did somebody ask which version of mark is puttin it down best?
guess i'll give my analysis 😮💨
main!mark is all about pleasing you, sooo he's definitely giving the other boys a run for their money. his oral & finger game? UNMATCHED. he's not dumb and aggressive about it like the majority of the others. he keeps it slow, intentional, so dedicated, living in your pleasure. the more praise you give him the better. his sex game tho takes awhile to come up to par - he's so scared of hurting you for soo long that he just takes it too easy, or doesn't take the lead at all. once he learns the fine art of blowing your back out without killing you tho? 😏
mohawk!mark is soo aggressively fun, but he's really only in it for his own pleasure. he kinda just assumes (rightly so) that you're gonna feel good either way but he never bothers to actually check in with you, see how you're doing lol it's probably also a MUST for you to suck his dick every time, forcing your head down and then mocking you when you gag or gasp for air. he doesn't care to return the favor too often but if you whine too much he will. it's not really that great tho - he's rushing and careless, just trying to move on to the main event
viltrumite!mark takes some teaching. he's of the mindset that sex is just for procreation, and if this is a scenario where he's taken you back to viltrum he's not going to really feel the need to view it any other way. but if he's staying on earth with you? well, sex sells baby and the influence is all around. he starts noticing things in movies and in songs, stuff on the internet--hell even billboards and magazines. don't be fooled his dickin is good even when it's boring missionary but once he starts coming around to trying all the other fun things? oh lawd have mercy
omni!mark is an interesting mix of dominance without aggression, no dirty talk. all business, really but this man IS in the business of pleasure - for you at least. he struggles to let you take the lead though which is kinda boring sometimes, and anything kinky? like spanking or choking? absolutely not. you're not some scallywag hoodlum (LMFAO) and he's definitely not going to treat you like one. buuut if you start talking dirty and cussing? he might be flustered, and maybe even a little more turned on than usual (he'd never admit it)
sinister!mark is all about HIM HIM HIM. but the caveat of this is he needs to know he's GOOD at what he's doing - which means you need to feel good too. he's so unbelievably aggressive and doesn't do missionary. you are not coming away without bruises and marks every single time. i think he likes to make you dance for him too beforehand. that's his idea of foreplay - something that reminds you both who's in charge and who it's all for. you better hope he's not in the mood to go down on you cause that bitch bites 😭
no goggles/lensless!mark is probably my fav 🤭 is literally 100% about whatever it is you're into. i guess except missionary whoops. like he's fine throwing it in there occasionally but not a chance he's opening or ending in that position. in fact switching positions is HIS personal favorite thing. honestly his oral is so-so. he's just too damn talkative and can't focus on the task at hand. he also doesn't take it well either - the man's LOUD. and honeestly busts pretty quick but that's okay! he bounces back quicker. viltrumite stamina is crazy and his libido just adds to it
shiesty!mark has probably fucked more people than all of them combined so, yeah, he's got the practice and experience. he KNOWS his dick is phenomenal and tbh if he's not really into you he's letting you do most of the work. he thinks he's doing YOU favor by letting you ride it. but if you were hard to get? ohhh he's got something to prove now, and trust he will. this man reaches spots none of the others even knows exist, uses his strength in a way that is just chefs kiss - pinning you without hurting you, playing with your nipples and the other sensitive parts with expert care. and probably my fav thing about him is that he's the only one (except maybe main!mark) who ever thinks to put on musiccc
moustache!mark is 😛 father dearest. TOTALLY showing you what it feels like to be owneddd - unquestionably, but not in the way sinister does. he does it with affection. you know, like a 'pet' and all that jazz. he's got this way of making you feel simultaneously small and like the most important person in the world. and when he goes down on youuu? THE TICKLE?? biiitch stop. he also is the one who appreciates the thickies the most ughh like he NEEDS all that ass in his hands, in his lap, on his dick. the love handles? the tummy? give him alllat - trust ☝️ he can handle it
prisoner!mark is an interesting one. if we're talking straight out the pen? he's an ANIMAL. i'm talking y'all are going at it aaall night long, him painfully impatient through every little break you insist he gives you. he's also physically the strongest of them all, and, yeah, it shows. all that body pressed into you? those arms? 🥴 idk how anatomically that would even work but for some reason i feel like he'd have a thicker cock too. he'd be so deep and guttural with his groans, all in your ear with it. no holding back. after some time though i think he'd be focused on you and learning what you like - buuut at the end of the day, he still is the most deprived and wants it ALWAYS
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Warning: obsession, dark themes, yandere themes, injury, foul language, smut(maybe), dubcon, self harm, Suicide, gore, violence, death
00- “Are you serious?” 1,2
I’m kinda a loser to be honest. My grades are average, my looks are… well, okay? I’m just, you know… an average senior about to graduate. College is still a big question mark. I don’t really have anything going for me. Still job-hunting, but at least I’ve got an apartment. Mom sends rent money every month.
[Name] slowly sat up in bed with a weary grunt. The motion stirred a of wrappers and empty bottles that tumbled off the edge like old people dying in nursing homes.
“God, I really need to clean up,” she muttered, rubbing at her scalp. Her fingers snagged briefly in a knotted tangle of hair.
The moon filtered through half-drawn blinds, spilling silver light across the cluttered room. Outside, the stars blinked with quiet judgment, peering into her restless gaze.
“It’s late.”
Her stomach let out a grumble loud enough to make her wince from embarrassment.
“So damn hungry… I need a snack.”
Without consciously deciding, she was already in the kitchenette, yanking open the fridge door. Cold air seeped out, along with the familiar disappointment. A faint smell of forgotten leftovers lingered.
“Fuck… I knew I should’ve saved those noodles.”
She shrugged on a hoodie and stepped out into the crisp night, walking with half-hearted urgency toward the 7/11 down the block. Each step on the pavement tapped steady that matched her thoughts.
“Lays chips? What flavor though… maybe barbecue…” she murmured, lost in deliberation. Then, realizing she was talking out loud again, she cleared her throat. “Right. Let me stop. No wonder people give me weird looks.”
Inside the store, her eyes wandered over neatly lined manga. She reached out, fingers brushing against one, flipping through the pages with idle curiosity.
“Ah, I see. This is where they suck you in,” she said, voice low and amused.
“Run…”
Outside the window, a couple walked together, smiling beneath the moonlight—so effortlessly wrapped in each other’s world.
[Name] sighed, gently closing the book and setting it back. “Maybe one day,” she thought.
Glancing over to the ramen section, she made a face at one of the options. “Nah, not natto,” she muttered and reached for a familiar bag of potato chips.
“Wait there…”
Startled, she paused—but the voice faded into silence. Shaking it off, she approached the counter.
“That’ll be 363 yen.”
She fished out her wallet and paid without comment, stuffing the receipt into her hoodie pocket as she stepped back into the night.
Music drifted faintly from somewhere—a slow, haunting melody that didn’t belong to any nearby speaker. She stood at the edge of the road, watching as cars flickered past in streaks of light.
“I’m…”
She turned her gaze to the left, eyes drawn by something unseen.
“…going to…”
From the shadows, something dark and skeletal reached toward her—like the silhouette of a hand stretching across dimensions.
“Save you.”
Her legs moved as if pulled forward by invisible strings. The traffic had vanished and was back in town. Only silence remained.
“I guess anyone’s eyes would be tired after holing up in their room, gaming all day,” she said quietly, dabbing at her dark under-eye circles.
She blinked. And just like that—it was morning.
“What the—?”
Cars bustled around her. The city had transformed, and alive with movement.
“When did it become daytime? And where the hell am I?”
She spun slowly, absorbing the unfamiliar skyline and glowing billboards.
“This stuff obviously isn’t fake… So does that mean… I’ve been summoned to a different universe?!”
Later, she wandered the streets, absorbing lore from the world around her. Apparently, heroes with powers were real here?
“One of the popular ones is called Invincible? Lame. Wanna-be knockoff Superman. Wait, would I get copyright for saying that… Whatever.”
She flipped through a magazine while walking, skimming articles on hero rankings, scandals, and power classifications.
“I wonder who the villains are…”
A/N: Hey yall I’m back from uh retirement? I haven’t wrote anything bec I’m on like author’s block or sum so I hope this small chapter isn’t too bad 💔 also I’ll update the “I know it’s over” series, I have chapter 4 in my drafts and I’m half way done.
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Story summary: The alternative “Invincible,” kill Angstrom and decide to stick around with Mark until they figure out how to leave—because I said so.
Chapter 2: TBH Fate's Kind Of A Bitch
Chapter Summary: Debbie wishes she could redo being a mother and raise Mark to be better. She really should have thought over what her wish really meant.
3.3k word| Depictions of violent| Dark comedy
Debbie had been tired for a while now. Not the kind of tired that a nap or a cup of coffee could fix, but the soul-deep exhaustion that settles into your bones and refuses to leave. Maybe it started when Mark first got his powers or maybe a little before that, when she started waking up in the middle of the night with this gnawing sense of dread curling in her chest like smoke. Paranoia and worry had become her companions, old friends who refused to leave the guest room.
She never wanted her son to be a superhero. She wanted him to go to college, get a job, find a nice partner, and maybe adopt a golden retriever. Instead, she'd married a man who was Earth’s last line of defense in a cape, and of course, their son was destined to follow in his footsteps. Fate had a messed-up sense of humor.
Debbie wished she had stood her ground. Wished she had raised Mark differently. She wished she had found the right words to change Nolan’s mind or at least delay the inevitable.
But mostly, she wished she were a better mother.
Maybe then…
Maybe her son wouldn’t have ended up at war with versions of himself across the multiverse. She was certain that in every other dimension, every other Debbie was thinking the same thing but apparently, she was the only one who had managed to raise a Mark who wasn’t trying to destroy the world like a discount space god. Her Mark the real, flesh-and-blood, slightly emotionally repressed Mark was the only Invincible still fighting for humanity.
The only one still fighting to save it.
She should be proud of that. She wanted to be proud. But it was hard to feel anything close to joy when the news kept showing twisted versions of her son laughing as they slaughtered cities, grinning over fresh corpses.
And she couldn’t help. She couldn’t do a damn thing.
Instead, a nineteen-year-old with too many scars and his barely one-year-old(?) brother were out there, once again tasked with saving the world. And her? Debbie was on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy throw blanket with two bottles of cheap wine in her system.
Debbie felt useless; she felt like a terrible mother.
She couldn't keep her eyes off the TV. Her gaze had been glued to the screen for hours now. The chaos had ended, supposedly. The versions of Invincible tearing each other apart had all vanished, Mark had survived (again), and the only things left were the smoldering ruins and some truly bad news commentary.
Paul was behind her on the couch, rubbing her back in slow circles. He had the patience of a saint of dog which was why, she appreciated him. Sort of. He gently pulled the wine bottle out of her hand like he was diffusing a bomb.
She must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when she blinked awake, the world was still intact, Paul was smiling, and her youngest was vibrating with energy like a soda can shaken too hard.
“All the Invincibles are gone,” he said quietly. “Except our Mark.”
She barely registered the words until Oliver flew into view, hovering in front of her like a little rocket-powered puppy.
“Can we go home now? Pleeeeeease?” He asked excitedly, bouncing in midair. “Is Mark coming too?”
Debbie blinked, trying to focus through the haze. “He’s… staying the night at the hospital,” Paul said gently. “ Watching over Eve…she’s…in bad shape.”
Debbie nodded slowly, her body heavy and numb. “Alright,” she whispered, forcing herself up, fumbling for her keys. “I’ll drive.”
She didn’t get far before Paul’s hand wrapped gently around her wrist, his voice soft but firm. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Going home,” she said, her voice hoarse, a little slurred.
Paul frowned. “Debbie. You’re drunk. You can’t drive.”
She blinked at him, then at the keys in her hand, then back at him. “I mean… I’m technically not drunk drunk. I’ve reached the tired, contemplative philosopher stage.”
“You tried to FaceTime the microwave earlier, demanding ‘Cecil return Mark- or angstrom won't be his only threat,’ ” Paul reminded her gently.
Oliver chimed in proudly, “It was kind of impressive. You almost got it to answer.”
“Thank you, Oliver,” Debbie muttered, annoyed.
Paul held Debbie's hand sweetly. “Maybe you should rest and drive back in the morning.’ Paul offered, “ I don’t want you getting into a car crash with no one there to help you.” Paul clarified, tracing over the small scars littered over Debbie's palm.
Oliver zipped to her side, practically vibrating. “Don’t worry, I got this! I’ve got super speed and super healing. If we crash, I’ll get Mom out of the wreckage before she even realizes it happened!”
Paul stared at him nervously. “That’s... not the comforting argument you think it is.”
“It is!” Oliver expressed, “How isn’t it?” He questioned, genuinely confused.
Debbie groaned softly, the implications finally sinking in. “No, no—Paul’s right. I shouldn’t be driving.” She slumped back into the couch, burying her face in her hands.
Oliver frowned, arms crossed. “So… we’re not going home?”
Debbie shook her head, eyes closed. “Not right now.”
The pout on Oliver’s face was instant and dramatic. “But what if I fly us there?” he suggested, his eyes lighting up again. “It’ll be quick! I’m super fast and—”
“No.” Debbie raised her hand, silencing him without even looking. “You’ve done enough today. You should be resting.”
“I am rested! Kinda! I only got a few scrapes—”
“It’s a no, Oliver,” Debbie said, dragging herself up and toward the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, trying to will the exhaustion out of her bones.
“Because I said so,” Debbie snapped, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.
“That’s not an answer,” Oliver muttered, floating sulkily a few inches off the ground.
Debbie shot him a look that could curdle milk. Oliver deflated mid-air, mumbling and slowly rotating like a disappointed ceiling fan.
“I can drive,” Paul offered. “If you want to go, I’ll take you both.”
Debbie paused in the hallway, blinking at him. “That’s sweet, Paul, but—”
“It’s fine. Really. Not a problem. Besides…” He glanced at Oliver, who quickly looked away, trying to act innocent. “If I don’t, I think someone might sneak off the moment we’re not looking.”
Oliver coughed awkwardly into his hand, pretending to inspect the ceiling.
Paul smiled. “See?”
Debbie sighed, her shoulders slumping in surrender. “Alright. Okay.”
Oliver fist-pumped in the air. “YES. Shotgun!”
Paul blinked and suddenly they were standing in front of Debbie’s car, Oliver having zipped them over like a gremlin with zero respect for gravity or personal boundaries. Paul stared at it blankly for a second, catching his breath. “Okay,” he mumbled, brushing off his jacket. “Yeah… let’s go.”
Debbie slid into the passenger seat with all the grace of a woman who had not slept, stress-sipped her way through a bottle of wine, and just learned her son wasn’t dead. Her hair was doing its best impression of a bird’s nest, her eyeliner had migrated halfway down her face, and her oversized hoodie was probably Mark’s. She tugged it tighter around her shoulders anyway, sinking into the seat like it might swallow her whole.
Outside, the world looked like it had been chewed up and spit back out. The road ahead was cracked and broken in places, chunks of asphalt curled up like dried skin. Still, it was quieter now no screaming civilians, no evil doppelgängers throwing tanks like baseballs.
Oliver kicked his feet in the backseat, practically vibrating. “Can I play something on the radio? Pleeeeease? Just one song?”
Paul glanced at Debbie, who raised a hand lazily without opening her eyes. “Whatever keeps him from trying to fly the car again?”
“Sweet,” Oliver grinned, leaning forward and fiddling with the old car stereo until a bouncy pop song came on. “Yesss, this is my jam—oh wait, no it’s not—skip—okay, now it’s my jam.”
“Baby shark dooo dooo do do do dooo,” it played.
Paul chuckled awkwardly and turned the volume down just a bit, then reached over and gently pulled Debbie’s head onto his shoulder.
“You can rest, you know,” he said softly, his thumb brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “I think I can handle Oliver for a few hours.”
Debbie cracked one eye open. “It’s a thirty-minute drive, Paul.”
“Right. Except that all the roads are destroyed, unless Oliver decides we should take the scenic route. Through a volcano. It’s going to take a few hours.”
Debbie snorted, then glanced ahead at a chunk of road that looked like it had been gnawed on by a kaiju. “Well, in that caaase... you’re on your own.”
She yawned, a deep, soul-weary sound, and let her head rest on his shoulder again. “Wake me up if we crash into anything sentient.”
“No promises,” Paul said with a grin, adjusting his grip on the wheel like it would make a difference if a rogue alien suddenly drop-kicked the car.
As soon as Debbie’s breathing evened out, Oliver leaned forward as if he wanted to sell Paul drugs. “Psst,” he whispered, cupping his mouth like he had state secrets. “I can fly us there in, like, one minute. Maybe two if I loop-de-loop for fun. I just lift the car and vrrrrrrrm —bam—we’re home!”
Paul didn’t even look over. “I specifically remember your mom saying you aren’t allowed to lift or fly cars. Especially not while she’s in one.”
Oliver groaned and flopped back in his seat like a deflated balloon. “You’re no fun.”
“I’ve been told,” Paul said, adjusting the mirror and catching a glimpse of Oliver pouting in it. “But at least we won’t end up in a news headline. An Alien Child, and One Very Tired Mom Found in Flaming Crater; Local Authorities Blame the Stepdad.”
Oliver huffed, muttering under his breath. “I’d catch us before we hit the ground.”
Paul smirked. “And that, my friend, is exactly the kind of logic that puts people in neck braces.”
There was a brief beat of silence before Oliver mumbled, “I would make a really cool neck brace, though. With, like, flames. And rockets.”
Paul just laughed. “Not helping your case, kid.”
From the passenger seat, Debbie groaned without opening her eyes. “If either of you puts me in a neck brace, I’m haunting you from the hospital.”
Oliver’s eyes went wide. “You can do that?” Paul and he said in unison.
“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, already drifting off again.
“Ughhh, what’s taking them so long?” whined Mohawk Mark for what had to be the tenth time. He was currently floating upside down above the couch, slowly spinning like a ceiling fan. His boots tapped a rhythm against the air, irritatingly offbeat.
“Will you stop ?” Omni Mark muttered, arms crossed, as he focused on the TV screen. “You’ve been saying the same thing for three hours.”
“That’s because I’m bored . This is boring.” Mohawk Mark flopped dramatically onto the armrest, making the couch creak.
“He’s right. It is boring,” Empire Mark added, head buried deep in the open fridge. He stared at its contents as if he glared hard enough, maybe the food would get scared and cook itself. It didn’t.
“You guys are only complaining because you’ve been in last place for the past ten rounds,” snickered No-Goggle Mark from the beanbag chair, controller in hand.
“Oh no, I lost in a game for children. What a tragedy,” Mohawk said, rolling his eyes.
“Sounds like something twelfth place would say,” Viltrumite Mark mumbled without looking up from his comic. He lounged in the recliner, a thick Séance dog issue in hand.
Above him, Maskless Mark floated lazily, reading the same comic, without asking. He flipped a page just as the Viltrumite Mark tried to read it.
“Seriously, dude?” Viltrumite, Mark said, annoyed.
“What?” Maskless replied, pretending innocence.
“Daaaamn, that was a nice bath,” came a new voice as Prison Mark stepped into the room, glistening and wrapped in at least three towels. He radiated floral fragrance like a walking perfume commercial.
Sinister gagged immediately. “Why do you smell like a goddamn garden?”
“I just tossed in a bunch of bath bombs. Lavender, cherry blossom, eucalyptus—don’t judge me.” Prison Mark growled, trying to be intimidating.
“You smell zesty as hell,” Head Cap Mark said, fanning his face. “Like if a soap commercial and a rave had a baby.”
“ He smells like a faggot,” stated Sinister, crinkling his nose. Maskless flinched, avoiding eye contact killing his character in the process.
“WOOOOO!” No-Goggle Mark cheered from the beanbag, raising his arms. “And once again, the reigning Mario Kart champion is your boy, Mark!” He made confetti motions with his hands. No one cared.
“Wait, who’s still playing and who gave up?” asked Maskless Mark. He dropped the controller and flopped face-first onto the rubble-strewn floor. The concrete shifted with a crunch beneath him.
“I’m done,” Empire Mark said proudly, arms crossed. “I don’t need to waste time on childish games when I’m clearly above them.”
“Right,” Omni Mark drawled. “Totally nothing to do with you getting beaten twelve times.”
“ I didn’t lose; I just failed to win.” Empire said.
“ If you aren’t mature enough to accept losing over a video game, how in the world can you expect not to run your empire into the ground?”
“What did you say to me?” Empire asked, “Just because I didn’t want to play this dumbass doesn’t mean nothing.”
“That’s not what. I meant,” Omni-mark sighed
Mohawk let out another long, dramatic groan. “Ugh, where are they?”
As if on cue, the group turned toward the window at the sound of a car pulling into the cracked driveway. Headlights flashed across the living room, cutting through the dust and chaos.
Two figures stepped out. A man's voice carried through the air. “Come on, Debbie. You’re home. You can at least pretend to walk properly, right?”
“Hard to walk when my body feels like jelly, ” Debbie grumbled. There was a snort from her. Followed by a sharp yelp.
“I got you!” Oliver said brightly as he tried to hold her upright.
“Oliver—” she groaned. “I can walk; I just need a second.”
Paul opened the front door, flicking on the light, and instantly froze. His smile faltered as he blinked into the living room, taking in the crowd of identical men scattered across every surface.
“Debbie,” he said slowly. “Tell me something real quick. Mark isn’t secretly... part of a set of—what’s the word—quintuplets?”
Debbie blinked, rubbing her temples. “No. Why?”
Paul pointed wordlessly into the room.
“Who the fuck is that?” murmured Masked Mark with a glare that could cut diamonds.
“Cecil, maybe?” Viltrumite, Mark whispered, stroking his chin in thought.
“Are you blind? It doesn't take a fucking genius to see that is not Cecil!” Mohawk Mark mocked, waving his hand back and forth in front of Viltrumite Mark's face, who shoved the man away with a scoff and a roll of his eyes.
“It could be. This is a different dimension, after all,” politely offered Maskless.
“Yeah, but isn’t Cecil bald in, like, every dimension?” asked Prison Mark
“Dumbass, if that were true, we’d be bald in every universe.” Head cap, Mark said, smacking Prison Mark's head.
“Cecil with hair is kinda fine though,” muttered No Goggle Mark, who whistled, staring at the scared, confused Paul up and down. He wiggled his eyebrow, which made Paul grossed out on top of all the other horrified emotions he was feeling.
“That is definitely not Cecil,” muttered Omni Mark with a shake of his head.
“I swear all of you are retarded,” Sinister said with a click of his tongue.
“Hey! Don’t lump me in with these imbeciles,” demanded Empire Mark.
“Paul whats wrong?’ asked Debbie as she placed a hand on Pauls trembling shoulder. Masked Mark jumped up excitedly, and the moment she peeked her head inside, she was immediately tackled .
“MOM!” cried Masked Marks. He spun her in a hug so tight she squeaked. “Oh, I missed you so much!”
He planted a kiss on her cheek and set her down like she was made of glass.
Oliver immediately kicked him in the shin. It didn’t do much. Mark laughed, picked him up, and spun him too.
“Wha—hey—put me down!” Oliver shouted, flailing. The mark complied, tossing Oliver away like nothing, as the masked Mark’s eyes crinkled brightly.
He slammed into the car with a thud . Debbie rushed over, scooping him protectively into her arms.
“Oliver, are you okay?” She asked, Paul rushing over to check as well, the two cradling the struggling child.
“I’m fine!” he shouted at them. “ Let me at him. I can take him!” Oliver said, the kid clearly had a death wish as he struggled out of their grasp.
The room was silent for a beat. Then Mohawk waved, a maniacal grin spread across his face. “Hi, Debbie.”
She stared at the group of Marks with wide eyes. “Why are you all still here ?”
“To see you,” said the masked Mark excitedly, who looked and sounded exactly like her son.
“Actually, I came here to see Wil—” Maskless started, but was interrupted by a Viltrumite.
“Wait, hold on a sec— I thought we all agreed we were staying here because Debbie’s the only person who can reason with Cecil.” Viltrumite mark said, scratching his head.
Empire shook his head up and down “ yeah and once that settles, we conquer this planet like originally planned.” He said, crushing a rock in his hand, it was turned to dust blowing in the wind.
Prison Mark shrugged. “I’m willing to stay regardless; this place is way nicer than the Viltrumite base.”
Head Cap added, “ Don’t worry, we cleaned the bathroom for you,” while floating over to the door as he tilted his head with a grin.
“No, we didn’t,” Omni Mark muttered. “What are you on about? Why did you say that?”
“ I thought it sounded intimidating. Get off my back, man,” Head Cap said, glaring daggers at the unimpressed other version of him.
“And I thought the momma's boy version of me was the loser.” No Goggle whistled.
“Why is it lame to love my—our mom?” Mask asked, flabbergasted.
“He’s right guy.“ Sinister Mark stepped forward. “What’s wrong with wanting to make sure our dear loving mother is okay?” He cooed fakely.
Debbie blinked at them dozens of identical faces, some tired, some smug, one still sparkling like a bath-time prince. Her arms tightened around Oliver.
