#live laugh love britain

[totallynotsmoke]

Family photo

If some of yall Sonic.exe TD fans wondering who is that hotshot with the fleshly-looking arm that is outlaiks (The TD game creator) own sonic.exe OC that he made for another game that he no longer works on

I just wanted to draw them all together like a big happy murderous family 😔😔🙏

[loaklvr]

my heart does backflips whenever i see this goofy mf

[toiletphotoshoot]

I like the head canon that prof. Rowan is from Galar AKA pokemon Britain, because that would make his interpretation of Lysandre when Augustine introduces him even funnier.

Augustine: Rowan! This is my boyfriend, Lysandre! :D

Rowan, knowing that Augustine lives and researches in Kalos AKA pokemon France, that Lysandre is Kalosian and therefore French: MY ‘SON’ IS DATING A FRENCHIE?????

[nxtkit]

I saw my friend do this so I’ll do an about me ong:

Me fr

My name is Kiki, I’m 16 and I’m British with Bengali ethnicity 🇬🇧🇧🇩

I’m Bisexual, Transgender and go by She/They and LOVE cats, music, gaming and art

I don’t like tomatoes or mean people ong (they smell)

I know a bunch of instruments and I’d like to think I’m good at drawing, I’ve also performed at a few venues all over England!

I love all kinds of music but my all time fav artist is Boywithuke and I also love Laufey, Beabadoobee and other bands like Green day and Poor man’s poison

I love Assassin’s creed (hidden blade shing shing ong) and games like Minecraft (do know I love building)

Uuuh idk what else I’m meant to put but like I’ll post my art here and also just vibe fr <3

[parkersbliss]

I just read your story with American!reader and I loved it. It made me want to see the all the 141 boys maybe reacting to Reader saying “I wish British people were real” as a joke they saw on TikTok. I love your writing💗💗

you anons that request stuff are on something bc your ideas are so good??? thank you I love YOU

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x American!reader 

warnings: gaz and ghost is mildy suggestive, um price asking if you're dumb, that's it I think

a/n: life would be so much better if British people were real man

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty!

—

Ghost:

Simon was painfully British. That much was obvious to anyone who met and got a word out of him. His accent was thick, intertwined with every word that essentially screamed “I am British” in your face. You would be a liar if you said it wasn’t part of the initial attraction to him. The deep grave voice, mixed with a foreign accent. Yeah, you were easy like that. 

And Simon, despite his thick accent, wasn’t a patriotic man. Sure, he cheered for his sports team, measured in metrics, wore the flag patch during combat, etc. but he wasn’t in your face about his nationality. None of that “My country is better than yours” toxic patriotism. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t things you poked fun at him for. The tea obsession, the way he said certain words, the lack of flavor in some of the food. 

You had your grievances against Britain. So when Simon was watching the news with you on the couch, the news reporter accent heavy across the room, you get an idea. 

With a sigh, you lean back. “Man, I wish British people were real.” 

Simon turns to face you, quirking a brow. “What?”

“I wish British people were real,” You repeated, pointing at the Newscaster. “It’s obviously a fake accent.” 

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” 

You suppress a laugh as you give him a blank stare. “They’re so funny, the accents. I wish they were real, that’s all.” 

Simon narrows his eyes at you, fingers brushing across your shoulder from the arm slung across the back of the couch. “I wish Americans were real.” 

“Me too,” You agree as Simon rolls his eyes. 

“You think you’re funny, hm?” 

“I think I’m hilarious,” You corrected him as he shifted you to sit in his lap. 

“‘M gonna start calling you an American bimbo if you keep spewing such bullshit.” 

You tap your chin in fake thought. “I bet you’d be into that.” 

Simon scoffs, hands moving to your hips. “Glorified idiocy? I think not.” 

You put on a valley girl accent, twirling your hair as you blink rapidly at him. “Oh, my god! You are so hot.” 

“Stop.” 

“Like totally bangable.” 

Simon’s face is turning red as you laugh manically. “You’re done,” he said, lips meeting yours to shut you up. 

“I knew you were into it.”

“Shut. Up.”

Gaz: 

You sat with your back to Kyle’s chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as his hands rested under your shirt. You’re idly scrolling on Tiktok, letting him watch because, really, he was a girl at heart too. Grocery hauls? Organizing my makeup? Day in my life? He was sat. He presses feather-light kisses to your neck occasionally as your thumb swipes across the screen. 

It’s another of many influences doing a grocery haul, and you both pause to watch it. Her accent is light, but still obviousas she pronounces words like blueberries, brekkie, and other British slang. 

You had gotten mostly familiar with it living with Kyle in London, but the accents here were much lighter compared to up north. 

You frown at the video. “I wish British people were real. They’re so funny.” 

“Excuse me?” Kyle asked, pulling his chin off your shoulder to look at you. 

“The accent? The slang? The Chinese food?” You list out. “It’s such a good running joke. Such a shame they’re not real.” 

Kyle’s lips pulled into their signature scowl. “What the fuck am I then?” 

“An ongoing joke?”

Kyle snorts at that. “What the hell, love? You’re taking the piss, right?” 

You shake your head. “See. I know your secret. I don’t get why you insist on still using such British phrases.” 

“I am British,” Kyle said slowly. 

“And I’m George Washington,” You counter. “No point in hiding it.” 

“Love,” he starts gently. That was the best thing about Kyle. He was always so kind and gentle with you. His hands move up and down your sides. “British people are real.”

“I don’t think so.” 

“So what was the American Revolution?” 

“Staged.” You’re testing his patience, wondering exactly when he would either give up or pull up the evidence that Britain was real. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” 

His tone of voice strained, and his brown eyes pleading with you. You feel a little bad, stressing him out, so you relent. “I am, baby.” 

He exhales in relief, head falling back to the crook of your neck. “Jesus Christ.”

“Do you think I’m that stupid?” You ask, leaning into him a bit more. 

“Well—” 

“If you wanna get laid tonight think about your answer.” 

“I think if you thought British people weren’t real, it’s a common misconception.” 

You giggle, turning to face him and kissing him gently as he pushes you to the bed. “Good answer.”  

Soap: 

Johnny was a passionate man. He is passionate about his work, his hair, his partner, and his country — as in Scotland.Great Britain was fine too, but he didn’t like being looped in with the British. He made an exception for work though, wearing the flag patch with pride. And occasionally tolerating his British brothers. However, back at home, your front porch has the Scotland flag hanging from it, and he had plenty of blankets of it and sports teams hanging around in the house. Yes, Johnny was a passionate man. And if you gave him the chance to poke some fun at the British, oh, he’d take it. 

“You know, it’s really cool you’re able to find someone who sells all this Scottish merch.” You’re pretending to look at the mug in your hand with some Scottish phrase on it that’s white and blue.

Johnny turns to face you, spatula in hand. “I got it from the coffee shop down the street.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s really cool they sell this stuff.” 

His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

You set the mug down on the table, crossing your arms on the counter. “Well, you know, because Scotland isn’t real, but they still—” 

“What did you just say?” 

“Scotland isn’t real?” 

He drops the spatula turning to you with crossed arms. “Yes, it is.” 

“But like the national animal is a unicorn, and unicorns aren’t real…” 

“The national animal is a unicorn because it represents how Scotland is unyielding and remains unconquered.” 

“But I didn’t learn about it in geography.”

“You’re American,” Your boyfriend deadpans. “You only learn the states and the other world powers.” 

You sigh, cupping your chin in your hands. “It would just be nice that Scottish people are real with their silly little accents.”

Johnny drags a hand down his face. “How are we having this conversation? The Kingdom of Scotland emerged in the 9th century, and in 1707 they joined to form Great Britain…” 

That’s how you ended up with a history lesson about Scotland as Soap continues cooking dinner for you both. And you weren’t complaining, after all, with how passionate he was about reciting the history of his home, cooked in a kiss-the-chef apron in your Scotland theme house, what was there to complain about? 

Especially when he sets the plate of food down in front of you, kisses you softly, and says he loves you. Oh yeah, you believed in Scotland. 

Price:

Your husband was a straightforward man, something you had always admired about him. If he didn’t like something (or did) he would tell you. It’s part of what makes him a great captain, that ability to give it you how it is.

Of course, when it came to you, he did turn it down just a bit. If the meat you cooked was a little burnt, that’s okay, he’lleat it. If you prank him by trying some soup with a secret spoonful of salt, his face will give it away despite the “mmm SO good” he attempted to utter. Yes, John tried very hard to not hurt your feelings. It was the next best quality you loved about him. But like anyone else, he has his limits. 

So when you’re both laying in bed, John reading a book as you watch your favorite cooking show, you get an idea. 

They were going over the best way to cook a beef Wellington, a British classic, but not one you particularly cared for. 

“Honey?” You ask. 

Your husband closes his book, moving his reading glasses up. “Yes?” 

“Do you ever wish British people were real?”

There’s a moment of silence before your husband sighs deeply, opening his book once more. 

“It was a genuine question,” You continue.

“Here’s a genuine answer: are you stupid?” He glances at you over the top of his book and sees the smile breaking across your face. 

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips. “No.”

“Why do you find such joy in tormenting your husband? Gonna give me a heart attack one day.” 

“Stress is good for the body,” You reply. “I’m just making sure you’re healthy. Gotta keep you on your toes.” 

Your husband drops his book once more, gathering you in his arms. “You’re doing a wonderful job, dear.” 

You lean your head on his chest, hearing the deep rumble in his chest as his arm wraps around you. He’s warm as always, like a furnace radiating heat deep in the winter, just in the form of a personified grizzly bear. 

“Soap would like that joke,” Your husband muses. 

“Think I should try it on him?”

John brushes a piece of hair out of your face as you look up at him. “Without a doubt.” 

– END –

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

🏷 COD taglist: @looking1016 @Bitchyzombietaco @lilwinchester67 @crypticlxrsh @echo9821 @trxpslxt @the-kakawshi-bird @gaz-oline

[kay-great]

Invincible Variant! X Reader

Invincible X Reader

Invincible Variant! OC X Reader

Okay so I’ve seen a LOT of different versions of reader & variant’s relationships- but what if reader WAS a variant themselves? Like Spider-Gwen, or Captain Britain vibes. So in reader’s dimension, Mark and reader were together, but then Mark died, and so reader took on the mantle of Invincible!!

But then Invincible war breaks out.. and Angstrom is careless in what all the variants want out of his deal.

Gore (nothing worse than the show),female reader, some dub-con groping, fondling, and kissing. Some variants believe in facist ideologies, there is also a mention of cutting an arm on purpose, but it is not related to suicide.

(reader x invincible), (reader x invincible variants), I guess also (reader x invincible variant oc)? It’s the one from your dimension- who you fall in love with first.

This was supposed to be an Imagine. :,D !! Somehow it turned into this!! Took me actual DAYS and NIGHTS to finish. Like OVER A WEEK cuz I’m SLOW and PICKY.

But it’s here now. I broke my back writing this so please enjoy!! (And please leave a comment? Please I love them so much okay thankssss)

—————————————————————————————————————

-When you first met Mark Grayson, he had knocked on your door and asked if you liked Seance Dog. You were 10 and he was 9, but he was more fun than the other neighborhood kids, so you allowed yourself to become friends with a 9-year-old (which, when you were 10, you thought was a BIG deal- it wasn’t)

You couldn’t hang out at school very much, because you were in different grades. But you would sit together at lunch, and during recess you would play ‘superhero’ and William would play ‘Damsel in Distress’ lmao

Despite neither of you having powers, you were both convinced that someday you would be the “bestest, most strongest super hero pair ever in the history of the world” -as recounted by Debbie

Around 14, you noticed that sometimes your hands would brush together, and you’d stop breathing for a moment. Or he’d laugh at a joke you made, and you’d think about the way his eyes crinkled for days on end. And you’d realized you had a tiny, itty bitty little crush on your best friend

You wondered for a while if it was one-sided, but one day while you were hanging out with both Mark and William, the pair kept acting suspiciously

“Sooooo y/n, have you ever had a boyfriend before? Are you into younger guys? Cuz I know a great pick on the Market”

William received a small jab to the ribs by Mark, nevertheless persisted-

“See what I did there? Mark-et?”

“Will!!” Mark gritted out sideways, desperately trying to hide the conversation from you (and failing). It was adorable really, he was such the dork.

“Ugh, You know I hate being called Will”

“It’s true Mark, I’ve heard him say that before” you chimed in, having caught on to William’s game.

“Well maybe I’ll call him what he deserves, especially if he doesn’t shut the hell up about private conversations, ya know?” The last few words were gritted through sandpaper and then stabbed at William.

-But it didn’t matter, you were 90% sure that this meant Mark had told William about feelings! For you! You finished your vague taunting of Mark with the biggest grin on your face- by the time he had successfully moved the conversation on, your cheeks were sore

-but before you could act on your newfound discovery, you started Highschool. And freshman year was really rough. Especially without Mark.

-at lunchtime it really hit you how alone you were. How had you invested so much of your friendship towards the neighborhood dork and his sassy friend? Damn! Sitting alone every fucking day sucks ass.

-afterschool is better. Sometimes, it’s hard to connect with Mark. Your lives feel so different now, since he’s still not in Highschool yet, but you both make the effort, and it feels like the only relationship in your life (other than your parents) where you feel genuine care and attention

-actually, you start doing homework together. This dimension’s Mark isn’t just a dork, he’s also a HUGE nerd, and so doing Highschool homework is light work for him. Specifically science!

-one afternoon while munching on sliced apples-which Mark’s mom prepared for you guys- you confide in him how lonely you feel during the school day, and how most of your friends in your classes don’t really care about you.

“I wish things could be like how they were when we were kids” Cruch. Juicy apple dribbles down your chin a little. “I mean, when we thought we were gonna be superheros? And we wore towels like capes- and we ran from driveway to driveway?”

-your fond smile entrances him. Damn, he has such a huge crush on you. Yeah, of course he remembers those days. It kills him that the year had been so hard for you. That he can’t be there for you during the day. Because he should be. He’s your best friend!! And maybe he wants to be more than that, but even if you never reciprocate those feelings, he will always be there for you!! If only there was something he could do… he asks,

“Didn’t we have superhero names? Wasn’t I like,, indestructible or something like that?”

Invincible. It was Invincible, it is invincible, it will be Invincible. But he’s gotta sound ~nonchalant~. He can’t be caught caring too much about kid stuff in front of his year-older hot best frien-

“You were [titlecard], dummy.”

Oh you were so perfect. You remembered! Of course you did! You’re such a dork! But in a cool way, the coolest dork, you continued-

“and I was ‘Unstoppable’. And our catch phrase was ‘an unstoppable force meets-“

“-an immovable object’.” He joined in. God, weren’t you both just perfect together? Such dorks!! He thought you were perfect, even if you didn’t invite him to the Sadie-Hawkins dance. Which you didn’t, by the way. He noticed. You probably thought he wouldn’t notice but he did.

-he understands; I mean, not only was he a year younger than you, he was also quite literally a grade-A nerd. But that’s okay- he’ll find a way to make sure you achieve your dreams of being the greatest superheros in the world! And then you’ll be partners for real, and he can make sure you never feel so alone..

-the science behind the idea was easy really. it was the equipment that was difficult to figure out. He couldn’t get his hands on a syringe, so he has to skip it, and slowly bleed out his arm manually- with a knife. Why? Because he was gonna make you into a superhero

-see; he knew his dad was Omni-man, and therefore one day he was gonna inherit his dad’s super incredible powers. From there, becoming a superhero would surely be a piece of cake! The difficulty was how to get YOU to be a superhero with him

-you didn’t have any powers, and he had met your dad many times- nice guy, definitely not harboring any secret super-human abilities. That meant you needed to “have greatness thrust upon you” (he would certainly like to thrust anything upon you)

-he figures that he can somehow take his own DNA, and create a mimicry that will attach to your system. Then, you’ll get his powers at the same time as him!

-it’s bloody, it’s messy, it hurts, there’s many failed attempts, but it’s all worth it for you!!

-he works on the perfect solution for years, and by then you’re a junior in Highschool and you’ve sort of moved on from the whole superhero dream. After all, now that William and Mark are in Highschool with you, your loneliness epidemic has seriously subsided. You don’t have as much need for fantasies anymore. Your reality is enough for you now. But it’s not enough for Mark. He doesn’t forget. And he slowly starts slipping you the concoction.

“Hey Mark! I saved you a seat. Did your mom make that punch again?” You scootch over on the long blue cafeteria table, making room for your friend to sit down.

“Yes yes, here’s your bottle. You know sometimes I wonder if the only reason you sit with me at lunch is for the punch,” He teases as he tosses the small red water bottle as you.

“You’re on to me,” you glint as you catch it with ease, latching down onto the well-chewed nib and sucking in- it was almost lewd if Mark allowed himself to think it. “I mean what does she put in this stuff? It’s too fucking good.”

His blood, He muses. Or at least a tiny amount of it, rearranged into a compound that is meant to seal his viltrimite genetics on top of your human ones. Very specific to you. Took him years to figure it out. Literal blood, metaphorical sweat, and literal tears. Oh and also Gatorade, Minute Maid lemonade, and mango juice- to mask the copper taste. Although apparently you liked it. And that thought rang through Mark’s brain late at night. That you liked the taste of him.

-And you liked it so much, you asked for it everyday. It hurt his soul a little to have to give the credit to his mom, even though he was the one making it. but you would know something was up if he told the truth. and besides, you’ll know the truth someday- and then he’ll finally get his praise. You’ll be soo grateful he did all that work for you. He was sure that you’d make the best superhero duo- and hopefully, finally maybe more.

“Oh god, you better not be talking about juice again. ” William butted in and sat down at the table, earning some chortles from the two of you. “Let’s talk about how I’m going to survive this geometry class instead.”

The world was perfect with just the three of you. It made sense. But it wouldn’t soon.

—-

-when Mark got his powers after his seventeenth birthday, you got yours at the same time. And then everything changed. You were going to go to college, but now you have powers? Like- pretty insanely fucking powerful powers?? Where the hell did this come from?? What the fuck triggered this? You hadn’t recently fallen into a nuclear vat of acid that you were aware of. What do you do? Who do you tell?

-you dont get the chance to answer your own questions, Mark is knocking at your WINDOW later that afternoon.

“Holy Shit! Mark! You’re fucking flying!!”

“Yes! Isn’t it great? Can you fly too? Fuck, did it work? Please tell me it worked”

“Did what work? And get in the room for the love of-! The whole neighborhood is going to see you!”

He has to come clean, and he does, he tells you everything.

“Eww, that punch had BLOOD in it? That’s disgusting Mark why wouldn’t you tell me that? I drank that shit for MONTHS”

“I know, I know. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna work and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Not completely a lie. “…and also… I didn’t want you to say no.” Ah, poor Mark Grayson, you were such a weakness for him.

“Shit Mark. That’s… that’s kinda fucked up.”

“I know, but- this way you get what you always wanted! Come on, don’t blame me for that”

“..Mark.. I mean, I guess I get it? Like yes, I mean- I know we used to dream about this stuff when we were kids.. and I can’t lie. I am pretty stoked about getting to fucking fly, and I never have to worry about a paper cut again but.. “ you chortle out your disbelief, and it only grows-

“but shit Mark!. why wouldn’t you just tell me? I would have drank the blood juice if I knew what it was!! You let me plan for college and everything for months! And now I don’t even know if I want to… I mean, you let me take the SAT AND the ACT!! Knowing damn well I was gonna be a superhero!! I made plans, good plans! Plans I was excited about! This changes everything Mark.. ..why the FUCK wouldn’t you let me decide if I wanted to do this??”

“I know I know, I’m sorry. I really am. And you can still do all that stuff if you want! College and everything, I mean. I just.. I just really wanted to give you this. I REALLY wanted our childhood dreams to come true because.. I know it’s selfish but, MY dream couldn’t be complete without you by my side. You’re the other half of my future, y/n. You always have been.”

-And at that you’re quiet for a little bit, except for the pounding of your heartbeat in your head. Then-

“What are you saying, Mark?”

-He breathes deep, then-

“I’m saying I’ve had a crush on you since we were thirteen. I mean I was thirteen and you were fourteen. But since then. And if you don’t feel the same that’s fine and we can just be friends but I wanted to let you know because I’ve been waiting to tell you for years and I never-“

-But his ramblings are smothered by desperate lips. And after just a brief, stiff moment, he melts into your touch. It’s his first kiss, you know? He’s awkward but adoring. And you realize you’ve been a fool for not begging for this earlier. It was cliché, but you liked that. And if the stiffness in his pants were any indication, Mark did too.

“Wait..” you pull away, “how did you know you would get powers? What’s so special about your DNA?”

“Oh, uh- my dad is OmniMan”

“Mark, wHA-“!!!

—

-so you start the superhero gig. Neither of you were great at first, but after a little experience with some low-level-criminals, and with coaching from fucking OmniMan- you start to get the hang of things.

-at first Mark’s dad seemed very hesitant about you. Sometimes you got the feeling he didn’t want you there at all, but eventually he got used to your presence, and accepted that you were a permanent fixture on the side of his son. This didn’t mean he was thrilled to have you, but a quiet- and almost remorseful- acceptance draped itself over his countenance.

-especially when you start getting better than Mark

-remember how this dimension’s Mark is a huge nerd? With the intelligence to mutate genetic code with nothing but a kitchen knife and a Highschool lab set at the ripe age of 13? Well all that awesomeness has to balance out somehow, and unfortunately it means that when it comes to the physical strength of his powers, Mark is simply not as capable as other versions of himself.

-he’s still an incredibly powerful superhero, but he doesn’t stand a chance against most high-ranking villains. And he especially doesn’t stand a chance against his dad.

-now you know why his dad didn’t want you around. The destruction wrought through the earth is cataclysmic, but your focus is only on your poor bloody and bruised Mark Grayson.

-He’s weaker than he’s meant to be. Still one of the most durable people on the planet, but not enough for the rage of his father. He’s hurting, badly. And you don’t think he will survive much longer. You can’t sit idly by and watch, when Cecil told you what was happening, you flew as fast as you could to lunge at the ex-hero!

-you’re stronger than Mark but you’re still untrained. Omniman catches you and does not hesitate to break your leg.

-you cry out, but the monster simply throws your body to the concrete ground of the skyscraper rooftop. You try to get up, but the pain is so much.

“Y/N! Get out of here!!” Mark cries out to you in bloody rasps.

“See how weak humans are? Even with some viltrimite DNA, she’s still not even half of what we are. What we are supposed to be. You think you care about her? You think you can save her? She’ll be dead in a matter of years. We are going to live millennia without her, son. You think you need her? Think you can’t live without her? You’re going to have to.”

-And with that Mark’s father puts his boot on your head- intent on crushing your skull.

-You cry out in throbbing pain, if it weren’t for Mark’s DNA bolstering your cranium, your brains would already be jelly.

But seeing you in pain pushed Mark to a breaking point. Weakness be damned, he won’t see you hurt.

“I won’t live without her, dad.”

So, bloody, broken, dying, and fucking pissed, Mark throws himself at his father, sending them flying off at a thousand miles per hour.

-your vision is hazy, you fall unconscious for a few minutes, but force yourself back. But it’s already too late. Omniman has killed his son some million miles away. Your best friend. Your partner. Maybe the love of your life.

-you search for hours, and eventually find his body laid out at the top of Mt. Everest. The snow catches the red leaking out of him. He’s been fucking flattened on the white rocky cliff side. Some bits of him jut out- bones, intestines, and bits of torn clothing. You can’t even hold him in your arms. You can’t even cradle him in your fucking arms- that’s how brutally OmniMan mauled him.

-at first your only response is rage. To find OmniMan and make him hurt. To lash out all your dumb fucking superpowers on someone. Someone to blame. But the coward was gone. Apparently killing his son convinced him to leave Earth. Good fucking riddance. But that meant that now you were left with no one to share these unfathomable powers with. You attend Mark’s funeral. It’s closed casket.

-he was too weak. He cared so much. Maybe about you. Maybe you made him weak. Could you blame yourself for this ? You could try. And with no Mark around to stop you, you quickly fell into an unfeeling abyss.

—

-For a while you take up the mantle. Not of OmniMan- fuck that guy. No. You take up the mantle of Invincible. You don his suit, and with his powers you quickly become the world’s number one superhero, and the leader of the guardians.

-much to Cecil’s joy (if he has any left), you are completely dedicated to the job. You stop living with your family, you haven’t seen them in ages. They didn’t know about the powers, or Mark, or anything, and why should they? Just to see their perfect little girl become a killing machine? To see her dreams of college slip away? You left without saying goodbye. That part of you is gone. You’re Invincible now, and that’s all.

-it’s slowly killing you. You don’t engage with the other guardians outside of trainings and missions. You hardly ever take off the suit. You’re not mean, but you’re cold. You get stronger everyday. You don’t really care.

-people start seeing you as a role model, though. They don’t know how fucked up you are. Kids wear your suit on Halloween, and your insignia is on balloons, and somehow you become the poster child of being a good person

-and it pisses you the fuck off

-because you weren’t a good person. You let Mark die. You should have saved him. He gave you literal fucking powers and you still couldn’t save him. He was the good person, he was supposed to be the face behind this mask. You were only supposed to be reminding people of him by wearing this suit. But now.. people had forgotten all about him. He didn’t even exist anymore. And you had.. you had taken his place. You had taken what was rightfully his.

-and something snapped. Since the world forgot about him. Since you couldn’t do anything right by him.

-you decided to remind people who you were Not

-sulfur, smoke, sirens, and chicken. That’s what it smelled like, you thought. Everywhere you went. Sulfur, smoke, sirens, and chicken. And it was red. Everywhere. Red. Until it was gray, and then black.

-you still wore the suit. Even though you hated how it now maimed the legacy of your best friend. What “invincible” had become. You couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It was what he left you- the suit- the powers. And you had decided to take it all. To its fullest advantage. It was like- keeping him close, you know?

-And finally, when the world gets boring, Angstrom Levy steps into frame.

“I understand you have an attachment to a late Mark Grayson?”

“Don’t say his name”

“Ah- of course. Can’t say I really understand your fondness for the boy, but I can respect it. I’m willing to offer you-“

-His throat pulses rhythmically in your hand. You’ve caught him by surprise in less than a heartbeat. Whoever this fucker is, you decide you don’t care to hear the rest of his story

-You hoist him into the air, but suddenly the ground beneath you gives way. You fall through the dirt, and land.. in the air? What the hell? Ah shit.. portals? Seriously? You gotta fight a portal guy? Whatever, you haven’t had anything better to do for months now.

“As I was saying, I have a proposition for you-“

“Not interested” and you lunge at him again, but this time the portal appears right in front of him, and shoots you back out some 16 feet away. Fucking hell.

“I ADMIRE YOUR STRENGTH AND SKILLS!! IN RETURN FOR DESTROYING A PLANET, I WOULD GRANT YOU-“ he’s yelling so you can hear him from the 16 feet. Doesn’t he know you have super hearing? This guy is a real idiot. Once you get your bearings, you fly towards him again.

A portal appears, but this time you know to feint left. You come from behind and pin his hands behind his back, hoping to subdue his portal-making abilities. You wrap your free arm around his neck in a chokehold.

“I said I wasn’t interested” you languish in his ear. Your voice is sweet sweet poison.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely. Very strong.” But you’re bored again now. And as you crush his windpipe-

“Mark Grayson!!” He rasps out- “you’ll have Mark Grayson again!!”

-You let go, you ask questions, you demand proof, he complies, and eventually a bargain is struck.

-You’ll destroy another Earth, alongside other variants (you learn you are one of many variants), and then for your troubles you will get to take home one of the many, many, alive Mark Graysons. Any of your choosing.

“Do we ever get to be partners? Superhero partners? In any universe?”

“Well I’m not sure about heroes..”

“Do we get to be partners? In.. whatever the hell we do? Does he really survive his dad in so many universes?”

“He does.” Unfortunately- Langstrum thinks.

“Then if he’s alive in that alternate dimension, isn’t he happy there? Don’t we get to be happy together?”

“Oh y/n.. you really don’t understand, do you?”

“What”

“In all those other dimensions.. you’re the one who dies.”

..oh.

-You guess that makes sense.

How unfortunate you had to live in this one.

“So.. he will be happy to see me?”

“I’m absolutely certain.”

————

Today is the day. The day you go through all the horrors again, and then you’ll get to see your boy. It’s like, going back in time, you think. In order to get back to those good beginnings, you’ll have to rewind through the last few years of horrific devastation. A price to pay.

A portal appears before you, and with only a moment of hesitation, you step through.

The sun is bright, brighter than it’s been in a long time. The air is warm, and the breeze carries the sounds of life. You.. missed this, you guess. It was nice. Life could be like this again. It was going to be.

Phasing through their own portals, your heart hitches just a little as the other variants appear. In a circle above Mark’s old house, you study their faces. And in turn, notice them noticing you.

“Woahhh who brought the girl?” A variant with no mask laughs.

“Woah, im a chick in another universe? Shit, why couldn’t I have been born a chick in my own universe? Then I could touch my tits whenever I wanted.” A mohawked version roared. Well you knew who were weren’t taking home.

“Focus on the mission. We’ve all been given locations to destroy, there’s no need to delay with introductions” a white-clad figure spoke with certainty. You recognized the clothes as Viltrimite uniform. Disgusting, you thought. But not as disgusting as-

“I concur. Those who survive will have earned their introductions. We are wasting time” a variant in a suit very reminiscent of Omniman’s speaks.

“I can’t imagine a universe in which I would ever wear that emblem” you couldn’t help yourself, but how could a Mark Grayson allow himself to wear that Omni shit? How different had their lives been?

OmniMark seems taken aback, but only for a moment.

“You have no idea what brought me to this moment here today.” You felt his power burning into you, but you didn’t care, you could match it- hell, you’d been waiting to match it for years.

“You know what brought me here today? The need to put something in its place. You want that to be you?” You rise to meet him, you can feel the atoms vibrating around you with power- damn you wanna punch this fucker.

“Well well, kitty’s got claws~” Mohawk pipes up.

“Hey sweetheart! you could put me in my place~” No-Goggles rises to Mohawk’s game. Fucking imbeciles.

“Enough. The mission is clear, we’ve all agreed to its terms. You don’t want to look at each other? Fine. Go destroy opposite corners of the world, but first go.” The true viltrimite reprimands you both like children. But you’re too busy maintaining the fire between your eyes and the Omni-variant.

You can feel the gazes of all the variants. Your teammates in destroying the world. A part of you hates each and every one. Knowing that they’re all technically Mark, but all capable of so much more cruelty than yours ever was.

but a part of you also languishes in it. You’ve been missing Mark so much for so long, and now all of a sudden here you were- surrounded by him! So many different versions. You almost want to fling yourself into their arms, and promise your love. Forever and ever. To each one. Well, except one.

“I have no interest in delaying our mission any further by entertaining this petty display of anger. Either you uphold your end of the bargain or you don’t. Your decision will not influence me.” The arrogant, self-proud Omni-prick belittles you.

-‘your decision will not influence me’ my ass

-But just as you wind up to punch this fucker’s teeth out, your arm is stopped by a Mark with a mask like fabric covering his face-

“Not yet.”

A fully masked invincible put his hand on the shoulder of the Omni-variant, “we all have a reason for being here. We can’t lose this opportunity.”

he’s right. You shouldn’t waste your breath on this lesser Mark. You need to focus on why you’re really here.

The black and yellow variant adds, “we can kill each other later” with a smile that was too pleasant to be joking.

The final variant to engage wears two viltrimite emblems on either side of his shoulders. He breaks the tension with an air of refinement, unquestioned power, and a tad bit of condescension- “time to go, then. Meet back here when you’ve done as told.”

So they start off, ready to bleed all corners of the world. But you are reluctant to break eye contact with the Omni-scum. There is too much fire, and the rage of the past years fuels your contempt. Refuses to let you back down. But just as the fully masked variant pulls at the shoulder of Omni-dick and turns him away from you, the Mark with a mask of fabric pulls at your arm and- and it feels like Mark.

It really feels like Mark.

And you let him turn you from the rage. From the fire that had been burning inside you since he died.

The wind catches the fabric on his face. It toys with your imagination- billowing in ways which catch the variant’s features before obscuring them again. The dancing obfuscation allows you to pretend that this really is your Mark. His face is the one you’ve memorized.

You can’t see behind his goggles, but you can imagine his eyes recognizing you. The way the variant doesn’t move- you can tell he really is studying you. Letting you stare. Staring back. It’s not even longing, it’s.. understanding. That you had both lost your counterparts. That you were Invincible, simultaneously. And your heart swells at the recognition- finally not being so goddamn alone.

But then he flies off.

And you are realize you are alone in the sky.

You’re meant to be destroying Melbourne, Australia. But there’s enough Invincibles to get the job done. You’ve assigned yourself a different mission: pick a Mark Grayson to keep.

In order to do that, you need to study your options. This decision will last forever, you know? Don’t want to be too hasty.

Who should you follow?

You didn’t pay attention who went which direction, though you remember Angstrom announcing all the locations. Whoops, maybe you’re a little rusty. No matter. You decide to start by taking a little devastation down memory lane.

——

-The prison.

-What was the name of this prison again? It had been so long since it had been operational. You could still recall which cells belonged to which prisoners- and the way you won each of their battles- and- oh dammit not him.

-Mohawk was making quick work of the prison. You considered simply skipping him for the next destination, but alas, he had spotted you-

“Hey hey hey!! Guess you couldn’t stay away from the sexiest variant, could ya?”

“You’re about to be flattened” you reply coolly.

-and he was. A giant rhinoceros guy with a bigger-than-a-rhinoceros-hammer was charging at him. And he was too distracted to notice, just standing on the ground like a fucking idiot. Your Mark was always smarter about strategy than this. Why lose high-ground advantage when you can literally fly?

But just as the hammer fell down upon the imbecile, Mohawk shot out a hand to stop the thing- and it did. Stop, I mean. He stopped it with one fucking hand, while posing at you. The way a frat guy poses against a door. With the arm up? And the smarmy smile? Shit.. this guy was an asshole, but he was also a lot stronger than your Mark. Mental Note: don’t underestimate this guy.

“Enjoying the show?” His grin was so big it could reach Texas. He didn’t stop-

“I don’t get stage fright, go ahead and watch.” He teased, bulging out some muscles playfully. You couldn’t tell if he was honestly flirting or if he was making fun of you.

-The rhino raised his hammer again, preparing to squash the Mohawk properly this time. But this did not deter the asshole-

“Although if you helped out, we could ditch this place and get to know each other a little better~”

-you were unconsciously drifting closer and closer to the variant. He couldn’t see the rising blush under your mask, but you suspected that somehow he knew. Or, he was such a confident little prick that it didn’t matter. Which you didn’t doubt. You couldn’t help it, this Mark was arrogant, but he could certainly put his money where his mouth is.

“Actually, I am here to know you better” You reply. And for just a second you see his eyes light up with some almost psychotic excitement, before the hammer falls again.

-this time, he wasn’t prepared to stop it with his hand, but he maintains it with his shoulder swiftly. You study the dirt beneath his feet- the blow does not move him.

“Really? You know I’ve always had a kink for fucking a clone. Wanted to feel how good at sex I was from the other perspective!”

“I’m not a clon-“

-but he’s too busy punching the hammer 20 feet in the air, flying up to grab it by its handle, and slamming it down on the head of its previous owner. Blood, bones, and brain matter squelch out. A giant golden horn falls dejectedly beside it.

“Come on, don’t let me have all the fun. Let’s fuck up some more prisoners, and then we’ll fuck each other.”

-there is something you like about this invincible. He is.. so different from your Mark. But he’s the kind of bad-boy that appeals to your fucked-up side. He’s fun, and fucking powerful. Maybe this is what you need. Maybe you can’t replace the kind-hearted nerd you lost years ago, but you can gain a sexy arrogant rebel prick that resembles him.

Or maybe, you could find something better.

“I can’t stay, I’ve got a mission to finish.”

“Aww what? Can’t play hooky for a little longer?”

“Survive. maybe I’ll see you again.”

And you were off to the next location.

——

The Colorado Camp Grounds.

When you were kids, you would go to camp with Mark in Colorado every summer. It was a huge trek to get there, but your mom was adamant that you had to go to this camp because it was tradition because this was the camp she went to when she was a kid. And she always let you bring Mark because you didn’t have any siblings, and she thought it would help you ‘be normal.’

It did not.

William always threw a fit cuz we wasn’t invited. You had to explain to him every year that it was your mom’s fault cuz she only let you bring one friend.

How simple things had been.

When you got there, you realized it was empty- of course- it wasn’t summer. But as you wandered around, you could still see the crowds of children. The smell of sunscreen. The sound of the forest and tennis shoes on dirt. Also, the wind suddenly whizzing behind you-

“I came here too, when I was a kid.”

You turn around to find the bumblebee-variant. Although with the power and violence radiating off him, he seemed more like a hornet now. Something about his presence rattled you. A Sinister gleam threatening his eyes. You rise to him, a few feet off the ground,

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to destroy the place.” He tilts his head, wondering how you’ll respond. It’s a challenge to defy him- to admit you’re too weak to let go of these memories.

“Sure. But we came to destroy everywhere. Why here?”

He smiles at you, one of those smiles that makes it clear he thinks you’re stupid.

“Why not here? It’s our mission to destroy everything, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but-“

“Honestly I was really hoping for some campers so I could-“

“Answer the question”

“Are you gonna stand in my way?”

At this you bristle. You’re not trying to battle anybody, you’re trying to get to know them- but you can’t afford to be caught off guard. You have to be ready for a fight. As you saw with Mohawk, these guys are a lot tougher than you expected.

“No.”

“That’s too bad, I almost thought you had some conviction.”

Okay, fuck this guy.

“I’ve already destroyed this place once.” You say flatly. It’s true. You did. And you did it technically for the man in front of you.

And he looks at you, and reaches toward your face. You don’t know why, but you let him. He caresses your cheek so delicately, until suddenly-

your neck is craned forward as he painfully cups your jaw- squishing your cheeks carelessly cruel with his fingers. He brings your face right up to his, centimeters away- and whispers,

“So did I.”

Kinda hot, kinda scary. But Fuck this, you were powerful too.

So you mirrored him. To remind him you were invincible too. You had earned that fucking title. And you were just as fucked up as him.

As you palmed his jaw with your hand, and pinched his cheeks with your thumb and fingers so tight you almost broke skin- you realized you couldn’t crane his neck forward without slamming his face into yours.

But you were never a quitter.

So, locked in a painful face-embrace, you yanked him into a kiss. Because fuck this guy, that’s why. And because you had travelled through dimensions to kiss Mark Grayson again, so you were gonna fucking do that.

Even if it was a fucked up version.

And just as his free hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and the moment almost turns sweet- he bites your fucking lip. copper flavor. Motherfucker.

So you catch his lip in your teeth, and then push him away. Hard. Really hard. Shoved him careening into a big-ass tree a few feet away. The one with the tire swing. Fucking Ripped the skin from his lip.

Because you could be cruel, too. And for some reason you really wanted to prove that to this Mark. So for good measure-

“I got my first kiss here, you know” You breathe it out, seductively. “When I was in 4th grade. We all played Spin the Bottle. Cliché huh?”

Mark had taken a moment to recover from the slam, probably because of the kiss. But now that he was looking at you again- your blood mingling with his as it dribbled down his chin- you were starting to lose confidence. His eyes trained on you-

“You taste like her.”

Um, ew. Did this guy eat people? From his unnerving presence you wouldn’t put it past him. But you had something to prove,

“When the bottle landed on me, I saw it was Toby Fichte who had spun it.”

“I remember this.”

“Lucky me, Toby was the cutest boy at camp.”

“You’re not-“

“He was a much better kisser than you.”

“You’re not me.”

“I’m better than you.”

A dangerous smile grew on his bloody teeth “Careful.”

You should be careful. You were playing with fire. You realized you shouldn’t be giving hints that you weren’t Mark Grayson. You need a distraction,

“You destroyed this place in your dimension?”

He looks at you, an emotion you can’t place hiding in the recesses of his face. “I did.”

“What did you start with?”

“Cabin 4.”

You smiled. “Why?”

He smiled back, eyes knowing- and never leaving yours- “Because that’s where she kissed him.”

You paused, as his eyes bore into yours. Breath heaving- and you knew it wasn’t from the shove. He was crazed, for something. For you? He’s gotten up now and slowly floats toward you. The way a big cat stalks up to its prey. You need to act fast,

“Save it for last, this time.”

One last threatening glint in his eye, and he zipped off to destroy the campgrounds, as hastily as he could, so he could take his time with Cabin 4. The sounds of wood crunching and splintering resounded all around you. Cabins, trees, hammocks. Good. You couldn’t stand the memories.

You zipped off too, to continue your mission.

——

Guardians HQ

You never were invited into Guardians HQ before Omni-man decimated the world. Still in training, you didn’t rank high enough to be on the team.

But after he destroyed the planet- as well as the guardians- you practically lived there.

Once you became Cecil’s favorite hero, you couldn’t stop imaging how Mark would’ve looked in that hall- living his dream, surrounded by his teammates- his birthright.

So looking at it now, it was almost a vision come true.

Invincible was standing proudly in the middle of the hall, surrounded by the guardians. Although of course it was- bloodier than you envisioned it.

No-goggles stood proudly covered in blood, while the guardians around him lay dead- torn around the room.

“Aww, I really shouldn’t have killed you all so fast. I was looking forward to torturing you.”

But your focus was on Dark Wing- always sneaking around the edges, that one.

“You haven’t killed all of us yet” Dark Wing seethes, and you realize his plan as he lunges for the unsuspecting variant.

His cape pulls taut as you grab the back of it, and as it digs into his neck from the tension, you throw him backwards into the wall he just jumped from- killing him instantly.

“Heyyyy” No-Goggles whines, “He was mine to finish off.”

“He would have been the death of you. You’re welcome.” Your tone is flat but accusing. You try to keep it even but realize your emotion at almost seeing another Mark Grayson killed.

“You don’t think I could have ended that guy? I was just toying with him.”

“I know that. But so did he.”

No-goggles gives you a questioning look, pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow- just like your Mark used to do when thinking. You loved seeing his eyes. So expressive. Although there was also a glimmer of cruelty, of darkness which-

“You’re saying he would have trapped me in his- ah, dark dimension, or whatever.”

What an idiot.

A handsome idiot.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I would have found a way out of there.” He crosses his arms with a smug look on his face. Were all the variants this arrogant? You guess anyone who agrees to destroy the earth twice probably has some issues you’ll have to look past.

“Were you planning on killing Dark Wing?” You ask.

“Obvvvvvviosuly.” He says, drawling for effect. He was having fun with this.

“Then you would have stranded yourself as soon as you killed him.”

He breathed in for some retort, but he was left speechless. You continued-

“You should be more careful about these kinds of inter-dimensional powers. You might be strong, but that’s useless if left without anything to punch.”

You advise him. The way you used to when you were still in-training with your Mark.

“Hmm.. noted.” And something shifted- although you weren’t sure what. But he didn’t seem to notice-

He smiled. “Got anymore tips? You can use me as a practice dummy.”

Um what.

“How fitting- you being a dummy.” You retorted, trying to revert the conversation less.. masochistic.

“Aww come on. These guys didn’t put up nearly enough of a fight. I didn’t come all the way to another dimension for a few scratches. I’ll let you get in 5 hits for free.”

“Are you.. challenging me to fight?” You honestly weren’t sure.

“We can fight if you want.”

What the hell was up with this guy?

“Uh- no. That’s not what I’m proposing-“

“Aww you’re so adorable. But you’re kind of a wimp.”

Rage, again. Bubbling up inside of you- “You better fucking-“

“Haha woah! You’re really easy to rile up!”

“You- ugh, you’re just looking for a fight, huh?”

“I’d take one, sure. Especially against someone so strategic, makes it more like a game, ya know?”

“Because you- you get some perverted pleasure from pain.”

“You’d like it too” a wicked grin finds its way on his otherwise cavalier expression, “I’m sure you would- no version of me wouldn’t.”

Hah! What a laugh. You can’t help but think of your Mark asking for some kinky pain-shit. HAH! This idiot- a giggle escapes you as you tease,

“Listen, pervert!” A big grin clapped on your face, “MY Mark was way too sweet to have ever asked me for-“

“Your Mark?”

Ah shit. You’re saying too much again.

“Oh, you’re not-“

“Im Invincible. End of story.”

“Hmm~” something darker lights up his eyes as he rakes them up and down your body. But the smile never leaves his face, “prettiest Invincible I ever saw- and you should know I think pretty highly of myself.”

What a little shit.

“You know who you kind of remind me of?” He sing-songs with putrid delight. “My old girlfriend named y/-“

He hurls through the air as you deck him square in the nose. When he CRACKS with the wall on the opposite side, red starts to dribble from his nose.

But he pops back up like a fuckin daisy-

“Again! Again! Shit y/n, you were never like this before!”

“Shut up!” You seethe, and fly at him to crack your knuckles on his cheek- right where the jaw meets the ear. CRACK!

You don’t know why him knowing who you are affects you the way it does. Maybe it’s because that version of you is dead. Or maybe you’re just not really ready to come to terms with the reality of your life. Your name- it makes it all too real. You’re not ready. Not yet.

From a few feet away, crawling out of a the newly-formed crevice on the wall to your left-

“Haheh- what a- what a woman.” He’s stumbling towards you, ready for more. “What’s that, 2? I promised 10 free hits? Shit baby.. keep em coming.”

“5. You promised 5 free hits.”

“I’ll give you 5 more” so much blood in his teeth.

“I’d kill you before we made it to 10.”

“Promise you’ll finish ‘em all even after I’m dead? All 10? Pretty please?” Lovesick and deranged, he’s still wobbling towards you.

“You- you want me to kill you?” Incredulous and a bit alarmed; you can’t help but take a step back. His eyes flick to your retreated foot-

Wrong move.

“Don’t fucking pretend you don’t want this. I’m sure- I’m sure this is what you came for? Right y/n darling? You came to this shitty planet looking for me. Well I’m here. And im ready to take whatever you can give. All you can give. And I promise to cherish it. Like I should have cherished it before you.. before you left.”

Died. Before you died. Shit, you were not prepared for this. You need time. You need to get out of here- but this invincible- this Mark won’t let you leave easily.

You weren’t prepared for Mark to want you more than you wanted him. Although you guess it made sense. Your Mark had been pretty.. doting with you as well. You hadn’t considered what he might have become if you had been the one to die instead.

But No-Goggles leaves you no time to think- he lunges at you! Wrapping you in a bear hug which pins your arms to your sides. He lets the momentum throw you both into the wall behind you, and your legs part to accompany his body.

His lips find yours as you struggle against the compromising position. But as you struggle, you notice the friction turning him on. As you kick, jab, and bite him- well, the same result.

Through breaths, he sings in your ear- a cruel taunt-

“I know who you are~”

Your blood runs cold. You shouldn’t have told him. You should have been more careful. He choruses-

“And I’m never letting you escape again~”

And you almost wanted him to make good on his promise. To be his again. Forever.

But you had to get out. You needed time to think and he was refusing you that. So, you decided to give him what he wanted.

You grind on him a little to distract him (and because it was delicious). As he moaned, you wriggled your arm out of his grip, winded up your elbow, and smacked him off your face. Hard.

He went down unconscious. You couldn’t help but gingerly check for a pulse- He was alive. And would be awake again soon. That means you only have a few hours before he would be after you again. You wanted time, but it didn’t seem you were going to get any.

You need to move on to the next target.

——

You needed to get away from these memories for a while. It was making you irrational. You had to remind yourself that none of these guys were your Mark.

But you couldn’t help it. You missed him so much. And they all were Mark. Even if not quite the right one.

But who cares? Maybe you weren’t the same person that loved that dorky nerd. Maybe you had grown into something darker.. shit, what if that dorky Mark wouldn’t even recognize you now? Would he hate you? He was so good and you’d done such awful things..

Shit. Now was not the time to have a mental break. You’d kept strong for all these years- you could NOT have a crisis in the middle of this. Not here. This was your chance at being happy again.

You needed space.

So you started flying up.

Like a rocket. Not stopping when you hit the stratosphere. Burning up a little but not caring.

Until you’re in the stars. And it’s quiet. And it’s calm.

And it’s beautiful.

Sometimes you thought about leaving Earth. If Angstrom hadn’t arrived, you might have. You might have gotten bored with the planet. Left the few survivors to rebuild or die. Maybe allowed yourself to be happy again on some distant planet. The way Omni-man did when he came to your planet. Just, reinvented himself- fucking lied to everyone- and had a good time. Until he didn’t.

Man fuck that guy.

There are grunting noises around you. In space. Is there no peace anywhere?

Turning around, you gotta scan every angle before you spot some figures in the distance.

If you were miles above Washington, then they were miles above Oregon. What a wonder super-vision and a clear horizon will do, huh?

You really couldn’t make out who it was. But considering the circumstances, it was probably a variant, and you should probably go talk to them. For the mission. Your mission.

Remember what you’re doing here.

You try to perk yourself up. Maybe this Mark will be the one. The perfect fit. Your forever fix.

But as you speed towards them, you start to make out the red and white blur. You’ve got to be fucking shitting me right now.

He’s fighting some- space crab thing. His suit is torn, and his breath is panting, so apparently it’s pretty strong. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward like his dear old dad.

You could leave him for dead, but you decide there is a more enjoyable option.

You shoot yourself at Space Crab, flinging yourself through frictionless space as you gain more and more momentum. Pushing your knuckles out in front of you like fucking Superman, you collide with the chest of the crab-in-space at a supersonic pace.

Your body slices through the incredibly-thick shell of the crab, but at the expense of your knuckles. Fuck you were NOT expecting the fucking space crab to be so fucking durable.

Your knuckles were bleeding. And at least 4 fingers had been disjointed by the collision. It hurt like hell, but you’d heal within a few minutes. What you were really concerned about was the variant behind you seeing your injury.

You did not want to be seen as weak. Not to anyone, but especially not to him. So you continue flying. You had slowed considerably after going through the crab, but you didn’t completely stop! So you just pick the pace back up and zip the fuck out of there, at the speed of light.

Problem solved.

Now you’re somewhere over the Antarctic. Fine, no one should be here. You can take a fucking breather alone and no one can-

“You’re ignoring your mission.” Came a voice from behind you.

Fuckkkkkkk. Whipping your head around, it’s none other than Omni-Mark.

“You followed me?” You accuse him.

“You couldn’t tell? You should be more aware than that.”

This fucking-

“Must have been the vacuum of space” You retort.

You stop flying and turn towards him, hoping to catch him off guard, but he’s relentless-

“You’re ignoring your mission.”

“I have my own mission.”

At this he raises a brow, “with Angstrom?”

You remember to hide your knuckles behind your back. You sneer back- “No. not with Angstrom.”

At this he crosses his arms. If he could get more stiff; you’re sure he would. But alas, he can’t. He’s already. Too. Stiff. Poor guy. Must be the stick up his ass.

“I cannot allow you to disregard your mission.” He dictates, looking down at you.

“Didn’t I just help you? Can’t you just say ‘thanks for saving my ass against a giant space crab’ and let me go? It’s the least you could do.”

“The least I could do?” He challenges.

“Yes.” Fuck. youuu.

“My OmniMan emblem- that’s the source of this insolence?” He chides like a father to a child- and that ticks you off sooo much. But before you can act on it-

“Fine. If you must know, I killed my father because I knew I could do the job better than him. I realized he was being insincere in his position as a guardian, and so I trained to take up his mantle. When he instructed me to help him prepare Earth for the empire, I refused. And instead I killed him. But that didn’t stop the empire from coming.

“There was 20 of them, not all of them as strong as me, but strong enough to overpower me. I fought against them for a long time, but eventually they found my weaknesses. I submitted to their rule to save what I could of Earth. I knew Earth would be better off if I was its designated Viltrimite ruler. I could be as merciful as they’d let me.

“They promised to leave me as ruler, so long as I completed their test. They brought my mother and my wife- my weaknesses. They told me to kill one, but I refused to pick. They tossed a coin. I was instructed to kill her. To kill my wife. To prove my allegiance. To prove my strength. She begged me to do it, for the good of humanity. She smiled at me as I crushed her windpipe.”

you couldn’t help but feel that his wife- his weakness- was you. Your hand flew to your mouth to cover a gasp.

“Your knuckle has been injured.”

“Yes.” Was all you could say, but your eyes searched his for more- for understanding.

“I’m only telling you this because I have struck a deal with Angstrom. When we complete our mission, he will give me my wife back. If you do not fulfill your end of the bargain, my contract could be null. So you understand-“

He got right in your face. Backing up would show cowardice so you remain where you are- centimeters from him. He hooks his finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to his. He commands-

“You will complete your mission, now.”

Chills ran up your body. But you couldn’t show your reaction to him. Wouldn’t.

“He’s lying, you know.” You challenge. And you know this to be true- since his wife is you. And you certainly didn’t agree to go with this guy. He was probably your least-likely pick. Or at least he was. Maybe he was growing on you. Or maybe you were never this guy’s wife to begin with.

“Maybe.” He replies. “But I’ve taken on the risk.”

“Your wife- what was her name?”

He hesitates- the first crack in his cold demeanor. He really wasn’t lying about his devotion.

“Y/n.” He breathes. And you can tell it’s difficult for him. But it’s difficult for you too. It’s been so long since you’ve heard the name from his lips with such- sincerity. Tenderness.

Maybe you had judged too harshly at first. Maybe this could be your Mark.

“my hands still hurt form when I punched that crab for you.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to thank me for my help?”

He backs away, leaving you open to the cold of space again. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you had been enjoying the warmth.

“I had the situation under control. I knew the Crab’s hard exterior was the fool’s route to victory. You wasted your energy and weakened your best weapons in the process.”

Okay damn. Maybe not.

“Go to Melbourne. Or there will be consequences.”

And he was gone. And you were left in the emptiness of space.

—-

But you didn’t go to Melbourne.

Instead, you went to finish another job you had delayed: destroying the Guardians in their entirety.

The Teen Team HQ

Oh, you remembered Teen Teem. For those short months while you and Mark trained, you would show up at battles you saw on the news- and accidentally screw over those teenage heroes.

Mark was certain that by demonstrating your guys’ skills in front of the team, that they would certainly ask you to join. This didn’t happen though. You both were too inexperienced to do anything other than make things more difficult for the budding heroes.

But this didn’t stop Mark! He was certain getting on the team was the first stepping stone to achieving your dreams of becoming the world’s Number 1 Crime Fighting Duo.

You were never invited to the facility, but you snuck in once. Mark convinced you to follow Dupli-Kate after a battle at Hillview Park. She led you right to the top-secret base.

“Bet you I’ll make it in first!” He had whispered.

“You’re on, Grayson.” You challenged.

“Invincible!” He chided, “Call me [titlecard]!”

Of course, neither of you got in. As soon as you two tried to surpass the threshold, alarms blared, and Cecil appeared to give you a very stern talking to.

You giggle at the memory. You can’t help but feel a little giddy that those happy times were possible again- soon.

And, of course; you’re excited to see the inside of the facility this time.

But, it seemed Mark really had beat you to it.

“You’re all weaker than I expected. I was hoping for a challenge.” A variant with prominent Goggles hovered in the middle of the room.

“You- little asshole.” Hey! You recognized Rex-Splode! He was the explosions guy. Aww, he used to be one of your role models. Until you killed him, of course.

“You think you can sacrifice yourself to save your friends? You realize after I kill you, I’m just going to find them too.” Goggles taunts him.

You realize the decimated room was rather lacking in teens. So he had sent the rest of his team away, huh? How noble.

“Well maybe I just wanted it to be you and me, asshole.” Rex struggles to continue standing.

“Aww how nice. Too bad she’s here then-“ and Goggle points right at you, where you were watching from outside the broken doorway. Your stomach drops- not having expected the attention. But you recover and step through the threshold, standing at full potential.

“Ah damnit. I’ve got to fight two of you assholes?”

He uses that word a lot, you muse.

“No.” You state, “I’m only here to watch.”

“Shouldn’t you be completing your own mission?” Goggles was rather curt with you. If he had any connection with y/n, he certainly didn’t recognize her as you. Good.

“I’m here to watch.” You state again, more biting this time.

“Ah shit, is this some kind of fucked-up clone relationship thing? Whaddaya call that? Self -love?” Rex heaves out his joke, and winces at the pain it causes in his lungs.

“I don’t need a babysitter. Finish your fucking mission or we’re gonna have a problem.” Goggles seethes at you. This prick.

“Hmm, maybe more like self-hate.” Rex adds.

“No.” You repeat. You don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. But dammit today has not been easy and you are not the kind of person to be bossed around. At all. “I’m here to watch.”

“I’m not going to say it again. Fuck off to Australia!” The variant roars at you.

“Make me.”

And as soon as you say it, you’re in the air, being bulldozed backwards through walls and then pushed through night sky. The not-so-secret facility grows smaller in the distance. The variant has pinned your arms to your sides, and is pushing you backwards towards- what you can only assume is - Australia.

“What the hell are you doing?” You yell. You have to- you’re going so fast that the wind whizzing in your ears blocks out sound even for the super-of-hearing.

“I’m making sure you fulfill your end of the bargain.” He roars back.

“Why do you give so much of a fuck if I’m following the mission?”

He just glares at you in response. Your inner ear hurts from the disorientation. Shit, this guy was fast.

But you were strong. So somewhere over the Pacific, you wind up your knees to your chest, and kick him hard. As you break free from his hold, you hover in front of him.

He goes to lunge at you again, but you put your hands up in defense-

“Alright! I’ll go to Australia. Just tell me one thing-“

“You swear?”

“I swear” You try to to placate him.

He crosses his arms, and pouts a little. “What?”

“What was your deal? With Angstrom?”

He narrows his eyes at you, suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”

“That’s why you want me to go to Australia so bad, right? Because if I don’t, I could nullify the deal, or whatever.” You watch him closely, looking for any confirmation, And you won’t get what you want?”

A clenching of his fingertips confirmed that you were right- you recognized it as one of Mark’s tells.

He deflects, “Why are you asking this?”

“What’s in it for you? What do you get in the bargain?” You demanded. A sneaking suspicion writhed itself in your gut, which you were afraid to confirm. But you had to.

He sighs-

“did you have a y/n in your universe?”

Shit.

He continues, “well I did in mine. And I want her back. Happy?”

Happy? Maybe? Overjoyed? Terrified? And royally pissed at Angstrom?

“I’ll be happy when this is over.” Is all you manage to say. Then, quieter, “I’ll complete my mission now.”

He pauses, looking at you strangely, like he’s working out a puzzle.

But you don’t give him time to solve it. “I’m going now.” And as you start to fly away- “oh! And Mark?”

You look back at him, and his breath hitches. You smile a little- that signature little smile of yours~

“Thanks for telling me.”

And with that you zoom off.

—

Melbourne is in ruins.

Fires rage, rubble is all that remains of any form of civilization, and even the screams have already begun dying out.

Someone has completed your mission for you.

“Where have you been?”

You turn in the air to see the monochrome figure of the Viltrimite variant hovering a few feet away from you- you really needed to stop letting these guys sneak up on you. Especially these Viltrimite types.

“You didn’t need to do this.” You keep your tone even- “I had it under control, and even if I hadn’t I would not have accepted your help” You spat.

You didn’t like Viltrimites. You hadn’t had much experience with them; the only real Viltrimites you had ever interacted with were OmniMan and Anissa. After the coward OmniMan killed the love of your life, you never saw him again. When Anissa came, she was too late to conquer the planet; you had already destroyed it.

So to see this variant of your beloved Mark sporting the insignia which was responsible for his death? Absolutely Abhorrent.

The entire mindset of the Viltrimites is fucked up. It’s pretty cultish if you think about it. I mean what kind of a dumbass motherfucker do you have to be to buy into-

“I know who you are.”

Shit!

How the fuck does he know? Is he talking about what you think he’s talking about? You hadn’t even talked to the guy how could he have- what do you do? Why’s he staring at you like that?

“What?” Is all you manage to choke out.

“I know who you are. You’re my y/n.”

My y/n?

Shit, how many of these variants did Angstrom promise you to?? It couldn’t be.. all of them; could it?

“I did this for you.” He speaks.

And he gestures around himself, slowly, gracefully. His eyes never leaving yours.

You look around. The devastation. The mission.

“Why?” You ask.

“I was waiting for you. You should have been here sooner, but were obviously delayed. I decided the completion of your mission would be the optimal use of my time. Consider it a.. gesture of my unwavering affection.”

You swallow. Hard. Something about the hungry look in his eye unnerves you. Like his composure is all a facade he is barely restraining. But there is also something.. pleading in his gaze.

“Your.. affection?” You question, dumbly- you know the answer. You fear it nonetheless.

“For you.”

Fuck. You did not want the Viltrimite version of your dead boyfriend to be your forever beaux. But the utter longing in his eyes assure you he won’t be easy to get rid of- not by a long shot.

Still, you try-

“I’m not interested. I have no fondness for Viltrimites” you sneer at him. You try to.

“You enjoy the splendors of our powers but lack the conviction of our culture…” he pauses for a moment, in thought. Then, “You’re a hypocrite. But it’s a malady I’m prepared to attend to.” He is all caressing authority and cold devotion.

“Attend to it somewhere else- I’m not fucking interested” you sneer at him.

“You will be happy with me.” He is inching closer to you, arms extended.

“I won’t.” You defy, slowly backing up.

“You will! I know you will.”

“I won’t!” You cry out, but he has been smart. Hovering slightly above you has been backing you up closer and closer to the ground. Damn, if your Mark could see you now- he’d certainly critique you for losing your high-ground advantage.

“But you will. I know you will.” You’re getting very close to the ground now.

“You can’t know that!” You throw back at him.

“I do. Because she was happy too!”

Shit. His version of you. Was she happy with him? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t be.

“I’m not her!” Your voice is more pleading than you intended- you shouldn’t be allowing him to dominate the space between you, but you couldn’t help it. The day had been so taxing on your emotions.

“You are her. Your voice is hers, your breath is hers, your eyes are hers, your face-” And he’s reaching for your mask.

you try to back away out of his range- but you hit ground where you wish there was escape. His fingers slip under the fabric, and before you know it, you are bare-faced for the world.

The wind is cool on your fresh skin; the fires are warm.

“Your face is hers” he confirms, breathlessly. Lovingly. Relieved.

You look up at him. You can see his eyes, his lips, his nose, his cheeks. You can see Mark Grayson.

“I haven’t taken my mask off in years” you confess.

He smiles, still gripping your mask in one hand.

“You won’t have to put it on ever again” he coos.

“That sounds.. nice” tears form in your eyes, “but also- awful.”

“Aww, darling~” and he comes to sit next to you in the sand; he cradles your head with two strong arms, and babies you the way someone might console a lost kitten, “you’re not going to be anyone else now except for y/n. My y/n.”

“No- no you don’t understand,” but your protestations are weak, “I’m not her anymore. I’m- I’m Invincible now. It’s what I have to do for- for you. I mean, not you, but for Mark. My Mark-“

He coos at you as you say those words- ‘My Mark.’

Oh, your Mark. The ultimate betrayal. Here you were in the arms of a Viltrimite version of him, taking off the suit which linked you to him, and abusing the powers you have thanks to him.

And it makes you want to cry.

You do a little. Allow yourself this small concession after being strong for so long. And Mark is there to hold you together. Oh God, he’s here.

Except he’s not very comforting.

He’s certainly trying, but he’s not very good at it.

He’s stiff. He’s eager- too eager. His embrace is too forged. It’s cage-like and cold. It presses in too hard, and in the wrong places.

You rub your eyes. You need to get a hold of yourself- you try to take back control of the conversation-

“How did you know it was me?”

“It was obvious as soon as I saw you” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, but it falls again anyway. He continues, “Viltrimites are able to identify one another from distant ranges by memorizing the heartbeat pattern of the individual. Yours is.. the same- exactly the same as it was before.”

Shit. This guy was hardcore.

“How did she die?”

He hesitates. Doesn’t move at all. He stares at you, though. Never blinking. Finally,

“Old age.”

Old age? How the hell could she have died of old age? Unless-

“How- how could she have- how old are you?” You breathe out as the realization hits you.

He stands. He looks down on you, his body casting a shadow on your form- sheilding you from the firelight of a dying city.

“132.”

Oh hell no.

There was no way you were spending the rest of your life with this old ass man. 132?? He had plenty of time to enjoy you- other you. You did not need this shit-

“She was very happy on Viltrum” he reasons with you as your legs find strength to stand up. He continues-

“She lived a long and prosperous life. She provided me with several legacies-“

Legacies??

“Listen,” you interrupt his rambling. “I think I need to go now.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” His desperation blazes to anger, “to have a longer lifespan than your mate. To have to watch her wither away!

“I loved her- formed an attachment where I was not juristicted to do so. I forged a life for her on Viltrum. Despite her inferior birth! And then I had to watch the consequences of my attachment! She died in my arms! Weak and suffering! And I am meant to- what? Continue living? For how long?”

He weakens, grabs ahold of your arms- tender finally, “Y/n, I cannot endure these years ahead without you.”

You melted a little. Because you understood. The heartbreak endured by the loss of half of this duo. The lengths you both would go to in order to retrieve the missing piece.

But, you couldn’t choose him. At least- at least not right now.

So you started shaking him off you- for the fifth time today you needed space. Time. A moment to think.

But he wouldn’t let you have that.

“No.” His hold tightens as you squirm against him, “no, I won’t let you leave me again.”

“You don’t have a choice” you shove your arms open- breaking his hold on you.

“My mission is done! Your mission is done! We’re leaving. Now.” His patience is growing thin, you can tell.

“I’m not going with you!”

“You leave me no choice.”

The wind shifts, and you struggle to breathe! A muscled arm presses down on your windpipe. You feel the expanse of a warm, strong body behind you- pressing into you. Somehow, with a swiftness your earth had never seen, he had gotten behind you. His arm help your throat in a chokehold, and another arm tied around your waist, pinning your arms, and promising to never let go.

“Let it happen, dear” he coos in your ear. “When you wake up, we will be home again” your vision was starting to black out, “and we will live to see stars burn out” your struggling was growing weaker, “and we will be together until we die.”

No no no no this can’t happen! You’re supposed to find your Mark! You made a deal. You had a mission. But the world was getting dizzy~ and you could feel yourself weakening~

A thunder crack and you could breathe again. Inhaling a gasp, you see your Viltrimite abducter on the ground.. pinned down by..

The variant with the full mask.

As oxygen rushed back into your brain, you made sense of what happened: the hooded Invincible had thrown himself into his Viltrimite counterpart- to save you.

Still atop the monochrome menace, he turned his face to you-

You were clutching the ground, still heaving in air. You wanted to thank him, but the Viltrimite recovered too quickly. Taking advantage of Masked Mark’s attention on you, the Viltrimite landed a hard punch on the fabric-covered face.

But Mark was always quick to recover. A punch there, a kick there. Pinning each other mercilessly to the ground. Until finally your masked crusader had the advantage again- for how long though, you weren’t sure. The two were so evenly matched.

But while pushing Viltrimite-face into the dirt, Invinsible looked back at you, again. His gaze was so powerful, despite his eyes being veiled.

You wondered how he would look underneath it all. Would he be the same?

But his gaze was pointed now- he’s telling you to go, you realize.

Oh Mark, you always jumped at the chance to save me.

You want to help, but the white-clad figure is up again, breaking Mark’s attention on you. You know it’s best to move on.

So with one mission completed, and the other entirely fucked- you speed away yet again. Leaving two versions of your love to make each other bleed.

How poetic.

——

You need somewhere quiet. Somewhere you feel comfortable enough to slow down and process all that has happened. Somewhere you feel safe.

Mark’s house.

You’re back where it started. A few doors down, you recognize your house- barely. The lawn was all wrong. And the paint colors were too orange. Your house was a beautiful blue and brown. The big maple tree in your front yard was just an old stump.

Had your family redecorated when you died in this world? How did you die? Or had they moved away, and this was the tasteless assortment of an entirely new family? What about your family in your own world? Were they somehow still alive? You hadn’t killed them directly, but with all the violence, you wouldn’t be surprised. Were they waiting for you? Did they miss you? Or had they redecorated too?

Ugh! These existential questions made your brain hurt. You needto resolve the tension in your head.

The living room was exactly how you remembered. The kitchen was exactly how you remembered. The stairs were exactly how you remembered.

Would Mark’s room be the same? You bite your lip as you stand outside the door.

You try to imagine the lives of each of the Marks you had encountered. How different they had all been. What did each of their rooms look like? White Viltrimite coldness? Bloodied wallpaper? A mansion’s plush king bed? Posters of Omni Man on the walls? Pictures of you?

But when you open the door, you gasp. It was so.. unexpected:

It was exactly the same as you remembered.

The seance dog poster, the collections of comic books, the blue sweaters hanging in the closet.

This.

This!! This was your Mark! Of course it was! Your Mark was a hero! He wasn’t one of those sadists destroying the world! How could you have forgotten??

And then you heard the front door open-

“Mom?” A ragged breath called out downstairs- “mom I’m hurt! Where are you?”

It was him! It had to be him, back from saving the world.

You couldn’t help it. Finally things seemed clear to you! Finally you knew what you were fighting for/ What you really wanted.

You rush down the stairs, ready to hold him in your arms. To make him love you if you have to-

A Mohawk.

Mark doesn’t have a Mohawk.

To be fair, he looks just as surprised to see you. Until he starts to look annoyed, and you realize he is not hurt as he starts to whine-

“Aw what the hell, you’re not mom-“ he stops, so suddenly. And stares. At you. All bravado gone, mouth gaping open like a dead fish. Just, staring. Then,

“..y/n?”

Ah dammit, your mask! You lost your mask when dealing with the Viltrimite!

“Is it..” he whispers, “is it really you?”

You don’t even recognize the man in front of you now- all his cockish arrogance dissipated and baked into something gooey and sweet.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say- but I’m not going with you- anywhere.” You start backing up the stairs again- “You can’t have me forever or whatever the fuck- so don’t try to-“

“That’s okay!” He hastily steps toward your retreating form, “all I asked for was a few minutes!”

“What?”

“My deal with Angstrom- I get to say goodbye.”

Oh God. Your heartstrings couldn’t help but play a sympathetic tune. This little annoying fucking prick asshole only asked for- a goodbye?

“What do you mean?” You try to keep your voice level. Steady girl.

“I-“ he sighs. “I lost my y/n. Dad killed her- in front of me. Said she was weak. Said she made me weak.” He looks down in anger, recalling the memory through blazing eyes. But then he looks up again, softer, at you- “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to tell her how much she- that I loved her. Y/N, I love you.”

Your heart clenches, how long had it been since you’d heard those words from Mark Grayson?

Your feet barely make a sound on the stairs as you descend towards the boy who had professed his heart.

“I-“ maybe this was okay to say. Maybe, because he only wanted this moment, you could allow yourself to indulge. Maybe you deserved to have this just as much as he did, “I love you too.”

And his lips find yours. Needy.

You think maybe you should pull away.

But his hands find your neck. Delicate.

And your arms find his shoulder blades. Desperate.

He’s a gentlemen; sweet and chaste. Until he’s not. Very quickly you’re reminded the nature of this variant.

His tongue is insatiable. It explores your mouth with hostility, and you’re pleasantly surprised to feel the cold smooth of a piercing purring itself across your hard palate.

His hands are naughty little explorers as well. They grope and squeeze anywhere they can find purchase, although they linger on your waist, the small of your back, your hair, and definitely your tits. He flicks your nip with his thumb, then returns to it with gentle fingers- feeling the nib grow slowly hard. He repeats the process, growling at the slow increase in sharpness.

You even allow him to grab handfuls of ass. For all his exploring, he discovers that pinching your ass causes you to yelp a little bit- which he loves.

But soon you can’t ignore the growing bulge in the crotch of his suit. And as he reaches for the tiny hidden zipper under your left arm (which of course he knows where the zipper is) you know you have to pull away. You only manage a few inches.

“Ah please baby- I’ve been waiting for this for years” he rasps out, refusing to fully let you go.

“This isn’t a good idea, I- I can’t.” You say, voice light but stiff.

“I forgot how good you kissed. Fuck, I need more babe.”

“That’s all you get.” You wipe your mouth- you gotta get ahold of yourself!

“But- Angstrom. I did my shit. I get more time with you!” His voice has that vulnerable waver in it again now, but it’s edged with something sharper.

“Time’s up.” You step back. This was nice, but you had to get your priorities straight! Only a few moments ago you had chosen your Mark Grayson- and it wasn’t the horny and pleading man in front of you now.

“No, I- c’mon. You- you said you loved me?” He was trying to rebuild his asshole facade, but it was collapsing in on him.

“I meant it.” You did.

“Then, you don’t have to go.” He smiled. An idea latching on in his brain. Uh oh. “Yes! Yeah, cmon. You and I- we could just, we could stay together. Do whatever we wanted. We were fire baby, let’s do it again.”

“No, Mark.”

Hearing his name caught him off guard, and for a moment you thought it might be enough to revert him back to that pleading puppy he was when he confessed his loved for you. Maybe it was enough for convince him to let you go.

It wasn’t.

His fiery eyes reignited tenfold, “Ohhhh baby” he whines- “say it again.”

“Stop it Mark.”

He shivers. “Yeah just like that.”

“You got your moment” you chide. “It’s over now. Get a grip or I‘ll smack you.”

He guffaws. You stand straighter, “I won’t warn you again.”

He’s right in your face in an instant- “you like being smacked a little. I remember. Dirty girl~”

CRACK!

and he was on the ground. Once again, you check for a pulse. He’ll reawaken soon. But for now, you need to begin the second part of your mission:

Secure a spot at the side of your chosen Mark.

And you know just where to look.

—

The pentagon.

Under several layers of ground of concrete, on the B6 floor, there is a top secret hospital wing. In room A2 of this wing, in the recovery unit, two of the strongest individuals on Earth are holding hands.

Eve Wilkins, who had fought valiantly, lays catatonic on the hospital bed. Her leg is crushed, but her heart now beeps rhythmically.

Mark Grayson, who could not protect her, sits beside her. Holding her hand gently at his forehead. He ignores the pleas of an old man.

“Mark, she is in the best hands. I can assure you that as soon as she wakes up, I will alert you. But right now, Earth needs you. You need to get out there, Mark.”

“No. No I’m not leaving her again.”

“Dammit Mark, lock the fuck in. I’m losing heroes left and right. They’re dropping like flies out there. Your brother is out there, Mark. Oliver.”

But the hero remains silent.

“Mark-“

“Sorry, sir. But we’ve got intel on one of the hostiles-“ a strawberry blonde man pokes his head in the room.

“Wha- fine. What is it, Donald?”

“The docile party- the one who doesn’t attack and who might have saved Rex Splode?”

“The girl?”

“Ah- yes, sir. We’ve acquired some new footage of her without her mask. It seems she is not a version of Mark at all.”

Great, cuz Mark’s been pissing me off.

“Who the hell is she?”

“We’ve run her face through our databases, and it seems she is- well, most likely a version of-“ the strawberry blonde man glances at the stoic hero still grave over the hospital bed, but continues- “y/n.”

—

The pentagon would be difficult to overpower. But you weren’t really looking to overpower it anyways. You just needed to make yourself seen.

Honestly, it was a miracle you hadn’t seen the Mark of this world already. Wasn’t he supposed to be protecting the earth? Where the hell was he?

Of course, you hadn’t been doing all that much fighting. You suppose you hadn’t made yourself a priority to a defender of earth.

You need to change that.

As you weave between skyscrapers, you make a mental note: don’t kill civilians. Your new Mark probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Could you still convince him to be with you despite all the damage you’d caused? He would still love you in this world.. right?

SHIT! Your eyes are dizzy as you are flipped belly-up, and rocketed upwards- WHAT THE HELL-

Getting your bearings a little, you realize you are being carried bridal style, and shooting up above the skyline.

“AHHH!! HEYYY!!” you scream blindly. You thrash about a bit, but you’re too disoriented to break the grip of your kidnapper.

Maybe it’s my new Mark? Finally come to pay me some attention?

“Hush now, I’ve got you, y/n.” A variant with Viltrimite logos on his shoulders, and a crisp voice soothes you. Or attempts to.

Damn. No such luck.

You’re tired of this. You jolt your legs up and flip over and out of his grasp. You’re not dizzy this time. No, you’re prepared now.

“Let me guess!” You huff, “you’re in love with me. Angstrom promised you could have me. You saw me flying by, and recognized me. You think you can forcefully claim me. Maybe that worked with your old y/n. But it won’t work with me.”

His eyes are wide with surprise.

“Ah, so Angstrom filled you in already? Good. That will make-“

“NO!” You huff. “Angstrom did NOT fill me in! I figured that out by MYSELF. Because apparently I am the ONLY Invincible who uses their brain. If you would use YOUR brain, you would turn around and leave me the hell alone!”

A moment.

He stared at you.

You huffed a bit.

You shoved a strand of hair of of your face.

And then he laughed.

A large, crystal clear laugh. It rung and sang out.

“I am-“ he stifles a giggle, “I am not used to you being so obstinate.”

“No,” you say flatly, “I’m sure you’re used to getting everything you want.”

“Ahh” he touches his finger to his nose, and winks at you- “that I am.”

You decide you’re going to kick this guy’s teeth in. But how many teeth? It depends. He is sporting two Viltrimite logos. But if past incidents are anything to go by, that’s neither here nor there.

You decide you need to gauge how much you hate this guy.

“So you’re another one of those Viltrum sycophants?”

“Ha! More than that. I am Viltrum’s emperor.”

Alright. So screw this guy!

Your leg is at his jaw in a fraction of a second, ready to kick sense into this guy by kicking some wisdoms out.

But he has caught your ankle in a- delicate- embrace.

Oh fuck.

This guy was insanely fast.

“I’ve enjoyed watching you toddle about with your stolen powers, but- word of advice?” Blinding pain. Agonizing pain in your ankle. He’s broken it, there’s bone protruding. “-don’t fuck with the guy that challenged the most powerful being in the universe and won.”

Your heart is in your stomach. Your hairs stand on end. Your nervous system feels like it’s trying to simultaneously jolt itself awake and into oblivion.

You’re fucking scared.

“AAH!” You cry out again as he releases your ankle. It drops deftly below you.

“Sorry about that, truly.” The predator states with sympathetic eyes- “it’s all tactical, really.”

Blood is gushing out of your ankle, you wonder how long the droplets will take drop on the city below?

“Lambs- you see. When lambs start to wander off from the herd, a Shepard will break its legs. The lamb has to rely on him. So the Shepard will carry the lamb around his shoulders, feeding it and keeping it warm. Until it learns a dependency. So, even when the lamb can walk again- it will never walk far from its loving Shepard.”

His teeth glint as he offers a tiny grin.

You feel yourself become lightheaded. You need to get out of here.

But he’s on you too fast. He offers an arm to you, but you do not take it. You try to back away, but he is insistent. He grabs your hands and wraps them into the crook of his arm.

Pretending to be a gentleman.

He’s not a gentleman. He’s not a Shepard. He’s a wolf.

He’s worse than a wolf. He’s the fucking emperor of Viltrum. You start to really take in what that means. How someone would go about becoming the leader of a warrior species. What they would have to do. What this man had obviously done. Had he killed the emperor before him? That’s.. beyond what you had thought possible. This couldn’t fathomably be Mark Grayson. Your sweet Mark Grayson. And yet it was.

It was at this moment you finally had to contend with yourself;

your Mark was always deranged.

Your Mark had fed you blood. His blood. For months. Without telling you.

Whether he could punch through the core of the Earth or not, Mark Grayson would always be.. fucked.

But strangely, the thought was comforting. It reassured you- that maybe you were not so alone and awful as you had thought.

Taking into consideration everything you had witnessed today- you were finally able to console yourself on one horrible fear which had followed you since Mark had died-

No matter what, Mark Grayson would always love you.

You almost smiled.

“We’ll be happy together, sweet lamb.”

Almost.

—

Fuck. It couldn’t really be you, could it? You had been gone so long, ever since..

No it probably wasn’t you. Don’t get your hopes up, Grayson.

Even if Donald had said the blurry photo of your face was a 90% match.

FUCK! Even just seeing your face- however blurry- was painful and perfect and horrible and wonderful and-

DAMMIT!! What the hell is a guy supposed to do in this scenario? SHIT what was he gonna tell Eve?

Eve is gonna be pissed.

I mean, as soon as Donald mentioned your name, he was up off that hospital bed. He was demanding where you were, how certain they were it was you, what you had been doing, how this was even possible…

And SHITTTT you were wearing HIS SUIT?? FUCK, you had to come back swinging, didn’t you?

But that was JUST LIKE YOU! Of course you would make some grand entrance back into his life. Of course you would be this perfect mess of contradictions.

Making him second guess himself!!

You bear his insignia, but you show up with versions of him intent on destroying the Earth. But you aren’t destroying the earth. But you aren’t exactly helping, either. You look like his first love, but you don’t love him back? Are you on his side? Do you care about him?

FUCK!

He feels like he’s in grade school again. He feels like he’s watching you kiss Toby Fichte at camp again. He feels like he’s playing superheroes with towels for capes in the backyard again. He feels like you’re sitting together, eating sliced apples again. He feels like he’s holding your cold body, and crying out your name again.

And he’s chasing after you again, too.

He can’t help it.

He loves you. No matter what.

He’s speeding towards the Seattle skyline, searching for you, when he catches the faintest smell. It’s sliced apples. It’s campgrounds. It’s comic book pages. It’s clean towels. For a moment, he’s home.

But then he catches something else-

Copper.

—————————————————————————

Wow! Okay so that was WAY LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE!!

I hope you enjoyed!! I took a good amount of creative liberties (I only watch the show, and although I did some research- I didn’t want to spend more nights working on this than I already had). I tried to get all my favorite variants a good chunk of screen time!!

I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you’d like a part 2! Also which variant do you think you would choose?

Anyways; much love, and thank you for reading my VERY LONG post. Be well!! :)

[orphicsun]

–FRENZY: SEVIKA.

“𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭—𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.”

🗡 .ᐟ 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 / 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑.

warnings: mild descriptions of gore below (vampires, town slaughters and mentions of bodies, etc). mentions of religion. set in 1880s since it is based off of older vampire/gothic media like dracula, carmilla, frankenstein, nosferatu, etc. if content like this makes you uncomfortable, do not read. this is a work in progress.

a/n: this is a PROLOGUE that doesn't mention sevika or reader, i know i know. it's simply to set the mood before i jump straight into the 'vampire hunter falls in love with vampire' trope.

OUT NOW!

PROLOGUE / TEASER.

London-born girls playfully roll their eyes at the mention of razor-sharp teeth impaling their necks, and the boys chase them around, laughing as they pretend to be such malevolent creatures. It is all what the populus deems as purely an ‘urban myth.’ Vampires, they say, are most likely not real. Ask anyone–stop them on the street and say, “do you believe in vampires?” The answers of those who wear bustling skirts and rib-binding corsets, the ones who place hats with funny-looking feathers sticking out of them onto their heads each morning, and whose husbands come from old money, extravagant suit and tie, will say that vampires are nothing but fantasy. They are simply illusory, you will hear them state in a posh, low voice.

If you ask the people who commute from villages in raggedy, stained clothes, the ones who haul sacks of wheat like wary farmers, or the ones who live in run-down rookeries will themselves through back-breaking labor in factories that mass produce both textile and the most toxic smog, will instead insist that vampires should be feared. They will grab onto your shoulders like beggars and insist for you to stay far away from the villages, the villages in which are most targeted, where bodies laid to rest with fangs pierced on the sides of their necks.

You need not ask the religious folk. They are the worst of all, claiming that vampires are possessed, dead souls that are only blood-thirsty. They hold meetings in which they utter shouts and distressed cries in the name of all is holy, stressing the cross that will keep all from eternal damnation; of course, the only other eternal damnation other than the rings of hell in which poor souls are banished is at the hands, or better yet, fangs of the demons that will leave you writhing with hunger. Such hunger is unnatural, every sin may be committed by the hands of a vampire. They seduce the men and drain their bodies dry, such an act of lust. They feed on amounts that should not be consumed by any vessel, a gluttonous performance. They take glory in their kills, may even leave poor humans physically unrecognizable: pride. Vampires only lounge in shelter when they’re not busy slaughtering innocent souls, such laziness known as sloth. Vampires’ emotions are such heightened things, anger possessing them to the brink of slaughtering entire towns of farmers and merchants, all purely the wretched sin of wrath. And vampires’ hatred for humans must stem from something that can only be envy, for their souls are bound by Satan himself. And lastly but most ridiculously, the church insists that vampires are greedy creatures that care not for the emotions of life, but instead for castles and dark, pricey dresses.

However, those London-born girls and boys who giggle as they prance around, the joyous chants to be heard down the streets of Britain’s busiest city, have yet to admit the chills that run through their lapis lazuli veins when they speak upon the word “vampire.” For in secret, the deep-seated terror infests itself in their souls and haunts their spirits like a nightmare that could come to life at any second. Oh, may God take pity on their churning stomachs and their frenzied prayers to his name. May their skin remain unpierced and their soul remain pure when they awake.

[pankowcrumbs]

First time dad X Will Poulter (Requested)

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

The baby monitor crackled softly beside me on the kitchen counter, a familiar low hum that had become part of the soundtrack of my days. Our son, Alfie, was napping upstairs his chubby arms always thrown dramatically above his head, the way newborns do when they’re deep in their baby dreams. I smiled, stirring my tea slowly, letting the warmth from the mug seep into my hands.

The telly in the corner of the kitchen was muted, but I recognised the set straight away.

“Good Morning Britain,” I murmured with a grin. “There he is.”

Will’s interview had just started. He looked relaxed, sat on the couch opposite the host in a soft jumper I’d bought him last Christmas, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was still slightly mussed, like he’d run his hands through it on the car ride there, and his smile God, that smile was wide and genuine.

I reached for the remote and turned the volume up.

“Joining us today is actor Will Poulter,” the host began brightly, “here to talk about his latest film, but also more importantly about fatherhood! Congratulations are in order.”

Will laughed, head ducking a little, the way he always did when he was being complimented. “Thank you very much. Yeah, it’s been... surreal, honestly. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The host leaned in with a knowing smile. “You’re a first-time dad?”

He nodded. “Yeah, our little boy was born just over four months ago now. His name’s Alfie.”

Alfie. Every time I heard his name said out loud, especially by Will, something inside me melted.

“What’s it been like?” the host asked. “Sleep deprivation? Chaos? Nappy explosions?”

Will laughed again, that easy, heart-melting laugh that made me fall in love with him in the first place. “All of the above, yeah. I mean, the lack of sleep is real. People warned me and I thought, ‘How bad can it be?’ It’s bad.”

The audience chuckled. I did too, alone in our kitchen, picturing the two of us pacing up and down the hallway at three in the morning, rocking Alfie like our lives depended on it.

“But,” Will continued, his tone softening, “he’s got this smile. It’s like... I don’t even know how to explain it. You’re dead tired, your shirt’s covered in spit-up, and then he looks at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. And suddenly, you’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

My throat tightened.

“Sounds like you’re smitten,” the host teased gently.

“Smitten doesn’t even cover it,” Will replied, shaking his head. “I look at him and just think, how is he real? He’s got these massive eyes and this little pout”

“Sounds like someone we know,” the host interjected, gesturing to Will with a laugh.

Will grinned. “Yeah, poor lad’s probably doomed to have my eyebrows, though.”

That made the whole room laugh, and I laughed too, watching him joke so effortlessly. But it was the next part that made me go completely still.

“And your partner?” the host asked. “What’s she like as a mum?”

Will’s face changed immediately like someone had just opened a window to the softest part of his heart. His eyes warmed, his shoulders dropped a little. He looked... proud.

“She’s incredible,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “Honestly, I don’t even know how to put it into words. I watched her go through pregnancy, go through labour, and now every day she just blows me away.”

I felt my chest ache, in the best way.

“She’s got this way of calming Alfie down that I still haven’t mastered. Like magic. He’ll be losing it, screaming the house down, and the second she picks him up silence. And she sings to him, all the time. Even when she doesn’t realise she’s doing it. Just walking around the kitchen or folding clothes, humming away. And he loves it.”

I blinked, a little misty-eyed now, tea long forgotten.

“And she’s so patient,” Will continued, “which I really admire because I think I can panic sometimes. I’m like, ‘Is this rash normal?’ or ‘Is he supposed to make that noise?’ and she just takes it all in stride. She keeps us grounded.”

The host smiled warmly. “Sounds like you’re very in love.”

Will didn’t hesitate. “More than ever. Watching her become a mum... I didn’t think it was possible to love someone more than I already did, but I do. I really, really do.”

I swallowed hard, one hand pressed over my heart.

He was still talking.

“We’ve been together a while now, but this this part of our life it feels different. Deeper. Like we’ve levelled up, if that makes sense? We’re still us, still laughing about stupid things and arguing over whose turn it is to do the night feed, but... it’s more. It’s everything.”

Alfie stirred through the monitor, letting out a soft coo. I reached over and turned the volume down just a little, not wanting to wake him fully yet.

“And what’s the funniest thing Alfie’s done so far?” the host asked, pulling things back to a lighter note.

Will laughed, eyes crinkling. “God, there’s so many. But last week I was trying to change him, right? Just a normal nappy change. And he looked me dead in the eye... like dead in the eye and peed all over me. I swear he planned it. No remorse. Just this tiny smirk on his face like he’d won.”

The audience roared with laughter.

“Didn’t even flinch,” Will added, shaking his head. “Little menace.”

“Sounds like he takes after his dad,” the host quipped.

Will smirked. “That’s what she says, yeah.”

The interview wrapped up not long after that, Will giving a few more anecdotes and talking briefly about his new film. But it was the fatherhood stuff that stole the show. That stole my heart all over again.

When the credits rolled, I switched the telly off and just sat there, quiet for a moment, hand still resting on the warm mug.

I heard the front door click open not long after.

“Helloooo?” Will’s voice called gently, knowing Alfie might still be sleeping.

“In the kitchen,” I replied, smiling to myself.

He appeared in the doorway, cheeks slightly pink from the cold, scarf half falling off his shoulder. “You watched it?”

“I did,” I said, standing to meet him. “You made me cry, you sap.”

He chuckled, pulling me into a hug. “Sorry. Got carried away. You just make it easy to talk about you.”

I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his familiar smell something like cedarwood and home. “You were brilliant.”

He kissed the top of my head. “And you’re brilliant. The most brilliant.”

We stood like that for a while, in our quiet little bubble, until a familiar squawk came through the monitor.

Will pulled back, grinning. “Speak of the devil.”

We padded upstairs together, side by side. Alfie was awake and stretching like a starfish, tiny fists curling and uncurling, his little babygrow all rumpled. The second he saw Will, his face lit up.

“There’s that smirk,” I said, leaning on the cot.

“He’s definitely planning something,” Will whispered.

Alfie let out a gurgle and reached for him, and Will lifted him up with the same awe and care he always did like he couldn’t quite believe this tiny human was ours.

“You’re a menace,” Will said fondly, kissing his head. “But you’re our menace.”

Watching them my boys I felt it again. That quiet, unshakable love. The kind that doesn’t shout but stays. The kind that grows.

Will looked at me over Alfie’s fluffy head. “You know I meant it, right? All of it.”

“I know,” I said softly. “I feel the same.”

He smiled, full and unguarded. “Good. Because I plan on reminding you of it every day.”

Time Jump

“Ladies and gents, he’s a phenomenal actor, a proper sweetheart, and somehow managing to be a dad to three little mischief-makers give it up for Will Poulter!”

The crowd whooped, Alan Carr grinning ear-to-ear as Will came striding onto the set, already laughing. He looked good tanned from some recent sun, hair slightly longer, and that same relaxed, loveable energy he always had. He shook Alan’s hand, gave him a quick hug, and plopped down onto the couch with a sigh like he’d just run a marathon.

Alan didn’t waste any time. “Will, darling, I have to ask how are you not knackered?! Three kids! THREE! You look well!”

Will barked a laugh, rubbing his face. “Mate, it’s all smoke and mirrors. I haven’t slept in a decade. The minute they’re all asleep, me and Y/N just sit in silence, glass of wine in hand, staring into the void.”

The audience laughed.

“Tell us their names again!” Alan leaned forward eagerly. “We’re all invested now, you’ve created a whole Poulter fan club.”

Will beamed proudly. “Right, so there’s Alfie he’s ten now, can you believe it then Mia who’s seven going on seventeen, and Thom, our five-year-old who’s... terrifying.”

Laughter.

“Terrifying? Why?”

“He’s got this look, Alan. You tell him no and he just stares at you like he’s working out your biggest weakness. I swear he’s got villain potential.”

Alan burst out laughing. “You’ve birthed a Bond villain!”

“Exactly. Y/N says we need to keep an eye on him she reckons if we ever go missing, it'll be Thom’s idea.”

“And what are they like together?” Alan asked, absolutely delighted.

Will sighed dramatically. “Honestly? Little gremlins. They’ve formed some sort of prank alliance. Like a sibling prank union. They plotted to switch the sugar and salt containers the other week, and I poured salt into my tea. I nearly cried.”

The audience wheezed. Alan was crying already.

“And Y/N?” Alan added with a knowing smile. “She’s still the queen of the house, right?”

Will placed a hand on his heart. “Always. They fear her more than me. I shout and they giggle. She raises an eyebrow and suddenly it's ‘sorry mummy!’” He mimicked the kids' voices, which had the crowd in stitches.

Alan fanned himself. “God, I love your family. Now I heard a little rumour. That you took the whole gang to Sydney recently while filming. What were you thinking?”

Will groaned playfully. “I ask myself that every day.”

“Go on, spill it. What happened?”

Will grinned, already laughing before he could speak.

“So, right, I was filming a mini-series over in Sydney earlier this year. The shoot was about three months, so I didn’t want to be away from them that long. We figured, let’s just bring the whole circus with us. It’ll be lovely! Beach! Koalas! Family time!”

Alan raised his brows. “Oh no…”

“Yeah. It was not peaceful. I was trying to shoot this really intense emotional scene, like crying in the rain very Oscar worthy and I look off camera and see Mia and Thom in full costume. They’d broken into the wardrobe trailer, somehow talked the costume designer into letting them put on wigs and 1800s gear, and they’re reenacting the scene behind the camera.”

The audience erupted.

Alan was in bits. “What?!”

“I kid you not,” Will said, trying to hold it together. “Thom’s got this tiny top hat on, and Mia is fake crying and yelling ‘You must come back from war, my love!’ at the top of her lungs while the boom mic operator is wheezing and the director’s just gone, ‘...Let it play out.’”

Alan was folded over in laughter.

“The whole crew was dying,” Will continued. “I was this close to breaking character, but I’m also like ‘please, please don’t fire me.’”

“Did they fire you?”

“No, bless them. The director came up afterwards and said, ‘I’ve never seen a better performance... from your daughter.’”

The crowd howled. Alan had tears in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m raising future actors or future criminals,” Will said, laughing. “Alfie, to be fair, was the voice of reason that day. He was filming the whole thing on his iPad like David Attenborough.”

Alan was wiping his eyes now. “So you’ve got a prank queen, a chaos demon, and a documentarian.”

Will nodded solemnly. “I fear for the future, Alan.”

“And how’s Y/N handling all this?”

Will’s face softened immediately, like it always did when he talked about you. “She’s brilliant. Honestly, she’s the glue. I came back from set one day, completely knackered, and she’d somehow managed to keep them alive, get dinner on the table, and convince Mia that glitter isn’t an essential part of the laundry cycle.”

Alan laughed. “God bless her.”

“She deserves a holiday. Alone. For like, a year.”

Alan gave a mock gasp. “What about you?!”

“I’ll survive. Probably.”

Will chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“But truly,” he added more sincerely, “she’s amazing. I mean, I love acting, but nothing compares to coming home to that chaos. That’s the real stuff. Getting tackled the moment I walk through the door, or Alfie telling me my hair’s weird, or Mia asking deep philosophical questions about space while Thom tries to climb the fridge what’s better than that?”

“A glass of wine?” Alan suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Will grinned. “Exactly. And a locked bathroom door.”

The crowd cheered again, and Alan patted his knee. “Well, we love a wholesome, chaotic, brilliant dad moment. And you, Will Poulter, are doing it brilliantly. Give it up, everyone!”

The audience roared with applause as Will waved sheepishly, cheeks pink from all the laughing, still visibly glowing from talking about his family.

Back home, you were watching from the sofa, Mia curled into your side, Alfie half-asleep on your shoulder, and Thom doing somersaults on the carpet. You couldn’t stop smiling.

“Daddy’s so silly,” Mia whispered with a giggle.

You brushed her hair back and kissed the top of her head. “He really is.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[swan-of-sunrise]

...Is Love, Sweet Love (Part II)

Summary: Eight months later, (Y/N) and her daughter Molly have settled in well at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, with (Y/N) teaching a Classical Literature class and six-year-old Molly taking courses while learning more about her telepathic skills. Charles, having fallen head over heels for the school's new professor, debates whether or not to act upon his feelings.

Pairing: Charles Xavier X F!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Yes, I know, it's slightly unhinged to write a Part II to a one-shot that I published over 2 years ago, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head and here's what I came up with! Again, "What The World Needs Now Is Love" by Jackie DeShannon partially inspired this fic, so you should totally give it a listen if you haven't heard it before :)

…Is Love, Sweet Love May 1980 Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester (Previous Chapter)

Despite living in his family’s mansion for the majority of his life and spending countless hours of his childhood eagerly exploring its sprawling grounds, Charles Xavier hadn’t truly grown to appreciate the tranquility that the estate provided until he’d re-started Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The sight of young mutants happily playing on the playground and partaking in group sports without feeling the need to hide their differences away brought a smile to Charles’ face, and the cheerful laughter of his students paired with the beautiful spring sunshine inspired him to once again enjoy his lunch outside with a good book…although, it was difficult to deny that he spent far more time listening in on Professor (Y/L/N)’s nearby Classical Literature class than actually reading his novel.

“Can anyone tell me why the characters of King Lear worship the pagan gods and not any form of Christianity?” (Y/N), who was sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of her small class, arched a brow as she surveyed the silent group of teenagers before her. “C’mon, guys, you know this. We went over the background of the play during our last lecture, and I seem to remember some of you even taking notes…” After a moment, a timid hand went up from the red-headed girl in the front and (Y/N) smiled. “Yes, Jean?”

“The play is set in ancient Britain, long before the arrival of Christianity.”

“Very good, Jean!” Jean Grey’s shoulders relaxed and beside her, her friend Jubilee gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now, why would Shakespeare choose to set this play in this specific time period? Think about the time period in which Shakespeare lived, and what the social and political climate in England was like.” A dark-haired boy towards the back of their group raised his hand. “Go ahead, Remy.”

Remy LeBeau lowered his hand and began fiddling with his deck of playing cards as he spoke in his distinct French-Creole accent. “Well, Professor, that was when there was a lil’ trouble brewin’ ‘tween the Catholics and Protestants over there, right? He prob’ly didn’t wanna ruffle any feathers by puttin’ a popular religion in his plays, so he had his characters worship the gods from ol’ Roman mythology; anybody who’d be offended would’ve been long dead, so Willy did what any guy’d do to keep his head on his shoulders.”

Charles smiled to himself as the class laughed and (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a reluctant grin. “A little unorthodoxly put, Remy, but you’re absolutely correct. In the play, Lear states that-” She was cut off when the familiar sound of the school bell rang out and her students started to pack their things away. “Remember, on Monday we’ll begin performing your assigned scenes so be sure to work on memorizing your lines with your groups over the weekend. Have a good rest of your day!”

While they laughed and talked amongst themselves, the students headed back towards the mansion for their next class and with a fond smile on her face, (Y/N) looked away from them and finished packing her binders and books into her messenger bag. The novel in Charles’ hand was all but forgotten in favor of admiring his colleague and friend, who’s effortless beauty almost always succeeded in making him stutter over his words and caused him to blush in a way that he hadn’t since he was a schoolboy; she was dressed casually in a striped button-down blouse tucked into a faded pair of high-waisted jeans and well-worn Birkenstocks, with her (Y/H/C) hair pulled away from her face by a blue headband and her reading glasses dangling around her neck by a colorful beaded chain. Charles took in all of her striking figure, but it was her content smile and the happy gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes that made him release a lovelorn sigh and look down at his lap.

Charles was infatuated with Professor (Y/L/N). Well, it perhaps started out as a simple infatuation, back when she’d first arrived on his doorstep pleading for him to help her daughter; her kindness and caring nature in regards to Molly’s safety and well-being was touching, considering how many parents he’d met who were overly eager to pass their mutant children off to a complete stranger just to be rid of them. After hearing their story, he knew that she couldn’t bear to be separated from her five-year-old and so, he asked that she stay and teach at the school to ensure that they would remain together. That was eight months ago and since then, the infatuation had evolved into a full-blown romantic crush; Charles was captivated by (Y/N)’s capacity for compassion, enchanted by her quick wit and natural beauty, in awe of her progressive idealism in regards to mutant rights and more than appreciative of her boundless consideration in regards to his disability.

Yes, Charles was enamored by his school’s newest professor, but he was also plagued by insecurity. The last woman he was romantically involved with was Agent Moira MacTaggert of the CIA, all the way back in 1962 when he was a dashing young man who’d just earned his doctorate and possessed an egotistical streak wider than the English Channel; nowadays, his ego was tempered and his youthful good looks were beginning to give way to wrinkles and streaks of silver. While a ten-year age gap between two consenting adults was hardly an insurmountable obstacle to a happy relationship, a part of him couldn’t help but think that (Y/N) would be happier with someone younger than him. Both Alex and Hank thought that he was overthinking the situation, and perhaps they were right but whenever he started to consider asking her out, that little voice of doubt whispered on in the back of his mind.

“Hi Charles!”

Looking up, Charles’ face reflexively broke out into a grin when he saw (Y/N) approaching the bench he’d parked his wheelchair beside. “Hello, (Y/N)! Holding your classes outside today, I see?”

“It’s such a beautiful day, so you could hardly blame me for taking full advantage of it.” The professor adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and tilted her head as a teasing smile played across her cherry-red lips. “Enjoying your lunch outside today, I see?”

“Touché, Professor,” Charles chuckled, slipping his bookmark into his novel to mark his place and tucking it into his wheelchair’s saddle pack. “Hank seems to believe that my vitamin D levels are too low, so I decided that eating outside was the quickest way to get our resident worrywart off of my back. Not only did I soak up plenty of sun, I had the added pleasure of listening in on your fantastic lesson on Shakespeare’s King Lear; no offense to the Bard, but it’s refreshing to see an Classical Literature professor teach her students about one of his historical plays instead of one of his romances.”

(Y/N) shrugged nonchalantly, but the way she began to fiddle with her pendant revealed the bashfulness she was attempting to mask. “Well, I remember what it was like being fourteen; you’re around the same age as Romeo and Juliet, yes, but you don’t know a damn thing about love and it’s not easy to understand why they do the things they do.”

“As a former fourteen-year-old, I heartily concur. At that age, I could scarcely understand myself let alone an emotion as complex as love, no matter how beautifully Shakespeare described it,” Charles replied, looking out across the manicured grounds as he recited, “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep-’”

“‘-The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,’” (Y/N) finished and when their eyes met, Charles’ heart fluttered and he could feel his face beginning to warm; his brows rose in surprise when the professor hastily turned her head to try and hide her besotted smile, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the sight. “I, um, I-I should go and find Molly…”

“She’s at the playground with Alex’s second graders. Speaking of which, I need to speak with Alex about tomorrow’s scheduled book delivery…” Charles awkwardly cleared his throat before giving (Y/N) a tentative smile. “Would you allow me to escort you there?”

(Y/N)’s own smile widened at that. “Of course!”

While Charles wheeled himself along the stone pathway and (Y/N) kept in step with him, they eagerly discussed the school’s ongoing library expansion and all the new books they’d obtained for the students; any progress made at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters filled him with a sense of accomplishment, but expanding his ancestral home’s library was one of his greatest desires and he was thrilled that the children would soon have access to more knowledge than many of the country’s best private schools and universities. (Y/N) was just as excited about the expansion as he was, and he couldn’t help but admire the enthusiasm written across her beautiful features while he listened to her talk about all the lesson plans she’d brainstormed involving their new books.

They reached the playground sooner than Charles would’ve preferred, but his disappointment was set aside by the sight and sound of his school’s youngest students happily entertaining themselves on the elaborate structure; so many of them came from broken homes and were sent away without any second thoughts by families that couldn’t care less about them and while Charles couldn’t change their heartbreaking pasts, he did all in his power to give each and every one of his students a loving home and bright, promising futures. For the first time, I find myself truly understanding the blinding rage that fills Erik in regards to mutant rights, he thought with an inward grimace before glancing over at (Y/N) and smiling as the human woman affectionately watched her mutant daughter play, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost my faith in humanity’s innate goodness.

“Hi Mommy!” Molly exclaimed from the top of the structure, a toothy grin stretching across her face as she gave them both an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Professor ‘Zavier!”

“Hi Molly-Bear!” (Y/N) called back while a beaming Charles returned the little girl’s wave with one of his own. He’d always maintained that a good professor shouldn’t have favorites, but no one would blame him if he came out and admitted that Molly (Y/L/N) was – hands down – his favorite student; she was as exuberant and carefree as any human six year old, but her mutant abilities as a psychometric telepath meant that she was more insightful and tended to see the world around her with sage eyes. In truth, Molly reminded him so much of himself when he was a child and knowing first-hand how challenging having telepathic abilities at that age can be, he was grateful that he could help her by teaching her how to control and accept her gifts.

While Charles scanned the playground for Alex, he caught (Y/N) looking over at him and the tender expression on her face nearly took his breath away; she quickly looked away and pretended to adjust the fasteners of her messenger bag, but not before Charles noticed the glimmer of affection in her gorgeous (Y/E/C) eyes. A familiar whistle cut through his racing thoughts and when he glanced over, he spotted Alex leaning against a light pole that bordered the playground; a knowing smirk curved across the younger man’s face, widening as he brought a hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers to signal for Charles to read his mind.

“I told you so.”

“Alex…”

“(Y/N)’s into you, Charles, and you’re clearly into her. So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

After taking a steadying breath and running an anxious hand through his hair, Charles cleared his suddenly dry throat and hesitantly spoke. “(Y/N)?” The professor looked over at him expectantly and his finger drifted upwards to loosen his shirt’s collar while he clumsily continued. “I, ah…well, I-I was wondering if I…(Y/N), would you and Molly care to join me for dinner sometime? There’s a wonderful Italian restaurant in Salem Center and a little movie theater just down the street from it that I think you’ll enjoy…”

(Y/N) blinked, looking dumbfounded but slightly hopeful as she took a moment to find her voice. “Charles, are you asking me out on a date?”

Charles nodded and offered her the barest of smiles. “Over the past few months, I’ve grown…immensely fond of you; I wake up every morning looking forward to our usual discussions over breakfast, I find myself spending far too much time styling my hair and picking out what to wear in the hopes that you’ll take note and every time you smile at me, my heart skips a beat.” The professor shyly smiled at that and he couldn’t help but lightly chuckle, the weight in his chest already feeling lighter with each confession he uttered. “Yes, just like that.”

“And you…you wouldn’t mind Molly coming along?”

The anxiety that filled (Y/N)’s eyes as she awaited his answer nearly shattered Charles’ heart; based on what little she’d disclosed to him about her past, he knew that she’s struggled with dating as a single mother and he could only imagine how disillusioned with romance she’d become as a result. “Of course not, (Y/N),” He softly replied and in a bold move, he reached forward and took her hand in his. “You two are a team, after all; Molly is your entire world, and I want you to know that I respect that more than anything. It’s also…well, let’s just say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve gone on a date, and I’d…”

“Like to go slow?” (Y/N) gently offered and when Charles wordlessly nodded, she gave him the smallest of smiles before looking over her shoulder and calling out, “Molly? Sweetheart, can you come here for a second, please?” After coming down the slide, Molly skipped over to them and the professor knelt down so that they were eye-level, her hand still holding onto his. “Professor Xavier wanted to know if he could take us out for dinner and a movie. Does that sound all right to you, Molly-Bear?”

The little girl’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied Charles, and he was forced to mask his amused chuckle with a cough when she brought a mitten-clad hand up to her mother’s ear. “Like on a date?” Molly loudly whispered, and (Y/N) pursed her lips to keep from chuckling as she nodded; her daughter lowered her hand to reveal her excited smile and she gave her mother an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me!” Molly looked back at Charles with a conspiratorial giggle. “Mommy likes you, Professor ‘Zavier.”

Charles arched a playful brow as his eyes flicked between the embarrassed elder (Y/L/N) and the beaming younger (Y/L/N). “She does, does she?”

“Mm-hmm, she likes your eyes and your smile and your hair and your-”

“Okay, young lady, that’s enough out of you,” (Y/N) hastily interrupted, tickling her daughter’s neck with both hands and smiling when she shrieked with laughter and scurried back to the playground. Shaking her head in fond exasperation, she stood and glanced back at Charles, who was trying and failing to muffle his laughter. “Well, I guess that settles it. Does six o’clock this Friday work for you?”

He emphatically nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s perfect!” He felt himself begin to blush at his obvious enthusiasm, and it was (Y/N)’s turn to chuckle as he awkwardly cleared his throat and tried again. “…I-I mean, Friday at six o’clock works for me.”

“Good. I guess that Molly and I will see you then.” The professor turned to walk away but took Charles by surprise when she turned back around and bashfully smiled at him. “I’ve…I’ve grown immensely fond of you too, Charles.”

Before he could say or do anything, she’d bent down and pressed a feather-light kiss onto his cheek, an infatuated gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes as she flashed him one last smile and left to meet her daughter on the playground. A broad grin slowly spread across Charles’ face and while he watched her walk away, he leaned an elbow onto his wheelchair’s armrest and rested the side of his head against his palm, releasing a love-struck sigh and barely taking note of the familiar figure that moved to stand beside him.

“See what happens when you actually take my advice?”

Charles straightened his posture and glanced over at Alex, who was wearing the smuggest of smiles on his faces as he stared back at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an impertinent ass, Alex Summers?”

Alex’s smirk widened. “Heard it all my life. So, when’s the big date?”

“This Friday at six o’clock. And since you and Hank have taken such a keen interest in my love life, I’ll be requiring your assistance on Friday.” The younger man quickly sobered and with a grin of his own, Charles chuckled and patted his arm. “There’s a good chap. Now, about tomorrow’s book delivery…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although it was a far cry from the hazy evenings spent at Oxford’s many lively pubs and in the company of the college’s most flirtatious female students, Charles’ date with (Y/N) and Molly was undoubtedly the most enjoyable one he’d ever been on. He’d met the mother and daughter in the mansion’s foyer with two bouquets in his hands – daisies for Molly and vibrant pink roses for (Y/N) – and he happily watched them admire their flowers while simultaneously hiding the fact that he was studying (Y/N)’s figure; the professor was wearing a knee-length yellow dress with long billowing sleeves, a bright pink sash tied around her waist and matching high heels, and her carefully styled hair was pulled back by a pink headband. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be going out with the likes of him, but his fears of inadequacy were quickly alleviated when she looked over at him and smiled.

Hank and Alex drove the three of them to Salem Center in Charles’ maroon 1959 Jaguar Mark IX, the pair of them opting to stay in town and catch a showing of the newly-released The Empire Strikes Back while they dined at La Mensa. Sensing Molly’s apprehension with being around so many non-mutant strangers, Charles distracted her by playing ‘tic-tac-toe’ and ‘hangman’ with her on her paper place-mat and (Y/N) threw him a grateful look as she asked her daughter about her schoolwork; while they enjoyed their food, (Y/N) entertained them with stories of her students’ antics and after some goading by Molly, she even balanced a spoon on the end of her nose much to her daughter and Charles’ delight. After dinner, they made their way down the street to the small movie theater and while many of its patrons were queued up to watch the latest Star Wars film, the three of them decided on watching the re-release of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp; Molly adored the classic cartoon and while Charles was impartial to the film, he thoroughly enjoyed exchanging enamored glances with (Y/N) over the little girl’s head.

Molly fell asleep on the drive home, cuddling against her mother’s side as she lovingly brushed her fingers through her daughter’s (Y/H/C) hair. In low whispers, (Y/N) assured Charles that Molly had a wonderful time and that she hadn’t seen the little girl so happy since before she’d come into her mutation; although aware that Hank and Alex were clearly eavesdropping from their front seats, Charles quietly asked her if she’d care for a quick nightcap in his study after putting Molly to bed, and he was thrilled when she readily accepted his invitation. When they arrived back at the mansion, (Y/N) carried the still-sleeping Molly inside, but not before giving Charles one last smile as he maneuvered into his outside wheelchair.

“So…” Hank arched a curious brow as he walked beside Charles’ wheelchair and steadied it when they reached the top of the ramp, where Alex was waiting with his motorized indoor wheelchair. “How was it?”

“Charming, but I could’ve done without the rather offensive Asian and Italian stereotypes-”

“Not the movie, Charles, the date,” Alex interrupted and when Charles chuckled in amusement at his friends, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you finally ask out the woman you’ve been head over heels for and you’re not gonna give your two best friends the four-one-one?”

Shaking his head in faux exasperation, Charles shifted himself into his motorized wheelchair and arranged his legs as he airily answered, “(Y/N), Molly and I ate a truly magnificent meal at La Mensa that we followed up by watching a classic Disney film at the movie theater. What more is there to say?”

Alex heaved a sigh but moved to allow Charles to wheel himself into the mansion. “A little help here, Hank?”

“Oh, he’s having far too much fun messing with us to stop.” The scientist tucked his hands into his jacket pockets while a mischievous smirk played on his lips. “But speaking as the school’s resident genius, I couldn’t help but notice the good professor clearly checking (Y/N) out before we left and blushing when she smiled at him just now.”

A reluctant blush warmed Charles’ cheeks at that. “Don’t you two perverts have morning classes to prepare for?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, lover boy,” Alex smugly countered, nudging Hank’s arm with his elbow as they walked beside Charles’ wheelchair down the vacant hall to his study. “Well, Beast, there’s no doubt about it: Charles here’s got it bad for our lovely Professor (Y/L/N).”

When they reached his study’s door, Charles nudged it open and wheeled himself inside, but not before giving both men a look of genuine sincerity. “Thank you, for your assistance tonight and for your encouragement; the pair of you can occasionally be a pain in the ass, but tonight couldn’t have happened without you.”

Hank’s smile softened. “You’re welcome, Charles. We’re just happy that we succeeded in making you do something selfish for once.”

“Yeah, you’ve helped us both out so much over the years and it was high-time we returned the favor,” Alex added as he clapped Charles on the shoulder, his earnest expression morphing into a knowing smirk while he continued. “Enjoy your nightcap with (Y/N), and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lover boy.”

“Oh, and don’t forget protection!”

“Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Chuckling, Alex and Hank left the study and closed the door behind them; after pausing for a moment to take a calming breath, Charles wheeled himself over to the oak cabinet near his cluttered desk and unlocked it, pulling out a glass decanter of scotch and two glasses and setting them down on the coffee table. He bit his lip as his eyes surveyed the messy state of his study, cursing himself for not tidying up earlier, but a part of him knew that (Y/N) wasn’t the type to mind a little clutter; she liked to joke that the best professors had the messiest studies because they spent all their time teaching instead of worrying about how others perceive them. It was the good manners instilled in him from birth that saw him gathering stacks of loose papers, binders and leather-bound books and unceremoniously shoving them behind his desk before lifting himself out of his wheelchair to sit on the couch; with nothing else to distract himself from the anxious anticipation building up within him, Charles plucked the maple-colored queen off the chessboard and nimbly twirled it around his fingers as he waited for (Y/N).

Minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door of his study and after scrambling to straighten up his chessboard, Charles called out, “Come in!” The door opened and (Y/N) stepped into the room, her gentle smile widening when she spotted him seated on the couch. “How’s Molly?”

“Out like a light.” (Y/N) crossed the room and sat on the couch beside him, her fingers playing with the flowing yellow material of her dress’ skirt as Charles poured their drinks. “She wanted me to tell you that she had a really fun time tonight, and she wanted me to thank you.”

“She’s been working so hard these past few months to complete her schoolwork and training, so if anyone deserves to have a little fun it’s undoubtedly her,” Charles replied, a surge of fondness for his youngest student and her kindheartedness bringing a smile to her face as he turned to (Y/N) and offered her a glass of the amber-colored liquid. “As do you, Professor.”

Accepting the glass, (Y/N) hummed thoughtfully before holding it up and angling it towards him. “In that case…to having fun.”

“To having fun,” Charles repeated, lightly clinking his glass of scotch against hers and taking a sip, his eyes appreciatively roaming along the professor’s figure while she took a sip of the strong liquor. “Do you like it? It’s top shelf scotch whiskey, all the way from Scotland.”

(Y/N) arched a playful brow as she crossed her leg over her knee and angled herself to face him. “Expensive, imported liquor? Are you trying to impress me, Professor?”

“Well, that all depends…” Following his instincts, Charles set his glass down and rested his elbow on the couch’s back cushion, his lips curving into a playful grin. “Is it working?”

Her (Y/E/C) eyes softened and after setting her own glass down, she rested one of her hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Charles, I was impressed by you before the top shelf scotch, before the fancy Italian restaurant, and before I ever laid eyes on this beautiful mansion.” His brow furrowed in confusion but she merely smiled and rubbed small circles along his knuckles with her thumb. “Eight months ago, the letter that I sent you asking for help with Molly was my Hail Mary; I had nowhere to go and no way to protect my daughter from the people who hated her for who she was, so I decided to write to the one person I knew could help her. And when you sent me a letter back – that incredibly kind and empathetic letter – you gave me hope, hope that I hadn’t felt in so long. So, you see? You managed to impress me before we’d even met, Charles Xavier.”

Charles, touched by her sincerity and feeling a little emotional, reached forward with his free hand and carefully cradled her warm cheek in his palm. “Oh, my darling (Y/N)…you’re not the only one who’s had their hope restored; I gave up any hope for romance not long after I lost my legs, choosing to focus my attention on the school and my fellow mutants. Over these past several months, however, you helped me to see that there was still hope.” His thumb traced along her cheekbone as he smiled and slowly began to lean in. “And now, I would very much like to kiss you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

(Y/N)’s smile widened. “I’d like that very much as well, I just…” He could feel her cheek flush beneath his touch, and a look of embarrassment flashed across her face. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this. Would it be silly to say that I’ve got butterflies in my stomach?”

“Not at all, darling. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous myself,” Charles murmured, his eyes flicking away from hers to stare at her enticing lips before glancing back up. “The last time I kissed a woman was in 1962, so you’ll have to forgive me if my technique has gotten slightly rusty over the past eighteen years.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we give it a go, will we?” (Y/N) breathed and her (Y/E/C) eyes burned with desire as they both inched closer. “Charles, dear…please kiss me.”

Wanting nothing more than to please the professor, Charles’ eyes fluttered closed as he tentatively brushed his lips against hers. (Y/N) wasted no time in returning the kiss, kissing him softly and sweetly as her hand left his to rest on the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair and eliciting a blissful groan from him; with one hand still cupping her cheek, he rested the other on her waist but soon found himself winding his arm around her in an effort to bring her closer. (Y/N)’s lips were soft and oh so addictive, slowly but firmly caressing against his as her fingers carded through his locks, and Charles surrendered himself over to the woman wrapped in his embrace.

Eventually, they were forced to separate for some much-needed air, the both of them out of breath and almost dizzy from their impromptu make-out session; Charles felt a surge of pride as he took in (Y/N)’s kiss-swollen lips, heaving chest and the dazed smile on her face, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to lightly rub his nose against hers. When he pulled back, he huffed out a breathless chuckle at the incredulous look that she was giving him. “That’s a rusty technique?”

“Mm-hmm. Dreadful, wasn’t it?”

(Y/N) giggled at his joking question and pretended to consider it. “You know, I think I need another example before I can definitively say.” They both laughed but when Charles moved in for another kiss, a sharp twinge in his lower back caused him to recoil with a hiss of pain. “Charles, are you okay?!”

He mutely nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he straightened his posture and leaned his back against the plush couch cushions. “I’m fine, it’s just a muscle spasm.”

“Is it…?” (Y/N) trailed off and when Charles finally opened his eyes as the pain began to fade, he could see the worry written across her face. “Is it because of your spinal cord injury?”

“That, and I’m afraid that I’m getting on in years; I’m not as young and spritely as I was in 1962.” Instead of stammering out a string of apologies and getting up to leave as Charles feared she would, the corner of (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a lopsided grin that left him slightly confused. “(Y/N)?”

The professor shifted closer to him. “Did you know that Molly’s father was fourteen years older than me?” Charles’ brow rose in surprise and he silently shook his head, watching as she reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You could say that I’ve always had a thing for older men…” Before he could think of something witty to say, (Y/N) swung her leg over his to straddle his lap and rested her hands on either side of his face; Charles couldn’t help but grin and, inspired by her delectable boldness, he placed his hands on her waist to hold her securely to him, his grin widening as her breath hitched. “Go ahead and read my mind if you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

Shaking his head, Charles rested his head on the back of the couch so that he was staring up at her, softly smiling as one of his hands traveled upwards to cradle her cheek. “I believe you, darling. Would it be too sappy to say that I don’t want this night to end?”

“Not at all, dear,” (Y/N) shook her head before closing the distance between them and captured his lips in another passionate kiss; when they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and returned his blissful smile with one of her own. “We can make this work, can’t we? Balance the two of us with running the school and raising Molly?”

“I believe that you and I can do just about anything, so long as we’re together,” Charles replied, his thumb and forefinger moving to guide her chin forward and pouring all his emotions into another kiss; there was no place on Earth he’d rather be than in the arms of the lovely Classical Literature professor who’d captured his heart and judging by the way she kissed him back, it was clear that she was thinking something along the same lines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I had so much fun dipping my toes back into the Fox X-Men Universe (I still have a massive thing for 80's Charles Xavier and his flowing brown hair lol) and I loved that I finally resolved Charles and (Y/N)'s mutual attraction with this cute Part II! I may or may not have a few ideas for a possible Part III, so let me know if you'd be interested in reading more! Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!

Story Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl @holb32 @f1uveryysblog Marvel Tag List: @brooke0297​​​​ @deadlymistletoe Permanent Tag List:​ @momc95​​​​ @crowleysqueenofhell​​​ @groovy-lady​ @yasmin12312

[aeolianblues]

I love that we have a generation of young bands who, right from the offset are so vocal about their political causes, through speaking up, fundraisers, working with charity organisations and all. And now these bands are getting big. Fontaines D.C. can’t ’lose fans’ because of their constant and vocal support for Palestine, you’d get laughed out of the venue. Who was surprised when Carlos called everyone else out at the Rolling Stone UK Awards and expressed his strong support for Palestinian independence? They’d have said you’re out of the loop.

Lambrini Girls made it a point early doors: Phoebe has talked about how they were playing a venue in Germany and said if you’re a zionist, leave, and it was half the crowd back then. They’re now one of the most anticipated releases of 2025. They’ve stuck to this principle throughout their rise: their songs are anti-misogynistic, anti-transphobia, anti discrimination. By the time Phoebe scaled the top of a Glastonbury tent to plant a Palestinian flag, there were only cheers.

Bands like Kneecap. They opened their show at Glastonbury, a televised slot shown on national television on the BBC, with a message about imperialism by Britain in Ireland and Palestine. They have gone around with their projectors and projected this fact on public buildings. They’ve talked on stage about how more people were killed in Gaza in 6 months than the entirety of the Troubles. And now, their film is going to the Oscars. They swept the British Independent Film Awards, they’ve been nominated for a BAFTA too. And at that late stage if you complain that Kneecap are being political? Hahaha mate, you’re having a laugh.

Fans of all these bands tend to also follow their beliefs. It’s what draws you into their music, right? When you hear the lyrics to Lambrini Girls’ TERFs Out, or God’s Country, or Bob Vylan’s He’s A Man or We Live Here. Kneecap’s CEARTA, Enola Gay’s PTS.DUP or Through Men’s Eyes. Amyl and the Sniffers’ Knifey or Comfort To Me. Unless you’re actively stuffing a finger in your ears going ‘la la la I can’t hear you’, you must know.

And so I love that I see Fontaines fan accounts, ones with pretty large followings and engagement with a description that basically says ‘Fontaines D.C. fan account. Free Palestine.’ (And it’s not just performative, they too have used their platform to organise fundraisers and work with charity organisations to make sure their action is as direct as can be.) Fandoms can sometimes be places where it’s almost taboo to break the veneer of pretending your time spent loving a band somehow doesn’t exist in the real world, and I see this a lot with older fandoms/older bands’ fandoms. ‘Just stick to the music’, ‘we’re all just here to love this band, let’s leave the politics out of it’ okay grandma. Your band themselves have spoken out but just because they do it less frequently doesn’t warrant the ‘no politics’ rule of your fanclub.

So I’m glad to see how actively involved our new bands are, they were vocal before they had a platform and a big chunk of their listeners are now either people that came up with them, supporting this, or those who even learned something along the way. And as we’ve seen from Taylor Swift fans, mobilised fandoms can do a LOT, that’s really where the power of music to make difference lies, so I’m glad to see how fandom in music by these young bands is not resistant to it!

[pendragonsclotpole]

building on my idea that merlin takes on the name ambrose pendragon after arthur’s death, like imagine it’s 50 years later.

everyone from camelot is dead. the anglo-saxons have won, historical conquests of britain are continuing on as they did and here remains merlin, previously known as emrys, neither name really a surname and the latter always more of a title, but both representative of a world that no longer exists, a kingdom that has fallen apart, a servant with no master, a half without that which makes it whole.

so maybe merlin leaves. he explores. first he travels the isle and perhaps when people ask him who he is he defaults to an ancient practice. people, you see, have often been known by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. for a while, for the decades that pass wherein people remember the rule of the pendragons and the great kingdom of camelot and the failed prophecies of albion, he is not Merlin of Ealdor but Merlin of Camelot.

but people die. memories fade. time passes. merlin remains. and after a while, he cannot call himself Merlin of Camelot. not only do people forget his old kingdom, they forget his name, they bring along new languages and then around 300 years after arthur’s death, a collection of stories begin to be written, about magic, about merlin, about—

Arthur.

people you see, have often been defined by what they do or who they serve or where they come from. when the stories of arthur begin to be told anew, and remain with merlin through the tide of centuries, merlin resolves to forge a new name. he devises first the name in the style of a servant or of some of the common folk.

Merlin of Pendragon.

merlin toys with that idea, wears it for a few decades but something in those words rings false, sounds wrong, and unsettles his blood, as if he lays claim to a dynasty that shall never be his and will never rise again. when he uses it, people laugh and think him an uneducated fool playing at legend. it feels trite and awkward and wrong.

Merlin Pendragon sounds better, more forgivable if not entirely presentable. It makes merlin sound like he is a Pendragon, but only one sorcerer has ever laid claim to the Pendragon name and her name had not been merlin. (it makes merlin a Pendragon, and not even when Arthur lived had merlin considered such a fate a possibility, that Arthur could ever consider—)

merlin continues thinking, and by the time he settles on a replacement it is out of obligation and urgency. he cannot be nameless while he works as a healer and travels the world and serves other people as best as he can. he cannot be merlin Pendragon if the only man who could have conferred that name to him is dead.

instead he becomes Emrys Pendragon, and for a while, that name becomes a second skin. but like the serpent he has always been, merlin eventually sheds that skin. centuries have passed and those who once bore the name emrys, the last descendants of the druids and the people of Camelot, now only recognize that name in legend. the name once more marks him as stupid fool in love with the romantic notion of chivalry. besides, the languages have shifted and a name that once rolled off the tongue has become clotted and stuck in the mouths of people. no one can say it as it had once been said nor as it once belonged by arthur’s side, if only in secret.

merlin again returns to the drawing board, and luckily by that time he is aware of the translations of his many names. on a visit to rome, the grand imperial capital Arthur once dreamt of seeing as a young man, merlin thinks of a perfect substitute. His final name.

Ambrose.

Ambrose Pendragon.

it is emrys, but not quite.

it is merlin as he is forced to live without Arthur.

it is what Arthur could have been if he had lived at merlin’s side.

it is, written shorter, A. Pendragon.

it is a simple name. it is a stupid name. it is a name that breaks his heart and reminds him of his failings and keeps the faith alive within him.

years after adopting the name, merlin wakes up and walks to his desk and sees the name written on the outside of an envelope and he imagines it’s a letter from arthur.

a thousand years later, he sees it written on the sides of coffee cups and envelopes, monogrammed on his coats and cufflinks, inked on his essays, emblazoned on the side of his shop, and merlin imagines that when Arthur returns, he will return to a world already familiar with an A. Pendragon.

It shall be a welcoming world, as if across all these centuries, by some miracle, Arthur Pendragon had lived all along.

[totallynotsmoke]

[SKETCH!]

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The voices in my head wanted me to do another redrawing of a joke AU I made 1-2 years ago, or I wouldn't be able to sleep (IT'S 6 AM) so it's like any normal Sonic.exe, but this one is fancy-looking and obsessed with tea

And believe it or not, this little guy hosts the best tea parties known to the exe kind (I tried his tea it was so good guys trust)

[Extra: made this exe based on a friend of mine who is obsessed with British culture a little too much... what can I say I was inspired😔]

[loaklvr]

[twopoppies]

another day another boy band exposing simon cowell for the horrendous human being that he is smh

https://x.com/hlarryious/status/1901302147322392720?s=46

Oh man. I just hate reading this stuff because you know so much of it never changed. And so much of it sounds so similar to everything the 1D boys went through, too (except, shockingly, no one seems to have been closeted).

[…]Jason “J” Brown laughs as he leads the boys in, wearing a hat to show he’s the eldest. Spiky-haired, chain-wearing Abz Love, the naughtiest one, turns off the power to the room. Then in comes the blond one, Ritchie Neville, along with gobby Scott Robinson (who throws an evil little grin to the other lads) and baby-faced Sean Conlon (obviously the sensitive one). Each has a different role within Britain’s biggest new boyband, but their joint identity has been crafted to appeal to teen girls for whom the other boybands seem too wet, too girly. Three years and 11 Top 10 singles later, it will all be over.

[…] Sean had a brief break from the band to get counselling and their team told the world that he was resting up from glandular fever.

[…] Scott marched into the record label’s office and got into an escalating physical fight with one of their team who refused to let him quit the band, pinning him against a desk. Simon Cowell had to intervene, nearly punching Scott. Following that was a meeting between Scott and the band while they were getting ready for a Top of the Pops performance; Scott had planned to tell his friends and bandmates he was going to leave.

[…] all five of them were emotionally and mentally suffering. “We should have had six months off,” says Ritchie. It’s a shame, J adds, that the industry didn’t recognise they were struggling and support a hiatus; if they had, they might have been able to have a much longer career. “It’s taken us 25 years – I’m not even joking – literally 25 years to be able to even get my head around it,” adds Ritchie.

“It’s almost like we’ve been traumatised,” says Sean, as if coming out of a daze.

“No, we are traumatised,” says Ritchie, with a look directly at me.

[…] They were thrown together to live in the same house by their management, but their ages meant that Sean, the youngest at just 15, was cohabiting with J, who was about to turn 21.

[…] Five were instantly famous, their debut album not just No 1 in the UK but seriously successful on a global scale. Fans camped out all around the madhouse, so the band felt constantly observed; they’d often do an “SAS job” and pretend to be out, just creeping around in the dark to get some “mental headspace”, says Richie.

[…] It sounds like the female attention warped their young minds with paranoia. […] Then Ritchie adds about the touching and grabbing: “I didn’t know if somebody was overstepping – obviously certain boundaries, I did – but if somebody’s taking the p***, I didn’t have a good gauge of what that was.”

[…] They’d constantly wake up and not know which continent they were on, having to look out the hotel or car window for clues. J in particular suffered with this. “I went through the whole [experience] with chronic insomnia, from about three months after it all kicked off,” he remembers. “Most nights I was getting maximum three-and-a-half-hours’ sleep. Sometimes I’d go four or five days on an hour and a half, and then have to get up at five in the morning and film a new video.” It had a diabolical compounding impact on his mental, emotional and physical health.

[…] Sean compares their situation to being in early retirement. “I had that at 20 years of age: I had some money in the bank and enough not to work,” he says. “In your mind there was no Everest, because whatever I do it’s not going to be bigger or better than Five. And you’ve still got an ego and want success at that age, so it’s a really troubling, conflicted time.”

[…] “The industry’s attitude towards this 90s era of pop was, ‘It’s bubblegum pop, it’s not going to last, it’s superficial,’ especially after the wave of indie bands before that,” explains Sean. “We internalised that attitude, too, thinking, ‘Oh, we’re not really doing anything meaningful, it’s not impacting anyone’s life, it doesn’t really mean anything, it’s not real music.’ It also ties back to why we were so overworked and stressed – because of that mindset. The focus was on making as much money as possible and moving as quickly as we could. At the time, no one would have expected that, 25 years later, there would still be interest in the band and our music.”

Full article here

[bearcvck]

There's a scar on Ghost's cheek. It puckers the skin, pulls it tight and distorts his lips.

It's beautiful.

He couldn't tell you why his obsession for it exists, couldn't tell you where or when or even how it began, but regardless it is there. Whenever he bares it to the cool, night air, on quiet, intimate nights like these, his eyes fixate on it. It slashes through the soft, stubbled skin and ticks up to the corner of his mouth. He wants to follow it with his tongue. Wants to smooth careful, gentle fingers along its length and learn the shape, the texture of it. Wants to learn the man it belongs to in the same way. With hungry hands and a hungrier, softer mouth. But he doesn't.

His fingers itch with the urge, tongue thickening in his mouth like a bloating carcass until he can barely swallow, mouth wet and hot as the whiskey sits heavy along the roof of his mouth.

"You can ask," Ghost smiles one night, when it's just them tucked away together under the moonlight, cigarette hanging limp in his fingers. "I don't mind."

He bites his lip, wet with whiskey and the cold night air. "Dunno what you mean," he shrugs, eyes sliding away.

Ghost hums, fingers settling on his scar; comfort, or self-consciousness? He isn't a shy man, but his scars are deeply personal, smothered with wool and a gentle, guarded privacy. "I was twelve."

He blinks, the words settling uncomfortably between them."Twelve?" He checks, horror dawning like an ugly, violently bright sun sticking thick fingers over the horizon.

Ghost smiles. Fondness seeps from him like blood. It pools between them, body-warm and sticky where it creeps, slick like oil, against his skin. "Yeah."Ghost shifts where he's sat – remembers his cigarette and pulls a long, heavy drag, chest puffing with it. Constricting terribly when he blows out all that thick, toxic smoke. There's something cleansing about the action; welcoming something poisonous into your body to cling to the evil within you, to meld them into one thick sludge, expel them both together. "My old man was a mean bastard," he adds with a shrug.

Blasé, like he wasn't permanently disfigured by someone that was ordained to protect him.

"You don't say," it's dry on his tongue, dry like the ethanol evaporating from his lungs with every tight breath.

Ghost laughs. "Ah," he waves a hand lazily, burning cherry of the cigarette dipping with the motion. "Hardly the only one, here.

"Touché. You don't do what they do, sacrifice what they've sacrificed, fight as hard as they've fought, if you didn't have some degree of a fucked up childhood. Britain's basket cases. That's what they are; the service loves welcoming young men who have nothing, nobody else. He lets himself look at it again. It looks different in the moonlight, or maybe it's only softened by the trust shared with him. A gift given, weighty with its significance.

"C'mere," Ghost urges, suddenly, curling thick, strong fingers at him. "Wanna feel?" He scoots closer, morbidly fascinated as Ghost takes his wrist and guides his hand to his cheek. Cups his hand around his cheek when it's freed, runs his thumb along the scar, raised and obvious even decades later. "Curiosity sated?" He teases dryly, eyes blinking slowly. His cheek is ever so slightly tilted into his hand cupping it, eyes sleepy and fond.

"Think I'll always be curious about you," he admits quietly, thumb still stroking the scar. It reaches the tip, just under his eye, and Ghost's eyes flutter shut.

"Fascinating, am I?"

"Yeah. You are."

His smile is wondrous and beautiful; warped by the life he's lived, the demons that hound him, but beautiful. Surviving. He smiles a lot, Ghost, and it's... awesome. That he can, after everything he knows about him. He's the strongest, most resilient man he's ever known.

[totaly-obsessed]

Money, Money, Money

Alessia Russo x reader

-> Reader has a mental breakdown after discovering how expensive Alessia's outfit was

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

As every year the ‘Pride of Britain Awards’ were held in London – and just like last year the lionesses were invited to hand an award to one of the winners. The candidates were nominated by the public from all walks of life, of all ages, and from all over the country. Their achievements are awe-inspiring and a lesson to everyone. And just like last year, your girlfriend Alessia was one of the Lionesses that would be going.

You knew that she had been out shopping with Leah and Jen a couple of times, but you always excused yourself with having lessons to prepare or actually being in school teaching – in reality, you just wanted the blonde to have time with her new teammates.

Every time she came back smiling like a lunatic but upon asking her what she had bought, you always received a teasing kiss and a “You’ll see amore.”

And see you did. Alessia waited for you to say something – body jittering with anticipation of your opinion. She knew that you would like it, but seeing you stare at her with wide eyes and an open mouth was so much better than expected. “You’re drooling, love.”

While Lessi was usually the gullible one. It was you wiping away phantom drool – your girlfriend laughing at you. “Baby you look… Wow!”

Happy with her achievement the footballer pulled you up from your desk chair. “You are so tall Less!” While your girlfriend was already tall, her heels let her tower over you even more. “Mhmm, you like it, amore?” The cheeky girl knew exactly how much you liked the size difference between the two of you – so instead of answering her, you kissed the blonde with passion.

She truly looked incredible in her bright red dress (that was quite short really) with stunning heels – her face still bare. “Do you really need to go Less?” The Italian knew that you wanted her to go despite your whining. You had been freaking out when she had told you about it – but right now? There was nothing else you would rather do than let the blonde kiss you crazy as she was usually doing.

“I need to go baby.” With hunched shoulders she pressed another kiss to your lips, parting way too soon. Baffled you stood there in the middle of the shared living room, Alessia grabbing her purse before speed walking back to you like a damn model.

“One for the road.” Kissing you again, before walking out of the house to get to her Makeup artist.

And while you really liked to use your work as an excuse, tonight you really did have lessons to plan – much to your annoyance. Sure you were an adult, but that didn’t mean, that you wouldn’t scour the internet for anything about Less at the Award show – and the pictures were stunning.

Seeing her on stage, next to little Ravi Adelekan who won ‘Child of Courage’ for setting up an incredible charity in aid of The Brain Tumour Charity and braintrust after undergoing surgery for his tumor, made you quite emotional. Kids were always very dear to your heart, after all, you did become a school teacher.

Having long abandoned your actual plans, you kept on looking at pictures of the award show, reading about all of those memorable people there, when a picture popped up on your Instagram. It was a picture of your girlfriend, stunning as always, but next to her were pictures of her clothing, someone having found out how much it cost and where to find it, if anyone wanted to buy something.

A dress for 700 euros was bad enough, but heels for a little more than 1,000 euros? That was just excessive, the little red bag for 2,000 euros, didn’t make it better in the slightest.

You knew, that Alessia and you came from very different backgrounds, her dad had been in the police, earning good money – her mother and brothers also being well paid. The blonde started making a pretty buck at quite a young age. You, however, came from a low-income family.

Less maybe didn’t notice the difference, but you certainly did.

No food in the fridge? Instant panic! You couldn’t go hungry again, you just couldn’t. There always had to be some food at home.

Eating out? Scary enough for you, always choosing the least expensive option on the menu – but ordering a glass of expensive wine? Panic! What if you needed the money suddenly?

It was safe to say that seeing these prices for things your girlfriend would wear once and never again sent you into a spiral.

Alessia came home in the early hours of the morning, expecting to join you in bed. Instead, she found you at the dining table, bent over stacks of papers and calculations – immediately she knew that something was wrong.

You hated math.

You didn’t teach math.

So what was going on here?

As gently as she could she laid her hands on top of your shoulders, scaring you just enough to make you knock over your (thankfully closed) water bottle. “What’s all this amore?” Seeing your tear-stained face broke the footballer's heart, her mind set on making things better.

“You’re back Less!” It was adorable, your pretty little face lightening up upon seeing the stunning blonde in her pretty red dress that caused you so much trouble. But your red puffy eyes reminded her that something was up with you.

After laying a gentle kiss on your burning forehead, she pulled out the chair next to you. Warm, big hands enveloped your own, stopping you from tugging at your skin. “Baby?” And then it was like a damn broke, everything just spilling out of you.

“Okay, so I calculated everything! And if I take on a few more afternoon supervision classes, and take fewer breaks – with rent and food we might be able to cover everything in two or three months!”

The blonde was confused. What would you try to cover? But upon seeing her face, poor you thought that she was unhappy that it would take so long “Or, we could just use up all the food that we have here, that gives us a little extra and we could get done faster!”

You were in hysterics. Face all scrunched up, desperately looking for ideas, your entire body heated up. “Amore what are you talking abo-“

“Or! I could get a second job on top, so we could finish paying everything off this month. I saw that the bakery down the street is looking for new employees.”

Alessia let go of your hands, instead taking your water bottle and bringing it to your mouth – desperate to calm you down without making you panic. While this is a strange position to be in, it helped. Like a baby getting fed, you calmed down – but then came the tears.

“Amore, I can’t help you if I don’t understand what is wrong. What are you trying to pay off?” Her warm hands wiped away tear after tear, waiting for your desperate hiccups to end. So badly she wanted to pull you on her lap, into one of her famous hugs but she feared that you would fall asleep before figuring out the problem.

Now you felt like you had calmed down enough, giving the blonde a firm nod. “What are you trying to pay off baby?”

The footballer didn’t know what she was expecting but “Your dress, shoes and bag.” certainly wasn’t it. She pressed a gentle kiss onto the back of your hand “Why would you pay for them, baby?”

“Well they were expensive and we need to have the money ready when the bill comes for them.” Slowly but surely Alessia was understanding what was going on.

“Baby you don’t need to pay for them. They are already paid for.” If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she would have surely laughed at the way that your facial expression shifted. “What’d ya mean?”

“I mean that I have already paid for the dress, the shoes, and even the bag in store. Even if not, you would never need to pay them for me, amore.” It was like a heavy weight had fallen off your chest.

“So- so there will be no bill?” Alessia’s head shake nearly sends you into another breakdown, but the little shapes she drew on your wrist with her fingers certainly helped you calm down again.

“Why did you think that you needed to be the one paying baby?” Curious, big blue eyes practically burned into the side of your head.

You were ashamed.

Seeing the expensive price tags had thrown you back to your teenage years. “When I was younger my mum used to just buy things that we couldn’t afford. And when the bills came she made figure out how I could pay for it.” Alessia teared up.

She knew that you didn’t have the best life, but she never pressured you into telling her. “Why didn’t your mum work for it then?”

“She never worked, dad didn’t want her to. He was too proud to admit that he couldn’t carry the weight of the family.” Alessia now held your face in between her hands, gently caressing your cheeks.

“Listen to me amore.” The Italian, again, took note of how hot your face was. It appeared that you had worked yourself up to a point of sickness, breaking your girlfriend's heart even more. “What your mum made you do is horrible – and it will never happen again. Okay? Not with me. We have a stable income – you have a good job, and I can pay for the house and both cars, okay? You don’t even need to work in my eyes.”

She saw how you scrunched your nose in disagreement, wanting to do your share. “Don’t look at me like that anymore, you know it’s true.”

And you really did know it. You knew what Alessia earned, both of you being very open about finances – but something about the situation had thrown you back in time, into a toxic living environment.

“Let’s get you to bed baby, you’re staying home tomorrow.”

And stay home you did – the both of you not leaving the bed until later in the day, sharing stories about your very different families.