#lifeless planet

[fancypantsrecords]

Rich Douglas - Lifeless Planet | Serenity Forge / Mana Wave Media | 2022 | Orange Translucent with Black Swirl

[nmsatlas]

[fandomsideworks]

[ordosmarkzero]

Lifeless Planet

[kayawolfhorse]

Tell Me So I Say | Read on Ao3

—☾—

The landscape has shifted again.

False doesn’t remember what it was before, lines of white and smears of purple and blue already fading from memory. The harder she tries to hold on, the faster it slips away. Her fist doesn’t listen when she tells it to let go.

Today’s terrain feels as though it’s determined to swallow False whole.

The sky hangs high above False’s head, framed by the lip of the enormous chasm she’s trapped within. Smooth, dark walls make up each side and reach far enough down to hit the bedrock layer and the shallow pool of stagnant water that covers it.

To one side is a city of oranges and whites, neatly contained upon platforms of stone built over the water, separated by the canals that run between each one. To the other is a cylindrical tower that reaches as far upwards as False can see, flanked by covered roads that continue through the semicircle of smaller towers that flank the horizon.

False stands upon a walkway suspended between the tower and the city, gripping the glass handrail hard enough to turn her knuckles white. An uneasiness she can’t name settles along the bottom of her gut; heavy. All is silent save for her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

It’s eerie. Something tingles at the back of False’s neck. She aches for her elytra; some grasping sense of control; anything. Her back remains bare of her wings, as it has for longer than she can recount. For all her time spent here, flying has never worked in False’s dreams.

Initially, she didn’t realize she was dreaming. The real world and her own brain are both confusing enough—who can blame False for the mix-up? A landscape that refuses to remain unchanged; pulsating; restless; hungry. Home is murky liquid slipping through False’s fingers, and her mind is left scrambling for the image it left behind. She can’t wake up—she’s tried, over and over again. No matter what she does, she remains stubbornly asleep.

Being trapped within your own subconscious is a terribly fickle thing.

False walks. What else is there to do? She follows crossing paths down to the city, rows of office buildings and apartment complexes, neon signs advertising non-existent businesses and, inexplicably, a mayoral candidate, to empty streets. Perfectly manicured hedges sit within rectangular planters that line the sidewalks. Every interior behind the white-stained windows False glances into is bare.

False walks until the footpaths become wider roads and the roads lead into the central tower. Looking up at it from the city hadn’t done the tower’s sheer scale justice; False has been shrouded in its long shadow for what feels like forever—time is a logical artifact of the real world; it has no place here—and the sun is entirely invisible behind the tower’s looming silhouette. She steps inside.

If the outside had made False feel small, she feels positively miniscule within it. Sunlight pours through the topmost dome and each of the tall windows that run down the sides of the tower, catching against the glass of each of the higher levels’ balcony railings before hitting the mirrored floor beneath False’s feet; the effect is dizzying. Four different wings, accented by harsh blue lights and soundless water features branch off from the main room. Something about it puts False on edge.

False casts her gaze sharply downwards, a shield against the kaleidoscope above her, an old habit that still clings, and mistakenly catches a glimpse of herself at her feet before flinching away. She doesn’t recognize the stranger in her reflection with features so similar to her own.

Suddenly desperate to be away from the mirror, False strides into the wing closest to her—a pair of elevators. The thought of being confined within such a tiny space sets panic prickling at her palms. The promise of the higher vantage point found on the upper levels leads False to finding a set of emergency stairs and climbing them until the back of her shirt collar is damp and her breaths wheeze from her lungs.

The highest level of the tower is a circular hallway, with doors spaced evenly around the glass-floored center of the room directly beneath the domed roof. Storage rooms filled with strange mechanical parts and offices with desks piled high with mostly indecipherable paperwork blur together as False riles through them. The windows whose ledges she climbs to see through them overlook views of unmoving robots upon bright cyan land; blank hexagonal plates laid out over a calm blue sea. Where is she?

The last of the doors, the one furthest away from the elevators and stairs, is locked. Its mechanism appears to be a surprisingly simple key lock, not at all what False would’ve expected amidst such a space. Curiosity and dread gnaw at her core in equal amounts. She makes quick work of picking the lock open.

The light of the hallway pours into the pitch-black space. False feels for a light switch along the wall; when she flicks it, hanging lights flare to life one by one along the center of the ceiling, casting the room in a cold white. The onslaught of a headache casts its accusing finger behind False’s eyes.

Half-filled shelves line the walls and metal pipes run along the ceiling above them. Empty racks on wheels lay abandoned on the floor in front of a long, stark-white counter. In the back corner is a tube-like chamber, large enough for False to stand in, the last remnants of its glass walls clinging to its copper frame in wicked shards. Leaves of crumpled and torn paper litter every surface of the room. A clock ticks on the far wall.

False doesn’t know what to make of it all. The answer feels so close. Acrid foreboding curdles in her stomach.

She bites her tongue in frustration and approaches a corner of the counter, upon which an askew clipboard rests. With unsteady hands, False picks it up and squints at the shred of paper still caught beneath its clip.

The words are unintelligible, a hasty scrawl written with a heavy hand, but the sliver of blonde hair and pale skin surrounding too-bright blue eyes is unmistakable. False’s face, for once her own, stares back at her.

She drops the clipboard and runs. All but stumbling back down the stairs, she skids across the mirrored floor and sprints blindly for the nearest exit. The clock’s ticking rings in her ears.

False flees back to the hollow city and drops into a crouch in the middle of the road. It’s not familiar yet, but she’ll become acquainted enough with the landscape until it morphs into its next iteration, and then her memory will melt away with it and she won’t have to think about all of this anymore. She’ll sit right here while she waits, away from the tower and its mirrors and its unsettling rooms. It’s not real. It’s not real.

The ticking finds her even down here, echoing through the barren streets, maddingly loud against the silence. False ignores it until she can’t take it anymore. The sound of her boots hitting pavement as she wanders another lap around the city is a blessed respite. By her third loop around the block, something green and impossibly animated on the corner catches False’s eye.

An explosion of foliage blooms in the alleyway between the buildings at the edge of the intersection. Long, curving vines climb the orange and white buildings on either side of the alley. Colorful flowers tucked between lush leaves sway in a breeze False can’t feel, collected around a dirt path that leads up to a silver metal gate, left invitingly ajar.

It’s a trick. It has to be, right? The garden is just something her brain’s thought up and put in place to torture False with some new, fresh horror. It’s not real.

Despite every instinct screaming at her to run, False tentatively takes a step towards it. What’s there to lose at this point, right?

When nothing leaps out of the bushes and attacks her, she inches forwards again. With every step closer, the stillness of the city falls away. The ambrosial freshness of foliage fills False’s senses, and she swears she can hear birdsong. Even False herself changes; when her feet touch the dirt, feeling floods her limbs, connecting them to her body in a way False hadn’t even realized she’d missed. Her vision glows sharper, the world more vivid. The ticking of invisible clocks falls away entirely.

False touches a single hand to the gate. The world goes dark as she’s pulled through.

—☾—

Warmth. The first thing False notices is warmth, beaming down upon her and pooling in the places her skin meets itself. Blinking open bleary eyes, False squints against the sudden, harsh light, and quickly shuts them again. Everything aches.

Awareness comes back to her all at once, and False registers that she’s sprawled on hard ground. Her eyes flare open—ow, right into the sun, that’s what the warmth is—and she almost falls scrambling to her feet, so False settles on sitting upright, digging her fingers into the earth around her. When she brings her hands to her face to pass them over her cheeks, the dirt clings beneath her fingernails.

After giving herself a moment to come fully to, False slowly rises to her feet and takes in the space around her. The path she stands upon is dark dirt, accompanied by wooden steps where the land slopes upwards, continuing on beneath what looks to be a cave, its underbelly leaden with hanging vines and ripe glowberries.

False’s stomach, she realizes with a jolt of shock, grumbles at the thought of them. It’s been so long since she’s felt hungry. Maybe she could investigate the rest of her surroundings and come back to them—who knows what could lurk beyond the vines? She’s not even sure if she’s dreaming anymore.

The cave turns out to be more of an arch, and the other side of it is breathtaking, bursting with bright, undeniable life. Sepia-toned buildings stand proud between fields of wheat and patches of trees that all dance in the same wind that lifts the ends of False’s hair. Low stone walls line the path and contain the fluffy foliage present throughout. A cat perches upon one of the ridges, regarding False with vague interest. There are sunflowers everywhere, all facing towards where she had just come from.

It feels terribly, frighteningly safe. False never wants to leave. It’s not real. It can’t be.

Soft chatter floats through the air, its source a group of people in vibrant shades of green and yellow, laughing as they work near the edge of one of the fields. False freezes. Of all the things she’s had to deal with, people haven’t been one of them. Should she go to them? No, definitely not, right? But they could at least tell her where she is…

Her dilemma is interrupted by the soft crunching of dirt under foot. A playfully musical voice calls out, “You alright there?”

She’s intimidating. The broadness to her shoulders and solidness of her stance speaks to a strength that worries False. She’s beautiful. Golden feathered wings fan out on either side of her, the same color as the petals of the sunflowers that adorn her rich brown hair. Her green dress falls to her knees, and freckles dance across her bare skin. Sweat streaks dirt lines along her forehead as it drips. She feels real.

At False’s lack of response, the woman in green tilts her head. “You’re looking a little heat exhausted there, mate. Can I take you to the tavern for a drink and some rest?”

What does she do, what does she say? Social niceties have never been False’s strong suit, but they fail her completely now. “Um…”

The woman’s brow crinkles with concern. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No! No, I’m alright. Erm.” False wishes she had her elytra. Perhaps a pit conveniently beneath her feet to fall into. “…A drink sounds great, thanks,” she finishes lamely.

Looking unconvinced, the woman shrugs. “Right this way, then. Are you from around here?”

Does False lie? Admit that she’s completely at this woman’s mercy? She decides on, “Not from here, no. I’m a… traveler.”

“A traveler! Well, welcome to Gilded Helianthia, mate. I’m Pearl, and I don’t believe I caught your name?” Pearl starts forward in what False hopes is the direction of the tavern.

“False,” she supplies, falling into tentative step behind her. She’s never heard of Gilded Helianthia, certainly never Pearl. Pearl doesn’t seem particularly inclined to hurt False, at least.

“Nice to meet you, False!” Pearl’s voice is as warm as could be. “It’s nice to have visitors. Tourists tend to go for Mythland, y’know? I don’t blame them, it’s very pretty this time of year.”

“Mythland?” False echoes without meaning to, then winces.

Pearl gives her an odd look. “Mythland? Ruled by King Sausage? Has that whole blood sheep thing going on, but really quite lovely. You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

False gives a nervous laugh. Her head throbs.

Pearl waves a reassuring hand. “No worries at all; nothing wrong with being new! Mythland is a neighboring empire, and one of our allies. Sausage has had some… weird stuff going on lately, but he’s friendly.”

“Got it,” False says, if only to keep moving. Sweat prickles at the back of her neck. Discomfort itches at her gloved palms. Empire?

“Gosh, I’ve been rambling, haven’t I?” Pearl gives a slight shake of her shoulders and picks up her pace.

“No, it’s okay, I like explanations,” False says awkwardly. “Learning how things work… yeah.”

“You do strike me as the type,” Pearl says. “Are you at all interested in magic? Crystal Cliffs’ magic academy will be opening soon, open to all students!”

Magic? False isn’t so sure. “I like… making things. Machinery and such,” she says, hoping Pearl doesn’t take offense.

Pearl brightens. “I get that!” Leaning closer, conspiratorially, she says, “This empire’s rooted in magic, but between you and me, I’ve always preferred getting my hands dirty.”

“Your dress is an interesting choice for that,” False says, the words slipping out before she can stop them.

“I’ve got to look queenly in some regard!” Pearl laughs. “You ought to give The Grimlands a visit at some point. Inventor-types, the lot of them. You with your goggles would fit right in,” she says, her tone teasing but not insincere. False reaches up to touch her goggles. She’d forgotten she has them on.

The conversation flows uncomfortably well between them as they walk. Pearl notes the purpose of each structure as they pass them and in return False tells her a bit about the inventions that sit upon her workbench back in Cogsmeade, trying to ignore the pain in her chest when she speaks of it. In another life, Pearl would’ve been a good ally.

The trek to the tavern is a reasonable one. The tavern itself is a large, inviting building with a wooden sign out front that labels it The Golden Sunflower, its namesake planted by the handful around it. The scent of meat pies and warm pastries that wafts from it fiercely rekindles False’s appetite.

“And finally, that’s the…” Pearl falters, stopping in her tracks entirely. She glances at False, and for a split second, all familiarity falls from her face. False takes a step back.

Pearl opens her mouth as if to speak when her entire form flickers. Her beautiful wings smolder and the end of her dress charrs, scattering ash upon her now-bare feet. Her eyes glow bright; burning. False almost stumbles over her own feet in her hasty retreat, and hits a stone wall hard enough to force all the air from her lungs. The ticking starts anew.

“Pearl?” False hesitantly calls out. She feels like the floor’s disappeared beneath her when she’s only just started to find her footing.

White-hot eyes meet False’s own; it’s hard to hold them. She looks away.

“False. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Pearl says. Her accent is the same, shaping her words into something strong, but her voice almost seems to echo.

“Pearl?” False tries again. She’s not sure what else to say.

“We don’t have much time.” Pearl clasps her hands together. Bewildered, False stays silent. “Listen, False, you’re not as alone as you think you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That’s not comforting, if it’s supposed to be.” It’s a miracle False can hear anything through the damn clocks.

Pearl continues, “You’re stronger than you know.”

How could False be strong? These hands of hers wield a sword she doesn’t remember picking up; her mind is something to be escaped.

“And you’ll make it through, okay?” Something in Pearl’s fiery eyes shifts.

“Through what? Make it through what?” False thinks she may be pleading. The clocks’ relentless drum multiplies.

Pearl draws closer, stopping squarely in front of False. She regards False with a firm line of the mouth and soft set to her eyes. Raising her hands, she places two calloused fingers on each of False’s temples. False finds herself too shocked to move.

“It’s time for you to wake up,” Pearl says gently.

As the world fades into darkness, it changes, lightning-fast: Gilded Helianthia in flames, the sky above shrouded in storms. The rubble’s smoke reduces to wisps and the ruin disappears into the ground, reclaimed by the earth once more as soft green grass and tiny saplings grow tall in the blink of an eye. Right before it all goes black, the ash dissipates from Pearl’s form and the damage to her dress and wings is undone, and False swears the light around her head forms a halo.

—☾—

In her own bed, tucked away in a corner of Cogsmeade, False gasps awake. Morning sunlight pours through the window behind her, and the cat that's been asleep at False’s feet lifts its head and meows. The docked airship outside hums its mechanical tune as the iron farm contained within churns away. False’s headache is a dull throb. The faint scent of sunflowers lingers in the air.

Somewhere deep within the cavern of her empire, a lone clock ticks away.

[kazieka]

got too far down the stellar firma rabbit hole and got the crowning achievement

getting recommended my own blog for further SF content

[beastwars-transformers]

How does anyone stand TFA the yaoi chins are too absurd to withstand

[surfinthehighway]

One of my favorite hobbies recently is asking ChatGPT about Invader Zim things and watching it make shit up.

[supernovaa-remnant]

*takes you by the shoulders* listen to me. the moon controls the tides. life evolved out of the oceans in tidal beds. the moon is what prevents the earth's axis from wobbling more than half a degree. without the moon our planet would go through phases of either being entirely dessert of entirely ice. without the moon to keep our axis stable we would be like mars. do you understand? do you understand how much she has done for us? without the moon we wouldn't be here. do you understand? the current most likely theory of how our moon formed only happens in a couple of computer simulations. the way our moon formed is incredibly improbable. but not impossible. we rolled a critical success, as my astronomy professor said. we rolled a 20. do you understand? do you understand how beautiful all this is? everything that had to happen for our moon to form the way she did? do you understand? listen to me. this is all so precious. do you understand? we owe her everything.

[review-anon]

I have never read THE MISTAKE and have no intention to do so but am also curious so pls tell me about rival boy’s problems and all that bad shit he does

Okay so I’m putting this under the cut due to how messed up The Mistake is on why the rival character I find so loathsome. This so nobody doesn’t get triggered due to how insensitive this stuff is.

When we first meet the character, his first words are a variation of “Stay the fuck away from me or else I would kill you.” Like talk about worst introduction ever as even characters like Fuyuhiko didn’t act like that.

As I mentioned before both murders in Chapters 1 and 2 are his fault. In Chapter 1 he took advantage of how the barastia lady had depression and wasn’t taking the killing game well, and encouraged her to kill someone. She did so by poisoning the drinks but because she’s quite forgetful she forgot which drink was poisoned, drunk her own poison and died. So suicide right? Nope because Fencer guy gave her the poisoned drink that he didn’t know was poisoned and in more bullshit then what happened with Hibiki and Nikei, this counted as a murder. He also made sure nobody could vomit the poison out by clogging all the toilets with towels.

It then gets worse in Chapter 2, as he decides to again kill someone, by dressing up as a masked attacked and attack the victim of the chapter, who was trying to kill him at the same time. Then it turns out that the culprit of the chapter, was also trying to kill him but wires got crossed and she killed the wrong person. Oh and he knew of both plot because of reasons. And he then proceeded to laugh at everyone who tried to kill him.

Chapter 3 he then decides to do a Kokichi and try to hijack the Killing Game by kidnapping who was one of the masterminds though we didn’t know that at the time. And all of this time he’s been very unapologetic about what he has done, mocked everyone who has mourned the dead, and has literally become a complete hate sink at this point.

Now if he was meant to be hated, that’s fine. But then the narrative, for no fucking goddamn reason, decides to do a complete 180 on the guy and try to make you feel sorry for him. First we get a new 17th student out of nowhere because why. She is also apparently got history with the rival toxic man and they seem friendly.

He then suddenly seems to be more friendly to the cast despite trying to kill them several times at this point, and doing actions that would in any normal circumstances get him completely ostracised from any group. Like Nagito did less and everyone hated him, Kokichi did less heck even Mikado Sannoji didn’t pull half the shit he did and they were considered outcasts and yet the entire cast…decided to completely forgive him and let him back into the group. Like are you all completely brain dead?

We then have him try to explain his actions, that he was trying to protect his family, his younger brother who was in a coma, and his girlfriend who are all held hostage by the masterminds. But did they tell him to go nuts? No, no they didn’t. And we find out he won TWO KILLING GAMES at this point.

He was the one who decided how the first mastermind should die and as a dick move, she killed his brother as well. All of this is extremely and blatant emotional manipulative writing which completely fails because at this point, I have grown very dull and said the 8 Deadly Words at this point; I Don’t Care What Happens To These Characters.

And then he starts crying and the MC tries to comfort him, but I got pissed off that his actions were swept under the rug and everyone says it’s fine since he has a sad past.

Long story short, he commits actions which are magnitudes worse then any canon or Fanganronpa character who is not the Mastermind or made to be hated has done, the narrative expects us to sympathise with him and the cast says it’s fine he almost killed everyone on three separate occasions because he had a waa-waa back story.

And then you act surprised when I don’t forget this, I don’t like the character and declare you and your entire setting a mistake.

So yeah that’s why I don’t like the rival toxic mistake guy, as the writing is bad, he does the most horrible of things and he is let off the hook with them by the cast. Like Mikado would kill for the PR team this guy has.

[kingdomoftyto]

So TriStamp ep 4........ Sandworms, huh?

[fandomsideworks]

[geekyanglophile]

Dude heard that lobsters are “biologically immortal” because they have a little bit of telomerase going for them and thought that meant death is unnatural lol. You realize many animals have shorter lifespans than humans? In fact, for many species the norm is to live only as long as it takes to reproduce.

And really the argument about whether telomerase would ever be an effective “anti-death” solution is completely irrelevant to the original post (and even if we could be immortal… imagine how quickly we would completely overrun the planet… I mean we already are). The anti-aging argument isn’t really about whether ppl are dying or not… we are literally all dying… every last one of us. Anti-aging products are about beauty standards (which is why they are primarily marketed towards women). These products aren’t actually about stopping aging (you’ll notice none of them contain telomerase). Their only purpose is to cover up, reverse, or minimize the physical signs of aging. And by all means, if those features make you sad or uncomfortable, then use whatever products work for you. But people (and women specifically) should not be expected to use these products to cater to beauty standards. Using these products will not improve your lifespan or overall health (other than sunscreen but I don’t consider that an “anti-aging” product).

scrunching my face real hard rn

[mintyys-blog]

CLAIMED BY A VILTRUMITE — viltrum! mark grayson

WARNINGS: homicide, world domination, mention of breeding/ pregnancy, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), dubcon? Pregnancy

MINORS DNI

The world was peaceful.

The sun still rose in the east, setting cities ablaze in gold. The air carried the scent of morning coffee and wet pavement. People laughed, worked, lived—blissfully unaware that it was all about to end.

You remember that morning vividly. You had gone about your day like any other, watching the news over breakfast, scrolling through your phone. It was mundane. Normal. Until the sky split open. They came without warning.

No declaration of war. No demands. Just the cold, merciless force of an empire that had done this to countless planets before. Viltrumites.

They descended like gods, tearing through human defenses as if they were nothing. Entire squadrons of jets were crushed mid-air, missiles swatted aside like toys. They didn’t fight a war—they exterminated.

The ones who submitted were spared. The ones who resisted? Slaughtered.

Men, women, soldiers, civilians—it didn’t matter. Billions of humans, and yet they were so insignificant against the might of the Viltrum Empire. Within days, the world fell. Governments collapsed. Cities were left smoldering ruins. And standing above it all was him. Mark Grayson.

The conqueror of Earth. The one who had once fought for humanity, now ruling over them with an iron grip. He had embraced his Viltrumite heritage, his mercy a thing of the past. He killed without hesitation, without remorse. The city burned around you.

Thick plumes of black smoke swallowed the sky, choking out the sun. Screams rang through the air—some distant, some far too close. You ran, your lungs burning, your legs aching, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The rebellion was lost. You had known it the moment the Viltrumites arrived, descending like executioners from the heavens. What little resistance remained had been crushed, just like the last city, and the one before that.

And now they were here.

The others were already dead. The fighters you had once stood beside, the people who had promised that you had a chance—all gone. Their bodies littered the streets, broken and lifeless. And soon, you’d be just like them.

Unless you ran. So you ran.

You didn’t look back as the heavy footsteps of Viltrumite enforcers echoed behind you. You didn’t hesitate as you darted between collapsed buildings, lungs heaving, heartbeat slamming against your ribs like a war drum.

But it wasn’t enough.

Something shot past you—a blur of speed and power. A gust of wind sent you stumbling backward as he landed in front of you, blocking your only escape.

Mark. The moment you saw him, your stomach twisted. He was different.

Not the Mark you remembered, not the man who once fought for Earth. His suit—white and grey, the Viltrumite insignia bold against his chest—was stained with blood, fresh from another massacre. His eyes glowed beneath the haze of fire and destruction, his expression unreadable.

Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat.

“No—no, please,” you gasped, turning to run the other way.

You didn’t make it a step.

A hand shot out, faster than you could react, gripping your arm with enough force to make you cry out. You thrashed wildly, shoving, kicking, trying to pry his fingers off, but he didn’t budge. His grip was like iron, unyielding.

“Let me go!” you screamed. “You bastard—!”

His other hand moved so fast you barely registered it before it was over your mouth, muffling your cries.

You let out a muffled scream, still struggling, still fighting—but he just sighed, as if you were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“Shh,” he murmured, tilting his head, his golden eyes flickering with something almost amused. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t even flinch. His grip didn’t loosen.

You kicked harder, twisting violently in his hold, your muffled screams growing more frantic. Your body ached, muscles screaming from the force of your struggle—but Mark was unmovable.

“Hmph.” His lips curled slightly, his grip shifting as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. You yelped into his palm, your legs kicking uselessly in the air. “That’s cute.”

Terror swelled in your chest, ice-cold and paralyzing.

You knew what happened to the people the Viltrumites captured. They were executed. Or worse.

But Mark… Mark wasn’t killing you. He wasn’t letting go, either. Your eyes burned as you glared at him, your muffled screams turning into broken, furious sobs. But he only watched you, his expression unreadable, his golden eyes darkening with something possessive.

“I told you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

And then, without another word, he took off into the sky—dragging you with him.

The world blurred into streaks of color as Mark shot through the sky, carrying you like you weighed nothing. The wind roared past your ears, tearing at your clothes, stinging your skin—but you were too consumed by panic to feel the cold.

Your screams were still muffled by his hand, your body twisting violently in his grip, but it was useless. He was too strong.

Mark didn’t flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge your struggling. He held you firmly, effortlessly, like a bird carrying prey back to its nest. Terror clawed at your chest as the burning city below shrank, fading into darkness. Where was he taking you? What was he going to do? You didn’t want to find out.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you did the only thing you could—you sank your teeth into the flesh of his palm. Hard. Mark’s breath hitched. For the briefest moment, his grip faltered.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You ripped your head away, gasping in air, and screamed—

“HELP! SOMEBODY—!”

A mistake. You barely had time to register the flicker of irritation in Mark’s eyes before the air was stolen from your lungs.

In a blur of motion, he flipped you in his grasp, twisting you so that your back was against his chest. One of his arms coiled around your waist, pinning you completely, while his other hand shot up—gripping your chin and forcing your head back against his shoulder.

Your breath stilled.

He had you locked in place, your body completely immobile against his. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face upward so you were forced to meet his gaze.

His piercing eyes burned into yours.

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” His voice was low, almost amused—but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You were panting, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs. You couldn’t move. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you struggled, you couldn’t move.

His grip wasn’t just strong—it was final. Like a predator subduing its prey.

Mark exhaled slowly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “If you scream again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming wildly.

His fingers tightened around your chin for just a second longer, like a silent warning—then finally, finally, he eased his grip. But he didn’t let go. He didn’t loosen his hold on your waist, didn’t stop pressing you firmly against him as he continued his flight.

Your breath shuddered. You were trapped. Helpless. And completely at his mercy. Minutes stretched into eternity before you finally saw where he was taking you. Your stomach dropped. The Viltrumite stronghold.

A massive tower loomed in the distance, sleek and impossibly tall, a fortress overlooking a world that no longer belonged to you. The lights of the city below were dim, the streets eerily quiet. No resistance. No more fighting. Because there was nothing left to fight for. Your hands clenched into fists.

Mark didn’t slow as he approached the highest balcony of the stronghold. He landed with barely a sound, touching down gracefully before finally—finally—setting you on your feet. Your knees buckled. You would’ve collapsed if not for his grip, his arm still wrapped around your waist. He laughed. A quiet, knowing chuckle, like he was enjoying how weak you were beneath him.

You gritted your teeth, shoving at his arm, hating how effortlessly he held you still. “Let me go.” His head tilted slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Then, to your shock—he actually did. His arm slipped away, and you stumbled forward, your legs unsteady. Your first instinct was to run. You didn’t get far. The moment you turned, a powerful force slammed into your back—not hard enough to hurt you, but strong enough to pin you.

Your chest pressed against the nearest wall, your cheek flush against the cold surface. Before you could even breathe, Mark’s body was against yours, one arm braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip firmly. Your stomach twisted. He caged you in completely, his breath warm against the side of your face.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he murmured. You trembled, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. He was so close. Too close. His warmth surrounded you, his strength pressing into every inch of your body.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to show fear. “Anywhere but here.”

Mark hummed thoughtfully, as if considering your words. Then, after a beat, he leaned in even closer, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s too bad,” he whispered. “Because you’re never leaving.”

Soft sheets. Heavy silence. The lingering scent of something unfamiliar.

Your eyes fluttered open, and for a brief, blissful moment, you forgot where you were.

Then reality came crashing back.

Your breath hitched as you sat up too quickly, your head swimming. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with sleek, unfamiliar designs—Viltrumite architecture. It was too big, too open, yet it felt suffocating.

You weren’t home.

You weren’t anywhere familiar.

You were his.

A quiet rustle caught your attention. Your stomach twisted as your eyes darted toward the figure seated at the edge of the massive bed.

Mark.

He was watching you, golden eyes sharp and unreadable. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting against his knee, but the weight of his presence was unbearable.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

Your hands clenched the sheets beneath you. “Where am I?”

“My chambers.” You flinched. His chambers. Your gaze darted toward the door. Your only escape. You didn’t get the chance to move.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmured, his voice almost amused. “Unless you want me to drag you back again.”

Your jaw tightened. You sat stiffly, every muscle coiled, prepared for—what? Another fight? What was the point? He was stronger. Faster. Unstoppable.

And he had already won. Mark exhaled, rubbing his fingers together idly, as if considering his next words. “Things are going to be different for you now.” You didn’t respond.

“You’re mine,” he continued, voice smooth, patient, like he was explaining something obvious. “That means no one else touches you. No one else talks to you. No one even looks at you unless I allow it.”

Your stomach twisted. “You speak to me,” he said firmly. “Only me. You obey me—because I am your mate now.” The word sent a shudder down your spine.

“You—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard. “You can’t do this.”

Mark’s lips curled slightly. “I already have.” Your hands clenched into fists. “And what if I refuse?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, tilting his head. “You won’t.” The certainty in his tone made your skin crawl.

He studied you for a long moment, eyes flickering over your face, your tense shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the sheets like they were your last lifeline. Then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“There’s something else,” he murmured. “Your role.” Your stomach churned. “You are human. And humans are… compatible with Viltrumites,” he said. “It’s why we take them as mates. Why we breed with them.”

The breath was stolen from your lungs. You stared at him, barely processing the words, your pulse roaring in your ears. Mark held your gaze, unblinking. “You will bear my children one day.” Something in you broke.

Your entire body curled in on itself, your arms wrapping around your knees as you pulled them to your chest, as if that could make you smaller, make you disappear. You dug your nails into your arms, chest tightening with something you couldn’t name.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Mark said nothing at first. He just watched as you folded into yourself, as your breathing grew shallow.

Then, softly, you whispered, “Why me?” Mark’s expression didn’t change. “Why did you pick me?” Your voice wavered, raw and exhausted. “Why not just… kill me?”

Silence. Then the bed dipped slightly as he moved closer. Before you could recoil, his fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face upward. Your breath stilled. Black eyes bore into yours, unblinking.

“Is that what you prefer?” he asked quietly. “Me killing you?” You swallowed hard, your lips trembling. You couldn’t speak. Mark exhaled through his nose, his thumb brushing absently over your chin.

“You’re not like the rest,” he murmured. “You are everything I desire in physical form.”

His grip tightened slightly, firm yet careful. “That is why I chose you.” Your heart pounded in your chest. He meant it. Every word. You were trapped. Bound to him. And no matter what you did—no matter how much you fought—you were never getting away.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Mark’s eyes flickered downward, his thumb catching the corner of your lip, almost thoughtful. Then, after a long pause, he finally released you.

“You’ll learn,” he said simply, standing to his full height. “In time.” And with that, he turned, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of his chambers.

You sat there, frozen in place as the door clicked shut behind him. The room felt colder, quieter. The absence of his presence was suffocating in its own way, as if his very existence had filled the space with an undeniable weight.

Once the final echo of his footsteps faded away, the tears you had been holding back finally broke free.

They fell in steady streams down your cheeks, warm against the cold air of the room. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been holding them back until now, how much it had hurt to just breathe in his presence, knowing what he was making you become.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, desperate to regain some sense of control—but it was useless. The tears came anyway. This was it. This was your fate. How could you ever escape?

You couldn’t fight him. You couldn’t outrun him. Mark was everything you weren’t. Stronger, faster, better in every way. You had seen it in the way he handled you with ease, like a man swatting at a fly. There was no way out.

You couldn’t even dream of fighting back, not when his eyes burned with such terrifying certainty, not when the weight of his claim hung over you like a suffocating fog.

He had taken you. He had chosen you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Your chest tightened, suffocating with a grief you couldn’t quite place. Was this what it was always going to be?

Would you only ever exist to carry his children, to be a vessel for his legacy, until you died?

The thought twisted something deep inside of you. The idea of living your life trapped in this cage of his design, a never-ending cycle of submission, helplessness, and breeding.

Tears pooled at the base of your neck. The thought of never feeling free again was unbearable. How could you ever live like this?

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them as you buried your face in your knees, muffling your sobs. There was no escape. There was no future for you. Just a long, painful existence of being nothing more than a means to an end.

And what happened when you couldn’t give him what he wanted anymore? When you couldn’t bear his children anymore? Would he discard you then? Or would you just fade away—forgotten, alone, trapped in the grip of a man who didn’t care about anything but his own desires? You wanted to scream, to lash out. But you had no strength left. You cried in the silence, feeling the walls close in on you.

You woke with a start, your body stiff and disoriented, a sharp breath escaping your lips as your mind struggled to catch up with reality. The warmth of the room, the softness beneath you, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat close to your ear were all foreign sensations.

It only took a moment before you realized: You were not alone. Panic surged through you. You froze, every muscle in your body locking up as you became aware of the arms wrapped around you. The pressure of a body against yours, heavy and solid, sent a wave of dread through your chest.

You were in his arms.

Mark.

His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths, his face tucked into your hair, his warmth radiating through you. He had somehow pulled you into his embrace during the night, and now—now—he was holding you like you belonged to him.

You instinctively tried to pull away, your body jerking with the desperate need to escape, to get out of his grasp, but his hold only tightened.

A deep, almost purring sound vibrated in his chest, and you could feel his fingers shifting, adjusting their grip around you. The pressure of his body against yours was suffocating. His scent filled your senses—familiar and intoxicating, mixing with the scent of the sheets and his skin.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his voice low and smooth like velvet, laced with an authority that sent a chill through your spine. He pulled you back in, securing you more firmly against his chest as you tried to squirm away. “Don’t fight it.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him off, to demand answers, to make him understand that you couldn’t stay here, in his arms, in his world. But your words were lost.

As you tried to protest again, trying to move, his hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling through it gently but firmly, pulling you closer as he whispered, “You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

Your body froze at his words. The harsh reality of what that meant, what he had already claimed, set in like a weight on your chest. You could feel your pulse racing beneath his touch, but there was no escaping him.

Mark’s other arm slid around your waist, holding you in place as if you were nothing more than a doll in his grasp. You could feel the strength in his body, the raw power that had already subdued you so many times. His hold on you wasn’t just physical—it was absolute.

“Relax,” he said again, his voice softer now, but still carrying that same edge of dominance. “You don’t need to fight me.”

But how could you not?

You weren’t sure whether the tears would come again. You hadn’t cried in front of him before, but now, curled up in his arms, so helpless—so small—you couldn’t suppress the tremor that racked your body.

“Please…” Your voice was barely a whisper, your throat raw, but you still tried. “Let me go.”

Mark’s body shifted slightly beneath you, and you felt him exhale, like he was considering your words. His chest rose and fell beneath you as he let out a low sigh, the sound vibrating through you.

“You’ll get used to this,” he said, his fingers tracing lightly along your back, almost gentle. “You’re my woman now. This is how it is. You don’t have to fight it.”

You swallowed, pressing your face deeper into his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. The thudding sound of his heartbeat was steady, unrelenting. And you hated it. You hated how safe it sounded, how you couldn’t escape.

His grip on you was unyielding. You were his now. And no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you screamed inside your own mind, you couldn’t escape.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Mark murmured, almost as if reassuring himself as much as you. His fingers lightly traced the side of your face, and you could feel the slight pressure as his thumb moved over your cheekbone.

You couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder that ran through you. Mark tightened his hold slightly, bringing you even closer, his breath hot against your neck. “And I won’t let you leave me. You belong to me.”

Mark’s lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, as his hand slid to the back of your head, holding you in place. You instinctively tried to pull away, to break free, but his grip tightened, his touch firm and commanding. His kiss deepened, not allowing any room for resistance. His mouth moved over yours with a possessiveness that made your pulse spike, and for a moment, you could do nothing but breathe him in, trapped under his control.

The weight of his kiss pressed down on you, and despite yourself, you felt your body stiffen in response, fighting the feeling of intimacy that he was forcing upon you. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but the way he held you, the way he had you—there was no escaping it.

And then— a knock.

The sound of a sharp knock at the door cut through the moment like a blade, pulling you both out of the haze of desire and control.

Mark groaned, pulling away from you with an almost reluctant sigh, the warmth of his body leaving you as his presence shifted. His golden eyes narrowed, frustration clear on his face as he stood and moved towards the door. You remained frozen in place, the cold air hitting your skin where his body had been, making you shiver.

Without a word, Mark opened the door, revealing a tall, slender Viltrumite woman standing in the doorway. Her short hair was cut into a sharp, angular style, and her stance was confident, commanding. She had her arms crossed over her chest, eyes locked onto Mark with a mix of urgency and irritation.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice sharp, carrying authority.

Mark’s expression soured slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can this wait?” he muttered, glancing back at you with a faint, almost apologetic look in his eyes. “I was in the middle of something.”

The woman didn’t flinch. “It’s important,” she replied curtly.

Mark sighed, his gaze lingering on you for a moment, the expression in his eyes unreadable. His hand moved to your shoulder, his touch gentle, almost as if trying to reassure you. “Prepare yourself for when I return,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down your spine as he said the words. There was something about the way he spoke to you that left no room for doubt, no room for choice. You would wait. And there was no way out of it.

Mark turned away, his powerful frame moving past the woman without another word. The door swung shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.

Your heart was still racing, the silence that followed their departure suffocating. You hugged your knees to your chest again, the chill of the room seeping into your bones.

What was happening? Was this truly your life now? A life that revolved around him, where your only purpose was to wait for his return, to be his… woman?

The questions plagued your mind, but there were no answers. Just the waiting. Just the silence. And Mark’s words hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

You shivered again, the reality of your situation sinking deeper into your chest. You looked around the room, your gaze sweeping over the sparse, cold space. The walls were smooth and unyielding, made of some kind of metallic material that felt both impersonal and intimidating. There was little to anchor you here—no comfort, no familiarity, just emptiness.

The bed, large and imposing, was the focal point of the room, with clean, crisp sheets that contrasted sharply against the harshness of the surroundings. A few essential items were scattered around: a simple table with a glass of water, a chair, a dresser that held nothing but a few folded clothes, and a single window that offered a glimpse of the outside world—though, what good was it now?

There was no escape from this place.

You pushed yourself to your feet, the coldness of the floor sending a shiver up your spine. Your bare feet made no sound against the smooth surface, the silence pressing in on you like a heavy weight. Every corner of the room felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you with its lack of warmth or life.

Everything here was designed for efficiency, for control, not for comfort. Mark had stripped away everything that could make you feel even a fraction of ease. You were left with nothing but the bare essentials, just as he saw you.

An object. A vessel. A means to an end.

You reached out to touch the smooth surface of the table, running your fingers over it absently. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of it all.

What did he want from you? What had he planned for you?

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the silence wash over you. The weight of the unknown was heavier than the air itself.

Would this be your life now? Would you remain here, in this cold, sterile space, only to wait for him to return and claim you once again? You shivered. The thought of it filled you with dread, but what choice did you have?

Time dragged on slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. You paced the room, then sat, then stood again, your mind unable to settle. The silence was overwhelming, pressing in from all sides, leaving you with nothing but your own racing thoughts.

You thought about the woman who had interrupted, who had taken him away from you so effortlessly. What did she want? Why had she come here, to him, when everything about this place—everything about him—belonged to you now?

But that thought didn’t bring comfort.

Instead, it only deepened the sense of hopelessness that was growing inside you.

The hours ticked by, though it felt as though the world outside this room had stopped entirely. The absence of sound, of people, of anything familiar, left you alone in your thoughts. And those thoughts were consuming. What was your purpose here? What did Mark expect of you when he came back?

Your body had started to ache with exhaustion, and before you knew it, the weight of your own tiredness overcame your anxiety. Your body sank into the bed, your muscles too tense to relax but too fatigued to stay alert. The sheets were cold, but the weight of your fatigue was heavier. Your eyelids fluttered, then closed, and despite the fear gnawing at you, sleep took you.

It came in waves, brief and uneasy. Your dreams were fragments, fleeting images of running through empty corridors, of Mark’s piercing eyes watching you from the shadows, of you trying to escape, but never quite succeeding.

And through it all, there was a lingering feeling of being trapped—trapped in your own mind, trapped in this room, and trapped in his control.

You shifted in your sleep, arching your back as someone gripped onto your thighs. Something wet and sloppy was licking and sucking at your clit, your nails drug into the sheets and you whimpered, waking up. You looked down, panting, “wait.. mark!” You squeezed his head, and he hummed, still sucking on your clit. You could feel yourself going to finish soon.

Each stroke of his tongue designed to bring you maximum pleasure. Mark's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he worked his magic, his mouth moving in perfect rhythm. The sensation was almost overwhelming, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

As the moments ticked by, your pleasure built, Mark's efforts pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands found their way into his hair, guiding him, urging him on as the tension inside you reached a boiling point. And then, in a burst of ecstasy, you came, the release washing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless and trembling.

As you came on his tongue, crying out before he pulled away. He smirked, his lips inches from your own, “you taste so sweet my beloved,” you shivered. His bare chest pressed against your own, when did you become naked?

“I’ve prepped you enough, your body is now ready.” He kissed you, slipping his tongue in your mouth. He lined himself with your entrance. Sliding in slowly, and you sucked in a breath, your hands going to his chest. Surprisingly, you didn’t push him away— not that you could, but you didn’t want to. Not right now. He stayed still once he was as deep as he could go, stoking your face in comfort. “You’re perfect.” He whispered, kissing you once more.

He slowly pulled back out and pushed back in, repeating the motion. His thrusts made you go inside, his cock dragging on your walls— sucking him in. Your nails raked down his arms, his back, anywhere you could reach.

As the night wore on, Mark's passion only grew stronger. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both rode the waves of ecstasy. He fucked into you like a jackrabbit, holding you close. Whispering about how beautiful you will be, carrying his children, standing by his side while he rules this world. You felt like you were one with him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

As the pleasure reached its peak, Mark's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with desire. You felt like you were drowning in the depths of his eyes, unable to look away. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of passion and desire. He thrusted deep inside as he came for the third time that night.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Mark's arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You felt like you were safe, protected from the world outside. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart beating in time with yours.

You lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Mark's fingers stroked your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As you caught your breath, Mark's lips met yours in a gentle kiss. You felt like you were melting into his arms, unable to resist the sensation. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with desire.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand rested on your stomach, kissing your head. You didn’t respond, didn’t know what to say. He then shifted, “I will return.” In a flash he was gone, and you were alone again.

The room was silent, save for the steady rhythm of your own breath. It felt as though time had slowed, the moments dragging on in a haze of exhaustion, discomfort, and confusion. The air was thick, heavy with the aftermath of what had just happened.

You lay there, your body still, though every part of you felt like it was buzzing with a strange mix of emotions. Your mind raced, unable to grasp onto any single thought for too long. There was no clear answer to the confusion that clouded your mind—no clarity to the sensations that lingered in your body.

Mark’s weight was gone, but the impression of him was still on you, in you, and all around you. His presence had imprinted itself on your body, your mind, and your very soul in ways you didn’t know how to comprehend. The cold sheets, once warm beneath the heat of his body, now felt distant and alien as you curled into yourself, trying to reclaim some semblance of comfort.

You tried to sit up but were too tired, too drained, too overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all. You didn’t know what you felt—relief, guilt, shame, confusion, or something darker. What had just happened? What did it mean?

But the truth was undeniable. You were marked by him. Literally and figuratively. He had taken you, claimed you, and there was no going back from that. No escaping him.

The scent of him still lingered in the air—earthy and sharp, an essence that seemed to cling to your skin. His hands, his lips, his voice, all felt like they were branded onto you in a way you couldn’t remove. It was as if you were now bound to him in every way.

Your body ached in places you didn’t know it could. His touch had been firm, possessive, and though there had been a part of you that had wanted to fight back, there was nothing you could do to resist. It was over, and now you were left with the aftermath—the consequences of his claim.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a tear escape and slide down your cheek. You hated yourself for it, for feeling weak, for feeling like you had no choice in the matter. But no matter how much you wanted to scream, to run, to fight—it was clear now.

You couldn’t escape.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Mark’s silhouette filled the doorway. His gaze met yours immediately, his eyes dark, unreadable.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, almost too soft, the same tone he used when he spoke as though he owned you—like it was nothing more than a casual inquiry.

You didn’t answer at first, the weight of his question hanging in the air, thick and suffocating.

But then, finally, your voice broke through, shaky and uncertain. “Why?”

Mark’s gaze didn’t waver. He stepped further into the room, his posture casual, yet there was something predatory about the way he moved. “Why what?”

“Why me?” You swallowed hard, the question catching in your throat. “Why did you do this? Why did you claim me like this?”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he spoke, his tone colder now. “Because you’re mine. You always were. I only made it official.”

Your chest tightened at his words, your hands trembling. He saw you as property—nothing more.

He moved toward the bed, sitting on the edge with a quiet sigh. “You’re a part of my world now, whether you like it or not.”

The finality of his words hit you like a hammer to the chest. You weren’t sure if it was the sadness, the frustration, or the despair that made your breath catch. The man who held you now—the man who had broken every boundary, every limit—was now the one you were bound to in ways you couldn’t escape.

There was no going back. There was only this. Only him. Only his world. And as Mark laid back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, you realized something you already knew but had been too afraid to acknowledge: your fate was sealed.

You curled onto your side, your arms instinctively wrapping around your stomach. The warmth of your body pressed against your skin, but it felt like a barrier between you and everything that was happening, a futile attempt to shield yourself from the reality that was crashing down on you.

The thoughts churned in your mind like a storm. You had once dreamed of motherhood, of a quiet life—meeting someone kind, building a home, maybe raising one or two children in peace. You had imagined it so vividly, so clearly, that it had felt like it was within reach. The idea of a family, of love, seemed so natural, so right.

But now?

Now, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

Mark’s claim on you—his ownership of you—had shattered everything. The fear of being trapped in this life with no choice, no voice, gnawed at you constantly. What kind of life would you have here? A future where you were only a vessel for his children? The thought of carrying his child, of being nothing more than an instrument for his bloodline, terrified you to your core.

You pressed your hand against your stomach, feeling the slow thrum of life inside you, though there was nothing to show for it yet. Would this be your future? To bear his children?

The idea that your body could be used in this way was suffocating. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You hadn’t asked to be pulled into his world, to be his possession, to be subjected to his needs and desires. You never imagined your life would turn out like this.

But what could you do? What could you possibly do against him?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to silence the rising panic in your chest. The idea of being a mother was something you once cherished—now, it felt like a nightmare.

The cold, metallic walls of the room seemed to close in on you, pressing in from all sides. The thought of carrying Mark’s child, being tied to him in such an intimate, irreversible way, was enough to make you shudder. It wasn’t about the child itself—it was about what it would mean. About being trapped in this life, with no way to break free.

But you couldn’t even begin to process it.

You thought of the future, and it felt like a distant, unreachable place. The life you imagined—the one that was filled with love and warmth and choice—seemed like a dream. A faraway dream that had already slipped through your fingers.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, as the weight of it all pressed on you. What had you become? What had he made you into? A prisoner? A breeder?

You hated that your future was now tied to him, tied to the Viltrumite legacy that had no room for softness, no room for the quiet life you once dreamed of. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but your body was weak from everything that had happened, from the forced submission, from the overwhelming terror.

Would you ever get to choose your path again? Would you ever be able to make your own decisions? Or were you doomed to be just another tool for him to use, to manipulate, to bend to his will?

You curled tighter on yourself, holding your stomach as if you could somehow protect whatever part of you was still yours. But you knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again. And you didn’t know if you could ever accept it.

The next morning, the light filtering in through the window was muted, casting everything in a dull, lifeless glow. It was quiet. Too quiet. You still felt the heavy weight of the night’s events pressing on you, and the remnants of your fear clung to your skin like a shadow. But as the minutes passed and you tried to steady your racing mind, a strange sense of detachment began to settle in. This was your reality now, for better or worse.

You hadn’t seen Mark since the night before, but you knew he would come for you. He always did.

As if on cue, the door opened, and Mark stepped inside. His presence was unmistakable—powerful and commanding. His eyes immediately found you, assessing you with a cool, controlled gaze. His demeanor hadn’t changed; if anything, he was more guarded, more intense. It was as if the connection between you, the bond he had forced, was only tightening with each passing moment.

“Get up,” he said simply, his voice firm but not unkind.

You hesitated, staring at him for a moment before slowly sitting up. There was no point in defying him anymore. Not here. Not now.

He didn’t wait for you to ask any questions. Without another word, he extended his hand to help you up. You took it reluctantly, but the moment your fingers brushed against his, the warmth of his touch seemed to settle deep within you. It made everything worse, more confusing. He was both the source of your fear and your desire, and it made it impossible to escape the pull he had on you.

Without a word, he led you out of the room. You followed him, walking side by side, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension. His pace was steady, confident—each step seemed deliberate, as if he was marking his territory in every inch of the space you moved through. You couldn’t help but feel small next to him, out of place in this cold, unfamiliar world that was now your prison.

His eyes never strayed far from you, scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that bordered on obsession. He was protective of you, though you didn’t know whether it was out of genuine care or a desire to control you. Either way, he kept his presence close, constantly hovering, as if making sure you wouldn’t stray too far.

You couldn’t understand it. He was dangerous. He had made it clear that you belonged to him, that your life was now something he controlled. But still, there was an odd tenderness in the way he moved with you. His touch was possessive, but there was something almost comforting about his attention. It left you confused—torn between fear and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Stay close,” he ordered softly, his voice low and commanding, but with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. What could you say?

You continued walking, the halls stretching out before you, filled with shadows and cold steel. Mark led the way, and you followed, the heavy sound of your footsteps echoing through the emptiness of the facility.

Though you walked beside him, you felt as though you were miles apart. His presence was suffocating in its intensity, and yet, you couldn’t deny that there was something else there—something that made your heart beat a little faster, something that made you crave his proximity.

The conflicting emotions twisted inside you, each one vying for dominance. You wanted to break free from him, to scream, to run. But at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the pull he had over you. It was like a constant tug at the edges of your soul, and no matter how much you wanted to fight it, you couldn’t break free.

As you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was your new reality. Was this what you would have to accept—being constantly by his side, under his watchful eye, never able to break free? Was this really your life now?

Your body tensed when Mark’s hand brushed against your arm, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a wave of heat through you. His eyes flicked down at you, assessing, then he turned his attention back ahead.

“Don’t stray,” he murmured. “Stay by my side.”

You didn’t respond. How could you? For a moment, as you walked together in silence, you felt the weight of his words settle heavily around you. There was no escaping him. No escaping this. And for better or worse, you were bound to him.

The days blurred into one another, each moment a repetition of the last. There was no time to process, no space to breathe. You were being consumed by the life that Mark had forced upon you, dragged through a whirlwind of emotions and events you couldn’t control.

You learned quickly that resistance was futile. Every time you tried to defy him or push away from his touch, the consequences were swift, and they always left you feeling smaller, weaker. Mark was always there, his presence constant, watching over you, ensuring you never strayed too far from his grasp.

You were taken to the doctors—humans, ones who had been forced into working for the Viltrumites. They were skilled, capable people, but their hands were tied. Their loyalty was no longer to their own kind, but to the brutal, unyielding alien race that had enslaved them. They had no choice but to submit, to continue their work under the shadow of the Viltrumite regime.

The sterile, cold environment of the medical facility felt like a mockery of everything you had once believed in. The white walls, the beeping machines, and the presence of the doctors made it clear that this was no longer a place for healing—it was a place for control.

You lay on a cold table, your body still recovering from the ordeal Mark had put you through, as the doctor—a man with dark, tired eyes—examined you. His hands were gentle, despite the obvious bitterness in his demeanor, as he ran the scans over your body. He glanced at the results, his expression unreadable, before turning to Mark, who stood by your side, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Twins,” the doctor confirmed quietly. “You’re pregnant. Two. Healthy.”

You didn’t know how to feel. Shock, disbelief, fear—each emotion was intertwined, a knot in your stomach that only tightened with each passing moment. Mark didn’t react with joy, as you might have expected. There was no warmth in his gaze, no satisfaction in his smile. Instead, his face was unreadable, as if this was simply another task he had completed, another duty fulfilled.

He looked at you, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that felt suffocating. His lips curled into the faintest of smirks, not one of joy or happiness, but one of cold satisfaction.

“Mission accomplished,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself more than to you. “You’ve done your part.”

The words stung, but you couldn’t find the strength to fight back. What could you say? What could you do? You were trapped in a life you hadn’t chosen, forced to carry his children, your body now a vessel for his legacy.

Mark turned to the doctor. “Ensure she’s well taken care of. I don’t want anything to happen to her or the children.”

The command was simple, and the doctor nodded in response, though there was a hint of resignation in his gaze. You could see the defeat in his eyes, a man who had long ago given up on any hope of escape or resistance.

Mark’s attention returned to you, and for a brief moment, the coldness in his expression softened—just a little. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, the gesture oddly tender, but still commanding.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice low, almost comforting in its certainty. “No one will touch you. You’re mine, and you will remain under my protection.”

The words were meant to reassure you, but all they did was deepen the hollow feeling inside you. You didn’t want his protection. You didn’t want to belong to him. But there was nothing you could do.

You were his—his woman, as he had called you. And now, you were carrying his children, two of them.

The weight of that reality settled on you, heavy and unrelenting. The idea of being tied to him forever, through these children, was terrifying. You had never imagined your life like this. You had once dreamed of a family, but not like this—not in the cold, unforgiving world that Mark had dragged you into.

Mark didn’t wait long before he spoke again, his voice low and steady, as though laying down a law. “You will be kept safe, untouched. I won’t allow anyone to harm you or the children. Understand?”

Your gaze met his, and for the first time, you saw something that might have been concern in his eyes—something that wasn’t just control, but a flicker of possessiveness that went beyond the physical. You didn’t know what it meant, but you knew one thing: you were no longer just a woman to him. You were the mother of his heirs.

And that fact, more than anything, sent a chill through you.

PART TWO

[noxcheshire]

I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.

[c-nstellati-ns]

APOLLO, GOD OF MUSIC ... — conquest x medic!superhero!m!reader prt.1

you were retired, for gods sake. why in the hell would everything go to shit exactly when you were on vacation? you struggled to even comprehend the fact that there were more than one invincibles flying around, and now the city was falling apart all around you? retired or not, there were people who needed help and that's what you planned to do, no matter how reluctant you were about it. ... so how the hell did you manage to get yourself wrapped up with the very alien who was turning this city into a fine dust?

> author's note — this is incredibly self-indulgent and the first time i've written in literal months LOL so sorry for being inactive for so long !! this was inspired by dj subatomic supernova from NSR, lucio from overwatch and luna snow from marvel rivals ... i love me a silly guy who makes music and heals people via that music :-) not that subatomic heals people ... more like ........ he tries to kill them via music and his planets ........ but whatever !!! this is irrelevant !!!!!! ( i was gonna have this be smut originally but i like where i ended off to continue into a part two soon ^_^ so sorry if anything is bad i am very rusty ... feel free to send me some thirsts in my inbox if you'd like! ) > word count — 1.6k > featuring — our fave viltrumite, conquest <3 > cw — intentional lower case, canon typical violence, unspoken death threats? nothing much really its mostly establishing how your relationship came to be before things get steamy LOL so sorry for the bait

MDNI. 18+ ACCOUNT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

you had parted ways with the GDA some time ago, marking it off as a need for something new. you could only fight so long, for so much. you had been in the spotlight ever since your powers had finally developed, being someone who could virtually heal anything with the power of music. it was rather silly in your eyes but it made you and anyone you wanted to protect virtually invincible. any wounds or injuries would mend in seconds in your presence, people feeling safe around you, other heroes feeling energised to keep on fighting. at some point, you felt the same way until… you didn't. it had only been a matter of time, after all.

the GDA was desperate to keep you so you kept their number just in case things were to happen. that is, until something finally did happen. it was a random tuesday, you think. you had been on the way to your hotel in the city for your little vacation, you had been waiting for so long for it. tapping into your savings from working with the guardians to afford it. you were happy, life was good. you had a nice car, a nice place far from the city, a couple dogs, cats, and one snake that you loved dearly. you were single, not that you minded much actually.

so what exactly happened? how the hell did your car end up split in half by falling debris and cradling the lifeless body of some innocent civilian that got extremely unlucky? you could barely wrap your mind around it.

it was hard to try and keep your music up enough to keep yourself safe, but to try and sweep in and aid those who were helpless was something else entirely. you let out a loud groan of frustration as you carefully set the body down somewhere undisturbed, making a mental note to come back for it later. you had to keep up, getting as many people out of there as you could, but there was always the few that escaped your grasp, all falling victim to some horrible fate that no amount of healing nor music could help. you couldn't get distracted.

you were glad you had kept the equipment the GDA had made for you, even gladder to have kept it close. the music coming off of the holographic speakers around you was loud, a beacon of hope in the midst of the destruction around you, but it kept people safe and you kept playing. you kept far away from the fighting as much as you could, ushering innocents away from their very close deaths. of course, you were putting a big ole target on your head with how loud it all was, but you couldn't care less. sounds waves were blasting anything that came your way, cracking open asphalt that trapped some poor kid underneath it all. you could spot the blood pooling next to him, his mother probably. you grimaced and carried him away, making sure to heal whatever cuts and bruises he had. thankfully, unharmed physically. mentally… you wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

you were doing your job well, keeping things somewhat peaceful until you spotted a stray arm sticking out of some debris. you quickly flew over, pushing off any concrete that held this person down. your heart beating frantically in your chest, you dug as much as you could, hoping that they didn't die before you got there. you grabbed at their hand and pulled as much as you could, using your sound waves to blast at the concrete as you did so. you let out a sigh of relief as you felt the warm from their palm, squeezing it in reassurance. you passed your fingers over their wrist, trying to find their pulse but no dice. so you used your powers to heal whatever injuries they might've sustained, a soothing melody that has the person feeling mushy.

"hey, are you okay?!" you shouted over the chaos around you, hand reaching out to grip at their shoulder. you pulled as hard as you can, thinking to yourself, holy fuck this guy is heavy as hell. you were about to yell again until the hand grabbed at your own roughly, your joints creaking in protest as it did so.

"woah--" you couldn't even finish your sentence before a giant man emerged from the rubble in front of you. he was much, much taller than you, and built like a fucking tank. if you weren't scared shitless, you would have asked him where he worked out. your jaw dropped, staring at the stranger before you.

conquest was having fun with this. he was having fun with all of this! this planet's defences were as measly as he had imagined, so it wasn't a surprise when the creatures that inhabited it were squished by a simple rock to their soft spots. but he was pleasantly surprised by its defender. a halfbreed viltrumite, weak like all those other flesh bags, but much more resilient. the worm even got him to bleed, which was a surprise in itself.

so who was this, mending the little scrapes and bruises that his body has yet to heal? why did it feel… good? like a warm feeling throughout his body, a hum of a familiar tune that made him want to… sleep? what the hell was this? it feels odd, he feels light. lighter than he would when he's flying, it was something else entirely. the touch was soft, much unlike he's ever felt before. a gentle squeeze, a faint hold. it was a strange combination, nothing like he's felt before. he let out a rough grunt, grabbing at the hand that was given to him, rising from the rubble he was buried underneath.

conquest brought up the creature that had healed him by the arm, thick brows furrowed as he stared down at it. it was fearful, trying to wrestle out of his iron grip and escape. but the viltrumite was curious about it now, who exactly was this worm? and was it so stupid to not know its own enemy?

you were gonna throw up. of course, of course you healed the wrong person. just your luck that you had healed THE VERY FUCKING THING THAT WAS CAUSING ALL THIS DEATH AND DESTRUCTION IN THE FIRST PLACE. you let out a pained noise as his grip around your wrist tightened, trying to just get away. you could keep yourself safe when fighting anything but a viltrumite? this was something else entirely.

you were smarter than to try and use your offensive powers against him, so instead, you allowed yourself to play a somewhat scattered melody to heal the broken bones within your hand and wrist. he tilted his head to the side, examining you like a piece of meat. i suppose that was what you were now. a stupid, musical adept piece of meat for him to tear into.

closing your eyes, you couldn't believe this was the day you would die. you didn't even get to take your vacation.

… but nothing happens? it's been a couple minutes, he should've killed you by now. you crack your eye open and take a look at him, startled by his one eyed gaze. his pupils are slits, examining you like you were some foreign… thing. and then he smiles. it's an unsettling one, but he grabs you by the waist, a much gentler hold than what he had on your wrist.

"you're the foolish one who helped me, aren't you?" his deep voice rings out over your healing melody and the rumbling chaos around you both.

you're speechless for a moment before nodding frantically, looking around for anything, anyone. unfortunately, no dice. it was just you, him and the fuck metric ton of dead bodies that he caused around you.

"hmm…" conquest mutters to himself. it was a strange feeling, the closer you were to him, the more that strange warm feeling seeped deep into his bones. he couldn't help but let out a deep purr that rattled you silly. he was like a big cat to you, a big, murderous psychotic cat. with his arms around you, it was… comforting? in a really, really fucked up way. you swallowed thickly as you stared up at him as he smiled down at you, what the fuck is going on?

"what is your name, worm?" the stranger asked, examining your face closely as he spoke. your mouth was dry, gaping like a fish out of water. his arms was tightening around you the longer you took to answer him and you stammered out your full legal out of sheer nervousness. he didn't seem like a patient man at all.

he repeats it under his breath, it rolls off nicely on his tongue. his arms lighten around your waist, your ribs definitely bruised after all this. you let out a groan, brain too scattered to make a coherent melody to heal yourself. instead, you looked back to him as his grin widened. crooked teeth and a prominent scar, you would have called him handsome if you weren't actively in danger of being ripped apart by this alien.

"… perhaps lord thragg wouldn't mind if i kept a pet, hm?" conquest purrs, that metallic hand reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "a healing songbird, doesn't that sound nice? my little songbird." you barely have enough time to speak before he takes off with you in his arms, away from the destruction and chaos that he caused.

mark was clueless as to why conquest had disappeared all of the sudden. in a blink of an eye, he was alone, beaten and bruised on the ground. it gave him time to breathe but it was nerve wracking to think about.

What the fuck just happened?

all works belong to c-nstellati-ns ⓒ 2025. do not steal, repost or feed into AI. ask before translating.