#prisoner on the hell planet

[tenth-sentence]

"The Complete Maus" - Art Spiegelman

[dramaism]

@userdramas event 21: stars — my favorite dramas + planets

[yinyuedijun]

how do depressed en! phainon and depressed cn!phainon differ mao im genuinely so curious

ive admittedly only watched a few key scenes in cn LOL but the easiest way to describe it is like. en phainon (who I looove btw) sounds like a guy who is tired and traumatized beyond belief. cn phainon sounds like he legitimately is out of touch with his humanity. it really made the "I have to remember I was once human" line hit different lol

he does get more emotive in certain circumstances in chinese however - namely, when he's roasting lygus and calling him his prisoner 💀

[angelonhelios]

if angel was raised on pandora it means that she and jack lived as residential settlers during dahls occupation. grogmouth likely worked for the flynts who, being a high status family at the time, in turn worked for dahl. baron flynt was the warden of thor, a dahl mining rig that doubled as a prison. the companys sole interest in pandora to begin with was to extract eridium and find alien relics, so a siren would be a priceless bargaining chip for their efforts. all of this to say its very possible that the flynts were the ones who sent out the order for angel to be kidnapped.

[tanoraqui]

U

ok I have NO idea what this one could be about. Some sort of alphabet-based ask meme, probably? I can't find anything, though.

I'm gonna pretend it's for a "send me a word and I'll send you a WIP excerpt where it appears" ask meme, but with only Nator phonetic Code options. Here's "uniform" in my WIPs:

"You alright down there, Paladins?" called a silhouetted figure in a vaguely familiar dark green uniform, as they dropped a rope down into Sizhui's cell, and the next one. [...] The cockpit opened and out climbed a familiar golden-bristled humanoid, looking bizarrely comfortable in the same dark green flight uniform as his pilots, albeit with more tailoring and gold piping. [...] "Black Paladin," he greeted, and gestured toward the two parked ships (in Qinghe Nie green and grey, Sizhui realized, and the uniforms resembled those of the civilian police force that was the closest thing Qinghe had - supposedly had - to a military.

oh hey, that's a pretty good tease for the fic: "MDZS Voltron AU", a marvelous, multi-media act of co-creation between like 5 people in a discord server, which hypothetically could get finished one day.

[moonsoir]

thinking really hard abt bringing zayne and sylus home to meet my parents. i think it would go moderately well

[cosmicallydivine]

i love the way the way the locked tomb does gender. like gideon is butch, undeniably, but also can you really be gender non conforming when there’s no real image of gender to conform to in the first place? palamedes and pyrrah aren’t NOT trans in nona; their souls are trapped in different bodies, and those bodies ARE the wrong gender but also that’s literally the least of their problems. ianthe is pretty firmly in the box we would label “femme” and she’s simultaneously the princess of ida and a tower prince. but that’s also the least of her problems she’s literally puppetting a dead body around. nona experiences dysphoria about her body (harrow’s body and the barbie body) but that’s because she’s literally the soul of a planet trapped in a meat prison. any shaped meat prison would be bad.

like i wouldn’t call the locked tomb a “post gender” world, but they seem to all basically have the attitude of “i don’t have time for gender right now we’re trapped at the murder mystery dinner party from hell and someone stole god’s sperm we have bigger problems”

[studiogrimm810]

It Ends With Him

// Jackson!Joel Miller x you

summary: you’re alone. you’ve lost everything and you don’t even know how you can continue to go on without your son anymore. just as you accept your inevitable fate, an old companion finds you and and gives you a new purpose // 1.4k // base content: grief, child loss, thoughts of giving up, hypothermia, you and joel are more than friends, you knew joel from before the outbreak.

A/N: hello!! this is my first ‘joel x’ fic and i reeeeally wanna do more!! feel free to send in requests. you can check out some of my other fandom work on my page :]

The shelves were picked clean long before your arrival, you knew not to expect much, but you were really starting to lose hope of finding anything at this point.

You had been on your own for too long now, starting to see things in the shadows that weren’t clickers and hearing his voice just as you closed your eyes to rest.

Hope was fleeting fast from your veins.

The icy winter air raked over your exposed skin like shards of glass and you were honestly surprised at one point when you found no blood in its wake. Your joints ache from constant trek through the ocean of snow coating the dense skeleton of once flourishing flora.

Just a few more steps…

The words echoed around your skull, the same things you told him when all hell broke loose at the QZ all those years ago. It didn’t work for him so how could you be selfish enough to think it would work for you now?

You don’t know what fueled your mindless footsteps as you continued to hike through the snow, it’s not like you had anything to live for at this point, but whatever it was it wasn’t patient.

It ignored your feet that felt on fire and it belittled the edge you were about to leap off of in your own consciousness.

You were ready. Ready for the snow to drown you and ready to leave behind the planet the fell victim to its own mother. Ironic.

Ice seeped through your jeans and kissed your knees, running along your legs that gave out and settled you in the plush snow. It was time. You smiled.

Falling back to sit between your own swollen heels, snow devoured more of your body, sinking you deeper into the icy coffin you knew to always be yours.

Nothing on this Earth was for you now and the supplies you’ve yet to stumble on during your weeks alone was obvious proof.

The snow froze your skin, inking up your limbs and over your torso. Freezing claws pulling you deeper as you relaxed fully, letting your eyes laze shut.

You heard his voice calling for you again, but this time it was a greeting and not a bloody goodbye. You couldn’t tell if you were smiling anymore because the freezing blanket suffocated your own muscles.

It’s time.

———

Your muscles felt cemented, heavy and stiff. It was different than sleep paralysis, you could move, but it felt like you were buried under mounds of sand.

When you tried to take a full breath, your lungs only stretched so far and the burn in your throat made you cough.

Whatever room you were in was small and warm. Your body trembled, toes and fingers like ice, but you could feel your core thawing.

This isn’t Heaven, you knew it immediately because if it were, your son would already be wrapped around your neck. Whatever is left of your heart shatters and you mentally curse whatever cosmic being fucked you over so hard to keep fighting for no fucking reason.

This Earth had no right to hold you prisoner. It’s been long enough and you’re starting to think that you should’ve just done the job yourself.

Your name is called, but not your mother-given legal name that you stuck to because the only one that mattered after the outbreak was ‘mom’, no it was.. it was your name. A simple spin on your legal name, sure, but a name that only those from the old world knew.

Only people like…

“Here, drink some water.” Thick like molasses and sweet like syrup, a dampened southern drawl that you thought died with the rest of Austin. “C’mon, stay with me here, ya’ gotta open those eyes.” Aged like wine and pained by time, you know him.

Opening your eyes against the scratchy sand blanketing you 20 feet deep is hell but you have to be sure. A chill runs through your body and you convulse forward, squinting in the, honestly not so harsh, light of the room you’re in.

Cloudy vision blurs the face you already know it to be, and as he speaks again you’re convinced that it really is him.

“Hey, darlin’, you gave me quite the scare there,” he breathes out in a nervous scoff. His voice is lighter than it was a few moments ago. “Thought I found ya’ just to lose you again,” his voice is somber, a gateway to his deeper and more complex feelings of your sudden appearance, you don’t think either of you care to sit aside and assess the situation.

“Joel.?” Your voice is raspy and not your own, frozen and shattered from the bitter cold of whatever hellscape Joel has been holed up in all this time.

“It’s me,” he assures, following with your name again. A word that sounds like poetry in your eyes and ecstasy off his own tongue.

“Where am I? What is this?” You grumble out, trying to push yourself up, but the stiffness of your sore, overused and freezer burnt, muscles mock you and push you back into the cot beneath you with a heft.

“Jackson, Wyoming,” his voice is followed by the scratch of a chair that he must be pulling up to sit beside you. “It’s a settlement my brother Tommy helps run. You remember Tommy, donchya?” His warm hand grips your own lithe fingers and he feels like fire. You hum in contentment, closing your eyes to settle the spinning room.

“Yeah, Tommy and Sarah, could never forget them,” you look over to him, no longer struggling with blinking the blur out of your vision. You see him clearly now. Aged, warm skin lined with wrinkles, salt and peppered hair, a scar on his temple and the same glassy eyes that held so much love for you and his family.

You separated yourself from his family for the same reason you separated Joel from your son. Neither of you wanted to complicate your children’s lives so to them, you and Joel were barely neighbors who helped babysit, that’s all.

But behind closed doors, on nights when you could manage to sneak away without suspicion, you were something beyond lovers. Something that defied traditional laws of love and settled deep into your gut with unwavering support in the background. You were each other's rocks.

His eyes softened, though. They dropped down to your interlocked fingers, anchoring back to old habits and quick glances, and he nods only once before speaking again.

“Just Tommy, hon,” he brings his face back up but his eyes go to your hairline where he pushes some defiant strands back. Your heart breaks, echoing the grief of a lost child.

It’s quiet as the news settles and his grip tightens slightly, almost unnoticeable by the state of your frozen limbs.

“Me too, Joel,” you choke out, trying to caress a soothing thumb along the back of his hand but your muscles are still so useless that it’s more jerky than calming.

“I’m so sorry,” his eyes meet yours again, somehow holding every emotion he’s wished to bless you with the past 20-some years you’ve been separated.

You didn’t understand why you were forced to keep going after losing your boy all those years ago. For a while, you were numb and would fend for yourself. Then you manipulated your way into some groups to pick up the slack of traveling alone, but inevitably you always ended up alone. And after each departure from another era in your life, you swore that one day the Earth would swallow you up and your time would come soon, but it never did.

Maybe that’s because there was never a scale deciding what you must go through to earn rewards.

Maybe it was because you fucked up so badly in ways you didn’t recognize that solitude was your penance.

Or maybe, it was the love of your life waiting for you in a safe haven where you could live the rest of your lives together and relearn each other.

Maybe, in all of this soul-rotting madness of the world, there was still a chance to patch together what was broken and build a better outcome for each other.

Maybe it was to supply the loud-mouthed moody teenager that Joel took on a chance at a life that was hard to come by these days.

And maybe it was to watch her grow into her own person, being there for her and finding bits of your lost children in her.

Nothing could pave the cavern of grief carved into your very being, but there had to be a reason it didn’t swallow you whole.

And maybe Joel Miller was the reason.

thank you so much for reading <3

[whats-in-a-sentence]

"The Complete Maus" - Art Spiegelman

[tenth-sentence]

"The Complete Maus" - Art Spiegelman

[cryptotheism]

So most of the time if you wanna invent a magical tradition you have to lie. You have to say you're a member of an ancient secret order of sages. Usually there's one guy who invented a thing and people build a tradition around the fake tradition he came up with. But for Hermeticism it's kinda the opposite. Thoth gave humanity writing, and science, and magic, so if you wanted to write about magic or occult science, and you were just some dickhead, you could lie and say that actually Thoth wrote your book. If you were Greek you thought Thoth was just Hermes with an ibis head and maybe you even thought he was like, a guy. So there's a Hermes with three parts so you call him Trismegistus; Thrice Great.

What is the Hermetic Corpus? Well that's all the books attributed to Hermes Trismegistus. These date from maybe 700bce to 400ad. Maybe. And they are written in like seven different languages. Also the texts constantly contradict each other. Sometimes the world is a hell prison made by an idiot god ruled over by demon planets and the only way to escape is to think really hard in a special way about secrets. Sometimes the world is a garden of mysteries created by a loving god seduced by his crestion that he abandoned his divinity to die within his lover and have children who would live on. Sometimes the world is our faculty for understanding reality but also that reality and also the mind of a god contemplating itself. Sometimes Tat is there.

[oystermark]

i just thought of something with my reaper reader (link to my introduction of them) with the variants.... so here's that ramble (i just HAD to)

reaper gn!reader x mark variants (suggestive) (not proofread)

cecil finally had a good enough reason to use your powers, yes you can't outright kill mark but you can weaken him significantly faster than any other being on this planet can. yes you might kill some people on accident because of the nature of your powers but at this point it's a risk he's willing to take.

(in this world, mark is dating eve, the tension between you not spoken for. which is why the reader is so shocked when the variants flirt with them.)

no goggles!mark would fucking love you, even more in this world. the you in his world also had the same powers but was murdered after dating him for 2 months, you were the goddamn best. you'd hit like a fucking truck and actually hurt him, which totally made him hard and he told you so without shame.

now... now though, you have the decapitated head of the variant with the long hair. your pupils were white, the shape of a dragons sharp and dangerous, your eyes multicolors of purple; glowing menacingly as you walk towards him. the purple to murky purple ombrè color of those hands reaches your forearms, your fingers clawed. your steps leave a sea of glowing purple behind you, purple small glowing butterflies and strange flowers blooming with your steps. he'd say that long cloak looks corny but on you it somehow looks, really hot.

this...you, you were so...fuck he wants to just pounce on you but... he wants to hear that menacing tone of your voice, he missed it so damn much.

you throw the head to his feet with a glare fixed on his face, as the blood splashes on him he shudders with pleasure.

oh this is going to be good. he suppressed a whimper.

"babe, is that a present for me? you shouldn't haveee,"

he cooed with both of his hands cupping his cheeks, your lips and eyebrows twitched in irritation which just made his smirk widen.

"come with me, and your head just might stay intact." your voice boomed around the building, and this time, he didn't suppress a whimper.

he got up from where he was kneeling, his legs a little wobbly from the blood rushing to his dick. "fuck, babe. you just know how to make me feel," he takes a step towards you, almost undettered by your powers, "so good."

he hears your breath hitch, moans and grunts as you kick him right on the stomach, his body slamming to the wall. you quickly run towards him and grab him by the neck, "i don't want to kill you. stop talking and come with me" you growled those last words with so much anger- your body went taut as you felt him shake in your grasp. you glared up and down his body as he grinned and took your other hand, curling it into a fist and patting his cheek with it.

"so...rough," he attempted a chuckle, his voice came out in strangled breaths as your hand on his neck tightened at the contact, "come on...show me....show me that power...again. hurt- hurt me, make me come with you yourself..."

mohawk!mark

"hah! is this what you guys call a prison in your world!?" as soon as those words left his mouth, someone plummeted him to the ground hard, knocking the air from his lungs.

he saw the other 'heroes' run away from him now, as his nose started working again, he smelt death in its purest form.

ah. it's them.

"hey sweets, fancy meeting you here, hm?" he snickered as he felt you press him down harder, your breathing shallow and quick. "now the way you're breathing down my neck gives me quite a few ideas," your hand found his nape and slammed his head down on the concrete again, he laughed, spitting blood in the process. "what the hell are you talking about?"

he turned his head around as much as he could to get a look at that face, those eyes that had his heart in a grip, and he smirked, "how about you get off me and i show you what i really mean?" he snickered at the small gasp you let out, he could feel your body warming up.

in your flustered state that lasted for 1.2 seconds, he shot up from under you and pinned you to the floor by your forearms.

"still so fucking fine huh? the me from this world really lucked out," your expression soured for the smallest of a fraction as he put his face closer to yours, his eyes widened with delight and he laughed. "holy shit, you guys aren't dating!?" the way your eyebrows furrowed and the way you averted your gaze told him everything he had to know. fuck, mark from this world really was a fucking idiot.

his lips latched onto your neck as you thrashed under him, you could kick him off you if you wanted to, you're strong. but you didn't.

you wanted this. oh.

he smiled against your skin as he took your chin with one hand, "you haven't made a sound," the hand on your chin went under your cloak and gripped your ass, making you arch into him with a quiet moan as your eyes shot open, those haunting (hot) eyes looking at him so expectantly,

"but i know how to make you sing, c'mere"

you let yourself fall into his kisses and embrace.

-

a/n: i wrote this deliriously but if u want to ask about other variants w this reader or main mark go ahead!!!! id love to write their reactions to anything w them

[opencommunion]

"I was there and I know how hard it is in captivity," said Menir. "Every day in captivity was very difficult. I was in a home when there was shelling all around. We were sitting in the tunnels and we were terribly afraid that not Hamas but Israel would kill us, and then they would say, ‘Hamas killed you.’ So, I very much ask as soon as possible to start exchanging the prisoners and everyone should return home. There is no priority [of some over others]. Everyone is important.” ... A 6 December report from The Grayzone further indicates freed Israeli captives feared being killed by their own army while in Gaza. According to a Facebook post by Israeli television producer Hagai Levi, "From the reports of the returning abductees, it is repeated that the most horrifying captivity trauma they experienced was probably the IDF bombings." Levy stated further that, "When they tell about them, they literally tremble in front of me. The terms are of hell, of the brink of death, of an earthquake, of noise from another planet (which also caused permanent hearing damage). The fear of being murdered by the captors was zero compared to the fear of dying in the bombing."

[justagirlswrld]

Help me, invincible, you’re my only hope.

a/n: somebody asked for part 2 and i was like you know what hell yeah lmao. thanks for the likes and reposts!! feed back welcomed. (might delete kind of feel like it sucks lmao)

part 1

warnings: violence, arranged marriage, unprotected p in v. the usual sex stuff. porn w plot.

Mark is sprawled haphazardly across his bed, just reaching deep sleep when he’s jolted awake by the sound of what he thinks is an injured cat.

His head is pounding when he finally finds a thin device wrapped up in a shirt underneath his bed twenty minutes later. He can’t figure out how to stop the aggravating noise and is ready to rip it in half when he remembers what it is.

You had given him the technology the day he left Soloria. Your nimble fingers briefly showing him how to use it to communicate with you. When he finally got it to work the screeching stops and the screen comes to life with the same pale, yellow energy from the transporter.

To Mark’s surprise you appear from the device as a hologram, your skin pastel yellow instead of your usual hues of pink. “This is so cool.”, Mark says in awe.

“Mark Grayson?”, your voice is almost a whisper.

“Just Mark, Y/N.”, Mark sits the tablet down on his desk before standing in front of it. He wants to bring up how you said you’d send a ‘transmission’ before he came back to Earth two months ago. But then he starts thinking of your mouth stretched around his length and you have to call his name twice to get his attention.

“This is of the most Importance, Mark. I need your help.” Mark crosses his arms, half of him wants to tell you yes so he can finish the simple task and have his face buried in your sweet cunt for another three months. The other half of him is mad that you were just now calling.

Mark’s pride outweighs his lust and you watch as his hologram shakes his head no.

“No? You can’t say no, you are invincible, defender of the helpless.”, Desperation laces your words but Mark doesn’t pick up on it, all the blood had rushed from his head to his dick while he was reminiscing about his time with you.

“I’m not in my suit.”, Mark picks the device up, fixes his semi in his pajama pants then lays back on the bed, “…And you didn’t send me a transmission for two months, what’s so important now?”

Your hologram sighs, “I deeply apologize, Mark. I meant to send a transmission sooner but you know I had to marry-“, Mark’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He’d completely forgot that you were forced to marry an arranged suitor once your tryst was over. He didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.

“A wedding is a month long celebration on my planet, I’m contacting you at my earliest opportunity.” Mark is listening to you but he’s also trying to ignore the feeling of jealousy coursing through him. “This is why i’m communicating with you now, Mark.”

You explain to him that you’ve married a tyrant, how he wants to enslave your people and destroy your planet.

Mark’s thick brows pull together, “Isn’t that what Edolan said when he lied for you?” Mark continues with a smirk on his full lips, “You don’t have to tell me your planet is going to be destroyed for me to come fuck you.” He meant every word too. He’d been thinking about you since he’d left and was getting tired of his hand.

“This is not about pleasure, Mark. My people are in peril and you are the only one who can stop this monster-,” You grunt disdainfully before continuing, “I tried to eliminate him myself but he was stronger than I thought. I’m now a prisoner in my own home.”, The whole statement takes Mark completely aback. He’s still not convinced that you weren’t just saying this for some dick but he agrees to come anyway.

You explain to Mark how to transport with the thin device before ending the transmission. Mark wonders if he should come naked incase you transport him directly to your room but ends up suiting up.

When Mark’s feet hit cobblestone, he takes in Soloria with a smirk. Besides the kids that usually play in the streams near the courtyard nothing seemed out of place. He knew it was just a booty call, not that he was mad. He’d just have to teach you how to ask for dick like a normal…person.

Mark is gliding to the castle,thinking about what he wants to bend you over first when the castle’s huge doors fly open to reveal a brawny, orange man simmering with rage.

“My wife sent you to defeat me?! I laugh in your face! You can not stop me! I will enslave you and the rest of these Solorians-“, He balls his hand into a very, large fist. “And kill anyone who defies me.”

Before Mark can respond multiple wolf like creatures appear from thin air causing screams to errupt from the townspeople near him. The aliens snap at him with rows of sharp teeth, they’re ferocious as they try to latch onto him but it takes Mark minimal effort to defeat the animals.

“You’ve gotta come with something stronger than that!” Mark says taunting your ex husband as he pulls a beast in half, covering his suit in its silver blood.

Mark flies the rest of the distance to the castle. When he arrives your ex-husband is waiting for him, he’s trying to use his gargantuan body to block the castle doors.

Mark lands and walks over to the large stone steps with his palms raised, The Solorian towers over him with a sneer. Mark’s face fills with annoyance, he really wanted to get up to your room but someone always wanted to fight.

“Hey, man. Just go and don’t come back. I don’t want to hurt you.” Mark says, hands going to rest on his hips.

“Hurt me? A puny earthling could never!”, Mark kicks him into the far side of the castle, his body resembles a star fish when his back connects with the stone wall. Debris fall on his unconscious head. When winged guards fly from the castle he points in the direction of your ex husband and advises them to chain him up.

When you hear the commotion from outside your window you peek your head out of the room and smile cheerily while dancing with happiness when you see the orange man being put in chains.

You throw a lively party in Marks honor, it starts that afternoon and stretches into the wee hours of night. You’re completely fucked up by the time it’s over and Mark has to fly you back to your chambers, he lays you on your large bed gently before stripping off his suit.

When he turns back to you you’ve taken off the jeweled dress you wore. You were now completely naked save for the shimmering tiara in your hot pink hair.

“Invincible, my savior.”, You say sensually, crawling over to the side of the bed Mark was standing by. It sounds like the mead was leaving your system but Mark didn’t want to take advantage of you, his mom always said drunk people can’t consent.

It took his viltrumite strength to remove your pink hand from his crotch, he accidentally groans out loud when he sees you biting your lip in annoyance. “You no longer want to lay with me?” You ask as you sit back on your heels. Mark had been whispering vulgar things to you the whole party and you were giddy in anticipation.

It takes everything in Mark to not look down at your supple, bare skin. “N-No, I really want to lay with you but you had so much to drink.” You laugh, taking his large hand in yours then pulling him to sit on the bed beside you.

You rub your hand on his muscular thigh and tease your pink fingers under the leg of his boxers. “Mark Grayson, You worry too much above trivial things.” When you kiss him it’s all tongue and he thinks he might buss on the spot, luckily he doesn’t but he’s a panting mess when you pull away from him.

Mark uses the last ounce of his self control to stop your wandering hands. He was trying to show some restraint but god, he just wanted to slip into your tight walls. “I-Uh think we should wait till the morning. You had so much mead, Y/N.”

You ignore his words and slip onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his lean shoulders, “Mark, please fuck me. I have not experienced pleasure since you were on Soloria….I feel like a virkin.”, your voice is whiny and breathless. You didn’t even realize you were grinding your wet cunt on his clothed erection until it started sending tingles down your spine.

Mark would’ve laughed in your face if he wasn’t so hard.

With his resolve weakened he can do nothing but lay back, muscular arms tucked under his head for comfort. He watches you with glazed eyes as you pull his boxers down enough to allow his hard cock to be set free.

You waste no time, sinking down on him with a moan. The stretch is so wonderful that it has you wondering why you didn’t follow him to Earth instead of getting married.

You place both hands on his chiseled stomach for purchase as you raise yourself up on your toes, bringing your wet cunt down on him roughly. This pulls moans from both of you, Mark has to force his eyes open to watch as you ride him. He wants to remember the image of your soaking cunt sliding up and down his cock in the moonlight for the rest of his life.

Mark allows you to stay on top of him until he notices your feet becoming wobbly. He sits up and instructs you to lay on your back.

Once you’re lying on the soft covers, Mark positions himself in front of you, kneeling on his heels while he takes your legs and throws both over his shoulder. He keeps them together as he pulls your lips apart, teasing you both by sliding his length back and forth between your wet folds.

Mark’s tip bumps into your nub with every soft thrust and it sends your toes curling. He notices the appendages and can’t help but to bend your leg some and pop them in his mouth, licking and moaning around them as he slides into your warmth.

You let out a whine that turns into a breathy moan when his hips meet yours. Mark licks your toes one last time before moving your leg to its original place on his shoulder.

Mark’s strokes are deep and well paced. Each one has you crying out as he repeatedly bumps your cervix and brushes against spots deep inside you that you didn’t know existed.

You grip the covers and throw your head back in ecstasy as Mark ruts into you, breath hitching and back arching as he begins rubbing hard circles on your swollen clit.

You cry out when your release sneaks up on you. Your thighs tremble as Mark flips you on your stomach then sinks his hard cock back into your spasming sex. You cry out, voice carrying in the open space of your room.

Mark kisses and suck’s your neck as he chases his own release, his voice is breathless and warm as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Through your lust induced haze you swear you hear him say that you should’ve married him instead of your ex husband but your approaching orgasm steals your attention.

Mark’s head drops into the crook of your neck as your cunt convulses around him. He thinks about pulling out but it’s like your soft walls pull him in deeper and deeper, you clench around him once more and his eyes are rolling back as he comes. He has to fist his hands in the covers to ground himself.

He pulls out of you slowly and moans at the sight of his release leaking out of your puffy cunt.

Mark is lying on his back, trying to catch his breath when you start speaking to him, your breathing just as haggard as his. He’d assumed you’d fallen asleep.

“Did you offer to marry me?” You ask Mark, watching his blushing face with the help of the moonlight. “Wh-what? no.”, he stutters out, he looks anywhere but at you as he fluffs a pillow on your bed.

“Are you being deceitful Mark Grayson?”, you scoot over to where he’s lying and press your sweaty body against his. You whisper in his ear and watch as he shivers, “If you were serious during our throes of passion I accept your offer but I would need to get adjusted to earth first.” He wraps his arm around your neck, biceps bulging as he pulls you closer. “Let’s talk about dating first.” Mark says through a yawn. You knit your brows together in confusion, “What is dating?”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

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

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

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

8 * Heatdeath [7.2k]

"You try desperately to keep it,

Not to protect it but to hoard it,

To keep it away from the other wolves,

And jackals circling your territory."

Sewerslvt - Ecifircas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        He does and you get to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Stay."

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

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

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

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

        Day two began to dusk. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Get off." You hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        It was hard being mad when you looked so good. 

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

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

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

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

        "Move." Emperor snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Where were we?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Get off." You say.

        "I'm trying." He replies. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Weird, right?"

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

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

        "For earlier." You finish awkwardly.

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

        After that, silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       Scars watched your back all night long.

        ***

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

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

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

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

        Day four. 

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

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

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

        ***

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

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

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

        Questions that didn't matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        ***

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

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

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

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

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

        God. Please don't be dead.

        ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Shut the fuck up."

        And for once, he does.

[galactic-rhea]

If I ever write a "Anakin doesn't fall to the dark side and Padmé doesn't die" you bet is going to be anything but a fix it AU, because the only thing fixed is that there's not Vader, but I'm still going to put these characters through some awful damn stuff.

Like, literal persecution, literal spending one night in a moon and the next day running for the lives. Stuff like Padmé having to leave a wounded Anakin behind as she runs with the twins. And then it's days before they reunite again.

Like Padmé didn't die, good. Anakin is still Anakin and he still has an incredible godawful amount of C-PTSD and unhealthy coping mechanisms and he was constantly in battle 3 days ago, he might react badly by punching someone until his hands are bloody just because someone used a whistle that sounded a bit like a battle droid. He doesn't sleep, he literally stands guard with his lightsaber in hand unable to sleep while the babies and Padmé get some sleep on the floor of some abbandonned shack in the middle of nowhere in non-described planet number 4th of the week.

Stuff like Anakin being torn with the "who will you save" (again) between staying with his family VS learning that Obi-Wan was captured (is even true, is that information true, how are you so sure).

Stuff like Padmé having to watch how the Empire records in live Holo-TV how her family is captured and being taken prisoners to try and rat them out, because they're getting on Palpatine's nerves.

Anakin losing his mind because he knows he was this close to, you know, killing everyone. And fearing he might as well still do it if the pressure skyrockets again because now isn't only Padmé, is her, and the twins.

Stuff like Anakin still somehow getting terribly injured and burned because it was written for him, apparently.

Stuff like yay, they're on the rebellion now, yay it's...it's still hell, there's not peace. Stuff like "Hey, Anakin, Padmé, have you thought that maybe is safer if the twins grow up somewhere else away from all of this, and you know, some stability?"

That kind of stuff.

I have so many ideas and only 700 words of it written somewhere on my phone 😩