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Rex Splode - Blog Posts
Something this season of Invincible has been doing that I find interesting is how it's engaging with the Superman archetype in the specific context of his role as the quote-unquote "top superhero-" what happens when "superhero" is enough of a demographic that you've got a bunch of moderately powerful ones, but then you've got one who's basically so overwhelmingly powerful compared to all the rest that from the perspective of the people in charge of planetary security, he's basically the only one who matters. There have been several subtle beats this season about how holding that position is distorting Mark's interactions with everyone around him without him even realizing- Robot leaves the Guardians not because he necessarily thinks Mark is right, but because he thinks it's important to stay on his good side. The Powerplex subplot has Scott's coworkers at the GDA expressly state that Mark is being granted infinitely more leeway by Cecil than anyone else would be, because he's their only plausible answer to the Viltrumites.
What's interesting is how they've made Rex the site of a lot of this. One of the first scenes of the season is him complaining about the needing constant adjustments to the hack-job prosthetic he was issued after the Lizard League debacle, juxtaposed against the bajillion dollar bespoke machine that was built for no purpose other than training Invincible specifically. When they go out into the field together, Rex is perfectly in his element against a single street-level opponent, but when Multipaul jumps him, Invincible has to pull his ass out of the fire via intense meatgrinder violence. It isn't a coincidence that in the same episode where (Debbie's boyfriend) Paul realizes the gulf between the impact his job has on the world and the impact that Mark and Oliver have, with Debbie assures him that it's okay to be normal- Rex gets his fatal crossing-the-Rubicon moment by refusing to retire with Rae.
Rae can read the writing on the wall here about the power scaling of the story she's in; capes like Invincible and Immortal brush off everything the world can throw at them, but she and Rex are gag characters- a couple extra bodies who, in the best case scenario, are somewhat useful to have around, and in the worst case scenario end up in the hospital for months at a time before getting stitched up and thrown back into the fray so the GDA can wring a little more utility out of them. But even though his lifestyle is very clearly going to get him killed, Rex refuses to quit because being a superhero- even a middling one- is all he has going on. He's never going to be as relevant as Invincible because he's nowhere near as powerful as Invincible, but if he doesn't keep throwing himself at the same kinds of problems Invincible does, he'd be nobody. He'd be Paul. Is being Paul worse than dying? Well, we're gonna find out in a minute
˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗
Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི
….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ... ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
⛨ summary: you were in a surprisingly good mood, which should’ve been the first red flag. your coworkers weren’t being annoying, the coffee machine was actually working, and not a single patient had tried to self-diagnose off WebMD yet. the universe clearly saw that and went “hmm, too peaceful.” because hours later, the clinic was rubble, a child was almost lost, and you met invincible for the first time. and of course—you yelled at him.
⛨ contains: sfw. local clinic setting. first meeting with invincible. medical professional!reader. civilian chaos. reader being a bad bitch. immediate tension and banter. subtle foreshadowing of their future dynamic. fire/explosion sequence. hands-on first aid moments. mark being surprised-reader-ain’t-scared. small emotional undercurrent under sarcasm.
⛨ warnings: brief injury description (scrapes, blood). explosion/fire trauma. smoke inhalation. nurse carla. mild trauma response (panic, adrenaline). implied danger to a child (rescued safely). some profanity.
⛨ wc: 1093
prologue, part one, part two
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: reader has a license, a savior complex, and zero chill. mark shows up for five minutes and gets emotionally wrecked. enjoy the chaos.
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It’s a quiet Tuesday. The kind of quiet that should’ve tipped you off. The kind of quiet that doesn’t last.
Your shift starts at 8:00 AM sharp, and somehow, you’re early. The sun’s out, the sky’s obnoxiously blue, and someone brought donuts to the clinic—for no reason.
You even got your favorite one—the last one—which felt like a small miracle… until you realized the coffee was good.
Not just drinkable. Good. Fresh. Hot. Non-bitter. Suspicious.
You’d joked with Nurse Carla that the universe was trying to butter you up.
“You just wait,” she said, stirring her tea like some all-knowing, scrub-wearing oracle. “It’s always the good days that get you.”
You’d laughed.
Now you’re pretty sure she hexed you.
The clinic hums with calm, the low rhythm of patients being called back and phones ringing occasionally at the front desk. In room three, you patch up a skateboard accident. Room five brings in an elderly man who insists his blood pressure is fine—even as the cuff nearly bursts. You remain patient, calm, even friendly—somehow.
You’re not usually this chipper.
Maybe it’s the sunlight. Maybe it’s the donut.
Either way, you don’t realize you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop—
Until it does.
Loud. Violent. Apocalyptic.
The explosion shakes the floor beneath your feet.
It’s not real at first. Just a sound—an echoing blast that shatters windows and hurls you out of your good mood like a ragdoll. You slam your coffee on the counter (RIP—it was actually decent) and bolt toward the door before anyone can stop you.
Smoke is already curling above the skyline. Across the street, a building is on fire—its middle floors cracked open like a broken jaw. Glass rains down. People scream.
You don’t hesitate. You just move.
“Call 911!” you shout over your shoulder as your feet hit the pavement. Your heart kicks into overdrive. The calm is gone.
The illusion shattered.
“Evacuate the lobby!”
You don’t wait for acknowledgment. Your feet are already pounding pavement, shoes slipping slightly on the sidewalk as your mind flips into crisis mode.
You’re already halfway in before your brain catches up.
A woman collapses near the curb—shock. You steady her, get her seated, check her breathing. Alive.
You keep moving.
A teen stumbles out of the smoke, blood on his jeans. You direct him to sit, tear open your kit.
Tourniquet. Gauze. Stabilize. Move.
You don’t even notice when your stethoscope vanishes off your shoulders—just that your hands are moving and your brain’s already triaging in real time.
And then you see her.
A little girl—no older than nine—trapped beneath a chunk of concrete by the crosswalk. Her arm’s twisted at a bad angle. Blood smears her cheek. She’s trying to cry but doesn’t have the energy for more than a breathy whimper.
Before your brain can even catch up, your legs are already sprinting.
Someone grabs your arm—an older man with watery eyes and a voice wobbling from terror. “Don’t!” he begs. “That’s suicide! You’ll die trying to—”
“Move,” you snap, not bothering to look back. “Or piss yourself somewhere else.”
You don’t wait for a reply.
Your knees hit pavement. You’re beside the girl before the guy can finish a follow-up plea, hands already assessing her pulse, breath, injuries. You try to lift the debris. Nothing. It doesn’t budge. Your arms shake, muscles strain, lungs burning from smoke.
You try again.
Still nothing.
Panic rises sharp in your throat. The little girl’s eyes flutter—too pale, too quiet.
“Stay with me,” you whisper. “Hey. Look at me, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”
You lie. But your voice is steady.
For a horrible moment, you actually think this is it. That you’re about to die here, buried with this kid—and no one will know why you didn’t wait for backup.
The wind shifts.
Fast. Sharp. A blur of motion and force that sends your hair whipping around your face.
And then the weight’s gone.
You jerk backward, pull the girl free, and curl around her automatically—heart hammering like a drumline. You blink through the smoke and ash.
That’s when you see him.
Invincible.
In the flesh. Blue and yellow suit smeared with ash and blood, goggles cracked at one side. Kneeling beside you like some kind of comic book punchline—if comic books ever showed their heroes looking that tired.
“She’s okay,” you breathe, adjusting the girl in your arms, “but you’re not.”
He blinks like you just insulted him in four languages. “I’m—”
“Don’t say fine.” You eye him critically. “You’re favoring your left. Blood. Concussion-level pupils. You probably shouldn’t be standing, let alone flying.”
“…Are you a doctor?”
“Closer to nurse practitioner. Also not blind.”
You stand, legs shaky but functional. He watches you like he’s never been spoken to like that in his life.
“You should go,” you add, motioning to the kid in your arms. “She needs a hospital. Fast.”
He hesitates.
You frown. “What?”
“…Nothing. Just—” He gestures vaguely at you. “You’re calm.”
You actually snort. “You mean I didn’t cry and fangirl? Tragic.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not scared of you,” you say, quieter now. “If anything, you’re just another bleeding idiot who didn’t let someone check him out before playing hero.”
You’ve seen enough broken ribs and bad priorities to know most capes aren’t invincible where it counts.
His mouth opens. Closes. Still stunned.
You sigh and hand him the girl, a little softer now. ”Take her. That’s the only reason I’m not yelling more.”
He nods, carefully taking the child into his arms like she’s glass. Gives you one last look—
And he’s gone.
Wind howls. The air cracks.
And you’re left standing there, covered in soot and adrenaline, alone in the wreckage.
You don’t know he’ll remember your voice. The glare. The cracked joke.
But he will.
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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆
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Nurse Carla sits in her living room, lit by the flicker of a dusty lamp and the glow of a muted rerun. A cat—large, black, and terrifyingly still—curls in her lap like it’s plotting something.
His name is Lucifer. You know this because she whispers it like a prayer when chattering about him.
She sips her tea. Doesn’t flinch when thunder cracks outside, even though it hasn’t rained in weeks.
On the table beside her: a newspaper folded open to an article about the explosion. A blurry shot of Invincible in flight.
Carla hums. Calm. Unbothered. All-knowing.
She sets the teacup down with a soft clink, leans back in her chair, and strokes Lucifer’s head.
“I told her,” she murmurs, half to herself, half to the void. “Never trust a Tuesday.”
She smiles.
Lucifer purrs.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: nurse carla is two steps from world domination. the cat knows things. be aware.
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taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ With Love, @alive-gh0st
rex thoughts i just had to get out of my head. gn! reader. kinda suggestive.
rex sloan who's awfully romantic.
rex sloan who can't keep his hands off of you — his hands are calloused yet his touch is gentle but firm, slipping underneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin, his lips against yours are insatiable.
biting down on your bottom lip, he breathes heavily at the small sound you let out at the action, his grip on your waist tightening as he lays you down on the bed, his hold on you not faltering in the slightest — his lip don't leave yours, as if the mere action of pulling away is going to hurt him.
and when he slips his tongue in your mouth, you're done for. you can taste the wine you two had shared earlier, that he had so proudly announced to you — he had stolen from immortal.
he presses his body against yours, his hands roaming up and down your body, not leaving a single inch untouched.
rex sloan who slowly trails kisses down your neck, he takes his time. each kiss leaving you burning up with a desire only he can fulfill.
your head is fuzzy and you barely register him tenderly brushing your hair away from your covered eye, tucking the strands behind your ear after pressing a kiss to them, the action almost reverent.
you send him a slightly surprised look, the difference between his earlier desperate, needy actions and this sweet tender gesture is definitely not good for your heart.
"what?" he tries to sound cocky and confident like his usual self but you don't miss the slight quiver in his voice.
rex sloan who gently cups your jaw in his warm hand, eyes sparkling with something you've never seen before, the intensity of his gaze burns your skin and leaves behind a flush, matching his own.
"wanna see both your eyes, pretty." he whispers, looking right into your eyes.
he flashes you his signature charming grin, although you can't help but notice how his eyes are filled with a certain fondness — a sincerity that makes your chest tighten.
rex sloan who, for the first time in his life, is ready to strip away all the walls he built to protect himself and is ready to bare his heart and soul to you.
rex sloan who's scared shitless, he's never been this open — he's never done this before, but he trusts you.
rex sloan who decides to give you his heart because you trust him — trust he's changed, that he's trying his best.
rex sloan who will never forgive himself if he disappoints you.
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