Both lemon lime. Both unopened.

“Here.” You gave her one randomly.

“Thanks. Sorry again for, uh, falling on top of you.”

“No harm done.”

She grinned and walked away, her long blonde ponytail bouncing with each step as she disappeared into the sea of people.

You reached inside your jacket for a wet wipe and cleaned the soda bottle from top to bottom. 

You twisted the cap open and the system dinged just as you realized–

Shit.

***

Mark didn’t stop looking even when you did. He half-expected you to email with some generic excuse like a relative in the hospital or a dead grandparent, so seeing you here, in the flesh, was a win in his book.

He was happy to see you all dressed up. He couldn’t wait to ask the story behind every pin on your jacket. Would you actually get giddy like you did during philosophy debates? Would your face remain deadpan? Would you lose your patience and get mad?

His well-practiced singing never faltered as he watched you weave through the crowd. 

What were you doing?

They already reached ⅔ of the song when you stopped near a sofa to wipe your soda clean.

He recalled applause and his team patting his back. The emcee approached him while he saw you suddenly burst into a panicked sprint from across the room.

“Mark? Hey, dude?”

“Sorry, I need to use the restroom.” He shrugged off his strap and swiftly put down his bass.

The emcee pointed his thumb behind him. “There’s a staff only wash over–”

Mark leaped off the stage and went the other way.

The emcee glanced at his bandmates, who could only shrug.

Mark did his best to dash towards the restrooms, but with this many people he couldn’t blitz his way recklessly.

By the time he reached the girls’ toilets, he had calmed down enough to try and knock first, but he heard screaming and he burst through the door with a kick.

“Princess!”

He froze, and so did you, and so did the large guy you were hitting with a mop. Beneath that football player-shaped guy was a blonde girl crying on the floor. Her blouse was ripped open and Mark could see red handprints around her throat.

The bastard recovered from shock earlier and swung at you. Your legs faltered and you hit the sink with a loud thud.

Mark didn’t breathe–he didn’t think–

all he saw was red.

“You like hitting girls, huh?”

THUNK

“What about me, tough guy?”

THUNK

“Come on!”

THUNK

“Fight back, asshole!”

“Mark–”

“Fight back–”

“Mark.” Cold, clammy palms covered his cheeks. 

Clear eyes grounded him. “Stop.”

“Princess?”

You gave him a small smile. “We’re okay now.” 

Something cool and wet touched his knuckles. He looked down and saw you wiping away the blood. 

He glanced back at you and saw the early signs of a shiner. He used his free hand to cradle that side of your face. “He hurt you.”

“I’m not the victim here.” You used your mouth to gesture behind him.

The blonde girl was unconscious, but you had draped your jacket over her torso.

Mark swallowed. “Did he–”

You shook your head. “I arrived just when he pushed her down. She’ll be… she’ll remember this night, but she’s one of the luckier ones.”

“Luckier, huh.”

You frowned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. It just stinks that this is what we consider lucky.”

You silently finished wiping the blood from his knuckles and threw them inside a ziplock bag.

Mark cocked an eyebrow. “You… carry ziplock bags with you?”

“You’ll never know.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I saw you run here from the stage.”

“You got good eyes.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I got better instincts.” He met your gaze. “How did you know what was about to happen?”

You showed him a bottle of lemon lime soda inside a bigger ziplock bag. “She and I accidentally switched bottles. They were both unopened at first glance, but when I twisted the cap, it was loose.”

He examined the container.

“Oh, and it didn’t fizz.”

“What?”

“The soda didn’t fizz. A loose cap is one thing, but then add the fact that it didn’t fizz?”

“You pieced that together fast. I would’ve just thought that it was an old bottle.”

You grinned. “I’ve been told that I’m something of a genius.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

He chuckled. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, surprising him.

“You’re asking me? I’m not the victim here,” he parroted your words back to you.

“That didn’t stop you from worrying about me.” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay, Mark?”

You put your hand over his clean knuckles. 

His breath hitched. 

You were close enough to–

He heard groaning behind him and you pulled back, standing up.

“Hey,” he heard you speak to the blonde girl. “Do you remember where you are? It’s okay. You’re safe, it’s all right, the police are on their way.”

He heard crying as he looked down at the man whose face was now unrecognizable.

He looked at his freshly wiped fingers.

“You’re okay.” 

He then turned around and saw your shaking hands comfort the weeping girl on the floor.

Mark clenched his fists.

***

[Affection: 44%. Darkening: 15%.]

You stared at the pink and black bars while the paramedic cleaned your wounds.

Amber was in tears, holding your hand and apologizing for not paying more attention, despite your insistence that this was nobody else’s fault except the criminal who was currently on his way to the ER.

Eve said she would go check up on Mark. The system informed you that they were conversing on the roof.

The blonde girl, Ariel, was giving her statement to the cops. When she was finished, she walked over to you and surprised you with a hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Unsure what to do, you awkwardly patted her head. “No problem. Anyone would have done the same.”

“I’m sorry about messing up your jacket.”

“Eh, I needed a new one.”

She and Amber laughed.

Ariel stepped back. “Thank you.”

She nodded at Amber and then joined a female officer inside a police car.

Amber’s phone chirped and she squeezed your hand. “You hungry? Eve and Mark want to eat nachos.”

“I didn’t know Eve and Mark were close.”

Amber blinked. She then waved her hand. “No, no, well, yes, they are close, but not like that.”

“Then like what?”

“Well, apparently, they work at the same place. I still don’t know what they actually do, but they see each other occasionally. Eve’s taken though. Some guy named Rex.”

“I see.” For some reason, your heart felt lighter.

***

“Amber said they’re good for nachos,” Eve said, putting away her phone.

Mark stayed quiet as he stared at his hands. You told him to wash them thoroughly but he can still feel the stain on him. 

Eve walked closer. “You did good. You saved them.” She stopped talking, but Mark knew that tone. 

He hated it because it meant she had something else to say, something annoying. “But…?” 

“...but you should’ve held back.”

“He was a rapist.”

“Yes, and I hate him, too, but he’s also human. If you kept going the way you did you would’ve killed him!”

Mark paused. 

He was brought back inside that tiny rest room. Before the police arrived, the staff nurse offered to take Ariel inside the attached clinic for treatment. You reassured them that you would follow, and when it was just you and Mark, you locked the door, walked over to Ariel’s attacker and stomped down on his crotch; hard enough that Mark actually winced, hard enough that he heard squishing noises when you lifted your foot.

Face blank, you said to him, “If they ask, tell them it was self-defense.”

He almost laughed. Hearing that was liberating.

He wondered if Eve would have approved. Eve wasn’t a goody-two shoes, but she drew hard lines when it came to crime-fighting. Excessive force and torture were something she balked at.

“I recognize that guy, y’know,” Mark mumbled. “I saved a different woman a few months ago.” In addition to being a prized player at the university, he was part of a powerful frat, a legacy. “I will never forget that smug face of his when the judge let him free.” 

“That sucks.”

Mark sneered. That’s all Eve ever says. “If only I–”

“If only, what? If only you killed him? You’re better than that.”

Mark could hear his mother’s voice echo from the back of his mind: “You’re better than him.”

He shot to his feet and turned towards the door.

“We aren’t done here.”

“I think we are,” he snapped back and swung open the rooftop door.

“Oh.”

You were standing right in front of him. “Hi,” you squeaked.

“Hi.” He flashed you his signature smile. “Missed me already? I thought we were meeting at the restaurant?”

“I just needed some fresh air, I didn’t think there was anybody here, sorry. I’ll leave.”

Eve interrupted you, “No, it’s fine. We’re done.” 

She gave Mark a look and then smiled at you. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Mark held the door, stepped to the side and made a sweeping motion with his arm, like a doorman welcoming guests. 

“You really like roofs,” you noted, strolling towards the railing. “Do you enjoy looking down at the world?”

“You make me sound like a megalomaniac.”

“Your words, not mine.” You rest your elbows on the guardrail. 

Mark joined and you uttered to him, “I have a confession.”

His heart stopped for a moment. “What?”

“When you were punching that guy, I was really tempted to let you beat him to death.”

“Oh.”

You eyed him and he quickly added, “–kay. Okay. I see. So why didn’t you?”

“I was worried about you. You didn’t look like yourself.”

He guiltily lowered his head. “Sorry for scaring you.”

You let out a loud Ha! “You don’t scare me, not even when you had blood all over you.” You glanced down at the city. “What I meant was that you seemed to be in a trance. I didn’t want you to wake up and realize you killed someone in your sleep. That would suck.”

This time, Mark let himself laugh.

***

He was laughing.

Jesus, what a psycho. He almost killed someone and he was laughing?

He really was destined for villainy. 

[Affection: 49%. Darkening: 16%.]

You were supposed to pretend to love someone like this? For how long? And how many times before you were free? How many more horrible things did you have to experience and witness?

Mark’s brown eyes widened. “Princess?”

“Hm?”

“Are you–”

You turned away from him and brought a shaking hand to your face. “I’m all right, I promise.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, you felt his arms slowly, almost hesitantly, stretch around your shoulders. 

Permitting this moment of weakness, you leaned your head on his chest. 

His arms tightened, folding over you protectively. “It’s okay, princess. You’re safe.”

You shook your head, because he was awful and kind and confusing and he had no idea what he was saying.

[Ding. Affection: 52%. Darkening: 20%.]

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Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 7: My mama done tol' me a man…  Series Masterlist

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[marielle555]

The UA path is my heaviest gaming experience.

I want to say right away, that I'm not trying to belittle anyone else's gaming experience or impose my point of view on anyone else about what's going on in the game. Neither am I trying to criticize the game BG3 as such (after all, in order to love the game, it is not necessary to use in your playthroughs all the opportunities provided by the game, and the fact that some variants of the playthrough may be hard for my perception and I do not want to use them in my main playthroughs, does not diminish my love for the game as long as other options are possible). In this post, I want to share my personal experience of passing on the so-called “good” route of Astarion and do my own analysis of what happens to him in this case.

I love to play RPG games with full immersion, imagining myself in the character's place, and the first playthrough should be blind, without spoilers, so as not to spoil the impression. In the case of BG3, unfortunately, it was not possible to completely protect myself from outside information, because even a banal search for screenshots with Astarion led to the fact that the eye somehow clung to arguments about how bad and scary it will be to help him Ascend and “you will lose him”. The specific torment with Astarion began with a phrase in the diary that appears after completing his personal quest (if you talk him out of the ritual): “Astarion's fate is sealed. He will be a vampire spawn for the rest of his days.” Astarion himself also talks about never seeing the sun again. The desire to play through the game without spoilers no longer mattered after that, and I found detailed descriptions with companions' lines and Tav's behavior, videos of Astarion's “good” ending (without the Ascension). It was during patch 4 and it was the ending, which just nullified the entire game for me, an ending I would never want to see in my playthrough. For me, as a player, who really loved Astarion, who had this character became the center of the entire game world, all the former sincere love and admiration for the world of Baldur at that moment simply changed to hatred for all the others that will enjoy life and see the sun. The rest of the plot was not important, it didn't matter what was going on around, other companions and all these side quests, what difference did it make, what happens next, if it all ends up like this.

And although before that I had accidentally learned about Astarion after reading one of the articles in a game magazine, that he turns down a lot of people at a party, I did not read any guides on principle, I wanted realistic roleplay without hints. And there were no problems with the romance, despite all the initial prickliness and regular disapproval, Astarion suddenly wowed me by asking me for a date even before any party, when I was even totally not expecting it. It was simply amazing. And the sea of tenderness and love that comes over me after the confession scene in the second act is hard to describe. It feels like you're holding his wounded heart in your hands, holding it as gently as you can, and there's nothing more precious in the whole world than that. And I'm going to go drinking with these idiots in a tavern in the finale, celebrating some sort of “victory,” while Astarion burns? Astarion in this ending looked like some kind of outcast, an object to be bullied, he's cheated, he's in pain, and he's forced to flee again, hiding from the sun. Is such a world even worth fighting for? Hardly. Well, of course, I also read all sorts of “horror stories” about Ascension: “Astarion becomes an abuser”, “Astarion will never respect you again” and similar nonsense. Just giving up on the game was hindered by the feeling that by doing so I was still betraying Astarion, leaving him a spawn. I decided, against all the “scaremongering” to Ascend Astarion, bring him to an adequate ending and call it a day. What a wonderful reward I received for that and what a wonderful happy playthrough I had is a separate story, a story that is still ongoing.

Of course, for the sake of understanding Astarion's character and compiling a complete picture, it's necessary to go through the game both ways, and I later decided to explore the UA path, without roleplay, but with attention to Astarion and his scenes, to understand what he's feeling along this route and how “good” it really is for him.

The scene of the abandonment of the ritual. It is not infrequently written that Astarion experiences “catharsis.” Where do we see catharsis? Yes, the very opportunity to take revenge on his tormentor, when Astarion stabs Cazador multiple times - this is catharsis, but after Astarion realizes that he has to give up the dream of becoming alive again, no purification or liberation occurs as a result. Next we see tears and cries of pain followed by a depressed state.

His tears in the scene of refusing the ritual are the most bitter, a grimace of real pain on his face.

Then there is doom and a kind of detachment, exhaustion…

It's the face of a doomed man. It is the face of a man who is depressed, a man who has resigned himself to the fact that he has nothing more to want and that nothing good awaits him, and he realizes it. There is no more hope. Astarion has cried his tears and now he humbles himself. Humbling himself and adjusting and this “new way” is not what he wanted. Astarion cries if he doesn't ascend, not only when the pain and grief of what has been taken from him hits him, but also the realization that there is nothing to get back, the realization of the future that awaits him. If you fail the persuasion check needed to get him to give up the ritual, Astarion will make it very clear why he doesn't want that life.

It is also interesting to note the moment when Astarion first met the Gur's after the death of Cazador.

“It is noteworthy how Spawn seems to say compassionate things that "saved Ulma from having to kill her children themselves," and then when he realized that his trick had worked, he abruptly changes his face and smiles slyly and says with relief, "You will stop following me, right?" I interpret this as "I'll say anything as long as you stop hunting me."

To me, it's a clear demonstration that he continues to wear a mask and says things to protect himself, not because he really feels for Ulma. And we must not forget that Astarion hates the Gur's, because they almost killed him and because of them he ended up in slavery. Therefore, it is reasonable that he wants to destroy them when he gets the chance.” © channel author AlexKhodja

Depression (or pain, suffering, doom, in general, the morbidly depressive emotional spectrum) is also evident in the scenes that follow.

The scene after the ritual (responding to Tav's line “I'm proud of you…”).

Astarion: “I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure. I just feel numb.”

And the voice and expression in which Astarion says: “I want to feel alive again.”

And how different that is from his “I feel alive, hahaha!”

Time 10.46

Also Astarion's line in the dialogue after: "I should probably start getting used to the shadows again. Who knows how long I have left in the sun?"

I can't help but think of how Astarion meets the dawn in the Act 1 scene, after a first night with him.

In this interesting video (combining the Astarion Origin version with the Astarion companion version in the meeting scene with Dalyria and Petras in the flophouse)

Time 4.09.

Response to Tav: "You did the right thing, stopping the Black Mass."

“I know. That doesn’t mean it stings any less”.

Tav: “And if it is? Can you live with what?”

"I'll have to. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

When Astarion says: “Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror…” he makes a gesture with his hand, as if trying to find the best words, to think of what to say next, before continuing: “… that started centuries ago.”

It's so artificial, and… When has Astarion ever expressed himself like that once throughout the game?

In response to Tav's line, "I wasn't sure if you'd stop the ritual or not, honestly." Astarion replies more sincerely, "I am - well, not 'happy' with how things turned out. But this does feel right."

The scene in the graveyard is sad, though it touches the heart. It was sad to hear him retort, “You were patient.” It sounds kind of self-deprecating, as if one had to “be patient” with Astarion, as if one couldn't love him unconditionally for what he is, as if one couldn't love all the manifestations of his lively and vivid character and be happy to have him around. And about the “objectively stupid thing to do” is also very sad to hear.

Also for Astarion, Tav has a pretty nasty line in this scene, “Then don't mess it up,” and the bitter part is that if you check it, Astarion will respond:

He accepts it. He accepts that attitude. He will endeavor to please. That kind of captures the whole essence of this “arch of redemption.”

And an even nastier line: “That sounds very sincere. Are you sure the parasite hasn’t chewed through your brain?”

And Astarion just lets him be treated that way:

Well, in this scene at least, not all lines for the player are bad. 1 adequate (“You won't. Whatever comes next. I've got you.”) to 2 bad lines. All-in-all, 1 is much better than 0, there's an opportunity for choice. But Astarion… Astarion thinks he deserves to be treated the way Tav treats him in the other 2, toxic lines. Where do we have “equal relationship” here? If the developers wanted to show AA “toxic” in such a way that the player would believe it, they should have just given him those two lines about “don't mess it up” and “parasite hasn't chewed through your brain” and not had to take away the player's agency, instead keep the agency, allow for the opportunity for loving roleplay and so that AA in that moment, when Tav opened their soul to him, would share an innermost, painful thing, like Astarion before in the graveyard scene, would tell them that or something similar. But that would require rewriting the whole character. But that's how you can treat him in a “healthy” and “equal” relationship.

“I'm still nothing, aren't I? Just an expandable frail spawn who will burn to a crisp soon enough.”

Yes, that line refers to the moment, when Tav betrays him, betrays everything they promised before, Tav wants to use his body, forcing Astarion to take on an astral tadpole, to do what is against his will. But Astarion will never say or think that about himself, when he Ascended and stopped being a “frail spawn” forever. Astarion thinks of himself that way, feels that way, and it's not just in relation to the tadpole. And the “will burn to a crisp soon enough” part - that part has nothing to do with this particular moment, when Tav betrays him, it seems like something he's been thinking about, something that's been eating away at him, and just now, at this particular moment, it came out of his mouth, even if it came out because Tav betrayed him. And sure, Tav's betrayal hurts him, but he's clearly thought about it before this moment. If he hadn't thought about it before, his words would have sounded different, at least they wouldn't have hinted at the bitter ending that would await him.

Left as a frail spawn, Astarion is forever locked into his mask, adjusting and behaving as he is “supposed” to, he keeps on pretending, he doesn't try to show his real self, his insecurity is solidified and expressed by clinging to Tav, as the only person who has been kind to him, and showing himself as Tav wants him to be. “Astarion's spawn is theater (with all the masks, lies and deception still included)” Neil.

When I played with UA, I felt a deep love for him, but with a strong dash of pain. I can't call that kind of relationship “healthy”. “Patience”… It really takes patience to follow this story through to the end. If in reality my loved one suddenly changed behavior from Astarion's playful behavior in Act 2 to UA's behavior, where there is a distinct sense of depression, I would sound the alarm and clearly would not consider it “good” or “normal”. And the way Astarion himself defines this relationship, the only line is, “Nothing special, of course…” Yes, it's a joke, but in that joke you can sense some degree of passive aggression, maybe resentment and doom. And afterward, he only talks about “care,” not love. “Care” is certainly a part of love, but it is only one of the "bricks'" it is less than '“love”, especially eternal love. “How could I say no?” - Okay in Act 2, when Astarion is just starting to trust and open up, but when the relationship seems to be already serious? The hug in the epilogue looks like a friendly hug, not a romantic one, and nowhere near as deep and touching as the hug in the confession scene of Act 2. And overall, compared to Ascended Astarion, there is a certain sense of detachment. Not a fake “glass barrier”, as in the game with AA without mods, when you can see from one look at him how Astarion reaches out to you, but, alas, there are no appropriate lines or actions for Tav, and, unfortunately, there can be a certain annoyance, that you play a game, where there are 'threesomes', brothels, bestiality, different variants of cheating, but there is no opportunity to just hug or kiss normally, or at least say: “I love you” to the dearest person. It's a sense of distance of a different kind - coming from Astarion himself. He has closed himself off. And it's as if he's fading. His other lines and facial expressions are devoid of their former playfulness, and some have overly sweet, unnaturally sweet intonations.

And the kind of roleplay that is possible in this relationship, how do I even play that? Tav concretely doesn't care about Astarion's condition. Not a single attempt to find not that healing, not even some kind of artifact to protect him from the sun. Tav is calmly going about their other, “more important” business and “having fun”. The scene at the docks is the apotheosis and culmination of the epitome of the worst partner behavior example in a relationship. Tav doesn't give a damn about Astarion concretely. The truest neglect. Our character will act as if they're fine with everything. Of course this is not a rebuke to the players, the players have no choice outside of the scenario, I myself have a scene consisting of exclusively negative lines and I'm scripted to be a submissive, if played without mods, the problems with roleplay and violation of player agency are present to some degree in both routes. I just don't know how to play with the UA with roleplay, I can think of a “good ” Tav, who feels sorry for all the spawns and wants to talk him out of it, but I can't think of a character, who agrees to behave the way Tav behaves in the scenario, it's just beyond. Astarion expects Tav to abandon him, he doesn't believe them until the end, he says so in the epilogue. Tav shows complete indifference to Astarion (I don't mean the player, I mean the kind of roleplay the game allows). On Tav's part - neglect, manipulation, ignoring his needs and his pain. Going to “celebrate victory” while he, burned, sits curled up behind crates at the docks.

What happens to him at this point can be seen in more detail in the scene at the docks of Astarion Origins.

Hidden Astarion ending cutscene for origin

In the epilogue without a relationship or after a breakup, he says that he now owns his own destiny, and when he finds a way to walk in the sun, he will not miss it now, nothing and no one will stop him. And these are important words, the ritual was really important to him.

«That being said, I haven't completely given up on returning to the sun. If the opportunity presented itself - well, I wouldn't say no...»

«Every day I yearned for the sun and mourned my curse to live in the shadows”.

«I've been exploring the world, looking for anything that will let me walk in the sun again”.

Also in the non-romantic epilogue we can see how Astarion was truly robbed at the moment of this “collective triumph”: “I felt… ashamed. Like I'd lost everything, just as you claimed your victory. I didn't want you to see me like that.”

And here's the look on his face after Astarion says:

“I did at first, but then I realised - these shadows, this darkness - it's all part of me.”

And just after this line, Astarion continues, “I spent too long defined by what other people did to me. The choices other people made for me - but that's over now.” Choices have been made for him, but now that he is free, he will no longer miss any opportunity, should one present itself to him. I think UA is even better off alone than with Tav, judging by the un-ascended epilogue. Even though it's much more bitter than romantic, in it Astarion says he won't miss his chance again if he ever gets one, and he finds a use for his abilities. And he won't have to endeavor or please anyone else.

This is of course my point of view, based largely on empathy, but I think real acting is precisely about conveying through facial expressions, voice, movements the feelings of the character and letting the viewer/player feel it. Where the authors managed to realistically and genuinely make me feel bad is in the UA route. But I don't see that as a minus - I appreciated the plot, and I can see my own sense in it, though in the future I won't ever choose it and would rather have a happy playthrough with the Ascended Astarion. But it's realistic, the game makes me think about what I'm doing, like in a good DnD with a harsh DM, when you can't just run around, do all the quests, help everyone, be “good” and get bonuses for it. It's necessary to act as one would act as a character, who lives in this world. Ascension is Astarion's path, it's what he wants, it's his only chance. If I didn't let him do it, if I left him as a spawn, didn't help him, why should I feel good about it afterwards? I have nothing against “good” roleplay, when some of ones moral principles are more important, it's just not definitely not my thing. I won't sacrifice a loved one for someone else's principles, “messages”, “narratives” or whatever. I don't play games for the sake of suffering, helplessness and pain. After all, if Tav and Astarion died somewhere along the way, Cazador would ascend and kill all those spawns. Astarion owed nothing to this world. The world has given him nothing but pain, contempt and rejection, why should he owe them all?

Humility - yes, that's how the UA path feels, and I can't imagine my character would give a loved one that rather than love, the joys of life and accepting them for who they are.