⊹ ࣪ ˖ Eldritch ⟡ ݁₊ .

They/Them, 26, artist I just wanted a side blog to put some indulgent self insert/oc x characters and regular ship art, I switch fandoms a lot so warning for that, MDNI Current Interest: SVSSS

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🔞 18+ Blog, Minors DNI 🔞

While I don’t plan to make too much, there will be probably some NSFW content and I wanna cover all my bases, I’ve given my warning

⚠️ Disclaimer: there will be mature content. I am not responsible for you, what you see is what you searched ⚠️

And with that out of the way

Introduction

I’m Eldritch, age 25, I’m an artist who just wants to have fun shipping and selfshipping

Regarding my art and requests, see below

Currently I’m into:

Green Lantern (DC)

Koriand’r (DC)

Vigilante (DC)

Rules:

Warning is there is no guarantee I’ll draw what you request, it’ll depend on what it is and how I am feeling, art takes time and I want to enjoy creating fun things

I’m open to drawing NSFW but I won’t ever draw

Rape

Anything to do with piss or shit

Bestiality

Don’t be afraid to go into detail, I love seeing long blurbs about characters

If you have a body type or disability or feature you’d wanna see, don’t be afraid to ask, anyone and everyone can be reader

If you don’t like what I have, feel free to ignore or block me

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Inspired by a dc tiktok, TLDR Dick gets his phone confiscated because of Jason and is told to use a pigeon, he tries man…but it makes it somehow

Funnily enough there was a real life homing pigeon who despite getting shot, blinded in an eye, and losing a leg still delivered his message during WW1 and earned a medal of valor for it

Anyways enjoy!

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She’s so pretty and scary and strong and I may never achieve this again, so much effort for the best gal in the DC (TO ME)

[michaeljoncarter-deactivated202]

i think kyle and kory might have THE funniest and most chaotic history of any 2 characters i’ve ever seen. they’ve spoken all of like 3 words to each other in total, but literally EVERYTHING about the couple interactions they’ve had has been so insane in so many ways

the very first time they met, kyle tripped all over himself and told her he used to have a poster of her in his dorm room while donna was introducing them, then went with her and the rest of the titans to try and save gar, where kory very dramatically revealed she was possessed by raven. everybody’s like “my god!!” and kyle is just. standing there. in the background. absolutely no idea what the hell is going on or who any of these people are

and then in THE SAME ISSUE, tamaran gets destroyed right in front of kory’s eyes. she’s like on the floor having a breakdown, and kyle, who literally just met her 5 minutes ago, is still just in the background like 😬

the ONLY other time i’m aware of them really interacting is those couple pages in wonder woman where they stop a xenophobic dude from attacking an alien and kory says something like “god i’m so sick of humans” and kyle’s just fully like “yeah same sometimes i hate humanity as a whole and think this entire planet was a mistake” and starts to go off on a whole rant about empathy but gets cut off because a villain flies in out of nowhere and TURNS HIM INTO A FUCKING GOAT, knocks kory and jen out, and then the scene just ENDS.

i don’t think this was EVER ADDRESSED like was he still a goat when she woke up?? did she stay with him until the goat curse wore off? were she and jen running around with goatkyle trying to find a way to fix him offscreen? did she just abandon him to his fate?? take him to a barn??? i have SO MANY QUESTIONS like this shit was SO HECTIC FOR NO REASON

god and ALSO while afaik these are the only two times they’ve actually really talked, there’s also the fact that kory was both best friends with donna and got pretty close with jen while they were on the outsiders together right after her and kyle’s messy breakup. she has almost certainly had to sit through multiple rants about him from BOTH of his exes

she literally only knows him from 2 incredibly short, incredibly hellish interactions, and they’ve never really talked to each other, but also she probably knows more about him and his personal life than 99% of people including his closest friends. more than she ever wanted to know. WAY more.

like what the hell would her opinion of him even be?? i think about this all the time and yet i have absolutely no idea??

she barely knows him but also he was there for one of the most traumatic events in her life and also she knows every single weird thing he’s into and has seen him turned into a barnyard animal. how the hell is she supposed to feel about all that. can’t even begin to speculate. what the fuck. i’m obsessed with them

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I’m having a grand ol time lemme tell ya

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Headlock by Imogen Heap and System Binghe anyone?

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I’ve been obsessed with SVSSS the last two months and decided to share a piece or two of art out of the many sketches I’ve done

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All of October

I decided to make the silly decision to doodle one thing every day in October since I’ve always tried October challenges and always failed to finish, made it so I’d post it all at once rather than each day to lessen the pressure which worked BUT NOW ITS DONE AND IM FREE, Each day was something different and I’ll explain some of it more

#0-1: Kori was on my mind and initially I was going to make every doodle of the month her, as you can see that failed lol

#2: Chibi TimKon, I was just getting into TimKon

#3: I was still figuring out how to draw Tim in my style

#4: KyleKori to nurture my soul

#5: Still figuring out Tim

#6: I was obsessed with the Stray Tim au

#7: Kori for the soul

#8 & #9: I was being lazy and it was almost midnight so I doodled me and my best friend while we were calling

#10: Me and my best friend were in the middle of watching Peacemaker S1

#11: I was really tryna get the hang of Tim man

#12 & #13: My sweet OC Apollonia, I made her in September, she was inspired by Super Sentai and also me wanting a DC oc to just zoom around space

#14: Hades 2 had come out and I had already woken Hypnos up in my file but that day was when my best friend had woken him up and begged for me to make him hot again cause boy was that not it

#15: Kori again

#16: hahaha so this is another OC of mine, Canary, made her a while back to be a Blue Lantern and I ship her with Guy Gardner, I have some art of her that I never posted, she’s the prettiest women I’ve made I swear

#17: Stray Tim again bless

#18: Apollonia with a flower, I was still figuring out her helmet design

#19: I think I had finally gotten the hang of how I wanted Tim’s suit to look, I also loved the design with his cape being wings

#20: I like that paper doll trend that I’ve seen on tiktok

#21: nailing how I wanted Tim drawn but also the Timkon brainrot was showing

#22: I have DC vs Vampires and while I hate bits of it I (and especially my bestie) loved the idea of Vampire Nightwing

#23 & #24: Apollonia is very easy and fun to draw

#25: Kori again <3

#26 & #27: Eclipse (my best friend) compared her to a bug literally the first time she saw her so POV you pick up a rock and that’s what you find

#28: Canary cause Im obsessed (she has the prettiest eye color I promise)

#29: This would’ve been better if I colored cause Kori’s eyes are gorgeous but I was lazy and tired

#30: ….so I discovered Sodam Yat earlier in September while obsessing over Green Lantern (specifically Geoff Johns’ Rebirth to Brightest Day) and me and Eclipse were trying to figure out who to pair Apollonia with and I lowkey love his story and hate that I haven’t gotten the hang of drawing him but whatever

#31: The finally and anticlimactic addition of Apollonia

And the that’s it! Hopefully I can go back to drawing and coloring/making lil animatics/tiktoks cause this exhausted me ngl, props to people who can make fully colored things for every day and post it for October Challenges, anyways have a happy Halloween and thanks for being patient or not lol!

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I’ve not stopped drawing, I’ve just been doing a doodle a day to try in October and plan to upload it when the month is up, I’m still deep in the trenches of DC, wish me luck on the tail end lol

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I have no excuse except for I adore that panel of Kori and instead of being simple and just replacing Nightwing w Kyle,I wanted a Kyle version with him fawning over Kori, AND SO I DID IT, Also a lil cameo of Guy since there’s lil pics of Joey and Donna cause I have such love hatred in my heart for Guy, it’s complicated but he snuck in there BUT THE FOCUS IS KYLEKORY

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Another late night, another KyleKory, this time with messy sketches, I was gonna leave it uncolored, but I really really really adore Kori’s hair, maybe next time, honestly I just really like them and it’s just another day of me thinking about Kori and how amazing she is and how she deserves a fun space adventure, or maybe a serious space adventure, JUST PUT HER IN SPACE AGAIN, anyways I’ll sleep now lol

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This is my evening rn lol

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Kori is a 6’4’ Alien Warrior Princess and Kyle Rayner is a Green Lantern but also a 5’11’ human and artist who prolly hunches his back despite knowing it’s not good for him,

GUYS I HAVE DICKKORY DOODLES TOO IF YOU WANT, LET ME SCREAM FROM MY ENCLOSURE ABOUT DICKKORY AND KYLEKORY

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I just think they’re neat and saw literally only one piece of beautiful fanart for this cute pair by @hippykattrs (you inspired me) and I knew what I had to do, I’ve only had them for a day but already have a ton of sketches and thoughts about them and yes I posted this to my side blog because this is extremely self indulgent and I do what I want.

There’s a rant below if you want to know just 1% of my thoughts on them.

Been in my cave consuming as a lot of Green Lantern (Hal Jordan and Kyle Rayner mostly) content, love them all and I have so much OC x canon art it’s not even funny HOWEVER, this isn’t about that, this is about how I remembered my true love, Koriand’r, cried over her and Dick Grayson then thought about how she doesn’t seem to directly interact with the Green Lantern Corps.

Like her planet is in a system that’s mostly forbidden for GL’s to go BUT the GLs had a Tameranean GL who’s STILL ALIVE so like what the hell, I know the guardians made a deal with the orange Lantern but like that’s wild as hell and makes not much sense BUT ANYWAYS back to my thoughts on Kori, I was thinking about how she deserves to have space adventures and what better companion to have than a GL and then I thought well thinking about how DC is really tryna bury DickKori (I’ll never forgive nor forget) maybe she could find someone else (not that she needs a love interest or should be defined by one but she deserves a nice little romance) and enter stage left Kyle Rayner.

DC has a lot of characters with doomed relationships but like, Kyle’s is well known especially since his first is what coined the term fridging and even when it wasn’t the death of his girlfriends it was tragedy striking and breaking the relationship but I digress, meanwhile Kori was married twice and both her husbands died quite tragically, nearly married Nightwing (sobs) and had something w Roy Harper, they both need a win in the game of love.

I could go on but I should stop before I start rambling on and this gets way too long that it should’ve been a writing post instead of a fanart with short summary post

[mostly-imagines]

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[cosmic-crashout]

Cough I may or may not getting into DC just a bit

[lazy-ahh]

THE THINGS YOU'D DO FOR LOVE

pairing sinister! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

you’d follow mark grayson anywhere—even into the dark. when he asks you to betray everything you once stood for, you don’t hesitate. not when his hands are the only ones that still feel like home.

taglist @no-bishes

you’ve known mark grayson since you were both kids, back when his biggest worry was passing algebra and not the weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. back then, his hands were gentle when they held yours, calloused from skateboarding but always careful with you, like you were something fragile and precious. his laughter was bright, unburdened by the future, ringing through the school hallways or the quiet of your backyard where you’d lie on the grass, shoulders pressed together, counting stars. you loved him even then, in that innocent, aching way that only children can—pure and unwavering, the kind of love that doesn’t question, doesn’t doubt.

he was always there for you, a shadow with a smile. when the other kids whispered behind your back or shoved you into lockers, he’d appear like he’d sensed it, his voice sharp as he glared them down before turning to you, fingers brushing the tears off your cheeks. when you hid in your room after a particularly bad day, he’d climb through your window like it was nothing, flopping onto your bed with a joke already on his lips until you couldn’t help but laugh. he was there when you tripped on the sidewalk, his hands—warm, firm—catching you before you could hit the ground, lingering just a second too long on your hip as he steadied you. when you walked home late at night, streetlights flickering, he’d melt out of the shadows like he’d been waiting, falling into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

people called it weird. creepy. teachers would frown when they saw him lingering outside your classroom, his gaze fixed on you like nothing else mattered. your friends would tease, half-joking, “does he ever not know where you are?” but you never minded. to you, it was sweet. romantic, even—your own knight in shining armor, always watching, always there.

and then he got his powers.

suddenly, his protectiveness had teeth. the bullies didn’t just get glared at—they disappeared for days, coming back with hollow eyes and shaking hands. when you stumbled, he didn’t just catch you—he lifted you like you weighed nothing, his grip just shy of painful. always there to protect you before the villain you were fighting could even hurt you. the shadows he stepped out of at night felt darker, his smile sharper. but you told yourself it was fine. he was still mark. still yours.

(you didn’t realize yet—you were his, too. in every way that mattered.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the world shifts. mark’s eyes, once warm like sunlight through honey, grow colder—darker. his smiles are sharper now, edged with something dangerous, the kind that makes your stomach flutter in a way that isn’t entirely fear. he talks about strength, about destiny, his voice low and fervent as his fingers card through your hair. “earth needs to be ruled,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “and we’re the only ones strong enough to do it.” 

you don’t understand, not at first. you flinch when he crushes a car under his boot just to prove a point, when he laughs at the way the metal screams. but he’s patient with you. always so patient.  

“you’ll see,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your cheek, lingering just a little too long. “you’ll understand.”

and you do.

it starts with little things—justifications whispered against your skin in the dark. “they’re holding us back,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple as you watch the news together, footage of some ‘accident’ he caused flashing across the screen. “they’re weak. we could be so much more.” his words seep into you like poison, sweet and slow, until one day you wake up and the guilt doesn’t sting as much. the fear feels like power.

you’re in your costume now, spandex clinging to your skin like a second shadow, tight against your frame as the wind whips past you. mark’s beside you, his cape flaring behind him like a living thing, the edges flickering like flames in the dim city lights. below, the streets are chaos—flashing sirens, overturned cars, civilians scrambling like frightened animals. some scream, some curse, some hold up signs with shaking hands. monsters. tyrants. we won’t bow.

“look at them,” mark says, voice dripping with disdain. “running in circles like ants. they don’t even know what’s good for them.” 

you swallow hard, fists clenching at your sides. “maybe they’re just scared,” you offer, your tone righteous, matter-of-fact. it’s one of the things mark’s always loved about you—how sure you sound when you stand your ground. he can’t wait to hear that same conviction turned toward his cause, that angel’s voice preaching the devil’s words. how divinely blasphemous.  

he turns to you, visors glinting under the sun. “scared?” he repeats, tilting his head. then he laughs, sharp and sudden, before swooping down so fast the air cracks behind him. you follow, heart in your throat, just in time to see him land in front of a group of protestors. their signs crumple in their hands as they stumble back, eyes wide with terror.  

“you’re right,” mark says, grinning as he turns to you. “they are scared. and they should be.” he steps forward, and a man at the front—brave or stupid—shoves a sign toward him. “monster!” the man snarls.  

mark doesn’t even blink.  

“invincible, don’t—”

one second, the man’s standing. the next, he’s on the ground, blood pooling from his nose, mark’s boot planted on his chest. “say that again,” mark taunts, leaning down.

your stomach twists. but then mark glances back at you, eyes bright with something like pride. “c’mon,” he says, holding out a hand. “show them what happens when they disrespect us.”

for a heartbeat, you hesitate. your eyes flicker between mark’s outstretched hand and the horrified faces of the civilians. you shouldn’t accept it. you shouldn’t even be considering it. but this is mark. your mark. your knight in shining armor. everything would be alright as long as he’s here, right?

just as your fingers twitch toward his, still hesitant, mark pulls his hand back. you look up, surprised, but then you see it—that devilish glint in his eyes, his lips tugging upward in a smirk that spells trouble. he’s scheming. he’s got a plan, and it’s sick enough to make your pulse stutter.

“actually... can you do me a favour?” mark’s voice is low, barely audible over the panicked crowd, but he knows you hear him.

“...what favour?” you ask, wary. it’s adorable, mark thinks. how you act like you might refuse, when he knows you’ll say yes in the end. you’ve always been so good to him, never been able to deny him.  

“fight me.”

“what—?”  

his fist flies toward your face before you can finish. you barely block it, the impact rattling up your arms as you skid back a step. the crowd gasps, some stumbling further away, others frozen in shock.  

“what do you think you’re doing?” you hiss through clenched teeth, your fingers tangling with his in a desperate, bruising grip—like if you hold on tight enough, you can stop him from slipping away. your boots scrape against broken asphalt, the sound grating as the two of you push against each other, caught in a standstill of muscle and will. his hands are warm, familiar, but the way he’s looking at you—like this is just another game, another calculated move—makes your stomach twist. there’s a flicker of panic in your eyes, raw and unguarded, before it hardens into something sharper. betrayal.

was this it? was mark really going to leave you behind, discard you the second you hesitated? the thought cuts deeper than any blade, a silent scream in your chest: you promised. you promised it would always be us.

he’s still smirking, leaning in until the heat of his breath mingles with yours, lips nearly brushing as he whispers, “play along, won’t you? i want you to stay on their side—for now.” the words curl around you like smoke, suffocating and sweet.

“you’re still not making sense, mark,” you grit out, but the tension in your shoulders eases just slightly. the realization washes over you like a sick relief: he isn’t abandoning you. he’ll never let you go, not even if you begged. the thought should terrify you, but all you feel is the dizzying weight of his obsession pressing down on your ribs. the two of you are holding back—you both know it—yet the force between you still splinters the pavement underfoot, cracks spiderwebbing outward like a warning. “are you saying i should fight you? protect these people?” your voice wavers, not with doubt, but with something far more dangerous—complicity.

something inside mark purrs at your tone, low and satisfied. there it is. that righteous fire, that stubborn spark he’s spent years fanning into flame. he wants to bottle it, twist it until it burns for him alone. make it his.

“yes,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your knuckles where your hands still press against his. a mockery of tenderness. “i need you to get on their good side. help me find their stupid little resistance.” his grip tightens, just shy of painful. “you’d do that for me, won’t you?” it isn’t a question. it never was.

it clicks like a bullet chambering in a gun. he doesn’t just want you by his side—he wants you to be his spy, his weapon, his judas wrapped in righteous fury. the realization should send ice through your veins, should have you recoiling at the thought of betraying these innocent people, your friends, every moral you’ve ever clung to. but instead there’s only the searing weight of his gaze pinning you in place, the addicting heat of his absolute trust burning through your hesitation. he’s handing you a purpose wrapped in bloodstained hands, and god help you, you’re already reaching to take it.

“fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth, but there’s no real resistance left—just the electric thrill of your surrender as your eyes flash with dark determination. before he can react, you plant your hands against his chest and shove with enough force to send him skidding backwards, his boots carving trenches through the crumbling asphalt as the crowd’s collective gasp hangs in the air.

the explosion of sound is instantaneous—cheers tangled with screams, someone’s voice cracking as they shriek “get him!” but it all fades to static in your ears. because mark’s already coming at you again. that feral grin flashing as you launch yourself forward to meet him. your fists collide mid-air with a concussive boom that ripples outward, shattering every window in a twenty-foot radius as the shockwave sends debris spiraling through the air like macabre confetti.

you're pulling every punch, every kick measured to bruise but not break. he's doing the same—both of you dancing this violent waltz with clipped wings. but to the terrified crowd below, it must look apocalyptic—their trembling savior trading earth-shaking blows with the devil himself, concrete fracturing beneath each feigned killing strike.

mark's grin splits his face when you pirouette away from his telegraphed haymaker, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper only you can catch. "good job, baby. now sell it." the praise curls warm in your gut even as you spin into the next attack.

so you do.

your body moves on trained instinct—a deceptive stumble left before whipping right, fist connecting with his jaw just hard enough to snap his head back. he staggers with theatrical flourish, clutching his face as the crowd roars. you don't waste the opening, darting past to scoop the bleeding protester into your arms, their blood smearing garish red across your chest.

"move! now!" you bark at the remaining stragglers, shepherding them toward the alley's shadowed mouth with sharp gestures. your voice carries that perfect blend of authority and desperation—the golden hero playing their part flawlessly.

mark doesn't chase. he just watches from his kneel, fingers idly probing his "injured" jaw as civilians scramble past him. but when your eyes meet over the chaos, his gaze pins you with terrifying intensity—black pupils swallowing brown until there's nothing left but hunger.

this was only the first act.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the weeks bled together in a haze of performative heroics and hollow smiles. after that staged battle with mark, you'd stumbled into robot and eve's path, your ragtag group of survivors trailing behind like broken shadows. the shelter they led you to stank of desperation and unwashed bodies, packed with wide-eyed refugees who flinched at every distant explosion. you played your part perfectly—the trembling hands, the fractured voice when speaking mark's name, the way your breath hitched whenever someone mentioned his rampage. eve had pulled you into a crushing hug, her warmth so genuine it made your stomach churn. "we'll stop him," she'd whispered, not realizing the monster she comforted already had its claws around her throat.

you threw yourself into their cause with feverish dedication. evacuating crumbling hospitals, scavenging supplies from irradiated supermarkets, standing guard during the witching hours when nolan's loyalists prowled the ruins. every act of kindness carved another layer from your soul, each grateful smile from survivors feeling like another stone in your gut. but nights were worse. the thin cot in your makeshift room offered no comfort, the moonlight slicing through barred windows like a spotlight on your deceit. you'd curl into yourself, fists clenched in the sheets that smelled like antiseptic and dust—nothing like mark's cedar-and-lightning scent. the loneliness ate at you, sharp teeth gnawing until you swore you felt his breath on your neck, his phantom fingers tracing your spine.

then the whispers started.

"you're doing so well, sweetheart." his voice curled from the shadows, velvet-dark and intimate. you squeezed your eyes shut, but the words seeped in anyway. "eve trusts you now, doesn't she? lets you stand close when she's exhausted from healing." the mattress dipped behind you, an impossible weight. "one quick snap. you could end her before she even screamed." your traitorous fingers twitched against the pillow.

"robot's always watching the monitors," the voice continued, lips grazing your earlobe. you could almost feel his teeth. "but even geniuses need to sleep. imagine it—all those innocent little lives, snuffed out because you flipped the wrong switch." a shudder ran through you, but your thighs pressed together, feeling what little warmth you had start to make its way down. his chuckle vibrated against your skin. "you like that idea. i can feel how much you miss me."

the next morning, you volunteered for perimeter duty with trembling hands. when a child offered you their last candy bar, you nearly vomited. but that night, when the whispers came again, you rolled over and answered them.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the next day, you walked into the shelter with practiced ease, your hero's mask perfectly in place—until you noticed the way eve and robot exchanged a loaded glance before guiding you away from prying eyes. their hands were gentle but insistent as they led you through winding corridors, down a hidden passageway that descended deep underground. the air grew cooler, damp against your skin as fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

your breath caught when the cavernous space opened before you. this was it. the heart of their resistance. makeshift workstations hummed with activity, screens displaying maps of ruined cities and casualty reports. civilians moved with purpose—some tending to wounds, others hunched over blueprints. your eyes snagged on familiar faces: that telekinetic hero from detroit, the armored vigilante who used to patrol seattle, all now hollow-eyed and gaunt. the reality of it sent your pulse thundering, not with fear but something far more unsettling—a cold, detached clarity. your heartbeat echoed through your ribs like a drum in an empty cathedral, steady and... hollow.

eve's voice pulled you back as she explained their plans, her fingers brushing your arm in reassurance. "i know how much this hurts," she murmured, her eyes glistening. "but stopping mark... it might mean..." she couldn't say the words. robot remained silent, his mechanical gaze heavy on your face. when they finally asked for your decision, you made a show of hesitation—biting your lip, staring at the floor. fingers crossed tightly behind your back, you whispered your agreement. the guilt should have crushed you. instead, you felt only the terrifying lightness of a bridge burning behind you.

later that night, you claimed you needed air. eve smiled understandingly, squeezing your shoulder. "just be careful," she said, unaware she was sending a wolf to guard the sheep. you waited until the shelter's doors sealed behind you before launching into the ink-black sky.

you flew recklessly, arms outstretched as wind screamed past your ears. below, the ruined city sprawled like a corpse picked clean, skeletal buildings silhouetted against the moonlight. you spiraled through the air, laughing soundlessly as you skimmed the jagged remains of skyscrapers. this was freedom—the kind that would have sent the resistance into a panic if they'd seen you. the thought made you tilt your head back, savoring the sting of wind in your eyes. let omni-man see you. let mark come.

as if summoned, heat bloomed along your spine. phantom fingers traced your jawline, calloused and achingly familiar. "look at you," mark's voice purred in the hollow of your ear, thick with pride. "my beautiful little traitor." his spectral hands slid down your arms as you flew, guiding your movements like a puppeteer. "you had them all fooled. especially eve." a dark chuckle vibrated against your neck. "she trusts you enough to let you near the children's ward now, doesn't she?"

you shuddered, but didn't deny it. his approval curled hot in your belly.

you missed mark with an ache that hollowed out your ribs, left your hands trembling at your sides. and then—as if he'd plucked the thought straight from your fevered mind—a streak of black and yellow cut through the night sky below you. before you could gasp, strong arms encircled your waist from behind, pulling you flush against a chest that smelled like ozone and that stupid cedar cologne he'd worn since freshman year. your breath hitched as his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his exhale warm against your pulse point.

"missed you," he murmured, the vibration of his voice traveling straight to your bones. right. this was mark. your mark. the boy who'd bandaged your scraped knees after bike crashes, who'd appeared like magic every time you'd whispered his name under your breath. your fingers clutched at the fabric of his cape, twisting the material as you turned in his arms to properly face him. his smile was all sharp edges and soft devotion, the kind that made your stomach swoop. 

this wasn't some phantom conjured by your loneliness—his hands were real where they cradled your face, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks. the way his pupils dilated when you finally touched him back, when your palms settled against his chest and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. his breath stuttered when you leaned in, when your lips grazed the corner of his mouth in a barely-there kiss.

"you're really here," you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer. he laughed, the sound rich and warm, before capturing your lips properly. his kiss tasted like victory and something darker, something that curled hot in your gut. when he pulled away, his eyes gleamed with something possessive, something hungry. 

"always," he promised, fingers tangling in your hair. "no matter where you go, i'll always find you." the words should have been sweet. should have been comforting. but the way his grip tightened just shy of painful sent a thrill down your spine all the same.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"hey, can we talk?"  

eve's voice cuts through the bunker's dim hum, too soft for the war raging above ground. you turn slowly, arms crossed tight over your chest—the perfect image of an exhausted hero barely holding it together. when your eyes meet, a wave of deja vu nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. wait, haven't you done this before?

"yes, of course. what do you need, eve?" you uncross your arms, letting your practiced mask slip into something softer, more vulnerable. the concern furrowing your brow isn't entirely fake—you've memorized the new shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders slump when she thinks no one's looking.

"well, it's just..." eve hesitates, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve before she meets your gaze again. "i wanted to check on you. especially after... earlier."

ah. earlier. the strategy meeting where robot had coldly outlined three separate scenarios for mark's termination while you'd bitten your lip raw pretending to stomach it. you let your hand settle on her shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath her jacket. "thanks, eve, really. but enough about me - when was the last time you slept more than two hours?"  

the startled laugh she lets out is worth the twinge of guilt in your chest. "robot caught me napping by the monitors yesterday," she admits, rubbing her neck. "gave me this whole lecture about circadian rhythms while i drooled on the keyboard."  

you snort, nudging her with your elbow. "sounds like someone needs a designated cuddle buddy for nap time." the second the words leave your mouth, you both freeze. it's an old joke—one mark used to make whenever eve pulled all-nighters studying.  

for one terrifying moment, you think you've broken the fragile peace. then eve's lips quirk, just slightly. "pretty sure my cuddle buddy's busy, unless they suddenly found free time then i’m pretty sure they know where my room is," she murmurs, nudging you. it's not quite a smile, but it's the closest thing to one you've seen since chicago burned.

"well, i should go," she sighs, rolling her shoulders back into soldier-straight posture. "robot wants to 'review tactical variables' - which is robot-speak for 'i don't trust you not to screw this up.'"  

you catch her wrist before she can leave. "don't let his wiring get crossed," you say, squeezing gently. "no one could do this better than you." the words taste like ash, but the way her fingers briefly tighten around yours almost makes it worth the lie.

the underground bunker hummed with quiet activity, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and nervous sweat. a fragile peace settled over the space—the kind veterans called "the calm before the storm" with grim smiles. if only they knew how right they were. across the room, eve leaned over a makeshift table, pointing at blueprints while the other heroes nodded along. nearby, robot's mechanical voice droned instructions to a group of civilians, their hands shaking as they prepped medical supplies. everything felt suspended in time, balanced on a knife's edge.

then the world exploded.

the ceiling shattered with a deafening roar, concrete and steel raining down like artillery fire. screams ripped through the dust-choked air as mark descended through the debris, his black-and-yellow cape billowing like a war banner. behind him, nolan's silhouette cut through the smoke—larger, more terrifying, a living nightmare made flesh.

"told you we were close," nolan said, his voice cutting through the chaos. the two viltrumites scanned the cavernous space, taking in the scrambling survivors, the overturned equipment. mark's stomach twisted when his eyes didn't immediately find you, a flicker of something raw and panicked flashing behind his visor. but he crushed it down, buried it deep. he had five minutes. if he doesn’t find you within those five minutes, he’ll have painted these walls with the civilian’s insides, turn this bunker into a slaughterhouse so brutal even his father would raise a brow. the thought sent a thrill through him—not at the violence, but at the certainty that when he found you, you'd be just as eager to watch it burn.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

mark's voice drips with venom as it echoes through the ruined bunker, bouncing off crumbling concrete and sparking wires. "you and your stupid resistance made us kill thousands of innocent people," he says, so calm it's worse than any scream. his boots crunch over debris as he strolls toward eve like this is nothing, like she's nothing.  

eve's hands glow pink as she slams them together, layers of shimmering energy erupting between them—wall after wall of hardened force meant to cage him, to buy time for the last civilians scrambling up the emergency tunnels. she's panting already, sweat beading at her temples. "you did that yourself," she snaps.  

mark doesn't even slow down.  

he flies through the first barrier like it's mist, the second like paper, the third shattering around him in a rain of pink shards that dissolve before they hit the ground. eve barely jerks back in time when his hand lashes out for her throat, his fingers closing on empty air. he clicks his tongue, tilting his head as he studies her the way a cat studies a wounded bird. "cute," he murmurs sarcastically.  

eve's eyes flash. she feints left, then swings her glowing fist right—and for one glorious second, it looks like she might actually connect. the energy crackles inches from mark's smirking face—  

then your boot slams into eve's ribs with a crunch that echoes louder than gunfire.  

she doesn't even have time to scream. one second she's mid-strike, the next she's airborne, her body folding around the impact before she crashes into the far wall hard enough to crack the reinforced concrete. dust plumes around her slumped form, her pink energy sputtering out like a dying light.  

mark blinks. then his grin widens, slow and delighted, as he turns to you. "well," he purrs, "look who finally decided to play."

eve struggles to sit up, her body screaming in protest as shattered concrete digs into her palms. but the physical pain is nothing compared to the way her chest caves in when she sees you—your hands fluttering over mark’s arms, your brow furrowed as you check for wounds that don’t exist. mark leans into your touch, his smirk dripping with smug satisfaction as he watches the realization dawn on eve’s face.  

"...why?" eve’s voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the dust-choked air like a knife. you flinch, your fingers stilling against mark’s sleeve before you finally meet her gaze. the guilt is fleeting, there and gone in a blink, but it’s enough to make her stomach twist. her expression fractures—horror, hurt, betrayal, then finally, white-hot rage. "why?!" she screams, her voice raw as pink energy erupts around her, forming jagged armor over her trembling limbs.  

you don’t answer. just square your shoulders, fists clenching at your sides.

eve doesn’t wait. she lunges, a war cry tearing from her throat as she swings a glowing fist toward your face. you duck, her knuckles grazing your cheekbone as you pivot and drive your elbow into her ribs. she stumbles back with a gasp, but recovers fast, slamming a knee into your stomach that sends you skidding across the rubble.  

"you were supposed to be better than this," she snarls, her voice cracking. pink energy coils around her fists like serpents. "you were supposed to be good."  

you spit blood onto the broken concrete, your lips curling into something too sharp to be a smile. "good didn’t save anyone," you say, and launch yourself at her.  

your fist connects with her jaw hard enough to snap her head back, but eve’s already twisting, her armored forearm slamming into your throat. you choke, staggering—but then mark’s voice cuts through the haze. "c’mon, sweetheart," he purrs from the sidelines. "show her what happens to traitors. stop going easy on her."

the words ignite something feral in your chest, a hunger that coils hot and vicious under your skin. you feint left—just enough to make eve jerk sideways—before slamming your knee up into her stomach with a wet, cracking sound. the air bursts from her lungs in a choked gasp, her pink armor flickering as she folds in half, hands scrabbling at your costume for balance. you don’t let her find it.

your fist cracks across her jaw with enough force to send teeth skittering across the concrete. she doesn’t even have time to cry out before she’s on her knees, one arm braced against the ground as blood pours from her ruined mouth. her armor sputters, barely clinging to her body now, revealing the deep purple bruises already blooming across her ribs.  

above her, you flex your fingers, knuckles split and dripping red onto the rubble. "stay down," you murmur, voice soft as a lover’s.  

eve sways, her breath coming in ragged, wet hitches. but when she lifts her head, her eyes are wildfire. blood streaks her chin, her neck, the front of her ruined suit. "never," she rasps, and with a broken scream, she lunges.  

her fingers hook into your hair, yanking your head back as her other hand ignites with the last dregs of her power. the pink glow reflects in your widened eyes—just for a second—before you grab her wrist and twist. the snap of bone is obscenely loud. eve’s scream is louder.  

you don’t stop.  

your knee meets her face this time, cartilage crunching under the impact. she collapses onto her back, her nose a ruined mess, her good hand twitching weakly at her side. the pink glow finally dies, leaving her bare and broken in the dust.  

somewhere behind you, mark laughs—that bright, boyish sound that used to echo across playgrounds and now drips with something rotten. it makes your stomach flutter with warmth you desperately wish was disgust. you remember how his laughter used to sound when you’d push him on the swings, how his cheeks would dimple when he’d beg you for one more push, just one more—

the memory fractures when your gaze lands on eve. she’s barely breathing, her body a broken puppet sprawled across the concrete. blood bubbles at her lips with each shallow gasp. the world starts to blur at the edges, the sounds of the crumbling bunker fading into static—until mark’s hands settle on your shoulders. his touch is so familiar it hurts, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone before sliding down your arms.

“good job, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-sweet. “you did so good.” his hands don’t stop until they’re wrapped around your wrists, guiding them down to eve’s throat. your fingers twitch against her pulse, still fluttering like a dying bird’s. when she manages to focus her eyes on you—wide, wet with tears, the same eyes that used to crinkle when she’d sneak you candy between classes—your stomach heaves.

“shhh,” mark croons, his lips brushing your temple as your hands tremble around eve’s throat. “you’re helping her. look how she’s suffering.” his thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, tender as a lover. “end it. be merciful.”

your voice cracks like glass underfoot. “...i-i can’t.” the words taste like ash. this isn’t you. this can’t be you. this isn’t right. right?

mark doesn’t get angry. he never gets angry with you. his fingers just tighten over yours, pressing down until you feel the first faint crunch of cartilage beneath your palms. “do it,” he whispers, his breath scorching against your skin. “show me how much you love me.”

eve’s mouth opens in a silent scream.

your hands shake.

then they don’t.

when it’s over, the blood isn’t just on your hands—it’s in the creases of your knuckles, under your nails, streaked across your costume where you’d wiped them absently. mark beams at you like you’ve hung the moon, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deep enough to steal your breath. his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, licking away the salt of your tears.

“mine,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours.

and you are.

down to the marrow.

..... 5.3k words... i'm so sorry to anyone who's been disturbed when they read this umm... i don't know what else to say it took me approximately 4 hours to write this one-shot. wait, does this even qualify as a one-shot still? and if anyone noticed, yes, i know mark still doesn't wear the black and yellow suit during that resistance scene but like... he looks hot in it- that scene where he goes "ohoho, poor angstrom" is just stuck in my head

[yuriosakawa]

Invincible x Writer!Reader - Scribbled in the Sky

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, the air cool enough to make the leaves swirl around your feet as you walked down the quiet street, your hands buried deep in your coat pockets. You tried to push the growing frustration out of your mind, but it lingered like a heavy fog. The white paper of your new novel sat untouched on your desk, taunting you. It had been days, weeks even, since you’ve felt the spark of inspiration, and each time you tried to write, the words felt lifeless, mechanical. You couldn't seem to find your muse, not even in the farthest corners of your imagination.

You kicked a pebble as you walked, your thoughts drifting into an abyss of creative block. What was the point of even trying? You thought, the weight of every failed idea pressing on your chest. Your heart wasn't in it anymore. The thrill of writing, once your greatest joy, now felt like a task.

Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted your thoughts. She looked up just in time to see a futuristic ships pooling out of some sort of portal, not so far away from you. Your eyes widened in shock as the ship came into view, accompanied by a chorus of roaring engines.

Flaxans. Your mind instantly registered. The Flaxans had attacked Earth before, but the invasion had been brutal and quick. You weren’t sure how they had managed to return—maybe the government had missed something. You didn't have time to think much on it. You were frozen in place as the chaos erupted around you.

A massive explosion tore through the street just ahead, and you stumbled back in fear, the ground shaking beneath her your feet. You ducked as debris flew, narrowly avoiding a piece of shattered building, and instinctively pressed yourself against the nearest wall for cover.

"Hey! Are you okay?" a voice suddenly called out to her.

Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced up and gasped. There, standing before her in all his glory, was none other than Invincible, the city’s most recent hero. His yellow and blue suit seemed to gleam even in the dimming daylight. His posture was confident, yet his expression was warm, concerned. The very sight of him sent a wave of relief washing over you, but also something else—a fluttering in your chest.

"Yeah... I’m fine," you managed to murmur, your voice almost dreamy as you looked up at him, starstruck. You didn’t know if it was the danger or just the sheer presence of him, but for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Invincible smiled gently, the curve of his lips softening his strong, heroic features. “Good. Stay safe,” he said, before taking to the sky with a swift, graceful motion, heading straight toward the Flaxan ship.

You stood there, mouth slightly agape, watching him ascend higher and higher, his figure growing smaller as he flew into the heart of the battle. Your breath came in a sigh, and a smile tugged at your lips.

You blinked, your eyes widening in realization. A new surge of inspiration flooded her mind like a lightning strike. The plot, the characters, the setting—it was all there now, clear as day. What if...you thought, your imagination running wild. What if Invincible wasn't just the hero of the city, but also the hero of her romance novel?

With that, your heart beat faster. For the first time in weeks, you could picture the first scene of your new novel: a young, strong, compassionate hero who would protect the one he loved, fighting not just for the world but for their love. You smiled to yourself as your creative juices began to flow freely once more. There was something about the way Invincible had spoken to you, the way his eyes had softened with kindness—it was all the inspiration she needed.

That night, back in your apartment, you sat at her desk, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed furiously. The words flowed effortlessly, the romantic tension between her heroine and the superhero protagonist practically writing itself. She described the hero’s strength, his kindness, the way he would always put others before himself, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

You described the hero’s handsomeness—the strong jawline, the warm smile, and the way his eyes gleamed with determination. But most importantly, you poured into the pages the true essence of the hero: his heart.

"Invincible," you whispered to yourself, a smile playing on her lips. You’ve saved me.