#from gold to mold
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From Gold to Mold
Chapter 10: The Meeting
As the Megamycete watches as you stomp around your room and vent your frustrations about the last few days, it begins to wonder how the Bats came to remember their little black sheep and why they are so insistent you return to Gotham.
It searches through your memories and experiences all the sadness, fear, anger, hatred, and loneliness you experienced for years, all those emotions still so potent even after your departure from the manor four years ago, having been dredged up by their unwelcome visits. It was clear that, besides the butler, none of them considered you a part of their merry band of misfits, not even bothering to spare you a passing glance.
The exception to this is the youngest one, Damian, who constantly went out of his way to make your life harder by mocking you, hurting you, and releasing his menagerie of pets on you, forcing you to run through the endless halls of the mansion barricade yourself in the closest room you could find.
Now, after four years after your escape and maintaining little contact with the family butler, they show up on your door, one after the other, trying to force you to leave your perfect life for one that brought you nothing but pain and misery.
Why?
Why do they want you so much?
Why do they insist on you returning to a place you clearly hate?
Why do they now wish to give you the love they denied you for so long?
Whyâ
Wait, they are meeting in their little cave, gathering around the massive computer in the center of the massive cavern.
Its roots have long since surrounded the cave and it is still connected to the main colony back in Gotham, but when it took you as its host, it has had no need to tap into its roots to see the world above when it can see the world through your eyes and experience it through your senses.
Using its roots to see the outside world no longer has the same appeal when your senses are far more vibrant and provide far more detail.
When it proposed you become its host, it must admit, it never thought it would be so mutually beneficial. Of course, it would be able to leave the cavern and finally experience a world firsthand that had been forever just out of reach for over four-hundred years, but you would recover from your injuries and be akin to a god among men with your newfound abilities. You were the one who had more to gain from your joining, but it was willing to trade one prison for another if it meant finally seeing the world above and having someone to talk to.
But you proved it wrong.
When it became a part of you, you treated it like a person, not a thing. You value its input and alter your plans if it desires to see or experience something. You frequently talk to it, telling it things that you havenât told anyone else and speaking to it like it was a lifelong friend.
It has no further use for that toxic city and its citizens when it has the warm haven of Goodsprings and you to keep it company.
It has come to admire you, even going as far as to see you as a friend and confidant, and wants nothing but the best for you as you so rightfully deserve and to see you suffer teaches it a new definition of rage.
âRunning blood tests,â your failure of a father says as he types on the keyboard, causing a machine next to the massive device to make noises.
âIf Master Y/N does test positive for the Meta Gene, what do you intend to do, Master Bruce,â the butler, the only one in this crowd it respects, asks.
âIf Y/N is a meta, Iâll have to find out what his powers are and how to counter it.â
So thatâs what this meeting is about, they managed to put the pieces together that you are no mere human. But how did they manage to get a sample of your blood? Since your joining, you have had no need for doctors as its influence makes you immune against common illnesses and diseases.
âGetting his blood was a simple task,â Damian taunts. âHonestly, this would have been solved already if you sent me, Father.â
Of course. It should have known the little menace gave up too easily.
While you hate Bruce Wayne in every sense of the word, Damian Wayne is right behind him. From the moment you met him, he went up of his way to make your life a living nightmare and was allowed to get away with impunity due to obvious favoritism from Dick Grayson.
The memory of Dick defending Damian after he gave you a scar made the Megamycete furious. No matter his upbringing, he had no right to harm you, and yet, he was allowed to draw his sword on you. It was only pure luck that you managed to move to avoid being critically wounded, only resulting in a scar.
The Megamycete has seen your many fantasies of hurting Damian and making him feel inferior and wants to help you make them a reality.
âResults are in,â Bruce announces, making them all crowd around the computer.
âNo Meta Gene,â Tim remarks, staring at the monitor with alarming intensity.
âYeah, but look,â Jason exclaims, pointing at one of the results. âHeâs got something in him that doesnât belong.â
âFor once, Todd is right. The tests show foreign substances in his blood.â
âWait,â Tim mutters as he leans over and begins typing on the computer, bringing up an extensive menu and going through various files. âThat looks so familiar.â An image is pulled up on the monitor. âHere it is! The stuff in his blood matches the stuff found in what remained of Joker.â
Well, this is rather unfortunate. It had hoped that there would be very little of the clown left to examine after his execution by your hand, but as usual, these people cannot resist poking into areas they do not belong.
âIf this is substance is in Master Y/Nâs blood, does that mean he is responsible for Jokerâs death?â
âBruce, you canât lock up Y/N after bringing him home,â Dick whines. âYou have to admit, your thing with Joker was only going to end one way!â
âWe donât even know if Y/N killed Joker,â Tim interjects. âItâs possible this strain of mold was in both of them and Jokerâs was somehow activated, killing him.â
âThatâs not exactly comforting, Drake,â Damian responds, glaring at Tim. âThat means that Y/N could be in danger. If I had my pick, I would he be responsible for Jokerâs death. Knowing he can take down as formidable as the Joker is proof he is a Wayne and my brother.â
If it had eyes, the Megamycete would roll them. This insecure little terror spent years making it clear he saw you as an interloper into his âperfect worldâ and not as a brother and that you are a disgrace to the Wayne bloodline (although that bloodline was tainted far before you came to be). He has some nerve to call you his brother now.
It still made it angry that he had the nerve to critique your mother (your memories of her painted the woman as a saint) when his mother, the daughter of a millennium-old maniac with delusions of grandeur (yes, you are very aware of his familiar secrets) who drugged Bruce in order to bring him into the world.
âWe need to bring him back here, Bruce,â Dick says, defusing a fight between the two. âIf heâs in danger, he needs to be back home.â
âI agree,â Bruce responds. âCass, you and I will go. Iâll distract him and while heâs busy yelling at me, youâll sneak up behind him and inject him with a tranquilizer.â
The mute nods and the Megamycete wishes it has a mouth so it can scream. Not only is it offensive that they believe you are stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trick, but that they believe they have the right to decide something like this on your behalf.
If they have failed to realize that you want nothing to do with them after you have yelled it at them, perhaps they will understand if it tells so itself.
And it knows the perfect form to take.
He stands up from the chair and makes his way to the armory where they keep the tranquilizers meant for the larger criminals, like Bane and Killer Croc.
He hates the thought of using such methods against you, but youâve made it clear you arenât going to come back to Gotham willingly and the discovery of this mysterious mold inside you has forced their hand.
Nevertheless, improvisation is one of their many skills, a requirement in their line of work. Once they have you back home, theyâll be able to conduct more in-depth tests and be able to find out whatâs wrong with you and go from there.
As much as he hates the idea of you possibly being in pain and may even be in danger, he canât deny thereâs a small inside him thatâs glad this has happened. This discovery accelerates their plans and will have you brought home far sooner.
And, thereâs the chance that this mold may explain most of your hatred towards them. Sure, he knows you have every right to despise them, but when he saw the look in your eye when you pushed him down that night of the award ceremony. He could tell you enjoyed inflicting pain on him.
This stuff in you mustâve made your temper more volatile and made you lash out at them.
Itâs the only explanation.
âExcuse us,â a familiar voice calls throughout the cave, stoping his dead in his tracks.
That voice⊠No, it canât be. Thereâs no wayâŠ
He turns around to see you, standing in the cave, all of them looking right at you. The small smile on your face making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
âWe believe there are some things we should talk about,â you say as you walk closer to them, making his children back up with each step you take.
âNo fucking way,â Jason remarks, his eyes wide as saucers.
âWait,â Tim says as he rushes over to the computer and rapidly types on the keyboard. âYou canât be Y/N. His phone says heâs still in Goodsprings and weâve been monitoring his GPS signal, so thereâs no way you couldâve come all the way to Gotham from Nevada without us knowing!â
Thatâs right, theyâve been monitoring your phone ever since Alfred helped them remember you, tracking you every move and committing your searches, social media usage, and all your texts and phone calls. They wouldâve done the same to your computers that are linked to your phone, but your cybersecurity is tougher than they anticipated (clearly custom) and they havenât been able to crack the encryption.
He knew you were skilled at making videos games, but he didnât know your skills with technology expanded into cybersecurity. Ever since they made that discovery, Timâs spent nearly all day trying to pierce your firewalls, but hasnât made any progress. Heâs also made it clear he wants to have lengthy conversations on computers and programming with you once youâre back home.
So, youâre still in Goodsprings, so who the hell is this, why the hell would they take your form, and how the hell did they get into the Cave without setting off any of the dozens of alarms or sensors?
âWho are youâ Damian hisses, taking a defensive posture. âAnd what gives you the right to assume the form of my brother?â
âYou have some nerve calling him your brother,â the Not-You hisses back, the smile morphing into an all-too familiar snarl. âHe is too good for you, for any of you.â
Even though he knows this isnât you, hearing those words in your voice still hurts him.
âDo you know Master Y/N,â Alfred interjects, trying to bring tensions down, most likely so he can learn more from this person.
âYes, we do,â Not-You responds, looking at the butler, the snarl morphing into a look of⊠admiration? âAnd we know you, Alfred Pennyworth. We know of you and how you helped him during his stay in this wretched mansion. You have our gratitude.â
âLook, whoever you are, stop taking Y/Nâs form,â Steph exclaims. âYouâre obviously a shapeshifter, so turn back to normal! Or the very least, take a different form!â
âOh, do you all wish for us to take another form,â the Not-You asks, a ghost of a smirk gracing âyourâ face.
âYes,â Bruce says without hesitation.
Itâs bad enough to see you look at them with such hatred, he wonât tolerate some imposter doing the same thing.
âVery well.â
Before them all, the Not-You turns into a shifting mass of some type of black organic mass before taking on a humanoid shape once again and Bruceâs heart stops when he takes in the new form.
âHello, Bruce,â the shapeshifter says in a voice he hasnât heard in years.
Not since that fateful night in Crime Alley.
âGood God,â Alfred says, his eyes wide and his jaw practically on the floor.
In front of them is his mother, every detail exactly how she was that night, still adorned in her favorite pearl necklace and wearing her green dress.
As he stares at her looking at him with those eyes that use to look at him with nothing less than unconditional love, he feels his breathing start to become erratic and eyes begin to mist up.
âWhatâs wrong, Bruce,â the shapeshifter says in her voice (god, even her voice was exactly how he remembered) as they begin to walk towards him, making him step back. âI thought you would be happy to see me. It has been so long since I was killed.â
âNo,â he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. âYouâre not her. You canât be.â
âBut I am. Do you not see? I know everything you have done.â His motherâs face then morphs into a disgusted snarl, making him sick to his stomach. âAnd I am absolutely disgusted in you! Why did we have to die that night? Why not the disgrace we once called our son!â
He knows this isnât his mother and she never wouldâve called him a disgrace, but hearing those words in a voice heâs longed to hear for so long makes him want to cry.
Heâs had dreams of seeing his motherâs in the flesh again and now he has to endure this berating? Is he truly that horrible of a man to deserve this?
âStop it, you bitch,â Jason exclaims as he steps between Bruce and the shapeshifter. âTake another form or get the fuck outta here!â
âOh, you want us to another form?â His⊠the shapeshifter shifts once again and in his motherâs place isâŠ
âHiya, Dead Hood,â Joker exclaims before exclaiming in that all-too familiar cackle and waving around a crow bar in his hand. âDid you miss me?â
It doesnât take a detective to notice Jason tense up and his breathing stop; Joker left a mark on Jason that unfortunately will never be erased (another shortcoming that eats away at Bruce everyday) and whenever news of Joker escaping Arkham would bring up all the anger, fear, and sadness that was planted in Jason that night he died.
After Joker was killed, he noticed a weight seemed to be lifted off of Jasonâs shoulders. Sure, he made jokes about the clown burning in hell, but Bruce could see he was genuinely happy and was ready to move on form that horrible chapter in his life.
And now, all that trauma is about to be dug back up after four years.
âYou have five fucking seconds to take another form before I beat the shit outta you,â Jason says in a tone that says he means business, his eyes flickering into that shade of Lazarus green.
âHow about this form,â the shapeshifter says in Jokerâs voice before changing into John Grayson, making Dick tense up. âOr this form?â John Grayson then shifts into Janet Drake, making Tim tense up.
âAlright, you made your point,â Barbara shouts. âJust turn back into Y/N.â
And with that, the shapeshifter takes your form again.
âWho are you,â Bruce growls, pissed that his sons have had their trauma jabbed at. âWe know youâre not Y/N, but you know him and us.â
You may call us the Megamycete.â
âMegamycete,â Tim asks. âSo, youâre not human?â
âNo, we are a super colony of mold given sentience via a Lazarus Pit.â
âOf course a fucking pitâs involved,â Jason mutters.
âWhatâs your tie to Y/N,â Dick interjects.
âY/N is our host. Before, we were confined to a cavern beneath this city, but when we joined with him, we were freed from our prison.â
âSo, youâre using him.â
The Megamycete glares at Bruce for his accusation.
âNo, he and us operate on mutual trust and respect. Y/N is a respectable young man.â A smirk appears on âyourâ face. âA trait he clearly did not inherent from you.â
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Even though this thing is probably the reason why you feel so much hate towards them, it still pains him to know this is his reality.
âWere you responsible for the Jokerâs death,â Steph chimes in. âWe found weird strains of mold in his remains and youâre a walking, talking pile of mold.â
âWhile we are not directly responsible for the Jokerâs death, we do not deny we were involved. That night, Y/N took us out to Amusement Mile to celebrate when we learned the Joker was sighted in an arcade. Upon seeing the many deaths left in his wake, our host took matters into his own hands and eliminated the biggest threat this city had ever seen.â It gives Bruce a wide smirk. âIn a single night, our host did more to help Gotham than you and your brood have done in years.â
Knowing you were responsible for killing Joker didnât sit well with him. Sure, heâd accepted that Jokerâs games were only going to end with one or both of them being dead a long time ago, but knowing that you, his son, had killed himâŠ
âWhat about Harley,â Dick asks, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts. âHe killed her too?â
âShe forced his hand. He had no choice.â
âWhat do you mean he had no choice,â Dick shouts. âDid you force him?â
âDo not be stupid,â it says, glaring at his first son. âOur host was in complete control of his actions that night. We no more control his actions than you. The woman was a lost cause, without Joker to keep her in line, she would have punished all of Gotham as retribution for the loss of her love. Also, she would have informed you of him, causing you to devote all your resources to finding him. In order to both save Gotham from her wrath and himself from your scrutiny, Harley had to die.â
No, this thing has to be lying. Thereâs no way you, one of his sons, could ever rationalize killing someone. It had to have forced you to kill them. It had toâŠ
âHow did you even find Y/N,â Damian interjects.
Upon being asked that question, it smiles. And not a normal smile, but a smile that says it knows something they donât know and something tells Bruce heâs not going to like it.
âHe was thrown into our cavern after being left for dead.â
Bruce hears the words, but they just donât process.
You were⊠left for dead? When? How?
âIt was four years ago, while the butler was on his vacation. That day, his boss was forced to retire due to Gothamâs high crime, so he was forced to find another bus stop within Crime Alley as he had no other way of returning here, where he was unfortunately captured by three thugs and takes to a cabin in the nearby forest. They intended to ransome him off for a high price due to his school uniform.â
You were held hostage? Why didnât you call for them? For him?
He knows you have no reason to think heâd help you with homework, but surely youâd call him if you were everâ
Just then, memories from that time frame kick in.
RandomâŠ
Phone callâŠ
Oh⊠Oh noâŠ
âSince the butler was out of the country, he actually reached out and gave the thugs the phone number for this manor.â
He so desperately wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
âYou said all your children were with you and you all laughed and mocked the leader of the thugs.â
He sees all his children tense up at the realization and Alfred looks at him to see if it was true. Based on the butlerâs look of shock and disbelief, he knows itâs the truth.
âThe one time he reaches out to you for help, you laugh and mock. He needed you and you failed him in the worst way possible.â
He remembers that night. He thought it was so stupid that someone would think he wouldnât know when one of his kids were missing. He said all his children were with him and meant it.
God, he really is the worst, isnât he?
âAfter that phone call, the leader took all his frustrations out on our host, beating him until he could cry out for mercy no longer before shooting him in the head.â
He wants to cry when the image of you being beat up enters his head, and based on the way he flinches, so does Jason, who looks like he wants to cry.
Alfred looks like heâs ready to go nuclear and Bruce doesnât blame him. Hearing all this years later and he had no idea what happened just proves he was never worthy of being your father.
âHe was on the brink of death and had he not accepted our offer to become our host, he would be dead and the world would have been deprived of a brilliant mind.â
The thought of you dying brings a brunch of thoughts to the surface.
How long would it had taken him to notice you were missing?
How would he reacted upon learning you were dead?
Chances are your body wouldâve never been found and all there would be to remember you by would be a tombstone with your name in the Wayne Cemetery. Hell, youâve made it clear you want nothing to do with the Wayne name, so you probably wouldâve never agreed to be buried with the rest of the Waynes.
âOur joining restored him to full health and gave him access to many powers, including our records.â
âRecords,â Tim asks, clearly interested in this.
âWe have existed for four-hundred years, our roots expanding towards every corner of this city. As our roots touched those buried beneath the ground, not only have we watched the goings-on of Gotham, but we absorbed the memories, knowledge, and structure of the deceased. As horrible as the city is, it has attracted many brilliant minds, like artists, scientists, engineers, and many more. He has access to the knowledge of these people, making him one of the smartest humans alive.â It chuckles. âIn fact, many of your employees are in our records and he used this knowledge to get revenge on you, selling the secrets of your company to Lex Luthor for a tidy sum.â
You were the one who did that? Heâs been racking his brain and reviewing network logs to find any sort of security breach and it was you using the remains of his dead employees.
âAlright, so that solves a lot of mysteries,â Dick interjects. âBut that still leaves one: why are you here?â
âWe have been by our hostâs since that fateful night, peering through his memories and seeing the world through his eyes. Ever since he was forced to move to Gotham, none of you ever made him feel welcome here. For years, he wanted nothing more than to return to his rightful home, where he knew nothing but love. Now, after four years since his departure from this wretched manor, you appear, one after another, trying to bring him back to a place he despises more than anywhere else. We wish to know why.â
âHeâs my son,â Bruce answers, not liking what this thing has to say.
âHeâs family,â Dick adds. âOf course weâd want him back.â
âBut none of you have ever made him feel that way. And if you are honest with yourselves, you never saw him as one of your own. You only want him because you feel guilty about how you treated him, and that guilt is making you believe you are owed a second chance. And you seek to obtain that second chance, no matter how much harm it does to him.â
âYou donât know what the fuck youâre taking about,â Jason exclaims, clearly getting more and more pissed. âYeah, we fucked up! But that doesnât change the fact that heâs a part of this fucked up family!â
âHe was never a part of this family. We know for a fact that he wishes he could take out the Wayne DNA and return it.â
âThatâs because youâre manipulating him,â Damian interjects. âNothing will change the fact that heâs my blood brother.â
âIt is funny you say that when the last interaction you had with him was a fight.â It lifts hits arm and manifests a gold pen in its hand. âDo you remember this? This is the pen you tried to steal from him and then threw out into the rain when he gave you a much deserved slap upside your head. Do you know the significance of this item to our host?â
Bruce gets the feeling that heâs not going to like why that pen is so important to you and based off Alfredâs expression, that feeling gets even worse.
âThis pen once belonged to his mother, made by her father when she set out to become an author. When she was taken from him, this pen was the only thing he had to remember her by. And you, the arrogant beast that you are, felt you had the right to take this, his most treasured possession, from him.â It turns its gaze from Damian to the rest of them. âAnd the rest of you supported this irreverent mongrel and condemned our host without listening to him before passing judgment.â
It seems like a day canât go by that Bruce feels like the scum of the earth; ever since he learned of how he neglected you for years and forgot you even existed, his sense of worth has taken hit after hit. He was thinking about that argument you had with Damian and how furious he was when you refused to obey him not too long ago, thinking how stupid it was for you to cause so much trouble over a simple pen. Now to find out that âsimple penâ was the only thing you had to remember your mother byâŠ
It just never ends, does it?
He could spend the rest of his life atoning for everything heâs ever done to you, spend his last dollar to make your wildest dreams come true and heâd never come close to earning your forgiveness.
He knows heâs not the best father for his children, but he was never worthy of being your father and heâs certainly not that now.
âY/N,â he whispers, knowing this isnât you, but it has your face, your vice, and your memories, so itâs the next best thing. âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry.â
He knows tears are falling from his eyes, surprising both Alfred and his children. He doesnât want them to see him like this, but he canât help it; the last few days have been one emotional turmoil after another and heâs reached his limits.
He failed his baby in every way possible.
âNow you understand,â it responds as it walks closer to him. âYou fulfilled your purpose, Mr. Wayne. You brought Y/N into this world and had him brought to Gotham, where he was delivered into our custody. Now please, do not worry for him, we assure you we will provide him with true happiness. Go on, all you have to do is stay in Gotham and out of our hostâs business.â
âFather,â Damian exclaims. âYou canât possibly be considering this!â
âBruce,â Dick adds. âYou arenât going to actually do it, right?â
âDonât fuck this up, Bruce,â Jason adds.
âWe canât just give up on him,â Tim adds.
âYeah, heâs your son,â Barbara adds.
âHeâs our brother,â Steph adds.
âFamily doesnât give up on one another,â Cass signs.
âMaster Bruce,â Alfred warns, clearly not pleased at the thought of giving up on you.
He should, though. He knows that heâll never be worthy of calling himself your father and youâve made it clear you hate him and your siblings in every sense of the word. You wanted to go back to your childhood home in Goodsprings, a place that made you feel loved, something his home never made you feel. And the last four years were good to you based off your appearance and success. Plus, you had the Megamycete, that apparently has been more of a family to you than them.
If he was a good person, heâd put your needs and wants ahead of yours and agree to leave you alone and tell his children to do the same. Repeatedly harassing you would only make you hate them more and widen the gap between you and them. You donât need them and clearly learned how to live without them. Over the past few days, heâs gathered every piece of information about you he can find and from what he sees, you love it in Goodsprings and fully intend on living in the house you and your mother lived.
But heâs not a good person, not by a long shot.
The night his parents were gunned down like animals in that disgusting alley, his sadness had turned into a bright inferno of rage; he wanted to inflict on every criminal that he met every ounce of his never ending vengeance and make them so afraid of him that they refuse to step outside whatever hole they call home, so that no one ever has to lose a child, a parent, a friend, or a loved one to some scumbag with a gun. That was his reason for donning the cowl.
After his parents were taken from him, he made it his mission to never lose anything of his ever again and two things that he holds dear more than anything in this world are Gotham and his family. And as long as heâs breathing, heâll hold onto those two things until the bitter end.
Is it possible that in his mission to protect his city from Arkhamâs inmates have made him forget the little details? Of course, Gotham needs Bruce Wayne as much as it needs Batman.
Is it possible that his need to hold onto his children with an iron grip has made him lose them on multiple occasions? Absolutely, heâs constantly remembering that his children are their own people and that even though they may leave him, theyâll always come home.
And thatâs what his situation is with you. He knows he fucked up with you and he can never undo the damage heâs done to you, it doesnât change the fact that you are his blood, his son, his firstborn.
You belonged to him the moment you were born and thereâs nothing that can change that. He wishes he could go back in time and accept the gift of your affection that his past self spurred, but he canât (his time as a Justice League member has taught him that going back in time is more trouble than itâs worth) and his only option is to move forward and make you see that the only place in this world for you is with him and your siblings here in Gotham, a city that has and always will belong to the Waynes.
And right now, this Megamycete is an obstacle standing in his way of completing his family. And if thereâs one thing Bruce is very good at over the years, itâs overcoming obstacles.
âNo.â
âPardon,â it says, confusion etched onto its face.
âNo,â he says loudly, making it clear he has no intention on letting you go. âY/N is my son and their brother. He belongs here, with me and his family, not in some backwater town with some sentient mushroom. Weâll find a way to bring him back here and separate the two of you. And when we do, heâll have all the time in the world to realize this is where he needs to be. Once he realizes that, all of Gotham will celebrate his return.â
He looks around and sees not only does his family seem happy with that statement, but they think the same as him.
The Megamycete looks at him, silent, seemingly shocked at his statement.
Then, it begins to laugh. First, just soft chuckles, then a laugh so loud, it echoes off the walls of the cave.
âOur host was right, you have clearly lost what sanity you had left. You reject him for years and now that you realize your folly, you seek to make amends? Please, spare us your delusions. This has nothing to do with our host and everything to do with your guilt. The moment you feel absolved, you will return to the status quo and forget he exists.â It motions to his children. âYou have plenty of children here to drown in your need for forgiveness, surely you can make do with one of them.â
Then, it leans closer towards him, a smug look adorning its face.
âAlso, Y/N belongs to us. He has the moment he fell into our cavern and will continue to until the end of time. Attempt to take him from us and you will suffer the same fate as those three thugs who left him for dead.â
Itâs then another mystery gets solved: the slaughter at My Alibi. The three men in the back of the dining room who looked like they had gone through a meat grinder. That was your doing and they had been the ones to kidnap you and leave you for dead.
While he never advocates for killing people, heâs more than happy to make an exception for them. If they tried to kill you, they deserved to be slaughtered.
He only wishes they were still alive so he could pay them a visit before being turned over to Red Hood.
âWeâve fought plenty of Metas in the past. Do you really think youâll be any different?â
âWe have the knowledge and wisdom of countless people over the course of four-hundred years, all of them at the disposal of our host. You still think of him as that timid little thing from all those years ago, but he has become so much more since our joining. You believe yourselves superior than the rest of the general population, but you will find our host far surpasses you in every respect. He also possesses one thing your past adversaries never will.â
âAnd whatâs that?â
âUnbridled hatred towards you.â
He wants to laugh at that. This thing must not have watched too carefully if it thinks people like Joker, Penguin, Poison Ivy, and so many in Arkham donât hate his guts. Heâs spent years being cursed at by all of Gothamâs rogues and beating all of the Riddlerâs countless murder attempts to know Batman is at the top of many peopleâs Most Hated lists.
âIf you donât think half of Arkham doesnât have dart boards with our pictures on them, youâre not as smart as you think you are,â Steph mocks.
âWe do not doubt the genuine animosity the inmates hold towards you, but they are too far gone to imagine a life without any of you; you have foiled many of their crimes so many times, it has become one of the few constants in their lives. Every time they are put back in Arkham, they devote their time to coming up with their next attempt to best you until it is the only thing they care about. If any one of them were to ever defeat you, they would eventually realize how empty their lives are without you and their victory would soon sour.
âJoker would be a perfect example of this as he was as obsessed with you as you were of him.â
As much as he hates to admit it, the talking pile of mold is right. The clown made it clear that as much as he hated Batman, he was just as obsessed with him, going as far as to go after any criminal that took up too much of his time, Harley included in that.
And Bruce was just as obsessed with Joker, coming up with countless contingencies to counter any plot his sick and twisted mind could come up with, as well as devising security protocols and measures for Arkham to keep him contained and treatment plans to find a way possible bring his sanity back (assuming he had any to begin with).
âBut our host is not like them. He has longed for a life free of you lot and now that he has that, he has no intention of surrendering it. Attempt to force him to return to this wretched manor and he will be more than happy to bring his fantasies of killing you a reality.â
He knows you hate them, but hearing that you hate them enough to fantasize about killing them cuts him deep.
âPlease, I tried to kill Tim and Bruce back when I returned to Gotham,â Jason mocks, but Bruce can see Jasonâs obviously concerned about hearing you thinking about killing them. âAnd Damian took a few tries at Tim. Everyone in this fucked up familyâs got anger issues, itâs nothing weird.â
âYou are kidding yourself if you believe you and that monster can a hold a candle to his fury. Your so-called anger is nothing more than a candle compared to the inferno that is his rage. You will feel the full might of his righteous fury, which will swallow you whole and leave nothing behind. And when you all are dead, you will be denied entry into our records.â
âSo you donât plan to absorb us,â Dick asks.
âOur host is the one who made that decision. To be added to our records is to be a part of us, and to be a part of us is to be a part of our host. He refuses to have you in his life in any way.â A small smile etches across its face. âWe agree with his way of thinking. When you are gone, there will be nothing left and the world will forget any of you ever existed. And that is when our hostâs revenge will finally be complete.â
It takes everything Bruce has to not flinch.
With this⊠thing inside you, what are you capable of? Would you really attack them with intent to kill? Would you really murder your own family?
âMake all the threats you want, creature,â Damian boldly states. âNothing will stop us from bringing Y/N home.â
âThen this concludes our meeting, we suppose. We had hoped that we could convince you the best thing for you and our host would be to leave him alone and let the past rest, but we see now you all are too deep into your delusions to see reason. We look forward to seeing our host tear you apart, bit by bit.â
In the blink of an eye, the Megamycete turns bone white and crumbles like chalk, scattering all over the floor, leaving them all to stare at the remains in silence.
âSo,â Alfred says, breaking the silence. âWas anyone ever going to tell me about a call regarding a random?â
The tension becomes so think, Bruce thinks heâll start to choke on it. He racks his brain to come up with any answer, but doesnât find any. At lease not one that wonât make Alfred pissed.
Clearly his children came to the same conclusion, because they remained silent as well, looking away or at the floor when he met their gaze.
âI have to say out of all the disgraceful things all of you have done throughout the years, this definitely takes the cake. I know Master Y/N wasnât a priority for any of you, but I never wouldâve dreamed you would allow him to be put in danger like being held hostage by common thugs.â Every word he says is dripping in venom. âI am absolutely disgusted with all of you.â
The words cut him deep and he deserves it. It was thanks to his incompetence that led to you being kidnapped, beaten to a pulp, shot in the head, and tossed into a cavern like trash and left for dead in a place no one would ever find you.
Thereâs nothing he can do that will ever make up for all that heâs done to you. He can apologize until he loses his voice permanently, spend all his money to buy you apology gifts, and subject himself to whipping by your hand until heâs lost every bit of his skin and heâd never scratch the surface of everything heâs done to you.
You came to him, a scared little child who just lost his mother and was forced to move to a massive city to live with a man heâs never met and all you wanted was for him to tell you that he loved you and that everything was going to be alright, but no, he was too caught up in his work as Batman instead of finding a healthy way of dealing with losing Jason.
But thatâs not all he did, was it?
As much as he wants to, he canât deny that he replaced you with Tim after the boy lost his parents. He suffered the same loss as you, but he gave Tim the help he needed while denying it to you. But thatâs his fault, not Timâs. His inadequacies are his alone to deal with, not any of his childrenâs (a lesson he keeps forgetting).
And he did the same thing several more times, bringing in more children and giving them all the love and affection you were denied as a child. He canât help but wonder what went through your mind as you saw him spending time with them, both in groups and individually. And when you watched them hanging out in the dining room when they came home from patrol, enjoying themselves and each other while you were left alone in some room barely the size of a closet.
God, how many times did you wonder when youâd be asked to join before giving up?
When exactly did you give up on them?
And of course, he canât forget about how he handled you and Damian meeting, another sign he was never fit to be a father. He knew Damianâs LoA upbringing left him unable to interact with others the proper way, but he still allowed him to see you (because he never considered your safety a priority) and allowed the boy to draw a sword on you, give you a scar on your face, and make several threats on you and insult your mother.
And what did he do after that?
Did he do the responsible thing by taking away the sword, scold the boy for his unacceptable behavior, and make it clear you were his brother and that heâs not allowed to hurt you?
No, of course not.
He did nothing but carry Damian off while allowing him to shout even more threats and insults, thinking nothing about the harm you just experienced and thinking Damian would just outgrow of his behavior on his own.
If he had to guess, it was probably that day you realized you didnât matter to him and that Damian was the only one he considered a biological son.
Y/N, his baby boy.
Heâs so sorry.
âThis doesnât change anything,â Bruce finally says, making his family turn their eyes to him. âWe still need to bring Y/N home. Meeting this Megamycete just makes it more important we get him back to the manor.â
âAnd if Master Y/N fights you? Based off what you were able to gather from both crime scenes, this Megamycete appears to make him a formidable opponent.â
âWe can find a way to neutralize it,â Tim chimes in, motioning to the crumbled remains. âIâll analyze the remains to find a weakness.â
âAnd if thatâs not enough, it said it has roots all over Gotham,â Barbara adds. âI can use the Clocktower to locate the closest sample.â
âSay you manage to subdue Master Y/N and rid him of the Megamycete. What then?â
âThen we make it clear heâs a part of our family now. And weâll keep telling him that until he believes it. And when he does, weâll give him the love we should have given him.â
Alfred looks at him before glancing at his children, all of them nodding in agreement.
âI shall hold all of you to that promise. We have a second chance to right our wrongs. I highly doubt weâll be given another. But donât think for a second this conversation is over.â
And with that, the butler turns on his heel and promptly makes his way out of the cave, clearly still furious at them.
âAlright, everyone,â he says, getting their attention. âWe have work to do. Barbara, get to the Clocktower and start searching for the Megamyceteâs roots. Tim, start analyzing the remains and see what you can find. And be ready to receive new samples. The rest of you, be ready to go out and retrieve the roots.â
They nod and set out to work, leaving him with his thoughts.
Fuck, after hearing all that, his mother probably sees him as a failure now. He had so many opportunities to make this right, but he being the complete and total fuck up that he is, missed them, leaving you all alone to fall into the hands of low-life thugs and a sentient mushroom.
He balls his fists so tight so tight he draws blood, but not caring at the pain or the drops of crimson falling onto the cave floor.
All he had to do was be there for you, love you, tell you heâd always be there for you, but he couldnât do that. When he first learned of you, he was shocked to hear that he had actually been stupid enough to not take precautions to prevent getting a woman pregnant and actually thought you were an inconvenience, blaming you for something that wasnât your fault. You hadnât asked to be born, you didnât ask to lose your mother in such a tragic way, and you sure as hell didnât ask to be given to a man who had no right to be called a father.
Heâ
No, this line of thinking isnât doing him any favors.
He takes a deep breath and releases it, throwing all his thoughts and emotions into a dark corner of his mind and locking them behind a massive door (like he always does instead of dealing with them in a healthy way). Heâs done the same thing to so many other thoughts and feelings, whatâs the harm in doing it now?
What he needs to do now is find a way to deal with a Megamycete and figuring out a method of getting close to you to administer it so they can bring you back home. While thatâs already an uphill battle, the true war will be convincing you that theyâve changed and that you need to come back to the manor and live with them.
Youâre his son and the brother to his children. And as much as you want to deny it, you have Wayne blood coursing through your veins, tying you to him and Gotham. You belong here, by his side.
And when this is over, heâll throw the largest gala Gothamâs ever seen to show his love for you.
Heâll do whatever it takes if it means having you back home so h and your siblings can bathe you in their love and affection.
Even if it means taking away your powers and dragging you back here.
Like he said, heâs not a good person.
Tag List: @space1crow @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @minkyungseokie @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @nosyrobin @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia
#from gold to mold#yandere batfamily#male reader#batfamily#batfamily x male reader#batman#dc x male reader#yandere barbara gordon#yandere cassandra cain#yandere bruce wayne#yandere damian wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere batfam#yandere dc#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere stephanie brown#yandere alfred pennyworth
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I'm so excited for my D&D campaign
#i ran one in this world for two and a half years where everything is ravaged by dragons#but now theres been a somewhat revolution because one of the only surviving major cities was impulsively conquered by my players#so things have been shaken up a lot and now they have a holiday because they brought i think three gods to earth at once#two of my players became the vessels of the gods of light and darkness and duked it out and fast forward a year or two#and their hold on the economic powerhouse of the continent is solidified and they have partnered with an organization#that specualizes in magical artifacts from every concievable reality#and my NEW campaign is people hired by this organization#The Forge of Wonders#they have this entirely greyed out library full of strange books that when you pick them up gain color and you can read their spines#and these books are stories. theyre fairy tales. theyre pirate adventures. theyre dragon babysitting. theyre demon apocalypses.#and these stories are worlds. theyre stories in truth. and my players have been hired to dive into the stories and retrieve Thing#for the forge of wonders#which means i get to make WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT BITCHES#i get to be so fucking impulsive with my story crafting#and im not going to balance anything correctly. theyre just going to have to assume from the summary in the front page if its doable#demon apocalypse? probably outside of our level. gnome tinkerers? probably not too bad#and ill have prebuilt stories and something theyre taked with retrieving and they get to choose which onr yhey do#anyways the forge of wonders started as a magic shop that only accepted platinum (1000 gold) as currency so they did a lot of shopping ther#i just took that old document full of crazy magical items and i tweaked it and molded it and added to it and the new version is 33 pages đ„°#thats what ive been doing at work the past three days lol#dnd#my dnd
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I got last months electricity bill and it was like 800⏠something, whhhaat the fuck
#this is going to be me just complaining lmao feel free to ignore#I practically live alone when moms not here ????#but also like#if you have whole ass family#let's say partner and three kids or something#and you want them to have same kind of upbringing as you so you get a house with a lawn n all that in rural area#how the fuck are you supposed to do that ???#I'm not even against the idea of raising kids myself but in this economy..?#hurr durr future bad#but also men who want housekeeper of a wife but also complain about gold diggers like dawg#you have to have stay at home money to have stay at home wife lol#even if both of you work you cant expect your wifey to do all the work at home#the municipality is going to look at our bill and the amount of residents in our house and think we are growing weed or something...#but yeah this is why you dont remove fireplace from old ass house old heaters are expensive to keep on#like idk if I should just turn them off in rooms we dont use ?#bc on the otherhand what if something like mold starts growing there since its still winter#ughh#turning this house into igloo I dont want to think about funny numbers on the screen#remember to unplug things if you arent using them#I probably should check that no one is living in our attic or something#I have desire to bother someone about this
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pulled isaiah's custom set from their molds today :D i thought i went overboard with the red because like. realistically i didnt think about it (only one drop of red is not that much unless your molds are very very very tiny like they are for dice) but i like how they came out!
#his god's color scheme is red and white so i wanted to allude to that! + mica power for a more sheen like and some glitter and gold foil#ignore the. bandaid from when i cut myself pulling them out of said molds
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Fuck it hereâs what nezha would look like if he existed in my Ocâs world :3 (+ his weapons)
I forgot to put his species on there but heâs a Chinese mountain cat x sable (cuz I couldnât choose between the 2 of em so he gets to be both :3)
ALSO if thereâs anything wrong with the refs ignore it, I finished it at like 7am after staying up all night so I was very eepy
#art#fanart#nezha#technically lmk nezha but Iâm not gonna tag it just cuz :3#oc#I think?#it was really hard figuring out how to make his weapons#they donât really have any way of getting like gold and stuff aside from just digging it out with their claws or by using magic#which even then they donât know how to mold metal to the right shape so they instead use easier resources and enhance them with their magic#(I definitely did not realise that they wouldâve been able to get metals after finishing the ref)#& definitely did not have to come up with an excuse as to why they canât use metal.. noooooâŠ
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âŠHow do we feel about the environmental implications of certain very tiktok-friendly Small Business Crafts such as resin work and polymer clay jewelry. I know that I feel and think things about them but I donât really know what those things are
#like are they yet another expression of first world consumerist luxury?#is it irresponsible to create with what is essentially a lot of plastic?#is it stupid to shame people for this when their impacts are negligible compared to manufacturers and industry?#or is it something to be more concerned about?#how is the âaccessible low-entry level craft -> small business on tiktokâ pipeline affecting artists?#in what ways do these crafts intersect w privilege or lack thereof?#what makes them different from things like beading/embroidery/pottery/painting/metalwork/sewing/other arts and crafts?#are they different at all?#idk I just feel like on the one hand yay creativity on the other hand i feel like itâs trendifying/yassifying/commodifying certain aspects#of creativity#like most amateur like âsmall businessâ tiktok girlies are just making things that follow trends and often copies of whatever is popular atm#(âat least in my experience)#like do you know what I mean. like all the resin girlies with their molds they bought on aliexpress#and the polymer clay earring girlies where they make the clay look like marble/stone in a âsatisfyingâ grammable process#of chopping up teeny bits of clay and mixing it with acrylic paint and gold leaf and rolling it all out#and itâs âsatisfyingâ and just the ~perfect~ vehicle for ~trending audios~
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Yeah I'm in STEM
Somebody once
Told me the world is gonna roll me I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb In the shape of an "L" on her forehead Well, the years start comin' and they don't stop comin' Fed to the rules and I hit the ground runnin' Didn't make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb So much to do, so much to see So what's wrong with taking the backstreets? You'll never know if you don't go (W-w-wacko) You'll never shine if you don't glow Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (And all that glitters is gold) Only shootin' stars break the mold It's a cool place, and they say it gets colder You're bundled up now, wait 'til you get older But the meteor men beg to differ Judging by the hole in the satellite picture The ice we skate is gettin' pretty thin The water's gettin' warm so you might as well swim My world's on fire, how 'bout yours? That's the way I like it and I'll never get bored Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (All that glitters is gold) Only shootin' stars break the mold Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (And all that glitters is gold) Only shooting stars⊠Somebody once asked, "Could I spare some change for gas? I need to get myself away from this place" I said, "Yep, what a concept I could use a little fuel myself and we could all use a little change" Well, the years start comin' and they don't stop comin' Fed to the rules and I hit the ground runnin' Didn't make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb So much to do, so much to see So what's wrong with taking the backstreets? You'll never know if you don't go (Go!) You'll never shine if you don't glow Hey now, you're an all star Get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star Get the show on, get paid (And all that glitters is gols) Only shootin' stars break the mold (And all that glitters is gold) Only shootin' stars break the mold
Engineering
Math
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Oh man, when I look back on some of the things I wore as a kid.
#like when I wore my dogs old collar modified with one of my necklaces#I did not understand the implications of that#and I wore it with a gold glitter cowboy hat#I was just trying to be a trendsetter like Jade from Bratz and break the mold#I did not understand
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size training with sukuna would consist of a few things. him above you, the gold chain dangling over you, and his soothing words. âitâs okay mama, just one more push hm.â sukuna wasnât a very gentle man, but this night it was all about making you feel comfortable, spreading that small hole and molding it just for him. the thick head of his cock went in with a gentle pop, your wetness gushing out and your clit throbbing. a single tear fell from your face, one that sukuna licked away, kissing your face all over while you whined, eyes shut tight. and to think - it was only the head.
âyou can handle more baby?â no words could come from you, not a single one but a small moan, nodding yes; you stared into his dark eyes, yours staying open but low even when he pushed his length further into your tight pussy. you loved how his eyes rolled to the back of his head, teeth gritted together as he told you how tight you were. âtight pussy hm baby? youâve been keeping this away from me?â while he whispered his words his pushed in with every single one, all up until the base of him touched your fat lips. you both sat still, sukuna barring his head into your shoulders, small kisses and bites that he quickly licked. you rubbed his hard back, your pussy getting used to this big stretch.
your juices coving both of you, the two of you enjoying the small intimate moment. and before you knew it you were getting fucked like a slut.
#â writings!#sukuna x black reader#sukuna x chubby reader#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna ryoumen x black reader#sukuna ryoumen smut#sukuna ryoumen x reader#jjk x plus size reader#jjk x black reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x black reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#anime x chubby reader#anime smut#anime x black!reader
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âđąđ©đŠđ€đŠđŹđ« | chapter I
General Marcus Acacius x f!reader
"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."
summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Romeâs honorable and stoic leader.
Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair beginsâone that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.
warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story
Chapter I
masterlist!
next | chapter II
The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.
Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.
You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and powerâlegends youâve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.
You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.
The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.
You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruitâgleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.
Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.
âHave you checked the wine?â she asks, her tone soft but urgent.
You nod. âItâs ready, Mother,â you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.
She is not your motherâyou know this muchâbut she is all you have.
The story of how you came to be here is one youâve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.
Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.
Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.
The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselvesâor so it seemed.
The servantsâ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.
You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.
Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.
Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.
The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.
âAre the platters for the atrium ready?â Liviaâs voice cuts through your thoughts.
âThey are,â you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.
âGood.â Liviaâs sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. âTake the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.â
You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.
As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.
âGo with her,â Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.
Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.
âShe canât let me rest for a moment,â she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.
You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like thisâbold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.
She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.
As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. âThe Princess will be here tonight.â
You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. âOf course, she will. She is the Princess after all.â
âNo, I mean, I havenât seen her in years,â Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. âNot since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.â
You donât reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.
âCan you believe itâs been ten years, and she hasnât had a child? Not one with him,â Alexandra muses.
âMaybe itâs their choice,â you say quietly. âItâs not our place to wonder.â
Alexandra scoffs lightly. âIâm just saying, after her sonâwhat was his name? Lucius?âafter he was taken and killed by her brother, CommodusâŠâ She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.
You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.
You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.
âItâs not good to talk about the great emperors like that,â you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.
The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. âMake way for their majesties,â one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.
You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.
Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.
Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.
Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creatureâs name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its masterâs unpredictable moods.
You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Getaâs lips curl into a smileâor is it a smirk?âas his eyes linger on Alexandra.
There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.
Caracallaâs gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.
When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.
âYour Majesties,â Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.
She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.
You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.
To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.
Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.
His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.
âAlexandra,â he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. âWhy do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?â
You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.
But Alexandra, bold as always, doesnât flinch.
âForgive us, Your Majesty,â she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. âThe final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.â
Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. âUnforeseen,â he repeats, as though savoring the word.
âI wonder, Alexandra, if youâve grown too accustomed to... distractions.â
You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.
The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.
Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.
Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.
Caracallaâs gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glancesâa shared knowledge of solitude.
âForgive us, Your Majesty,â you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.
Getaâs eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if youâve made a grave mistake.
But then he laughsâa low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.
âAh,â he says, leaning slightly toward you. âThe little dove finds her voice. How curious.â
You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.
âYouâre the youngest servant here, arenât you?â Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.
âA curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yetâŠâ He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.
The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.
The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servantâthat you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Romeâs bloody past.
Youâve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.
But in moments like this, when Getaâs piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.
Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Romeâs cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.
Geta doesnât believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.
If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.
Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.
The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.
Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.
The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedentâit is rooted in the hearts of the people.
And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.
âYou wear the palace well,â Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. âA little too well, perhaps.â
You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.
Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.
âLeave her, brother,â he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. âYou scare the child.â
Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. âFinish the table,â he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.
âYes, Your Majesty,â you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.
Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.
The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didnât realize youâd been holding slipping from your lips.
The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressiveâa prison of marble and ambition.
Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. âItâs fine,â she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.
You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.
Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servantsâ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the nightâs debauchery.
Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.
âAre you all right?â You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.
Liviaâs sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. âStay away from them tonight,â she warns. âThere will be soldiers, senators, politiciansâmen who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.â
âI understand,â you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.
"Go to your chamber and stay there.â You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.
But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.
***
The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.
The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.
Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.
You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.
This is your sanctuary, a place youâve tended with your own hands.
The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant colorâcrimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.
The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.
You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.
Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.
The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.
To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.
You stare at the words youâve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empireâs endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.
It isnât rebellion that drives youâat least, not yetâbut a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.
You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.
Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. Youâve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.
Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.
Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.
Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.
These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the gardenâs beauty unable to shield you from the worldâs harsh truths.
You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.
You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isnât one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.
This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.
The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.
You know who he is. How could you not?
General Marcus Acacius.
Romeâs shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.
You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.
But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Romeâs protector.
Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.
The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empireâs conquests.
His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.
Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicalityâbeauty tempered by utility.
And his faceâby Jupiter, his beautiful face.
It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.
His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.
His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.
But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.
They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.
Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.
He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fireâunyielding yet reflective.
His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.
Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.
âNot many choose the gardens for their thoughts,â he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.
It is a soldierâs voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.
You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. âGeneral,â you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.
He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. âAt ease,â he says, a faint flicker of somethingâamusement, perhapsâcrossing his face. âYou are Livia's daughter?"
His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the gardenâs leaves.
Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. âA poet?â
You hesitate, âI... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.â
He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.
âThoughts on Rome, perhaps?â he asks.
His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.
Your throat tightens. To speak of the empireâs flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.
Yet something in his bearingâa quiet patience, a restrained curiosityâcompels you to answer honestly.
âYes,â you admit softly. âAbout Rome. And its people.â
Acaciusâs expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.
âThe people,â he repeats, almost to himself. âThe heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.â
The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.
You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.
"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.
Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.
He turns to you, his eyesâsharp as a polished gladiusâsoftening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.
âBelief,â he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, âis a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Romeâs strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.â
The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.
It is not what you expected from a man like himâa hero to some, a sword-arm to the empireâbut here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hopeâfragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.
âDo you believe in Rome, little one?â His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.
âIââ Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.
But then, something inside you stirsâsomething that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.
You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.
âI believe in what Rome could be,â you reply, your voice steadier now.
âI believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its peopleâthe ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see nowâŠâ Your throat tightens, but you press on.
â...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?â
Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expressionârespect, perhaps, or surpriseâthat you remember who stands before you.
The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing theyâve overstepped in the arena.
âForgive me, General,â you murmur, lowering your gaze. âI forgot myself.â
But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. âDo not apologize,â he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.
âYou are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.â
His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
âYou remind me,â he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, âof someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Romeâs people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.â
Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.
The way Marcus looks at youâas though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneathâmakes you feel for a fleeting moment.
âI am no philosopher,â you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. âBut it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.â
âA Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empireâs failings,â he says, stepping closer now.
âDo not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Romeânot to the men who rule it."
You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.
The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.
You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.
There is something about him that draws youânot merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.
The man behind the titles and statues.
You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.
And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.
Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.
âForgive me, my lord, but shouldnât you be inside?â you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. âThe palace is bustling with your celebrationâwishing you fortune for your campaign, for Romeâs glory.â
He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. âRomeâs glory,â he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.
He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. âLet them feast. Let them toast. Iâve no appetite for gilded words tonight.â
You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imaginedânot the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is⊠more human than that.
âIâm waiting for my wife,â he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.
Princess Lucilla.
The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Romeâs Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. Youâve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.
âShe was delayed,â he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.
Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.
Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.
Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. âShe carries Rome on her shoulders,â your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. âThe weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.â
Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.
âYour mother,â Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, âsheâs a loyal servant to our household, isnât she?â
You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. âShe is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.â
At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if heâs allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.
âLivia is wise, then. Lucilla is⊠more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aureliusâ daughter, but to meââ He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.
âShe is a woman of strength, far greater than any man Iâve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people⊠it humbles me.â
For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.
A man bound not just by duty but by love.
His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.
âIâve never met her,â you admit, your voice quieter now.
He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. âLucilla?â
You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. âIâve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But weâve never crossed paths.â
Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. âShe would like you,â he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.
âAre you coming to the feast tonight?â he asks, the question catching you off guard.
You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. âServants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,â you say, lowering your gaze. âI am only a servant after all,"
His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. âRome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.â
You blink, unsure of how to respond. Thereâs a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.
Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.
âMy lord,â she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.
The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.
Men respect him, but women⊠they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.
âForgive me for interrupting,â Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. âYour mother is looking for you,"
Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.
"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.
His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surfaceâa map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.
For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.
There is something about you, his expression seems to sayâsomething unspoken but undeniable.
You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.
âIâll see you at the feast tonight,â he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.
There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.
Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightlyâa gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgmentâbefore turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.
You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.
Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.
As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.
âWas that⊠the general?â she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.
âYes,â you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.
âBy the gods,â she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. âHeâs⊠heâs even more handsome up close.â
You chuckle softly, shaking your head. âCareful, Ale,â you chide gently, though thereâs no malice in your words.
âIâve heard so much about him,â she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
âAbout his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridiusâthe late generalâand how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.â
You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. âYou know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.â
She grins, unrepentant. âThe laundry is where all the palaceâs secrets come to dry.â
You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.
Youâve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucillaâs love affair with Maximus, and Marcusâs steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.
A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, thereâs something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.
As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.
To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselvesâdeep enough to drown in, and yet you couldnât look away.
You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you canât quite name. It isnât admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.
Marcus is unlike anyone youâve ever knownâunlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.
He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something⊠human.
And perhaps thatâs what unsettles you most.
Youâve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palaceâs labyrinthine halls.
Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, youâve only heard about in storiesâabstract concepts, not flesh and blood.
But Marcus is no abstraction.
He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.
To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world youâve never knownâa world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.
You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. âItâs nothing,â you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.
âNothing at all,â you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.
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From Gold to Mold
Chapter 11: The Interview
Note: Didnât really plan on making a chapter like this, but I thought we were overdue some filler before we got into some real drama. Enjoy!
You let out a loud agitated sigh as you power down your computer and slouch in your office chair.
Since you got back from Metropolis, youâve been working on a free update to thank all your players for their support and voting to make Salvage Rights the Indie Game of the Year; working on an update thatâll satisfy the players and be easy to develop and implement was difficult enough, but all the drama with the Waynes made it even harder.
Itâs been four fucking years since you left Gotham! Even when you moved back to Goodsprings, you couldnât help but think about all theyâd done to you, from Bruce acting like youâre an intruder in his âperfectâ house to Damian being your personal demon. Youâd managed to put hundreds of miles between yourself and them, but they still managed to have a hold on you. Sure, you knew you were in a home you owned fair and square, not Wayne Manor, but there were still instances where you caught yourself looking over your shoulder to make sure no one was behind you or peeking around corners to make sure a room was empty before you walked in.
Even with the Megamycete constantly reminding you, it took you the better part of a year to get it through your head that you no longer needed the survival tactics that had kept you alive in Wayne Manor as youâre the only one in your house.
Itâs taken the last three years, but you were finally ready to move on with your life, look towards the future and leave Gotham, Bruce Wayne, and his merry band of bastards behind. You published your game, people loved it almost immediately, and you had been rewarded for your efforts with fame and fortune.
You finally free and could actually be happy for the first time in years.
Now, he and his children come and plague you, trying to drag you back to the place you hated from day one.
He made it clear that he never considered you his son (hell, what he said the night those three bastards kidnapped you proved that), always showering Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian with a fatherly love you had slowly realized would never be meant for you and shoved you aside in favor of showcasing the children he was proud of. Eventually, you were forgotten by both Bruce Wayne and the larger world as no one in Gothamâs media class ever asked where you were, why werenât you with them at this party, or when was he planning on throwing you your own introductory gala like his other kids.
As time went on, you took steps to separate yourself from him, never telling anyone who your father was and only accepting Gould as your proper last name (although if you ever found some guy to marry you, youâd definitely be open to changing your last name).
Then, that son of a bitch shows up and ruins everything, your face plastered all over the news, primarily in Gotham and Metropolis, and you canât go anywhere without people staring, whispering, and bombarding you with several questions (many of them being if you could set them up with your âsiblingsâ).
You were finally living the life youâd dreamed about and he had to go and ruin it! Youâd known that Bruce Wayne is a miserable motherfucker who canât stand to see anyone around him to be happy (youâd listened in on plenty of arguments between him and the others whenever one of them tried to strike out on their own to figure that out), but you never thought that heâd be so petty heâd try to drag you, the son he never wanted, back when he saw you happy for once in your life.
You look down at your hands and imagine what itâd feel like to have them wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him and seeing him realize that despite his strength as Batman, he was powerless compared to you; the relief you would feel as you saw the life leave his eyes as he accepted that the son he never wanted was the instrument of his destruction.
You revel in the brief sensation of satisfaction that passes through you from your daydream.
(You may get your wish,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out for your fantasy.
âHow do you figure?â
It doesnât answer, but you feel sensations of anxiety and apprehension radiate from it.
âWhatâs wrong,â you say, getting a little afraid.
Over the last four years, youâd never known the Megamycete to be afraid of anything.
So, seems like things are about to go from bad to worse in your life.
(We reached out to the Bats. They know of both our existence and our bond with you.)
âWhat,â you exclaim, standing up from your chair. âYou told them? Why?â
(We thought we could reason with them for you. Theyâ)
âHow could you do that? Now they know about you! They werenât going to stop coming and my only ace in the hole is you! Iâve lost that advantage thanks to you! For a sentient mushroom that has the knowledge of thousands of people, that was a pretty stupid thing to do!â
Youâre pissed. Really pissed.
You had a feeling that the night with Bruce at the Gala wasnât the end of things and all of his children visiting you proved it. The Bats have made it clear theyâll do whatever they must to accomplish their goals and for whatever reason, theyâve decided youâre their goal.
Sure, you went overboard a little demonstating your strength when dealing with Jason and Damian, but that they had no idea your strength came from the Megamycete and that was only the surface what you were capable of. If they decided to come at you in force, they were in one hell of a surprise when you fabricated hardened mold armor right in front of them and do to them what you did to Joker. You know theyâve fought plenty of villains with powers, but the mold is stronger than all of them combined and youâd make them regret ever meeting you as you tear them apart and scatter their intestines across the ground.
But now, thanks to the Megamycete, they know that youâre not alone and who knows what else?
(We are sorry,) it says, its tone remorseful. (We thought we could persuade them to leave you alone. We were wrong.)
âYeah, no shit! If they werenât listening to me, what made you think they would listen to you? Hell, you know how Bruce feels about metas, knowing Iâm one probably made things worse! Heâs probably making some cage to hold me right now!â
You tap into the roots scattered around Gotham and focus on Wayne Manor, but are surprised to find youâre unable to connect.
(They have started removing our roots. We have accelerated the growth of the surrounding roots, but they are taking steps to prevent their regrowth.)
âSo, we have no idea what theyâre planning. Great, thatâs just great. Terrific job, man. Really, just superb.â
(We thought we could help.)
You exhale a sigh and wave a hand through your hair, trying to come up with a plan on where to go next.
âHow did it go down, exactly? What happened?â
The Megamycete uploads its meeting with them into your brain and it flashes before your eyes, from the Megamycete torturing some of them by turning into their dead ones to them learning about you killing your would-be murderers and Joker and Harley.
You thought you hated Bruce Wayne enough, but apparently you donât hate that man enough.
How someone can be so delusional is astounding to say the least. Honestly, he deserves to be thrown in Arkham and studied, along with all the others.
They ignore you for most of your life and treat you like shit and now that youâre finally happy, they want to drag you back to Gotham.
And why?
Because they âlove you?â
Bullshit.
They feel guilty and they just want to feel better. You know no one in that damn house is capable of feeling real love and once they feel better about themselves, theyâll go right back to ignoring you.
(They are truly delusional. They think their past behavior does not matter and you should be brought back to their fold.)
Yeah, you got that from Jason. The bastard wasnât able to get away from Bruce and Gotham (because despite all his bluster, all he wants is that manâs approval) and because he couldnât do it, he thinks you shouldnât be able to.
Selfish, all of them.
âYou fucked up. They were going to find out eventually, but thanks to you, weâre gonna have to deal with them sooner than we expected.â
(We know. We overestimated our abilities and brought trouble upon you. We apologize. Truly, we do.)
You understand where its heart was in the right place, but it still doesnât change the fact that the Bats are probably going to be breaking down your door any day now.
Just then, thereâs a knock at your door, making you freeze.
Shit, are they already here? Are they in regular clothes or are they in their capes and cowls? Are they really that desperate to bring you back to Gotham that theyâd really raid your house in the middle of the day for anyone walking by to see?
You tap into the roots surrounding your house and see not Bruce Wayne or any of his kids darkening your door. Instead, you see a black haired woman dressed professionally standing on your porch.
âWho the hell is she?â
(We do not know. She is definitely not a resident of Gotham as we do not recognize her.)
That certainly doesnât make you feel better. You know Bruce is resourceful as hell and isnât afraid to use any dirty trick in the book to get what he wants.
(She does not appear to have ill intents. She is too delicate-looking to pose a threat to you, nor is her purse large enough to hold a weapon large enough to harm you.)
Looks can be deceiving. After all, Bruce is a member of the Justice League, where Martian Manhunter is and you can see Bruce using the alien to transform and trick you into lowering your guard. When that man gets obsessed over something, he doesnât know when to leave well enough alone.
Still, you can speculate to the moon and back, but until you open the door and talk to the woman, youâll never know for certain. Sure, it could be related to your current Bat problem, or it could be something else.
So, you walk through your house and up to your door.
âWho is it,â you call out.
âLois Lane, Daily Planet,â she responds. âIâm here to ask Y/N Gould for an interview.â
Lois Lane? Youâve heard Bruce and the others say that name when talking about Metropolis and Superman and youâve seen the name when reading a few news articles for school assignments, but youâve never seen any pictures of her, so you had no idea the woman standing on your doorstep is the very woman famous for being one of the very few reputable journalists left in the world.
You unlock the door and open it just enough to stick your head out to see her face to face. You look into her eyes and see no ill intent or hidden motives.
âMr. Gould, I presume,â she asks, a gentle smile on her face.
âYou want an interview with me? What for?â
âYour relation with Bruce Wayne. As Iâm sure you know, heâs the most famous man in Gotham, if he so much as sneezes in public, several news articles are written to publish it. Gothamâs media has always covered whenever he adopted another child, but out of nowhere, he appears at a video game awards ceremony and claims youâre his son and you call him a sperm donor. No one can forget when Damian Wayne appeared at a gala and was declared Bruce Wayneâs biological son. It made quite the stir when you pushed him and made it clear you had nothing but animosity towards him.â
Oh yes, you can remember the many days of fawning Damian got when he moved into the manor, leaving you bitter since all you got was a few minutes of people asking about your mother before forgetting about you in favor of all the others.
âWhat is it you want,â you say, trying to remain polite. âI lost years thanks to Gotham and Bruce Wayne and Iâm not eager to lose any more dwelling in the past.â
âI want to hear your side of the story,â she says with a determination that surprises you. âYou clearly suffered due to him and I want to help you tell your story to the world.â
Youâre actually speechless at that. You know pretty much all of Gotham worships at the Alter of Wayne and his influence expands far beyond the cityâs borders, leaving very few people willing to hear anything that would portray him in a negative light. Itâs very safe to say Gotham is a cathedral dedicated to both Bruce Wayne and Batman.
To hear that someone with a reputation and influence like Lois Lane would want to listen to you and help you tell others your lifeâs story is nothing less of a shocker.
âI canât say youâll like what I have to say, Ms. Lane,â you say as you open the door wide and stand in the doorway. âI know Bruce Wayne is an institution of Gotham, but I can tell you that wasnât my experience.â
âThis isnât about my opinion on Bruce Wayne or any of his children. This is about what you experienced during your stay in Wayne Manor.â
âAnd how much are you wanting to know?â
âEverything. Or, as much or as little youâre willing to tell me.â
Her words strike you to your core. Itâs been years since youâve had anyone really interested in what you have to say. Sure, Alfred was always willing to listen to you, but you learned early on that you had to hold back on how you really felt about Bruce Wayne and his children as any criticism you had about them was a failure on his part.
The poor man did the best he could, but those people are clearly beyond any form of help outside of being locked in padded cells.
âCome in, please,â you say, steeping aside so she could enter your home. Once sheâs in, you close the door and lead her to the living room. âCan I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?â
âAnythingâs fine, thank you.â
She sits on the couch while you rush to the kitchen and prepare two glasses of ice water, a crystal pitcher full of more water, and a small bowl full of grapes and load it all onto a tray and carry it back to the living room. This is the first time youâve ever had a guest and you want to make a good impression.
âSo, where would you like to start,â you ask as you sit in your favorite chair, your glass of water in hand.
âIâd like to ask about your mother, if thatâs alright,â she answers, pulling out a writing pad and pen from her purse. âI managed to find newspapers relating to you around the time you moved to Gotham, but they were very few and none of them had anything regarding your mother or your past.â
You stifle a chuckle at the thought of being one the front page of a few newspapers no doubt rotting in the Gotham Gazetteâs archives. You were probably the center of news for all a week before Bruce adopted Tim and stole the spotlight, leading to the tradition of you being pushed further and further back whenever Bruce collected another troubled kid.
âMy mom was Maria Gould, a famous writer known for romance novels set during the Age of Sail.â
âThat Maria Gould,â she asks, looking up from her notepad in shock. âI didnât know you were related to her?â
âYou know her?â
âI was an avid reader of her books.â She gives a small chuckle. âI actually use to daydream of interviewing her when I first started at the Daily Planet.â He smile then shifts into a sympathetic frown. âI remember reading about her death in the paper. I knew it said she had a son, but I didnât see the connection until now.â
âShe died on my sixth birthday. Itâs been sixteen years since that day and I can still remember it so clearly.â
That day haunts you to this day. You got to school so happy and excited for Momma to come pick you up after school, thinking about how much pizza youâd eat and what presents youâd get.
You had no idea that when you told her bye that day, it would be for the last time.
(Your grief is still so profound, even after all this time.)
That day ended in the loss of your Momma and your life went from bad to worse when Alfred picked you up and brought you to Gotham to live with that bastard.
âI can tell you loved you very much,â she responds, her expression sympathetic.
âYeah,â you say, suppressing a tear. âYeah, I did.â
âSo, did you have any idea who your father was? Did she ever tell you or did you ever ask?â
âYeah, I did ask when all my friends were celebrating Fatherâs Day and I realized I didnât have a Daddy like my friends. She said that she didnât know who he was. She didnât say it, but when she said she was âyoung and dumb,â I later found out that meant she got drunk and had sex with a guy she didnât know.â A ghost of a smile graces your face. âShe said when I came along, I set her on the right path.â
âI say you did,â she responds, returning your smile. âBeing a parent often makes people turn their lives around.â She jots something down in her pad before looking back at you. âSo, when did you move to Gotham?â
âImmediately after the funeral. The sheriff drove me back home to pack up most of my stuff and when we got to the house, Alfred was waiting for me.â
âWait, Bruce Wayne didnât pick you up himself?â
âNo, Alfred said he was too busy with work and couldnât come.â
âHis firstborn son loses his son and he couldnât even make the time to get you,â she angrily mutters to herself as she writes. âAnd how did he react when he saw you?â
âIt was almost like he was staring at a stranger in his home.â
You can still remember how you felt when you met Bruce Wayne for the first time; it was the first time youâd ever felt like someone didnât like you and it really hurt.
âHe barely said a word to me before telling Alfred he was going out.â
âDoing what,â she asks, clearly getting angrier and angrier by the second.
For a brief moment, you entertain the idea on ousting Bruceâs dirty little secret and telling the world that heâs Batman. Heâd be drowning in so much attention and legal battles that he wouldnât be able to bother you ever again.
But then, the rational part of your brain convinces you that by telling everyone Batmanâs secret identity would invite a lot of trouble your way. After all, all of Bruceâs kids are vigilantes, so many would automatically assume you were one as well, leading you to being dragged into Bruceâs legal and publicity quagmire.
Also, thereâs the very real possibility that all of Bruceâs enemies would come after you seeking revenge and while you were more than capable of dealing with whatever came your way, youâd really rather not deal with it altogether.
âI donât know,â you say. âHe said he had work to do, but this is Bruce Wayne weâre talking about. Chances are he was in some sleazy club with a girl on each side and one on her knees if you know what I mean.â
âI wouldnât doubt it,â she agrees. âNow, a week after you moved to Wayne Manor, Bruce adopted Tim Drake. Did you two get along?â
You bark a bitter laugh. âHe took one look at me and decided I wasnât worth his attention. If you ask me, thereâs always been something wrong with him. Heâs always watching people, taking note of everything they do and obsessing over finding out his secrets. If you ask me, heâs not right and his parents knew it. Thatâs why they were always leaving him behind when they went to dig sites or parties.â
Sheâs definitely interested in that as she seemingly writes down everything you said, word for word.
She stifle a chuckle at the thought of Tim Drake being asked what the fuckâs wrong with him every time he goes anywhere.
âWhat about Dick Grayson? Everyone in Gotham says heâs everything a good big brother should be.â
Yes, you remember the celebration he got when the Gotham Gazette named him the Worldâs Best Big Brother for the tenth year in a row.
A celebration you werenât invited to.
âHe was a brother to me. When I first moved in, he always carved out time for Tim, but couldnât give me the time of day. After being blown off a few dozen times in favor for of his other siblings, I eventually stopped asking him.â
âWhat about Jason Todd?â
âHe gave me a black eye when we met.â She gasps at that. âYeah, heâs a brute. Heâs always going on about Jane Austen, but underneath that veneer of an intellectual, heâs Crime Alley trash. Honestly, Bruce shouldâve just left him in that part of Gotham. With his poor anger management and proclivity for violence, heâd fit right in. Animals belong in the wild.â
âWhat about your half brother, Damian Wayne?â
âThat little shit pulled a sword on me and nearly tried to take my head off.â
âHe what?â
âYeah, an actual sword. I was able to get out of the way, but he gave me a scar on my cheek. It took me a few years, but I was able to find a way to make it invisible, especially when I looked in the mirror. Every time I saw it, it reminded me of how little I mattered in that house.â
âWhat did Bruce Wayne do? Surely he knew about it?â
âHe was in the room when it happened. All he did was carry him out while he was yelling insults about me and my Momma. And Dick said he had a difficult upbringing and I should forgive him.â
âForgive him for almost killing you,â she exclaims, her eyes wide as saucers and a look of disgust on her face. âYou canât be serious!â
âI wish I was, Ms. Lane, but Dickâs made it clear that Damianâs his favorite and had he managed to kill me, Iâm sure Dick wouldâve just taken him out for ice cream and told him that he canât go around killing people.â You let out a bitter laugh. âYou know, he had some nerve calling my Momma a âwhoreâ when I know the secret about his mother.â
âYou do,â she asks, leaning forward, her pen and pad ready, indicating you have her full and undivided attention. âEveryoneâs asked Bruce about the identity of Damianâs mother and the details relating to the birth, but heâs told us nothing. Are you willing to shed some light on this?â
For a brief moment, you actually ask yourself if this is right. With all the things Damianâs done to you, is it really acceptable to tell the dirty little secret regarding his conception? After all, if you were in his shoes, youâd kill to ensure your secret never saw the light of day.
(But he would not hesitate to tell the world your secret if your situations were reversed,) the Megamycete chimes in. (And does he not deserve some comeuppance for his many transgressions against you?)
You have to admit, it has a point. And besides, thisâll give the Wayne Family a massive shitstorm theyâll have to deal with and your mindâs immediately made up.
âI know her name, but I donât want her coming after me, so Iâm afraid that part of the secret stays with me.â Lois nods, so you continue. âHis mother raped him.â
She gasps and you know youâve passed a point of no return now.
Then again, daring to defy the âgreatâ Bruce Wayne was a point of no return, so this is just adding fuel to the fire.
âShe drugged his drink and got him to agree to sleep with her, all for the sole purpose of getting pregnant because she believed him to be of a superior quality.â You lower your voice to mutter, âI can tell you she was greatly misled.â
After that, the interview breezed by, asking about how Steph and Cass treated you to the conditions you were kept in. You told her everything, about how Damian would go out of his way to make you miserable to how Bruce couldnât be bothered to do anything for you and it was Alfred that kept you alive. In fact, it was only the poor butler that seemed to care about you and you were confident that had you died, Bruce would just be pissed about the inconvenience your death caused him, from having to find a place to bury you to making up a story to tell the media.
It was only when you told her the story involving Damian and your Mommaâs pen did you realize that not only was she crying, but so were you.
You knew how that memory made you feel, but had forgotten how much it pained you until you told her every detail. Funny how the brain tries so hard to suppress the worst moments of your life.
âWhy do you think they treated you like this,â she asks, trying to keep her voice even to disguise the fact sheâs obviously upset. âFrom everything youâve told me, it sounds like they really didnât see you as a Wayne.â
âBecause I was the consequence of Bruceâs stupidity. He got drunk and did something stupid, leading to me, and he didnât like that he was forced to live with him and ruin his familyâs image. And because I was normal.â
âNormal?â
âYes, normal. I had a normal life with Momma while all of the have colorful backgrounds. And Iâd like to think that Iâm average looking and averagely intelligent with nothing special about me, compared to everyone in the Wayne Family, who always thing their the best looking and smartest people in the room. Plus, I wasnât damaged goods until Bruce Wayne came into my life. I guess the tragic death of my Momma wasnât enough for him to make him love me.â
Those words cause you to let out a choked sob as more and more memories of your time in Wayne Manor start surfacing, memories youâd prefer to keep buried.
âI think thatâs enough reminiscing for one day,â you say, wiping your eyes and standing up.
âYes, I think I have everything I need,â she says, doing the same thing.
âIs there anything I can get you before you go, Ms. Lane,â you ask as you lead her to the front door. âMaybe a drink or a snack for the road?â
One of Alfredâs many lessons was how to be a good host and heâd flip out if you didnât offer her something.
âNo, thank you, Mr. Gould, youâve given me more than enough.â She hesitates for a moment before getting close to you, her arms at both your sides. You freeze up, thinking the worst is about to happen when you realize sheâs hugging you. âIâm so sorry for your loss and what you had to go through growing up. No one should ever have to experience such neglect.â
Outside of Alfred, itâs been years since anyoneâs hugged you. Last time you were hugged by anyone not the butler was when Momma first died; Goodsprings is the type of where everyone knows everyone and youâre pretty sure you had the entire town giving you hugs before and during the funeral.
âThank you,â you whisper, returning the hug.
âI know it doesnât undo the damage heâs done, but I promise this story will make everyone see who Bruce Wayne truly is.â
And with that, you two separate and you wave goodbye as she gets in her car and drives off.
(You made the right decision to tell her everything,) the Megamycete says as you close and lock your door. (We must say, we are surprised you chose not to tell her their roles as Gothamâs vigilantes. Surely the benefits of exposing them outweigh the projected consequences. Or at least balance out.)
âBelieve me, I was plenty tempted, but having the enemies of Batman knocking down my door would be more trouble than it was worth. Sure, I could kill them all, but it would only be a matter of time until I was put in a situation where too many people would ask too many questions.â
âWe see your point. Besides, her story will no doubt cause more than enough trouble for him and his band of misfits.â
A part of you makes you wish you were back in Gotham so you could see the backlash Bruce is about to be hit with.
Granted, itâs a small part, practically microscopic, but itâs still there.
âI understand, butââ Bruce says before hearing a click, indicating the call has been ended.
âAnother bad phone call, Master Bruce,â Alfred says as holds out a cup of tea.
âYes,â he sighs, putting his phone in his pocket and taking the cup with one hand and rubbing his temples with the other. âThe Humanitarian Ball. The event organizers said they didnât want âcruel and heartless monstersâ bringing a bad name on their event.â
Ever since Lois Laneâs article titled The Forsaken Gould of the Wayne Family came out two days ago, heâs experienced set back after set back; in less than forty-eight hours, Wayne Enterprisesâ stock has lost half its value, many large companies have dropped out of their business deals, and more than a few people have withdrawn their invitations for high-profile events.
But none of that compares to the massive gap between you and him getting even larger. He knew that heâd wronged you, but being able to read it in black and white just drives the point even further.
He just wishes that it couldâve stayed between you, him, and your siblings. His family may be celebrities in Gotham, but he prefers to handle the familyâs drama behind closed doors.
Heâs held his family together through thick and thin and heâll continue to do so.
And heâs had a hard time doing that over the past two days.
Heâs read and reread that article ever since it came out, unable to go a single day without looking at it. He had no idea that he made you feel like you were a mistake he felt embarrassed over or that because you werenât anything like them, you werenât worthy of his love.
He knows heâs failed you, but he wants to fix all of it! He wants to embrace you and never let go and to put you up on a pedestal for all of Gotham to bask in and know that youâre the most treasured member of the Wayne Family.
But until they find a way to rid that mushroom in your body and bring you back home, they canât start fixing their mistakes.
The mediaâs had a field day with the article ever since it came out, hounding them every time they go out in public, asking them how they could sleep at night knowing they kept you in tiny guest room on the other side of the manor or about how Bruce could treat the son born from Talia drugging him with such love while treating the son born from a drunken one-night stand with such disdain.
He was shocked to learn that you knew of them being the Bats, but to learn you knew the truth regarding Damianâs birthâŠ
Just how much did you know? Did he ignore you so much that he didnât know you were nearby whenever he talked about anything, even sensitive information that he only talked to Alfred about.
Were you practically invisible to him the entire time you lived here?
Of course, Damianâs pissed that people are calling Talia a rapist and asking if he knew. All this made him a powder keg ready to go off, but what made him really go off was when one of his more elitist classmates made the snide remark that Damian was right to treat you like he did because you came from âsome low class authorâ and simply werenât worthy of being a member of high society, his son broke the boyâs nose and said he wasnât worthy of saying your name.
He really wished Damian wouldâve let him handle it by framing his parents for tax evasion and illegal business dealings (of course, he still did it, that little shit shouldâve known better than to think he had the right to even think about you). They already have enough problems on their plate, they donât need to add assault to it.
Dick really took it hard when he read that you didnât think of him as a big brother and Lois Lane had called for him to be stripped of his status of Gothamâs Best Big Brother.
If thereâs one thing Dick holds dear in this world, itâs his status as the familyâs big brother and would bend over backwards for any of his siblings, be it driving them to the other side of Gotham or helping them with a case.
Dick already felt bad when he realized heâs always ignored you in favor of his other siblings, but that article pushed him over the edge, making his oldest son lose his trademark energetic behavior, choosing to spend all his time in your old room. And if Bruce is very quiet and he creeps close to the door, he can hear Dickâs muffled weeping and apologies.
His heart breaks for his oldest. If he could, heâd undo his and his childrenâs wrongdoings towards you and bare the memory of it if it meant you being here, where you belong, and not hating them.
Jason also took it hard; Jason knows that he has a problem with his temper and has tried everything under the sun to keep it under control, but his upbringing in Crime Alley and his torture and death at Jokerâs hands have left marks on him that heâll be dealing with for the rest of his life (and Bruce would pay any price to undo them). Jason regrets taking his anger for him out on you when he returned, thinking you were another âreplacementâ like Tim when he sees you and him had so much in common, youâre practically related.
Timâs sequestered himself in his room, glued to his computer desk; heâd been in your old room almost everyday ever since they learned of their neglect towards you, thinking the almost bare room would provide some glimpse into your mind that he can use to get into your good graces and make you return home. After the article, many of them tried to rationalize that this Megamycete was twisting your mind and make you hate them so much, but thatâs when Tim admitted that he found an old journal of yours, going back to when you first moved in and detailing everything theyâd done to you, the last entry detailing Damian throwing your motherâs pen into the yard while it was raining.
He hates how he handled that situation; at the time, he thought you were just making a big deal over some silly little pen (fuck, that was how he really saw it back then), but you were just protecting the only thing you had of your mother, uncaring what it would cost you. Heâd like to think heâs do the same thing had someone tried to take his motherâs pearls (you really are his son, arenât you).
When Tim said he had your journal, they all tried to get it from him, Damian going as far as to bring out his sword and threaten to take it by force (Bruce really needs to consider confiscating that sword due to all the trouble itâs caused). Hell, Jason actually begged to be able to read your journal, but his son would not surrender the book and has been hoarding all the information for himself.
The girls have been silent since reading it, which is never a good sign since Steph is always making noise. He tried to comfort Cass when she read that you donât consider her a person because of the way she looks at people, like sheâs trying to find strengths and weaknesses before attacking them (apparently you also know of her upbringing as a weapon), but his second daughter wouldnât accept his gestures, signing that you had a point and that sheâd never break free of her origins as a living weapon.
And Damian⊠His youngest has been eerily quiet, but it doesnât take his detective training to realize heâs fuming on the inside (it seems to be a prerequisite in this family to deal with emotions in unhealthy ways). Bruce had asked him if he was angry that you had exposed the secret of his birth and all his youngest said was that it was his penance for his transgressions against you (his heart breaks that his youngest thinks he deserves this as some sort of punishment).
He was already having a hard time containing the fallout of the world finding out his firstborn son is you, not Damian, and that heâs basically not acknowledged you at all in the last decade, but this article has made it next to impossible to find a convincing lie to tell the media that you came back willingly when they ultimately bring you back home.
âThis fucking Megamycete,â he growls, setting the teacup on a nearby table not so gently. âItâs ruined everything.â
âHow do you figure, Master Bruce,â the man responds, an eyebrow raised.
âItâs making him lash out, do these things. I know we wronged Y/N and he has every right to hate us, but he shouldnât be capable of this, should he? Thereâs no way heâd ever say these things willingly.â
âDo you think you know Master Y/N to make such an assessment?â
That makes him pause.
He has no illusion that he never took the time to sit down with you to have an actual conversation, but his blood still courses through your veins; heâd never do something like this, nor would Damian or any of his other children.
Did your hate for them⊠for him run that strong? That you despise them so much that youâd expose and put them all on display for the world to see?
Would you go as far as exposing their secret identities?
âWhat do you think, Alfred,â he says after a moment of silence. âYou obviously know him better than all of us. Would he ever do something like this?â
âI think that he wishes to exact revenge for the many years of neglect you all inflicted upon him and that this is his opening volley,â the man says with no hesitation or restraint.
That makes him flinch.
âSo, youâre saying he hates us,â he asks, afraid of the answer the butler will give him.
He knows you have every right to hate him, god knows heâs made his children hate him on several occasions, but if you hate him⊠hate them enough to do something like thisâŠ
He knows heâs not strong enough to handle it.
âI think heâs dreamed of making all of you pay for what youâve done to him for years. And with this Megamycete within him, I say heâs more than a match for you and the children.â
âYouâd think heâd attack us?â
âWhen I held Master Y/N in my arms, I could see the fury beneath his tears. Master Damian use to take delight in giving Master Y/N a demonstration in his combat prowess. Thereâs no doubt in my mind that Master y/N wishes to return the favor.â
He wonât allow that. Heâs hurt his children in multiple ways and his children have hurt one another in multiple ways over the years and every time it happened it created a rift that was never truly repaired, merely covered over. Thereâs been enough pain and misery in this family to last several lifetimes.
Heâs fought tooth and nail to keep his children together and heâs not about to let one slip away.
He understands you want nothing to do with him or your siblings, but like it or not, youâre his son and his children belong in Gotham, under his roof.
âHave the tests on the root samples finished yet?â
âYes, they were finished just a little while ago. Iâm afraid to say that none of the toxins you have in stock had any noticeable effect on them.â
He curses at the news. He had hoped the toxins he keeps so deal with Poison Ivy would be as effective on the Megamycete, but that is unfortunately not the case.
âWhat about the in-depth analysis on the blood sample?â
âFrom what the analyzer could tell, the Megamycete seems to behave like a benign cancer, slowly eradicating Master Y/Nâs native cells in order to replace them with unstable mold versions, which are able to be manipulated and altered into whatever he desires.â
That certainly makes coming up with a strategy on how to counter your abilities; sure, he has a few ideas based on a few villains and heroes that have similar abilities to you, but until he sees what youâre capable of firsthand, he wonât have anything concrete.
The thought then leads to him having an idea, one heâs eager to act on.
âIâm going out, Alfred.â
âAnd where are we off to, Master Bruce?â
âIâm going to see my son.â
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Worth the Price
Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader
Synopsis: Aemond does everything to prove that he is worthy of youâ even if it means that he would be a kinslayer twice.
Warnings: Aemond Plots Against Aegon, Oral Sex (f & m receiving), Mature, 18+, Semi-Public Relations, Choking, Edging, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read
Word Count: 5,585
A/N: Reposting bc I was uncertain about this dynamic, but fuck it, I have a soft spot for a Lannister reader and cannot let it rest in my drafts.
Aemond had wanted you since he was young, but as a second son, he would always come second best to his brother. You were a daughter of house Lannister, betrothed to Aegon the moment you were born, an alliance not to keep their Valyrain blood pure but rather to be mixed with gold. You had grown in the walls of the keep, taken from your motherâs arms a few moons after your birth, and grew up under the supervision of your uncle, Tyland Lannister, as a measure to keep you acquainted with your betrothed, Aegon.Â
However, such arrangements instilled since your infancy were changed when Queen Alicent was offered a bastard for her only daughter. The queen was quick to cut the engagement made in your infancy and instead betrothed her firstborn son to her firstborn daughter, offering Aemond as your consolation prize. Aemond, who was ten at the time, was thrilled to hear of such arrangements, finally gaining one of the things his heart yearned for the most: you. However, he could see the quiet and greatly covered disappointment not only in your house but in you as wellâ you were set to be queen, now you were now only to be the lady-wife of a mere second-born son.Â
Aemond never truly heard such qualms leave your lips. He was fortunate enough that you had always been keen and kind to him in childhood, and your affection for him only grew in time. But he could not help but be affected by your quiet and greatly oppressed disappointment. For the first ten years of your life, you were prepared and molded to be a queen, hours of unending lessons on how to play the part wasted as you were to be bound to a mere second son. Aemond could not stand for it. He ambitioned to be so much more. He could not stand to be just the second. Second son, second in line, second in your heart.Â
âMy love, are you listening?â You asked as your husbandâs gaze was afar, and you had noticed his attention was not on you. You furrowed your brows as he made no reply, tugging at his arm to bring him out of his trance. âIâ I apologize, my heart, I was thinking of another matter,â You pursed your lips and hummed, âAnd praytell, what matter may that be? Certainly, it is of much importance that you have started ignoring me,â Aemond bit his lip to hinder his amused smirk; he just absolutely adored how you were never afraid to voice out and demand his undivided attentionâ in others, he would find that absolutely insufferable, but of course, that sentiment was not the same for his dear lady-wife.Â
Aemond sighed and could not help but kiss you, unbothered that you two were in the halls and anyone could walk in and see such passion exuding from his usually stoic and rigged demeanor. As your lips parted and Aemondâs body was alight by the feel of your lips and the taste of you, you simply raised your brow, silently urging him to tell the matters that plagued his mind. Aemond tucked a strand of your golden hair and sighed once more, âNothingâ just mere matters of the realm that the king is too incompetent to comprehend and tend to,â You nodded, âThen he is lucky to have youâ his brother forever capable and loyal to him and the kingdom,â Aemond bit his tongue. âYou must steer him in the right direction, my love. We are already at war; we cannot have the kingdom in shambles because of Aegonâs squandering self. You have always been the diligent one, unending hours poured into learning the histories of your house and training with your sword⊠your great knowledge must be exercised greatly in this hour of war.â Aemond could only nod his agreement. You smiled and cupped his cheek, tracing his scar, and you hummed as Aemond pressed his cheek further into your soft palm.Â
âNow go; I believe that it is the hour of the small council. Best be there and see to it that your brother does not humiliate your familyâs claim to the throne further,â You say, reluctantly urging him to let go of his hold on you, even though you were always quick to miss his touch. Aemond shook his head, âDo not be so stubborn,â you said, and you smiled further when Aemond wrapped both of his arms around your waist. You rose to the tip of your toes and pecked your husbandâs lips as encouragement. Even though you had shared his kisses countless of times, you still felt the quiet tingle on your plush lips as you two did such actions. âVery well then, I shall do whatever my lady-wife should ask of me,â He said against your lips, making your smile widen. You parted and tried to walk off, but Aemond took hold of your wrist and pulled you back to him, a laugh escaping from your lips, and you rested your hands atop his chest. âAnd where are you off to?âÂ
You smirked, âTo some engagements for the court that I offered Helaena reprieve from. And after, you shall find me in our chambers⊠warming our bed⊠waiting impatiently for you.â You whispered the final part, watching as Aemondâs lilac eye darkened with want, pupils dilated that it made your core turnâ finding it utterly flattering how quickly your husband will always grow in want of you. âNow go; the quicker you are to attend the meeting, the quicker they are to end, and you can be my arms.â You said and gave a final kiss on your husbandâs cheek before hastily walking off, afraid that Aemondâs wants would get the better of him and take you against the alcove in the hall; it had occurred once or twice before.Â
Aemond stomped off the room of the small council after a rather aggravating session with his brother. Seeing Aegon be so clueless with the matters of the realm and the war was pathetic. And in a way, Aemond found great satisfaction in thatâ seeing Aegon struggle to comprehend his words as he spoke in the ancient tongue, his brother unable to articulate even just one sentence without stammering like a simpleton was quite amusing but overly embarrassing. As the meeting ended, Aemond was quick to rise to his feet and leave, overly impatient to be with youâ savoring every second in your arms before he had to leave quietly in the night to make good of his secret plottings with Ser Criston.Â
Aemond walked the halls that led to his chambers, each step fervent and quick. The fading sun illuminated his chambers when he entered, setting it aglow in an amber hue. âIâve been waiting,â Aemond heard you breathlessly call, his head quickly turning to your bed; he squinted his eye as he could not see you through the canopy covers. Aemond wasted no time to march in your direction; his breath caught in his throat as he saw your figure covered by nothing but a thin sheet that was comparable to what the whores in the street of silk wore. You lounged laxly in the middle of the bed, your body in full display for your husband, who stared at you dumbfounded and filled with desire.Â
âSeven hells,â Aemond could not help but mutter in pure amazement. His knees felt weak, and his stomach coiled painfully in burning want of you. âDo you not like it?â You frowned as he only stood there, you feigned innocenceâ of course, you knew he would like it. You knew your husband better than he knew himself. Having grown up with him, you knew every possible thing there is to know about Aemond. Aegon may have been your betrothed at the start, but you were not at all keen to know him to such a deeper level than you had his brother.Â
You went to the edge of the bed to meet your husband, who stood by the foot of it, kneeling before him as he hungrily raked his gaze through your body, yet he still did not dare to move. âHas my display rendered you simple, my prince?â You asked lowly, peeking up at him through your lashes and watching as the ball on his throat bobbed and hearing how his breathing turned ragged. You hummed and raised your hand to caress his cheek, rising higher to be met with his face, slyly pushing your breast against his clothed chest. Aemond groaned at just the simple feeling of that. You ghosted your lips against his jaw and neck, your fingers effortlessly undoing the buckles of his leather doublet.Â
Your hand slowly trailed south after you had successfully removed his upper clothing; you heard the catch in Aemondâs breath as your fingers trailed his toned chest and torso. Every single inch of him was carved by the gods and embodied a warrior. Aemond hissed as he felt you cup his needing length through his trousers, watching as a sly smirk rose to your lips. âI see that you are quite⊠tense, my love,â You whispered against his lips, catching as his eye fluttered to a close as you added pressure into his length. âI am.â He gritted, and your smirk widened. âHm⊠tell me then what do you needâ what do you want, my prince?â You taunted and felt him shudder as you slipped your hand into his trousers, finally letting him feel skin against skin.
âI want⊠I need you, little wife. I desperately need you,â He muttered as his eye opened. Aemond moved to kiss your lips, but you instead lowered yourself to be met with his length, yanking down his trousers and letting your lips wrap around the tip of his needing and weeping cock. Aemondâs hands lost themselves in your hair, fisting the gold strands in utter pleasure, hissing as you sucked his length, urging yourself to take his cock deeper into your throat. Lewd sounds of your and Aemondâs heavy breathing, along with you gagging on his cock echoed through the chambers. Quiet praises leave your husbandâs lips as you pleasure him with your mouth. You reached out to fondle his stones, earning a loud groan from him, and his head tilted to the heavens. Aemond could only stand there and marvel at you, his eye torn as to what to stare upon, your pretty face or your ample behind that hung in the air and squirmed with each of your pleasurable movements. He began to wonder what he had done to have you as his lady wife and pondered the ways he could prove himself worthy of you.Â
Aemond felt himself ready to come undone, and he forcefully slipped out his cock from your lips, earning a whine from you. âHad I done something wrong?â You panted as you wiped away the traces of drool on your chin, looking up at Aemond with slight hurt in your eyes. Your husband was quick to shake his head and cup your cheeks, âNoâ you could never do me wrong, my heart,â He reassured, but you felt yourself pout and wonder as to why he had ceased your actions, if you were being honest, you quite enjoyed sucking his cock.Â
âThen whââ Your words were left unfinished as you felt Aemond cup your dripping heat. Your eyes widened, and the earlier smirk on your lips had now flown to your husbandâs. âAlready so wet for me⊠you are a saint, my heart. Tending to my needs first even though you yourself are in desperate want of release.â Aemond hummed as your eyes rolled back; he effortlessly slipped two digits into your dripping core. You mewled out his name, squealing as he curled the digits and as his thumb fervently rubbed your sensitive pearl. âI want your cock,â You said distractedly, any form of decorum or chasteness gone as your want for Aemond had made you utterly desperate.Â
Aemond let out an amused breath, âOf course you do,â He taunted and smashed his lips unto yours. You clawed at his toned arm as you felt your release bubbling, but before you could finally feel the climax you sought, Aemond parted your lips and ceased the pleasure of his fingers. You whined, glaring at your husband, who only stared down at you in amusement as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked off your essence. âPatience, my heart. All that you want shall come in due time,â He whispered his oath, and you huffed as he walked away, leaving you to wonder what had gotten into his mind.Â
You lay on the bed as your husband went to one corner of your chambers. Your legs were spread, and your cunt was pulsating in need. You could not help yourself as your fingers slipped along the wet folds, holding back your moans as you touched yourself because you could not wait for your husband to give you your release. Aemond stilled as he heard your once still breathing hitch and the distant and quiet sound of your wetness. He turned to the bed and saw as your back was arched, and your fingers disappeared to pleasure your cunt.Â
He took large strides only to witness you on the verge of an orgasm that he had denied you of. You groaned as Aemond took hold of your wrist, your second time being denied your release. âYouâre being cruel, husband,â You whined as you stared up at your husband, a wicked glint in his eye. âPlease, Aemond⊠I need you,â You breathed out, and all he did was hum. That was then you realized he held something in his other hand. You sat up, skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. Aemond moved his lips to pepper kisses on the side of your neck, bitting to leave his mark as a reminder as to who you belonged to.Â
âOpen it,â Aemond murmured against your skin as he placed a velvet box into your hands. You frowned as he continued on to pepper kisses on your neck and down the swell of your breasts, ripping off the thin sheet you had worn. You did as he told and felt a gasp escape your lips as you saw what was inside and as his fingers pinched the bud of your tit. âWâWhat is this for?â You said mind befuddled as you did not know where to focus, your husbandâs gift or his pleasure. âIt is for you, of course.â He said plainly, took the ruby tiara into his hands, and moved to place it atop your head. Aemond grew further with need at the sight of you flushed and naked; the only thing you had on was the tiara he had commissioned for you.Â
You stared up at your husband in wonder, âIâ Itâs lovely⊠thank you, but my love, I am in no position to warrant a tiaraâ it is rather inappropriate, do you not think?â You asked and tried your best to focus as Aemond fondled your breasts. Aemond placed open kisses onto the side of your breasts, trying to form his words. âAemond,â You called and Feld his face to look you in the eye. You delicately took off his eye patch as his lips pursed. âWhat is this for?â You asked once again.Â
âDo you wish to be queen?â He instead asked you, and you were rendered speechless. âDo not deny it, my heart⊠You were born and bred with the purpose of being queen of the seven kingdoms.â He sighed, and you tried to find your words. âEven now, you bear the duties of a Queen that Helaena cannot tend to,â He added, as you were always by his sisterâs side, aiding her with her duties until she all together left the role up to you. You let out a heavy breath. âI⊠Sometimes I doâ seeing that was my whole purpose, why I was taken out of my parentsâ care and instead raised here to do what was expected of me.â You admitted and felt your heart pit as Aemond avoided your gaze. âBut Iâd rather have married you than be queen.â You quickly added.Â
âI may have wanted the title, Aemond⊠but I want you more. I am perfectly content with just being your wife,â You reassured, but something in Aemond burned in anger. Anger at the gods as to why he was born the second sonâ anger at himself as to why he had to seek out Aegon instead of just letting him escape. You sighed as you rested your forehead against Aemondâs, âDo you believe me?â You questioned and waited for his reply. Aemond bit his tongue not completely believing that you were perfectly content with your station because even he was not contented. He knew envy was a lesser emotion that he must not succumb to, but it was inevitable, especially as he bore witness to how his brother squandered off the most coveted station in the kingdom. He gave a nod and connected your lips, deciding to lay the matter to rest for the moment.Â
You sighed and steadied yourself as he hoisted you on his lap, moans leaving your lips as you sank down on his cock. Aemondâs breathing labored as he felt your tight cunt around his length and as your nails left traces along his back. âOh⊠gods, Aemondââ You cried as you rocked your hips, the tip of his cock hitting the perfect spot that made your back arch and your eyes rolled back in utter pleasure. Your moans filled his ears, and Aemond could only hum with satisfaction. âYou sound like such a whore, little wife,â he muttered as he reached downwards to trace circles on your nubbin. You could only whine louder, too focused as you bounced on his cock and sought out your high. âSuch a vision you are⊠bouncing on my cock and moaning out my name with a tiara on your pretty head.âÂ
Aemondâs other hand harshly gripped your tit as he was overwhelmed by the feel of you. âSo perfect you are,â He praised, and you smirked at him through the haze of pleasure, your cunt clenching further as you had always loved when he would compliment you. âSuch a perfect wifeâ you would have been wasted on my squandering brother.â He gritted and groaned as you clenched around him tightly and as you nodded your head in agreement. âI was meant to be yours, Aemond,â You breathed as you felt your skin alight with your nearing climax. âYouâre mine⊠all mine.â He groaned as you came undone, your loud moans spurring his own release. âAll yours,â You swore and watched as his face contorted in pleasure.Â
You sighed in contentment as you lay on Aemondâs chest and as he ran his hands through your hair. âI must leave,â He suddenly cut the silence. âI must meet with Cole,â You pursed your lips. âI know.â You said, trying not to let the tone of bitterness and concern be heard. Aemond furrowed his brows as he looked down upon you. You raised your gaze to meet his, âI know you, Aemond. I know you better than I know the back of my handâ did you really think I would not figure out that you had plotted secretly with Ser Criston?â You questioned, and Aemond sighed, his heart warming further for you as you uttered such words.Â
You sat upright to gain a better view of your husband, Aemond already feeling cold, as you removed yourself from his chest. âBe cautious, my loveâ do not be so reliant on Vhagar. Swear that you will return to me unscathed.â You implored, and Aemond leaned forward to capture your lips. When your lips parted, whatever tenderness you had was hidden behind your serious and threatening expression, urging your husband to be cautious and vigilant. âYou will not make me a widow at only nine and ten, Aemond.â You said, voice overly serious and gaze scorching, but your husband still had the gall to laugh. âI wouldnât dare to, my heart.â He said and captured your lips once more to seal his oath that he would return to you unharmed.Â
The whispers of vipers were deafening. âThe king was slain,â they would say. And murmurs had spread that the fall of the king was not caused by the Queen Who Never Was but rather by the One-Eyed Prince. You had stewed in silence as you could not possibly fathom what had happened. The only thing that had kept you sane was a single letter that came from your husband stating that he was well and would fly back and return to you in a day or two.Â
You stood in the gardens alone as you pondered upon the whispers spreading around the keep when you felt strong hands wrap around your frame and lips pressing kisses upon your neck. Your tense frame momentarily turned lax at the touch of your husband. âI have missed you, my heart,â He said softly and tried to capture your lipsâ for him, a week was far too long not to be in your presence. Suspicion rose in you as you heard elation in his voiceâ elation that was rarely present in him. You turned and saw satisfaction glinting in Aemondâs eye. âWhat has happened?â You questioned, a sickening feeling in your stomach as your intuition told you that there was something afoot.Â
Aemond frowned at the seriousness on your face. âWe had won the battleâ we had effectively cut off Dragonstone by land, my plan proven effective.â He said, dipping down to try and capture your lips, but you backed away, your movements sending a tinge to Aemondâs heart. âWhat has happened to Aegon?â You whispered and saw how quickly the satisfaction in your husbandâs eye disappeared. âThe king was inexperienced in battleâ he fought against the qualms of his council, and now he reaps the consequences.â You shook your head as you studied each expression of your husband. âWho had caused his injuries? They are whispering that it was not made by Rhaenys but rather by his own brother⊠tell me the truth of it, Aemond.âÂ
Your husband sighed, stirring you to the side, away from prying eyes and ears. âIt was an unfortunate incident⊠but it was a necessary one. The end justifies the means, my heart. You must know this.â He whispered, hoping to see understanding in your eyes, but he could only see horror. Your mind spun at the words your husband said; you felt bile rising to your throat because, within a blink of an eye, you scarcely recognized the man before youâ the man you had spent your whole life with, unrecognisable. Aemond felt his heart sink as you shook your head and removed his hold on you, hastily running away from him. Â
He knew what he had done was cruelâ treasonous, but it was for the greater good. He could not watch idly as his brother commanded the throne even though he was unfit to rule. He could not stand to watch as Aegon squandered away his birthright and made their causeâs claim weak. It was a last resort that he had to succumb toâ a last resort to save their faction and to prove himself worthy of you. Your words haunted him; the way you admitted that a part of you wished to be queen and the image of you wearing a tiara of rubies burned into his mind. He had to make it a reality. He needed to be king and have you by his side as his queen. Â
You avoided your husband the following days, unable to comprehend what he had somehow become. You had always known he had great ambitionsâyou would lie if you said that you had not encouraged his, for you as well had your ownâbut you never meant for it to come to this. You never thought of the possibility that Aemond would kill for the throne. For revenge, yes, but certainly not for his own brotherâs station.Â
It was the day of Ser Cristonâs return when you finally revealed yourself to Aemond. Standing by his side along with his mother as you three peered down on the few soldiers returning from battle, along with a cart that housed the fallen king who was clinging to life. You stared head-on as you felt the questioning and almost spiteful stare of the Queen Mother towards your husband. Not an ounce of remorse was shown by Aemond as he proudly wore the Valyrian steel dagger.Â
The queen walked off, ready to meet her firstborn son, and you moved to follow, but your husband took hold of your upper arm and forced you to look upon him. âHow long will you ignore me, little wife?â He hummed, growing impatient with each day of your ignorance of him. You stayed quiet, unable to meet his gaze. It was torture for you as wellâ you had missed your husband greatly, but the guilt you felt by his actions, which you knew were partly because of you, was greater. You long tried to hide your disappointment as you were not made queen; you thought it cruel that they had taken you away from the arms of your mother moments after your birth just to be raised in the keep and groomed to be the perfect and dotting wife of a king and take it all away with just one notion.Â
All those years of effort and sacrifices were wasted. But you did not dwell on it further as they presented Aemond to be your husband instead. You knew he believed you and your family see him as a consolation prizeâ and for your house, he was, but for you, you would gladly trade away all the gold in your houseâs coffers and the crown for Aemond. You had loved him ever since you two were children; you were intended for Aegon, but your heart had always longed for his younger brother. It was a shame that he could not see it until now.Â
It was flattering that he tried to prove himself to youâ that he says he does not deserve you, but you could never agree to such sentiments because you knew in yourself that you were meant to be his. It pains you that whatever you say, whatever you do to reassure him that you are happy and content in his arms, even without the prestige of titles, he still does not believe you.Â
Aemond felt his heart twist further as you shook your head and walked off. He followed you quietly as you two ventured to the chambers of the king to bear witness to the price of ambition. You could not will yourself to walk in; the distant sight of Aegon filled with burns, clinging to life, along with his death rattle breathing, was enough for you to flee away. Aemond watched as you stumbled through the halls, unable to bear the sight of what he had done. It was only then did Aemond felt guilt. Not guilt for what he had done to his brother but guilt as he saw your reactionâ it was only then did he realized that the weight of his actions would affect his lady-wife as well.Â
It was sundown when your uncle sought you out. Telling you what had transpired in the small council and how Aemond was named Prince Regent. He as well questioned you as to what you knew about the battle in Rookâs Rest and if your husband had confided in you any secrets, as all who had returned from the battlefield kept a tight lip. You said not a word. Your loyalty to your husband has proven to be greater than your guilt for Aegonâs state.Â
âGreatly unfortunate as the events were⊠I must say that the council and I are relieved that your husband shall see to the concerns of the Realm.â Your uncle muttered, and you sat stiffly in your seat. âReally?â You asked in a small voice. âKing Aegon might be the firstborn, but all are aware that Aemond has the tact to rule. Let us pray that he would lead our side to victoryâ his brother certainly cannot.â He sighed as he stood, kissing your cheek as he exited your private chambers, leaving you to ponder on his words.Â
A storm came at night, and you could not find rest as your husband was not by your side. The rain and thunder always made you uneasy, and at times like these, you greatly relied on Aemond for comfort. You walked the path to your marital chambers and peeked inside, only to see your husband was absent. You walked along the cold halls of the keep, searching for Aemond in his usual spots, but to no avail. Your feet carried you to the great hall, and there you found him, staring upon the iron throne. You bit your lip as you studied him, staring at the prize of his efforts.Â
Aemond felt a presence join him, and he turned his gaze and was met with you. âWas it worth the price?â You questioned, a steely look on his face as he thought over your words. You stood still as your husband took slow strides towards you. âIf it proves me worthy of you, then it does.â You let out a breath as he said the words. âAemond⊠how many times must I repeat myselfâ you do not need to prove yourself to me. Iâ I love you unconditionally. I do not need the throne or a crown⊠can you still not see that all I want is you?âÂ
Aemond cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his touch. âWhatâs done is done. We need not dwell on this matter, my heart. What is important is that we got what we wantedâ we finally have what we deserve.â He whispered, lips flying towards yours. You felt weak as your lips entangled with your husbandâs. âThis⊠this is not right.â You whispered as his kisses trailed down to your neck and to the valley of your breasts, his fingers slipping off the shift you wore, leaving you standing bare in the middle of the throne room. âWhat is not right is that our efforts and potential are wasted as those who are unfit for the title, rule. We were made for the throne, my heart⊠stop resisting it; you know it is the truth.âÂ
You breathed heavily as you watched your husband fall to his knees, and his lips kissed your cunny. âAdmit what you want, my heart.â His voice muffled against your skin, your hands moving to grip his hair and steady yourself as his tongue drew circles upon your cunt. You feel him grip your thighs, urging you to speak. âYou⊠I want you.â You cried, desperately writhing your cunt against his face. âAnd?â He questioned, and you tilted your head back, your climax quick to come as your body ached for your husbandâs touch. âTo be queen⊠I want you and be queen,â You admitted with a gasp as you felt his tongue enter your dripping core. Aemond smirked against your cunt; his body fueled with need as he tasted your essence. When you came undone, he greedily licked and lapped any remnants of your release, not at all conscious that you two may be caught in such compromising situations.Â
You watched through the haze of your release as your husband stood and undid his trousers. Your gaze followed him as he stood behind you and slipped in his length; your loud, surprised moan echoed through the empty hall and was accompanied by the clap of thunder. You cried as Aemond mercilessly pounded into your cunt, your dazed gazes planted on the throne. You gasped for air as Aemond wrapped his calloused hand around your throat and urged you to rest your weight on his leather-covered chest; all the while, his thrusts were relentless. âAre you to come? Are you to come before the throne, my wife?â He taunted in your ear, biting the lobe, and you could only cry in pleasure, your body arching and your hips meeting each of his thrusts. âYes⊠yes!â You cried as his other hand returned to its usual torment and drew circles upon your cunt.Â
You threw your head back upon Aemondâs shoulders as you were met with your second release. With a few more thrusts, you feel him come undone, his seed filling your cunt, and he could only hope that it would finally take, for he surely needed heirs. Aemond turned your head to face his and kissed your lips, finally feeling a speck of calm in his raging being, for he knew he had secured the station that you both deserved.Â
As you two tried to relish in the calm brought by your climaxes, outside the great hall, the castle was in an uproar as the king drew in his last breath. Men searching for the prince regent to inform him of the dire news. They scoured every corner of the castle and soon found their new king seated on the iron throne with his queen bouncing on his cock, Aemond fucking her in their rightful place.
#aemond fanfiction#house of the dragon#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond modern au#prince aemond#aemond x lannister reader#prince aemond x reader#prince aemond fic#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond x you#hotd fandom#aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#house tyrell#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#ewan nation
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So @lynati is out of town today and tomorrow, working, but she has been living her best life and embracing her desire to be surrounded by toy Breyer horses for the first time in 25 years, and is really just having a great time with it.
Unfortunately, a particular horsie, Hot Cocoa, who she had REALLY wanted sold out last week before she had a chance to get her. She thought she had more time, because some of the previous years' horsies are still in stock from past years.
Horf!
So Hot Cocoa was sold out, and she was very sad, and there were ZERO OF THEM anywhere else on the internet - this one was sold only through the Breyer website, and nobody had listed any on Ebay or Mercari. We set up some saved searches to try to get her later if she came up, probably at a terrible mark-up, but what else can you do?
Anyway, Lynati got a different, extra-fancy horse in the mail yesterday, and he's a very pretty boy with blues and golds and purples.
Lynati didn't have any others in this mold, but she brought him upstairs to show me yesterday when she got him in the mail, and I agreed as this was a very pretty horse and flipped him over because I was admiring how pretty the blue-fading-to-purple effect is, and I go "WOW. My god, they put a lot of effort into sculpting this horse's junk."
The fact this sculptor clearly spent hours and hours on this horse model, including what had to be rather a lot of time on the individual veining on the Horse Dick* is truly kind of impressive, but I also find it extremely funny in contrast with how pearl-clutchy some American Girl doll collectors get about even the implication that people may have had sex or might be naked at some point, ever. (There are a whole bunch of people get weird about the fact dolls like Kaya and Felicity don't come with underpants - because they wouldn't have worn them. In the 18th century. And, let me be clear, their bodies are just tube-shaped stuffed cloth with no anatomical detail whatsoever.)
*Lynati will I'm sure correct me that that is the "sheath" and testicles, but I am not a horse person and I am therefore comfortable referring to it as the horse's dick.
So today, I was relating to my friend @lylilorden my amusement at the contrast between American Girl doll people and the Breyer people with their lovingly-sculpted super-detailed Horse Genitals.
(Quoth Lyli, "and the breyer folks just. "these are ANIMALS and they FUCK"". Yes. Yes they are.)
And I'm looking for a picture of the Special Fancy Horse to show her, and then suddenly, at the bottom of the page on the Breyer website, where I see this:
HOT COCOA IN STOCK, MOTHERFUCKERS
So I call Lynati in a tizzy because this is clearly a Horf-Collecting Emergency, and the horf is now on the way to our house. The day is saved! And I wouldn't have been on the Breyer website if I hadn't been talking to Lyli about the other horse's magnificent . . . endowments.
âš It's a Christmas miracle! By the power of lovingly-sculpted horse cock. âš
And now, at the bottom of this post - so people can read the rest of the post and skip it if you want - I have gone downstairs to take a picture of Courcheval's junk, so you can all see what I'm talking about here. (Content warning: plastic toy horse genitalia)
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based on this post about Steve's internalized bi-phobia:
Steve has known for years.
And how could he not when Tommy's freckles come back tenfold each spring like a flower peaking it's head through the last layer of snow? Or when Matthew Carver's hair have a reddish brown tone that turns blond after they spent the last days before summer break practising outside and remind Steve of liquid gold? Or when he watches Star Wars and Harrison Ford, rugged and witty, comes into view and twists his stomach in knots? How could he not know?!
Steve knows he finds guys as attractive as girls, known for many, many years. But.
But he can't. Not when Tommy sneers at that boy in their literature class who likes flamboyant clothes and wants to be an actor on Broadway. Not when the people they meet in Indi who are like Robin and Eddie 'fully queer' and talk about people like Steve as if they're traitors and scams. Not when he reads the newspaper and is assaulted by Reagan and his folk preaching about the 'fag pandemic' or how his father nods in approval and mutters 'another sinner gone for good' when the news play on TV and they occasionally mention the crisis that kills people like Robin and Eddie and him.
Like him....
It doesn't matter how much he loves sleeping with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone or that he thinks he'd like to kiss Eddie and hold his hands and wake up beside him until they're old and wrinkly and complain about bad knees.
He is, but he cannot be a queer, half a fairy '50% like me, 50% like Eddie' as Robin jokes.
He will not be a bisexual, he can keep it inside, keep it hidden, buried deep inside him no matter how much it pains him. He can be the straight friend who goes to pride and bakes rainbow cakes and marries a woman even though his heart screams in an ear ringing cacophony, 'Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie!'
This is how his 20s go: loud and hurting and yearning and hiding and more noticeably being disgusted and ashamed of himself for simply being able to love men the way he can love women.
He's 29 when his wife, Becky, leaves him. It's not just Eddie and this shameful secret that weights heavy on their relationship, but the scars and all the other secrets he is unable to explain to her that drive Becky finally away - back to Boston. She leaves him alone in that tiny house they bought three years ago with their Saint Bernard puppy they lovingly named Bernadette.
He's 30 when he goes to a coffee meeting of the bisexual group meeting in Chicago, nearly turning the car multiple times, hands and knees sweaty with fear that they won't want him there. They do want him there, welcome him with open arms, and talk about things Steve knows all too well: 'When I fell in love with the first girl, I ran. I like men just fine, so I hid my crush. It's just easier, when your parents hate gays, when the world is shaming our community, when we're dying.' He finds a second home there, and learns - learns about queerness and bisexuality, about trans and gender non conforming people and physical attraction versus emotional attraction. He learns about his past and present and about his future, about their history and where they want to go, how they want to mold their world to fit people like them into it without the pain and the hiding.
Steve is 33 when he finally comes out to everyone dear to him. To the kids who aren't kids anymore and to Joyce and Hopper, and then his parents. this does not go well, but Steve doesn't want, doesn't need their validation anymore. He has his family, his friends, his support system who love him not regardless of his sexuality but because of it, love him because it's part of him. He comes out to Becky, too and that goes much better. they want to be friends, in the future. She's also met Gary who works the the NY Times and wants her to follow him into the big city. So Steve is looking forward how that goes, their tentative friendship.
He is 34 when Eddie comes back from his latest world tour and wants to take a break to rekindle with his uncle, to write new songs, to take a breather. It's only natural that Eddie moves into Steve's guest room and takes over his space on the couch where he cuddles Bernadette while Steve is in the kitchen and makes them grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.
Its even more natural when their feet meet while watching a movie and they lean into each other in the kitchen, dawn barely there, while they wait for the coffee maker to finish.
Steve's 35 when Eddie finally kisses him and he kisses back. No hurt, no shame, no guilt gnawing on him, Steve finally allows himself to be with the person he truly wants - regardless of their gender.
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HEESEUNG forces his nails into your skin, wether that be the soft skin of your calves, hips, thighs, or arms heâs leaving behind some sort of markings. he physically cannot help it, when your bodies are connecting at the middle so deliciously he just canât help grabbing onto you for better leverage to force his cock inside of you even deeper. he relishes in his mistakes when he sees your skin welted up and decorated with little red moons that match his nail shape. heeseung worships you a lot more gentler after a nice hot bath and some well needed snacks.
SUNGHOON damn near breaks you in two. his hot palms are forcing your hips down to angle you just nicely for his cock to slip in and out of you, with his head is thrown back, he just canât help applying more and more pressure until your voice is muffled into his comforter and whiny because heâs hurting you so good. when the lights come on his hand prints are molded against your backside, a sheepish smile finding refuge on his face as you awkwardly limp around, holding your lower back.
JAY gets so vocal. sometimes even your hand has to slap over his pink lips so the others arenât alerted to the ungodly things happening over their heads. when you finally sit down on his cock after 16 dreadful hours of no contact he canât help but tighten his grip on you while swearing up a storm as blissful pleasure engulfs him. bonus points : when he holds your hand tighter against his mouth so he can go absolutely insane. your name is rolling off his tongue like pure gold, âgood fucking girl,â and âfuck, youâre amazingâ becoming a mantra.
JAKE canât help but burry his face into your shoulder and bite down. missionary is his favorite for this very reason. after such a long day at practice, he can finally come home and ravish you. youâre pressed chest to chest, his lips nipping at your shoulder before he breaks the skin. your orgasm is hot and blissful as he rocks in and out of you, grunts of pleasure emit from his muffled lips. at first you didnât even notice he had bit you until the following morning his impeccable teeth imprints were cascading down your shoulder.
đ ! đđ đđ
#jay#enhypen#heeseung#smut#sunghoon#writing#enhypen smut#jake sim#park jongseong#park sunghoon#lee heeseung
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alfred, who writes in a journal every day unbeknownst to the bats.
alfred, who's journals aren't marked by a period of time, or his own age, instead by the names of those he looks after. when dick is first adopted, and he knows this change is permanent, he puchases a new journal, despite his existing one being only 2/3 full. this one has a simple 'richard' written with a gold accent on the cover, a change from the last 8, titled 'bruce'.
alfred, who somehow makes journaling more of a logbook, albeit still personal. he's writing about himself, sure. memories of old friends, his travels, stories he's heard, things he has experienced.
but he mainly writes of them, the things they do, how they act. their character quirks that they haven't even picked up on yet themselves. the things he wishes he could tell them as a parent, instead of butler. the things they should know about those who've come before them. the regrets he has, and changes he's making. how they've molded him into a new person.
alfred, who will take all this information to the grave. until then, they stay packed in their respective boxes, some dustier than others, in the back of his wardrobe in the manor.
the contents of those journals aren't specific to each kid. everyone's within those pages. in tim's there's a lot about jason, and damian's has a lot about bruce. nothing's overly invasive in them, and the furthest it strays from the truth is when sometimes alfred admits to believing a different set of events to whatever he's been told, and even then he's probably right.
jason, who receives his journals prematurely. there's only 2, there should have been more. it's painfully obvious the cutoff, how it wasn't supposed to end there, but still it did. he receives them post-resurrection, convinced he doesn't belong in the world. his memories of robin growing fogged and becoming twisted.
he reads them and he cries, maybe it's because he forgot how much good there was in those times, or maybe it's because that's the determining moment in his new life where he decides that he really deserves and wants to live, because his existence runs deeper than being the robin who died.
frankly it's quite jarring for jason, to read about himself from another's perspective. as much as i love the idea of him and alfred getting along the best out of all the kids, he definitely distances himself for a while to process everything. he slowly creeps back though.
no one else gets to read their share until alfred's gone, and when they do it goes unspoken, no one pries to know anything outside of their dedicated journals.
jason, after hesitance and much internal conflict, drops off his own on dick's nightstand one night. receiving them back, two weeks later, is a silent affair face-to-face.
tim, similarly, on no one's accord but his own, gives jason his, to keep. he says something about how he doesn't think they were ever about him, and they seemed much more like a sequel. he also apologises, and mentions how he almost felt like he was intruding on something. but he understands now, he doesn't clarify about what.
#cass + duke have one each too#batfam#batfamily#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#batboys#the robins#batkids#nightwing#red hood#robin#red robin#dc comics#dcu#dc#gothihop speaks
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