#invincible variants

Your first memory embeds itself into your mind at three and a half years old. You’ve stopped to smell the flowers in the path by your pre school. A daisy brought to your little nose: fresh cut grass, morning dew, the familiar pressure of your teacher’s hand in yours. When you look over to the other kids, one of the smaller ones’ ear has begun to glow amber. The sun is shining through his ears. It’s a Saturday morning. Nothing is wrong with your world. Nothing has ever been wrong. You hope Daddy won’t be too mad if you sneak a bowl of cereal into your room. Well, he can’t get mad if he never finds out, right?

You’re pulled along the line, being told to keep up with everyone else. You keep the daisy crushes in your fist. Pretty daisy. Smells good. You’ve always loved daisies.

“I missed you.” Mark—this sick, wrong copy of him—can’t do anything it seems but paw at the curves of your body, his mouth huffing at your neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I missed you so much.”

Mark gave you daisies on your third date. Daisies only bloom after their second year of life. Plant a seed in the garden and you can’t be too impatient. You have to give it time to be beautiful; it’s only in their nature. You still remember the way he was grinning, how his cheeks flushed the same colour as the roses you were all too used to getting from boys who didn't know you half as well.

There are no daisies left on the Earth. There is nothing left on Earth. You’ll never see a daisy again, you’ll never be three years old again, Mark will never give you daisies on your dates. You and Mark will never go on another date. He’s dead. Everyone is dead.

“You’re so pretty. Taste good.” You wonder what this Mark is. What he’s been through to become this cannibalistic version of himself, fuelled only by a facade of an ego and the smell of your panic. He bites and laps and sucks at your skin, whining and cursing as he sits you down on his lap. “I’d never forget you.”

Daisies have 15 to 30 petals. You used to joke that you’d gotten so sick of university, your stupid guidance counsellor, the real world and its capitalistic hopelessness, you’d run into the wood start using the petals to keep track of the time. One petal for one day, picked and fallen onto the forest floor. Unable to do anything else, Mark would agree so long as he could come with you. And if he got to keep up with his favourite comics.

So cute. You loved the way he’d blush every time you laughed at his jokes. You loved his jokes. You loved him.

“Don’t hate me forever, angel.” Not-Mark runs a gloved hand through your hair. When you were too small to understand anything further than bed time and lullabies, your parents got divorced. Mom brought you to meet God on the weekends she had you. Dad could not rest if he didn’t tell you every night that you were the greatest mind the universe had to offer. You were their angel. “It won’t be so bad, I promise. You just can’t stay down there for a bit.”

That, at least, makes you blink back into reality. It's safe in the corner of your mind you'd clawed out for yourself, where no one—not even the alien wearing your boyfriend's face—could get to you. The room is cold and sterile and nothing at all.

"Down there?” You ask bitterly, almost a laugh. You’d often thought about how different you two were, how you could never truly understand what it was like to be in his world. God, you must’ve almost broken up six times by your first anniversary. You'd take it a thousand times over than forever with this thing.

He twists you around so that you’re under him, your hair spread out on the bed. Held stead above you, his fists on either side of your head, all he does for a second is look at you. Sometimes Mark looks like he wants to eat you alive. You're sure it won't be long until this one actually does. You think you'd almost like it better than waiting for it to happen. “There is a certain amount of rebuilding we have to do first.” He tells you.

You’ve been here for weeks. Five, maybe six. All you can do is stare at him. You remember when you first got here you’d fight like hell, scratching and biting and tearing. It didn’t do anything. You could never do anything to him, could you?

”Why don’t you just kill me?” You ask simply, the way you always do in the end. “There’s no use of keeping me here. What could I possibly do for you?”

This Mark is so fucking miserable. For as high as he is in the Empire he is as depressed as he was the day he betrayed his home planet. You can see the way his face twitches in discomfort, in guilt, shaking his head. “Come on, what could you do alive that you couldn’t do dead?”

”What the fuck?”

He tilts his head, offering a boyish smile. “Well, humans have strength in numbers, you know. All that communal hope?” Suddenly he’s floating in the air, his hands on the back of his head. “But one cute one just in my room? Not so much of a threat.”

You know you shouldn’t cry, that’s it’s pointless and it only reaffirms his belief that you’re some fragile flower that can’t be talked to too harshly. God, maybe it’s you that’s pathetic. You miss your parents, your real, kind, caring boyfriend. You miss your home where you were smart and capable of doing something real in the world. You were good at what you did. You were going to be so good. Fuck, now you’re crying. Tearing up and angrily wiping at your face aimlessly.

His face falls a bit, and he bundles you right up into his arms. Stupid, evil, pathetic fucking asshole. You protest loudly, furiously, pushing away as he holds you up to his chest. “Fuck, Mark, let go of me!”

”l’m trying to comfort you.” He says almost sadly. Oh God you want to kill him. 

“My entire family is dead! Everyone is dead and it’s your fault—it’s your fault! Fuck you, you sorry excuse of a—a—“

“So is mine.” Mark mumbles, like it should be some sort of sick shared comfort to you. “But look, I got you back.”

“You are not my boyfriend—you are such a selfish—“

”Shut up for a second baby.” He says idly with a kiss, dropping you gently back onto the bed. There’s a shocked silence that overtakes you, long enough for him to open a door in his fuck ass suit and speak to another severely dressed woman, who doesn’t give even a glance to your sorry state. Still, you can see the disdain radiating off of her. It’s a short conversation, but you take the time to pick up all of your clothes, buttoning your shirt all the way to the top, your breathing shaking horrifically.

When he turns back you’re completely dressed, staring at him with a haunted scowl on your face. He could just kill you. You know he doesn’t want to, and that’s the only reason you’re standing here. You’re not an alien, nor a superhero. You don’t know how to exist in space without billions of dollars worth of technology. Even if you did, what home is there to return to?

“You up for dinner? On me.” He’s grinning. Your Mark grins like that, too. Stupid jokes. Your heart aches for him so terribly you might die.

His face softens, approaching gently like he’s not the object of your misery. “I know it’s hard now.” Face in his hands. He could crush you right then. It’d make you feel better, wouldn’t it? “But I’m gonna make you happy. Just like we used to be. Promise.”

You don’t look at him. “I’m not that girl, Mark.” It’s croaked out, desperate. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

”I would recognize my girl even if you were a snail in this universe.” He tells you, brushing your hair from your face. “I know you. I know you’re her.”

In the month you’ve been here, you’ve screamed all your logical, thought based arguments at him until your throat was hoarse with a furious anguish. You miss your daisies, you loved them, you’d do anything to have them back. 

Fuck this.

𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺: woahhhhh surprise i also love invincible. and every one of those marks variants had some crazy yan potential SO HERE I AM. are you guys really surprised? sorry there's no smut here I got really lazy but if it's in demand I'll write some for a potential second chapter or just another oneshot!!