#robmark

It isn’t the main wing under the Pentagon you were in last time. Nah, that one got messed up by a variant, so they have you over in-

Huh. No one’s actually told you yet. Maybe you should be more concerned about that, given your less than stellar experiences at the hands of government agencies and the GDA in particular. But it’s pretty hard to bring yourself to care when you should’ve been blown to smithereens by now.

You stare at the ceiling. It fails to tell you what to do next.

Not that you were expecting a Mufasa-style revelation to Hamlet itself out of the ceiling tiles, but it would’ve been real nice if the universe could do you a solid and like, provide one anyway. You’d happily take directions now your script has been ripped out of your hands, set on fire, and scattered to the eight winds.

Sure, you weren’t…completely following it, exactly?

Oh god. Are you alive because you didn’t date a teenage girl? And didn’t proceed to cheat on her repeatedly? Did your super limited morals somehow fuck you over?

Like, you totally would’ve dated Eve when you guys were older, but you’d already uh- shut that down when you were younger, and dealt with the awkwardness of it when she still let you stay in her bedroom, and- C’mon, dating Eve just to give her a ‘my boyfriend is a dirty cheater and I’m sad’ arc prompt is, it’s crappy? You like Eve. She can character-develop without a man involved. Romance is for schmucks-

“Hey, Rex.”

“S’up.” You lift the flesh hand in a loose wave at Mark, catching sight of him in the periphery as he walks over to the chair beside the bed. Why he walks so often, you’ll never understand. Dude can fly. At least cross the six foot of height threshold and hover everywhere like a dickhead.

“You, uh…you good?”

“I’m having an existential crisis,” you explain. “Otherwise, just peachy. I’ll be outta this joint in no time.”

It’s not a half-bad body. Plenty of upgrades stuffed in, gives you increased durability and a healing boost, and gets you back in the field fast. The fact they’ve kept you here a while is pretty weird, but the doctor said it’s because they want to monitor if your brain was fucked over by the blood loss and concussions and all that shit.

Some freaky stuff came back on the scans, and they’ve filed it under your explody-enhancements, but you think it might be to do with your…other shit. But hey, you don’t think about that, remember? Since you’re…gonna die…soon…

Fuck.

Fuuuck.

“Guess I’m homeless again,” you realise, since yeah, let’s focus on the practicalities. Like how the lack of ceiling and structural integrity means the Teen Team base isn’t an option now. Also, the battle there probably gave away your super secret hideout to the broader populace, if anyone was paying just a teensy bit of attention to tracking the variants.

“You can stay at my place.”

The offer has you sitting up, because the fuck, Mark? Also, ow, your broken ribs, various fractures, and the healing gash in your side don’t appreciate the sudden movement, but they can suck it up and deal with it like a man who forgot his kneepads on a Friday night.

Mark made it through the Invincible War in better shape than most, though with Conquest’s arrival on the horizon (presumably? You really don’t remember when exactly he shows, just that it’s sometime in the aftermath), you can’t exactly call him lucky.

Still has a big cut on the corner of his lips and faint bruising on his jaw. Still annoyingly pretty, but you’ve gotten used to that being the default.

Hey, you did try to be a 24/7 asshole toward him. You’d like to state for the record you absolutely owned the jackass role, and not even the lovable kind.

Kate was totally exaggerating when she said you sounded incredibly gay when you used to taunt Invincible every time you saw him. Though your, “Ex-fucking-scuse you, I’m bisexual,” probably wasn’t the best defence in the world. But you didn’t get called out online for being terribly bisexual rep only for everyone to forget as soon as it was convenient, jeez.

“You mean your mom’s place?” you have to point out, as a matter of principle.

Sure, you’re all friendly now. Once you had your brains blown out you were allowed to cool it off on being grouchy whenever Invincible helped out in a fight, and he visited so often it would’ve been weirder not to become friends. Mark’s a cool guy, as dorky as he is, and it’s honestly pretty strange to you that people can dislike the dude after any chunk of time around him.

But you have an established dynamic to keep to. It’s-

Ugh. Okay, maybe you’re just leaning into it as a desperate grab for some semblance of familiarity. Whatever.

They won’t let you smoke in here, and no one will smuggle some in for you (like you wouldn’t do it for them! Traitors), so you need every coping mechanism you can get your hands on. Mechanical included, and that one has several times the grip strength. Good thing you’re ambidextrous, ha.

“Yeah, my mom’s house is also my house.” Mark rolls his eyes, even does a small head tilt with the motion. Cute. He looks exhausted after the recent shitshow, didn’t say much when he visited yesterday, so it’s good to see he’s not past the point of a normal reaction.

“Lame. Get a job and move out already.” You pause, considering. “Do you reckon the housing market will, like, crash or boom from all this? It could go either way, right?”

Lots of dead people means empty houses(apartments etc included). Destruction means more need for houses. The economy is in shambles-

“Dude.”

“What? We need silver linings to stay sane. It’s a superhero staple, and humour is my favourite coping mechanism.”

“I thought reckless behaviour was your favourite coping mechanism.”

Ah, he knows you well. Freaky. “I’m fickle. Today’s favourite is tomorrow’s demotion, but I’m prone to rebounds.”

“And avoiding the actual question,” he says like someone who legit pays attention to your habits. Super freaky. Maybe he should be the one in the hospital bed.

Not this one. Obviously. You’re in it.

“Listen,” you sigh, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. You probably need a haircut again, or just buzz it all short instead of just the sides. But Eve says it looks good at this length, and you owe her in like, a dozen different ways. Corner store eye candy is the least you can offer. “That’s real generous of you, but you already saved my life. We’ve hit our annual quota on massive, impossible to repay favours.”

“It’s not about-” He makes an annoyed sound, this grumpy little huff, and genuinely; how does anyone take him seriously? Look at the guy.

Okay, don’t look too closely. It’s a fucking miracle his face isn’t plastered across the news for everyone to identify as Mark Grayson, thanks to the evil Invincibles who needed the whole world to swoon over their killer face cards. Mark’s luck is so erratic.

“We’re friends,” Mark says with enough emphasis to seem a bit manic, but he’s probably entitled to that after the year he’s had. “Friends help out friends. I know you’d do the same for me.”

You open your mouth to object, but- damn. He’s got you there.

If you were the insanely OP one, obviously you’d save his fantastic ass (and the rest of him). And if you had a house, even if it was your mom’s, you’d offer it up if he needed someplace to stay. Hell, if he tried to go off on his own or - even worse - slink back to the GDA for scraps, you’d drag him home with you like a newly adopted stray in need of chipping.

Tracker chipping, not the- fucking, noisemaker thing. God, that was horrific. Even knowing it was coming, and you were careful not to blow up the damn remote - just grabbed it from Cecil instead, because even hard-boiled GDA directors flinch from sparklers going off in his face - it was still fucking awful to let it play out that far.

Not that you could’ve done much if you wanted to change things. Instead, the major change has just…happened to you. Because of Mark.

“Fuck it,” you mutter, and try not to panic over the abrupt return of an unknown future. It helps when you look at Mark. Despite everything, he feels…reliable, you guess. A sure thing when he absolutely shouldn’t be. “Since you want my company so bad, I’ll take your couch until I figure out a new place.”

“It’ll be an air bed, actually,” he says with a grin, as if he’s won something, the weirdo.

Still, it’s nice to see? Guess it really helps that in this world, Eve didn’t get hurt so bad she was knocked into a coma - you’ve no idea why, but it’s definitely the best change from the natural course of events. Though she did still get taken off the field by a really bad leg break, so it isn’t all sunshines and unicorns. Just better than it could be.

“Fancy,” you drawl, pressing the button to lift the top half of the bed so you can lean back on it. This kind of throbbing ache really fucking sucks. “Does it come with a pillow mint, too? A towel folded in the shape of a magnificent swan?”

“Really feeling the gratitude, man.”

“Hey, if you want your dick sucked, I’m sure we arrange-”

“No, nope, no making jokes like that once you’re in my house. My mom will be around, and Oliver.”

“Who said it was a joke?…Ha, relax, I’ve got it. Save the cock talk for when we’re alone.”

“…You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

Probably more to you, since you’re a regular on the bodyguard crew. Which is in of itself, fucking hilarious given how OP he is, but the Emperor can’t be seen scuffling with the riffraff assassins. Not only is it bad for his pacifist image, pretty much all the other Viltrumites consider it beneath him.

Kind of seems a shame to you. Gotta be boring at the top, and superpowers are made to be used.

But this is his happy ending. Which…good for him? It isn’t a terrible stage for you to be transmigrated into, even if it was confusing as hell to wake up in a spaceship, in an alien body which looked a lot like yours, but very obviously wasn’t when you dented the beside table. The fuzzy memories hit fast, thank fuck.

Congratulations! You’re one of Thragg’s Thraxan kids. Missed the purple stage though, sucks to be you, and it skipped you directly into the epilogue.

Beyond the epilogue? Like, the war with the former Coalition of Planets was a while back, and the Empire’s going strong. Very successfully making the universe a better place. Some tension with the Conservation Order trying (again) to break off from the Empire and establish themselves as fully independent - and neutral in case of further wars, with their own actual governance - but that simmered down last time, so you’re not holding your breath on this go around.

Though you can hold your breath a long time now. That’s pretty cool. You bet you’d give amazing blowjobs.

“Robin.”

“Hm?” You blink at Kreysal, one of your siblings. Super serious, not a single funny bone in her body, and has a hell of an uppercut. She also has a very cute bob clearly mimicking Ursaal, baddest bitch of the batch.

Yeah, you have no idea why you have the same name in this life. It’s a Christmas miracle.

You have a vague memory of baby not-you having an interest in Earth as the home of their enemies, falling into the glorious trashfire that is reading comics, and that being the entire reason she picked the name. Which she obviously told no one of, since it’d be traitorous as fuck.

“What are you wearing?” Kreysal asks, arms folded and an extra click to her sharp words. A leftover of Thraxan mommy.

Most of the gang suppress any of that, but you find it fun to keep up the chittery skill - it makes you feel more actually alien, since you otherwise look human. No freaky vagina or anything. What a letdown. Could’ve at least given you a dick too - or a tail, you’ve have taken a tail. Rocked a tail, even.

“This?” You glance down at the shirt you bought at the last planet. “It’s a shirt.”

You were wandering through the shopping hub to pass the time, and out of curiosity toward all these aliens. It’s so fucking cool to actually be on another planet - you can easily forget it if you spend all your time on the ship or locked in super dull meetings - and if you give it a few minutes of listening in, you quickly start to understand the new languages being spoken. It’s such a cheat, and you love piping up to ask questions or pretend you know how to barter.

You traded a pricey bit of tech for the closest thing to a tropical shirt you’ve seen so far. It’s actually more of a long-sleeved crop-top, tightening just under your boobs and with a clasp near the collar to keep it shut. You just left that part open - with your uniform underneath, of course. Can’t skimp on regulations.

…Pseudo regulations? More an expectation set by like, every fucking Viltrumite on the ship dressing like they’re allergic to individualism. The blue, yellow and white is fine you guess, but it isn’t very expressive.

“You shouldn’t be wearing anything besides your uniform,” Kreysal hisses, proving your point. “Especially not on duty.”

“But the boss is late.” You gesture down the empty hallway. You’re both standing outside the doors to the big hall he uses for most meetings, waiting for the man of the hour. “I’m barely on duty.”

“You will be as soon as our Emperor arrives.”

You press a hand over your heart. “And I’ll strip in an instant for him.”

As expected, her lips twist with revulsion and her hands clench into fists. You grin at the prospect of a good fight. Kreysal’s damn easy to rile up, she’s awesome.

Tragically, Mark Grayson chooses that moment to round the corner.

Kreysal instantly falls back into position on the other side of the door, face wiped clear like she’s a monk and not a Viltrumite with a short temper. Adorable. You roll your eyes but straighten up, mimicking her in the salute - fist over the middle of your chest. One tradition Mark didn’t rid the Empire of.

The fact he walks at all is one thing the Viltrumites copy. Maybe they always did that, even back in the Regency era, but c’mon. You can fly.

If your feet are on the ground, it’s only when they absolutely have to be. Even now you’re lifting your weight as much as you can without actually pulling off the floor. It’s soothing and fun, helps channel the excess energy.

And yep, he still kind of looks like he wants to drown himself. He barely acknowledges the two of you, just a slight nod of his head as he strides closer.

Maybe it’s because Eve isn’t around. You don’t actually know where she is, other than not on the ship, and no one talks about it since it’d be like, totally treasonous to gossip about the Emperor. Which is lame as fuck, the cowards, but you know she was about not that long ago.

And they seemed fine? She was all young again, a match for Mark’s apparent age of thirties-ish, so this can’t be some tragic AU where she doesn’t get the immortality cheat. Her absence would be an easy thing to blame, if he didn’t look…well, not much better when she was here.

It’s fucking weird. What’s messing him up so bad when he has his happy ending?

The doors slide open, but his steps falter before he goes through, and-

Oh, shit. Caught staring, haha.

You flicker a smile as his eyes cut to you. He’s way taller, which makes the no-flying situation even more annoying, so you have to tip your head back a bit. Could just look away respectfully, obviously, but you’re not one to avoid a bit of awkwardness.

Then he looks down at your shirt, and you fail to suppress a snort at the blatant surprise and confusion livening up his expression. It looks good on him - makes him appear younger, less rigid.

“I wanted to try something new,” you explain with a shrug. You’re sure if Kreysal wasn’t on Mark’s other side, she’d be glaring daggers at you. So you might as well push it. “Have you considered switching up your style? Same thing every day’s gotta get repetitive.” And- okay, goodbye impulse control, it’s rapidly disintegrating the longer he stares at you. “It isn’t like we’re comic book characters.”

“I…” Whoops, you might’ve broken the Emperor. That can’t be good. Though if he’s so fragile, someone really should’ve taken a mallet to him a while back. “You…know what a comic book is?”

“Dude,” you say, duly offended. “Of course I do. Girls read comics too.”

“That wasn’t what I-” He shakes his head, all baffled uncertainty. Cute. “What’s wrong with my style?”

Well, since he asked. “It isn’t bad. Just overly formal. We all know you’re top dog - you could stand to relax a little, yeah? No one’s gonna rebel because you show up in a pair of jeans or a sweater. We’re past that stage. Probably.”

“Probably,” he echoes, still looking at you like you’re a freaky creature who just crawled in through an airlock and started masquerading as one of his bodyguards. Not far off the truth, haha. You were just much more efficient.

“Think about it,” you say, then nod toward the meeting room. There’s another set of doors before the actual room where the aliens await; part of the security protocol when various enemies favoured blowing holes in the side of the room. “They’re waiting for you, boss. Ready for another round of space diplomacy?”

“Uh, yeah.” With one last uncertain glance, he puts his game face back on and walks inside.

Kreysal is, indeed, giving you a death stare. You grin back as you both follow after your emperor.

“Not bad, kid,” you say when he looks at you expectantly once you’re both back down in Earth’s atmosphere. You do have a TTD (thought transmission device, to the uninitiated, not to be mixed up with sight transmission device) but you have a very good reason to avoid using that.

One which pipes up the second you finish speaking.

“Must you praise him?” Thragg says with utter disgust, and a heavy dose of resignation. “Your refusal to kill him is an inexcusable lapse in judgement, and will see our people brought to ruin. But to go so far as to-”

“You’re improving,” you add, and Mark does that thing where he tries not to grin too wide, scratches his cheek, and sort of kicks at the air. It’s very cute.

“I just, uh, did what you suggested. With the-” Mark throws a loose punch with a “ka-pow!”. He quickly winces, and drops his hand. “Anyway it was- it worked. Like you said.”

“If you continue to progress at this pace, you’ll succeed me soon,” you say purely for the surge of impotent rage. Has a metallic tang to it.

“This boy will never be worthy,” Thragg insists, which is a step above once again trying to convince you to murder Argall’s bloodline.

It was a real doozy when he found out thanks to being able to overhear a lot of your thoughts, though it was inevitable once you decided to dropkick that plotpoint into play to make use of it yourself. Dude can fucking rage.

He’s given you plenty of headaches since you transmigrated in, but you can’t really resent him for it. The whole bodysnatching is a fucked up situation no matter how much of an asshole the unwilling host is.

Mark grimaces. “‘Soon’ as in…Viltrumite years, right? ’Cause I’m really not in a rush. Seriously. And I’m definitely not ready - I’d have the job for like, a day, and I’d be calling you for help.”

Thragg huffs, giving you the impression of him crossing his arms. You mimic the position, since you’re not a total dick. You know it’s soothing for him when his intent matches reality.

“Awareness of his own lack of worth means little,” Thragg says, forever the critic. “Did I cower from the responsibility placed upon me? No. I saw what had to be done, and did not falter.”

And you took him not just over the finish line, but onto another racetrack entirely. One that doesn’t see its competitors shot in the head if they don’t win by a landslide.

“Your methods are crude and chaotic,” he says, but his voice - the mental standoff you’re both stuck in - loses its edge. “But I won't deny our people now…have a future I could not foresee.”

Yeah, you did throw a wildcard in there with an early Earth re-location (though not much earlier), allying with the GDA, and telling Mark Grayson his specific heritage. And what it could mean for the future of the Viltrum Empire, if he was willing to work with you.

It seemed a fun route to go, of the available options. You’re liking it so far. You get to pilot this OP maniac around and do whatever the fuck you want, within limits you set for yourself rather than have imposed on you. It’s a good time for all, and plenty distracting.

A sigh you feel against the backs of your molars. “Your motivations remain as juvenile as ever.”

“I don’t plan to hand over the reins any time soon,” you reassure them both before the pause can drag too long. One of the major challenges of a voice in you head, but so far, no one’s called you out.

Your LARP-ing skills are unbeatable.

Or you could say they’re-

“Do not.”

“Invincible,” you say, and Mark’s posture shifts to a more attentive one at the tone. “You will never be ‘ready’. No one can be when the future is never guaranteed, and our past offers little answer as to the direction we should take. We simply make do with that which survives, and learn from our mistakes. I survived. Viltrum survived. And now on Earth, we become more than our predecessors ever could have imagined for us.”

You glide closer, and grasp Mark’s shoulder. “You embody that change. But it remains my duty to ensure we don’t lose all we once were, and can still be.”

You smile, and feel it sit entirely differently on this face. If someone knew the you of before, and saw you now, would they feel even the slightest sting of recognition?

“An advantage of our kind is we don't need to be hasty. You’ll have your human life, as promised. All our people will.”

You have a few spots you favour. Today’s choice is one of the smaller observation rooms, its window spanning the wall and offering a view out onto the planet currently being seduced into joining the evil empire on its return to universal domination-

Ha, no, if only.

The ship’s parked up here to deter the Bad Guy Aliens who’ve been bullying the poor planet and its denizens, until either a peace treaty is in place, or a squad will be sent over to Bad Guy Planet to destroy their war fleet. Fingers crossed for the latter; you could do with the exercise. It just isn’t fun to beat up your siblings every time they challenge you to a spar.

Okay, that’s also a lie - it’s so fun. You didn’t get into (that many) fights as a human, but like hell you aren’t gonna throw yourself into the joys of ultra violence now it’s essentially, consequence-free.

Ursaal knocks your teeth out when she finally gives in and plays with her baby sister? They’ll be back in time for chomping on dinner, even if Ursaal gets so fussy you half-expected her to make like Mommy and chew up your food for you.

Regeneration is the best superpower - after flight, of course - and you’ve always had a decent pain tolerance. The knowledge that you’ll fix up from most things up to beheading sure doesn’t incentive you to be less reckless.

Hey, it’s strategic recklessness, basically. You know your limits. Why else would you be testing them as often as a peace-loving Viltrumite can manage?

Not right now.

Now, you’re relaxing. The room with a view also includes seating; a couple of big semi-circle couches facing the window-wall, and you’ve cosied up on one. Generally, you’d be happy enough staying at a hover, but it can be nice to play it human and actually rest against the cushion.

After, uh, yanking it out so it forms a better backrest. Less human, admittedly. However, it seems like no one else comes here, since they haven’t repaired the part of the couch you bent forward. No one to complain about your boots on the cushions either, but you need your legs on the couch. Your thighs are great for resting the holopad on when you’re flipping through comics.

Space comics. It’s rad. The translator is super unreliable, but it isn’t hard to learn the language by the time you’ve finished an issue, and then you’re golden. There’s a bunch of different formats you’ve stumbled across, with some fully taking advantage of the holo-capabilities to insert animation sequences, or fun little puzzles to complete before the next page will open.

(The more things change, the more they Homest-)

You learn a lot more about these rando planets and their cultures reading these things - and seeking out whatever they consider a soap opera - than from the briefing packs. Sure, still limited as fuck, but it at least distinguishes them when you can place a story to it. Otherwise they all meld together into a gross, planetary goo, and not the kind that makes for a fantastic smoothie.

The doors slide open, nudging you out of contemplating where you can get your hands on a decent smoothie. You peer over the back of the couch as someone walks inside, and lock gazes with Mark Grayson.

He stops and stares for a few seconds. Which isn’t as weird now, because you’ve noticed him looking your way a lot lately.

You must’ve really fucked with his head by like, talking to him like an actual dude for five seconds. Considering his head was clearly already fucked up, you consider the bemused and uncertain glances a vast improvement. It confirms he’s thinking about something other than how depressed he obviously is, though you assumed the novelty would wear off faster than it has.

Because, y’know. It’s basic shit. One conversation - barely. This isn’t a damn webtoon where no one dares to speak normal-ish to the mafia boss emperor mercenary king duke of the north demon lord until the plucky young transmigrator comes along-

Hmm.

Nah, Mark’s too nice for that genre. And you’re too weird.

Anyway, you’re putting it down to the routine disruption. Get so into a groove, and any change will stand out. Like a minion changing up their wardrobe and weathering all attempts to get you to return to conformity. Ursaal said it was alright, so ha. Your ass is covered.

(Which is a shame - it’s a fantastic ass, you wouldn’t mind if the uniforms were sluttier. Like, okay, it’d be an awful sign and super sexist blah blah blah- great ass. Un-viewable. The world is losing.)

You tap two fingers to your temple in a salute since, y’know, you don’t really want to stand up and do the proper one. You’re comfortable. He’s entering your space; if anyone should show deference, it’s him. “Hey, boss. Anything I can do for you?”

“No, I was looking for…Nevermind.” He starts turning for the door.

But he stops. Pauses there, looking toward the exit, and he’s dressed as formally as usual. Didn’t take you up on the advice, sadly. Rigidness doesn’t suit him.

So it’s interesting when he turns back and walks over to the couch.

“Can I join you?”

Your eyebrows jump up, but you gesture loosely. “Go ahead.”

Even the way he sits down is stiff. The shape of the couch can’t be helping; he sits into the curve first, back too straight for comfort, and it makes it an awkward move to keep looking at you. So he shifts, frowns down at the couch before drawing one knee up onto the cushion, the sole of his boot almost touching his other knee.

It’s weirdly fascinating to watch. Maybe it’s the setting; he’s rarely in public areas for more than a few minutes, no meals taken in the cafeteria or relaxing in one of the gardens. The spaces he is in are controlled, unchanging, and simple in his command of them.

He sits in the same seat at the meeting table, stands on the same stretch of flooring in the receiving hall - no throne, and you find that a shame, despite the optics - and you’ve only seen his private quarters once, on a sweep for an assassin. There were less personal details than you pictured. More existed in his office, from the photos revolving on the holo screen, to the scattered knickknacks on the desk and shelves.

“You’re Robin, right?” He winces, just slightly, when he finishes speaking.

You decide to cut him some slack on being uncertain on his subordinate’s name. “Yep. I also respond to Thragg spawn number- Wait, how many kids did Thragg have?”

“I don’t- I’m not sure?”

You glance up at the ceiling, frowning. “I was one of the last and…hmm, few dozen made it out, so…Fuck it. Thragg Spawn XXRW-Delta. But I prefer Robin - less of a mouthful, y’know?”

“Sure,” he says, an almost-smile twist to his lips. All confusion but the lighter kind; sits better on his face, relaxes his tense jaw. “It’s actually a name on Earth. Robin, I mean. And a bird, too.” Another faint wince, and a flex of the hand resting on his thigh.

Is he…attempting to have a normal conversation? With you, of all people?

That’s cute. That’s fucking adorable. You want to mock the hell out of him, but that wouldn’t be very encouraging, would it?

“Is that so?” You smile, leaning forward a bit. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“If you…want to.”

“I was a teensy bit rebellious as a kid-” You hold up a hand, pinch your fingers close to show just how smol your rebellious streak was “-and went all in on Earth media. Old comics especially. You ever heard of Batman and Robin?”

“I haven’t,” he says, which is a damn shame.

Yeah, a lot of the comics you know best never made it past the eighties for some horrific reason - you blame the boom of comics based on real life heroes, even if that was also fading out by the new millennium - but they still existed here. It was both a freaky and comforting through-line, that the you-not-you felt a connection to it.

You click your tongue - extra sharp thanks to your Thraxan side - but wave his massive failing off. “Well, that’s my origin. Named myself after a sidekick and no one was any the wiser. Until you, so you better keep your mouth shut. Or else.”

That prompts an almost laugh, more a heavy exhale with a wider smile to give it weight. “Or else, what?”

“It wouldn’t look good if the Emperor was beaten up by one of his bodyguards,” you tell him with great concern for the public image of your- okay, is it even a fucking empire when you fail to rule over anything? Why didn’t they change the name? It’s more a flotilla at this stage. The Red Cross with living nukes.

You’d bring it up, but you can make a good guess that it’d tank his mood.

“Besides, it’d be a real shame to bruise that pretty face,” you add while wondering about the logistics of petitioning for a name change, and if a ‘suggestions in a hat’ situation would work. Ursaal would like that. She loves anything democratic, which grinds in funny ways against her confidence that the Viltrum Empire should remain a dictatorship-

“Uh,” says Mark, and you remember you shouldn’t be flirting with your married boss.

What, it isn’t your fault you haven’t gotten laid in this life yet! And he’s very, very pretty. It would be a shame to put bruises on it, even if the idea also holds a…certain appeal.

“Comic books,” he says abruptly, and clears his throat. “You said- before, and now, I guess- You read them?”

Smooth. “Sure do.” You lift the holopad and tap it on, turning it so he can see the page you reached. “A couple planets back, I found this gem - it’s a lot like a superhero comic, origin story and all.”

“I didn’t think aliens had superhero comics,” he mutters, shifting closer without seeming to really notice. His gaze is on the holo page, a spark of interest that stands out against how dull his eyes look a lot of the time. “I looked, years ago. Some of the other stuff is good but…I could never keep up, and it was all so different.”

You nod along. “Yeah, I nearly gave up a lot when I started looking into them - the format changes a bunch, which is great, but a pain to shift through for the ones I like. Here, I’ll send you this-”

You flick over to the messaging app, and insert the list you’ve already been keeping with links to all your favourites and ongoings. Makes it simpler for when you want to hunt one down again, and you have them all downloaded to the ship’s network.

“The top five are all great, maybe skip the next ten unless you want an existential crisis, and I’ll highlight the superhero one.”

As part of your position, you get access to the equivalent to Mark’s work email/phone number. Definitely not the intended use, but boohoo. This is clearly a cry for help in the midst of a mental health crisis. Can’t guard the body if the mind’s gone haywire - at least, it’d be a bit pointless by then.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and he really doesn’t look like a guy who’s a few centuries old. “But I don’t know if I’ll have time.”

Make time, you don’t say, because he’s the self-sacrificing type. Overall, anyway.

“You do right now,” you say, because of course you have his schedule memorised. You may not be on duty, but what sort of bodyguard wouldn’t keep on top of something so basic? “Another hour, at least.”

You flip back to the third issue, and turn on the couch so you can share the holo with him. You cross your legs but take care not to nudge up against his thigh or, god forbid, knock your elbow to his arm.

“This is where it really takes off.” You switch the language translator back on, even though it really is a better experience in the original version. Some of the localisation gets fucked up to hell and back, but you’ll keep an eye on the damn thing.

“Here,” you say, tilting the holo toward him and waiting expectantly until he slowly takes it. Jeez, anyone would think you were handing him a bomb filled with the upgraded Scourge, haha. As if you’d be so unoriginal. “It’ll be a good refresher for me, too.”

You’d leave him to it if you trusted the translator - and him, since you suspect he’d retreat back to wallowing without a level of enforcement. Overstepping? Abso-fucking-lutely. Entertaining? Also yes.

The important thing is that he reads the damn comic - after giving you a last, searching look.

So-

So, in your defence, it’s very reasonable to forget soulmates are a thing in this universe - and then connect that to this feeling.

You’re more concerned with oooouch and clutching at your side, where the biggest gusher is. You grunt as you put the pressure back on it, even though it’s fucking pointless now. You’re about to heroic sacrifice it up in here and- Wait.

Why’d he drop you?

You lift your head, part of your fringe falling into your face, and squint up at VHS Invincible. He’s…staring at you, alrighty. Looks pretty horrified, actually, and your stomach squirms uncomfortably because- yeah, this is an evil version, but he still looks like Mark.

Shit. You need him closer if you’re gonna add the murder to that murder-suicide.

“Hey, dickhead. What’s the holdup- fuck.” You jolt when he’s suddenly there, on his knees in front of you. Too many years of fights sends you trying to scramble back, but he grabs your shoulder and- the hell, pulls down the zipper of your suit and rips your cowl open where it covers your neck and whoa dude did we switch genres or something-

One of the lenses are smashed, so you see how wide his eye is as he gapes at your neck. “You’re…How is it you?”

You as in…Rex?

No, he knew that. Duh. And isn’t like Rex’s most identifiable trait is an attractive neck (though you would argue that it is a hot neck. Like, objectively. You’ve received plenty of compliments, and only some of them were blatantly creepy or threatening). So what the fuck is he talking about?

…Did he always have those black stains on his fingers?

“Oh.” His fingers. Your neck. The burning. “Oh. You’re my…” A startled laugh escapes you, which hurts, but so does everything right now. “Holy shit, the universe has a fucked up sense of humour.”

“I almost killed you,” he says, and huh, he sounds upset about it. Angry, and confused, but mostly like he’d have been devastated if he did kill you. Wild.

“Well, I was gonna blow us both up, so I guess fair’s fair. Unless…Are you still planning to kill me?”

“No!” He grabs your shoulder, and there’s no burning this time, but it feels- weird. Like, your body is all super aware of him all of a sudden. Way more than the usual ‘I’m fighting a hot dude’ awareness, or even just the ‘fighting a dangerous, insanely strong enemy’ awareness. Distinct variations, and this is a whole new one.

“No,” he says again, a bit calmer. Or, more composed? He’s been overall more of a cold fish type, but this is some freaky combo of that, and the manic focus on you. “You’re my soulmate. I’m taking you with me, Rex.”

Ohhh. That seems…bad. “Uh, counter-offer? You could…stick around here? With me. We could get to know each other before anyone kidnaps anyone else, how about it?”

“You seem…” He strips his fingerless glove off, hand turning as he looks at the black soulmark covering a lot of his skin. Everywhere he touched you for the first time. No, this was the memorable touch one, right?

Yeah. There’s two kinds of soulmark in this world. Either it’s the first of any bare skin contact, or, it can be through clothes and whatever else but has to be considered memorable contact. Haha, can’t claim this wasn’t the latter, Christ.

“You’re more accepting than the Rex in my world would’ve been,” he says, gaze back on you again. Makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. “He’d have made a fuss over his soulmate being a man.”

“Not the evil part?”

“That too.” He leans in, still holding tight to your shoulder. But his hand is gentle when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck this time, his thumb tucking under your chin and, shit, the lightest brush against your soulmark sends a rush of heat through you, wow.

You blink fast, lick your lips, and he stares at them. Licks his own, leaves them shiny and slightly parted. You could blame the dizziness on blood loss, but you’re too familiar with that to fool yourself. Fuck.

Wait, no, don’t fuck-

Wind lashes at your face as someone rockets on stage, and Retro is flung away from you. The force unbalances you, makes you realise you were leaning in when you start falling forward. But you’re caught against a muscular chest, a worried, “Rex? Are you okay?” just starting to clear your head when-

A different hand settles on the back of your neck, and your skin burns for the second time.

You freeze. Mark freezes.

…You guess this also counts as memorable, but Jesus fucking Christ, did they have to collar you between them? No cool, man. So not cool.

Mark doesn’t care what anyone else says. He has the best boyfriend in the entire galaxy, and-

“Ohmygod,” he mumbles as Robin starts to purr, and Mark just fucking melts, okay.

He was already half-way to zero consistency; laying on his bed in just his boxers with Robin on top of him and playing “weighted blanket”, one thick, muscular arm under his head and holding his cheek comfortably to Robin’s chest. His fingers are buried in thick fur and he’s just, stuck here, and it’s amazing, and then with the purring- Mark’s convinced there’s no better feeling.

(Well, uh. Except the sex. That’s…also great. Yeah.)

Robin’s deep chuckle layers on top of the purr, and Mark’s face flushes. “I knew you’d enjoy this,” Robin says, sounding content and relaxed, and no one else gets to hear him like this. Just Mark.

He’s the only one who knows Battle Beast’s ‘true name’, too. Robin, and it should’ve been weirder to put that name to an alien like Battle Beast. But it felt…right, somehow? Like, of course Battle Beast is just a title, and- and of course, Mark would get to learn his real name.

He wishes he had something to give back. He did tell Robin his middle name, but that’s pretty far from being at the same level.

Whatever. At least he knows how much Robin likes when Mark rubs just behind his insanely soft ears, and makes that purr come through louder.

-

Aaand uh. Mark making bad decisions pre powers while Robin!Machine Head is having a blast with this crazy scenario

Plenty of girls at school talk about having older boyfriends. It’s not that strange, especially when it’s senior year now, and they’ll be going to college soon and…it’s normal. Just, an exciting kind of normal, since Mark’s still waiting for his powers (any day now, they have to be) and he doesn’t exactly have much else going for him.

Why Robin likes him enough to keep dating him is a mystery. But Mark is definitely never telling him about still being in high school, even if it sucks to lie about so much of his life, and-

The elevator doors slide open, and Mark smiles stiffly at one of Robin’s bodyguards. He has a lot of them all through the penthouse floor, but he’s this super wealthy smart guy, so it’s not so weird?

And they’re all nice enough to Mark - they don’t even ask him to empty his pockets and unzip his duffel bag, not after the first time Robin caught them at it and said, “Mark’s a VIP, got it? We don’t stripsearch VIPs. Well, you guys don’t - I’ll be after that privilege,” and Mark blushed so hard it made him dizzy.

He gets dizzy around Robin a lot. Like, he was hoping this’d wear off after a while, but his heart is still racing when he’s let into Robin’s office.

The whole place is actually insane. Robin owns the entire building and it’s all impressive, right, but this part of it always makes Mark really conscious of how completely out of place he is.

He took the duffel bag with a change of clothes and stuff to school, since he told Mom he was staying at William’s tonight. So he’s just wearing his usual clothes, and it feels like his sneakers shouldn’t even exist in a place like this. The fact they’re attached to Mark only makes it worse.

He slows down, nerves spiky in his gut, but then Robin spots him.

“There he is,” Robin says in his weirdly charming voice, standing up from behind his huge desk and meeting Mark in the middle of the room.

Something about how he moves makes it feel like he’s beaming at Mark, and it’s impossible not to smile as Robin cups his cheeks. The touch makes him shiver, even though Robin’s hands are normal. Mark wants to touch him back, but he isn’t brave enough to do it right away, before Robin tells him to.

“Right on time, baby,” Robin says, and oh man, Mark’s blush definitely gets worse and his knees feel wobbly. He just- fuck, he can’t handle Robin calling him ‘baby’. It started out teasing, and he felt like he was being made fun of for wanting this, but now it…He likes it a lot. “How was the ride over? Did you like the new car?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “It was way too fancy. Even worse than the last one. I told you I can just take the bus-”

“Ah-ah.” Robin’s thumbs tap against his cheeks before his fingers slide back past Mark’s ears, into his hair, and Mark’s stomach is full of butterflies. It’s really distracting. “Public transport is for the peons, Mark. Not for my sweet, adorable, smoking hot boyfriend. Do we need to have another talk? An in-depth discussion on what that fine ass deserves?”

God, yes, please. “U-Uh…No…I, um. I liked the car. The snacks were a nice touch?”

“You didn’t ruin your appetite, did you?” The warning tone is- yep, Mark’s getting hard. Fuck. He hopes his jeans make it less obvious than it feels. “You know I love to live vicariously through you.”

Mark swallows. “I can eat. I’ll eat, I mean. If you want me to.” Okay, he really didn’t need to add that last part-

“Aren’t you just a goddamn delight, baby.” Robin’s laugh is a crackle of shifting tones, and falling in love with him has got to be the dumbest thing Mark’s ever done. Especially when he knows love isn’t what Robin wants from him.

So now she’s here, outside Robin’s apartment, holding flowers. Again. A bigger bouquet than usual because she’s totally late. Robin texted to say not to worry about it, since he saw the news - and she’s still really flattered that Robin follows a bunch of accounts just to check in on how she’s doing as Invincible, and is so interested in all of that.

She was…maybe a bit worried, that he’d feel- y’know. He’s a guy, and Maya is so much stronger than him, on top of already being way taller and not exactly…girly? Or not good at being a girl, anyway. Whatever. It was dumb to worry, because Robin is-

The apartment door opens, and Maya’s heart skips a beat when she sees her boyfriend.

“Hi,” she says, smiling too wide and she knows it looks ridiculous, but she can’t help it.

“Hey.” Robin’s smile is smaller, but it’s the one he has just for her. Soft and warm and he’s so handsome it’s actively like, a major distraction all the time, and he’s nothing like other guys their age.

She thinks he’s probably more like college guys? Mature and confident and effortlessly cool, and she’s uh, she really, really likes his piercings. Especially the stud on his tongue. Yeah.

The eyebrow ones are awesome too, and seem like a perfect match for his eyeliner. He helped her do eyeliner once, because she wanted to try it back when they were just friends but the one time she gave it a shot on her own, she completely messed it up and spent ages scrubbing it off.

Robin didn’t mess it up, and he was so close for ages, and it’s featured in her fantasies a lot. Probably too much. Especially since they’re dating now and she doesn’t need to fantasise when she gets the real thing.

“Those for me?” he asks, and she actually fucking giggles when she offers the bouquet out.

It’s so embarrassing but his smile widens a little, head tilting in that, you’re so cute look, and if Maya has a heart attack from how much she likes her boyfriend it wouldn’t be the biggest shock ever. Pretty lame, but not surprising.

“Thanks,” he says, simple but warmed by appreciation as he looks at the flowers, the careful way he handles them and immediately takes them over to the kitchen.

Maya shuts the door behind her and trails after him, gaze maybe stuck on Robin’s ass as he bends over to get the vase from under the sink. The dark jeans look really good on him.

Everything he wears does, and it sucks that she can’t fit in most of his shirts and stuff because she’s actually broader than him (and has boobs, that doesn’t help). The baggy ones kind of fit though, and he let her have one of his leather jackets which was already oversized on him.

“It looks better on you,” he said, which is such a line, but completely worked because he said it.

And she likes how he looks at her when she wears it. He isn’t exactly a possessive dude, even if he gets all grouchy and protective at some of the ‘disgusting incel bullshit’ he sees online about her, and-

Look, as far as Maya is concerned? They can keep that gross loser behaviour going. She’s reaping the real rewards at the end of the day.

“I uh, I didn’t mean to be so late,” she does have to say, because even if Robin is okay with it, they were supposed to go out for a movie tonight. It’s already half over by now.

“Can’t help Invincible being in high demand.” He adjusts the flowers so the brightest ones are at the front, and she was right; the orange ones are a close match to the tropical shirt he has on.

It’s left open so she can see the black tank top underneath, and how low the collar is, and he isn’t as muscular as her but he does have muscles and, it’s, she likes them. Especially his arms, and it’s suddenly unbearable than he isn’t touching her.

So she closes the distance - maybe cheats with superspeed, a bit - and backs him up against the counter. It still gives her a thrill to touch him, too - a hand on his chest and the other on his hip, and his head tips back a bit to look up at her as he holds her waist. She’s wearing the suit under her sweater, since she was in such a rush, and she abruptly wishes she’d taken it off.

“Not so in demand that I can’t respond to your, uh, demands?” Okay, she has no idea where she was going with that, and it just sounds weird now it’s out of her mouth.

“Is this a hostage situation now?” he asks gamely, and the embarrassments dims so quickly it leaves her dizzy. Or it could just be him, and the playful grin as he looks at her. “Invincible, if you don’t comply with my demands…you won’t like what happens next.”

It’s silly and joking and Jesus that deeper tone makes her stomach lurch. “I’m pretty sure I will,” tumbles out, and his laugh makes her face heat up. And a lot lower heat up, yep, wow.

“Too soon for what?” You wind the scarf around your neck, tucking it under the collar of your jacket so it’ll stay up and cover your chin. Winter can’t end soon enough. It’s just after school and already the sky is growing dark, promising a pitch black once the shift at Burger Mart is over. “You already gave me flowers. And I’ve borrowed your clothes before.”

At least, the scarf doesn’t seem brand new. It’s a little worn at the edges, a couple threads pulling loose, but clearly well looked after.

“You gave those back. The clothes, I mean. You should keep this.” At your glance, he winces and shrugs into his backpack, zipped up now the scarf’s been gifted. “If you want to keep it? I know it’s not…I thought, uh, I’ve had it a few years and…You’re cold a lot, so, it’d be okay? For the first one.”

The first-

Oh.

Ohhhh.

Omegaverse AU bullshit. Gotcha.

Yeah, you’ve kind of been ignoring that entirely, other than the ‘whoa there I have a dick too now?’ revelation. Revelations, and damn, it’s been an interesting ride. But aside from the physical, you’ve been more focused on the Invincible aspect over the AU flavour. Helps that you can’t actually smell all these scents people harp on about, and the one time some asshole customer growled at you, it took everything you had in you not to laugh.

Being an alpha probably helps. The gods smiled on you with that designation, even if you’re eyeing up the possibility of a rut with a mix of curiosity and what the hell, man. It’ll be this body’s first, so who fucking knows when it’ll kick off - it isn’t like passing eighteen meant your hormones instantly went ‘yep, matured now, anchors away!’

You should’ve figured dating Mark would make these things relevant again.

“I’ll keep it,” you say, just to watch the smile brighten his face.

Now you remember; classic alpha behaviour, gifting favourite items of clothing. It’s supposed to be to an omega, with the whole nesting thing, but it probably still does the job of scent sharing while in the ‘courtship’ phase.

Like how he ducks down now, hand on your shoulder and a brief hesitation before he rubs his cheek to yours. As innocent as a peck, only hinting at the intent to actually scent you.

And something does prickle along your throat, having his mouth and neck so close; your instincts seem…dull compared to whatever people are meant to feel, but it can’t help when you’re both alphas. Far from the standard setup. You’d look into how it’s meant to go, if you weren’t well aware you’re temporary.

You catch his jaw before he can pull back, and give him an actual kiss. One that has him sighing, melting, fingers curling over your hips and pulling you closer.