#alien and powerful and then in that moment One with him

[batsovergotham]

🦇 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗼𝗻 | A DETAILED GUIDE

regarding the project: whether or not you have read the comics, this is a straightforward tutorial for anyone wishing to write mark grayson more precisely. brief notes. genuine emotional breakdowns. no lecturing. no gatekeeping. just a straightforward, honest look at what really shapes him and how to use the source material to portray him accurately.

a/n: i posted the poll about making a how to write mark grayson guide today, but honestly... i’ve been working on this for a while, ever since i posted some fics. it started because a few people mentioned that some of my mark breakdowns helped them with their fics, and i thought it might be nice to have something more detailed all in one place. so even though the poll went up today, this guide’s been in the works for a bit hehe i really hope it helps anyone who wants to write mark more true to the comics! thanks for reading!

in the invincible comics, if there’s one thing about mark grayson, it’s that he’s stubborn as hell when it comes to his ideals. like, painfully stubborn. there are so many times where he just flat-out refuses to back down from what he believes is right, even when everyone around him is telling him he’s being naive or that it’s gonna blow up in his face. and since the show hasn’t gotten to a lot of these moments yet, let’s talk about some comic only examples that really show just how stubborn (and sometimes reckless) mark’s idealism can be.

okay, so first off: the whole fight between mark and cecil stedman (the government guy who runs the GDA)? it's turning point of mark's view of the GDA and what it truly means to be a hero. it also begins to shed him of his naivety.

basically, mark finds out cecil’s been doing all this shady stuff behind the scenes like building an army of zombie cyborg supersoldiers (the reanimen), working with literal evil clones, just... real villain behavior. cecil’s whole mindset is like, “yeah it’s awful, but it’s for the greater good.” and mark? hates it. the second he finds out, he’s ready to fight.

and cecil’s response? he doesn’t even try to explain himself anymore. he just sends a whole damn army of reanimen after mark to try and beat him into submission. it’s brutal. mark gets swarmed, blasted with this crazy sonic device they rigged up, he’s getting absolutely trashed, and he still refuses to back down. he barely escapes, pulls some of the guardians together, and marches right back to finish what he started.

they trash the reanimen, it’s a mess, and at the end, cecil’s standing there like, “i did what had to be done.” and mark, bleeding and furious, basically tells him to shove it. he straight-up quits. no backup, no government support, nothing just him deciding he’d rather be completely alone than be part of something he thinks is wrong. like... that’s mark grayson. stubborn to the end.

Universa Arc.

so, universa’s this alien warrior who shows up on earth basically trying to steal the planet’s energy to save her dying world. mark and eve fight her, they win, she gets thrown in prison. standard superhero stuff, right? most heroes would’ve been like “cool, problem solved” and moved on. but not mark. mark can’t let it go.

he actually goes out of his way to visit her in jail. just to talk. and when he finds out she was only doing all of this because her people were desperate not because she was evil or power-hungry or anything he immediately goes into “let’s fix this” mode. like, no hesitation.

and he doesn't just feel bad about it and leave, no, mark convinces the warden to let her go, helps her find a way to safely get the energy she needs without hurting anyone, and sends her back home to save her people. universa is so stunned she literally promises to repay him someday.

it’s honestly one of the purest things he ever does. he refuses to just see her as “the bad guy.” he sees the person underneath. he believes that people, even enemies, can do the right thing if you give them a real chance.

was it a little naive? yeah, kinda. but it worked because mark’s the kind of guy who means it. like, really means it. and people can tell. that’s why his idealism hits so hard. he never gives up on the idea that there’s a better way.

Oliver and Allen VS Mark

okay, so one of the most heartbreaking examples of mark’s idealism clashing with the people he loves is the whole scourge virus situation.

basically, allen the alien and mark’s half-brother oliver come up with this plan to release a modified version of the scourge virua, the same virus that almost wiped out the viltrumites, to finish the job for good.

and mark? mark is horrified.

he’s not just worried about the viltrumites (even though yeah, some of them deserve it). he’s thinking about the humans. he’s thinking about the risk. he’s thinking about how unleashing something that dangerous ever is just crossing a moral line you can’t uncross.

so he tries to stop them. and it turns into a full-on fight. it’s messy, it’s emotional, and somewhere in the middle of it all, oliver, desperate and panicking, accidentally infects mark with the virus. mark almost dies.

and even after all that, after being betrayed and almost killed by his own brother, mark doesn’t blow up in rage. he’s just heartbroken. because for mark, the real tragedy isn’t what happened to him. it’s that people he loves were willing to risk something so horrific, to cross a line he’s spent his whole life refusing to cross.

like... he would literally rather fight his own family, risk dying, than give up on his ideals. he genuinely believes that the ends don’t justify the means, even if it costs him everything.

The Final Battle with Thragg and Mark's Monologue

by the end of the comic, we really get the full picture of who mark grayson has become. all that stubborn idealism, independence, and moral conviction he’s built up over the years? it all comes to a head during his final battle with thragg.

and the thing is...mark’s not just throwing punches. he’s saying everything he’s believed, everything that’s come to define him. he straight-up rejects thragg’s whole worldview, the viltrumite mindset of "strength over everything." and while they’re fighting, mark gives this monologue (mid-fight, because of course he does) that honestly just hits you right in the chest:

“you see us as people living only for conquest, measured only by the size of our empire. no room for peace. no room for compassion. no room for love… the truth is you were holding us back… we can be a force for good. we can spread peace throughout the galaxy. we can love and be loved. we can be happy.”

like... that’s so mark. even after everything he’s been through, even while he's locked in a life or death fight, he still believes people, even viltrumites, can be better.

and it’s not just talk either. this is what mark actually wants. he’s trying to turn an empire built on war into something good. it’s insanely idealistic, yeah, but it’s 100% real. and what’s really cool is that he’s doing it his way. not the way any viltrumite leader before him would’ve done it. this is mark’s independence on full blast, he's building something new, completely breaking away from the old viltrumite pride and brutality.

thragg, of course, can’t even wrap his head around it. and mark beats him, physically and symbolically. it’s basically proving that compassion and strength aren’t opposites. mark’s showing that being a good person doesn’t mean being weak, and being cruel doesn’t mean you’re strong.

if you’re writing fanfiction that covers late-series or post-series mark, this moment is a huge thing to keep in mind. by now, he’s not the uncertain teenager anymore. he knows who he is and what he stands for. but he hasn’t lost that earnestness, that moral fire he had as a kid, if anything, it’s gotten stronger and sharper.

mark taking down thragg with conviction shows the kind of leader he’s grown into. he’s not just reacting to problems anymore; he’s actively trying to shape a better future. people look up to him, even people who used to be enemies, because of the integrity he shows. not because they’re scared of him, but because they respect him.

another super important thing: even after all that, mark doesn’t turn into some dictator. like, it would’ve been so easy for him to say, “i’m the strongest, i’m in charge now.” but he doesn’t. he stays focused on making things better. he pushes for the viltrumites to actually protect earth, to integrate, to live differently. he keeps that humility.

even at the height of his power, he’s worrying about being a good husband, a good dad (the finale shows his future family life), and living up to his ideals. he never stops checking himself because deep down, he’s terrified of turning into what his dad was.

so if you’re writing a future!mark or an alt ending where he’s leading the viltrumites or running with huge responsibilities, always keep that in mind: no matter how powerful he is, he’s still that same kid who’s scared of losing his humanity and who’ll do anything to protect it.

Now that we understand the Idealism surrounding his character, let's discuss how to actually write him.

okay so if you’re writing mark grayson in fanfics, one of the biggest things you have to remember is that he is not a soft boy. he is not a “yes man.” he is not some passive sunshine character who just agrees with whatever the hell his friends or love interest says because he’s so sweet and loyal. that’s just not who he is.

mark is kind. he’s empathetic. he loves deeply. but he is stubborn as hell when it comes to his beliefs. like painfully, frustratingly stubborn.

he doesn’t just roll over when someone he loves disagrees with him. he doesn’t abandon his moral compass to avoid conflict. if anything, he’ll fight even harder against the people he cares about because he believes so strongly in what he thinks is right.

this is the guy who:

tells cecil (the literal head of the GDA, who helped him post omni-man) to fuck off to his face because cecil’s methods are too corrupt.

tries to rehabilitate a literal eco-terrorist (dinosaurus) because he genuinely thinks they could do good together, even when everyone else calls him insane.

punches his own little brother and one of his best friends (oliver and allen) in the face when they want to use the scourge virus to wipe out the viltrumites, because he refuses to believe genocide is ever the answer even when it would save billions of lives.

goes into exile on an alien planet with his family instead of accepting a “peaceful” dictatorship run by robot, because he would rather lose everything than live under tyranny. then, he eventually comes back and kills robot himself.

like... mark is kind, yes. but he’s not compliant. he’s not someone you can easily sway just because you’re close to him. he doesn’t make decisions based on what’s easiest or what’ll hurt the fewest feelings. he makes decisions based on what he believes is right, even if it blows up his relationships. even if it hurts people he loves. even if it isolates him.

so when you’re writing him:

let him argue. let him push back when something doesn’t sit right with him.

let him get angry when his beliefs are challenged. he’s emotional. he’s reactive.

let him stand his ground even when it costs him.

let him care so deeply it hurts him sometimes.

don’t be afraid to show that he’s wrong, too because sometimes his stubbornness backfires horribly (like trusting dinosaurus). but even when he’s wrong, he’s never malicious. he’s never apathetic. he’s trying.

he’s not cold. he’s not cruel. but he’s also not a people-pleaser. he’s willing to lose friends, mentors, allies, and even his home if it means doing what he feels is right.

common mischaracterizations you should avoid:

making him a soft, easily manipulated boyfriend who never questions anything.

making him prioritize romance over his core values without struggle. (like, if you have him abandoning his morals instantly for love, it feels wrong. he might bend, but it would mess him up inside and cause conflict.) DO NOT CONFLATE HIS MORALS WITH WHAT THE GDA BELIEVES!!

making him unrealistically calm and detached. mark feels everything with his whole chest. when he’s hurt or angry, it shows. he doesn't bottle it up perfectly.

writing him like he's just “along for the ride” emotionally. mark makes decisions. he moves the plot. even when he’s wrong, he’s active, not passive.

writing mark grayson right means letting him be a mess sometimes. it means letting him get bloodied up in fights he probably can’t win. it means letting him make terrible mistakes because he believed too hard in someone. it means letting him love people and lose people and still keep standing, still keep hoping. still keep fighting for the better world he dreams of.

because that's what makes him invincible. not the powers. not the strength. it’s the fact that even when everything in him is broken, his body, his mind, etc, he keeps fighting for what he believes in.

bad vs good characterization examples for mark

example 1

bad: "are you sure about this?" he asked, voice trembling. "i mean... if you think it's right, i'll go along with it. i trust you." (he says nothing else. he just follows along. no hesitation, no conflict, just blind loyalty.)

why it's wrong: this makes him sound like a passive puppy who just goes wherever the story/author pushes him. mark is loyal, yeah, but he’s not a yes man. if something feels wrong to him, he’s going to say something even if it starts a fight.

good: "i don’t know if i can go with you on this," mark said, frowning. "i get why you want to do it... i do. but it doesn’t sit right with me. it’s not who i want to be." his hands flexed at his sides, restless. "i’m not trying to fight you. i’m trying to make you understand." (there’s tension. there’s conflict. but the love is still there. he’s standing his ground because he cares.)

example 2

bad: mark nodded immediately. "you're right. i didn’t even think about it that way. i’ll change everything i'm doing for you." (he has no independent thought. he never questions anything. he changes core beliefs instantly.)

why it's wrong: mark can compromise sometimes, but it’s never instant. if he changes his mind, it comes from hard conversations, real consequences, or deep emotional shifts. he doesn’t just flip a switch because someone asked him nicely.

good: "maybe you’re right," mark muttered after a long beat, his jaw locked. "but you can’t expect me to throw away everything i believe just because it's easier." he exhaled, frustrated, running a hand through his ebony hair. "i need to think. i can't just... pretend this doesn't matter."

key reminders when writing mark:

he’s stubborn. like cartoonishly stubborn. even when it’s inconvenient. even when it costs him everything.

he’s idealistic. he genuinely believes doing the right thing matters, even if nobody else believes it anymore.

he’s emotional. he feels everything with his whole chest. anger, sadness, guilt, hope, it’s never muted or put down for the sake of plot purposes.

he’s reactive. mark doesn’t always think things through. if he sees something he doesn't like or someone he loves in danger, he moves first, thinks later.

he’s not a people pleaser. even if he loves you, if you’re doing something he thinks is wrong, he’s gonna call you out. loudly.

he fights with people he loves. not because he loves them less but because he loves them too much to let them destroy themselves or cause harm to other people that causes conflict in what he believes in.

he’s not a soft boy. he’s kind. he’s empathetic. but he’s also willing to bloody his fists and risk his life for what he believes in.

he’s not passive. mark makes choices. even when they’re bad ones. he’s an active character who moves the plot forward.

he’s wrong sometimes. his idealism blinds him. he trusts the wrong people. he fucks up. and he owns it (eventually).

he doesn't believe violence is the first answer (especially at the end of the series). but when it’s necessary, he doesn’t hold back. if he’s in a fight, he’s there to win.

he can’t be guilt tripped into giving up his morals. you can hurt him. you can betray him. but you can’t make him become someone he’s not.

he keeps hoping. even after all the betrayal, death, loss, heartbreak he's gone through, he never fully lets go of hope.

NOTABLE MOMENTS TO HELP CHARACTERIZE HIM IN YOUR FIC

“DON’T EVER THREATEN MY FAMILY!!” – Issue #33.

this is mark at his absolute breaking point just pure protective rage, screaming at angstrom who just hurt his mom. it’s a simple line, but it hits because you can feel everything behind it. the second someone he loves is in danger, mark doesn’t hold back. he doesn’t care about looking heroic or calm, he just loses it. and that’s something to keep in mind if you’re writing him, when mark’s temper explodes, it’s not about his pride or getting even. it’s about protecting the people he loves. period. he’s like a lion protecting his cubs its all instinct, no hesitation. so if you’re ever writing a scene where a villain’s threatening someone close to him, picture mark practically shaking, shouting until his voice breaks, just burning with that raw, desperate anger. it’s not polished or composed, it’s messy, it’s emotional, and it’s all love underneath it.

“THIS IS BEING A SUPER-HERO? I'M JUST STOPPING CRAP FROM HAPPENING AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING REALLY WORTHWHILE… …AND WHEN I FAIL… MY GOD, I FAIL BIG. WE HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE THE WORLD, EVE… …BUT INSTEAD THINGS JUST KEEP GETTING WORSE.” – Issue #81.

it’s not just some random thought he brushes off. you can tell it hits him. like... what if everything he’s been doing hasn’t actually changed anything? what if he’s just patching holes in something that’s already falling apart? it’s honestly a gut-punch moment because mark is usually so stubbornly hopeful. but even he isn’t immune to wondering if any of it’s enough. and it’s such an important part of who he is, he doesn’t just blindly believe everything’s fine. he feels it when it isn’t. he questions himself. he struggles with it. if you’re writing fanfic and you want to show a more introspective or vulnerable side of him, especially after something rough happens, this is the kind of feeling you want to tap into. not him giving up, but that raw, exhausted moment where he’s like, what’s the point if nothing ever really changes? it makes him feel real. because even with all the optimism and fight he’s got, sometimes the weight of it still catches up to him.

HOW TO WRITE HIS HUMOR/MORE LIGHT-HEARTED SIDE

mark isn’t all heavy drama and serious fights, he actually has a ton of light, funny moments, especially early on. like when he first starts getting his powers and his coworker asks him about his future, he just says

“finish high school, I guess.”

which is funny because he already knows he’s about to step into something way bigger.

there are little moments like that all over, times when he’s play fighting with william, or throwing out corny jokes, especially about stuff like science dog (his favorite comic, seance dog in the show). even though a lot of this guide focuses on the heavy, emotional stuff, it’s important not to forget these slice of life stuff

if you’re writing fanfics with him, adding in those little jokes or funny lines can really help keep mark in character. think about it like how spider-man cracks jokes during fights except mark’s version is a little less snarky and more dorky he jokes the most when he’s around people he’s comfortable with, and it’s not because he’s not taking things seriously it’s because that humor is just a part of who he is.

DISCLAIMER!

one of the biggest differences between comic mark and show mark is that comic mark is definitely rougher around the edges, especially early on. he’s not the super polished, always perfect hero type. in the early issues, mark can actually be kind of crude, he uses slurs (like the r-word) and makes some offhanded gay jokes, usually when he’s goofing around with william. it’s definitely surprising when you read it now, but it’s also important to understand that it’s part of his growth. it’s not written to make him look good, it’s showing that he’s a dumb teenage boy who hasn’t figured everything out yet. he says thoughtless, insensitive stuff because he’s young, immature, and still has a lot of learning to do.

and the comics let him grow.

later on, when william comes out to him, mark doesn’t just brush it off or make another dumb joke, he’s genuinely supportive. he accepts william without hesitation. and from that point on, you can see a clear shift, mark stops using slurs, stops making those kinds of jokes. it’s not a huge dramatic “lesson learned” moment, but the change is there. he matures. he gets it.

the show sort of skips over this whole messy, realistic part of his character arc. animated mark is a lot more careful and a little more "clean" from the start, he doesn’t really say anything offensive, and he’s framed as a lot more socially aware right out of the gate. which makes sense for a modern audience and a tv format, but it does smooth out some of the rough growth we see in comic mark.

comic mark’s early immaturity makes his later kindness and emotional intelligence feel earned. it’s not that he’s perfect, it’s that he chooses to grow, to be better, to really care about people in a way that goes beyond surface-level acceptance. that’s a huge part of what makes comic mark feel so real. he screws up, he says dumb stuff, but he listens, he learns, and he changes.

CONCLUSION AND FINAL NOTE!

at the end of the day, mark grayson isn’t about being perfect. he’s about trying. he’s stubborn as hell, emotional, sometimes reckless, and way more human than people give him credit for.

he holds onto what he believes even when everyone’s telling him to give up. he fights for the people he loves even when it costs him everything. he messes up (a lot), but he always, always tries to be better. that’s what makes him mark.

when you’re writing him, don’t be afraid to show all of it, the anger, the humor, the doubt, the stubborn hope that somehow refuses to die even when everything’s falling apart. he’s not supposed to be perfect or untouchable. he’s supposed to feel real.

sometimes he gets it wrong. sometimes he crashes and burns. but the point is, he keeps going. he cares even when it’s easier not to. and that’s why people love him.

i hope breaking all this down helps if you’re trying to write him, understand him better, or just see where he’s coming from. because when you really look at it, mark’s whole story isn’t about being the strongest guy in the room it’s about being the one who refuses to give up on people, even when it would be easier to stop caring.

thanks for reading! and honestly, if you ever feel stuck writing him, just go back to that core idea > he never stops trying. that’s who he is.

[babyblankyerror]

The mental image I have of this of Stan just trying to nab chocolate from the air whilenkne hand is missing through a portal, awkwardly bumping into walls like the DVD sign. Meanwhile Ford is SHOOK.

OOOH! YES! I like to think no kne has any idea that Stan can do this and they just accept it as part of Gravity Falls until the mystery twins come along to discover what's causing gravity to...fall. is it the town's name?

The mystery shack gaining things from other dimensions is such a fun concept! Especially if they're all mislabelled!

Ford, looking at some sort of weapon: Stanley that's...that's not a spinning-bazoo. Whatever that is... that's a-

Stan: I know

Ford: ...

Stan: ...

Ford slowly coming to the realization that Stan had just assumed he had super powers (because why wouldn't he) and has been blaming himself for years :'c

OH!! SO COOL! The longer Stan spends near the portal the more powers and he gets frustrated when they don't work because he knows they should be stronger! He knows because he sent his brother through the portal!

Funnily enough if he hadn't assumed he was the one who sent Ford through the portal then he would have no reason to practice and probably wouldn't find out until some major event.

@maggotpoolautism tags:

Imagining this-

Stan is hopeless, he is panicking because he doesn't know Ford's coordinates, gravity seems to be increasing which makes it harder to breathe.

Then he says "FUCK IT" and just starts sending supplies to random dimensions hoping Ford gets it so in many dimensions myths, legends, cryptic stories start of a random hand blessing / cursing people. It'd be really fucking hilarious if Stan somehow gives water to a population that doesn't have any and his hand becomes some sort of religion to that alien species.

Eventually he learns Ford's coordinates but he's always moving so it's hard to track and ot NEVER crosses his mind to let him know it's him. Like yeah- he'll write a note "what do you need" or "be careful" but never mentions his name or that it's him.

Ford is just receiving existential and cryptic messages and assumes the hand is normal- What does he need? Ah yes, that is a good question...perhaps knowledge hadn't been the answer but family (Stanley is asking what materials he needs). Be careful? What is the hand warning about? Perhaps it is foretelling some near in the future danger (Stan is just worried)!

Even easy notes like "Food?" Ford either feeds the hand which confuses Stan or he's like "Ah yes, the knowledge is the food for the brain" (he is reading at the moment)

Stanford is sent through the portal, meanwhile Stanley gets some mutant powers from the portal.

Why? Because shit sounds like something out of a marvel comic, COME ON!

[zombyaru]

Okay, let's imagine for a moment that Buzz would accept Tank is gay.

Still, it's obvious that Tank wouldn't have complete freedom to choose his partner. Buzz wouldn't allow him to date an alien or someone who simply doesn't meet Buzz's standards. Then I got to thinking that premade might be an 'apt' boyfriend.

First you have to rule it out. Johnny, Dustin, Mercutio, Romeo and Puck would definitely NOT be.

Johnny for more than obvious reasons, Dustin is a delinquent, Mercutio and Romeo would be too 'rebellious' for Buzz and Puck…. Mmm, he's okay. But he's a fairy, and I doubt Buzz's hatred would be limited to just aliens…. (and maybe he looks too queer for Buzz… I'm just saying…).

So our only two candidates are: Tybalt and Dirk.

Okay, now the suffering begins, BE PREPARED.

Let's start with Tybalt. Truth be told, the two share quite a few things in common.

They wear ridiculous makeup.

They are the only ones of the new generation who take family rivalry TOO seriously.

They are most likely closeted gays.

They cling too tightly to their family values.

Both carry the trauma of having lost their parents. In Tank's case it was his mother and Tybalt was both.

From Buzz's perspective, Tybalt is a great choice. Just think about it, the Capps are much wealthier than the Grunts. Even if Tank becomes General, as we already saw with Buzz himself, that doesn't exactly mean they'll be wealthy. So what better than to secure your son's financial future and, why not, give him even more power? Wow, it even sounds like Buzz is a good father...

Both Tybalt and Tank (wow, they both start with T :0) are somewhat problematic. But it's clear that Tybalt knows how to behave decently in social events, so I think that for Buzz it won't be so much of a problem.

---

Now let's move to Dirk.

The only thing I could tell they have in common is that they both lost their mother.

Well, he's not a money guy. Which would definitely bother Buzz a little bit. But Dirk is a pretty calm guy. He has good grades and, given being a sim of fortune, it's assumed that he has big ambitions in life.

Well, thanks for reading. Yes, this is where it ends.

If he had a choice, I bet he'd choose him. Because he doesn't want Tank to get in trouble or do inappropriate things (whatever Buzz deems "inappropriate"). He just doesn't want his to ruin his reputation and career.

Well, thanks for reading. Yes, this is where it ends.

At first I thought it would be longer but the truth is that I ran out of explanations when I was writing this.

Sorry if I said several idiocies, but I think it's pretty obvious that I don't play another neighborhood besides strangetown. So I have a very vague view of Tybalt and Dirk (especially Dirk).

Bye!!!! :3

[ronearoundblindly]

fic title: welcome to your life

Wow, sorry, this one took me so long to think of something, but I finally googled the phrase, watched the GROUPLOVE music video (I already knew of the song from years ago), and came up with this ditty that's maybe not entirely related but still!

From this ask game. One of many 🫣. No warnings!

Steve gets 'trapped' in a reality where he is nobody special. He isn't a recognizable face, he is not a serum-enhanced super soldier, and he isn't a hundred years old. He's just an average guy, and the anonymity drives him to live out dreams of traveling casually around the world, enjoying the simple pleasures in life...while watching this reality's heroes fight on TV.

He's not sure if he misses the fight or misses feeling like he makes a difference, but while contemplating that, sitting at a bar in the middle of nowhere, enjoying the ability to get drunk, Steve meets you.

He has everything he ever wanted then: someone to love, time to love them, and the health and strength to live in these moments with you; so when a dimensional window opens with his fellow Avengers screaming for him to return 'where he belongs,' Steve says no. He ignores the chance, turns his back on them, and continues life with you...

...until one of those big, alien battles arrives, landing quite literally on top of your heads, and Steve has no powers to save you.

How can he merge his two worlds? He has to find his other life. He has to get his friends to help because he cannot lose you.

[Main Masterlist; Fic Title Only Asks; Steve Rogers One-Shots]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile

[quietwingsinthesky]

THAT BEING SAID. castiel holding hell as a threat over dean's head in order to fuck him is extremely hot. dean just got finished being tortured by hell, and he's been saved, and the angel that saved him says 'bend over that table or I'll put you back on the rack.' and is it better to be tortured by heaven than by hell?

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #45

Mine, Mine, MINE!

Imagine this….

I know Damian is raised in an environment where he is treated as a prince, the only grandson, the heir. Sure those privileges may come in the price of ripping his innocence and childhood away from a very young age. In the end he got everything he  ever wanted nor needed. A single word from him and all gather around to get what he needed.

But there will be a day where there is something you cannot get no matter your demands or commands.

….

By the time Damian could form full sentences, he had learned the art of taking. To demand was his birthright; to receive was merely the universe setting itself right. If another child had a toy, Damian wanted it. If a servant carried a blade of exceptional craftsmanship, it belonged in his collection. Even as a young boy, his chambers were overflowing with silken robes, masterfully forged weapons, and rare treasures pilfered from across the world.

His first words had been "Mine." He was greedy from the cradle, claiming everything within reach with an iron will and a clenched fist. As an infant, a single furrow of his brow or a half-formed cry summoned an entire team of wet nurses, attendants, and servants who scrambled to appease him, terrified of drawing the ire of the Demon’s heir. His crib was adorned with silk imported from lands that no longer existed, and gold-threaded blankets were replaced the moment they became even slightly soiled.

When he took his first steps, the world shifted to accommodate him. Marble floors were polished before his feet touched them, and his path was lined with offerings—daggers forged by masters, scrolls of ancient knowledge, carved figurines from forgotten civilizations. Every item he glanced at was quietly removed from its place and added to his collection, regardless of its original owner. He collected without remorse, hoarded without gratitude. His chambers grew into miniature treasure vaults, filled with relics and riches that served no purpose beyond feeding his insatiable desire to own.

Neither Talia nor Ra’s al Ghul discouraged his possessiveness. To them, it was simply a symptom of his lineage. The blood of conquerors and kings ran in his veins, and if he took, it was only because he was destined to. The League of Assassins reinforced this belief with every passing day. He was not taught humility or restraint—only power, precision, and domination. He was forged to rule, molded to believe that the world was his birthright.

But then there was Danyal.

His twin, born under the same stars, shaped from the same blood, yet utterly alien in his quiet nature. Danyal never demanded, never claimed, never expected. While Damian amassed trinkets and trophies with the entitlement of a young emperor, Danyal existed in the spaces left behind—content with simplicity, with little, with the unremarkable. When Damian snatched one of his brother’s few meager toys and added it to his already overflowing pile, Danyal gave no protest. He simply let it go, his eyes soft, his hands uncurled, his expression free of malice or resentment.

To Damian, this was a maddening contradiction. They were both of noble blood. They were descendants of kings, warriors, legends. Danyal should have yearned for greatness, fought for it. But instead, he bowed his head, stepped aside, and surrendered without a sound. Damian saw weakness. He saw foolishness.

When Danyal died on a mission gone wrong, Damian did not weep. His hands did not tremble, his eyes did not stray from the trail of blood that marked the last place his twin had stood. The League moved on without pause, the death barely a footnote in their endless ledger of sacrifice. There was no funeral pyre, no rites or remembrance. The corpse was retrieved, cataloged, and discarded like a failed weapon. Damian told himself it was fate, a destiny trimming the weak from their bloodline.

Danyal had never fought for more. He had never claimed what was owed to him. In Damian’s mind, that made him unworthy. A noble soul without the teeth to defend its title. A flickering candle smothered by the wind. And so Damian forced himself to move on. He trained harder, sharper, faster. He swallowed whatever little grief he has and reforged it into ambition.

At ten years old, when he was finally sent to Gotham, he carried himself like a young prince returning to his rightful throne. He arrived at his father’s doorstep cloaked in expectation, armored in superiority. His every step was deliberate, as if the very ground of Wayne Manor should bend to his will. He was the blood heir, the legacy reborn. Everything in the manor should have been his.

But instead of reverence, he was met with resistance.

When he challenged Drake—Timothy Drake, the imposter who had dared to stand at his father’s side—Damian expected combat, a duel to settle succession. He anticipated a fight that would end with his place solidified and his father's acknowledgment finally secured. But Drake refused. He did not raise a hand. He yielded with words instead of steel, and Damian, raised in a world where weakness was unforgivable, saw it as cowardice.

Worse still, Bruce his father had intervened. Not as a warrior stepping into the arena, but as a father—shielding the usurper. Protecting someone who had no claim, no birthright, no Ra’s al Ghul in his lineage, no biological connection that is burning in his veins. Damian had lashed out. Fury surged through him like fire through dry kindling. How could his father not see it? He was the true son. The legacy of both Bat and Demon ran through his blood.

But here, in this foreign house built on sentiment and ideals, that blood meant nothing.

His hours of grueling training, his flawless blade work, his mastery of languages, poisons, shadows, everything none of it mattered. In the League, every achievement was tallied like gold, every drop of noble blood a weapon to be honored and sharpened. In Gotham, he was just a child with a name. No better than the orphans his father had chosen. He was expected to earn his place not through heritage, but through heart.

And that was a battlefield Damian had never been taught to fight on.

…..

By fourteen, Damian had changed. The transformation had not come swiftly, nor easily. It had been carved into him over years of clashing ideologies, quiet lessons, and countless moments of silent observation. The boy who once barked orders, who demanded the world bend to his will, had been slowly, methodically unraveled.

Gone was the child who screamed, "Mine!" at every turn. In his place stood a young warrior with weary eyes and calloused hands, one who had tasted loss, rejection, and the sting of unearned entitlement.

He had learned, through long nights spent watching others from the shadows of Wayne Manor’s hallways, that love was not given by birthright but earned through sacrifice. He had watched Dick steady the weight of leadership with a smile, watched Tim endure with patience and quiet brilliance, watched Jason bleed and rage and come back again and again for the family that had once failed him. And he had watched Bruce—not the detective that his grandfather would say nor the beloved that his mother would whisper of bedtime legends, but a flawed, weary man who carried his family not with a sword but with open hands.

The League had taught him to take. His siblings had taught him to stay.

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He had not heard the phrase spoken aloud, but he lived it in the moments that unfolded around him. He saw it in the way Alfred laid out tea for children who weren’t his. In the way Cass would wordlessly spar with him until exhaustion broke his fury. In the way Stephanie left notes on the fridge with dumb jokes just to make them laugh. These people—none of whom shared his blood—had chosen each other again and again.

And yet… in the quiet corners of his mind, sometimes, he still wished Danyal were here.

Danyal, who would have thrived in this strange and stubborn family. Danyal, whose softness would have been a strength here, not a flaw. Danyal, who had always looked at Damian not with envy or resentment, but with quiet love.

Damian had spent so long dismissing that gentleness as weakness, never realizing it had been a gift. Looking back now, he could see the missed moments—the times he could have shared instead of stolen, the times he could have listened instead of taken. His brother had not been lesser. He had simply been different. And Damian, in his arrogance, had mistaken compassion for cowardice.

Now, with Danyal long buried and the world colder for it, Damian carried the weight of that realization like a blade across the ribs—never fatal, but never forgotten.

…...

Then came the mission with the Flash. A time anomaly had rippled through the fabric of reality. Barry had worked tirelessly to fix the damage, racing through different timelines  until order was restored. But this time, though fixed, have a new aftermath. A vision stitched together from remnants of a path not taken.

The Justice League, ever analytical, treated it like a curious glitch in the multiversal code—a harmless projection of a possibility that never came to pass. They gathered to observe it as they would a peculiar ripple in a still pond, detached but intrigued. Damian had been pulled along by Jon, who bounced with his usual boundless energy, unaware of what the vision would show. Damian followed, armored in detachment, a practiced indifference in place.

But then he saw it.

The flickering image glowed before him like a memory he had never lived. There, seated around the long dining table in Wayne Manor, was a scene so mundane, so heartbreakingly normal, it rooted him in place. His father sat at the head of the table, a rare softness in his posture as he poured tea. Nightwing laughed mid-conversation, shoulders relaxed, while Tim rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Jason leaned back with his feet on the table, earning a nudge from Cassandra. And at the center of it all, smiling as if he'd always belonged—was Danyal.

His twin. Whole. Alive.

Danyal passed the bread basket to Tim with a crooked grin, said something that made Alfred chuckle. He nudged Damian's double with his elbow, teasing him, effortlessly folded into the rhythm of a family Damian had once believed unreachable. It was a life that had never happened, a universe where Danyal had lived—not just lived, but thrived.

Damian’s breath caught in his throat. His chest rose and fell once, twice, the motion sharp and sudden. His fingers, usually so still, twitched at his sides, as if the rest of him hadn’t caught up with the emotion rising within. Before he could wrest control back from his heart, his hand extended—reaching, aching, needing.

And the word tore from him before thought could stop it.

"Mine."

It escaped in a whisper but echoed like a roar in his ears. Not the scream of a spoiled prince demanding treasure, but the broken, silent cry of a boy mourning what he had never known he needed. It was not greed that moved him, not anymore. It was grief. Regret. A raw, unfiltered longing for the life that had slipped through his fingers before he had ever realized he wanted it.

Around him, the room shifted. Justice League members who moments ago stood in detached curiosity now exchanged curious glances, as they saw the projection and Robin’s reaction to a projection that is just showing a what-if scenario.

The projection flickered. Danyal’s laughter shimmered and dissolved into static. The dining table faded. The light dimmed.

And Damian remained frozen, hand still half-raised, reaching for a future that was never his to claim.

…..

In the heart of the Infinite Realms, where time unraveled and rewound in endless loops and rivers of light, a lone figure hovered silently above the drifting threads of fate. Clockwork, the Master of Time, ancient and eternal, gazed down upon the scene unfolding within the mortal world. His staff gleamed as it gears ever turning, ticking in rhythm with realities both seen and unseen.

His eyes that is both ageless and all-knowing, rested on the image of a boy no longer a child. Damian Al Ghul Wayne stood still before the dying glow of a vanished vision, his heart laid bare. Once a prince of shadows, molded by assassins and pride, Damian now stood not as a conqueror, but as a brothe still grieving. He no longer sought to possess or dominate, but to reclaim something that had always been just out of reach: family.

The Observers had spoken long ago, their verdicts cold and absolute. Danyal’s future, they had said, was a path carved in steel and soaked in blood. The catalyst of the Infinite Realms, the one who will bring the end. But Clockwork had always known better. Time, after all, was not a straight line, it branched, curved, rebelled. And in one of those near-forgotten offshoots, he had seen a flicker. A possibility so faint it could have been dismissed as error. But Clockwork did not dismiss.

He had seen a future in which the Infinite Realms chaotic would finally know peace. He had seen a king . And that king—against all odds—had come in the form of Danyal Al Ghul Wayne.

A soft, amused breath escaped the Master of Time as his gaze shifted across the layers of existence to a shadow nestled within the Realms themselves. There, hidden among the currents of ectoplasm and fractured echoes of forgotten souls, stood a young ghost. His white hair drifted like mist in the realm’s gentle current, his glowing green eyes solemn yet radiant. Gone were the dark locks, icey blue eyes and quiet smiles of Danyal Al Ghul. In his place stood Daniel Fenton—Danny Phantom—the Halfa. Half-human, half-ghost. A being unlike any other. A bridge between life and death.

Clockwork observed him with fondness, a rare warmth in his otherwise distant demeanor. He remembered the moment clearly, the crack between timelines where fate had faltered just long enough for intervention. The Observers had turned away, believing that Clockwork will carry out their verdict to execute the young boy, but Clockwork had seen the glimmer of what could be. He had rescued the boy from his grave and scattered his memories.

He had delivered the amnesiac child to a quiet home in Amity Park, into the waiting arms of the unsuspecting Fenton couple—eccentric, brilliant, and just compassionate enough to raise him without ever questioning the mystery of his arrival. The boy was given a name, a room, a place to grow. And on that fateful day, when Danny stepped into the portal and his molecules split between two worlds, Clockwork had watched it happen with a quiet, satisfied nod. That had been the moment. The transformation. The birth of a future king.

The Infinite Realms would have their High King.

And now, as the Realms shimmered in resonance with Damian’s grief, and Danny’s own presence and ignorance hummed at the edge of understanding, Clockwork let the corners of his lips curl just slightly.

He had never told the Observers about this faint possible of a timeline. The one he saw only once, a future so far removed it flickered like starlight on the edge of perception. This timeline where, both the Realms have their king but he will have a granchild.

Clockwork kept that knowledge close. Even for a being beyond time, some secrets were too precious to share.

As he look at the grieving Damian telling his family a future could have been and Danny enjoying his somewhat normal routine for a young Halfa like him not knowing the immediate danger that is quickly closing in on him.

Clockwork smiled, All in due time.

…...

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: Again it got too long for my liking....

PPS: I got a bit carried away, hehehehehe.....

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[earlgreylatte]

Of Moons, Birds, & Monsters

Where Mark Grayson having a sister changes everything and nothing.

You were privileged in a lot of ways; a nice house in the suburbs, a mother that worked in real estate, a father that wrote travel guides after seeing his novels weren’t doing so well, and they both never laid a hand on you. They were reasonable and raised you with a firm but kind hand. Well, maybe your mother more than your superhero father. But even with his usual absences, you and your brother were without a doubt loved. You are grateful, you really are. On top of the warmth provided by your household, you’re special. You’re different than the rest of the general population, with your father sure you’d inherit the powers inherent to his, your, alien heritage. You had the means to do something greater. A purpose. A higher calling.

People lamented not having such a clear path. Yet, you only felt a growing hollowness in your chest. As if you were barely tethered to reality. And you had no real reason to feel that way, at first. Your mom made sure she was there at every moment, every milestone. Your dad, while busy with his heroics, who would always throw you in the air and catch you in his strong arms, always picking up your favourite pastry from a bakery in the Netherlands. Your younger brother looked up to you with stars in eyes, pestering you to play with him.

But even then, you felt aimless. Apprehensive. Empty when you’re left alone, no one to distract you, and only your thoughts to reign freely.

Your dad had shared his origin with you and Mark when you were twelve and nine year olds. Adding to the puberty talk your mom had already given to you. Mark was excited. Why wouldn’t he be? Awesome powers and a future wearing spandex? That was every kid’s dream. Even you felt anticipation at being able to fly one day.

But the planet your father came from, Viltrumite, only gave you anxiety. Devoting yourself to protect the weak, to the point you’d have to leave your own home planet was a daunting task. You don’t know how your father could do it. Protecting strangers so far from home. You liked the comfort of home. Of being with your family. You didn’t even know what you wanted to be when you grow up.

After your dad sent you two to bed that night, you started up at the glow in the dark stars that covered your ceiling in quiet contemplation. You heard your bedroom door slowly creak open. From beneath your blanket, you slowly pushed yourself up.

“Get in here already,” you call and in an instant, he’s climbed onto your bed, starting at you with barely restrained energy. “Getting a bit too old to need a sleep buddy, Mark.”

Your brother shoves at your shoulder indignantly, “I can sleep by myself! And you sleep with stuffed animals!”

“Hey, stuffed animals are for all ages, you’re never too old for them.”

“That’s not what I came here for!” He protests, “We’re aliens!”

“Half-aliens,” you correct, bringing your knees to your chest.

“Same thing! And—and dad’s Omni-man!” He babbles, a far cry from his quiet awe while he listened to your dad earlier.

“I mean, yeah, Mark. I don’t understand how people don’t know, the moustache is a dead giveaway,” you respond. “And you know I like Darkwing and War Woman more.”

Mark calls out your name in frustration, “Aren’t you even a little psyched? We’re going to be heroes! We could be…Omni Boy and Girl!”

You squint at him in the darkness of your room, “Maybe workshop the names a bit more, and that’s not going to happen for a while. I mean, you should be more concerned on whether or not you’re going to grow or not. It’s not looking good, midget.”

Mark, done with your jackass behaviour, lets out a war cry and tackles you off the bed, landing on one of your ridiculously big stuffed animals. You two laughed as you grappled and shoved at each other, only freezing when the light flickers on.

Your mom stares at you menacingly from the doorway.

Your powers came in when you were thirteen. You had been in school, a teacher droning on about trigonometry, and you felt the telltale signs of tinnitus. When your ears popped, you could hear more than you could even comprehend. You slammed your hands over your ears but you could still hear everything. Dozens of teachers talking to their own classes, the gossip of students, the pipes below, and even the creaking of your school’s infrastructure. Ignoring your teacher’s protests, you left. Running through the halls, for the first and not last time, you ditched school, exiting the building.

Your dad found you across town, in a desolate park, grass overgrown and with splintering benches. It was quiet. Quieter. Away from the noise of traffic and crowds.

He had simply stared at your huddled form before picking you up, and flew high. Higher and higher until the only thing you could focus on was the infinite blue of the sky, fluffy white clouds surrounding you two. Your dad rubbed a large hand over your head comfortingly.

“Usually, strength or flight kicks in before the enhanced senses gradually appear for Viltrum children. But it happened all at once for you. Not unheard of, but definitely unlucky,” your father explains, looking down at your with a complicated look in his eyes. “I knew you would get your powers, but I didn’t…prepare myself or you for it.”

At your silence, he continues, “Your mom was worried when she got that call from school. It’s not everyday your kid pulls a jailbreak from school. So why don’t we go let her know you’re okay and we’re going to start training you. Get you up in the sky and you’ll be able to go to that pop cafe you like so much in Tokyo.”

“Pokémon cafe, dad,” you correct, “Mark’s going to be so jealous.”

He laughs, “Soon enough both of you will be like your old man, thrashing monsters and then…”

When he trails off, he only shakes his head and asks if you want to pick up some food before you go home.

Your brother groans and moans at how he’s going to have to wait to get his powers while you’ll be out with dad. Your mom forbids you from going out as a hero as a middle schooler, not that you’d object. Your dad…

Your dad has always had his obligations. You wouldn’t call him absent, but your mom was the one you’d come home to and the one to tuck you and Mark in every night. So it felt like you were getting to really know him for once. He told you more about his home as he helped you fly, not unlike how any other dad would help their kids learn how to ride a bike.

You don’t really go into detail about your lessons with Mark because you know he’d sulk.

You don’t tell your mom because don’t you want to be cause of a disagreement or fight.

You wouldn’t call yourself an inquisitive kid, but there was something unrealistic about Viltrum. You could believe that food shortages and illness could be eliminated. That technology beyond what you could even imagine what out there. What you couldn’t believe was that indisputable peace could exist.

Conflict, idiocy, and more polluted humans. Any living being that had thought that went beyond survival and instinct would inevitably have their own selfish and nefarious thoughts. The cost of free will. Were humans worst off than other species out there? Surely strife was equal.

Humanity isn’t all bad, of course. That’s why even though there’s hurt and pain in the world, people will always have the ability to make their own choices.

Your dad’s brow knitted whenever you discussed this particular topic. There was a certain superiority he had, which was understandable when you were the strongest on Earth, but it seems to have bled into a certain resentment towards the people he was supposed to protect.

Other times, he described beings like you as shepherds, to herd the flock of sheep. He emphasized duty and responsibility, having to make the hard choices that no one else could make. What those ‘choices’ were, you had no idea.

(Sometimes his face contorts when he thinks you’re not looking. With what emotions is a question you stay up thinking about.)

Your dad is patient with you, a good teacher, really. But there are instances where he’s anxious, rushed as if there is something looming behind him.

(He hits hard enough to having you tearing up at his worst moment before his face twists with regret as he moves to comfort you.

Frustration shines through his eyes when you seem disinterested in your training, wanting to play games with Mark instead. A moment later, he relents. His strange mood remains for a couple hours before disappearing like it never happened.

Neither of you mention it.)

When you’re in high school, your dad takes you to get a proper suit from Arthur. The old man reminiscing with your dad with a comfortable ease. They’re friends, you note. It’s nice to see your dad have these moments with people outside of your family.

Your brother had recommend ‘Omni-Girl’ as a your hero name, but you immediately vetoed it. A title wasn’t too important to you since you were just shadowing your dad. You didn’t feel too motivated to throw yourself out in to the thick of it.

(“You see, sometimes it takes more then one punch to finish the job,” your father explains while holding up an armadillo like beast, “So, don’t become discouraged and don’t be afraid to just let them have it.”

And with that he began pummelling the beast.

“Okay, dad.”)

Eventually your dad’s gentle suggestions to be more proactive become firm orders.

(Your dad is cruel sometimes. To his enemies. Even to you. His grip on you too tight and his words too demeaning. He backs away in regret, apologizes, and buys you whatever food you want afterward.)

You begin to patrol aimlessly. You started out with minor conflicts; muggings and other assholes looking to take advantage of other people. Then you began fighting with super powered criminals, ones that could actually stun you or even hurt you. You weren’t too invested in your hero responsibilities, especially since there were more than enough people to pick up the slack. It was a good after school activity at least.

(You used to be on the field hockey team, but after getting your powers, it would just be unfair. People could get hurt.)

You noticed things getting increasingly difficult. You never anticipated how much things would weigh on you. Having to ignore the screams of helped you were forced to tune into because you didn’t want to fail a midterm. People getting hurt or killed because you weren’t fast enough, that you making the wrong choice or move would always have consequences. The same villains would continue to break out and continue to hurt others, you would beat them to a pulp, take note of the casualties, and the cycle would restart.

You alone had the power and capabilities to make a difference in the lives of so many people. People that can’t rely on the Guardians or Omni-Man to be everywhere. Your inaction alone outweighs the sins of many, you realize.

(Mark calls your name. You jolt out of your thoughts. He had out walked you and was now looking back at you in confusion.

“Why are you so slow? Come on!” The now teen complains, urging you to speed up.

“Dude, it’s not like 7/11 is going to suddenly run out of slushies,” you retort, but jog to catch up with him.

“Why can’t you just fly us?” Mark asks, “We would have been home already.”

“What,” you laugh incredulously, “someone could see us and then they’ll know there’s a super in the neighbourhood, and then boom. You’ll have gotten us doxxed, Mark, and we’ll have to put you and mom in some protection program!”

“Overdramatic much? And it’s not like anyone cares about ‘Singularity’,” Mark whispers the last part, quickly glancing around the empty street. “And that’s such a lame hero name, by the way!”

“You don’t even know what it means,” you scoff.

“And you do? I bet you got it from one of those RPGs you’re always playing!”

“Nah, I just got it from some song.”)

Mark is thirteen and he still hasn’t gotten his powers like you had. Outside the house, your dad looks more worried than Mark does. He rests a hand on your shoulder, tells you that one day you’ll have to step up more. That you need to watch over your brother while he’s just human. When he says that, he looks more calm then you’ve seen him in a long time.

Your mom looks at you worriedly when your back is turned. You get it, you aren’t the most social and your beginning to think your mom knows you don’t really have any friends at school now that she no longer tries to get you to invite anyone over.

You just tease Mark and debate with dad until you feel her worry lessen.

You’re tired. You don’t really have a plan for the future. You try not to think about it too much.

(“We Viltrumites…far outlive humans. Eventually, your aging will slow down enough that while your peers will be old and grey, you won’t even look thirty,” your father reveals one evening. The two of you stand at the peak of Mount Everest, watching the sun set in a mirage of pink and orange. It’s beautiful. “Just, don’t get too attached. One day, it will just be us. Don’t let your heart get broken.”

“What about mom? Mark?” You ask. “If…he’s not like us.”

Your father is silent, he doesn’t deny the possibility, “Then we stay with them. Till the end.”

You don’t ask what you do after.)

You wonder if this is how you’ll spend your days. Fighting and fighting as everything changes around you. Do you stop when you can’t recognize what this planet has become?

You’re not particularly skilled or even much of a good person. You’re more than aware of that. You’re selfish. You’re just human, despite your alien blood. Maybe humans and Viltrumites aren’t too different.

(You’re falling. A giant mecha just tossed you out of the city. People are screaming and running away in terror. No matter how much you punch it and how brutal you are in tearing it apart, it keeps rebuilding itself. It’s been hours. By now, people have already evacuated. You’re exhausted and hungry. You want to go home. You don’t want to be here anymore. But, no one else is coming, it’s just you. This can’t be anyone else’s responsibility but yours.

But, you let yourself fall. You could catch yourself. You don’t. The absolute idiot you are, you don’t catch yourself. You can fly, but you don’t.

You land on someone. You can’t tell their gender or even how old they are. How could you, when you’re sitting in the red, mushy remains of them. They’re nothing more than a bloody mess on the ground. You’re covered in a mix of their fluids and organs. You’re screaming. You can’t stop.

Your dad finds you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It happens.”

“One life versus thousands.”

“They’re insignificant…in the grand scheme of things. People die so easily. Disease, traffic accidents, even just fading away in their asleep.”

You don’t feel any better.

When you get back home, the two of you eat dinner as mom complains about a client.

You two don’t mention anything about the mecha, despite Mark’s begging, besides that it’s been taken care of.)

You stop fighting the evil geniuses and beasts that were always around, demanding attention from the public. You focus on the monsters that hide in the shadows. The ones that aren’t broadcasted on the news. The ones that take advantage of those weaker. Traffickers and gangs. Women, children, and drugs seem to be what’s circulated. Every time you take down one ring, ten more seem to pop up. It’s just as relentless as the usual villainous devastation.

They work in even the most populated cities, keeping everyone down. Girls go missing and people find themselves in debt to loan sharks that never yield.

No one’s around to see you beat normal people and the occasional super-powered thug to mush.

(“You’re doing good work,” Cecil compliments you, watching as his agents usher victims away from the remains of their prisons. They glance at you as they pass. You pretend you don’t notice. “Wasn’t expecting you to start handling the dirty work. We tend leave this kind of thing to our agents.”

You remain silent. Your father doesn’t answer to him. Neither do you. It was nothing personal. You just didn’t want to feel like a tool, more than you already do, at least.

“I get it. You like to work alone, just like your old man. But it would be better for the victims if you’re at least in contact with us. I— we can help.” Cecil offers you an earpiec .

You hesitate, “Don’t contact me for anything besides leads. I don’t do the whole public hero thing anymore.”

He smirks, “Sure, kid.”)

Your dad stares at you in confusion, and then irritation. You two argue.

“You don’t have to deal with this,” he struggles to find the words, “We’re above this. Squashing insects doesn’t make you any smarter or stronger. This isn’t growth. You’ll never change things, not really. You can’t change humanity.”

“I thought you were here to make a peaceful world,” you interject, “How can you do that if you think people are doomed to be infinitely cruel? Have you given up? You’re literally on a committee with the express purpose of helping people, which I’m doing! Throwing the same morons back into prison isn’t doing anything either!”

“Are you really prepared to change things? To change this world? To see the actual value of humans?” He questions with an intensity that cuts the words in your throat. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Ready? What are you talking about?” You watch him place a hand over his face before turning away. “Dad?”

“Right now, you can’t make the hard choices,” your father concludes.

You two don’t resolve your disagreement, neither of you willing to bend.

Your mother and Mark try to ease the uncomfortable tension when the both of you are home.

“So, uh, how goes the heroing?” Mark asks, cutting into his lasagna.

“Fine,” you and your dad grunt before glaring at each other.

“And this isn’t awkward at all.”

(Your mom strokes your hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re going after…a different kind of danger?”

“Not really something to talk about over dinner,” you mumble, laying your head in her lap. “Or brag about.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

You stiffen.

“You’re helping so many people, my baby is a hero. You’re doing so good,” she whispers as your body shakes with sobs, “You always see what others don’t. My considerate girl.”)

You graduate. Rather than go to school, you pick up a camera. You get pictures of heroes no one else can get, see views that only you can find. You also don’t mind doing wedding pictures for some extra cash. You travel, you sometimes run into your dad in the skies. You two are better now. He probably sees your motivations as a phase. And maybe he’s right when it comes to near immortal beings.

Things are okay. Everything seems kind of grey, dull, even, but it’s okay.

Mark calls you one night. He got his powers. Something in you shrivels up. A foreboding feeling washing over you.

You come home. You and your dad sit at the kitchen table.

“You look like the world is ending,” you comment, narrowing your eyes when he doesn’t immediately reply. “I thought you were waiting for him to…become like us.”

“Things are going to be busy with me training Mark for the next little bit,” he speaks up, “I’d appreciate it if you stepped up a bit more.”

“…why? You seemed on top of things when I got my powers,” you note.

“We don’t have that kind of time anymore, Mark is already a late bloomer. I need to get him to your level as soon as possible. You’ve been slacking off on your training too. You’re only getting faster and your senses might be better than mine, but you need to get stronger, to stop holding back,” he stares down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them.

“You’re acting like you’re on a deadline,” you observe, “Are you okay?”

“Just,” he breathes out, “keep an eye out.”

Before you can say anything else, you hear your mom shuffle out of bed above you.

“Alright.”

Mark begins his training and your dad is weirdly wired. A tension residing in him. It’s noticeable to you and your mother.

(You find yourself comparing Mark to a cocoon. Metamorphosis. It’s hard to believe how much he’s grown. How much he’s growing. Who he’ll become.

Invincible, he declares as his name.

“Why can I still see you?” You ask, lounging on his bed.

“You’re not funny,” he scowls. You push yourself up.

“It’s a good name,” you smile at him. “But you do know we can still get the crap beaten out of us, even dad.”

“I know that!” Mark protests, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it and throw it with more than a little force.

Mark huffs as he catches it before, sending it back. And before you know it, you two are tussling like you’re kids again, trying to put the other in a headlock.

“Someone is suddenly a little too confident,” you laugh, before shoving him into the wall.

“And I think someone needs to knock you down a peg, you tyrant! You can’t bully me anymore!” Mark lunges at you but you simply step out of the way as he crashes onto the floor.

He huffs before letting out a chuckle, “We haven’t roughhoused like this since…you got your powers, I think.”

You pause, “I mean if I bumped into you too hard, you’d probably explode.”

“Hey! I wasn’t that scrawny!”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Just be careful around other people.” You warn before grinning, “I mean, yeah, you’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer so I did have to be extra delicate with you—!”

With a battle cry, Mark charges at you as you two begin grappling again. You both freeze when you hear your mom clearing her throat at the doorway.

“Sorry, mom.”

“My bad.”)

You meet your dad at the peak of Mount Everest once again. You’ve both gotten into the habit of visiting when you needed to think. He hasn’t come in a while.

“Sweetheart, do you trust me?” He asks finally turning to stare at you, bathed in orange light as the sky turns to dusk. “That I want the best for you and your brother. Your mother.”

“Of course I do, dad,” you say honestly. Despite his faults, he’s your dad and you know that he loves his family above all else.

“Then I need you to be strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been before.” He brings you in for a hug, cradling your head as if you were still a little girl. “You should go home tonight. I’ll be out late.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest.”

You don’t see him tomorrow, not really.

Your mom and brother jolt when they see you come down the stairs, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Both of them already ready to start their day, unlike you.

“Honey, I didn’t realize you were here!” Your mom exclaims.

Your brother shoots you a look, “When did you even get here?”

“A couple of hours ago,” you yawn halfway through your words. “Dad not home?”

Your mom frowns, “No, he didn’t come back last night.”

“Mom, stop worrying,” Mark reassures her, “he probably got buried under a mountain again or something.”

You remain silent as she chuckles, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She heads to the door after telling you she bought more of your usual tea from the store as Mark picks up a box of cereal. “Don’t be late for school—“

You hear her gasp as two men in black stand outside your door.

Donald leads you into a government operated hospital, his exchange with Mark passing over you.

You’ve been here before. A couple of times. When you were inexperienced. You’ve never seen your dad beaten enough to warrant a visit.

Your brother and mother rush into his room, your father laying unconscious on a gurney, hooked up to different beeping machines. You stagger a bit behind them, noticing Cecil in the corner, who nods at you.

Your ears are buzzing as you look away, watching your mother already hover above your father.

“Who did this?” Mark asks sharply.

“We have no idea,” Cecil cuts in, as everyone turns to look at him. “Not yet, anyway. But we’ll find out and when we do, they’ll look a hell of a lot worse than your dad over there.”

He introduces himself to Mark, shaking his hand before acknowledging your mom. “Deborah. I’m so sorry.”

She stands up, glaring, “Cecil, you’ve got a lot of nerve—!”

“Someone murdered the Guardians of the Globe last night,” he interrupts as your mother gasps and your brother lets out an astonished ‘oh my god’.

It takes every muscle in your body to not flinch as you stare down at your comatose dad. Your dad never joined their team despite their numerous offers. He said liked to work alone. Even if attended their numerous parties and get togethers. Even when he laughed with them.

Cecil sighs, “All of them. Tore them down limb from limb. We tried like hell to bring them back, but Nolan was the only survivor.”

“How is that even possible?” Mark asks.

“We don’t know yet. We also don’t know why your dad was at Guardians HQ,” Cecil continues. “A working theory is whoever killed the Guardians, lured him down there to try to wipe them all out at once.”

You ignore Mark’s confusion and Cecil’s pragmatism. Your mother’s tearful demands wash over you, distraught that even your father could have a brush with death.

But you can’t focus on that.

You exit the room.

You might have been the last person your father saw before the attack yesterday. No, you know you were the last one.

(“—do you trust me?”)

“Your brother is out dealing with an invasion,” Cecil informs you, finding your crouched form in the hallway over.

You jolt up, “Where?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Not your area of focus, right? I’ve already sent the Teen Team to assist him.”

You’ve met them before. Members in between yours and Mark’s age. They asked you to join them, maybe two years ago.

“He’s new,” you remark, “I should—“

“Singularity,” Cecil interrupts, something he seems fond of doing, “You’re currently the strongest person on Earth.”

You freeze.

“I respect you. You do the work no one notices or wants to notice. The stuff that’s hard to digest. You don’t do it for the fame or recognition. I understand why you don’t want to get involved with the government, but I need your cooperation right now. Whoever did this could come after you next—“

You doubt it.

“And we need someone to pick up the slack more than ever. Can I count on you? Even if it means you’ll be out in the light?”

“Okay,” you nod.

“That easy?” He asks. You shrug.

“What do you need me to do?”

“As much as you can.”

You’ve never not lived in a cycle. You’re back where you started. Just beating down the bad guy that Cecil points you at.

Dragons, hairy beasts, and the Lizard League.

You’d rather you do it than Mark. He has enough to worry about.

You wonder what’s going to happen now. Cecil was using you to close the power vacuum the death of the Guardians would leave. You had to be fast and efficient so no one would notice their absence. So no one would get any smart ideas. You were sending a message that there were plenty of other heroes to fear. At least for the next few days.

You wish time would stop moving forward, just for a little bit. You feel so tired. You don’t want to do this. You’re sick of seeing people hurt other people. Of having to hurt people. But what would you be if you looked away? What would your family think of you if you didn’t help when you had the ability to do so? Were you anyone without these powers at this point?

Your life consisted of nothing but the job, whether it was black market dealers or experiments gone wrong, you had to wear the suit.

(“—be strong.”)

You almost dread the moment your father will awaken. It won’t be long. They might not know much about your species’ durability, but you had a guess.

(“Hey,” Mark’s voice echoes from your phone. “I saw you on TV. Back in the limelight, a bunch of theorists think you’re trying out for the Globe.”

He pauses.

“If,” he starts, “If you need any help—“

“Focus on school,” you interject. “And I heard you fought off those Flaxans pretty well yesterday.”

You hear his breath stutter.

“I know mom left some stuff in the freezer, but do you want me to pick up anything?”

“Sushi,” Mark replies instantly.

“Yeah, I think there’s a place near me—“

“From that one place in Nagoya.”

“Bro.”

“Bro,” Mark pleads, “I know you carry that insulated bag with you. I’ll pay you back.”

“With your burger money?”

“Elitist, but yeah.”

“I’d feel like a bully, so just buy me, like, fifteen milkshakes.”

“I think that’s still just extortion.”)

You get a frantic call from your mom that he’s awake. When you burst into his room you narrowly avoiding your brother crashing into you.

“Careful,” you chide him but he ignores you to approach the now conscious man.

You watch them.

After changing out of your costume and into your civvies, you watch Mark brush off your father’s hand. You sigh. Your mother told you the older woman he had saved hadn’t made it. Your father didn’t seem too concerned, instead turning to the nurse at the front desk, demanding his costume back.

“Manners,” you scold, walking to stand next to him. He only glances at you as the nurse leaves to retrieve the damaged suit.

“You did good, covering for me,” he commends.

“Guess I’ll have to do it a little longer while you recover,” you note. “Don’t take too long, I have my own stuff to get back to.”

Your dad only scoffs before your mother intervenes.

“I’m just glad we’ll all be home again!”

You and your father share a glance. He knows you know.

“I gotta get going,” you step away, “I just wanted to make sure dad was okay. Cecil needs me to go do…something.”

(“Why didn’t you and dad ever tell me that there’s an orange, telepathic cyclops alien that shows up every once in a while?” Mark demands.

“Oh, I don’t know. Three years ago, while I was chilling on the moon, he showed up, I punched him, and then I got to dad to deal with it,” you explain, “Freaked me out.”

“And you didn’t try to talk to him?”

“I was in the middle of some really deep thinking when he showed up,” you defend yourself, “But, he had the wrong planet? That’s funny.”

He groans out your name in exasperation.)

“Singularity,” Cecil’s voice rings out in your ear, “You’re needed. Your brother and the Teen Team aren’t doing so hot—“

“Send me the coordinates.”

When you’re fifty kilometres away, your dad joins you.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” You ask.

He ignores you, “These Flaxans are on their third attempt to invade?”

“That’s right.”

He grunts, “Let me show you how to nip this kind of thing in the bud.”

“What?”

“Follow my lead. We’ll talk after. I know I owe you that much.”

When you arrive, Mark is being beaten by a Flaxan in a mech suit. Speeding up, you punch the alien off your baby brother, before tossing him into the air with a yell. Omni-man catches him as you turn away.

“Are you okay?” You fret as you crouch down to lift him out of the crater he was slumped in. He groans in pain before perking up at seeing your dad.

In his usual effortless fashion, Omni-man has the army’s attention as he wipes the aliens out in an instant after proving that their attacks could do nothing to him.

Your brother watches in awe as he forces the intruders to retreat back into their portals.

“Singularity,” he calls out from above you, nudging his head toward the last of the Flaxans. The one in the mech suit, the one that wanted to beat your brother to death, still wasn’t keen on leaving, despite the portal behind him.

You close your eyes before turning to your brother, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he stares at you in confusion. “You did good.”

And in the next instant, in tandem, you and Omni-man fly at the enemy with a burst of speed, the three of you disappearing into the portal. The last thing you hear is Mark call out for your dad, and for you. Your name echoing from behind you. You couldn’t even blame him for the secret identity thing.

(Their planet was red. The rocks beneath your feet, the lighting, and even the fear in their eyes as they started at you like you were their reckoning.

“You don’t seem to understand,” Your dad speaks with a menace in his tone unlike anything you’ve ever heard, “Earth isn’t yours to conquer.”

“Dad?”

He looks back at you, and he’s almost remorseful, “Just watch, and I promise I’ll explain everything.

You couldn’t even move if you wanted to. You watched a civilization fall to ruin, buildings collapsing, innocents screaming. It wouldn’t stop. Your dad, who used to throw you in the air until you were screaming with joy, always catching you with strong hands, was now the cause of pure terror.

With a surge of courage, you tackle him, both of you plummeting down to the ground.

“What are you doing?” You cry, gripping his face, “Just stop!”

He says your name, hands grabbing your wrists, “This is what needs to be done.”

“You’re insane,” you state, “you’re actually insane—“

In a quick turn, he throws you down by the wrists before you can react, with a strength you’ve never experienced before.

When you sit up, the screams are louder. Your crash created a crater, but your eyes widen at the sudden warmth you feel, covering your legs, back, and hands.

It’s red. Not again. It’s red.

It’s in your mouth, in your nose, and the only thing you can see is red.

You think you’re screaming, crying. You’re fourteen again, the same idiot that fell and caused devastation. You can’t breathe, you’re choking on your own sobs. You don’t know how much time has passed, only blinking into awareness when you feel your father pulling you into his arms, shushing you as he presses your face into his shoulder.

You cry out in defiance, pushing your hands against him, but his grip only tightens against you.

“It’s okay, it’s over,” he whispers.

“You killed them,” you hiccuped, “The Guardians—“

“I had to—“

“You didn’t! You didn’t have to—“

“I know this is hard, that you never wanted to be a hero,” he interrupts, “And a part of me was always glad about that. That you recognized the futility of it all. But, that only makes it worse on you. You more than anyone knows how crooked and violent that world is, that no matter how many so called heroes appear, it will never end. Not unless people like us step in. Force them to stop, even if it means having to be cruel, to be the monsters in their eyes. For the greater good.”

“Dad—“

“From the moment I stepped foot onto that planet, its fate was already decided. That Earth would become a part of our empire. No more disease or famine. No more lives being sold or slaughtered. But, I faltered. If you and Mark were just human——I couldn’t let them find out about you. But you’re not human. And you don’t need to have these human problems anymore,” he continues, stroking your hair with his bloodied hand. “But I need you to be strong. For your brother and mom. For yourself. For your survival and theirs. We can’t defy the empire. The weak aren’t allowed to live among us, so you need to stop crying.”

“No, no, I can’t,” you try to object.

“You can and you will. For a better world, one where your mom can grow old in, where you and your brother will have each other as everyone around you ages and dies. This is the only way, your empathy will only doom you. Us. So let me—-let me make the hard choices until you can.” He finishes as you cease struggling, only lying limply against him.

As your vision blackens, you hope you don’t wake up.

(Time passes on a different rate on this planet. Your father forces its inhabitants to send you back home, something they are more than willing to do. The days blur together, your father gently cajoling you into drinking and eating in your detached state, cradling you to his chest like you’re a kid. Maybe you still are one. Still unable to handle the pressure, stupid and weak as you are.

You leave behind death and destruction as you return back to your planet, guided by your father.)

You and your father leave those issues outside of the house, so when you return home, your gait is casual even if you look battered.

Entering first, your father walks in, only a bit tired, as if he hasn’t doomed a whole planet.

“I need a shower,” he sighs.

“I called dibs,” you shoot back, following behind him as if you hadn’t spent days crying and cursing him out.

Mark and your mom jump from their seats, pulling you two into an embrace.

“Woah, group hug?” You laugh as your dad holds all three of you in his arms.

You stop when you hear the announcer on the TV declare that the Guardians are dead.

A day later, you find yourself dressed in black, accompanying your family to the televised funeral of the Guardians; heroes, civilians, and the press all attending.

Your father, the murderer, begins his eulogy. You clench your coat in between your fists, scrunching your eyes closed. It’s almost laughable.

Your mom nudges you, “Are you alright? You look…anxious.”

You smile at her, “Just a bit crowded.”

Hours later, you attend the second, and real, funeral. Olga sobbing as the actual caskets lay in front of you. You hold an umbrella over your mother’s head as your father begins to speak. You wonder how sincere he’s being.

“Good to see you again, despite the circumstances. I didn’t realize you three were all related,” Eve greets you.

“Don’t want any nepotism accusations. You know how it is,” you joke with Mark scoffing at you, but you notice his lips twitch.

People soon begin to leave as the rain continues. You watch from a distance as the detective from hell stands off against your father. He’s onto him. You shudder.

(When you turn to leave, your parents stop you.

“Honey, are you sure you don’t want to come home with us?” Your mom looks at you in worry, you feel like that’s all you do to her now.

“Come on, you can choose what we have for dinner,” your dad bribes. You keep your face flat.

“Some publishers approached me about some of my action shots. For the Guardian’s memorial pages,” you explain, squeezing Mark’s arm before turning away.

You feel your father’s stare until you disappear from sight.)

“You sure you won’t consider a place on the team? I wouldn’t even ask you to tryout,” Cecil offers.

“You said you had a ring you wanted me to dismantle?” You deflect.

The man studies you, “Are you okay? Looking a little worse for wear there.”

“Not a fan of funerals.”

“Who is?” The man clears his throat, “You know, we offer a lot of services for heroes. In case, you needed someone to talk to. Our NDAs are ironclad.”

You jolt, “What? I’m fine. Just…tired.”

You don’t meet his dubious gaze.

(Your mom pulls you aside one day.

“You know you can talk to me,” your mom says, “I know you’d want Mark to talk about his problems. You can do the same. You don’t have to leave it out of the house, like your father says to.”

“I know, mom,” you reply.

She frowns at you, “Cecil told me…about what happened when you were younger. It wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I asked dad to keep it secret. I didn’t want to…”

When you trail off, she wraps her arms around you, “You’ve helped so many people, but you don’t have to keep doing it. Not at the expense of yourself. It’s your life, you’re still young. Do what makes you happy. You can stop.”

Once, those words would have been your salvation. Now, it’s no longer an option.

“I know, mom,” you smile.

She pulls away to cup your face, “When was the last time you ate something?”

“I had a light breakfast,” you lie.

“Then you’ll have room for some soup. I made your favourite,” she declares confidently, but you see the defeat in her eyes.)

“You have a girlfriend?” You question.

“Why are you saying it like that?” Mark demands.

“Dude, you’re a superhero, high school student slash part timer! How are you going to have any time left?” You ask.

“I’ll make it work,” he insists.

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re mean.”

(“…are you okay? You’re a bit quiet.” Mark later asks as you two play your usual racing game.

“Need to focus to beat you.”

“You’re in last place. Like always,” Mark teases, “And I meant it in, like, general.”

“Just adult stuff.”

“I’m literally eighteen now.”

“You’re a baby.”

“You can’t even legally drink alcohol yet!”

“In this country.”

“I’m telling mom!”

“I didn’t say I actually drank anything, you snitch!”)

You avoid going home for a while.

Your father hasn’t made any moves. He won’t make any. He’s hesitating. The childish part of you thinks it’s because he’s your father before a Viltrumite. Even if you don’t visit home, you visit him. You argue. You scream. He threatens and bargains. Sometimes he almost reveals something human. Other times, he berates you. Telling you that you’d be the cause of Earth’s destruction, unless you listen.

You can’t fight him.

No matter how many times you try to imagine it, you don’t see yourself beating your dad. You don’t think you could even try.

(Mark calls you one night. He wants to help take down a gang. You already know your father wasn’t happy about that.

“If you feel like your intel is legitimate then go for it. Dad’s never appreciated anything that doesn’t involve some epic battle.” You explain. “You need backup?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s just this teleporter dude I have to worry about.”

“Remain vigilant, you never what kind of BS desperate idiots will pull.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m more worried about Amber—“

You groan, “You high schoolers are actually so annoying.”)

The next time you see your family, Mark is half dead and being operated on. You can only watch as your parents argue behind you. Your mom pulls you away from the operating room window.

You and your mom stay overnight while your father visits after his patrols. He doesn’t wake up until nearly a week later.

You almost laugh when the first thing on his mind is how he blew off his girlfriend.

(As you’re leaving, Cecil pulls you aside.

“Hey, is everything alright with you and your dad?” He asks. He almost sounds like a CPS worker.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You seem to be avoiding him like the plague, is all. I thought you two were close.” He comments.

Your mouths opens but no sound escapes it. You almost tell him. But you hear your dad’s footsteps approaching.

“Didn’t take you for a gossip,” you chuckle, “I really have to get going though.”)

You’re in Iceland, taking photos of puffins, living in existential dread. This is your life now.

You nearly cry when your phone’s ring rouses you from your sleep. You look around in confusion before realizing you’re in your hotel room. The ringing ends, only to begin again, vibrating noisily against your nightstand.

It’s your mom. You pick up the phone.

“Honey, listen to me carefully—!”

The call cuts off.

“Seriously?” You huff, realizing your phone just died before getting up to search for your charger, rooting around your bag.

After ten minutes of less than fruitful looking, you exit your hotel room to go ask the front desk if they have one instead.

When you walk out of the elevator, you notice a crowd of employees huddled around the lobby television.

When you take a closer look, you notice a familiar kaiju beating up Omni-man and Invincible. Your dad and brother. And Immortal is back from the dead. And now trying to kill your dad.

Phone forgotten, you fly back to your room ignoring the people blown back, looking around confused.

With your costume now on you take off faster than you ever have before. Iceland to somewhere outside of Chicago. Yeah, definitely easy.

By the time you arrive, you see that the kaiju is tied up and that the Immortal is in two pieces on the ground. But your father and brother are missing.

You close your eyes and listen. Before turning to look at where Chicago is; people screaming, buildings collapsing.

“Oh, fuck.”

You find them in a destroyed subway tunnel. Mark covered in red. Your dad’s hand tainted with the same colour. You can smell it. The remains of hundreds of people scattered among the rubble.

Mark whispers your name. He’s scared and he’s hurt, and it’s all Omni-man’s fault.

“Mark,” you begin gently, “Get out of here. Go find mom.”

He starts to protest, but your dad interrupts him, calling your name sternly, eyes red and bloodshot. “Neither of you are anywhere. Not until you both understand.”

“You’ve lost it,” you laugh before charging at him in an instant, arms hooking around him as you break through the damaged ceiling, throwing him into the orange sky above, away from the crying city. Before he can regain his balance, you strike him again, to create more distance.

“You’re still not listening,” He admonishes before closing the gap, gripping you by the shoulders. “My time here has been a speck in the span of my life. You don’t know me, neither of you do. I will burn this planet before I spend another minute living among these animals.”

“Animals?” You’re almost hysterical at this point, “Are you saying that you’d start a family with an animal, you sick fucking bastard—“

He goes to strike you, but you place a hand between his shoulder and neck, and you squeeze—

He shouts in pain but you ignore it, you have to ignore it, as you bring your other hand to punch him down.

You’re not stronger than him. But you are faster. And he’s weak. Tired.

You tackle him in the air, head against his hip as you crush back into the ground a couple hundred miles away from where you left Mark.

He growls your name throwing a punch that you duck under, kicking him in the ribs with punishing force.

He stares at you shocked. For the first time, you’re brutal with your blows, unrelenting. He can take it.

With a cry, you charge again.

Kicking, punching, and even biting, you exchange blows with your father as if you two were nothing more than beasts that are beyond reason.

With a quick kick to his knee, you force him to stagger, seizing the opportunity to wrap your hands around his neck and push him down, following him as you crouch above, and squeeze, trying to crush his windpipes so he can never let out a breath again, never hurt anyone again.

One of his hands grips your forearm, breaking it, but you don’t relent. His other hand, slams against your ribs repeatedly until your choking back blood, but you can’t relent.

As you watch his eyes grow redder and dazed, you realize he’s crying.

No, he’s not crying. Your own tears are falling onto his face.

Mark shouts your name, and you stop immediately, pulling your hands back, frightened.

Your dad struggles to breath again, staring up at you.

“You were almost there,” he exhales, and maybe you imagine it, but you see guilt flash across his expression, before he jabs four of his fingers through your stomach, before pulling out, blood coating his knuckles as you gasp. You feel frozen before you begin to tip, falling onto the ground as your father gets up. He turns you to your side as blood gushes out of your mouth. The gentleness contrasting his cruelty.

(When you were younger, every Christmas, Mark would wake up at the asscrack of dawn to run downstairs. Your mom would have to stop him, telling him he would have to wait for you to wake up before you could all open your presents as a family.

So, every Christmas, he would burst into your room, jumping onto your bed, shaking you as he called your name over and over—)

He’s calling your name over and over, begging you to get up. Mark, your baby brother, hovers above you. He’s crying. You try to ask why didn’t he leave. To warn him that Omni-man is behind him. You’re forced to watch as the man you called dad wrenches Mark away from you despite his struggles, taking off into the sky again.

You slowly but surely begin to shift your legs, moving your unbroken arm against the ground to push yourself up. You ignore your trembling limbs and the way your body cries in protest.

You nearly fall back down, when a sphere like drone begins to speak. Cecil.

“Stay down, we’ll send help—“

“Where,” you breathe out, ignoring the blood seeping out as you talk, “are they?”

Cecil tries to stop you in vain but you push yourself up into a kneeling position, watching blood pour out of your stomach.

“Coordinates.”

Nepal. Mount Everest.

Should you laugh or cry?

You find them in a crater. Because that’s what you Viltrumites do, get beaten until the ground cracks beneath you. Mark is worse off than you, you think. Face bloodied and brutalized. Omni-Man standing above him, a weird tension in his body. He’s distraught. He turns to meet your gaze.

He leaves. Straight into the sky, away from you.

Mark murmurs your name. You stagger over to him before dropping to your knees.

“It’s over, it’s okay, you’re okay,” you nearly snivelled, gripping his hand. He’s battered and beaten, but he’s alive. Your brother is alive. “…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mark.”

You stay there for hours, as Mark loses consciousness. Only perking up when you hear the noise of Cecil’s helicopter. Your mom jumps out alongside paramedics. Her hands hover above you brokenly, as she takes in your injured body, tears in her eyes.

You watch as Mark is carried away.

“‘M sorry, mom,” you apologize, feeling your sight blur before collapsing, as your mom holds onto you, calling for help.

You hope you don’t wake up.

You wake up before Mark. Your mom at your side. You feel like a walking bruise. Your arm in a cast, and your stomach flickering between numbness and agony.

She’s stroking your head. You can tell she’s still holding back tears.

“You did so good,” she sniffed. You fall asleep to her assurances.

Despite seeming to be in worse state than you, Mark is out of bed before you. Your stomach wound is particularly annoying, it seems. You did not enjoy having to use a feeding tube.

He stares down at you, with teary eyes. “I’m—“

“Thanks for stopping me, Mark, I don’t think I would have survived, otherwise.”

His face cracks.

“He told me before you.” You admit. “It’s my fault, not yours. I didn’t want you or mom to know. I thought I could stop him, change his mind. I guess I didn’t really know him. Don’t blame yourself.”

“You shouldn’t either,” Mark responds, gripping your hand, “It wasn’t right, how he was treating you, what he told you——you were just a kid. Even now, it’s still not okay, you’re his daughter. He shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

When you look at him in confusion, he elaborates, “He mentioned some of the stuff he told you. It wasn’t fair of him to make you hide that stuff. You were only thirteen, and even now…”

You close your eyes when you feel them water. You didn’t want him or mom to feel guilty. Not because of you. Because you were too weak to even have made a difference.

“It’s going to be okay, he’s,” your brother chokes, “gone now.”

When your brother is cleared to go home, you insist they return without you. That they’ve spent enough time in a hospital. Your mom acquiesces. You feel worse because she probably thinks you’re trying to avoid her. For not knowing. But that was your choice, your fault, not hers.

Nolan Grayson is dead. Omni-man is a traitor to humanity. You know things are only going to get worse from here.

You startle when you hear a knock on your temporary room’s door.

“We need to talk.” Cecil states, making himself comfortable in the chair adjacent to your bed.

You sigh wearily.

“Let’s talk.”

Omni-man: Sweetie, you’re not like other girls, and I mean that in a non-misogynistic way.

Singularity:

*

Omni-man, watching as Singularity has a panic attack on the bloodied remains of Flaxans: I really need you to not snitch on me. We’ll literally all die. It’s your fault, by the way.

*

Omni-man: I made her strong!

Cecil: You gave her PTSD and depression??

*

Singularity, staring into the mirror: you stupid piece of shit, go kill yourself

Debbie:

*

Rex: Yeah, and Invincible has a hot sister—

Mark: Yeah—wait, what!?

Rex: you have a hot sister?

Mark: We are so not cool anymore!

*

Omni-man after gravely injuring Singularity: Oh my Shaylaaaaa

Omni-man after beating the shit out of Mark: Why did you make me do this!?

*

Rex: So, I’m single, you’re single, so why don’t we—

Mark: No, not doing this, nope.

Singularity: how to kms

*

Singularity after being dropped in DC: No, you can’t adopt me! Wtf is wrong with you, besides your dumbass name

Batman: I will get you therapy

I somehow finished this before season 3, omg. Yeah Nolan isn’t a good person and definitely put too much pressure on an actual child. I think I did decent with hinting that even before season one, he had issues, especially having to train his daughter. And most people wouldn’t notice because he screams girl dad but he’s actually bad!!

Also please, please tell me if there are any grammar errors in this behemoth. The notes app doesn’t have spellcheck! Or word count…

Masterlist, Series Masterlist

[fanaroff]

DP X DC Prompt: It’s In The Cave

There’s an animal in the cave. At least, that’s the closest approximation. It cannot be caught on the cameras and any noises made only translate into static. Dicks says it’s green. Tim says it’s black. Stephanie insists it’s white. But Damian knows it’s all three.

The others can’t see it as well as Damian can, for the moment. It’s not a cat, but cat-like. It’s not a snake, it’s snake-like. There’s big, shining green eyes with their color not dissimilar from the Lazarus Pits. Tufts of flowing white hair white a body black body that trails off into a tail and pointed ears that flatten and raise. It looks alien. It looks like an animal. It feels familiar. Damian keeps it.

When it first appears, it’s only noticed at first because a few things are moved around in its haste to find shelter. That, and the little spots of green that trail after its first entrance inside. The green spooks them all, at first, thinking it’s Lazarus water. There are similarities, but it’s not quite the same. After a time, the green fades to red. There’s no recognizable DNA from any creature in it. They settle on it being an “alien.”

It’s always watching, always peeking. Snacks left for it are eaten quickly and sometimes vanish into thin air right in front of them. The longer they go without attacking it or trying to root it out, the more it seems to become comfortable with them. (Not for Damian’s lack of trying anyways.)

Dick tells him to “pspspsps” at it like a cat once, softly patting at the ground. When no one is around, he tries it while crouched between the cave wall and a piece of machinery he saw a movement between. The little thing “pspspsps” right back. He even sees a tiny paw with tiny claws mimicking his motions from under the machine. Damian decides right then and there that this thing will be protected.

Eventually, it starts getting comfortable enough to start showing itself more and soon they’re having to scoot it off of the keyboards in the Batcave. It’ll drag itself about, climb, and sling itself around their shoulders and gnaw with little teeth and claws on their gloves. (They go through gloves much quicker once this starts.) even Batman melts when it starts purring.

Originally, they were worried it was injured but after the time it was there, hidden, it seems to have healed from whatever it was. (Or they get to fawn over the little injuries and fix them up best as they can.)

It will only take food from Damian’s hands though and he lords this over the others with immense pleasure. Often, it can be seen wrapped around one of his hands and forearms like a snake, wiggling away and batting at its own tail-tip. Its growls sound like little blips of static and gargled nails.

Damian names him Phavadi (Marathi meaning that could mean a pickle or a mess, let me know if this is incorrect, it’s not my language.)

They aren’t able to find out what Phavadi is, at first. The Green Lanterns don’t recognize it. Martian Manhunter has never seen it and states that he is unable to read its mind. Like there is nothing there to grasp. (This starts a round of the birds cooing at Phav, calling him brainless, no braincells between them big ‘ol eyes, no thoughts head empty.) Starfire doesn’t know what he is, but is absolutely enamored.

It starts floating. That’s surprising, but also not. They knew Phav has some powers, it could go invisible after all. Gravity has no hold and now it happily makes its nests on top of their heads. When Phav somehow floats his way into the manor, this starts a frantic chase through the mansion to catch it and Phav thinks it’s a game. Winking in and out of existence, waving its tail from a chandelier. When Dick makes it up there to grab it, Phav just plops to the ground scaring the shit out of everyone. Uninjured, thankfully. Phav scoots off into the kitchen and is caught by a heavily scolding Alfred.

Sufficiently cowed, Phav is returned to Damian and the little thing starts sleeping in his room.

They don’t know that this entire time Phav has been following them on their patrols. Staying out of sight but watching with glowing eyes to make sure they’re all safe. An in-grained confusing feeling.

It’s when there’s a big-bad that things come to a head. The entire Justice League is called in and eventually Justice League Dark. The Robins insist on helping as well, they need all hands on deck.

Mid battle, Damian is about to take a hit he can’t dodge.

This can go one of multiple ways—

Angsty: little baby man Phav takes the hit and gets pretty injured. Left limp and unmoving to the distress of everyone. Constantine, seeing this thing is like “Oh. Oh shit. That’s a baby eldritch. That is an INJURED baby eldritch we are so FUCKED.” Because he knows that with this happening, its momma is about to come soon. Phav’s form starts to destabilize, little body starting to goop into a puddle of green. Damian is distraught. All he’s left with is a light blue, cold, glowing orb the size of a marble.

Ghost King: Suddenly, tiny Phav isn’t so tiny anymore. He’s grown to the size of a two story house, hunched and hissing. Eyes wildly glowing, claws out and very large, teeth dripping green, tail long and curled around his bats and robins. Constantine, upon seeing this, shouts “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU HAD A BLOODY FUCKING ELDRITCH??!”

Feel free to add more or use this!

[namelessgakusei]

Imagine, self aware men, who, some time after you picked up their comic to read, started noticing your presence.

It was faint, at first, just the feeling of someone watching them from afar, barely noticeable if not for their keen senses. He thinks it's a villain stalking him, or an alien too shy to ask for his help, but everytime he turns around, there's no one. Heck, he doesn't feel you behind him, you're everywhere!

Self aware men who, starts to notice something. You're not there every second of the day, only when something's happening, like when fighting off criminals or a major disaster. He starts to think that you're the reason for all of it, thinking that whenever he feels your presence, something's about to happen.

But then you're also there for the quiet moments. Those times when he doesn't have to be who he is in the public. When he's just himself again, either wallowing in his sadness or doing something mundane like household chores or just hanging out with friends. Maybe he's wrong with associating you with danger. You're just there.

Self aware men who starts to get curious about who you are. You've been with him since the start! Before he got his powers and became a hero/vigilante! You're there for the ups and downs. You're always by his side, like a silent support throughout everything. Who are you? Why are you here? Why him?

It was due to his involvement with magic, from a fight with a villain gone wrong or with the help of his comrades, that he finally got a glimpse of you. It was your eyes that he saw first, watching over him from the sky. You're... here. He can finally see you! Oh, you're beautiful!

Your face lights up whenever you see him, you brighten at the sight him! Only him! Oh stop it! You're going to make him crumble on spot!

Self aware men who, tried interacting with you, waving at your direction whenever he feels your presence, he finally knows where you are! He sometimes talks to you about his day, a bit vague enough to be understood like he's talking to himself.

You, on the other hand, is hella confused. Why is your favorite comic character acting like this? He's waving to nothing and saying things that won't make sense for the plot. You tried looking it up but found versions where none of it happened. Only the copy that you have in your hands shows this version of him. You know it isn't tampered with, you made sure to buy the editions from legitimate sources.

Meanwhile, he's giddy and kicking his feet. He saw how confused you are when he finally noticed you. You didn't expected it, didn't you? He should probably tone it down, you looked a bit scared.

Self aware men who, after some time, and more magic involvement, finally got to hear your voice. It makes him stop to soak in the sound. So this is how you sound like. He can hear your comments whenever something's happening, your cheers whenever he's fighting, your words of comfort whenever he's feeling down. Oh, you've been with him all this time... He wishes he could record your voice and hear it anytime he wants. But knowing that only he could see and hear you sends butterflies to his stomach. It's a special relationship reserved to only him and you!

Self aware men who, in some quiet nights, wonders what you are. You look, sound and act like human, but you're from a world beyond his. Are you from another dimension? Another Earth? How many worlds can you see? Is there others whom you visit aside from him?

The thought makes him sad, lonely even, as of course you're not fixated on him. Despite everything, he's not special, just someone who managed to catch your attention for a moment. You're out of his world, beyond being a human or an alien, untouched by what's happening around him.

He reaches a hand out to your direction, trying to grasp something that could make you stay. He doesn't know when you'll be gone or coming back, but he wants you to stay with him just a little while longer.

He wishes he could've been born in your world. Will you act the same if he is? Will you smile at his direction and talk to him like he's someone special in your life? He chokes a sob on that.

Self aware men who, smiles sadly at your direction, tragically separated in worlds.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Story idea: pregnant human gets to the point where she just says fuck it and walks around their home in the nude because it's the only way she can be comfortable. Her yautja mate sees this as an absolute win.

Eyes Never Wander

Character: Wolf (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content

Word Count: 2208

Summary: In your homes with Wolf, you are currently pregnant. One thing you've come to learn about Yautja Prime: it's fucking hot and humid. No matter where you lived before could never prepare you for the humidity in the air or the heat that pelted you. With your pregnancy, it has only made that feeling worse. Your clothes would stick to you like a second skin. What's a way to fix that? Go naked around the house. Wolf doesn't mind one bit.

Author Note: Absolute win on both sides. And if you do this while not pregnant. You're about to become pregnant.

Masterlist

Ao3

Out of all the places for you to end up in, this isn’t where you had hoped. The average temperature was a few degrees too high for you to comfortably handle everyday. The humidity was killer as well. It drove you insane when nothing could get dry in a reasonable time. Plus, these aliens have never heard of a dryer. So, any closes you’ve worn take days to dry outside. Even then, they never feel completely dry.

Said clothes would stick to your skin and drive you insane with the over sensitivity of your skin. Everything grew too much for you to handle. In a place you weren’t used to; in home you hadn’t grown up in; with a man you loved so much. He’s the only reason you’ve stayed here, enduring such a harsh environment that wasn’t meant for such a soft human.

Let alone, one so pregnant.

One look at your closet had you closing the door with a slam. “Fuck that,” you murmured and stomped out of the bedroom. Your swollen belly made it evident to everyone what your condition was. No male dared to say a word to you. Yautja or not, do not mess with a pregnant creature. They’ll do everything in their power to protect themselves and their unborn children.

Your male Yautja lover hovers nearby when you go out to the vendors. Wolf will not let you out of his sight around so many people. Though, it was against their code to injure or harm a pregnant creature, he does not trust everyone. You are only human after all. Heavily pregnant and waddling around.

A sight you know he heavily enjoys. His eyes find you whenever you are around. He watches the evidence of his potent seed taking place in your ravish body. You know he likes observing you. He’s never felt this way before with another.

The sound of your fast foot steps catches the male Yautja’s attention. His head peered over the edge of the couch. His gaze immediately finding you marching through the house towards the kitchen. You feel his gaze, piercing through your skin. Nothing to hide the shape of your form moving through the dwelling he’s built.

In the kitchen, you snatched up a fruit that was similar to a dragon fruit mixed with a banana. Strange to look at but it was delicious to consume. When you were about to turn around, large hands gripped at your waist and tugged you flush with a warm, humid body. Despite hating the heat and humidity at the moment, you sighed and relaxed against Wolf’s body. His presences calms you in an instant.

Wolf leaned over your figure and let his tresses create a curtain around the two of you. “What a sight to see, love,” he purred and gripped your hips tighter. “What has caused this? Do you need help with the laundry?” You are stubborn and independent, even in your heavily pregnant state, and want to do everything yourself. Only asking for help when you are in a pinch.

Both of your arms wrapped around the back of his neck and tugged him down a little further. “No. No offence but I fucking hate this area. It’s hot, humid. My clothes won’t dry in less than a day. My clothes stick to my skin uncomfortably. I decided to say ‘fuck it’ and go without. I know you won’t complain.” You find a thin strain of his tress underneath the rest of them and toyed with it, mindlessly.

And boy, were you right.

To have his pregnant mate walking around their shared home, naked. He growled low in his throat and rubbed his jaw against the top of your head. His scent further rubbed into your skin. Though you were pregnant with his child, he loved to continuous mark you up, scenting for everyone to steer clear of you.

Wolf let his hands drift up your sides, skating his claws over your ribs then back down to palm at your thighs. “To see my mate, naked like the day they were born, pregnant because of my doing, walking around in our home… it’s a life I could only dream of.” His claws carefully grazed the tops of your thighs as he touched whatever part he wanted of you.

Then, his hands wandered back north and palmed at your swollen belly. The Yautja was large, towering over your form. His hands slid down a little more to the lip of your stomach and gently lifted up. Instant relief flooded you. You sighed heavily and rest as much as you could against him. Your mate held you there, letting the weight be his burden for the moment.

“This needs to be an everyday thing, Wolf,” you mumbled, voice going hoarse from the lack of power you gave it. Said Yautja chuckled. The vibrations running up your back and spreading out to the tips of your fingers.

“Yeah?” he teased, arms not faulting. “I can’t help it if my seed produces such large offspring.” You elbowed him in the side. He takes the hit without even making a sound.

“Yeah, this is all your fault. Mate can’t keep it down.” Wolf growled, arms flexing without moving your belly. The weight still in his hands.

“I didn’t hear you complaining each time I took you,” he rumbled back to you and lowered his mouth next to your ear. A purr starts in his chest and creates goosebumps. They run across your skin and cover your limbs.

You turned your head enough to send the Yautja a glare and a huff in tandem. Wolf’s purr deepened and helped you relax again, softening against his thick scales. The tress you were playing with, you decided to tug on it. Wolf tensed up, purr stuttering for a moment. “You may never hear a complaint from me in those moments, but you’ve heard me plenty of times now.”

With all the medical care you have access to at your mate’s status, you still can’t get rid of the aches and pains. Sweet, old Wolf does his best to draw baths, massage your aches, and feed you delicious foods. Only those could so far while dealing with a situation such as this.

Slowly, he lets your weight return to you. You whimpered but put your hands on top of his. Your fingers carded between his in a reassuring grasp. The texture of the scales on the back of his hands is stark to your own skin. You mindlessly run your thumbs up and down the sides of his palms.

“That may be true, but I’m beyond thankful for allowing for this opportunity to continue.” He knows if the pregnancy was too far of a risk, even above ten precent of serious injuries or death, he wouldn’t let you talk him into it. A healer had been brought in with the help of a scientist. They were able to give the facts to Wolf about this very situation before it happened. It helped calm his older heart, reassured your chances of passing were low.

Same with the strain it would put on your smaller frame. It took months upon months trying to convince him that this was safe, you would be fine in the end.

Not that he didn’t want to have a child with you. That’s one of the things he wanted most in his life. To see his permanent mate pregnant. The thought of losing you greatly outweighed that want though. It was simply brushed to the back and forgotten about.

Finally, he had broken about eight months ago and took out the implant he had requested you used. For both of your safeties. Weirdly enough, it was instantaneous that you had wound of pregnant that same night. It was as if your body knew it was the perfect time for this to happen.

Now, look at you. The happiest you’ve ever been with your mate, on the verge of starting a family.

Your eyes softly shut as you leaned towards his face and nuzzle against the softer, wrinkly scales on his cheek. “And I thank you for this. I know you are scared. I won’t deny that I’m not either.” You took a deep breath and opened your eyes to find him already watching you closely. “Considering this is hybrid baby. And the father is a towering alien that could pop my skull open like a grape.” Of course, he never would.

His purring deepened again. An upper mandible slowly reached out and caressed my cheek. “I won’t lie to you, little one. I am scared. Still scared. You are the most precious thing to ever walk into my life all those years ago.” He squeezes your fingers in a firm yet gentle grip. “To have this opportunity to create life with you is amazing.”

The two of you stayed like that, just enjoying the moment. The warmth of the other person. It was a beautiful, soft moment. Two lovers basking in their love for the other.

Until the ache in your ankles grew too much. As you took a breath in to speak up, Wolf was easily scooping you up and carrying you over to the couch. The lean Yautja sets you down on the cushiony couch.

Wolf goes over to where the dragon fruit-banana had been dropped and picks it up. His eyes roam over the piece of fruit and walks back over to the kitchen. A whine comes from you as he takes away your snack. Your bottom lip pushing out into a pout.

Said fruit is tossed into the trash can next to the counter. You gasped, ready to argue about throwing away a good piece of food. Then, he grabs another, fresh one and grabs some pink colored grapes. Wolf brings them to you spot on the couch and kneels down in front of you. The bowl of grapes is set off to the side. The banana-like fruit is held in front of you.

The moment you tried to grab it, he pulls it away and starts to peel it. Your hands drop back into your lap as you looked at him with a confused look in your eyes. It was easily peeled. Wolf offers it to you again. You attempted to take it from him but he pulls away enough for you to get the idea. You snorted with a small smile. Then, you leaned forward and take a bite from it.

For a fruit, it had a hint of spiciness to it. Strangely enough, you’ve grown a liking, a need for spicy stuff during your pregnancy. These types of fruit have made your life ten times easier to deal with this stupid craving all of sudden. Well, until your stomach decides it doesn’t like it for a week. That’s been fun to deal with.

He fed it to you until it was gone. The peel was set off to the side on a small side table. Next, was the bowl of grapes he knows you enjoy. Wolf holds them to you in an offering, allowing you the chance to take or deny the gift.

The lovesick smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. Wolf sets the bowl down in your lap and plucks a grape up. Just like before, he holds it close to your mouth.

Gingerly, you leaned forward and took the piece from his pointer finger and thumb. Once biting past the thin skin of the fruit, it’s flavors burst across your tongue. You groaned and licked at your lips.

This continued until the bowl was empty and you were happy and well fed until lunch. Said bowl was set off to the side. Wolf shuffles closer to you and scoots his way between your legs. Before he touches you though, he looks into your eyes. No words were needed. Not after all this time with each other. You gave him a simple nod.

Wolf timidly rests the side of his head against your belly. His bright eyes were hidden. All his focus was narrowed down on the life growing inside of his wonderful mate.

Something underneath your skin nudged against his cheek. Wolf reared back, head snapping to face you. The expression he held was the most you’ve ever seen him make before. You laughed, head tilted back and savored the image for the rest of your life.

“I-I felt them kick,” he sputtered, astonished at the findings. You placed a hand on your belly and ran a thumb over the stretched skin.

“Yes, you do. They probably recognized that their father was close by. Isn’t that right?” you cooed towards your stomach. Another powerful kick had you wincing. “Alright, alright, thank you for letting me know you’re there.” For some reason, they always got kick shy when Wolf came to feel. This was his first time feeling it.

He placed his throat over the mound of your stomach and started to purr. The kicking instantly stopped. Shit, that works?! It worked on you too. You leaned back against the couch and looked down at him.

For someone who his species consider old, you would’ve never picked another male. Never.

[invoncible]

Mark Grayson with a strong reader? Like a partner who can control gravity!

MARK GRAYSON & strong!reader ✧˚.

— thank u for requesting nonnie! <3 — my inbox is open for any kind of invincible requests ! — idk the scope of the gravity power you've mentioned but hopefully it's around what you had in mind !

his favorite line to pull on you is that you're out of this world. always has a stupidly cute pick up line to use on you randomly. oh, no babe... gravity is increasing on me, i think i'm falling for you 😩

he's a dork.

he kinda likes the fact that you can overpower him. weirdly enough, it gives him a sense of comfort that you'd be able to keep him in check if he flies off the handle.

despite him being very powerful, i wouldn't say he's received a formal martial training. if you were skilled in that sense and could knock him on his ass in hand-to-hand combat, he'd be wanting to spar with you all the time just to see that triumphant look on your face when you finally pinned him down.

"baby, you're not even trying." you'd sigh and roll your eyes, crawling off him.

"i am!" he protests with a breathless laugh, a little winded from the kick you landed against his chest just seconds before. he holds your legs in place at either side of his hips, preventing you from rolling off. "promise."

you smile knowingly, leaning into him. "what're you gonna do if some alien far, far away finds a way to take away your powers or something?"

mark gave you a smug look. "don't be silly. that's not gonna happen, babe, i'm—"

i just have a feeling he'd be into that

at first he could not go on missions with you. yeah, he knew you were capable. that didn't mean he didn't want to step in before you got hurt at any moment.

when you saved him, though, he began to ease up on his worry.

you two were a formidable duo. you could render an opponent off balance or increase gravity on them so hard they were on a express elevator to the center of the earth. he was... well, he was him.

if you were on solo missions elsewhere, he watched the news for a glimpse of you. he liked watching you in action, bending your surroundings to your will and knocking people out with ease.

definitely has your poster hanging up somewhere. a collectible, too, if you had one.

all this to say, mark is super attracted to your strength and he's your biggest fan!

—

© invoncible

[soangelbaby]

˗ˏˋ now introducing . . . incel!rafe ˎˊ˗

daddy’s money superiority complex a full time red-flag

he’s not just heartbroken he’s hateful he’s misogynistic .ᐟ

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . watches porn religiously. claiming he hates it, claiming all the girls in them are ‘fake whores’ and ‘that’s what they deserve’ — and it never fully satisfies him. but still he does it again. and again. and again. it’s his twisted therapy. and he never finishes to the regular stuff — only to scenarios where the girl is being degraded, begging, crying. he searches for girls who look like you, a little too pretty and too soft, getting the worse shit done to them. sick nasty videos that would get him put on a list, like ‘girl crying during sex’ ‘forced orgasm compilations’ or ‘blackmail porn’ he knows it’s wrong, but it’s never enough to stop.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . has an obsession with purity. it’s dark and dangerous, he sees women who experience any type of sexual freedom as ‘threats’ if they dont fit into his narrow view of what a woman should be. he’s disgusted by them for not catering to his desires or for having autonomy over their own bodies. he wants women who are innocent, untouched, and under his control — his way of proving he’s the one in charge. but the hypocrisy is glaring. while he condemns women for their sexuality, he’s consumed by fantasies of dominating, ruining, breaking them down, and making them submit to his twisted will.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . has no sympathy for women. when he “loves” a woman, he might tell her that no one else will ever love her like he does—playing the long-suffering martyr, claiming that he’s the only one who truly understands her. but the love he offers is never pure. he’ll constantly tear her down, calling her worthless, stupid, or fat, all while claiming it’s for her own good. if she gets upset, he’ll accuse her of being “too sensitive” or “overreacting,” further alienating her. if a woman cries, gets upset, or expresses hurt, he finds it pathetic. he might mock her, call her weak, and tell her she’s just “looking for attention” when she’s truly in distress. his inability to comprehend or care about a woman’s emotional well-being only deepens his hatred for them.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . uses sex as power. he doesn’t believe in mutual consent, he believes in ownership and if he wants something he takes it. he might try to guilt or manipulate a woman into sex, telling her that if she “really loved him,” she’d give in. if she says no, he twists it into a game of control, making her feel like she’s the one in the wrong for denying him. his need to dominate extends to every interaction, including sex, where he treats it like a conquest, not an intimate exchange.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . has a fragile ego. when a woman shows she doesn’t need him, it triggers something deep inside him. he can’t stand it. he feels entitled to every woman’s attention, and when that attention isn’t directed at him, it makes him feel worthless. he’ll hide it behind a mask of false confidence, but internally, he’s seething. it’s like a personal affront to his existence, and he can’t stand it. instead, he’ll find ways to undermine her; through force, threats, or sabotage, even make her doubt herself, or try to control her until she becomes dependent on him.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . craves humiliation. there’s a deeply destructive side to him, when he’s alone — he watches porn that makes him feel sick and helpless. it’s the only time he can let go of his need for control and let the chaos wash over him. but it’s also a form of self-punishment. he knows he’s toxic, and part of him wants to be punished for it. he’s caught between wanting to control and wanting to be controlled, and he’s too deep in the spiral to break free.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . knows he’s a monster. part of him, the deepest part, has moments of clarity. when the high from his toxic behavior fades, he’s left with the aftermath—his reflection staring back at him, judging him. there are flashes of guilt, self-awareness, where he recognizes that what he’s doing is wrong. but instead of taking responsibility, he doubles down, justifying his actions, telling himself he can’t help it. he’s too far gone to fix himself, and that thought terrifies him.

[naomi-nana]

✎ᝰ. in the name of you .

in a world where everyone forgot their own religion, it's not wrong for luka to look at your ethereal self and immediately mistake you for a divine being, no?

featuring : luka

cw : female reader, implied stalking(for just a little), luka is obsessed with reader, luka isn't obsessed with hyuna in here for the sake of the story lol🙇‍♀️

a/n : i made a till one, and now i'll make a luka one! i was trying to make it seems as if luka is obsessed with reader, but i was having a hard time showing it, and ended up making it seems like luka had become a better person after meeting reader lmfaoo😭🙏

from the moment humans were taken away forcefully by those disgusting aliens—they all had forgotten about their creators. the one who gave them life, the one who gave them the will to continue living. each day felt like a stab to the heart, it feels as if someone had taken your lungs out of your body, before putting it back inside again.

it feels empty, like a void.

while all the kids run around anakt garden happily, although not genuinely, all luka could do was lean on one of the trees, while holding his knees close to his chest. what can he do? what does people expect him to do? he is a weak child, a child born with diseases, a child unable to live without support from others, including the tree he is currently leaning on. without anything to lean on, to hold on to, what was he supposed to do, weak and dependent as he was?

nothing. he could only weep himself to sleep every day, and it changes nothing. he has heard from the other kids that there is a powerful divine being that could help you in times of distress, how it's called god, how you're supposed to believe in it for it to help you, and he did. luka believed in god for a day, but nothing had changed. his everyday life had remained the same.

like waking up early, even though he doesn't know what time it is because of all the fake painted skies the aliens put in the garden, go eat breakfast with the other kids, with no one else sitting besides—"hey, is this seat occupied?" in the midst of the suffocating silence, a cheerful, almost unreal voice had reached his ears. he had first thought that it was just his imagination, his desperate feelings of wanting to be accompanied by someone. but it wasn't, as the voice echoed in his ears once again.

"uh, hello...? did i catch you on a bad day? i'm so sorry, i'll find another seat then." after what felt like a minute, he finally looked up at the person talking to him, only to notice that they're gone. he clenched his fist in regret. he should've looked up earlier, he should've answered whoever that was, but he didn't. such a shame, he thought to himself.

after half an hour, luka finished his breakfast and was getting ready to leave, before being stopped by someone whose voice was so familiar to him, it almost feels as if he is dreaming. "hey, um... i'm really, really sorry for bothering you earlier. as an apology, i got some bread for you!" that cheerful voice had struck something inside him, his eyes grew wide slightly, and his hand trembles at the sight of you. if he were to believe in the divine, he would immediately get down on his knees and pray for you, an angel.

your soft gaze, your skin that looks almost as delicate and fragile as a glass, and your small fingers offering him the bread you got for him. it took him almost a minute to react, and all that came out of his mouth is just a small gasp, so small that even you can't hear it. "don't tell anyone about this though, but i stole it from someone's unfinished breakfast! so take it, please?" you shoved the bread to his face, which made him raise his eyebrows. but he took it anyway.

he examines the bread carefully, to which you took great offense. "i won't poison you, so there's no need to look at it so intensely!" you pout at him. if you squint your eyes really hard, you can notice the faintest hint of smile on his face, and probably the first time he has ever smile so genuinely.

his everyday routine had consisted of the same, basic thing. but, now that you talked to him, it changed his life forever. it changed his views of the world, of everyone. some kids may have believed in the divine from the moment they were born, but luka just believed in the divine the moment she graced himself with her kindness.

from then on, whenever luka woke up and entered the garden, the first thing—or person he looks for, is you. whenever he went to the cafeteria, the first person he approached is you, and when luka went to his first performance on stage, the first person he looks for in the audience is you, holding a cream-colored lightstick.

whenever luka goes anywhere, the first person he looks for, thought of, and wishes to see first... is you.

his god, his universe.

and if he happens to notice some... imbecile, or other people trying to approach you, he won't hesitate to show them that no one can approach his angel without consequences. no one other than him.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Pollen and Pheromones

Kinktober Day 13: Sex Pollen

Male Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, sex pollen, aphrodisiac, pheromones, knotting, biting, claiming bite, stranded, spaceship crash, sci-fi, outer space, alien planet, a/b/o dynamics, bigotry/prejudice against omegas, rivalry, breeding, general yandere behavior, tsundere, betrayal Word Count: 1.6k (Enjoy this kinktober meal I have prepared <3)

"Star log: This is Pilot 2418 currently operating vessel Starlion: Orion. I am currently on route to pass the threshold of our galaxy in less than five minutes."

You were a shuttle pilot, one of the Exploration Guild's best. Ever since humanity had achieved interplanetary travel, they had sought to extend themselves ever further. With the new drift-space drives, that dream was now a reality.

They were only currently suited for small 1 to 2 man shuttlecraft, and only a couple such craft had been made. Two different ones had been commissioned through the guild, with both pilots competing to see who could exit the Milky Way first. The new drive could only be used in bursts to prevent overloading, so the journey had still taken a few months. But it seemed like you were about to succeed. Then you could make a U-turn and start drift-jumping back towards the nearest station.

Since you were an omega, this was a great achievement, a notice to the universe that your kind could do whatever betas and alphas could. You would be able to help stamp out the lingering bigotry and inspire others all with one action.

You were just about to cross the finish line!

Suddenly, your opponent, Tetsunori, came out of drift-space behind you. He had been your long-time rival, with both of you being about equally skilled.

But this was unacceptable to him as he was an alpha and held to the knothead mindset that an omega's place was bouncing on an alpha's prick or maybe in a teaching or nursing job.

You weren't worried, though. You had a solid lead. There was no way he could close the gap.

You rolled your eyes at the incoming transmission.

"Why don't you just give up now? If you surrender nicely, I'll let you celebrate my victory by letting you keep my knot warm!"

The temptation to reply was too great.

"Ha! You may be good at navigating the stars, but I doubt you have ever found your way into an omega."

Conversing with him hadn't distracted you or made you pause, so he growled as he switched to another plan. He fired on his tractor beam.

What the fuck, was he insane? Stooping so low to make sure you couldn't have a historic moment? You fired an equal and opposite tractor beam through his, which forced him to disengage. Something only possible because both ships were similar in size and energy output. Did he think you were some amateur?

In a desperate bid to prevent you from winning, Tetsunori rammed his shuttle into yours.

This type of bumping wasn't unheard of. It wasn't lethal if both ships were similar and had their shields up. But the bouncing was pretty strong for both parties, which is why it was a last-ditch effort. It could push you past the line, or it could bump him further. Neither of those things happened, though.

Instead, you careened right into the gravitational pull off a planet. You did everything you could to slow down and stabilize, but nothing seemed to be working.

Tetsunori sped after you in his spacecraft as he spoke into the comm link.

"I'm sorry, oh my god, I'm so sorry! I just had to be first! What omega would want to be mates with someone who they bested??"

You didn't have time for his weird ass confession and barely registered it. Your shields were still online and he had started pulsing his tractor beam to slow you down, full usage of it at such speeds could rip your ship apart, thankfully he wasn't an amateur either and knew that.

You put all available power and quickly put it into overloading the shields. You hit the emergency crash button, and two nozzles came out from the sides of the cockpit and sprayed you with a rapidly drying foam that would reduce damage to you if you got flung about the ship. Tetsunori's reckless and speedy entry into the atmosphere may have been enough to save you, but he had lost control of his vessel as well.

As you crashed, he careened away and crash-landed as well.

It was a good thing the high-tech impact reduction foam was so effective. Despite having shields, the ship was still shaken pretty badly, and the inertial dampeners weren't powerful enough to thwart damage from such a landing.

You took stock of the condition of your systems.

Almost everything was fried. You could at least scan the planet. It seemed like you had actually lucked out. In the entire galaxy planets that supported life were incredibly rare. But you had landed on one.

It seemed there were no known biological hazards present. No recognized toxins, dangerous bacteria, or viral agents. You were cleared to remove your suit. The temporary foam had started to dissolve, so it wasn't hard to remove.

The scanner also indicated there was a strong human life sign. It appeared that Tetsunori was okay.

You took the survival kit from underneath your seat as well as some beverages and rations you had procured at the last station and headed in the direction of dust and smoke in the distance.

You didn't even need the ship's scanner to tell you that the great imbecile, Tetsunori had landed there.

As you got closer, you stepped into a field of flowers that surrounded the entire crash site. You were probably still a mile away, but all around you were odd glittery silver and gold flowers.

The smell of them made you just slightly lightheaded and tingly. You realized the tiniest bit of slick was dribbling down your leg. They must be an aphrodisiac. The scanner hadn't warned you of anything in the air that was truly dangerous, so it probably wouldn't matter very much. And it really didn't. For you. As you trudged through the flowers and pollen, the effects did not get worse.

But for Tetsunori, the pollen was much stronger. When it hit his nostrils, it immediately put him into rut. Not a typical rut either, one of the ruts you see in pornos where the alpha is almost feral and unable to control their mating drive. When you came upon him, he was sitting on a piece of debris from his shit and rocking back and forth in clear distress. Through his outfit, his bulge was immediately visible.

"T-tetsunori? Uh... are you okay? D-did you get hurt in the crash?"

You took a step back when he looked up at you. His eyes were red, giving him a demonic appearance.

"The flowers, I think... they... UGH! My thoughts are all jumbled..."

He started to rub and massage his crotch desperately. He finally caught a whiff of your scent, ripe from the recent hike over to him and from being without a proper shower since your last space station stop. Not to mention the smell of the slick the aphrodisiac had coaxed out of you.

He started wildly sniffing at the air.

"Y-you smell so nice. You can help!"

You started backing away slowly.

"Uh... help with what?"

He got up and closed the difference between the two of you. Sweat had his dark hair clinging to his head. He was significantly taller and looked down at you intensely before sniffing and licking your neck with lazy broad strokes.

"S-smell so gooood. Always wanted to knot youuuu~"

You tried to push him off.

"Tetsunori! St-stop!"

You slapped, smacked, kicked, punched, and flailed, but nothing you did deterred him in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, but I fucking n-need this!"

He pinned you to the ground, clawing and biting off all your clothing until only your underwear was left, he removed it more delicately before inhaling its scent deeply and putting it in his pocket for later.

"Please don't do this, Tetsunori, PLEASE!"

He looked down at you, and it seemed like he was genuinely trying to resist before the pollen-charged rut won out.

Tetsunori unzipped his pants and let his drooling cock and full heavy balls out.

"G-gonna put all my babies in you! Have to! Have to!"

The lust-drunk alpha wasted no more time in ramming into you, an insertion that would have been more difficult had the pollen not slicked you up. Though it was still sudden and slightly painful.

"A-aaah!"

You tried to kick at him, but he growled viciously before pushing you into a mating press and slobbering all over your neck with his eager tongue.

The pollen must have increased the potency of his pheromones, or at least your susceptibility to them, because his musk was starting to cloud your thoughts.

Your grunts of pain became gasps of pleasure as your body quickly accommodated to his large size. You winced as he bit down hard on your neck to claim you. He kept right on fucking into you without skipping a beat.

He licked and kissed the lightly bleeding bite mark, some part of him remembering to comfort you despite his dominating need to fill you with cock. And by that point, the last of your resistance finally melted away.

"T-tetsunoriiiiii~" You moaned as your toes curled and body twitched in orgasm.

He growled your name in response and gave a few hard, deep thrusts before cumming as deeply as possible.

A comforting fullness filled your hole as his knot locked the two of you together. He pulled you close as he sat down so that you were in his lap facing him. The two of you caught your breath, then remained in an awkward silence until his knot deflated.

"G-got it out of your system?"

"Yeah... for the most part... sorry about that..."

You lifted yourself off of his lap, his half hard cock springing free with a lewd plopping sound.

"Well... it wasn't your fault. It was just the pollen..."

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his lap, his cock ramming directly into you, then began humping.

"Well... it wasn't just the pollen..."