#Target Invincible

[tokoyamisstuff]

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

18+ explicit content

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

Other variants under the cut!

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

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

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

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

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

Fucks pretty well to make up for it though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expect some premium aftercare!

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

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

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

[arnarniyaa]

INVINCIBLE art

[spicyspiders]

lost in the open

Mark Grayson x male reader smut

1.2k words

Warning for dubious consent, deep throating, and possessive behavior. Even though there are two Marks in the pic, this isn't a threesome fic (not yet, at least).

Been thinking about that one variant of Mark that said I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my empire. I thought of him as I wrote this, but any variant could be thought of when reading.

“Tighten up, you’re getting sloppy,” Mark says, pulling his cock from your throat, “this isn’t what I had in mind when I brought you here,” he says, swiping away the drool from the side of your mouth. 

“Brought me here?” You ask. If that’s what Mark did, it sure hadn’t felt like that, especially with the part where he knocked you out. “You fucking-” you tried, but fell into a coughing fit that did little to help your sore throat. 

Through your blurry, tear-filled vision, you could see that Mark was smiling down at you. “Though you aren’t doing as well as I expected,” he said dismissively, “I’m still having fun breaking you in,” he said as he wrapped his half-gloved hand around his cock. 

There was a soft, slick noise as he stroked his hand along his cock, his fingers gliding through the spit your mouth had left. You watch on the slow uptick of his hand as a bead of precum spills from the slit and down to meet his fingers. Once it disappears underneath Mark’s fingers, you pull your eyes away to look back up at Mark. 

You’re met with the sight of Mark smirking down at you, “I have my work cut out for me,” he says in a low voice, almost as if he were talking to himself. 

You snap your head away, looking off to the side and out of Mark’s intense gaze. You’re unable to identify where you are from looking at the ornaments that hang on the walls; hell, you weren’t even sure if you were still on Earth. 

Mark lets out a soft tsk, his free hand moving to your chin, “I can give you a tour of your new home afterwards,” he says as he gives you no choice but to face him. 

“My-” your eyes widen, “new home?” You ask, not even trying to fight the hold Mark has on your chin. Your stomach drops as your mind begins to race, going over all of the things that are being left behind. 

“Hey,” Mark says softly, like you’re a frightened animal. You didn’t feel like a frightened animal, though. You felt more like an animal he had found on the side of the road, one he already knew was doomed. Though you weren’t sure if Mark was the type to put you out of your misery quickly or stay with you until you died, however long that took. His hands move to cup your face, one of his thumbs swiping through the tear tracks on your face. 

You weren’t sure if the tears on your face were fresh from what Mark just told you, or if they were left over from when his cock fought against your gag reflex. You wondered if Mark was truly trying to comfort you, or if he was just using the display of affection because he thought it would get your lips back around his cock sooner.

“None of that now,” Mark says, “I can take you to visit once you’ve settled in.”

“Really?” You asked.

“It’s where I found you,” he says fondly, as one of his hands goes to the back of your neck to give it a solid squeeze, “there’s bound to be more fun had,” he says with a smirk. 

The lack of oxygen to your brain when his cock was buried down your throat must have done something to make a spike of jealousy shoot through your body. You feel delirious and angry. Angry at Mark, but mainly at yourself for even letting yourself entertain the idea of getting jealous over Mark getting with someone else. 

“You’re going to kidnap someone else?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady and calm. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, turning your chin up to face him, “a pet of your own?” Mark’s fingers tighten around your chin. 

You struggle against his hold but still manage a slight shake of your head, “no,” you whisper. 

Mark nearly bends himself in half on his throne to get his face right in front of yours, “you’re mine,” he growls. 

This close, you think he’s going to kiss you to really seal the deal, but he instead relaxes back against his throne. If you feel any disappointment, it gets overtaken by your nerves as Mark wraps a hand around the base of his cock and guides it to your lips. 

Though only a small amount of time had passed since his cock was in your mouth, it felt like the first time when Mark guided it past your lips. Like before, the weight of it was still heavy on your tongue, pressing down as it continued to go deeper. 

You had no choice but to try and adjust to the intrusion, tears already stinging your eyes. The touch of the head of Mark’s cock at the back of your throat made them fall, the warmth mixing into the spit that dribbled from the sides of your mouth. 

Mark groaned as your throat clenched around his cock, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck to hold you in place. 

Knowing you couldn’t move, you breathed in slowly through your nose, trying to calm down. When you felt yourself finally starting to relax, Mark pulled his cock free. 

You swiped a hand across your face, trying to wipe away the mix of tears and drool. Your eyes flicked down Mark’s cock, seeing that his balls were pulled up tight, a flash of relief running through your body knowing that you were almost done. 

Mark’s hand came to your face to run his fingers through a spot you must have missed, his fingers then moving to the back of your neck to get your mouth back around his cock. “Good boy,” he murmured as the slide down his cock was much smoother. 

Your treacherous cock twitched at the praise, hoping that Mark wouldn’t be able to tell. You couldn’t deny how much you liked the sounds Mark made. Maybe it was just because you knew Mark neared his edge and this would all be over, or maybe it was a sick part of yourself that wanted to make him feel good. 

Mark’s cock throbbed along your tongue before you felt his hot load shoot down your throat. His fingers tightened around the back of your neck, “swallow,” he said between moans, his other hand slamming down onto the arm of his throne. 

It felt like it lasted forever, your vision going blurry at the edges when Mark’s hand around your neck went lax. 

You pulled off the split second you were able, your chest heaving as you pulled in breath after breath. You held yourself up on your arm, and the other you used to wipe away what you failed to swallow. You were tempted to wipe it on Mark’s suit just to spite him, but that’d probably only make him want to go another round. 

In a flash, Mark had you in his lap on his throne, Mark using your surprise to get his tongue in your mouth in a messy kiss. You barely had time to react, but Mark seemed more than content in mapping out your mouth with his tongue. He groaned at the taste of himself on your tongue, his strong arms wrapped around your lower back. 

When Mark broke the kiss, he kept you close, the man pulling you down to rest against his chest. There was little that you could do against his hold, Mark seemingly enjoying the way you struggled, if the light laughter he let out was any indication. 

“Don’t worry,” Mark began, placing a kiss on the top of your head, “I’ll take care of you in a minute.”

[clairewritesfanfics]

How would the mark variants treat a childhood friend turned girlfriend that became blind before childhood was over? Like how would mark treat his childhood love going blind, by adulthood shes totally blind, and how would his variants treat the same situation?

I can imagine the protectiveness going through the roof, and imagine the variants trying to hide how ugly the world outside is. I wonder which would even care that you are blind, try to help, and which would consider being blind perfect for their plaything. Harder to run away if you can't see.

There is an argument to be made that those who are born blind have it easier than those who go blind. People who were born with imperfect sight have not seen how light disperses between the ocean waves, and so they don’t fear losing that small happiness. 

God can be cruel. 

He had given you eyes that saw how the sun refracts through the tide, the way fireworks light up an evening sky and bring joy to everyone who witnessed their fleeting existence. God gave you Mark Grayson, with his toothy grin and honey eyes that sucked you right in. Now you may never see those things again.

Retinitis Pigmentosa. Genetic. Non-fatal, but incurable. Most people don’t completely lose their vision, but there the chances of total blindness is non-zero. 

The ride home from the hospital was unbearable. Your dad cracked a few lame dad jokes every now and then, but you saw how his finger tapped the steering wheel every time he stopped the car for a red light. Your mom looked like she was going to break down at any moment. But she stayed quiet, tense, but quiet and unable to look at you. The air was awkward and the tension gnawed at your nerves. No one cried. 

As soon as the car reached the garage, you made a hasty exit, spouting something about meeting with Mark for a special movie premiere, then ran straight for the Graysons’ home. 

Lucky for you, your friend answered the door. You didn’t have to worry about breaking down in front of an adult.

“Wanna go to the park?” You tried to play it cool.

Mark cocked an eyebrow at you. It was already sunset. But he knew you long enough to notice your stiff shoulders, that expression in your face that looked like one wrong word would make you fall to your knees, sobbing.

So he kept the questions to himself, stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Now here you two were. Two kids in a mostly empty playground meant for much younger children. At least the swingset chairs were big enough for you. 

“So…” Mark started after ten minutes of silence, “any special news you wanna tell me or did you just really miss the park?”

You stared at the overgrown grass, the tall trees Mark loved to climb, the colorful picnic tables lined next to each other. Without turning to him, you finally spoke, “We just got back from the doctor.”

Mark stomped the heels of his yellow sneakers to stop the momentum of his swing. His eyes were wide. “You’re not–”

“I’m not dying,” you cut him off. “But I am sick.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I won’t be able to see much at night, my vision won’t be… it will take a lot of effort to adapt to what I have right now. Oh, and cherry on the sundae? I could go blind, like actually blind.” You bent your elbows on your knees. “Doctor said it’s going to be slow, which I don’t know how to feel about.”

Mark was silent, trying to think. It was hard to understand for someone so young. Kids and teenagers are prone to feeling immortal, untouchable, and they can’t wrap their heads around the concept of disease, especially when it’s not affecting them directly.

But then you hid your face in your hands. Your entire body shook with each sob as he heard you cry out to a God who failed you. 

And Mark understood. 

His fingers gripped tightly around the metal chains of the swing. He didn’t know how to comfort you right now. Should he hug you? Pat your back?

But he couldn’t bring himself to do those things. Not now. 

Instead he made a promise. 

“Y-you said it won’t be an instant thing, right?”

Vaguely, he saw you nod your head.

“That’s great then! W-we can make as many memories as we can before the worst case happens.”

You wiped your tears and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Make a list of all the things you want to see and experience, that way we can see all of them before… before you know.”

You gave him a small smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He was taught that humans are weaker than his kind, but it was only after hearing about your disease did he understand. You’re weak. Delicate. Vulnerable. Getting his powers certainly didn’t help. You are too delicate. You can’t be left alone for too long. When he has a job that requires leaving for a planet that is lightyears away he takes you with him. But if it’s safer to keep you inside your home then there will be soldiers guarding every corner and servants answering your every beck and call. He doesn’t trust others to look after you, but he trusts your human body even less, it has already failed you. 

VILTRUMITE, flaxan, target

This is perfect! This way you’re all his. Sure, he feels bad that you lost something precious, but that’s why he is here–to fill the void. Mark makes you depend on him, makes it so that you cannot live in a world where he is not by your side. He scares away all your friends, isolates you from your family, convinces you that they’re tired of you, that you are too much work. But he’s here, he will protect you, provide for you, and keep you happy. And you are happy, or at the very least, satisfied. So you don’t ask him about what’s happening outside the home he built just for you. You pretend that you don’t notice how your devices cannot access the news anymore, or call anyone who wasn’t Mark. You no longer pester him for the cure that he promised you years ago. He is your everything now. 

full mask, maskless, SINISTER, no goggles, prisoner

He is understanding and kind, but he doesn’t treat you like you’re broken. He makes occasional blind jokes because he knows you can take it, that laughing at yourself and your situation helps. He is perfect. Too perfect for a Mark. Truth is that he is scared shitless of everything. One false move and he can lose you forever, not just to some idiot rebel or monster of the week, but to something as stupid as a wet floor. He’s not just concerned about your physical health but also your mental wellbeing. So he hires actors and builds a paradise on a different planet, an illusion of what you thought Earth is like, what Earth used to be. He doesn’t need shapeshifters, only aliens who speak human language and human slaves who want to be free from hard labor. 

head cap, MOHAWK, shiesty, OMNI

image lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

     Time runs thin as your chances for survival narrow. The search for water and escape turns tensions high.

TW: Freaky ass..... You can't say that to women, Mark.

[Part one] [Ao3] [7] [9] [Chapter Index]

8 * Heatdeath [7.2k]

"You try desperately to keep it,

Not to protect it but to hoard it,

To keep it away from the other wolves,

And jackals circling your territory."

Sewerslvt - Ecifircas

        He could no longer see the brightest star through the window. The asteroid had drifted too far. It had come into view on the left side of his cell, the newest thing to look at. A planet or supernova perhaps. He'd imagined the heat of a star's explosion on his marred skin. Death coming to cool the heat. An alien planet full of nine legged creatures and rivers of sap. 

        The imaginings were worse than the torture sometimes. Knowing he couldn't know. Stuck in this black walled room until his inevitable execution because he'd never turn to the Viltrum Empire. Even if it killed him.

        Betrayed by his father. Thrown in this metal hell for not wanting to enslave his friends back on Earth. Tormented by his fellows. Sometimes the very man that put him there. Two times the planet had passed his window since they injected him full of Klaxus venom. An experimental new technique that made his skin slough off in bloody sheets. It left him writhing around on the gray floor, smeared brown as it dried. How he'd wished for death when he watched his own scalp slip down past his eyes. Plopping onto the floor, hair and all.

        The supersuit he'd come in was gone. They'd forced him into the Viltrumite prison uniform while he was unconscious. As an act of cruelty, after his umpteenth rejection, father came with his old mask. Blue with black lenses, the face of who he had been. Forced it over his head and doused him with more Klaxus venom, this time over his head instead of directly into his blood.

        The fabric melted, infecting his wounds for weeks but the lenses sunk into his bubbling, melted muscles, all the way down to his skull where it fused to the bone. He laid on the ground, unmoving for days. Without the energy to rip them out of his healing skin. 

       The door didn't slide open, but boots came down on the floor. He didn't turn. Sure he'd hallucinated the sound. These days he heard a lot of things, missed plenty more. 

        "Mark Grayson." A voice he hadn't heard. New guard, he guessed. "I'm here to help."

        He hadn't believed what Angstrom Levy said. Not at first. Then he brought him down to Earth and saw what had been done. A utopia. No more cancer, no more war, as promised by the Viltrum Empire. But there was no you. 

        Dad had told him all this. After the first few years, he guessed years, he started to block it all out. He knew Earth had submitted to becoming a Viltrum breeding camp. That there was an initial rebellion that ended with millions killed. That while you were never counted among the rebels, Nolan nor any other Viltrumite had found you dead or alive.

        He had Angstrom take him to your home- gone and replaced with Viltrum architecture. To your favorite spots, gone and replaced. Then he took him to your grave, where he finally believed. 

        "We can fix this." Angstrom said as he crumbled at dirt. No proper headstone but a hastily carved plank. Done quick and dirty by fellow rebels. "The world doesn't have to be this way." He barely listened as he dug up your grave. He needed to be sure. "I can bring this world back along with her."

        Bones wrapped in ratty clothes. Mostly eaten away by bugs. The smoking gun? The promise ring you insisted you'd lose. The very same one he put a thin chain through and draped around your neck, never to be lost. 

        ***

        The shade wasn't enough. Significantly better than lying in the sun, yes, but you were still burning alive. 

        Those who hadn't gone missing or blasted into the freezer of space had left. Searching for food, water, resources, an exit you somehow missed. Your hopes weren't high for anything but more garbage. 

        All except Gray. Sitting on his sheet, knitting together more scraps. To keep you cool for when the sun apexed in the midday, and the lean of the tent offered no solace. He didn't talk, so you didn't either. It was almost nice to not feel the need to explain yourself in order to live. No threat or memory or promise dangled in front of your face, just quiet companionship. 

        Despite doing nothing but laying starfished on the ground, you were the thirstiest you’d ever been, your muscles aching like you'd been running. Just sitting up made you wobble. Gray glanced up before going back to work, not one to nose about. You turned away from him to remove the helmet, feeling the humidity disperse from your face. 

        Gray watched, going stiff when you turned. "Take that off." He had dropped his net of garbage and pointed to the black encasing your body. 

        "What? You wanna ogle at me?" Thirst dulled the bite you wanted the words to have. Dulled your anger, but not your stubborn will. Because you knew he was right, but you couldn't imagine not wearing it when the others returned.

        He stared into you, like he was trying to drill his thoughts into your head, but didn't say them aloud. It was creepy, and you were baking, so you say, "Turn around." Wishing there was power to use, but finding none.

        He does and you get to work.

        The strapped on chest plate comes down to the makeshift floor with a clatter. Gray looks up to find you already peeling the bulletproof armor off over your head, sweat coating the inside, pulling your tank top up with it. For a moment you're caught, thrashing weakly until you could get the thing over your head. Tank top slipping down to cover exposed skin. 

        Your arms and shoulder blades were bare and slick with sweat, the section he'd seen of your back was drenched too. Gray knew enough of human biology, thanks to his mother, to know that it was too much sweat. You were experiencing heat exhaustion, and if you didn’t get some water you were going to get heatstroke. He looked to the sky for the others, hopefully for water, for anything they could cool you down with. You forced the boots off your legs. Fight the pants down while jumping around under the tent, nearly revealing your whole ass to Gray who doesn't entirely look away. Bodies were bodies to him but he knew it was a human taboo to look upon another nude. Still. Your ass? Was very nice.

        He does not comment. Looks away when you glance at him in a panic, hoping he didn't see your ass. He did, but you didn't need to know that. 

        You starfished again. Chest heaving with the simple effort of taking off your outer clothes. At least you had the foresight to take the soldiers tank top and shorts. Lest you be out in your underthings. God, you could only imagine what those creepy shits would say. Except you really couldn't, your thoughts mostly consisting of a dull want for something to drink, to eat.  

        You awkwardly crawled, still on your back toward the crumpled pants. Going for the pockets, that you'd restuffed after Omni left. For the codeine. 

        The pants are kicked away. Gray didn't know exactly what lean was, but drugs with dehydration were a recipe for death. You started to sit up in protest, but his hand was firm on your chest, pushing you to lay back down.

        "Stay."

        "I'm gonna fucking die without it." You groaned, clawing at the silky ground. Always shifting at the slightest tough. So warm, even under the dark of your sweat-soaked back.

        "You can survive five days without hydration at this rate." He said it evenly, as if you weren't halfway there, getting up to move the pants a little further out of reach. As to not tempt you.

        In the mean time, you gathered up the collar of your tank top and started to squeeze it over your mouth. Disgusting, yes, but that sweet, salty water would grace your lips any second.

        A hand gently moved yours down. The squeezed sweat sinking back into your shirt as you whine. "That will make things worse." Gray says. "It has only been two days, you are fine." He didn't mean it in a condescending way, but it sure felt that way. You glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

        Day two began to dusk. 

        Mohawk was first to return. He tossed out insignificant fabric scraps to add to the pile.

        "All I got." He grunted, trudging toward you before pausing and really taking in the scene. Above you another swath of trash fabric had been laid, making a roof of sorts for the tent that Gray was still securing. Then there was you, splayed out, heaving, most of your shiny skin on display. Clothes neatly folded and hidden behind the scrap pile by Gray.

        He had Gray by the throat in an instant. "You motherfuc-"

        His hands were yanked off, body flipped, as Gray's strong arm locked around his neck, cutting off his airflow. Voice quiet in his ear, "She was overheating. Behave." Gray released him in a shove.

        Mohawk spun around, bristling, ready to unleash his pent up frustrations. But his eyes landed on you again. For a moment he thinks Gray's a liar because of the marks on your skin. Those were not on his version of you. They had to be scratch marks or hickeys from a Mark Grayson that was not him.

        His fists clenched, "I'll-" It clicks. Those were not marks of sex but scars. All the anger towards Gray was forgotten, redirected to whatever had done all that to you. 

        Mohawk landed cross-legged beside you, readying questions. "Hey."

        You didn't reply. Breathing even, lips parted, eyes glued shut. He regretted opening his fat mouth for once, scared you'd wake. He knew you needed sleep, that you were fragile.

       He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen your face in sleep, so peaceful. He wanted to talk to you. To know what you were thinking, even if it was that you hated him. 

        His eyes careened over the exposed flesh. Noting and theorizing what these new markings were. A slit on the side of your upper thigh, indented and lighter than the rest of you. A stab wound? A narrow, dark circle one above your right knee, two identical marks above the hem of your tank top and your collarbone. Low caliber rounds from a distance. Pot shots from a human gun. Anything designed under his empire would've blown your body to pieces. There were others, here and there, none as bad as the first. 

        In your restless sleep you shifted. Groaning. Eyes twitching but not really opening. Tank top riding up your abdomen.

        There's no way. Looking at it gave him vertigo. Dropped him right back into memory. 

        You seizing in his arms. Brain gone into unconsciousness, unable to hear his apologetic pleas. Hands twitching and flexing in your mess of shredded guts. Gone into shock. 

        It was his fault as much as it was yours. You could've been an empress. Could've had the universe in your palm as you'd had him. Hell, he assigned all his best scientists and doctors to find a cure to your infuriating mortality. Planned to properly propose with the big reveal. But no, you had to be mortal and moral, play the long game under his nose. 

        He'd thought when you agreed to come to Viltrum with him after he took over Earth, killed his father, and found out about his royal linage- that was it. You'd be his forever. Complacent and happy, his on-off high school girlfriend.        

        You were so annoyingly against the killing but still stuck by his side. He thought it meant something. That your mind would catch up with your heart soon enough. 

        He had found the datapad by accident. Hidden under your shared mattress he never flipped with sheets he never tucked. He'd thought he'd lost his hairgel, that someway, somehow it lodged between the bottom mattress and springboard. He lifted the thing to find your datapad. The logs broke his heart.

        You'd been in communications with The Coalition of Planets. Feeding them information so they could launch an attack. When you'd returned from your daily walk around the ship he lunged, grabbing you from behind in a squeezing hold that burst your guts out your lower belly. In his rage, he forgot how fragile you were. He hadn't the chance to ask why you'd betrayed him. Just tried to hold you together as the medics teleported in.

        He'd crushed too many bones, burst too many organs and blood vessels. They couldn't save you.

        But there you were. A long smile of a scar going from upper hip, down below your belly button, to the other side of your pelvis. Gutted then stitched back together. Part of him felt you deserved it. Part of him was horrified that the same thing happened. Was it by your Mark's hand? By someone else? He didn't know and it killed him to not know who to blame. 

        One thing he knew. He was so happy you weren't a good person. Good people betrayed him. Bad people worked for him but he'd always know the backstabbing was coming. This way he could coax you out of doing something stupid. And if you did again? This time he'd be ready.

        He didn't realize he was touching you, tracing the scar, feeling your skin through his gloves. Skin to skin would be too much all at once. He'd burn right out like bad bulb. 

        Your hand moved before your eyes opened. Grabbing at his wrist, lips already twisting to a frown. "What do you think you're doing?" You say and God- there's those pretty eyes of yours. Set on him with murderous intent, it gave him butterflies.

        "Jus' checkin' under the hood. Seein' if everything’s working right." He didn’t, hovering over you. Wanting you to magically remember what you'd had together. But maybe leave out all the bad parts, like him killing you. 

        "Get off." You hissed.

        "That an order?" The piercing's under his bottom lip glint in the light. Like two silver fangs had grown from it. 

        Gray comes from wherever he'd been. Hovering beside you both, looking down his nose at Mohawk, who laughs, "Can't leave a tasty piece 'a ass out like this and not expect some flies."

        A sharp kick to Mohawk's jaw sent him cartwheeling back into the air. He steadied himself quick, "That's how you wanna play it?" He shot forward, fists first. Gray left your side, met him halfway. Mutual impact cracked the air like a balloon, dunes reformed under the pressure. The supports of the tent started to slide. 

        The pair was a blur overhead. Meeting with fists and feet. Mohawk hurled insults while Gray said nothing, power speaking for him. Mohawk had been raised from an early age to be a Viltrumite conqueror, but Gray had from birth and it showed. 

        You didn't watch. Focused on keeping the tent frame from collapsing. 

        "What are those idiots doing?" Hissed a voice from behind. 

        You turn, gripping the trash fabric to keep it from blowing away. Emperor was there, arms crossed, scowling, not helping whatsoever. He brought back nothing and telling by the pinch of his brow, no good news. 

        "Mind doing something before they destroy camp?" You snapped.

        His attention finally sets to you. Your ass in white shorts staring right at him- or was it the other way around? The expanse of your back, a divot sunken under a shoulder blade, its twin under your collarbone. 

        Memories try to pull him away. You in thin evening wear, the finest in the galaxy. In his Martian silk sheets. They say never to shit where you eat, never fuck a human rebel. You'd been kind to him in school, before his powers bloomed.  The other children hadn't been, they somehow singled him out as strange, alien, but not you. That was why he didn't kill you. Brought you back with him, made you the best concubine an interplanetary emperor could have. And like all good concubines, you almost got him killed. Ungrateful wretch.

        It was hard being mad when you looked so good. 

        "Hey!" You barked at him. "Just gonna stand there?"

        He had trained the attitude out of you early in his world, and you were asking for a repeat. 

        His eyes narrowed under the lenses, "Don't talk to me like that."

        Tracksuit landed at the perfect time. Right between the two of you. "What's with all that?" He pointed to the sky, where the fight had moved into the upper stratosphere. 

        "Move." Emperor snapped.

        Tracksuit looked down, mask fluttering, revealing a sliver of his jaw. "Uhm? Hello to you too."

        "Move." He said again. Sure, he could instantly have your throat in his hands, but it was about the principal. The power he had over you with barely any effort, the fear of what he could do. Making Tracksuit move without violence would only cement that. 

        Tracksuit stayed put. "Man, I don't give a shit about your girlfriend's dumbass clothes or whatever." He did appreciate the view from behind his lenses. Oh, he really, really appreciated the view. Not that he'd say it. 

        Emperor reeled his fast back and delivered it forward. Only to be caught by Tracksuit with a laughed out, "Really, dude?" Before a punch, a real punch sent Emperor into the sand like a mole. He didn't come back up. 

        "That didn't happen by the way." He said to you. "Don't want your fuckin' boyfriend gang to rock my shit thinkin' I was protecting you. Wasn't by the way. Guy's just a fuckin’ pain."

        "Already made it very clear I hate all Mark Graysons." You tried to put things back in place, though the tent had fallen into a valley of a dune and was no longer sitting on top. Half of the gathered supplies were missing, probably launched to the other side of the dune while you fell the other way. 

        "And those guys made it very clear they don't care. Honestly, if I was you I'da made a run for it by now." He leaned back, looked to the sky where the fight raged on. "Won't stop ya if you do. 'S one less mouth to feed."

        "There's no food to feed." You said before leaving. You went to find the scattered scavenged materials, making small trips holding far less than any of them could. Dropping the stuff in messy piles Gray would feel the need to organize later. So far you hadn't found your armor.

        Gray touched down. He held Mohawk's unconscious form over his shoulder, setting him down with no love or reverence. He was bleeding from the ears, nose cracked to the side, blood splattered down his lips. You watched as his chest rose and fell with a frown. Unfortunately for you, Gray wasn't going to waste precious extra hands, Mohawk was merely stunned. If Gray had wanted to do real damage, he'd be dead.

        Gray wouldn’t admit it, but Mohawk was quick. Gave him trouble. Difficult to get a solid crack on both his ears.

        Gray only allowed you to make the trips because they were small. Just over the dune and back and the sun had dipped, cooling the sands. He stayed at camp, organizing what you returned. Subtly, very subtly looking at your ass as you reclimbed the dune and disappeared out of sight.

        You slid down the other side of the dune, which would have been fun if you were hydrated and not starving. You began the task of plucking things from the sand, walking a few feet and bending over again. Your back ached, though you'd barely done anything. Everything ached. You were weak. The sun, the power drain, it was all chipping away at you.

        Your bare foot cracked against something hard under the sand. You kneeled to dust it off. Black reflected the red of the setting sun. The armor, thank God. During the day, heat was hell, but at night, you desperately needed to retain it. You uncovered the chest plate, then the slacks. Boots found after a little more searching. Helmet last, absolutely filled with sand. You shook it all out as the bitter cold of night starts to blow through the dunes. 

        "Making you work wearing just that? I didn't take the rest of me as voyeurs." His voice was teasing and self assured, it could be any one of them, but you felt a pit of fear.

         Turning confirms your fear, the fragmented smirk and the black and yellow suit. He was right behind you, the worst possible person to catch you alone in thin clothes. Lenses flicking with his head as he scanned your body up and down.

        "What did I do to deserve a view like this?" He laughs as you grab the chest plate, throwing it over your head, ready for it to slide down your arms and over your body. It never does. Scars snatched it, reeled it back, and threw it into the sky. "Nope." Scars laughs as you lunge for the pants, also thrown into the desert. "No way am I letting you cover any of this up." The boots are next but you catch the helmet. Effectively useless, but you put it on anyway. The only defense and defiance you had left. 

        "Ooh, that's cute, you really are scared of me." He says as you're trying to scramble up the side of the dune. Limbs moving too quick, only treading in place, not getting anywhere. He prowls closer with a click of his tongue. "Don't be shy." He croons it sickly sweet, "I'd never do anything to your perfect little face. Not like you did to mine. I'm not an eye for an eye kind of guy. You don't have to be scared."

        But you did have to be scared because he was being sarcastic. 

        Scars is a force of wind that knocks you back into the sand. In front of you, hand encompassing the helmet. Fingers dig into the metal, denting it before tearing the thing off. Flicking his wrist sending it burning fast into the atmosphere. 

        All you needed to do was get one of the other Mark's attention, "Hel-"

         Scars hand clamps over your mouth. "Ah-ah. I wasn't done looking." You feel his gaze burn down your body. The intake of breath he takes over your chest, a flush rolls up his cheeks. "God. I hate that you look so-" Drool rolled down the inside of his scar, pooling in his mouth. What the fuck? What the fuck? "Did I tell you what I did to you after you killed yourself? Nothing bad, promise."

        You bite his hand. Tasting days old blood on your tongue. 

        His hand doesn't move, he doesn't jump away, no, he leans closer to you falling into the sand with you and moans. "Fuuuck. You have no idea how much I needed that."

       There is an effect the sound has on you, Mark Grayson moaning because of you. A pooling in your gut that you suppress because fuck this Mark Grayson and not fuck this Mark Grayson.

        You punch him in the mouth to no effect. Bite down harder despite how you hate his moans, his hand pressing further into your mouth, tightening his hold. You can't help the feeling inside your body. You hate him so much. You just want him to die. Your hands wrap around his throat. Squeeze with everything you've got but he still breathes. 

        "Are you trying to get me going?" He breathes, pressing his body into yours, pushing you further into the sand. You see his eyes through the lenses he's so close, "Because all you need to do now is cry and I'll cum in my fucking pants." 

         He is grabbed by the cape and thrown. Your mouth is suddenly, graciously empty, but still you taste blood.

        Baldie heaves. "None of them could hear this shit?" Anger in his tone. You hadn't considered how close you were to camp. "I'll-" Scars returns with a cracking kick to Baldie's skull that sent him deep into the sand that already was sinking in around him.

        "Where were we?" 

        Scars took a single step before Baldie shot up directly under him. Fist to his balls. Rocketing them both to the air where the match turned heated. You watch, entranced until you hear a, "Woohoo! Yeah, beat his ass!"

         You climb back up the dune. Find the camp mostly empty besides Tracksuit and Gray.

        "Thanks for the help." You spit. Yesterday you'd told him not to help, but when you actually needed it, nobody was there.

        Mohawk would've if he wasn't still half passed out. Lensless thankfully wasn't there to add to the torment. Tracksuit didn't give a shit. Gray had been filling Tracksuit in on your condition because he'd asked, "What's with the broad's geddup?" The others were gone in the desert or space.

        Then there was Emperor who certainly wouldn't lift a finger for you. Too busy sitting in the sand. Bristling, but upon seeing two of himself in the camp instead of one- shelved the fight for another day. Sure if he fought Tracksuit for 'no apparent reason' the others would turn on him. He wasn't a coward, just calculating- he told himself.

        The fight wasn't stopping. They were wild men. Scars pissed about his blue balls. Baldie pissed about everything. Four years, Angstrom told him he'd been locked up. Four years of hoping you'd be alive. Four years you'd probably been dead. Not even a week ago, he'd held your bones. Now he was trying to keep himself together, play into the boy next door persona while being next to you. You needed someone normal. Not another broken freak humping your leg. With every strike of Scars fist, he felt the mask start to crack. 

        Lensless returned then, entered the tent in a trot. Oohing and ahhing at the show. Then he looked at you, sat on the ground. Skin lit by the fire Gray built while everyone else seemed to have lost their minds. Lensless sat himself next to you. Pressed his body to your side, practically purring, "Thank you God and Jesus."

        You tried to scoot away but his hand landed on your shoulder holding you there. Fingerless gloves letting him feel your flesh. His attention was all over. The low ride of the tank top. Your thighs. How ruined you looked after only two days in the desert. Pathetic! He loved it.

        His finger found that place under your collarbone. Pressed into the bullet wound indent, "Whoa, did this almost kill you?" The idea seemed to excite him very much. 

        "Get off." You say.

        "I'm trying." He replies. 

        Gray is by your side, ready to pull Lensless off in an instant. In the same instant Mohawk gasps, shooting upright and assessing the scene. He couldn't decide who to lunge at first. That sanctimonious asshole or the guy practically feeling you up. 

        Gray catches the movement, head snapping toward him like a robot. "Don't." The words are louder, firmer than he'd ever spoken. They almost make Mohawk want to listen.

        He's a bullet. Grabbing Lensless by the hair, catching Gray by the midriff, shooting them all through the tent fabric and into a spiraling brawl. 

        You fall to your side at the sudden lack of support. Watching the chaos. You wouldn't have to wait for your powers to come back. They were going to kill eachother for you. Which was... a little disappointing. You wanted to give the order.

        "Holy shit." Tracksuit laughed, mask half off his face. Revealing his curled lips and a septum peaking between his nostrils. He fumbled in his pockets, searching for the cigarettes which would make this all so much better. "This is awesome."

        "You!" Emperor flew into Tracksuit and they were gone into the fight. You were alone. 

         You feed the fire. Wait for it to end. Watch them all so close to eachother but keeping the fights separate. Sat so close to the flame, your shins started to sting with first-degree burns. It still wasn't enough. The night was cold, the fight long. Too many even matches. 

        Marks fall. Exhaustion, truce, death, you don't know but they keep dropping until there are none. They begin to drag themselves back to camp, bleeding, bruised, clothes torn. All of them bitter but understanding- fighting each other was not how they got out of this alive. There needed to be more hands on deck to find supplies to keep you alive. 

        Baldie was first back. Leaning hard to his right side. Saying nothing as he pulled off his clothes. Sitting by the fire covered in bruises, bleeding out his nose and slightly swollen mouth. He held out his jailhouse clothes to you. "Shouldn't get so many looks if you wear this."

        You hesitated despite your freezing condition. It smelled like him. Was soaked through with his presence. It was a gift from Mark Grayson.

        You take it because this is survival. Slip on the top then bottoms, both frayed on the edges. Better than nothing.

        You were instantly degrees warmer. His body heat stuck to the inside of the fabric, which slowly morphed to your figure. He sat, in his jail issue tighty whiteys. Muscle and scars all over. Your look lingers too long and he catches you with a sad smile. 

        "Weird, right?"

        "There being ten of you is weird. Scars are not." You say. You hated that help came from Mark Grayson to fight off Mark Grayson. You hated everybody and everything right about now but Baldie? He was slightly less shitty. So you vomit it up, "Thanks," while not meeting his eye, quietly hoping he wouldn't hear it. 

        He jolted, surprised. "You're-" he swallows nothing, throat closing up.

        "For earlier." You finish awkwardly.

        "You're welcome." The bleeding corner of his lip stretches into a smile.

        After that, silence. 

       Gray returned, followed feet behind by Mohawk. A taught truce between them, just barely holding together. Blood dried on the outside of both their ears. Gray's pristine outfit ripped and shredded at the knees. Mohawks hair drooped without the satisfaction of victory. They sit as far from each other as they can while staying by the fire, by you.

        Lensless came, dragging a knocked out Emperor by the ankle. His face combed through the sand. "Figured he'd be mad if we left him out there all night." He dropped the leg. Let Emperor stay facedown in the sand. He sat on the man's back, elbows on his knees to watch you but not making any moves. 

        Tracksuit landed beside you. Blood soaked through the mask where his nose was. He reached under the fabric, snapped the cartilage back in place with a cringe worthy crack.

        "So that was fuckin' crazy." He says into the edgy silence.

        Nobody is in the mood to reply. Paper thin peace ready to tear through.

        "All that over a bitch in a tank top." He shook his head, "I mean, not me though." He adds when the others tense, turning their bodies collectively toward him like a pack to pounce. "Man, we gotta get these boys some food they are huuunngrrry." The innuendo is thick in his accented tone. "Heyo, up top." He holds out a hand to you, knuckles burst open, callouses thick on his palms.

        You leave him hanging. He lets his hand drop, elbowing you in the ribs instead. "You geddit, come on."

        "Don't touch her." Gray's voice is like piano wire. Thin and sharp enough to slice necks. 

        Tracksuit's hands go up in surrender. "I'm fuckin' around dude, Jesus."

        Gray's forehead creases. The most expression you'd caught on him. 

        "Stop." You speak before he can. "Just stop. This is fucking ridiculous."

        The peace reseals over you all. A thin coating that won't last. You hoped the fighting was over. Gone out their systems like sickness. More for your sake than theirs. Watching them all was terrifying. Any one of them could've crashlanded crushed you. Accidentally flown by the camp so fast the sonic boom ripped you apart.

        You couldn't kill them all if you were dead.

        "Hey." From overhead. You crane your neck back. Scars is there, hovering over the camp, watching you through the hole Mohawk tore. He seems mostly fine, suit torn and one of his black lenses cracked open, his honeyed eye looking right at you. But no blood of his own. Whereas Baldie was bent over awkwardly, something inside him bruised and bleeding. "Just so you assholes know, we're not down two. They've been digging a fucking hole for two days straight."

        "Why didn't you lead with that?" Tracksuit asked.

        Only to be ignored. "Said they found something but didn't want to stop digging before the tunnel was secure." He came down through the hole. Settled directly behind you much to your terror. But he kept his hands and comments to himself. The others tensed at his very presence, muscles rolling under skin ready to defend you- but they make no move to get closer and neither did he. Nobody but Lensless wanted another fight but Lensless was getting way too much satisfaction from sitting on Emperor's back and staring at your boobies. The peace stays.

       Scars watched your back all night long.

        ***

        Morning comes with heat. Afternoon comes with fire. You burned alive in Baldie's thin prison clothes. Sweat out what hydration you had left into them. Laid in the shade. Vision blurring. Throat sandpaper.

        Gray had to explain to multiple versions of himself- ones raised on Earth who simply didn't care about things that never affected them- about heat exhaust in humans. They may need to start to consider more desperate options. 

        Baldie left to find the armor Scars threw, in hopes of finding the codeine stuffed into the pants as a last resort. The rest of them stayed, waiting for news from Maskless and Phantom. They watched as your condition worsened into the evening. You couldn't find the energy to reply to anything, no matter how gross and insulting it was. Even Scars didn't like it, much preferring his prey to writhe.

        Night fell over camp. Lensless talks of cutting open his wrists and letting you drink his blood to survive. Gray vetoes. Scars wonders why you're not fine, you're superpowered in this universe shouldn't you be invulnerable to stupid shit like this? You can't help the laugh bubbling out of your throat when Gray tells him this could kill you. Baldie does not return, hunt still on for your clothes. Mohawk keeps the fire going. Tracksuit and Emperor verbally circle each other. You get closer to death. 

        Day four. 

        No food. No water. No power. All heat.

        You can no longer open your lids for fear the water would evaporate out of your eyes. The Marks prowl. Speak. You do not process. You slip in and out of sleep or unconsciousness, everything feels the same. Dreams are incoherent lights. You feel the raw of your throat the whole time. 

        When you are capable of thought, you think about your wedding photo. What could've been. It makes you want to sit up, get better, just to kill them all. You can't move, but you can regret. 

        ***

        He was cutting it close being gone so long, but he had to try. The tunnel needed to be stable. Air needed to get inside and so did you. Viltrumites could force their bodies through hundreds of miles of sand, but your human body couldn't. 

        He raced ahead of Maskless who flew unhurriedly. "They'll be fine." He had said, not remembering you and your human fragility.

        When he saw the fire in the distance he barely slowed. To the others around the flames, he was a blur followed by a cloud of sand, obscuring their vision and smothering the fire. He scooped up your lain form, no explanation, no rationality, and turned right the fuck back around. You were worse than he thought. Why were you in someone else's clothes? Where had your armor gone?

        Questions that didn't matter.

        The other versions of himself shot up from camp. Snapped at his heels with demands and questions. But they were slow. Beat so much shit out of eachother they couldn't keep up. They could get an explanation later- you were dying. 

        He moved, faster, faster, until the skin on your cheeks started to chafe away in the wind. The cold dug in its claws. You shivered, unconsciously clinging to him, wriggled in his arms just to get a little closer, a little warmer.

        The hole was finally below. He snapped down, flew through the dark gap in the sand that started at half a mile wide and ended in a humansized pinhole. It had been the best they could do. 

        He put on the flight breaks. Other Marks thread the needle behind him, shouting, "What the fuck?!"

        He landed in a run, shifting you in his arms as he went. The cave was dark, musky with age and trapped humidity, but he could see well enough to find the pool. He knelt, flipped your body over his knee, and dunked his hand into the cold water. 

        Mohawk stopped himself before he pistoned his fist through Phantom's face. Realizing this wasn't a kidnapping, but a rescue. He watched as Phantom opened your chapped lips, holding your head up too gently, and poured water into your mouth. You coughed, involuntarily, spraying it on his mask. Phantom seems not to care. Dunking his hand in again, pouring. Your throat bobs. 

        The others land, figure shit out on their own. They converge on the pool, hands on knees, asses in the air. Desperately gulping at the pool like a pack of deer. Grunts and moans echoing off the cave walls. All save for Gray who watches as your body begins to cooperate. He will not drink until you are conscious. Then and only then will he let his guard drop a fraction.

        ***

        Darkness stretched around him. Cold sunk to the bone. Hair flat on his head as he flew, top speed. He was flinging through an empty abyss so complete he wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed anymore.

        It'd felt like weeks, maybe a month. He'd been using the oxygen mask for awhile now.

        Nothing. He'd found nothing because Angstrom Levy had really done it. Found the perfect universe to leave his enemies. A universe completely collapsed into itself, sucking down the last remnants of life into a blackhole that stretched spacetime like taffy. 

        He'd found it, all thrumming heat hundreds of thousands of miles away from the planet Angstrom had dumped you all on. The all consuming, super massive, heat death of the universe. He'd searched every direction. There was nothing else but the planet, its sun, and the creep toward complete annihilation. 

        He had turned around days ago, but the closer he'd been to the singularity the weirder time got. Longer. A beard had started to prickle through his chin, poke at the oxygen mask. He hadn't the energy to angst about you anymore. All he wanted was to see you, to feel you, to know you were okay with those lesser-than freaks who wore his face. 

        God. Please don't be dead.

        ***

        You awoke feeling like shit. Staring into blackness broken up by a harsh ray of light cutting through the cavern. Illuminating floating sand specs. The floor was cool and solid under your back. You start to sit up and almost immediately pass back out. Hands catch your fall from behind. You can not turn your head to see who. 

        There is a gentle slosh then a black gloved hand is poised to your lips. Palm shimmering with sweet, sweet water. "Drink." You lunge forward as much as he'll allow, kissing the side of his hand. Suck the water down, mouth on his glove. A moan croaks out your throat. Those who had been sleeping, wake. Another palm-full of water is brought to your lips and the pattern repeats.

        "She'll live?" You do not look at the voice- Baldie. Too focused on the hand that came again to your lips.

        Behind you, Phantom nods. Baldie lets out a sigh. "Thank God. You guys, too I guess." 

        Maskless grunts. Sat in the corner, back on a sandstone stalagmite. Finally, he can rest after days of sand-wrangling.

        Around you, the world began to focus. Molasses slow, but progress nonetheless. You could make out brown-red walls. Uneven with the occasional oddly perfect spherical hole. You see the pool being drawn from, so deep the clear water ran black with shadow. See the men around you. Gray wore his loincloth thingy again, no longer needed for sand support. He returned with a party in tow, all of them holding pieces of your old camp to reset up here but better, sturdier, cooler. 

        Scars tossed the supplies into the growing pile. Walked to you and Phantom, grin stretching the gash in his cheek. "Look who's finally awake. I should'a thought of playing dead to get out of doing work earlier."  

        You swallow the latest handful of water and feel it. The power than had been torn out your body returning. Not all of it, but enough to make you smile back at him. 

        "Shut the fuck up."

        And for once, he does.

[floralcavern]

Um… I made something-

[princ3ssprinc3sz]

my friend told me i should post of of my invincible variants art on tumblr, so here we are. anyways there’s a criminal lack of emperor/target/striped mark content

i tried to draw a silly “haha what would my invincible oc would be doing during the war” and then i realized i didn’t have one. so there’s my spider sona instead

[thedefinitenumerator]

Exactly what he’s called

[xmensmmrs]

Misery is season 3 episode 7 of invincible but at least it gave us more fanfic! You're heroes to me, Variant Marks

[no-name-was-free]

Emperor mark

All Marks are bottom now i'm going to elaborate (this post Is only about Emperor)

He's strong, everyone know it and fear him, but he want also ti feel precius.

If you hold him in your arms and call him beautiful, if you shower him with gift, open the door for him, lend him you jacket and so on he would let him.

He demands to be spoiled, and you better spoil him or he will destroy the planet

He really likes nicknames above all: your prince, your treasure, your life and other of that kind (you better call him that or he will sulk for days and give you the silente treatment until you beg)

When you two are alone he want to be treated like a flower and not as a super strong mass murderer and when you're in pubblic he want to be treated like the king he is, showing off his strenght as if he didn't act like a pillow princess five minutes before in the bedroom

He will let you decide what to do, expecting you to make a choice based on his taste

He like to let you do even in the bedroom, watching you tired yourself out to please him

He's mainly a pillow princess, but Is down ti try new think of you ask (If he didn't like what you propose he will get mad and It Will became a problem of all the people he could kill just for that)

You can't force him ti change his mind, nor ask or beg him cause he wont. You can anyway sugarcoated him into doing as you please "you're so above all that, prince, why don't you let go?" "You can destroy that city if you want, but then your clothes would get dirty, why don't we do something Better instead?" "Of course you're right, but could you do me this little favor, please? It would make me so happy"

As long as you don't directly oppose him he don't be able to tell you no

He didn't care if you're stronger or weaker than him and will let you be in change as long as you act like he expect you to.

Dindn't give you any compliment, but love to be praised, exspecially when you two are doing it and you wisper in his hear how good and beautiful he is, while petting his hair

A lot of daddy issues

[seacuppy]

Another batch of mark emotes done!

[tokoyamisstuff]

Invincible Variants x Pregnant! Reader

Request from Ao3: I would love to seriously see how the evil Marks would react to getting reader pregnant. There has to happen at least at one point! I can totally see them all collectively freaking out! I seriously hope there is one that goes "Our baby needs a bed fit for a Princess/Prince...you know what, let's just build them their very own castle! Fill it full of toys! Make it a castle playroom!"

...you don't really think this was an accident, do you?

Omni-Mark has been planning to babytrap you since day one. He's prepared every detail of this kid's life way before you were even expecting, from the place you'll give birth until the day their powers kick in everything is carefully thought through.

That doesn't mean he'll completely disregard your wishes, though the crucial decisions are set by himself. But he'd love to prepare the nursery according to your taste and wouldn't mind picking out names together either.

Just because he's overly composed on the outside doesn't mean he isn't secretly overjoyed, he's just bad at showing it.

After the initial shock Mohawk Mark is absolutely delighted. Never thought about the possibility before, but if it's with you, he's so ready to be a dad!

One might think his erratic and almost childish nature indicates he's not cut out to be a father, but he pulls himself together the second he hears the news. Gets advice from the few people he trusts on how to parent in general, but will mostly just wait and see.

Maybe that's a good thing, he'll keep you from overthinking too much with his silly behavior, but he also reminds you that you're in this together and you'll figure it out no matter what.

Buys all the toys. Seriously, this guy will be the greatest playmate for your kid, it'll be incredibly heartwarming to see him tend to his little buddy. He's really trying, give him credit.

Sinister Mark is utterly appaled. This is a literal nightmare scenario to him.

He is insane, but self-aware - and honestly, he's sure the last person who should have children. Not to mention, what if it turns out like him?!

His reluctance mostly stems from his antisocial personality. It was hard enough for him to accept this weakness that is his love for you, but letting another person into his rotten heart seems like an impossible task.

Can't bring himself to leave you, but throughout the whole ordeal he'll nag that this is a horrible idea and you both will have to suffer the consequences (when in reality he is just anxious to fuck everything up). Refuses to look at ultrasounds or involve himself in any planning, but is always vigilant about your well-being and makes sure you got everything you need.

As soon as he is persuaded unto holding it for the first time though, he's completely changed. "I only knew them for a day but if anything happens to them I'll kill anyone here and then myself" kinda way.

Hopefully they take after you, since you're the only person he could ever tolerate.

...of course you are? That's what you're supposed to do: give Target Invincible an heir.

Orders his subordinates into providing the literally best care in the entire universe for you and the unborn, and fulfills your every wish throughout your circumstance.

He's very thoughtful to the point of being controlling. You'll have a strict schedule, excercise and meal plan to stick to if you want to grant him peace of mind.

During this whole time he'll be unusual compliant and gentle, not once raising his voice or criticize you to spare you two any stress. Instead he showers you in praise for granting him this greatest wish of starting a family with someone he deemed worthy to carry his children.

Thats the first time you see No-Goggles Invincible serious. No laughter, no snarky remark, he just stares at you like a deer in the headlights.

Starting a family was never really on his mind, after all it was already out of character for him to stay in a - more or less - serious relationship with you. But hey, as random as he can be, he quickly grows fond of to the idea and adapts surprisingly well.

Keeps his cool for the most part and doesn't really seem to take this seriously. Finds it absolutely hilarious if you yell at him in your hormonal state and may even let you use him as a punching bag before shutting you up with a kiss.

He also really enjoys putting an ear on your belly to talk with his little one, and this continues even after birth. Poor baby never has a moment of quiet.

Due to his mission to repopulate his kind, having children with you has always been on Viltrumite Mark's To-Do list. It's a little early, but he ain't complaining.

From the very moment that he finds out about the pregnancy, you're not allowed to lift a single finger. Prepare to get coddled relentlessly.

Get's super clingy during the process, his hands are on your belly 24/7 even long before you start showing. In general his mood shifted, barely noticeable through his stoic nature but you know him well enough to know he is definetly excited.

This certainly won't stay your only child.

Viltrumite Mark is not surprised. This guy has the biggest breeding kink ever, and he always knew you were the one for him, so...no use for protection.

He's got a huge community of loyal followers who got experience and are willing to help out with anything, but otherwise he's more the easygoing kinda guy. Is convinced a loving environment is all a baby needs and anything else you'd just take as it comes.

Literally worships you even more than usual. Indulges you by getting you any craving from earth, gives you as many back and foot rubs you want, carries your belly if it gets too heavy...

Just can't wait to meet his mini me and take them out on adventures!

To Unmasked Mark you're all that matters, so he will go with whatever choice you make.

It's already hard enough to see you - his heart - walk outside of his body, but another person he will most likely love to death, so small and even more vulnerable? A frightening thought.

Being a man with countless enemies, he feels like good things only happen to him so they can be taken away again as punishment for his sins. Really, he doesn't think he deserves such a blessing after all the evil he's committed in the past.

In the end this is only one more reason for him to keep living and strive to become a better man - and hopefully a father your child deserves.

Fully Masked Mark seriously doesn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

After all, pregnancy can be a great burden on your health and in some cases even lethal! He'll frequently spiral into absolute horror scenarios of how this could end up, so you need to help him focus on positive anticipation instead.

But aside from his usual worries this is a dream come true! Being reunited with the love of his life was already a miracle itself, and now he even gets to start a family with you?! He's just so unbelievably thankful that you're doing this with him, and constantly reminds you how he would do anything for the two of you.

Begs you to name it after his mom shall it become a girl.

It takes two to achieve this, but you'll never hear the end of it with Veiled Invincible.

Won't stop nagging about not being cut out to change diapers or missing the patience to endure a screaming kid day and night. He's got a point, dude barely can take care of himself, all he knows is fighting and having a good time.

Reality only sets in when he hears the child's heartbeat for the first time, and damn this guy cries like a kicked dog. You've seriously never seen him like this before. Hard shell soft core or so they say...

Childbirth really shifted his whole perception of how much you mean to him, he absolutely panicked seeing you suffer like this and not being bale to do anything about it.

Will thank you eternally for for convincing him to the best decision of his life and swear that despite of his many shortcomings, he will always keep you two safe and happy.

[clairewritesfanfics]

we all know that the mark variants are basically a whole red flag parade, but what about a reader who loves them all the same and has a legitimately healthy, green flag relationship with their respective evil marks.

reader could be an actual, powerless human civilian with a 9 to 5 job who legit does not care, or a mad scientist who is willing to exploit anyone who isn't their mark, or a power-hungry manipulator who wants to rule the whole universe with their beloved.

it doesn't matter. you two love each other and the world can burn while you dance on its grave.

Love was once a crazy dream Now it's my new evil scheme And I'm as happy as can be!

omni-mark, head cap, viltrumite, no goggles

It's the age-old story how an evil boy meets an evil girl We got a love strong enough to rule the whole wide world

TARGET, sinister

We both maniacally laugh at all the same stuff I found my other half, yes

MOHAWK, sinister, shiesty, NO GOGGLES

author's note: in all seriousness, there is an interesting ethical debate to be had in supporting the person you promised to love or immediately shunning them for their choices. more than just romance, there is also the question about "devotion to a cause" and a "whatever it takes" philosophy when it comes to fulfilling certain vows. i forgot what these topics are though. if you guys know any good articles or books that explore these concepts, i'd appreciate a recommendation.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

With water, your powers return. Only to be used in a betrayal that ends up feeding everybody.     

[Part one]  [Ao3] [8] [10] [Chapter Index]

TW: Major Character Death, Cannibalism, Nyaaa :3 Did I tell you guys nobody is safe :33

9 * Eat It [7.5k]

"So let your real flag fly, you fuckin' freak."

To Cleveland (And Beyond) - Go Hang

        Day seven.

        You can drink by your lonesome. Move and walk, but not very fast or far without feeling woozy. Use of your powers made your vision black out for seconds at a time. Gray advised against it until they could find food. They still hadn't found anything.         

        The cave extended beyond the chasm you'd landed in. Walls of stalagmites had to be carefully demolished to reveal off-chutes. Most of the Marks had gone into the dark to explore. You stayed in the main room, feeling like shit, hungry enough to think about eating sand but alive.

        The cavern was shaped like a loaf of sourdough, that's all you could think of. Bread. Half of it was flat enough ground, slightly slippery with the humidity. Stalagmites coming up from the ground had been sliced in half, made into low stools. The other dropped down deep into a seemingly endless source of water.

        Sheets of metal were brought down from above, laid on the ground. Topped with sand then the trash fabric. Best joint bedding the desert could buy. Gray and Baldie were still working on more trash fabric bedding for more beds, but the work was slow. For now, the first bed was yours, Gray who'd made the thing, insisted. It was tucked into a corner, the fire pit close enough to warm you, with more stools and makeshift benches wrapping around it. There was room for more on the mattress, but you invited nobody, letting them rest their heads on rocks or bundled-up cloth. Though Mohawk, Lensless and Scars tried to invite themselves to your side often. They were pulled away or told outright by you and your power, to buzz off. They just liked the fight, to see how far they could push until you couldn't shove back anymore. You were thankful to be alone on the bed now, watching the wind blow sand around hundreds of feet above the caves entrance. 

        Maskless was sleeping even though he was supposed to be watching you. You were glad to have someone on the same page. This whole babysitting thing was stupid. Okay, sure, you'd almost died from dehydration, but you weren't going to die now. Probably. 

        The others were above or below, searching. You were alone and safer than you had been in days. You sat up, blinking away the dizziness and doing your best to ignore the gnawing at the inner lining of your stomach.

        The boots Baldie found yesterday come to the ground, the black GDA soldier pants swished around your legs. Baldie was out there somewhere wearing only his prison pants, you had kept the shirt.

        No helmet or armor, but you were covered up enough to feel a little more comfortable. Warmer in the cool cave. There were complaints when your clothing returned, they just wanted something to look at. Some desert entertainment.

        It was disgusting, and you couldn't tell the teasing from the actual threats, so treated all mentions of your body the same. 

        You crawled to the pool, a sunbeam from above guided you. You drank out your hands despite what Gray had said. All water needed to be boiled before consumption for safety. He'd taken a chunk of limestone, punched out its center (which took multiple attempts) and deemed it a pot. It was more of a shallow basin than anything, but you weren't going to argue. He wasn't around now and you didn't want to wake Maskless by starting a fire. He was part of the reason you were still alive, and you weren't going to say thank you, so being civil was the best you could do. 

       What had started as drinking from your hands, turned into scrubbing blood and soot from your face, turned into half pulling yourself into the water to take a fully clothed bath.

        "Hey." Maskless didn't open his eyes. "Don't contaminate the water."

        "Boiling it gets rid of germs." You don't go further in than you already had. Rational thought caught up with your body, you were definitely too weak to tread water at this point. Let go of the ledge and you'd slip under. Unsure if Maskless would save your ass and not waiting to find out, you slid back. "You not sleeping?"

        "Can't. Listening for something."

        You roll back onto your haunches. "For what?"

        His eyes open with a scowl, "I can't hear if you're talking."

        You decided you dislike him more than you already did. The others had something off about them, un-Mark-ish and bordering on inhuman. But Maskless was a dead ringer, same face, same inflection, same bitch attitude. You couldn't be in the same room as him.

        You got up. 

        "You can't see in the dark." He says like you'd forgotten. 

        You pulled your phone out of your pocket and flicked on the flashlight. If you could leave a review on your phone case it'd be a glowing five stars. Thing was still working even after being thrown a few hundred miles into sand. 

        He sighed and floated off his ass to your side, "Let's go then." 

        "I'm going alone." You pick a direction arbitrarily, and move toward the opening. 

        "I'm not going to tie you down or anything, but if I let you leave and you die, they'll kill me." He says with very little enthusiasm.

        "Poor you." You swallowed, gathering power, "Why don't you go sit back down?"

        You sway, stumbling forward a step, and catching yourself on a wet rock. Maskless is halfway across the cavern to his stool when he stops and turns.

        "They told me you'd do that." He stayed in place, waiting. "Why don't you go sit back down?"

        "Fuck you." Breathe, regather, and, "Sit down."

        You tip forward before you can see if it works. On the ground, you lie in a groaning heap. Hunger ebbing away at your very soul. 

        Maskless sighs, long and loud. He grabs the back of the jail shirt and half-carries, half-slides you back to the makeshift bed. "You can try that again when you didn't almost die two days ago." He drops face-first onto the garbage despite your protests.

        Maskless floated back to his stool, crossed his legs, and tried to listen. The sound had gone. A faint, so very faint, skittering he could only hear if everything was still and he paid no mind to his own beating heart.

        "You ruined it." It's more a fact than a biting insult. He is too tired to be as nasty as Emperor. Honestly, where the hell did the guy get the energy to be so annoying?

        You didn't reply. Fighting unconsciousness before your brain kickstarted and you peeled yourself up. "You could've stayed where you were but you had to follow me."

        You were so tired of the tails. You just needed to be alone or with someone who doesn't scare the shit out of you. But you can't. Groups are good for survival and the longer this goes on the more you realize. You couldn't kill them without food. The murders were postponed even further than they already had been. 

        "I already told you, they'll kill me." The sentence ends with a laugh, though nothing about it is funny. "I don't even know you." The intonation made you remember Mark in the GDA hospital wing. You're angry all over again at someone that is and isn't him.  

        You'd heard it before, but the words are an honest to God relief. He was a blank slate. Hated you right back. Now, this was a normal relationship to have while stranded in the desert.

        Despite his assurance, you're suspicious. "Not even a little?"        

        "I mean I met you but I don't want to fuck you." He says it plainly. "I have a boyfriend."

        Your ears perked up at that. "What?" 

        "William Clockwell." He throws the name at you like a knife.

        A knife you pick up and examine. "Mark's best friend, who's dating that guy D.A. Sinclair maimed?" Thrown right back.

        It hits him square in the chest, bullseye. His turn to say, "What?"

        Invincible had long since turned tail and left Machine Head's business alone, which meant Machine Head would forevermore have his nose in Invincible's business. He had plenty of enemies and plenty of money to hire people to watch the family of his enemies. Nothing better than kidnapping and ransom to get people to do what you wanted. It was funny that the GDA did the same thing, just higher tech with more red tape. Maybe you wouldn't have minded a job there, you liked intel being thrown around like gossip. 

       "Rick something or other." The words are a one-two punch to his gut.

        His brows knit, he leans forward a fraction, unable to hide his interest.

        "That guy from high school?" Jealousy and bitterness soak through his tongue. You knew the tone and feeling all too well. Seeing the misery swimming in his eyes was like a baby's laughter and butterflies.

        "They just graduated college together." You boasted like you were proud of them. Like you and William were still friends. "Going steady a few years now." You had him on the ropes now. Finish him! "Probably getting married soon." Honeyed eyes go black, and you knew you'd gone too far. You couldn't help push further, a thrill at getting a reaction. Hunger had made you worse than a cunt, you'd started acting like a man. "Unless they died when you guys ran through the planet."

        The hand has closed on your throat before you could even think up the next insult. "Shut up. Shut up, you're lying." Yet his hand loosens enough for you to answer. 

        "The Mark Grayson in my timeline was only friends with William Clockwell." Fingers don't press in hard enough to bruise; he's careful. Knows if the others see he's fucked.

        That wasn't the answer he wanted. "Where did they live?"

        "Some college in Chicago."  

        His eyes go bug-fuck wide. "Chicago?" One of the cities they hit. His grip loosens, hands shaking. You'd said the truth, which was apparently the wrong thing. He floated back to his seat, head in hands, muttering, "Chicago, Chicago..."

        You don't say anything and neither does he until the others return, when the sunbeam goes orange and soft and the cold starts to creep in.

        Marks returned for the evening usual, a bonfire debrief where the only thing cooking was water. 

        Baldie built the fire. Orange light reflecting off his thick muscles. Nothing to report from his end. Lensless took the floor first, pacing as he talked about the winding caves he'd walked. It was hard to follow, but there were more caves than what he'd explored. Mohawk said he'd found another pool of water. Scars had no luck in the desert besides some more trash to weave. Tracksuit had nothing. Gray reported the cave system was bigger than thought. Warned it'd be easy to get lost like Lensless, but never find their way back. A map would need to be made. Warned that breaking through the roof of the cave system to the surface could collapse the tunnels. He said this with eyes on you. 

        "You've been awfully quiet." Mohawk flicked his fingers toward Phantom, who sat still on a stalagmite stump directly across from you. "Got anything?"

        ***

        According to the numbers in his lenses, the nest was four hundred miles below the surface. He hadn't seen the narrow entrance at first, and when he did, didn't consider squeezing through it. Until a tiny spec of green lit the screen on his lens. A moving spec. Something living. He crept closer to the wall, the tiny holes coming into focus. More silhouettes outlined in green, limbs too fast and small, they looked like a blur. 

        He tore out a chunk of wall, set it aside and stepped into a new cavern. Bigger than the rest. Roof so high it could've been a cathedral. He'd come in by its apex, looking down at the comings and goings of the creature mass. Paths well worn deep into the earth where they moved, wide as pipes. Winding, twisting, into a wider network of dugout tunnels. But here, in this space, all roads led to one place. 

        Her subjects crawled up her body, holding morsels so small he couldn't see or detect it with his lenses. Fungus perhaps. They made their way under her twitching pedipalps. Drop the mold or sand morsels or whatever into her mouth, and make their way back down the body. Tiny, useless wings on her back flutter in buggish satisfaction. 

        She lay on limestone, a pool of water around her like a moat.

        He leaves after a shallow investigation of the closest caves. Finding eggsacks buried in the walls in one cavern. Spore-filled air in another. He slid the removed rock back in place, careful to push it flush to the wall. The others were unlikely to find the secret hideaway. Unlikely to find you both if you left together in secret. Living off bug meat and cave water, forever. Disgusting, yes, but you'd have each other.

        If only he could get you to come with him, unnoticed and without a fight.

        ***

        Phantom shook his head. 

        "Of course, you have nothing." Emperor spat like he didn't also have anything to report. "We won't have anything unless everybody is pitching in." The white of his lenses flash firelight, set on you.

        "Am I supposed to magically recover from almost dying?" You shoot back. "You think I like hanging around while you do shit?"

        "What shit has he done since we've got here?" You almost don't hear his voice.

        You have to look around to see who spoke and find Emperor glaring at Maskless. "Got something to say?"

        "I found water." He says, hand coming up to gesture to Phantom, "we found water. All you've done is sit and complain."

        Emperor scoffs. "Like you've been around to monitor my progress."

        "I didn't have to be. People talk." He says as if you didn't catch him leave with Phantom a half hour ago into one of the caves. Since digging out your new home, they were definitely closer than the rest of you.

         Tension starts to tighten in the air. Baldie and Mohawk shift on their asses, bring themselves closer to you to block any incoming strays from hitting you. 

        Emperor is off his seat, standing while everyone remained seated. "If any of you have anything to say to me now- say it!"

        "Your voice makes my ears ring." Said Scars, who loved hearing himself talk.

        "You do jackshit, dude." Lensless adds.

        Emperor turns on them, waving a fist. "I've got a lot more on my mind than you idiots! My empire has to be falling apart without me, and I'm stuck with you useless, brain-dead, backwater versions of me! You can't even survive on a desert planet, how could so many of you not rule Viltrum- you are the bloodline of Argall! Are you too stupid to know that or just too weak to ascend!?" His words echoed around the cave. Lingering.

        The detail hung over the Marks who did not rule Viltrum. Thragg did just fine ruling, so why should they? They saw no need, some never knew they were descendants of Argall, or anything about the lost royal bloodline. There were questions to ask but none of them spoke up, a show that what he said didn't matter. That his insults were unsubstantiated and weak, like him. 

        "On the second day of the attack, were you in Chicago?" Maskless says.

        "Why does that matter?" Spit flew off Emperor's lip. Cheeks red under his mask when no one seemed to be bothered by his fury- widely feared in his universe.

         Maskless was all even calm. Muscles relaxed, whereas Emperor was tensed up. "Yes or no." 

        "I don't answer to the likes of you." It was said in a snarl, "To any of you!"

        Maskless blinked slow, cat like. Head turned slowly to you, "Make him answer."

        The unexpected attention made you stiffen. You sat up a little straighter. Weighing the options. Don't, and be resistant. Do and cooperate. Either way you were picking a side you didn't fully understand. You didn't know which would provide the bigger bane or boon. So you went with what your heart wanted, to see Emperor get his teeth knocked in.

        Emperor spun on you, finger up and wagging at you in warning, "Don't you da-"

        "Answer the question." Your head falls, chin smacking against your chest before coming back up. Vision bobbing in and out. Baldie had scooted closer, hands poised to support you, but backs off against your wakeful sneer. 

        The power was watered down, though it should've been back full force by now. Starvation made you weak and the weakness made you edgy.  

        Emperor answered all the same. "Chicago was mine to destroy, so I did."

        A muscle in Maskless's jaw ticked. You cough out the hammer so he could nail down his own coffin, "What about Upstate University?"  You slump onto your thighs, a streak of blood dripped down your nose. Vision swimming and body uncooperative for a few seconds. Coming back to Baldie holding you upright by the shoulders, clear worry across his hairless brow. 

        "Burnt it to the ground," Emperor said even, uncaring. 

        You cared little about the answer. You tried to pat Baldie's chest, get him away but no words come out. Your head lolls forward, unable to hold it up and sneer at him. 

        He turned to Mohawk who'd apparently seen you use the powers before, "What do we do?"

        "I dunno," He crawled forward, considers reaching for the codeine in your pockets before remembering how you'd almost vomited on him. "Just wait it out?" His palm goes to your cheek, lifting your head to look at your face, skin clammy, eyes glassy and unfocused. After a few days you seemed okay enough, but he wasn't familiar enough to know if this was normal. God damn it, why couldn't you just trust them with the details of your powers- of your past?

        His machinations are cut short by a blur of movement. You catch it too, thanks to your head being held up. 

        Emperor is still stunned. Fingers twitched as your control slipped away, but Maskless was too fast. The side of his palm and wrist cut through the air. Slapped your face with wind and a splatter of blood. You could barely register what you're seeing.

        One second Emperor was standing and Maskless was sitting. The next, Maskless was behind him, arm bloodied, body all tense rage. Emperor still stood proudly, sans an important addition. Too stubborn to acknowledge the blood rhythmically spurting out of his stump of a neck. His head toppled to the ground, rolling over once before Maskless's foot came down. Sinking into the skull and meat with a sickening crunch.

        Then and only then does Emperor's twitching body fall to its knees. Arms jittering as his nerves try too late to fight for his life, before his torso finally drops, fwump, against the cave floor. Blood pooled quick, the smell already permeating in the air. 

        Gray is up with his fists but does not lunge. Mohawk and Baldie are a wall of muscle blocking Maskless's eyes from sliding on you. You watch from between their legs. Phantom is still, calculating what's to come. Tracksuit's hands go to the back of his head. Lensless is laughing. Scars looked down at the body, fallen directly at his feet, blood staining the yellow of his boots. 

        Maskless looks at none of them, turning back to his seat before settling back down. Seemingly oblivious to the fresh blood that soaked into his uniform. 

        Gray's muscles relax, deeming the threat neutralized.

        "He was weak and uncooperative." He says, "But you couldn't have killed him any cleaner?"

        "He killed my boyfriend." Is all Maskless can say.

        Gray's nod is terse. Annoyance hid well. "The blood can not stay on the campsite." He'd already moved past the murder, like it was nothing. Onto nagging Maskless. "It is unsanitary."

        "Unsanitary?" Tracksuit flipped out his hand, splaying his fingers, that quintessential New Englander gesture for 'what the fuck'. "He jus' killed that guy!"

        "Yes, we all saw," Gray replied.

        "He was a douche bag anyway." Mohawk said.

        The wall of Baldie and Mohawk undid itself. Mohawk first beside you, hand on your back to support you. Baldie too slow, settled on his knees on the edge of your mattress, he didn't want to crowd you if it wasn't necessary. Despite how deeply in his bones he wanted to melt into your skin, to wipe the blood off of your face. 

        Phantom ignored the body. Watched Baldie's lingering look. Saw how you shifted away from Mohawk, toward Baldie. Your hand briefly landing on Baldie's as you tried to sit up. You didn't know it, but you'd chosen a favorite that was not him, Phantom. Something had to be done about that.

        "Couldn't have left some action for the rest of us?" Lensless prodded the corpse with the toe of his boot. Smiling when it twitched, frowning when the movement stopped. 

        You supported your own weight, but just barely, pushing off of your arms to sit back upright. Used to death and not too deeply surprised Emperor was first voted off the island. You swat away Mohawk's supportive hand from your back. Hissing out a, "I'm fine."

         He opens his mouth to fight, but Scars voice takes up all the air in the cavern. "We should eat him."

        Tracksuit is the only one to voice, "Dude, what the fuck?" 

        "Think about it." Scars grabbed Emperor's limp arm. Warm, fresh, red meat. "We've searched this entire fucking planet for days and found nothing. This," he jostles the arm, making Emperor's wrist flap and violently snap, "is how we survive. How she," he pointed the limp hand toward you, "survives."

        "No." The thought made you sick. Empty stomach churning around nothing, your hands going to cradle yourself. Insides growl in protest, wanting the meat but you wouldn't indulge. "I'm not a fucking cannibal."

        Scars grabbed Emperor's hand, twisted it off at his forearm with a wet snap. "Do you want to die here?" The hand is discarded, Scars pulling to break the joint at his elbow like a crab leg.

        You don't answer. Watch as Scars tears the fabric off the bloodied limb. Yellow-coated digits digging harshly under the skin. Pushing. The flesh bulges with the intrusion. Scars slowly peeled up the skin with a grunt, removing the humanity from the lean meat that would melt in your mouth if cooked. You felt sicker. He can see the urge to puke in your bobbing throat. "You'll come around."

        "We could find food any day now and you're just gonna-" Tracksuit stopped himself when Scars bit into the broken end of the arm. Pulling out a slip of pinkish tendon with his teeth. "Alright, dude."

        The meat slipped between his lips. Swallowed without a single chew. He moaned. Met the stump halfway with his lips and began to shred with teeth. Piece after piece torn off the bone. Blood stained his chin so completely it seemed like he'd never be clean again. You would've been able to hear a pindrop if he wasn't chewing so loud, so wetly.

        You all watched. Rapt attention gone from Maskless to Scars in a matter of moments. Murder was one thing but this? No one knew what to say as he continued to eat, but you felt each swallow in the pit of your stomach, a creeping suspicion that he had done this before. You don't realize how hard you're gripping Baldie's hand.

        Across the room, Phantom wants to throw up, though he cares little about the gore.

        "We should preserve the rest." Scars set the remaining meat atop Emperor's unmoving back. "He won't last long." Before rot sets in. Or before he is eaten entirely. Which would come first?

        No one spoke. Scars continued. "You," he flicked fresh bloodied fingers at Gray. "You took over a bunch'a planets, right?" Gray's nod is stiff. "So you know how all this survivalist bullshit works?" Another nod. He's comply but he would not trust, not after that show of loyalty to Emperor's body.

        Scars lifted Emperor's still leaking corpse by the back of his suit, "You know how to make jerky?"

        "Holy shit, dude." Tracksuit answered for Gray. "You can't be serious."

        "I am." Scars says, "This is the only food on this entire fucking planet. Be a pussy if you want but I'm not dying like this. Now, do you know how to do this or not?" Scars jostled the body for Gray's attention. A thick splatter of blood hit the fire, sizzled, and released a scent that made your nose curdle, your nails digging into your stomach. 

        Gray floated from the ground, up and out the hole in the ceiling. Scars followed, Emperor's limbs swaying as they both rose. Blood rained in thick, lazy drops until they both were gone. A single rivulet landed under your nose, rolled down your cupid's bow and slipped between your lips. Your tongue darted out automatically. The taste lingered in your mouth as your stomach ate itself.

        Lensless was first to move after a long, thick silence. He crouched by the smashed head, poking idly at the eye that blasted out it's socket, the other smashed in with Emperor's brains. "We should clean this thing up. Put it on the wall. Decoration." 

        Nobody in the room hadn't not killed somebody, but the suggestion felt wrong. Like a bad omen. 

        "Dude, no." Tracksuit said.

        Lensless rolled the head, a gooey slab of brain matter stuck to the floor. Your throat twitched, a gag rocked your body. He grinned at you, fingers pulling out Emperor's front teeth. "Don't worry, if you clean it right it won't smell."

        "I don't think..." You can't finish the thought before another gag rips up your throat. Nothing comes out. 

        Maskless rose from his seat and grabbed the basin. "I'll clean up, it's my mess."

        He got to work, dousing the floor with water, guiding the dirty sludge to a slope leading to another cave as to not contaminate the drinking water. By the time he was done, Lensless had removed all the teeth from Emperor's mouth. He shoved the bloody things into his pockets, adding to his collection. 

        Maskless scooped up the remnants of Emperor's head best he could. Lensless pouted but didn't fight as Maskless floated to the surface to deliver the meat to the butchers. You stared at the red spot on the floor where it'd been, a single chunk of brain sitting in a dim sunbeam.

        ***

        He touched down to the empty sand field. Directionally challenged, he was not, this was where he'd taken off a month ago. Yet the dunes were drastically different, shifted. There was no beginning of a tent or improvement or ruins. There was no evidence of anybody else. The chasm that had begun to yawn open in the depths of space, deepens.

        He removed the oxygen mask. Newfound beard heating his face. He rose to the sky. Floated miles above the planet, pace meandering when he should've been frantic. He'd lost all hope for you to still be alive. You. Not the person he'd thought you'd be. The person he threw everything away for just to see one last time. He'd never know if it could have been worth it, if under the hurt and the fear you were still his. What a waste, for both of you. 

        He wondered if the others were still alive. If he left and they all killed each other. He wondered if he was alone, destined to go mad between the desert dunes.

        A hairdryer breeze assaulted his face, a welcome change from the frigidness of space. On the wind he smells it, cooking meat. He is gone before he can think. 

        ***

       He was undressed like a pig skinned. Slices of thigh removed with a quick chop of the side of a hand. Holes poked through the cuts at their tops for a metal rod to be fished through before the slices were hung above the fire from a rickety rack. The setup wasn't ideal or very good at all, but it was the best they could do.  It'd be days before the whole body was processed. 

        It'd be hours before the blood-sopped meat would dehydrate into jerky. Viltrumite bodies were resistant to lava in life, but upon death and the release of stress hormones and loosening of muscle- could be cooked. According to Gray at least.

        "You done this before?" Scars had asked only because of how little time it had taken the man to set it up, almost suspiciously so. Like Gray planned on being the first to turn to cannibalism, already planning a jerky recipe.

        "No." Gray said, "But my mentor has."

        Scars does not ask who. He doesn't care about Gray's life. He only cares about you. "This'll make it safe for her to eat, right?"

        Gray's jaw ticks. "It should, but you should know how weak human stomachs can be. Consuming the body in front of her was a poor choice. She will not wish to eat it, no matter the preparation method."

        Scars snapped the other arm off Emperor's body. Unrolled the muscle from the bone, which he set aside on a rock. The marrow could be eaten. The bones could be boiled in water for soup. He began to sheer off arm meat, saying, "Don't be a pussy."

        "Cannibalism is not common on Viltrum but we do what we must to complete our missions. You know this."

        Scars knew some things about Viltrum. He had never gone, never absorbed the culture. What he knew had come from his Dad at an early age. He thought he knew it all, but upon meeting Gray, he realized he knew little. He should've let Dad live longer, if only to teach him more- but the idea was so absurd it almost makes him laugh. 

        "Sure." He says instead. 

        "But I will not eat until she does." Gray finished. He would not try to assuage you. He would wait patiently. You would crack and cave, you were not made for a hunger strike. Your human morals would fold like wet towels under the slightest pressure. To a Viltrumite enforcer like himself, a week of starvation was nothing. 

        Scars secured the meat slices onto a pole and set them aside. "Okay, pussy."

        Unsatisfyingly, Gray does not react to his jabs. At least not visually, he just speaks evenly, "Father taught me humans are brought comfort by eating side by side with their mates. It makes the most sense to wait for her."

        He remembers his Father and Mother together on Viltrum, so strangely in love. Him foolishly thinking he could have the same, taking you, becoming so unexpectedly infatuated. It softened him. Such a waste what had happened but then again, that chain of events brought him to you. The stronger, better version of you that would fit so well into Viltrum society. He feels soft all over again at the idea of your strange human courting rituals. So silly and unnecessary, but so tempting, so easy to indulge in. He nearly forgets to whom he is speaking. 

        Scars didn't know what to laugh at first. The reverence in his tone at Father or the word, "Mates?"

        "Yes," Gray retrieved the latest wrack Scars finished and hung the swaying meats over the fire. His stomach clenched at the smell. 

        Conquering was the most Dad taught Scars of Viltrum culture, and conquer he did. "Why not just call it what it really is? She's a pet to people like us."

        Gray considers kicking him in the stomach. Making him vomit up the meat and an apology on your behalf. He withholds, thinking it'd be a better idea to have Scars on his side. Scars was as strong as he was unpredictable. Scars under his thumb meant you being much, much safer.

        "It is simply the word we use." He says, "Though Father said he called Mother his girlfriend, then wife back on Earth." The word girlfriend felt clunky in his mouth. Too many syllables, too simple, yet complicated, whereas mate just felt right. 

        Scars laugh is a whip. "You really care about those assholes, huh?"

        Gray does not answer, for it is not Scars' business and also- it was rather obvious how he felt. Though Viltrumites shouldn't feel. He was considered a strange boy on his home planet, but he wouldn't trade his childhood and lineage for a thing. He felt justified in this just speaking to Scars. Looking at how a different, loveless life on Earth made him into a rude and impulsive man. Ugh, those garish colors and that cape. So ugly.

        Gray senses the atmospheric shift and moves out of the way long before Scars thinks to. 

        Sand is kicked from the ground in a wave, dousing the afternoon fire, coating the still-wet meat. The man who fell from the sky did not care. He grabbed two slices at a time and shoved them into his chapped mouth. An uncharacteristic groan rumbling out of his chest. 

        Gray and Scars watch, poised from their vantage spot hovering over the ground, as Omni feasts. 

        "I thought you were dead." Scars is first to touch down, moving closer to the smoking sand and meats. 

        Omni chewed and swallowed, throat bulging like a snake. He grabbed two more slices of meat. "Hungry." Is all he says before biting down.

        "Not even gonna ask what you're eating?" His gaze slid significantly to the mound of sand. Emperor hidden under the kicked-up sand. 

        Omni's mouth does not slow as Scars kicks the sand off Emperor's bare back. "Things went batshit after you left." 

        Omni does not process as he swallows. Realization hits when the meat reaches his stomach and his eyes focus unsteadily on the corpse. Oh God. He lunges, grabs Scars bruisingly hard by the shoulders. He was weak, exhausted, but now, pumping with adrenaline and desperation he didn't know he still had. "Where is (Y/n)?"

        Gray does not want this haggard madman near you, but Scars does not give a shit about what Gray wants. Gray opens his mouth, "Don't-"

        Scars pointed to the massive cone in the ground leading down to the caves, they were only a few feet away. "Down there, dumbass."

        Omni is a red-white bolt streaking down the hole. Gray is at his heels but faster, reaching the cavern first and stopping in front of you before Omni can reach you. 

        The air splits at their sudden pause. You are sent backward, careening for the wall but Mohawk is there to catch you. The rest of the Marks are on their feet, bristling at this new threat, tense until they realize who they're looking at.

        "You're back early," Gray says, standing tall, trying to block his view of you. He does not like how glazed Omni's eyes are behind the lenses. Does not like how they won't focus on him, the immediate threat, but over his shoulder, at you. 

        "It's been a month." His voice is brittle. 

        "It's been a week." Gray bites back. 

        "Time isn't right out there." Omni's voice doesn't feel a part of him. Nothing feels right in his body, because nothing is right about any of this.

        "What'd you find?" Baldie asked.

        Phantom crept up behind him, ready to strike Omni if Gray needed the backup.        

        "Nothing." Omni moved a degree and Gray moved with him. "Let me see her."

        "Yeah, dude, just let the crazy guy touch your girlfriend," Tracksuit spoke when Gray wouldn't.

        Mohawk sets you down but does not let go of your shoulders. Omni is looking at you like his dead puppy. You ache with hunger. Know you are weak.

        Yet you say, "Don't touch me." Before passing out.

        ***

        The explanation is winding. Nonsensical at best, but the other Marks turn it over in their heads, reexplaining it to each other while Omni fitfully rests in your bed. He did not get to hold you like he wanted, but seeing you alive, sharing a bed with you, no matter how unconventional, was enough for now. In moments when he awoke, sparse because of exhaustion in his body, he only looks for you. Mulling over in his mind how he could prove to himself, to you, that you were the woman he married.

        You sit on the edge of the sandy garbage mattress as they tell you the bad news. Woozy. Aching with hunger that even excess boiled water could not quench. Twelve days you'd been stuck in the desert now. Twelve days of heat and near death and starvation. A week sat doing nothing in this suffocating cave. They refuse to let you move beyond the littlest things. Gray says you must conserve energy so long as your hunger strike lasts. But you had an eternity of suffering left. There was no other planets to go to, no one who could come save you. Just the slow creeping annihilation of the universe, and you, starving to death.  

        Mohawk was the first to cave when the first batch of jerky was done cooking two days ago. He ate across the fire, relishing the dehydrated thigh meat with a moan. Lensless rose to the surface for his own slice not long after. Tracksuit and Prisoner held out, but their morals were starting to get shaky by day ten. They could survive long periods without eating, but they were unused to the hunger pains, it was starting to get to them. Scars had not eaten since the first day. Claiming it'd be good to ration. Gray and Phantom held out, seemingly unaffected by the hunger.

        Gray was steadfast. Phantom was not. He snunk away to the bug cave under the guise of exploration. Ate the fingerpad sized insects by the handful to satiate himself. Plans tumbling around in his head. He couldn't make the moves he wanted until you were strong enough to eat, until there weren't eight pairs of eyes watching you at all times. So he waited for you to give into the long pig jerky.

        Baldie, Tracksuit, and you kept each other in check like a hunger pact. 

        "Just hold on, we'll find something else." Baldie would say, hand supporting your back as you swayed while simply sitting. You never swatted him away. Trust a slow, creeping thing growing between you like mold.

        "No way I'm leaving a cannibal," Tracksuit says, fingers flexing on his knees. "I can't be the only one not leaving a cannibal."

        Day Fourteen. 

        You wouldn't do it. 

        You pass out on the bed, wrapping yourself in Omni's cape to try and escape the cold of your body eating itself. Feeling the pain even in sleep. 

        Day Fifteen.

        They search hard, find nothing. You are looking worse and worse. Snappish and downtrodden when awake, a rock when asleep. Phantom thinks of telling the others but sees how Baldie frets over you, how you don't swat him away, and doesn't. A plan, a real plan, started to form in Phantoms head. 

        Day Sixteen. 

        Scars hovers over you. Thin sticks of dried meat in his fist. You refused to eat, choose to die with the universe. He would not allow it. 

        You do not stir as he sits on your hips. Nobody stops him. Though Baldie says, "She doesn't want it."

        He breaks a piece off one of the already slight pieces. "She's dying."

        He goes to stuff the piece between your lips when his wrist is grabbed by Baldie. "I said-"

        "Do you think letting her starve to death will get you pussy?" Scars spat. "She hates us regardless. Making her eat won't change anything, but she won't die." Baldie's hold falls reluctantly away. 

        "People have survived much longer than this without food." Omni says, watching your sleeping face and despite his proximity, doesn't stop it. None of them want to see you continue to suffer. With you out of commission, they were starting to creep more toward edginess. Snapping at each other, fighting over nothing. Only Maskless and Tracksuit immune to the status of your state but not of the men around them.

        Piece after piece was slipped between your lips. You dreamt of the grocery store. Of being in the snack aisle and grabbing the closest thing to you, a Slim Jim. You tear open the wrapper, greedily swallow it down, taste it.

        You wake, chunks of meat, slimy with spit, crammed into your mouth. You cough, gagging, and nearly choking. Brownish meat splatters onto Scars face but he doesn't seem to care.

        "Eat it." He held the meat to your lips but you sealed them closed, sucking them in. He pinches your nose shut. You can't breathe. Head already starting to feel like a balloon, you thrash, trying to sit up despite his weight on your body, reaching to push his hand away. Omni moves, you think to save you, but he just holds your right shoulder down, his other hand holding yours as it spasms in panic. Baldie watches horrified. Mohawk moves around him and holds down your left, unable to look at you. Not for Scars safety, you couldn't hope to hurt him with human fists but to prevent you from hurting yourself. The ease with which he holds you down makes him sick, easier than it should be. 

        Screams are trapped inside of your throat, shrill, but they do not listen. Your vision darkens, darkens, darkens until your brain forces your lips apart to take a heaving breath. The meat is forced inside your mouth. Scars slams your jaw shut, sealing your lips with the warmth of his palm, his one eye watches you coldly. 

        The meat is freshly cured, almost melting on your tongue. Telling you to just give in. To enjoy the smoked pork taste but you can't, you won't. 

        You shake your head in their grip. Tears forcing themselves past your eyelids. You look from Omni to Mohawk, pleading with your eyes for them to help. They don't. You look to Scars, willing him to move his hand so you could give the order for him to die.

        He sees it in your eyes and grins, leaning closer. "You wanna kill me, don't you? If you wanna kill me, you have to eat."

        You do. You want to kill him so bad. For everything he'd done. For everything he's doing. For the fact that if it weren't for him forcing you to eat, you'd starve to death. You hate him so much. You cry looking into his one exposed eye. You willfully swallow.

        "Good girl."

[stillwatervoid]

Mark Grayson beaten up icons ❤️‍🩹

[princ3ssprinc3sz]

striped mark my beloved (heart emoji)

i love him. i do not know literally anyone else who cares about him. i do not care that in the show he was like 3 lines, HE IS PERFECT.