Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
today is a great day to remember that all the BIN files for amiibo can be found online and that with a app like tagmiibo or similar and some cheap nfc sticker tags you too can access all the new collab content in acnh and also whatever villager you want without buying expensive plastic :)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
remmick and the vampires present a false dichotomy
Hogwood (the man who sold the twins the mill) and the KKK are very obviously bad, they are outright malicious bigotry, they use the n-word and plan to lynch the moore's and their community, they are so blatantly racist and hateful it's unavoidably obvious
remmick and the vampires however say that they believe in equality, say that they want to create a community, and yet remmick's goal throught the movie is to both metaphorically and literally steal sammie's ability for his own goal of reconnecting with his irish ancestors, a white man wants to harm a young and upcoming black man and use talents for his own goals without giving any regard to said black man's autonomy or agency
when sammie sings 'I lied to you' in the juke joint and calls forth the spirits from the past and future, it's a blend of cultures; west african, east asian, native american, and african american song and dance blend together across time and space to tell the stories of blues; where it takes its inspiration from, the music genres it then inspired, the complex history of black american culture and its intersections with other peoples of colour in the USA
when remmick and the vampires kill and turn the people in the juke joint, and then perform rocky road to dublin, only remmick's irish culture is on display, there is no influence from the black and asian people he has forcibly assimilated into his song, it's juxtaposition with the earlier scene is blatant, remmick is more than happy to assimilate people of colour into his 'community' of 'equals', and yet its only whiteness that is celebrated, that is normative
remmick claims that he's doing people a favour by turning them immortal, conviently ignoring that he literally has to suck the life out of them to do so, trapping their spirits on earth, he claims that he's the good guy, that the KKK were gonna come and lynch everyone at the joint in the morning anyways, conviently ignoring that he's doing the exact same thing; a white man leading a mob to kill a bunch of black people
in the final confrontation with sammie remmick repeatedly dunks him into the river, a forceful baptism. both the celtic irish and enslaved west africans had their religions suppressed and destroyed by colonialsm, had christianity forced upon them by the british empire, and in that scene we see remmick repeating that cycle, using christianity to inflict harm, and sammie reclaiming christianity, despite all the complex emotions he has arround it, as many colonised peoples have and still do, when he recites the lord's prayer
remmick and the vampires are no less racist than hogwood and the KKK, are no less predatory or evil, they're just less blantant about their bigotry, they represent the system, the normalised white supremacy that is seeped into the very foundation of culture in america, the point isnt that remmick would call any of the black characters in the movie the n-word, i dont think he would, the point is that his exploitation and desacration and inserting-himself-into-when-he-wasn't-invited of the juke joint is a microcosm of what white people have done to black american arts and culture since ever since there have been black and white people in america, and even before that
theres a reason vultures are shown early on in this movie
it would have been devastating if Haymitch just hid throughout his entire game. it would have been devastating if he cheated. it would have been devastating if he killed everyone in that arena with his bare hands. it would have been devastating if everyone sacrificed themselves for him.
it was always going to be devastating
but the fact he tried to destroy it? that he stood up to snow? that everything we knew about him was from capitol propaganda? that his poster never saw the light of day?
And the fact of the matter is that this happens in real life to thousands of opressed people every day. It is happening in palestine. It happened in america when black political activists were arrested on false charges and made to serve life in prison for daring to want more. It is happening in britain where trans people are being brutally murdered and it is happening in america and canada where indigenous women are being murdered. It is happening in Aotearoa new zealand where indigenous Māori are the most incarcerated in the country while they only make up roughly 17% of the population. And i could go on and on. People are being silenced EVERYWHERE, their “posters” and acts of resistance being erased. Suzanne Collins wasnt lying when she said she only wrote when there was something she wanted to say about the state of the world. This should serve as the call to action she intended it to be. (Not an attack on anyone, just really resonated with OP’s post and felt the need to speak on this)
i’m so appreciative to suzanne for reframing the rebellion from the original trilogy as a “they saw their moment and took it” type situation and showing us that they’ve been trying, over and over, with so many failed attempts, to break the arena and incite a rebellion for decades. in this current political climate never giving up hope is so essential. haymitch wasn’t the first nor the last, and they kept going even when it seemed completely futile, and that’s what counts, and what ultimately saves them all.
summary: mark stumbles in, looking wrecked—bruised, bloody, barely holding himself up—but guess what? he still has a takeout bag. the paper’s stained red, but he just grins like an idiot and goes: "still hot." priorities.
(requested by one lovely anon <3)
tw: none! diabetes inducing amounts of fluff, mark gets all the hugs and kisses he needs for the traumatic shit he's been through, blood and bruises, mention of invincible events but no spoilers (also ik there's only two variants in the wasteland dimension but. but viltrumite mark survived bc he's my bby)
you love mark grayson. from the bottom of your heart, to the moon and back, through hell and back. you love watching him geek out about the new seance dog episode, because you don’t understand , they perfectly adapted this one bit from the comics, and the VA’s performance made it sooo much better. you love watching the small crease of his brows when he focuses on his algebra homework. for all his complaining, he’s a good student.
you love invincible. you love watching mark suit up, coming up to him and adjusting his mask for him as his hands rest on your waist. you love watching him take off, flying away like it’s the most natural thing. and it is. he’s told you, fingers stroking your hair, that to viltrumites, it was like breathing.
“i wish i could fly sometimes,” you had whispered, craning your head to look up at him.
a soft peck on your forehead, on your eyelids - left, right. on your nose.
“i can take you flying, if you want.”
you had smiled.
“yeah. i’d like that.”
it was easier, back then. when all you had to worry about was making it into college. three years later and you’re both twenty-one, with the weight of the world on mark’s shoulders. viltrumites are wolves. no sheep’s clothing needed to hide themselves - nolan grayson had been a predator through and through, his glacier blue eyes cold enough to cut you down to your marrow.
you’re lucky you’re still alive and breathing. you’re lucky you get to see mark come home to you, bloodied, broken, bruised, but alive . it’s messy, sometimes. there’s blood on the carpet, stains ingrained in the fabric, unwilling to leave. there’s exhaustion. frustration on both your parts - you want. you want to enjoy a lazy morning in your boyfriend’s arms without that bastard cecil stedman’s call ripping him away from you. he wants to be there for you. that’s why you both rent a small little flat - hero work had him dropping out of college, and he couldn’t bear to watch you deal with it alone.
so you make it work. it’s not perfect, it’s messy - mark’s eyes are growing sadder and sadder, bags deepening under his eyes until he breaks down under the weight of it all.
(he came to you. after thraxa. after levy. after his variants. after conquest. he came to you, bloodied, half-mad with grief, a feral dog seeking its master’s tender touch. you’re no master of his, but your hands are the gentlest things he knows, so he buried himself in your arms and let himself break , knowing you’d pull him back together.)
you make it work.
doesn’t mean you’re still not eyeing the clock, frowning a little. you’ve rummaged around in your closet until you found the outfit, changed said outfit because it was too much for a date at that small, homey italian restaurant that mark organised, then changed it back because it was too casual. you are not spending your three year anniversary in your hoodie. well, mark’s hoodie. finders keepers.
so here you are, pacing back and forth in your living room under the watchful, curious gaze of nero, one feline eye half-opened on the couch. an hour passes. two. you settle on the couch and run your fingers through nero’s fur, the cat purring as he settles on your lap. three hours and all restaurants are closed. three am stares you straight in the eyes, the clock on the wall ticking away minute after unforgiving minute.
mark is late.
you’re not mad at him - dammit, he’s a superhero. that’s his job, and you’re proud of him for it. you are mad at cecil for not allowing him to rest after sending him on four back to back missions in a week right after he almost got stranded in a sordid wasteland dimension with three of his other variants.
a rasp at the window.
you jump on your feet, immediately dashing to the window to open it. in stumbles mark. blue and yellow suit in shreds, bloodied, bruised, one broken arm hanging limply at his side, two teeth missing, the plexiglas of his broken goggles having dug in his skin, a small shard embedded under his eyelid.
in his free arm, takeout.
the bag’s stained red from the blood coating his hand, slowly seeping into the brown paper.
he looks at you with a little smile - a little hiss escaping him when his split, swollen lips stretch painfully.
“hey,” he croaks, floating towards you, feet brushing the ground. “happy three years to us.”
then, after looking at the bag:
“still hot.”
you sigh fondly, cupping his face, watching as he melts into you, nose brushing yours. priorities. gently, you manage to dig out the small plexiglas fragment, earning a mournful sigh from him.
“m’sorry, m’staining the carpet again.”
“fuck the carpet.” you gently peck the spot under his ear, the only patch of skin left unbruised. “i’m just glad you’re alive.”
“mm. managed to snatch take-out at the italian before it closed. ordered your favourite.”
“aw, baby… you’re an angel.”
you peck his nose, lips a soft breeze over the crooked slope of it, taking the bag from him and setting it on the coffee table. nero purrs, tail rubbing over mark’s calf. mark is watching you, mask in hand, gaze soft. he makes a move to drape himself over you and stop, wordlessly looking at you, big brown eyes imploring.
“don’t wanna mess up your outfit.”
your heart melts .
“fuck my shirt. c'mere.”
your fingers close on his valid arm and you pull him towards you, giggling as he effortlessly slides in the air. mark thinks he’s never seen you look this beautiful, eyes sleep-soft, love pouring out of your heart straight to his. you’re happy, he realises. happy that he gets to come home to you. to come home at all.
he drapes himself over you, chest to your back, still careful not to put blood on your shirt- oh , you’re pulling him closer, craning up your neck so your cheek brushes against his. his hand rests on your waist, fingers hesitantly laying on the silk of your shirt until you press your hand against his, until he feels the warmth of you blooming under his palm like his blood on your shirt.
“love you,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
“love you too, baby.”
you feel him against you, body relaxing, melting into you as you pull out the clothes he’s laid out for himself before heading out, six hours ago - black slacks, black shirt. he eyes his limp arm, his shattered knee, and bite back a groan, forehead pressed to your nape, sweat-slick hair brushing the sensitive skin. not having both hands for that will suck. unless-
“look inside the pocket,” he mumbles.
you hum, intrigued, and comply, reaching for his pocket - you freeze when your fingertips brush the corner of something small.
you pull out a small velvet box, eyes wide.
“mark?”
he smiles, reaching out from behind you to open it, taking advantage of you holding it.
“yeah.”
gently, he takes the box from you and floats in front of you, half-kneeling, smile bloodied and unbearably soft.
“marry me?”
you think you’re crying. you might have tackled mark into a hug, then profusely apologized as you effectively crushed his bruised ribs. nero meows, confused.
“yeah. yeah, mark.” you kiss him. "i wanna marry you."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
He always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. Doesn’t matter if he’s literally Invincible—he still does it, every time, without fail. If you switch sides? He casually switches too, like it’s instinct.
He sends you good morning and good night texts every single day. Even if he’s halfway across the galaxy, fighting some crazy alien war, you still get a little “Sleep well, baby. I love you ” message whenever he can.
He plays with your fingers absentmindedly. If you’re sitting together, he’ll take your hand and just... fiddle with it. Rubs his thumb over your knuckles, laces and unlaces your fingers, presses little kisses to your palm when he thinks you’re not paying attention.
If he gets home late, he tries so hard not to wake you. He’ll float instead of walking so the floor doesn’t creak, change in the dark, and press the softest kiss to your forehead before climbing in bed. If you stir, he just whispers, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’m here.”
He loves when you wear his clothes. Hoodies, t-shirts, even his stupid superhero suit jacket. The first time he saw you in one of his hoodies, he almost short-circuited. Now he “accidentally” leaves them at your place all the time.
He gets protective in the smallest, cutest ways. Hand on your lower back in crowded places. Glaring at the barista who dares to flirt with you. Holding your waist just a little tighter when he hugs you after a long day.
He remembers every little thing about you. Your favorite flavor of ice cream, the way you like your eggs, that one childhood stuffed animal you still sleep with. He never forgets.
He holds you like he’s afraid to let go. Even after years together, he still hugs you like you might disappear. Arms tight, face buried in your neck, like he’s grounding himself in you.
If you fall asleep on him, he refuses to move. Doesn’t matter if his arm goes numb, if his legs are cramping—he’ll sit there, perfectly still, watching you sleep with this soft, soft look in his eyes.
He tells you he loves you all the time. In texts, in whispers, in casual conversation. “Hey, can you pass me the remote? Love you.” “Be right back, love you.” Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Sometimes, he just stops and stares at you. Like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s so in love with you, it physically stuns him for a second. And when you catch him? He just grins, shrugs, and says, “Can you blame me?”
BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader
cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)
SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 10k oops
— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3
You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.
Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.
"Hel—"
"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.
You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.
"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"
"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"
You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."
"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”
“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"
"In light of new footage, we have information that—"
The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.
You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
“Mark is—”
beeeeeep.
"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”
A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.
"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.
The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.
This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.
You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.
You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.
Almost like he was never there to begin with.
You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.
Girlfriend?
You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.
"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."
"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."
"Uh-huh."
"You think I would make a good jock?"
"You've got the look for it."
"Dumb?"
"Yes."
Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."
"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."
"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."
Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.
"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."
You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.
You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."
He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.
You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."
He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.
Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.
Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.
You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.
You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.
It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.
You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.
"Need some help?"
"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!
"Damn. Relax."
Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.
They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.
"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."
You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—
"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.
Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?
"Checking on you."
"Where's your mom?"
"Smart enough to leave home."
"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"
"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"
He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"
You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"
He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"
Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.
"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.
He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"
This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.
When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...
"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"
What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?
"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."
He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.
Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.
The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.
"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"
No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.
"You're not..."
"Nope."
You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...
A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.
And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.
"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"
You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?
A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.
"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.
"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."
You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.
"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"
First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...
Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?
You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.
"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"
He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.
He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.
"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."
You hadn't even realized you started crying.
He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"
You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"
You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"
"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.
"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.
"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."
You blinked, "Girlfriend?"
"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."
You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.
He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."
[]
The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.
Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.
"You can't be here, kid."
Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."
After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.
Not when he still held space for you in his heart.
He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?
His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.
"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."
"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.
"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."
With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.
"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."
Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.
"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."
Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"
Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"
"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.
"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.
"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."
"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.
Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.
Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.
[]
"I killed the Guardians, yeah."
"All of them?"
"Yeah. No big deal."
You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?
Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.
"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.
Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.
"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."
You didn’t bother asking how.
Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.
"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.
That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"
That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.
He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.
The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.
You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.
His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.
Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.
But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.
Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.
“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”
Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.
“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.
“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”
Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.
You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.
"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."
What?
Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—
You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.
"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.
You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."
Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"
Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—
"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.
—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.
"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"
Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—
"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."
Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.
"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.
The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.
"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.
His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.
"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.
"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"
"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.
"I can explain."
"You better fuckin start."
"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"
"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"
He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"
"Get off me."
"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."
He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.
"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.
You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."
"He killed people—"
"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"
"I thought he was hurting you!"
"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.
Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.
Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.
Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.
He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.
Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.
Childish.
You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"
Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.
[]
"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.
You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.
"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."
"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.
"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"
"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.
"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.
It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.
He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.
[]
The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.
"Oh, good."
Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.
"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.
Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.
The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.
"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.
You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.
Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.
Nothing.
His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."
Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.
He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"
"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"
Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.
You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.
"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."
"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.
"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"
"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."
Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.
A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.
"You said he touched you." He started.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."
"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."
Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."
"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."
You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."
"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."
"Need what?"
"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."
You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."
Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.
You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.
Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.
Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.
He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.
"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."
This time, you believed him.
— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)
im not the first person to say this but irving being the only queer cast member and thus being the first one to deconstruct his religious beliefs in kier after lumon kills his lover... there's a theme. it's thematic
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
theartofmadeline
discoholicmusic
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
dailybridgerton
gracieabrams
