Well, well, well. Here, you inevitably found yourself stuck in yet another extremely bizarre, inconvenient, and mind-boggling situation.

You tilted your head slightly in perplexion, eyes roaming inquisitively over the... roughly nine versions of the Mark Grayson which you'd known to be your childhood sweetheart.

That sweet little gesture set all nine Marks off. Like a moth to a flame, they all floated, or stepped, closer. Closer. Closer.

"I call dibs!" Shiesty Mark declared, his southern accent prominent as his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad, strong chest, eliciting Target Mark to let out a yell.

On the other hand, Omni-Mark, as the lovely, stoic man he is, spoke up in a neutral tone, his arms crossed over his chest and his composure well maintained. "They're not an object. You can't call dibs on them as if you own them."

In response to Omni-Mark's sensible, rational statement, Cap Mark (the bald yet not actually bald one who does that delicious neck crack), let out an incredulous, crazed laugh. As if the mere thought of you being unobtainable was completely ridiculous. So ridiculous in fact, that it brought him to wheeze of laughter.

Mohawk Mark simply shot Omni-Mark a leer, a challenging look on his face as he dared to shoot you a sly, cunning wink.

Conversely, you could, without a doubt, see Sinister Mark drool slightly at the mouth, his gaze fixed upon your neck. His hands clenched into fists, his teeth subtly gnashing together as he imagined what exactly it would be like to sink his sharp canines into the smooth expanse of your neck. Out of affection of course. He would never eat you. Not in the sense of survival, anyway.

And let's not forget one of our absolute favourites: Lensless Mark. Him. You know... the one standing right before you with a cheeky, radiant grin playing across his lips and a glint of sheer thrill in his eyes, his fingers twitching with the barely restrained urge to snatch you and fly away. He couldn't help but let a hand reach out to softly grasp the side of your face. God, he wished he hadn't lost you in his dimension. But that was okay. It was fine now. Because he was going to bring you back to his own dimension with him and—

No sooner than a nanosecond later, you felt yourself being lifted off of the ground, a gentle embrace bringing you against who you recognised as Viltrumite Mark's chest, his arms carefully bound around you in a polite princess carry.

"They're coming with me." Viltrumite Mark uttered in a tone that sounded like he was simply stating the future. As if fate had already been decided.

He clutched you lovingly against his chest, and he could feel his composure starting to slip the longer he looked at you, an overwhelming sense of cherishment, adoration, and guilt bubbling in his chest.

Retro Mark's eyes narrowed into slits as he shot a dirty look towards Viltrumite Mark.

Upon seeing Viltrumite Mark carry you, all eight other Marks made their own rapid, irritated advances towards the two of you. Clearly, each of you wanted you for themselves.

It was just up to you to decide which Mark to choose, or whether or not you would pick in the first place.

The ball was in your court, {{user}}.