From Gold To Mold

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 4: The Deal (Warning: this chapter will feature violence. Read at your own risk)

A/N: had free time this week to produce this. Next week is chock full of tests and midterms, so this’ll probably be the last chapter for some time. Enjoy! Also, I’m sorry to those who asked to be added to the tag list and weren’t. I tried to add many of you, but Tumblr wasn’t able to find your blog for whatever reason.

When you open your eyes, darkness goes on forever in all directions, the only thing you can see is yourself. Where are you and how did you get here?

“Hello,” you call out, hoping someone is nearby to hear you, not caring who hears you just as long as someone comes to you. “Is there anyone here?”

Nothing, which you expected, but you had hoped against reality that someone was here… wherever here is. The cold air surges through your body and you shiver, your teeth chattering, echoing in the void.

“What happened,” you ask yourself. “How’d I get here?”

Just then, your memory kicks in and images and words assault your mind all at once: walking through the East End, the three thugs, the dirty shack in the middle of the woods you had been dragged to, and—

“Oh my god,” you say as the final memory flashes before your eyes. “They killed me.”

That’s right, the flash of the muzzle and the sound of the gunshot still rattling in your head. And if you think hard enough, you can vaguely remember falling to the floor after the bullet entered your head.

“Wait,” you say, realizing something very important. “If they shot me, then why am I here?”

Sure, you aren’t religious (all beliefs in a just and loving god died after you lost your Momma and was forced to live in an abusive and neglectful household for thirteen years), but this dark and neverending void is a far cry from the bright and golden imagery that’s always been associated with heaven. And this sure isn’t the fire and brimstone that comes to mind when you think of hell. So, is this purgatory? Or limbo? You never could keep the two straight.

Is this your fate? To spend the rest of your afterlife alone in this abyss? Why couldn’t you just cease altogether? Was it too much to ask that you just close your eyes and never wake from your eternal slumber?

You realize you’re crying and you’re amazed that after crying so much throughout your life, you still have plenty of tears to shed, even in the afterlife. But that’s been your lot in life since you lost Momma: to be the world’s punching bag.

“Such powerful emotions,” a familiar voice says.

You look up in shock and see your Momma, looking exactly the same as the day she was taken from you.

“Momma,” you exclaim, rushing to her and embracing her, squeezing her as hard as your arms will allow, afraid that if you let go, she’ll disappear.

“This form brings out such joy, sadness, and loss in you,” she says. “Feelings from someone alive are far more vibrant than from someone deceased.”

“What,” you asks, looking up at her in confusion, but when you do, it’s not your Momma you see looking down at you, but Bruce. You let go of the man as quick as you can and put a bit of distance between the two of you.

“What did you do to my Momma, you son of a bitch,” you shout in disgust.

“This form brings out such anger, pain, and hatred in you,” Bruce says, looking you up and down as if dissecting you like a damn lab experiment. “How interesting.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How’d you get here and what did you do to Momma?”

“And it’s not just this form.” You see movement all around you and in perfect unison, the other members of the Wayne Family appear from the void. “You hold these forms in equal amounts of hatred and contempt.”

“You deem this one a failure,” Bruce says.

“This one a hypocrite,” Dick says.

“This one a brute,” Jason says.

“This one a know-it-all,” Tim says.

“This one a stranger,” Barbara says.

“This one annoying,” Stephanie says, before turning to Cassandra. “And while you’ve never heard that one speak, you deem her a freak.”

“And you deem this one a monster,” Damian says. He gestures to Bruce. “You hate this form and that one in equal measure, far surpassing the others.”

You see another figure step out of the void and when you make out the face, it’s Alfred. You feel relief surge through your body, happy to see the butler; if there’s anyone who you can depend on, it’s him.

“While this one serves the others, you hold great respect for this form,” Alfred says. “Although, you hold a not insignificant amount of resentment towards him.”

Your heart skips a little at the accusation. No, you love the man, who took the place of a father when Bruce failed to fill the void left by your Momma’s death; sure, you’ve had the occasional thought that if the man was given a choice between you and them, he’d choose them over you since he’s always helping them, but he’s always been there for you since day one!

“No,” you say, pleading with the man. “Alfred, I don’t!”

“But you do,” the butler responds. “According to you, he is the true master of your prison, but instead of using his power to make them acknowledge your existence, he allows them to continue parading through Gotham, fighting criminals.”

“You also believe all these forms belong in Arkham,” Bruce adds. “And that you wish to be the one to subject them to electroshock therapy.”

You finally realize that something’s wrong here. All of them have never been in your presence long enough for you to say how you feel about them (not that they’d care, anyway) and you’ve never told Alfred how you often daydream of locking them away in Gotham, strapping them to metal chairs, and flipping the switch to send hundreds of volts through their skulls, hoping to shock them into being decent human beings. All this has been kept in your head for well over a decade.

So, how the hell did they know all this?

“You’re not them, are you?”

“No,” Not-Bruce answers. “We only took the forms of those you see before you.”

“Then who the fuck are you,” you growl. “And where the fuck am I?”

“We have no name,” Not-Alfred says.

“We are one, and yet we are many,” Not-Damian finishes.

“It is impossible to define a being such as us,” Not-Jason chimes in.

“Alright, that doesn’t answer my question,” you mutter to yourself, but say it loud enough for them to hear. “Then answer me this: where am I? The last thing I remember was being shot by three thugs.”

“Yes, we know of your attack,” Not-Stephanie says.

“As for your question, we are appearing to you in your mind,” Not-Bruce says.

“My mind,” you exclaim. “How?”

“When you appeared to us, we reached out and established a link with you,” Not-Tim explains. “It is from there that we were able to peer into your mind and see your memories.”

“My memories,” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Not-Damian responds. “Through your memories, we saw these forms and assumed them. We thought it would be more preferable for you to speak to us if we took the appearance of the people who have the most influence on your life.”

“If you looked through my memories, then you should know I want nothing to do with any of them,” you snap at them.

“We know now that we were in error,” Not-Bruce responds, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “We owe you many thanks. Never before have we been put into a situation where have known the sensation of being incorrect. We will ponder this experience for years to come.”

“So, what do you really look like.”

All of them look at one another, unsure how to answer your question.

“We are not sure if you wish to see our true form,” Not-Alfred responds.

“While you are the first sentient being we’ve interacted with in our entire existence, we know that our true form is something many of your kind would consider… terrifying,” Not-Stephanie adds.

“I don’t care,” you snap. “I’m not talking to any of you while you look like this and I sure as hell don’t want you taking Momma’s form! And if we’re going to talk, we’re gonna do it face to face!”

“Very well,” Not-Bruce acquiesces.

And with that, everything fades to black and for a moment, you’re scared you’ll be left here in the dark by yourself again. Maybe you should’ve let them stay like that.

Just then, above you, you see an odd red glow. You look up and you feel your blood freeze, your heart stop, and the air catches in your lungs. Above you is a giant mass of red, bioluminescent flesh hanging from a cave ceiling, thick black tendrils extruding from it and digging deep into the surrounding rock, allowing it to remain suspended in the cavern. And if that didn’t freak you out enough, you can see the flesh obviously resembles the shape of a fetus in the fetal position. This thing looks like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say.

“We told you you would not approve of our true form,” it says, its voice beaming directly into your mind.

“What are you,” you ask, still awestruck at the sight before you.

“We are have no name,” it responds. “But, with the knowledge we have accumulated over the centuries, we suppose you can call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete?”

“Yes, we are a supercolony of sentient fungus that has existed for over four-hundred years.”

“Four-hundred years? That’s as long as Gotham’s been around.”

“We have existed as the city above. When its founders first arrived, we were nothing more than a collection of small, independent and unaware colonies of mold. Not long after the first buildings were built, an earthquake shook the area and revealed something we now know as a ‘Lazarus Pit,’ a pool of green, luminescent liquid that possesses remarkable restorative properties, and the colonies that would become us were plunged into it.”

“And this pit made you the way that you are?”

“The pit made us aware, but it did not give us our intelligence. With our enhanced capabilities, we were able to spread out our roots beyond the mountain. Not long after, we discovered the corpses of the first of Gotham’s citizens, buried after they drew their last breath; when our roots came into contact with their bodies, we found we had the ability to archive the knowledge, memories, and even DNA of the deceased. We became obsessed with growing our archive, so as Gotham grew over the years, so did our roots; overtime, we archived hundreds of its deceased, increasing our intelligence and knowledge of the outside world. Now, our roots touch every part of this city, becoming one with it, not only archiving the remains of its living, but seeing and hearing everything that goes on within its boundaries.”

“So,” you say, your mouth becoming dry at your newfound knowledge. “You’re like some fungal god?”

“While we know many of your kind may consider a being such as us god, we hold no illusion of being a divine entity. We think of ourselves as an immortal observer.”

As you attempt to process this information, your mind brings something to your attention and you feel your heart stop when you realize it. You really don’t want to know the answer, but there’s that damn stubborn part of you that has… no, it needs to know.

“So,” you begin, trying to summon the courage to ask your question. “Earlier, you said all of this is going on in my head, right?”

“Yes, our roots were able to establish a link with you and allow us to convene with you in your mind.”

“So, if we’re in my head right now, where’s me? I mean, my body?”

Although the Megamycete doesn’t have eyes, nor does it turn anything that resembles a head, you can feel it shift its awareness to the side, as if looking at something. You feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you slowly turn your head to the left, wondering what exactly you’re going to find.

And when you do, your greeted by a sight that makes you feel as if the world around you had crumbled away and you’ve been left behind to float in the void left behind: you, lying in a mess of tendrils composed of mold, broken, battered, and bloody; your limbs lying in directions they’re definitely not supposed to be in, your eyes glazed over, and a gaping bullet hole in your left temple.

“Oh my god,” you shout, utterly horrified at the sight before you. “Oh my god!”

“We saw the torture those three criminals subjected you to. Their leader was quite thorough in inflicting damage.”

“So that’s it, huh?” While this is all just some projection in your head, you feel like you’re hyperventilating. “This is how it ends: being eaten by some sentient mushroom and becoming a part of it? Doomed to spend the rest of eternity tethered to this damn city? I survive in a place where you’re likely to be killed by some trigger-happy murder clown and his psycho-ass whore while getting your mail and some two-bit thug is what does me in?”

“If you look closer, you will find that you are still alive.”

You practically snap your head to look back at your body and sure enough, you can see your chest moving up and down. It may not be much, but it’s there.

“I’m alive,” you ask, shocked at the sight of you breathing.

“You still live,” it answers back. “Your life force is low, but still there.”

“But how? He shot me in the head and then threw me down here! People don’t live after something like that!”

“While a gunshot to the head is normally fatal, our archive shows us two revelations: that the bullet did not go through your brain, but graze it and that the bullet used was of a lower caliber. While the wound was grievous, you still had a chance of surviving it. As for the fall into our chamber, your body was caught onto our roots as it fell, slowing it down and allowing it to land with diminished force.”

“But I’m still going to die, right?”

“Yes,” it answers, seemingly sympathetic. “If you were in a proper hospital, you could recover, but right now, your body is slowly shutting down. By the time anyone found you, you would long be deceased.”

So, you survive attempted murder, but you’ll still die in the end.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “Wasn’t the end I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind for your death,” the Megamycete asks.

“Shouldn’t you know what i had in mind for my death?”

“We do, but our knowledge shows us talking to the dying brings a form of comfort to them. Plus, this is the first time we have had the chance to interact with a living mortal. We wish to prolong the experience as much as possible.”

You chuckle at that. “I thought I would spend my final days back home in Goodsprings, sitting in the big recliner Momma bought for me. I use to spend Saturday mornings in it, eating cereal and watching cartoons.” You smile at the memory of the chair. “It was a damn good chair.”

“We see it, a brown cushioned seat, perfect for watching television or reading books.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Would’ve been perfect to spend my last days in.”

“Perhaps you still can.”

You look up at the Megamycete. “What?”

“We offer you a deal: we will repair your body and give you the strength to leave this chamber and rejoin the outside world.”

“And you’ll get what?”

“You become our host.”

“What,” you balk. “Host?”

“Yes, we will entangle ourselves with your very being, becoming as one.”

“And why the hell would I agree to that,” you exclaim. “You fix my body just to take it over? No deal!”

“You misunderstand. We will not override your control over your body. We will be nothing more than a spectator in your life, seeing but being powerless to intervene. In addition to being restored to your former glory, you will gain access not only to our vast archive of knowledge, but gain abilities many of your kind would consider supernatural.”

That certainly cools your temper. “So, you fix me up and give me superpowers, but all you get in return is front row seats to my life. Sounds like I’m the only one benefitting from this deal.”

“On the contrary, we stand to gain just as much as you do. For over four-hundred years, we could see the outside world, but not join it. With each new corpse we archived, we began to desire a way to interact with the world firsthand and not by mere memories. You are our solution to this dilemma. Through you, we will know what it means to feel the sun on our face, or to taste the finest meals, or to hear a symphony.”

The Megamycete’s words shock you to your core. You guess if you were stuck in this cavern for four centuries and only knew of a world beyond it through memories, you’d do anything to experience it, too.

“Please, Y/N, we beg you to accept our deal. We promise everything we are, from our archive to our longevity, will be at your disposal. You will be stronger, smarter, and better than those who thought less of you. In comparison to you, they will be nothing more than mere ants.”

You’ve thought about showing the Waynes up for years, to be able to pay Jason back for that black eye, to make Tim feel like a complete idiot, and especially to make Damian feel inferior in every way possible.

“We can do that for you. With us at your side, you’ll attain a level of perfection they could never dream of. All we want is to be able to witness this firsthand.”

“Alright,” you relent. “If all you want is to go outside in exchange for making me better than them, you have a deal.”

“We thank you, Y/N,” it says, sounding incredibly happy. Relieved, even.

And with that, your world fades to black once again and when you open your eyes, you find that you’re back in your body, feelings of pain overwhelming your senses, making it hard to concentrate on the Megamycete pressing its tendrils into you. You watch in total awe as the giant, fetus-like mass that is the Megamycete begin to shrink and when you look down where the tendrils are embedded in your skin, you can see a black substance being injected into under your skin. The more of the substance being pumped into your body, the smaller the Megamycete gets.

That’s when you feel weird all over, like every cell in your body is transforming into something else. While not painful, per se, it’s an incredibly odd sensation.

(Your body is becoming one with our mold,) you hear the Megamycete explain in your head. (Not only will it repair the damage that was done to you, you will find that you are far more durable than any mere mortal and have the ability to change your form into any that is stored in our archive, both man or beast.)

“Wait, you’re saying I can shapeshift?”

(If that is what you wish to call our mimetic abilities, then yes, you may “shapeshift.”)

When the last of the mold was transferred to you, you find your body stitching itself up and the incredible pain you were in fading fast, like it was never there. You see a puddle of water lying nearby and when you look in it, you see that all your injuries are gone, even the scar on your left check that Damian gave you three years ago. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it never happened at all.

And not only do you look better, you feel better! You wouldn’t say you were the healthiest person ever, but you tried to stay somewhere in between active and sedentary; sure you weren’t going to be running any marathons, but you were able to climb the many stairwells at school when the elevator took too long. Now, however, you felt like you could run and win a marathon, or climb up a mountain without climbing gear, or swim the English Channel during a hurricane! And you didn’t feel better physically, but intellectually as well! Gotham, for all it many flaws, has attracted the best artists, architects, doctors, engineers, musicians, scientists, and more; you feel your mind being rushed with the knowledge and memories of countless people throughout the ages, ranging from the city’s early days to now. Hell, you even have access to the memories and knowledge of some of Bruce’s greatest employees, giving you knowledge on much on Wayne Enterprises’ tech and projects that he’s spared no expense in keeping under wraps. Maybe you can get a pretty penny from Lex Corp in exchange for this information since everyone knows Bruce and Lex are bitter rivals and are constantly trying to one-up each other, with Bruce, unfortunately, often being the winner in their battles to develop the next technological development.

“I feel like I could run circles around Einstein,” you laugh, completely blown away with your newfound intellect. Right now, you feel like you could write a symphony that would make Beethoven feel inadequate while at the same time painting a masterpiece that would eclipse the Mona Lisa and designing a fusion reactor capable of powering the entire country. You look around the cavern, looking and not seeing a way out. “Now how do I get out of here?”

(There is a passage directly above you.) You look up to see a big hole in the chamber’s ceiling. (That is how you ended up here when those three threw you in here. Our archives have absorbed many of Gotham’s birds. Any one of them should give you the power to fly out of the chamber.)

The mention of the three thugs remind you of your stolen pen and Game Boy, which then fills you with rage. You’ve never liked thieves and the thought of your Momma’s treasured pen and your gift from your thoughtful boss in the hands of such lowlifes gives you even more of a reason to hate them. By now, they could be anywhere, maybe even outside of the city for fear of your disappearance being reported (mostly by Alfred, the only person left in Gotham who would give a damn).

(Remember our roots span all of Gotham,) the Megamycete says. (Through them, we have seen and heard all that occurs in this city. As our host, you now have access to them. All you have to do is reach out and think of who you wish to find.)

Following its advice, you reach out and feel the roots that entangle Gotham like a spider web. As soon as you do, you’re overwhelmed with sights and sounds from every corner of the city.

(Focus on the three,) it advises you. (If you concentrate on who exactly you want, the roots will do the rest.)

It takes some doing, but you manage to push aside the multitude of people that are in your mind’s eye and focus on the three kidnappers. You’re taken across the city, rushing past the many buildings and stopping at some seedy building in Coventry. Your newfound knowledge of Gotham tells you this is the My Alibi bar, a place for Gotham’s criminals to get together to eat, trade gossip, and find work.

With your destination known, you search through the Megamycete’s archives and something to get you out of here and find something that should do the job: crows. Your body manifests into a murder of crows and takes off in perfect unison, keeping in formation. It’s extremely weird to be a bunch of birds; you know that what was once your body is now numerous birds, but while you’re multiple birds, you’re still one person. You can see through all their eyes all at once and change their flight path and they actually do it like it’s nothing. In a matter of seconds, you’re on the surface, flying above the forest and looking down at the twinkling lights of Gotham’s buildings.

“You know, from above, that cesspit actually looks kinda pretty.”

(We thank you, Y/N. We never thought we would be able to experience such a sight firsthand, but here we are. Now, shall we retrieve your stolen property?)

The crows fly through the city, zipping past the buildings and as you do, you realize that you’ve just fulfilled a dream you’ve had since you were ten-years-old: to fly like a bird. When you realized that the Waynes were awful and all you wanted was to go back to Goodsprings— to take flight like a bird and leave this city and the Waynes behind. Now, you can turn into a flock of birds, or even grow a pair of wings, and fly all the way to Nevada!

Eventually, you reach the My Alibi club, which looks even worse in person than through the Megamycete’s roots. You land on a nearby building’s rooftop and see the only security for the entire building is a single bouncer. You command the birds to land near the bouncer and when they do, they come together and reform your body, but instead of revealing you, you command hardened black mold to cover your body, not wanting your face to be seen by anyone.

What’s going to happen here needs to not get back to you.

“What,” the bouncer stutters. “What the hell?”

“Leave,” is all you say.

The bouncer says nothing before he runs away.

(Are you ready,) the Megamycete asks as you near the door. (We highly doubt your three would-be murderers will take your return likely. Nor will they likely be in a hurry to return your property. You may have to resort to violence.)

“Good,” is all you say as you enter.

The noise coming from patrons’ conversations, drinking, and arguing comes to an end when you walk inside. A quick look around and you can tell this place lives up to its reputation of being for Gotham’s criminal element; everyone here looks like they’ve done time and will probably spend their last days in prison.

And in the back corner sit your targets, looking at you with their table filled with glasses and plates of food. The sight fills you with rage; they shot you in the head and threw you in a ditch and here they are, eating and drinking like they just got off work and wanted something to take the edge off. And what really pisses you off is seeing the one called Butch holding your Game Boy like it was his right!

“I’m here for them,” you say, pointing to your quarry. “The rest of you are free to go.”

“Up yours, freak,” some shithead shouts back, pulling out a revolver and fires it three times. The bullets hit the hardened mold and fall to the floor, looking like crushed tin cans rather than deadly projectiles. “What the hell?”

He goes to fire it again, but you raise your hand and a tendril emerges from it, piercing the man’s heart; he drops his gun and lets out a disgusting gurgle, blood dripping from it and pooling on the floor, before falling silent, dead.

While most of your mind is disturbed at the sight; you’ve just killed a man, his blood literally on your hands, but you can’t deny there’s a part of you that’s not saddened by your actions. After all, he did try to kill you and if he was in a place like this, chances are he was a piece of shit and Gotham’s a slightly better place for his passing.

For a moment, everyone is paralyzed at what just happened. The place is so quiet, a pin could drop and it would deafen everyone. Then, everyone breaks out of their stupor, practically all of them pulling out their guns and begin shooting at you, but just like their friend here found out, their bullets are useless against you. Numerous tendrils emerge from all over your body and rush at them; some of them empaling them, others wrap around their throats and crush them, while the rest just whip them with enough force to break them in two. One by one, they fall until it’s just you and your prey.

“Look, man,” you killer whimpers as you draw closer to him. “I don’t know what you want, but you can take what we have. Tom, hand him the bag.”

The other one throws a bag, which lands at your feet; you look down to see it’s your book bag. You pick it up and open it to find everything still inside, from your binder and notebooks to your phone and the gift box Mr. Chen gave you. You’re relieved to know that you’re not missing any of your school stuff and don’t have to go looking for anything or replace it. You are, however, missing all the money from your wallet, but a look on the table shows where it went to. But, you’re still missing the most important thing: your Momma’s pen.

“Here, take this, too.” The leader takes the Game boy from Butch and holds it out to you, which you snatch from him, reveling in the fear in his eyes as you did, and carefully place it inside.

That just leaves one last order of business. You extend two tendrils and wrap them around the leaders throat and hold him up from the floor, his legs kicking around, trying and failing to get him back on the ground; his arms pathetically wrap around the tendrils, trying to crate some room for him to breath, and his mouth is gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get any sort of air. His cohorts go to say something, but a quick glare from you shuts them up. You bring the man close to you until you can see your reflection in his eyes, which are wide and full of terror, and open your mold mask, revealing your identity to them and based off their expressions, all three men could probably crush coal into diamonds with their sphincters.

“Holy shit,” Butch whispers, his face showing his complete disbelief.

“It’s that kid,” Tom adds, his face mirroring his partner. “But, we killed him, right?”

“My pen,” you say, looking at this piece of human filth with complete contempt. “Where is it?”

You loosen your grip to allow him to speak.

“My pocket,” he says. “It’s in my pocket. All the pawn shops were closed, so I wasn’t able to sell it.”

While you’re happy that your beloved pen is not is some sleazy pawn shop’s display window, you’re utterly disgusted at the thought of this man’s audacity to think he had the right to sell your most treasured possession like its some worthless trinket. A small tendril emerges form your shoulder and searches the man’s pocket and pulls out that beautiful gold ink pen. You have it deliver it to your left hand, which is empty as your right hand is being used to hold the man in front of you, and hold onto it with a vice-like grip.

(Not even death could separate you from your Mother’s memento,) the Megamycete states. (We are impressed at your dedication to it.)

“Look, we’re sorry for what we did to you,” the man pathetically whimpers. “Really, we are.”

“Did you know this was my Momma’s pen,” you ask as if the man had not just said something. “I lost her on my sixth birthday and was forced to leave my home in Goodsprings to live here. This pen is the only thing of hers I was able to bring with me. And you had felt like you had the right to take something I treasure more than anything else in the world and pawn it off for some petty cash.”

“We didn’t know, man,” Butch responds, now realizing the depth of his mistakes. “We’re sorry.”

“We promise we won’t tell anyone about this,” Tom adds. “Just let us go and you’ll never see or hear from us ever again.”

“You’re right, we won’t see each other again, but wouldn’t you like to know who I was forced to live with?” The three of them pathetically nod in unison and you have to fight the urge to laugh. A few hours ago, these men were looking down at you, sure they could do anything they wanted, but now, here you are, far above them in the food chain. “I was forced to live with my father, Bruce Wayne.”

“But he said—“ the leader starts to say, but you cut him off.

“That bastard has ignored me since I moved in with him,” you shout, shutting him up. “I was his first biological son, but he’s completely forgotten about me!” You take a deep breath. Just the mention of him brings out the worst in you. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him. Just like you don’t need your lives.”

And with that, you rip the man’s head clean off his shoulders, not even giving him the chance to realize his fate before killing him. You release the body and both it and his head crumple to the floor in a heap of lifeless meat and to further invoke fear in them, you stomp on the head while looking at them, the thing making a wet splat sound. The other two shout, but you cut them down with ease, tendrils emerging from your back and wrapping around their heads and crush them with ease, showering the floor in their blood and grey matter. Their bodies fall to the floor and flail around for a while before finally stopping.

(Well done,) the Megamycete praises. (You cut down these criminals and made Gotham safer faster than any police officer we have known. Perhaps the local police should seek out your services?)

“Not gonna happen,” you laugh as you walk out of the bar with your backpack in hand. “I have no intention of staying in this place. Once I graduate, I’m going back home.”

(Yes, Goodsprings. A small town located in Nevada. We look forward to experiencing your return to your point of origin.)

And with that, you manifest a pair of black wings on your back and take flight, flying far above the city’s skyscrapers, so hopefully you’re safe from detection. In just a few minutes, you’ve flown from Burnley Island to Bristol, something that should’ve taken almost an hour by car. Thanks to the Megamycete’s roots, you can see the Bats still out and about throughout Gotham, so you don’t have to worry about running into any of them while hurrying into your room.

You land down the street to avoid being picked up by the security cameras (Bruce’s picture is the definition of paranoid based on the amount of cameras in both the estate and in the house itself) and walk the rest of the way there. Normally, walking down the marathon-length driveway to the manor when coming home from work, but his time, you cross the distance like it’s nothing; in fact, you feel like you can do this another dozen times and still feel energized.

But, while you’re physically invigorated, you’re mentally drained and all you want to do is curl up and bed and pass out; you enter Wayne Manor and hurry to your room, never more thankful for being far from the rest of the household than you are now. While you’ve been flying under the radar of Gotham’s vigilantes for years now, you’ll afraid that even they won’t be able to ignore you when they found out about your newly gained powers. During your stay here, you’ve listened to their conversations when they thought you weren’t around and you know that while they distrust everyone (even each other based on the fact that no one seems to be allowed to have secrets), they distrust those with superpowers the most. Two years you listened in on a conversation between Bruce and Superman, who offered to help him during a time when many of Arkham’s most dangerous patients escaped all at once, and Bruce said in a tone that felt like sandpaper being dragged across your face: “Gotham’s off limits to metas. You step one foot in my city and you’ll regret it.”

Honestly, you’re confident that Bruce is only on this planet to be the biggest asshole who ever lived. He treats his first biological son like shit, he raises his “true children” to be as paranoid and pessimistic as him, and he threatens anyone who offers his sorry ass any kind of help. It seems to you that the only one who should’ve died that night in Crime Alley is Bruce.

You shove the man’s image in your head aside. Before tonight, he wasn’t important to you, but now, he’s irrelevant. You never needed him before, but now, you really don’t. With the Megamycete, you have everything you need.

Just then, your phone rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You fish out your phone and look on the screen to see Alfred’s caller ID staring back at you.

“Hello,” you answer.

“Master Y/N, are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s over an hour since you should’ve called me since getting off work.” You wince when you peek at your phone and see you’re overdue your nightly call with the butler. “So, I ask again: are you alright?” Based off his tone, he’s not going to accept “I’m fine” as an answer.

“Yeah, I am.” You quickly think of anything that could explain your tardiness and realize something: the best lie is an obvious truth. You just need to modify it a bit. “I just stayed behind to tell Mr. Chen goodbye. Today was the last day for the store because his daughter said Gotham was too dangerous for him to stay by himself, so she brought him to her home today.”

“Oh, Master Y/N, I’m sorry.” His tone says he’s bought it and you actually feel bad lying to the man you’ve come to see as a father figure. “I know how much you loved working there. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I will be. I’m gonna miss him.”

“Of course you will, he was a good man and you were the best employee he could ask for. Can I do anything for you? I’m halfway through with my vacation, perhaps I should—“

“No,” you cut the man off. “You don’t have to come back early, Alfred.” With everything that’s happened today, you need some time to prepare yourself before facing Alfred in person again. It would be a disaster for you to expose yourself as some form of metahuman in front of him. Plus, he deserves to have all his allotted vacation time. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, obviously wanting to say more, but doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll let you go, I’m sure you’re tired and you need your rest. Please make sure you catch up on your sleep I’m sure you’ve missed this week during your spring break.”

“I will, Alfred, don’t worry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Very good, Master Y/N. Good night, my boy.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and let out a sigh of relief, glad he bought it.

(You say you trust the butler with your life, but keep the events of tonight a secret from him. Why?)

“Because Alfred’s highly protective and would most likely steal a boat and sail back to Gotham within an hour if I told him I was kidnapped. And if he knew about you, he’d probably drag me to a hospital and have every last trace of mold surgically removed.”

(We do not wish for that to happen.)

“Me neither, bud. You know, after tonight, I think we’re gonna do great things together.”

(We agree. Now, heed the words of your butler and rest. Tonight was very eventful for you. It would not do well for our host to shirk in his bodily needs.)

You chuckle and strip down to your boxers before climbing into bed. Not long after you get comfy, you feel yourself drift off to sleep. For the first time ever, you’re actually looking forward to waking up in Gotham.

Bruce hears Jason whistle at the sight, but says nothing in favor of studying the carnage inside the My Alibi bar. Bodies are scattered everywhere around the establishment, some are relatively intact while others look like they were ripped in half.

“Looks like someone had fun here,” Jim says as he approaches him, Jason, and Damian. “What do you think?”

“Looks like someone had a score to settle,” he responds to the police commissioner. He motions to the remains of three men crowded together in a corner of the bar with their heads missing; two of the heads are near the rest of their bodies while the third has been reduced to a fine red paste. “Especially these three. Based on how they were killed, I’d guess whoever did this was after them.”

“Doesn’t look like Joker’s handiwork,” Jim adds. “No one here’s smiling and the place is devoid of murderous gag toys.”

No, this is definitely not the clown’s MO. Neither does it match the MO of anyone currently missing from Arkham. The only one he could think of that could rip apart and crush some of the victims is Bane, but that doesn’t explain why the remaining victims are impaled; plus, the giant is still locked up in Arkham’s high-security ward. So, this can only mean one thing.

“This is definitely the work of someone new,” he says, bending down to study the squashed head. “And with this being the only scene we know of, this was their first time killing.”

Whoever did this is highly dangerous and needs to be stopped and fast before even more people get hurt. Looks like he and his family are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bundlofcigars @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper

A Trip to Hogsmeade

After a particularly long and grueling mission, Laswell manages to secure a month long leave for the 141, as well as Alejandro, and König. Of course, they were happy to hear that they’d have a long time to unwind, but they didn’t know how to occupy that much time! They’re soldiers, they’re not used to having that much free time. As for you, you kept on top of your studies, so you had a few days free to offer a great way to start their leave: a trip to Hogmeade, the only all-wizarding village in Scotland! Naturally, they were excited to not only see more of the Wizarding World, but also to spend more time with you! What could be better?

Price

He was blown away at the sight of everything. Seriously, it’s like going back in the past with all these stone buildings! This man would seriously nerd out over the history of the village.

“This place served as the wizards’ headquarters during the Goblin Rebellion. Wait, you guys have goblins?”

He loves the Three Broomsticks. He loves a good pint and he’s been to A LOT of sketchy bars and powered through them for the sake of good beer, but the smell of goats that’s synonymous with the Hog’s Head is where he draws the line. “No beer in the world is good enough to stand that smell.” Plus, the butterbeer is absolutely delicious.

Also, he loves the Three Broomsticks because it’s very welcoming. He sees his boys enjoying themselves, laughing, and cutting up, it warms his weary heart. They get dirty so the rest of the world can stay clean, but it’s hard to keep fighting when it seems like all there is to life is the mission and the only thing to look forward to is death. Here, they’re not soldiers, they’re just men having a good time.

When it’s time to leave, he brings back half a dozen barrels of butterbeer for him to take home. He can get a good pint anywhere back home, but the best butterbeer is only found at the Three Broomsticks. You also bought him a quick-quotes quill from Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop so he can write reports and paperwork without having to do any writing. The face he made when you told him made your heart skip a beat. But, his most important souvenir is a group picture taken back at the Three Broomsticks; it’s enchanted, so it’s like a moment of time captured within a frame. He keeps it on his desk at all times.

Gaz

He looks like a kid in a candy store when you arrived at Hogsmeade. “Everyone here is a wizard?” He looks at every store you pass by with fascination.

Also, speaking of being in a candy store, he absolutely loses his mind when you show him Honeydukes. Like, the minute you walk through the door, his jaw literally drops to the floor. The sight of candy packed into every corner of the store nearly sends him into a coma.

He sees the dozens of boxes of chocolate frogs for sale and he gives you the most irresistible puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. You buy as many boxes he can carry so he try to complete his collection.

He also loves the Sprintwitches Sporting Needs store. He fell in love with a Thunderbolt VII that was on display and exchanged all the money he had for the galleons needed for you to buy it. Despite him saying it was yours, you told him that your money bought it, so it was his to keep and whenever he wanted to go for a ride, you would drop everything so he could fly on it. He keeps it proudly displayed in his room back on base, above his bed. Soap is totally jealous.

When you leave, he has dozens of chocolate frogs, sugar quills, a gallon of rocky road no-melt ice cream, and the Thunderbolt VII, which is the best souvenir.

Ghost

“So, an all-wizarding village? Impressive.” On the outside, he keeps his usual indifferent attitude, but on the inside, he’s excited. An entire village full of magic.

While Price avoids the Hog’s Head, he heads straight into it and orders a firewhisky, loving the unique burning sensation that comes as it hits the back of his throat. You try to convince him to leave since the smell is strong enough to be smelled from the outside, but he just shrugs and keeps drinking.

He later asks if there’s anything you can do to get the smell out of his clothes and cast several spells that make the smell disappear and he thanks you.

He later gets kicked out when he breaks a witch’s hand after she called you a Mudblood. Aberforth kicks him out to appease his other customers, but gives him an approving nod and a few bottles. He later joins the rest of you at the Three Broomsticks, deflecting all Soap’s questions for leaving. “Price needs help babysitting you idiots. And Merlin’s too young to be a chaperone.”

He honestly couldn’t care less about souvenirs. Sure, the free bottles of firewhisky are great, but he wasn’t looking for useless trinkets to have to drag back home. Of course, you couldn’t let him walk away with nothing and bought him a custom made balaclava that can not be torn by non-magically means. “That’ll save me a fortune on masks. Thanks, kid.” Under his mask, he’s blushing.

Soap

Come on, you know this guy lost his ever-loving mind when you arrived. Like, it took Price AND Ghost to restrain him. “Johnny, for fuck’s sake, people are staring!” “But that place is an owl post office, LT! Owl post office!”

Finally, after five minutes, he finally calmed down enough to be let go, but he was still so excited that he grabbed and dragged you to each shop and had you explained what it sold. “You have a wand shop here, too?! Can we go in?!”

When you showed him Madam Snelling’s Tress Emporium, he had his mohawk touched up. Of course, he couldn’t resist to have something magical done to it. He walked out with his hair charmed with a variation of Colovaria, allowing it to change colors on its own. Price and Ghost their heads while Gaz goes in to do the same thing.

You already know his favorite store is going to be Zonko’s Joke Shop. As soon as you tell him that there’s a store that sells magical prank and joke items, he has you show him the way, leaving the rest of your friends behind. If you thought he was bad when you first showed up, he somehow gets worse at Zonko’s. He spends a good hour in their, going over everything for sale before walking out with armfuls of dungbombs, frog spawn soap, and a nose-biting teacup he was going to give Laswell (you later bought two sneakoscopes to give to Price and Ghost to help avoid Soap’s tricks going too far. You also promise to take Soap to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes for even more joke items.

Soap later finds out that his joke items are just as valuable in the field as they are off it. Enemies are easy pickings when they’re hacking away from the smell of a dungbomb, or it’s easy to sneak past guards when a bunch of frogs appear from out of nowhere.

He leaves Hogsmeade with so many joke items, it’s not even funny. He also helped himself to some candy from Honeydukes. Him and Gaz trade cards on the way home.

Alejandro

He’s awestruck when you arrive and Rudy has to bring him back to reality. “Dios mio. This village is amazing…”

He’s ecstatic like Soap, but he’s refined like Ghost; he keeps his excitement under control. He follows you down each street and listens to what you say, and if he asks questions if he has them. “And here we are at the Hogsmeade Post Office. Here, people can send and receive mail and packages via owls.” “Can you send mail anywhere using owls?” “Yes, magical owls are able to send mail to anywhere in the world.”

Him and Rudy go crazy at Honeydukes. Growing up, they didn’t have the chance to get candy whenever they wanted like their friends, so now they have the opportunity to get as much candy as they want. Alejandro’s favorite candy is the Fizzing Whizzbees, he loves to feel lighter than air for a few minutes while Rudy is crazy about no-melt ice cream; seriously, he gets triple scoops of different flavors.

They would pop into the Hog’s Head, but just long enough to buy a bottle of firewhisky to take home. After they have the bottle, they leave. “That smell… it’s not of this world…” After that, they’ll spend the rest of the trip at the Three Brromsticks

They would take home the bottle of firewhisky, several types of candy from Honeydukes, a few hiccouch sweets from Zonko’s, and a barrel of butterbeer, but that was Rudy’s decision. “Rudy, hermano, we don’t have the room for it…” “We’re make the room, damn it! Just, help me roll it…” You help by casting Reducio to make the barrel small enough to be put in a pocket.

König

This man was a bit overwhelmed when you first arrived, and understandably so. You talk him down from his mini panic attack, give him a calming drought you packed just in case, and gently led him down the streets. “Thank you, maus. This village is quite nice.”

If you decide to use this trip to stock up on your potion ingredients, he’ll 1000% carry the basket you fill up. He also loves it when you explain what each ingredient is and what it’s used for. Also asks if he can brew a potion by himself. Please let him, he’ll do a good job, he swears.

I can see him choosing Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop as his favorite shop in Hogsmeade. It’s away from the noisiest part of the village, it has a very calming atmosphere inside, and the tea is absolutely delicious. His favorite is a tea that’s enchanted to show the drinker’s happiest memory after a single sip. His is when he first joined KorTag and met Horangi, his best friend and the only one who believed he could become a sniper.

Of course, you had to tell him that the tea shop was known for being a popular place for dates. Fortunately, he wore his hood and it hid the nuclear red blush that covered his face. “A date! I mean, I would love to go on a date with you, maus! If we were dating! And I would be honored if you wanted to date me!”

After the incident, he starts to have daydreams about going on a date with you…

When it’s time to go home, he has a fancy teacup and several bags of that “memory tea” from the tea shop, a few pumpkin pasties from Honeydukes, and a collapsible cauldron from Ceridwen’s Cauldron so you can teach him how to brew his own calming drought.

Their Favorite Magical Subject

Price

Charms

He remembers the first spell you used when you first joined 141: Windgardium Leviosa, which you used on a tank and made it float like it was a balloon instead of a 55 ton war machine. The sight of his boys’ eyes nearly popping out of their sockets still makes him chuckle.

His favorite use of your charms has to be after a particularly long and gruesome mission, him and his boys wanted nothing more than a cold drink, but all the bars were either closed are were clearing out to clean up after a night of rowdy customers. You then had the genius idea of using the Refilling Charm on the half-decent case of beer they were able to buy, which allowed them to drink as much as they want and the bottle would refill itself.

Needless to say, you made a lot of friends that night.

Your charms have come in handy in the field countless times, such as Alohomora, which has allowed them to quietly breach a building without setting off alarms and alerting hostile (also when he’s lost his office key for the umpteenth time and really doesn’t want anyone to know).

Gaz

Flying Class

The first time you showed up on your broomstick was the moment he knew you and him were going to be friends.

He always wants to go for a ride with you, no matter how hard a mission he was on was. In fact, the thought of soaring through the sky and feeling the wind on his face is what motivates him to power through the mission.

When you introduce him to Quidditch, he instantly falls in love. You show him your monthly copy of Quidditch Times and go over every article inside, from interviews of famous players to announcements of new broomstick models.

Please take him to a Quidditch match. A Hogwarts match, the Quidditch World Cup, he doesn’t care. All he wants is to see people play on broomsticks.

He’s tried many times to convince Price to let you fly them into missions on your broom, but the captain’s said no every time. Still, he’s sure he’ll wear the man down and get his wish one day.

Ghost

Defense Against the Dark Arts

This man is focused on the offensive and defensive aspects of magic since that’s what you’ll be using while in the field.

He may act like he doesn’t care, but he loves it when you go over every spell that’s taught in the class. His favorite spell is the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus, as it knocks the target’s weapon out of their hands, allowing them to be apprehended or taken out.

Of course, this man would obsess over the Unforgivable Curses when you tell him about them; being able to control a man, inflict unbearable pain upon him without drawing blood, and then killing him in a single blow. Of course, he’d never ask you you cast them. To him, you’re pure and innocent; leave the heinous acts of violence to him.

And if you ever ask him to help you brush up on your charms and curses, he’ll happily agree to be your test dummy. Of course, if you want to practice blocking bullets, he’ll insist on rubber bullets and the moment you get hit, he’ll drag you to the infirmary and call it a day.

Soap

Care of Magical Creatures

While all forms of magic, no matter how dull, blow him away, this man is amazed when you tell him all the magical creatures he’s heard about in stories are real.

Especially dragons. He absolutely loses his shit when you tell him dragons are real and reside in reserves scattered around the world.

Will ask you for lessons on magical creatures and records everything in his journal, sketching creatures in great detail and listing characteristics, how to care for them, and his personal thoughts about them.

If you have any magical creatures you care for, he’ll help you with them. From feeding, grooming, and walking, he’s there with abundant energy and a bright smile. And if you ever need to leave the base for a few days, he will totally babysit.

Alejandro

Charms.

Like Price, he’s in love with your charms, but his reasons are more personal.

When you volunteered to help him rebuild Las Almos, you used what would become his favorite spell: Repairo. The sight of seeing his home being repaired in a matter of minutes before his eyes is something that will stick with him for the rest of his life.

Not only did you repair the town, you cast a spell that brought rain to help them through their summer drought and healed the hurt townspeople with healing charms, like Episkey, the Bandaging Charm, and Vulnera Sanentur.

After Las Almos was repaired and was back on its feet, you became an honorary member of Los Vaqueros and the towns people built a statue of you in the the town plaza so that your deeds would always be remembered.

König

Potions.

After you gave him the first Calming Drought, he became fascinated at the art of brewing potions and always asks to watch you whenever you have to brew a potion.

On multiple occasions, both the core members of 141 and Alejandro have walked in on you two sitting on the floor of your room, the giant sniper sitting crisscross and watching you with undivided attention as you brew a potion.

Also asks you to give him potion lessons, and you do; he keeps detailed notes on everything you do in a little notebook and studies it as he gets ready for bed. It also helps calm him down from the day’s chaos.

When he shows promise in potion-making, you allow him to help you with large orders. You also trust him to use your cauldron and personal supplies when you’re unavailable. He keeps his potion notes on him at all times and whips it out every time he brews, no matter how many times he’s made a specific potion.

What if (Reader) just kills themselves? Or just find him dead somewhere

Does the Batfam care about him at all or just hate him completely?

Cause I'm slowly wanting to beat all of them up

I imagine then finding him dead or at least near death, instead of calling for Bruce, he calls for Alfred

And (reader) is literally batshit pun intended scared of everyone cause of trauma except for butler

I think if the Batfamily were to discover Reader dead, his body long since gone cold, it would be a slap in the face for all of them. For years, they’ve known that you exist, but couldn’t be bothered to really get to know you. Since you aren’t a vigilante and lack the capability to be trained and with all oof them having their own lives, they didn’t see the point in talking to you. Now, seeing their forgotten brother and son a corpse, they feel like shit. At your funeral, they try to talk about all the good times, but it’s only then do they realize most of them have never had a conversation with you, or even spent time with you.

And to top it all off, Alfred is PISSED at them. Sure, the butler’s expressed disappointment in all of them at some point (mostly over not properly caring for themselves), but this is different. He was just talking to you on that dreadful day and after not hearing from you for over 24 hours, he finds out that you’re dead and phone records show that the kidnappers tried to arrange a ransom, but not only do they not notice you missing, but they antagonize the man, no doubt leading to you paying the price.

He locks himself away in his room and no one tries to talk to him. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to hear from any of them. Inside his room, he’s quietly weeping, begging for your forgiveness. Had he known you’d meet with such a fate, he never would’ve left Gotham. Hell, he probably would’ve kept you in the manor, pulling you out of Gotham Academy and homeschooled you himself. Out of everyone in the family, you were the only normal one (the bar for “normal” in the Wayne Family is exceedingly low) and he treasured that more than anything. He knew you hated living at the manor, but he had hoped that he could convince you to at least stay in Gotham while he tried to get your father and siblings to notice you.

And now, you’ll never leave Gotham, buried in the Wayne Family Cemetery. Perhaps he should’ve let you leave when you turned eighteen. Sure, you’d be on the opposite side of the country, but at least you’d be alive.

Now, let’s say you decided to give your kidnappers Alfred’s number. The moment he’s told you’ve been kidnapped, he’s packing his bags and heading back to Gotham. He’s former Special Operations, so he no doubt has a few favors he can call in and in this case, he’s requesting the fastest plane available and flying it at top speed to Gotham. He arranges your ransom, over a million from Bruce’s personal account (Bruce has Alfred on all his bank accounts for safety reasons, but this is the first time he’s ever had to use it) and while he’s taking off at top speed, he’s on the phone with Bruce.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in the middle of a fight, Alfred knows how to make Bruce’s comm come on and the moment the line is open, he’s tearing the man a new one. Bruce isn’t able to say a word because his butler/father figure is spitting out 200 insults and threats a second. The last thing he says is: “I’ve arranged for the kidnappers to drop Master Y/N at the fairgrounds. I will be back within the hour and if he’s not back at the manor upon my return, you will not like what happens next. And god help you if a single hair of his is out of place.”

It’s been years since Bruce has known true fear (probably when he was rushing to save Jason and seeing the warehouse explode), but right now, he’s absolutely afraid of what will happen if he fails to bring you home. He rushes to the fairgrounds and sees you tied to some pole and blindfolded and he feels a world of guilt hit him in the gut.

You are his firstborn son and here you are, traumatized from some thugs. And if he didn’t feel like a piece of shit before, he really does when you tell him you not only knew he’s Batman, but that you were surprised that he’d be the one to save you. He actually sheds a few tears upon hearing that. He picks you up and refuses to let you go until you’re back home.

Things at Wayne Manor take a 180. When Bruce sees that you’ve been staying in a small guest room on the other side for the manor, he moves you to a room next to his; you’re not able to go anywhere, even within the house, without at least two of them following you; and they actually start treating you with decency, patting you on the head/back, greeting you in passing, having conversations with you, etc. They all feel guilty over their behavior towards you for over 10 years and try to make it up to you.

When Alfred tells them that you have plans to move back to Goodsprings, they beg you to stay in Gotham, Bruce even offering to put you up in a luxury apartment if you don’t want to stay in the manor. Just be prepared for them to visit at all hours everyday, even stoping by during their patrols.

Worth Every Bit

A/N: a bit different from my usual posts, but I had this idea a while back and I just had to write it.

“Y/N, are you still out there,” your father yells from the back porch, his voice echoing through the forest.

“I’m almost done,” you yell back, adding the last of the lephria leaves to your basket. “I’m on my way back!”

Tonight is a full moon, so as your village’s only herbologist, you know that herbs gathered right now will be more effective than at any other time. And with so many of your fellow villagers being elderly, it’s important to have the best ingredients on hand should anything happen. Fall is coming to an end and soon the temperature will being to drop, meaning people will get sicker a lot more easily, so now it’s important to be able to brew potions as quickly as possible.

“Got everything you needed,” he asks as you walk towards him.

“Of course,” you beam, holding up your basket full of gathered herbs.

He smiles and pats you on the head, your omega instincts sponging up the attention. Of course, your father worries about you since you just so happen to be a male omega, a rare subspecies of human; omegas used to make up 10% of the realm, but after the Great War nearly a century ago, the omega population was reduced to less than 5%, and male omegas are less than 1% of that, so he’s constantly on guard. Your mother left not long after you were born, so you’re the only family the poor beta has.

“Let’s head to the tavern,” he says, motioning to said tavern. “I think the feast should be ready by now.”

The village always celebrates the end of fall with a big feast with music, games, and drinking; everyone gathers inside the tavern and goes home a few hours before the sun rises.

“Alright,” you say, excited to eat the mayor’s signature roasted boar.

Just then, the warning bell is rung, its chime telling everyone that something potentially dangerous is approaching.

“It’s a Tribal carriage,” the guard shouts from his watchtower. “It’s a Tribal carriage!”

And just like that, the air went stiff and a sense of dread entered your body, as it no doubt did to your father and everyone else in the village. The Tribe is the largest and most powerful kingdom in all of Arcadia; what started as just a small band of barbarians evolved into a vast kingdom that, under its current chief, everyone fears and no one dares challenge. For them to be here, a village on the edge of nowhere with no strategic value whatsoever, only makes this all the more scarier.

“Get in the house,” your father orders, forcing you inside the house before shutting the door and running around to meet everyone else at the main gate.

You run around to the front of the house where a window gives you a perfect view of the village entrance, where all the men have gathered, ready to defend their home should it come to it. Not that it would do any good, the Tribe is known throughout the realm for its strong and fearsome warriors who seem to lust for battle and blood; even if the carriage carries a single warrior, he would be more than enough to conquer the village and everyone in it… if there was any survivors.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the carriage pulls into the village and comes to a halt just at the crowd. Two identical men jump down from the carriage and you instantly know who they are: the cousins and personal guards to the Tribal Chief himself, Jimmy and Jey Uso, known as the Twin Terrors. They’re known for being a deadly duo capable of fighting over a dozen men and coming out on top, fighting in perfect unison that many have thought they can read each other’s minds; they’re also known for being beside their cousin at all times, unless he’s sent them on a mission that requires professionals. From your spot, you can see they’re alphas; their sleeveless leather armor reveal the signature tattoos on their muscular arms and the hardened expressions they have show they’re here on a mission and won’t tolerate any interference.

Just what are they here to do?

Jimmy opens the door and out steps a bald man that you instantly identify by the very expensive and gaudy robes he’s dressed in: Paul Heyman, the Wise Man to the Tribal Chief and ambassador of the Tribe; he’s known for not only advising the Chief on running the Tribe, but also carrying out anything that requires shrewd negotiations. With three key members of the Tribe here in your isolated village, the mystery only grows. Just what could they want?

Then, the twins stand side by side on one side of the door and Paul stands on the other and the last occupant of the wagon steps down, and as he does, you feel your blood go cold and your heart skip a beat. In wolf pelt armor and a massive battle axe on his back stands the infamous Tribal Chief and Head of the Table, Roman Reigns. If Jimmy and Jey are alphas, then Roman is the apex of alphas as his muscular body looks like he crushes boulders as a hobby and wrestles bears for fun; his long hair and signature tattoo stretching from his right arm to the right side of his torso only adds to his fearsome appearance. As you look, you notice his last signature item: a gold gauntlet covered in blood; legend has it that a punch from it is capable of knocking any man down and leaves him unable to get back up.

As he looks around the village, you feel the atmosphere completely change for the worse. The Tribal Chief never leaves his castle unless he’s leading his men into battle to conquer another enemy. And right now, that seems to be the case.

“We welcome you, Tribal Chief, to Aster Village,” the mayor speaks, clearly trying to keep himself from shaking. “I am Alador Finnigan, the mayor of this fine village. To what do we owe this honor?”

“The Tribal Chief has come to make a deal,” Paul Heyman responds, his voice overflowing with the pompousness he’s known for. He turns to the twins who have pulled a massive chest made of silver and gold from the back of the carriage and place it next to the man’s feet. Paul opens it and reveals the massive pile of gold and platinum coins, gems the size of your fist, and jewelry of all types inside. Your eyes widen and all the men gasp at the massive amount of treasure. “The Tribal Chief is willing to give you all that you see here in exchange for the male omega that lives in this village.”

Once again, your heart stops. The Tribal Chief, the most feared man in the entire realm, is here for you?

“That’s my son you’re talking about,” your father grows, stepping forward, his knife drawn.

“You’re the omega’s father,” the Wise Man asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a question. “When the Tribal Chief had learned that a male omega, unclaimed and unpromised to an alpha, living in this isolated village, he knew he just had to have him. And, he’s willing to offer you all that you see here in exchange for him. Of course, for such a rare treasure, he’s agreed to offer you more.”

“My son isn’t livestock to be bought! Especially to some bastard who’s just going to use him for breeding!”

It’s then the Tribal Chief takes a step forward and if looks could kill, your father would be a pile of ashes from the look he was getting from the Tribal Chief.

“I understand you’re protective of your son, who many would kill to claim him, but you will show the proper respect for me, beta,” the man growls, making you shiver. “I’ll let this go, but talk about me like that again, and I’ll take your tongue.”

“My Tribal Chief,” Paul Heyman chimes in, getting between the two men. “I’m sure he meant no disrespect, it was just a spur of the moment. If we weren’t negotiating for his son, he would be acknowledging you.”

This seemed to placate the man, who took a step back and nodded, signaling to resume the negotiations.

“Sir, I can assure you that your son will not be used solely for breeding. The Tribal Chief has the purest of intentions with your son; he intends to take your son as his mate, and he will be treated with the highest respect. As you know, male omegas are highly coveted, so being the male omega to the Tribal Chief will earn him a place of honor at the table.”

“I don’t care if he replaces your Tribal Chief as the Head of the Table, he’s my son and he’s staying here.”

A blind man could see the look of fury on Roman’s face; he’s known for always getting what he wants and what he wants is you, and he’s not taking no for an answer.

“Sir, everyone has a price, and the Tribe has amassed treasure from all over the realm,” the Wise Man chimes in, clearly nervous at how the negotiations are going. “Just name whatever you desire, and I’m sure we can meet it.”

“We’re not haggling over the price of a set of armor, asshole! We’re talking about my son and as long as I breathe, he’ll never be yours!”

In that moment, you make up your mind. The Tribe’s reputation is known to all, and that reputation says they’re going to get tired of arguing and eventually resort to violence, which will result in the death of your father and probably the village. You throw open the door and approach the crowd.

“If you want me so bad, you should be talking to me,” you say, trying your best to sound confident, but at best, you keep your voice from cracking.

At once, all eyes fall on you and it takes all your energy not to melt into a puddle. The Tribal Chief’s eyes fall on you and smirks.

Guess he likes what he sees.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing,” your father growls. “Get back in the house!”

He tries to pull you back to the house, but you yank your hand out of his grip and keep taking.

“I’m this village’s only herbologist. In addition to all the treasure for my father, if you promise to find a replacement for me, I’ll go with you.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Paul responds before looking to Roman. “Right, my Tribal Chief?”

“Yeah,” he says, his deep voice making you weak to your core. “We’ll have a new herbologist here first thing tomorrow morning.” He walks up to you, his hulking figure towering over you. He holds out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.” You take his hand and look up to him. “My Tribal Chief.”

His smirk grows and becomes all teeth. He motions to the carriage and you walk towards it without any argument.

“Y/N,” your father cries out as Roman opens the door and helps you up it. You can tell he’s trying not to cry, but the tears still fall. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And with that, you and your soon-to-be mate enter the carriage, followed by the Wise Man. As soon as the twins are situated at the front, the carriage begins to move, passing by the village gates.

“Are you satisfied, my Tribal Chief,” Paul asks, his tone rich in smugness. “I know you’ve been wanting an omega for so long and now you have the rarest of the rare.”

“You’ve done well, Wise Man. When we first arrived at that backwater village, I thought that we’d have to offer far more that that measly little chest.” He gently grasps your chin and makes him look at you. “And you worth every bit of those stupid little trinkets.”