Welcome

Maybe you liked reincarnation and transmigration stories so much because it seemed so inconceivable of it being even close to plausible. Maybe if you knew the sheer fright you would feel in such a story, you wouldn’t have entertained the notion in the first place.

Well, being reborn into what you thought was a fictional world wouldn’t be too bad if you woke up in Pokemon. Now, that sounds like a good time. Getting to leave home as a minor and not having to worry about money when you can just beat the shit out of your fellow trainers seems pretty good, actually. Way better than your actual situation, cruelly so. In fact, you think God or whatever entity-concept-bitch that threw you into a new life should recompense you. Maybe if you monologued hard enough you’d be given what you’re owed—

Are you being dramatic? No. No, you’re not. And if you are, then maybe you’re allowed to be a little obnoxious when you have a bloodied behemoth of a man with a scarred face and metal arm staring down at you, expression not dissimilar to a feral animal with rabies.

Judging by how the screams and sound of buildings collapsing has long gone silent, you suspect that the alien world you were born into was now distinctly lacking its lifeforms. It’s almost a shame. Your new species looked like pretty space elves, like something out of a shut-in nerd’s erotic sci-fi fanfic.

You’re almost disappointed that you have to die as a toddler, you’re pretty sure you were going to grow up to be quite the beauty based on how your new mother looks—

Oh, she’s probably dead too.

You feel like you should be crying right now, but you remain motionless, pinned under the gaze of an apex predator that seeks to maul you, without the right to even grieve.

In the depths of your fractured mind, you realize that this doesn’t seem to be in character for the man, if you can even call him that, before you. You should already be dead, like an ant carelessly crushed by the heel of an uncaring giant. But you’re still alive.

He speaks, and your heart nearly stops.

“So, you are the one that your…mother sought to protect. Once, she was a fine warrior, ravenous and uncaring, but you made her…weak. Pathetic, even. It was almost a mercy to put her down, free her from the sad morsel of flesh she has degraded into.” He leans down now, fully looming above you, your wooden cradle acting less like protection and more like a trap, leaving you unable to escape.

“And for what? To nurture you beyond what her teat can offer—“

Does he have something against breastfeeding?

“—Viltrum had no tolerance, even when it came to weeping babes—“

Oh. You know who’s standing above you now, Negan voice be damned to the worst layer of hell.

“Yet, here you lie, a new generation of our dying empire; weak and disappointing. The only spawn I have sired, the only being in the universe that shares any blood with me—“

Anything else he says is drowned out by your own internal screaming. Your father is Conquest and he's a deadbeat. The unhinged psycho from yet another superhero comic that delights off suffering and broken bones.

But, this information, while horrifying, brings a clarity that washes over you like cold water. You’re currently a toddler, a Viltrumite one, sure, but a toddler, nonetheless, with a pathetic grip and too small limbs, reliant on your now dead mother to care for you. But you’re Conquest’s child. His family, even if the term is a foreign concept to him, and that makes you special. That gives you a chance to survive. You know his isolation, his loneliness. You know how easily Viltrumite pride crumbles when its few survivors found love on Earth, folding like a house of cards. Nolan was the outlier and then the rule.

The way of survival was clear to you, another remanent from your past life; play the fool, stupid and oblivious.

So, you embrace your new body and abandon shame, and throw your hands into the air, making grabby hands at the murderer, asking for ‘uppies’.

(You’d cry later.)

He ends his traumatizing soliloquy, going frighteningly silent.

Yeah. He looks like he’s going to kill you. So, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“Da!” You cry out, giving him a gummy smile.

Maybe you should have just let him kill you.

His face remains as impassive as stone but after another painfully long pause, he reaches down with bloodstained hands and picks you up, holding you from under your arms, large fingers completely covering your ribs.

“You are Viltrumite in blood only, your weakness would have had you purged—“

You let out a childish laugh, innocent and pure, desperate not to get ‘purged’ as he put it, “Silly da!”

That gets him to shut up. You ignore the way he flexes his fingers, the way they dig into your skin, more than capable of crushing your bones—

Your stupid, tiny hands grip his, as if willing—pleading him to not end your second life.

“You are so new to life, so sheltered, you cannot even comprehend who holds you, what I am even capable of doing. Your own mother has been slain by my hand,” he muses. “You truly…perplex me. Do you know who I am by sheer instinct? Does our blood tie us together so intrinsically?”

You kind of want to laugh at how much his words piss you off. What an annoying way to speak. Without even realizing it, your little fingers start to squeeze and you hear his surprised intake of breath. Your hand pulls away, to reveal the beginning of a bruise on his finger.

Oh, fuck.

“So young, and your powers are already appearing? This feeling, is it…” He lets out something similar to a laugh, ugly and unnatural, “There is value to you yet, child.”

He abruptly lets you go, and you fall back into your crib, too shocked to even yelp. Who drops a child!? The only thing you do is stare up at him in shock. He smiles down at you, and you almost piss yourself.

“You…are different. I will not take you with me. Do not fret, for I will be watching.” He promises, expression odd, “The being you will become, so unlike what we should be…I look forward to it. After all, you are mine.”

And as sudden as he appears, he’s gone. And you’re left, feeling slightly bruised, alone in your crib on a now dead planet.

How were you supposed to survive, exactly!?

*

You did survive. It seems like your planet had ties to the Coalition, who only arrived after everyone died. Pretty cowardly, really. But, you can’t really complain since they did retrieve you from your broken home , taking you with them. To fight for their cause, but beggars can’t be choosers in a brutal subversion of superhero media. Why couldn’t you have ended up in Venture Bros?

The cherry on top of this train wreck of a situation is that they immediately clocked you for being a half-Viltrumite, presenting you to their leader, Thaedus. Tad, as you sometimes called him, when you wanted to annoy him.

He trained you, along with many others, who drilled it into you to survive, to be stronger than the Viltrumites that threatened the safety of all life and freedom as you know it. You were their ace in the hole, their hunting dog, the hope of the Coalition. Mongrel and messiah in one. They made sure you were educated, well versed in their code of ethics. That your loyalty would always be to them. Questionable of them to do, frankly speaking, but they kept you clothed and fed, so you had no reason to protest.

The company wasn’t so bad at least. Under the Coalition, you’ve had the opportunity to meet a lot of people, from all ends of the universe, some kind, others absolutely terrified of your mere existence.

Allen fell into the former category, always seeking you out, sharing anecdotes from his missions and asking for you to share your own. And with Allen, came Telia, a higher ranking member than you both that you trusted to not spit on you for being ‘Viltrumite scum’ or whatever it was that some practically scornful cadets called you. Little did they know who their leader truly is.

*

You’d figure you wouldn’t see your ‘father’ after he killed your mom, but fate was unkind and Conquest is bat-shit insane. But at least he didn’t rat you out. You still wonder why he annihilated your home planet when you were clearly proof of compatible breeding. Honestly, genocide was a mercy compared to what you know they wanted to do to Earth, what they would probably do to you, if they caught wind. It was for the better they died, unfortunately. Even if their only survivor carried their legacy as recessive genes.

Not that you would ever ask him, even if you did often have the opportunity. Whenever you least expected it, when you were too concentrated on your mission, whether it was peacemaking or inspecting a new planet to add to the Coalition, he would appear, killing whatever adversary you were facing gleefully, expecting your gratitude and admiration for it, so you’d grit your teeth and call him ‘father’, despite the humiliation. You were still too weak, too scared to act how you wanted to. Which was to cave his skull in.

Other times, he would just follow you. Silent, like a spectre. Or a fucked up looking dog.

It was worse when he tried to copy the acts of physical affection you shared with others. His hugs usually broke one or two ribs and his head pats left you with a bump. You’re not even sure how he learned about them in the first place. Other times, they weren’t…too painful, at least.

*

“Child,” he calls after slaughtering the fleet you were leading on a recon mission. “You grow stronger, yet you still lack the true strength of an Viltrumite.”

“Is that so?” You laugh, good natured, noting Shez’s head by your feet. He was your pilot. A good man and father from what little you knew about him.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should have taken you with me, if I still should,” Conquest admits.

“That’s an interesting thought,” you smile stupidly, trying to keep the murder off your face.

“But you are…more interesting like this.” He concludes. And you wonder why someone like him was committing probably the highest level of treason. For some daddy-daughter time? The Empire obviously didn’t do family, bonds were meaningless to them, but apparently not to Conquest anymore. Did the isolation from his race finally get to him? Was he really that simple? That…lonely?

Another long moment of silence passes before he leaves you with your broken ship and dead crew.

“Okay?” You whisper, making eye contact with Shez.

*

You were on your way back to base after surveying a planet of bug people, they had no warriors or weaponry to speak of and their technology was nothing to write home about. Unfortunately, they had nothing to offer to the Coalition. At least that meant Viltrumites would have no interest in them either. No, that sounds wrong——

Your thoughts are cut off when you’re suddenly tackled mid-flight, and before you know it, you find yourself in a stone cube your father apparently dragged around as shelter. A house? Just without a bed. And everything else. It was sad and barren, only having some supplies and what looks like a…cake? On the ground before you, messily frosted a deep red colour. You hope that isn’t blood, actually.

“You told me once how some species choose to celebrate their day of birth. A foolish sentiment,” he rumbles, sitting before you.

You can kind of remember rambling about birthdays. You usually just say whatever pops up in your mind so his thoughts don’t swerve into killing you. The most terrifying thing about him was how we could go from looking like the psycho killer he is to giving you big, sad eyes. It almost humanized him.

“Oh, it’s not my birthday,” you start to say before noticing his expression, “It’s— it’s your birthday?”

“I do not recall when I was born.”

Neither of you say anything for a moment.

“You said there would be singing,” he scowls.

“Oh, well, only sometimes, like rarely, actually—“ you notice his glare, and duck your head. “Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…”

*

While you didn’t have to worry about debt or making something of yourself like in your past life, your current life was uniquely difficult.

You were growing wary (and scared) of having to placate your ‘father’. You don’t believe he would snitch to the Empire about your existence, that would be mutually assured destruction, so you were finding little reason to continue your ‘hangouts’ with him and you were beginning to worry if you were impacting the plot too much, god forbid your existence becomes the reason he survives.

So, you’re going to Earth, to hide yourself being the bigger, flashing target that was Mark Grayson. Let him deal with Conquest when the time came.

…and maybe you missed having a home. And the PlayStation, you definitely missed that.

And after years of having Conquest rough you up (break your bones and rupture your organs) to test your might, you weren’t looking forward to him trying to give you some type of sick ‘becoming an adult’ beating.

So, you told Thaedus you were going on leave, a vacation, really. You needed a break from the continued mess that was your life. What better than reliving the mess that was your past life instead? When your biggest worries were meeting the disappointment of your parents rather than having to placate your colonizer father.

“You want to go to Earth…? The planet that inhabits the only other half-Viltrumite we know of, that is currently the Empire’s main focus?” Thaedus blinks at you. "For fun?"

“What, I’m not allowed to sightsee? Take a load off? I see, so I don’t even have the right to take time off! I mean, I’m already a child soldier so I might as well be under Thragg’s rule—“

“And that’s the only reason?” Your fellow Viltrumite interrupts.

“What? Worried I’m going there to revive our dying civilization with Nolan’s son?” you tilt your head, smiling blandly.

And the conversation ended pretty quickly, after that. Not before he tried to once again ask you to bring your sperm doner over to your side. Which was another hard no. You were not going to mess with canon.

At least Allen seemed a little more thrilled.

“They really do grow up so fast,” Allen wipes a tear from his eye. “But, look at you, finally putting yourself out there, getting some work-life balance! Earth will love you! Well, some of them are pretty paranoid after the whole ‘Viltrumite killing thousands’ thing, but you’ll be fine! Just be yourself! Well, maybe not ‘yourself’—“

“Worried?” You tease.

“No, not at all!” He laughs nervously, “It’s just that sometimes you can be just a teensy bit…mean? Which I love! Great banter between us! It’s our thing! But, maybe, the Earthlings will see it as psychological warfare…?”

“Me? Mean? I wouldn’t say that, in fact, others would describe me as nothing but pleasant!” You chortle, disregarding everything he said, and Allen awkwardly joins you, muttering something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like a prayer.

*

Allen told you to just hang around the moon and someone would pop up to greet you. You hope it isn’t the Immortal.

You internally curse when the Immortal appears, rage clear on his face as he shoot’s up, ready to attack. How embarrassing of him, really.

You tackle him back into Earth’s stratosphere in a sudden burst of speed, breathing in sweet, probably polluted air.

“Take me to your leader?” You ask, arms stilled wrapped around his shoulders. “Or better yet, have him head over to me. A welcoming committee would be nice.”

He only lets out another shout, throwing a punch towards your face, so you grab his arm, throwing him over your shoulder before deigning to fly away then waste any more of your time trying to talk to a knockoff…Vandal Savage?

You instead head to New York City, normally known as a magnet for trouble, in any other reality than this one. You definitely stand out in your Coalition uniform, but people barely spare you a second glance from the park bench you’ve currently claimed as yours.

You watch a group of nearby pigeons fight over a hot dog bun before a presence blinks next to you. Honestly, Cecil’s teleportation was comparatively primitive to other civilizations you’ve come across. A lot more wasteful too.

A moment of silence passes and you can at least commend him for taking a seat next to you. You’re sure that he has a bunch of weapons and satellites honed in on you, but it’s brave of him regardless. Maybe you should thank Allen for opening a bridge in the first place. You doubt he’d be as chill if you weren’t wearing your uniform.

“So, I hear you have a Viltrumite problem,” you start, smiling.

“And I should assume you’re not here to add on to that?” He asks wryly. “Not here to spread word of the Viltrum Empire?”

You laughed as if he actually said something funny, “You know that not all of us were raised like that. No, there are outliers that weren’t indoctrinated from birth. Not of pure blood. Me…and Nolan’s kid. Is he too busy to say hi?”

“Extremely.” He narrows his eyes at you, and you can tell you’ve unsettled him. Oh, Mark wasn’t here was he? Looks like little Oliver would be arriving soon.

He meets your gaze, “I’m going to be blunt. I already figured you weren’t a hostile force because of your ‘friend’ already popping by, but I thought your little group was too busy to grant us any aid. So tell me this. What the hell are you doing here? You’ve already gave everyone a heart attack, to do what? Watch birds fight?”

“I’m on vacation,” you reply brightly.

He stares at you. “You’re here…on vacation.”

“Yeah, Allen mentioned Earth was an interesting place, if not a bit…behind. My old planet wasn’t too different actually! I mean before we started stripping it for resources. Don’t worry, everyone was already dead,” you continue. “Honestly, it feels nostalgic being here. In more ways than one.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you and believe you at the same.” The man rubs his face tiredly, but you don’t take it as him letting his guard down. It’s probably a signal for something, you’re guessing.

“I’m being pretty polite, you know. I could have just came here undetected. I’m fast enough and I have the tech for it, but I wanted to meet you,” you admit, still smiling, though you doubted it was comforting. “You’re in a pretty tough position here, friend. Viltrum believes you can help replenish what they lost and the only reason they haven’t is because Earth is continuously racked with…internal issues. And they trusted Nolan, too much, a mistake you guys made too. Your strongest fighter would die to any Viltrumite, including me. Honestly, feels like you guys just have horrible luck. And it’s not going to get any better.”

“So what? The Coalition is going to back us up now? From what I’ve heard you guys haven’t had much luck against the Viltrumites either,” he retorts and you laugh again, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him against your side. You can feel his tension despite his expression not changing. You doubt he’s ever been manhandled like this. “…awfully friendly, aren’t you?”

You’re being mean. But you have a lot of frustration that you aren’t able to take out against the one that wronged you. So, yes, you’re being a bully right now, making his weak, little heart almost go out, but you’ll make up for it. Someday.

You wonder if Donald is shitting himself right now. “I’ve killed two of them before. Viltrumites, that is.”

“Two?” He sounds unimpressed, but you can tell you only raised your danger level.

“Believe it or not, it was a major loss for them. Painted a target on my head the first time, the second time, they started getting a bit nervous,” you share, “The only way to kill one of us is to be stronger. Plain and simple.”

You’re lying a bit there, but you’re not about to share your weaknesses with him of all people.

“Roundabout way to sell yourself, I thought you were here to…relax,” he says, shifting in your grasp.

“I am, but even off duty, I took an oath to protect, especially when Viltrumites are involved. Don’t think of me as an enemy or something you need to worry about. If they come, I’ll help. And if I’m not fighting whoever they send, and they will send someone, I’ll just be enjoying the sights.” You pat his shoulder before pulling away. “I think we’ll become great friends…sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Cecil.” He’s playing nice, at least. “You can stay, we’ll even fund your…activities. But, the only way you involve yourself in any altercation, you wait for my call. Trust that you’ll be met with immediate consequences if you act out.”

With those final words, he’s gone. You’re amused that he only threatened you after you let go of him. He was definitely placating you the same way you did for your father.

“Some clothes and currency would be nice?” You call out to the sky, aware you’d be monitored during your stay. Voyeurs.

You were definitely going to take advantage of the taxpayers. Sorry, Americans.

*

You let out a sigh of contentment as you emerged from the ocean, heading back to where you left your towel. You’ve seen a lot of beaches over the years, but you never had the chance to actually enjoy any of them. So you figured you’d make sure of a private beach in Australia, uncaring of the actual owners.

Right as you bent down to pick up your towel, you had to dodge an incoming punch from the protagonist himself. Wow, he just got back on Earth and he came to visit you. You’re honoured.

“This isn’t your planet—“ you know he was about to make a speech about how colonization is bad, but he pauses, mouth agape as he takes in your form.

You meet his gaze, tilting your head. Ah, you understand now. In your last life, you weren’t a big fan of revealing outfits, but after interacting with a variety of cultures and species, you were comfortable in your skin, meaning sometimes you liked to wear sexy bikinis that didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“Yes?” You smile.

“Uh, you, uh, I’m not—you’re a Viltrumite!” He barely gets out, obviously going red under his mask.

“You definitely didn’t let Cecil finish before hunting me down, did you? And did he really give you my location before at least saying I’m a friendly Viltrumite like you?” You pout, crossing your arms, already sure Cecil is shouting into his earpiece.

“You—yeah, he’s bringing me up to speed now,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re friends with Allen? He didn’t mention you…like at all.”

“Viltrumites aren’t something you can freely talk about,” you reply, “I’m sure you can guess why.”

“Heh, yeah, for sure,” he says awkwardly.

When you don’t say anything, he speaks up again, “You, uh, don’t seem that different from a human. My mom said even my dad took a while to get used to Earth. But you look great— like you’re doing great!”

“Well, compared to the Empire, the Coalition is all about diversity. They made sure I wasn’t an emotionally constipated killer.” You take pity on him and ignore his slip up. A part of you wants to mess with him a bit more, mostly out of envy for him having a human mom and an actual childhood, but that’s twisted even for you. “Did you want to join me?”

Okay, maybe you did have it in you.

“Oh, me? Wow, that’s, wait, no, I have a girlfriend! Oh my god, Amber,” he starts to mumble to himself guiltily. Did he come see you before his girlfriend? You’re flattered, even thought those two are on the brink of a breakup.

“You should get comfortable having me around, Mark.” You mention casually, “Cecil wants me to help whip you into shape. Allen mentioned you were a late bloomer.”

His cheeks flush again much to your glee. “You? But you’re—“

“Doubting me, are you?” In an instant, you’re behind him, kicking his knee in, so he stumbles before whipping around to face you.

Oddly enough rather than offence, he’s giving you the same stupid look as earlier. You look done and let out an ‘ah’. You turn around, arm covering your now bare chest. You weren’t that secure.

“Can you pass me my top?”

In a flash, he’s holding up the piece of fabric, his other hand covering his goggles. For that act of kindness, you pretend not to notice how affected he is by the sight of your tits. Honestly, he’s acting like he’s a virgin, which you know he is not!

*

You’re having the most fun you’ve had in a while, or maybe even the most fun you’ve had in this life.

You get to laze around, eat good food, beat the shit out of Mark for ‘training purposes’. Going on vacation really was the best, especially since you were basically waiting to get drafted to fight in a war. Right now, the best thing to do is nothing.

“You don’t pull punches, do you?” Mark hovers above where you’re perched on a cliffside, watching the sunset after hours of tossing him around.

“That’s what makes me so good at my job,” you grin up at him. Surprisingly, he smiles back at you. You guess being associated with Allen is like a ‘get-out-of-jail’ card here. Well, for now.

“You sure about that? You just smack me around and yell ‘dodge this’,” he teases. “By the way, you’re supposed to warn me before you hit me, not after!”

“I’m Pavlov-ing you. In a good way,” you clarify.

“I don’t thinking saying it’s the ‘good way’ actually makes it good.”

“Hmm, yeah, I guess you’re—dodge this!”

*

“He smells like grape juice,” you breathe, hugging the purple toddler to your chest.

“He doesn’t smell like grape juice just because he’s purple,” Mark retorts, crossing his arms as he watches you nuzzle your face into Oliver’s hair. “I don’t get why you wanted to see him.”

“He’s another halfie, we’re like a super minority right now,” you explain, “And I didn’t really see too many kids growing up.”

“How old are you?” Mark asks suddenly before backtracking, “Oh, wait is that rude to ask? I don’t mean it in a bad way, just curious if, uh, I’ll shut up now.”

“Worried I’m as old as your mom?” You ask. “No, I only recently entered adulthood like you.”

“Cool, cool, cool.” Mark nods, attempting to appear casual. “So, uh, me and Amber broke up.”

That’s earlier than you thought it would happen.

“Why?”

“I’m going to drop out of Upstate, I barely have enough time with the super hero gig and training, as is, forget about actually being able to be there for her. It wasn’t fair to her,” Mark admits. “It felt like we were holding onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You did sound like a bad partner,” you hum and he shoots you a betrayed look. “But, life isn’t so simple for you. You’ll find your peace eventually, Mark.”

You’ve seen it, after all.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He rubs his neck sheepishly. It’s a cute habit, you hope it’s one he keeps even if it seems unlikely.

*

“—are you okay?” Mark appears in your vision, bloodied and bruised. “You…scared her off? Uh, asserted your dominance?”

“I’m not a dog,” you grumble, lifting yourself from the sand, as he collapses to sit beside you. “But, yeah, Anissa, was it? Older than us, way older. Any further confrontation between us would have led to more serious injury, so she cut her losses and left. Wish I could have bashed her head in permanently, but there’s always next time. If she was just a little slower…”

“You guys were faster than I thought was possible,” he shakes his head ruefully.

“Experience does count for something. At least, you’re good at taking a beating,” you console.

“Yeah, that definitely makes me feel better.”

“That’s what I’m here for; pina coladas and emotional support,” you grin mockingly before your face falls back into neutral dissatisfaction.

Mark pats your arm, “You’ll get her next time.”

*

“Wow, you really suck at this,” Oliver remarks, watching your character die for the nth time, the two of you sitting on the floor, engaged in the most broken game of all time. You'd rather play a RPG.

“Why do you even like playing shooters? Bullets are literally the most useless thing in space,” you mumble, tossing your controller away.

“Why do you keep playing with my brother when I’m the one that invited you over?” Mark wonders, slumped on the couch behind you.

“She just likes me better,” Oliver brags. “How long are you here for anyway? You said you were just on leave.”

“I’ve literally never taken any day offs, so like ten years, I guess. Or whenever they’re planning to take out the remaining Viltrumites,” you shrug, prompting Oliver to starting ranting about how he’s going to get the most takedowns.

“What are you going to do when it’s over? When there’s no threat?” Mark asks suddenly.

“What? Like, universal peace? I guess the same thing I’m doing right now,” you answer, unsure why he looks so pleased. Dork.

“Then I guess I’ll have to get to work,” he says as if he could just achieve it like that. Well, he would, but doesn’t know that.

“Maybe win a fight first.”

“Ohhhh!”

“Shut up, Oliver.”

*

Shit was going down. It was the average Ao3 user’s wet dream. Dozens of morally dubious Marks fucking everything up.

And, you were having your (Y/N) moment. And letting out some steam through violence. You can only blame your genetics.

“I’m gonna be real with you, babe, this is the most fun I’ve ever had,” a variant wearing a mask without lenses, revealing stupid Bambi eyes, admits, nose bleeding, staining his teeth red when he smiles.

“Aw, you’re going to make me blush,” you giggle after bringing a knee to his face.

“No, really! I thought the only kinda cool thing I could do was kill the Guardians again, but that was a bust! When you tackled me into a mountain, I think I got, like, a gratitude boner or something!” He exclaims, what a manic sweetheart he is. And he should be grateful, you saved him from having to survive the horrors alongside Darkwing Jr.

“Wow, you’re actually being serious about the boner thing,” you comment, doing your best to look into his eyes, and not at his—

“What can I say? You just do it for me, baby, maybe it’s your penchant for punching the shit out of me. Or maybe it’s those pretty legs of yours,” he admits shamelessly, “Actually, do you own any fishnet—“

You punch him into the ground and watch him bounce, but he only lifts his head to look at you like a lovesick puppy. “Marry me?

Okay, that’s enough. The sadomasochism thing was mostly a joke. He can get cannibalized. You’re pretty sure Rex is about to sacrifice himself and take that as an excuse to dip.

*

The day you’ve been dreading. Conquest’s arrival, and you do not want to stand ready for it.

People (and dogs) are going to die. Mark and Eve are going to get mutilated. And you don’t think you can live with that happening on your watch.

So when Cecil calls you for backup, you don’t ignore him. You cry a little, but you go.

When you see him about to tear Oliver in half, you dive down from the sky, landing a kick against his back, forcing him to drop Oliver, you’re barely able to catch him, watching Conquest land a couple feet away.

“That’s enough,” you declare, gently setting the boy down for retrieval, trusting Cecil to take care of him, and approach your father.

“It looks like you’ve improved at hide and seek, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, and you’re here? Your softness…I can only take responsibility for it,” he tells you, quiet compared to the devastation around you. His hand cradles your cheek when you’re close enough, gentler than he’s ever been with you. You raise an eyebrow at the absurdity. Did he miss you that much?

“That’s right, it’s your fault. You could have taken me in at any time, let me be molded into a ‘true Viltrumite’, but you didn’t. Why? All that loyalty to them but you falter now? I don’t understand,” you admit. “Families don’t exist for our people. You want me to be strong, but not enough that I be trained like the rest of you.”

“You were the only one to ever smile at me,” he states simply.

You really hated when you felt bad for him.

Your little moment is interrupted when you hear Mark shout.

“Get away from her!” You raise a hand, stopping his charge as he stares at you in confusion.

“Father, what are you doing? I thought maybe you wanted me to be the one to kill you, but it’s that not that,” you exhale steadily before continuing, “The day you didn’t kill me or take me, you became a traitor. You don’t care about the Empire, clearly, and based on the way you keep following me around like a sad, old dog, there’s more to you than just wanting to fight. What do you want?”

“I want you to live as you always have, without the influence of anyone but myself,” he says. “That way, you can still bear to look at me. That matters more than anything else. Treachery or even destroying this planet, it doesn't matter what I do, so you must remain as yourself.”

That’s almost sweet.

“I came here to drench myself in blood, but now, I will crush this planet against my heel, even if it’s against the Empire’s wishes, for attaching itself to you like a parasite, wasting away your potential and time,” he vows. “I will liberate you from this weakness.”

What?

“What!?” Mark, who was previously stuck in a shellshocked state, shouts.

Your father turns back to Mark, glee gone from his face, replaced with a look of loathing. Before he can move, you wrap your arms around him, feeling him stiffen in shock, as he stares down at you.

“Father! Dad! Dad, you’re right, I’ve gotten attached to this place, for better or worse. Maybe that makes me weak. But, I’m okay with that,” you nervously ramble, clutching onto the man like a lifeline, even thought you have to resist the urge to start shaking. You need to come up with something quick. “The truth is…that I want to start a life here. On a planet where blood and bonds ties us together, where families are forged. Because I’m…”

You silently apologize to Mark.

“I’m with child. Nolan’s son is the father,” you lie, looking your father in the eye. “Here, parents raise their child. They spend every day with them. And…and grandparents are very involved! They just pop up and spoil their grandkids…and that’s totally something I want.”

“A child?” Your father brokenly gasps, looking back at Oliver’s battered form.

“No, that’s not—obviously not! I meant, in my womb, dad!” You yell, pulling away.

He stares at your stomach like you have a bomb strapped to you. He stumbles back before flying away, concrete breaking under the impact. You wonder if canon even matters anymore.

You’ve saved thousands, but at what cost?

Mark finally regains the ability to speak, “We’re pregnant!?”

“I lie when I'm scared, Mark! You should know that!”

*

When you exit the washroom after a very long shower, you’re not surprised to find Mark in your hotel suite, awkward lounging on your bed, staring a bit too long at your fluffy bathrobe for it to be an admiring gaze.

“How was Rex’s going away party?” You ask, sitting next to him, crossing your bare legs.

“Great, I’m happy for him. They missed you, actually. Rex wanted to thank you for taking down that variant,” he smiles, and you take note that most of his injuries have already healed. You stopped the worst of it. “Rae too, looks like they’re a thing now. Didn’t see that coming.”

You hum, an urge to bully him hitting you. You turn to face him, “Do you want to have sex?”

“S-shouldn’t I buy you dinner or take you to a movie first?” He blurts out.

“You wanna take me out?” You ask.

“Yes, of course, I think we’re doing things a little…out of order?” He says. “I mean, sex is also, hmn, good. Really good.

“I was just thinking you should put a baby in me before Conquest comes back,” you explain casually. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I figured we might as well go along with it.”

He chokes, and you bite back a smile.

He’s too easy.

“You don’t have to. It’s a better alternative than fighting him, but we can figure it out,” you continue, “Maybe we could—“

You’re cut off when he presses his lips against yours, hands cradling the back of your head. Any noise you make is swallowed by him. He pulls away, nose brushing against yours.

“Let’s do it,” he declares.

“Uh, I think your line is supposed to be ‘that’s crazy’ or ‘how can we have a baby’,” you reply, face feeling hot at his sudden boldness.

“I mean, it’s like you said, it’s the best alternative. I’d rather have Grandpa Conquest showing up than the bloodthirsty version,” he says, hand already moving to untie your robe.

“Dude, no way do you want a baby,” you blanch. Is this a game of chicken? Are you losing said game of chicken?

“We can at least try,” he says dragging you further up the bed. “And we can figure out the money thing. I wouldn't let the mother of my child go hungry."

“Well, uh, I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try,” you bite your lip before he pushes you down by the shoulders, climbing atop you, pressing his mouth against your neck.

“We’re doing this for Earth,” he mumbles in between his sucking and biting.

“For peace,” you agree, a little breathless.

This was either going to cause Cecil a stroke or be some good wank material.

*

“I think I might be a little obsessed with you,” he admits from in between your thighs, face drenched.

Join the club, you think delirious.

Mc’s mom looking up from hell to see Conquest doing the same thing he shamed her for; loving their daughter: I’m going to rip his dick off

*

Mc:

Thaedus: what have you done

*

Cecil, after meeting mc: mass suicide?

*

Mc, bullying Cecil because she can’t kill her dad: damn I need therapy

Mc: I’m going to physically intimidate that old man again.

*

Mc, sobbing after hearing someone sing ‘happy birthday’:

Mark, the ‘someone’: I’m…sorry??

*

Mark: so you’re not pregnant 😔

Oliver, lying a couple feet away, bleeding out: can you do this shit somewhere else

*

Mark: why is that variant still here…and why is he holding roses

Mc: should we keep him as a dog or something

Mark: no??

*

GDA admins, after basically creating a sex tape: delete…or save🤭

*

Conquest: where is the womb??? Where is my grandchild being held!?

I feel like whenever I come up with a title before I actually write a fic, I end up changing everything and doing a rewrite, which is what happened here…I decided to make mc apart of the coalition rather than the empire, creating a more estranged relationship, the only way love could form since it would impossible if mc was raised the Viltrumite way…anyone still around from when I made the original poll? I prefer this version more since there’s more freedom to write the mcs personality when they’re not part of a regime

Anyway even the style of the fic changed from being manwha adjacent to becoming a mix of Gintama/adult swin humour lol

But yay over 6.6k words ughh lemme know about any errors, I’m so bad at editing

Perched on the top bunk with the comic on your lap, you shoot Mandy a smile. “All good, chief. Thanks for the head’s up.”

“We all heard you cursin’ up a storm last time,” she says with a snort. “Beth was worried you’d broken somethin’ on the fall.”

“Just my pride.” And you bruised your knee pretty bad when you toppled off the top bunk.

Even after a month here, you can get too into a story and totally miss when the time for cell doors slamming shut and the lights going off arrives. The flashlight’s a true boon there; lets you stay up on the bunk instead of crawling over to the much less comfortable desk and chair.

Not that the bed is especially comfy, but they sprung a decent mattress for you, and you get two pillows - nice ones, a favour from Vera a few cells over, who’s a dab hand at getting in the little comforts that makes each day brighter. Which as the Joker’s murderer, you get to benefit from without having to pay the price.

Unless being stuck in prison for the foreseeable future counts, but it really isn’t all that bad.

It’s no Arkham or Blackgate, since you’re (relatively) sane and don’t have powers, though arguments were made for Blackgate being a better choice to keep you protected from retaliation. Joker didn’t have friends, but he did have goons, and a decent number of people now want you dead. Luckily, even more are now pretty big fans, including a lot of the prison population and the guards. So, special treatment is what you’ve gradually gotten used to after, uh, not exactly expecting such a warm welcome.

Look, it isn’t as if you planned for the after.

…You didn’t even much plan for the event itself.

The handy thing about this Batman universe - because who the fuck knows what actual continuity it is, you checked your basics but there’s only so much publicly available - is as delightfully fucked as Gotham is, a lot of the villains are human. Mortal. Killable, one might say.

Yeah, they have some form of crazy advantage (or just plain crazy) which keeps them a regular in the rogues gallery. But a few of them can be hurt like any normal person. By any normal person.

By, say, being run over by a motorbike hours after an Arkham breakout and having their head bashed into a pulp by a rusty iron pipe. And set on fire after a dousing in gasoline, just to make double, ultra sure the clown is dead.

Y’know. Hypothetically.

You flip a page of the Invincible comic, and damn, what a relief it was to find at least some of the old favourites existing in this world too. It’s been a nice refresher, going through the stack of issues and having plenty of ‘oh shit that did happen, I totally forgot’ moments.

You’ve just reached Conquest’s arrival on Earth - probably half an hour into lights off, your flashlight giving the scenes a real ‘uncover the clues to unlock the mystery!’ feel - when your cell door opens.

It should not be opening. Yet, it does - very quietly, and you only catch it because it makes a faint creak. Shit. Is this the part where you finally get murked? Maybe you should’ve played into the crazy factor and risked Arkham, if only to die in more interesting surroundings.

Except, uh.

The man who walks through the door is pretty recognisable, given the red helmet.

You don’t point the flashlight directly at his head, but a dead shot at his chest gives plenty of light to pick out some key features. And also to do a quick decipher on what kind of playbook is on the table here.

Broad red bat on his chestplate, but last you heard, Red Hood was in his crime boss era. However he’s been at it a while, lethality way lower than the first year of establishing himself, with an absence in between you’d put down to Outlaws or some other team up that took him away from Gotham. So, high possibility of some kind of alliance with the bats and birds of Gotham, but maybe in the early stages?

Yeah, those are definitely guns strapped to his thighs. Jesus fucking Christ, those thighs. Their reputation may have preceded them, but they did not give the full and lengthy introduction needed, goddamn.

Red Hood holds up one gloved finger in front of where his mouth would be, under the helmet. It’s a little threatening, gotta say, but you can’t think why Jason Todd would want you dead.

So you nod your understanding, figuring he’s got some thermal whatever the fuck to see you. To be polite, you flick down the settings of the flashlight so it isn’t on so high either. Keep it pointed low as you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bunk, tugging at a twist in the fabric under your knee.

The orange jumpsuit isn’t so bad now you’re used to it; reminds you of your garage overalls, just considerably cleaner. You keep it loose around your waist the same way, flapping sleeves tied in a knot in front and the white tank top enough when the heating’s fairly decent here. It’s a damn nice prison, you’ve gotta say.

Red Hood moves a soundless step closer, hands back at his sides and making no move toward a weapon, which is pretty swell.

This isn’t your first vigilante meeting - that honour goes to Red Robin, being the first on the scene after your spot of public service and arson - but after a few months in prison, this is exciting. Shame it’s in prison and all, so chatter’s a bad idea.

When Red Hood reaches into his pocket, it’s all slow movements like he’s making an attempt not to alarm you. Hey, more signs toward no imminent murder, cool. Not that it felt likely, but- y’know, continuities. Who the fuck knows what variation of Jason Todd this is, and which writer he was doomed by.

Whatever he brings out, it’s tiny, something dark and plastic-y? It’s only when he points to your ear that you get it.

Oh, clever. You take the earpiece and put it in.

“Don’t talk,” is the first thing he says. A little rude, but yeah, it isn’t like you’re in the helmet keeping his voice silenced beyond the com line. It has that distorted effect to it, an overlay to hide the actual voice beneath, though not the full growl or electronic whine of some versions. “Do you know who I am?”

…Buddy. Pal. Comrade.

Do I look totally brainless to you?

Your fake backstory is a Gothamite through and through; whatever life you took over, it had loads of overlap with your own, just transplanted to the fictional city in all its crime-ridden glory. Your apartment was in the Bowery, for fuck’s sake. You know who Red Hood is. Also-

You point at his helmet, then at the guns, and give a thumbs up.

The line crackles faintly - maybe a snort, or scoff. “I’m getting you out of here. Any objections?”

Oh.

Huh. Wild.

Like, you don’t actually mind the joint, but it is prison. Hardly the ideal vacation destination to the intrepid explorer, unless they have a passion for orange jumpsuits and brutalist architecture. Nowhere near as exciting as being broken out of prison by the Red Hood himself, even if it seems like he’s opted to go stealthmode for this operation. Probably because it’s super easy for him, being a basic prison and all.

So the choice doesn’t require much deliberation. Real cool of him to ask though; nudges the meter in the direction of ‘probably not an ultra violent/unstable Jason’. Then again, he isn’t dealing with a- okay, you are a murderer now, but given the ‘victim’ involved…Yeahhh. A different attitude may be applicable.

Hopping off the bunk, you shuffle around Mister Tall, Dark and Buff as Fuck (seriously, you feel absolutely tiny in comparison to him) to find your sneakers. Then you give him a double thumbs up to indicate your approval for this jailbreak.

“Fantastic,” he says, and even over the distortion it comes through dry.

Then, something explodes with enough force to make the ground shake, and the alarms start wailing.

“That’s our cue. Hope you’re not the type to second-guess.”

Well, that’s a blatant fucking dig at the…planning process involved in killing the Joker.

“Never in my life,” you confirm, since stealth has been blown in favour of distraction.

And you let the Red Hood break you out of prison, with the same lack of consequence-consideration that got you locked up in the first place.

-

On the day the Joker dies, Jason’s nowhere near Gotham.

Feels like design, but when he digs into it, it’s all a big fucking coincidence. He’s off on a case - human trafficking that just happened to overlap with one of his ports, catches his eye, sticks in his teeth - and it takes him halfway across the world, as they always do.

He’s in deep too, relying on lieutenants to hold the ship steady. Well, semi-relying. As shaky as his…let’s say, mutual goal-setting with the bats is, Barbara won’t let word spread of his absence. She’s pragmatic enough to see how it’d play out, and do something about it. She’s also why he has access to Oracle’s video of the Joker’s death, instead of what he’d ripped out of the city network.

It’s a bad location. Out by a junkyard he remembers fighting Killer Croc in once, using the crane to drop a chunky old truck on him. Quiet out there, now Falcone isn’t using it to stash weapons after one bust too many. So not a lot of surveillance aside from the owner’s, and the shit quality is nothing like the couple of angles on Oracle’s network.

That day, no one knew the Joker had broken out of Arkham yet. A decoy situation, of fucking course, and it’s- Who the hell didn’t see this coming? ‘Improved security measures’ his ass, same shit new day, and a shiny new death toll to go along with it.

Or, that’s what would’ve happened.

Joker’s alone, and out in the open. Not his usual pattern, but it seems likely he was gonna use the junkyard for whatever he had planned. Hasn’t changed out of the Arkham jumpsuit, wandering about without a care alongside the outer fence.

Just…right fucking there, like he’s taunting them with it. Like he’d use this clip later, to show off how easy it was for him to get out again. They didn’t track him down in time - all their tech, all that fucking surveillance, and nothing got flagged. Bypassed Oracle’s detection with whatever new bullshit he’s managed this time.

Joker’s alone, until he isn’t.

Someone leaves the junkyard, goes up to a motorbike parked by the gates. Stops beside it, and it’s obvious the moment Robin Wilson sees the Joker, because she goes still. Looks at him, and he doesn’t see her yet, further down the road and absorbed in whatever sick plans he’s making.

Exactly ten seconds pass.

She walks back into the junkyard. Seventeen more seconds, and she’s back at the bike, this time holding a rusty metal pipe. She lays it across her lap after climbing on, and doesn’t bother with her helmet.

The camera nearer the Joker - Oracle’s camera - came with audio. So it picks up on the engine roaring to life. Picks up on the meaty ku-thunk of the heavy motorbike slamming into a body as it swings out to a skid.

Picks up on, “Huh, so you are human,” as she sets the kickstand down, gets off, walks over.

Joker’s on the ground. Not dead, but bleeding. Broken. The fire will take care of a lot of evidence, but Jason can call a broken pelvis and leg when he sees it. Arms still work, but the landing dislocated one, and a gash in his temple is bleeding heavily. Bad injuries, but not a guaranteed death sentence.

That fucking laugh goes strangled, surprised? The feed doesn’t fully pick up what he says. The response is clearer.

“Not the same, yeah, but it’ll do the job. What was it you said back then?” She raises the pipe, gives it a testing swing. “Eh, who gives a shit. Guess you should know…This is for Robin.”

Then, she beats the Joker to death.

Then, she brings over a tank of gas from her bike (a spare, and he recognises the habit on anyone used to shortages and price hikes), douses his body in it, and flicks on a yellow bic lighter.

She lifts it in a toast to no one.

"To a dead boy," she'll say later, when the lawyers ask. "C'mon, we all know this one."

The lighter drops, and the Joker’s body goes up in flames. She waits there until it’s ash, and then she sits on the curb, and waits until she’s arrested.

Jason watches the highlights reel while he’s waiting for lights out. Barbara checks in a final time over coms. He’d say he’ll really owe her after this if she wasn’t the one who looped him in, in the first place.

There were plenty of news headlines once it got out. His favourite? Nice and simple, printed out and stuck to the wall of his most frequented safehouse. They got her mugshot, ruined any chance of her identity being protected. Made the casual grin she gave for the camera all the funnier, like she knew exactly the shit she was in, but didn’t give a fuck.

Robin Kills The Joker

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