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sitepathos · 6 months ago

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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?

Why—

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 haven’t 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.

“Running blood tests,” your failure of a father says as he types on the keyboard, causing a machine next to the massive device to make noises.

“If Master Y/N does test positive for the Meta Gene, what do you intend to do, Master Bruce,” the butler, the only one in this crowd it respects, asks.

“If Y/N is a meta, I’ll have to find out what his powers are and how to counter it.”

So that’s 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.

“Getting his blood was a simple task,” Damian taunts. “Honestly, this would have been solved already if you sent me, Father.”

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.

“Results are in,” Bruce announces, making them all crowd around the computer.

“No Meta Gene,” Tim remarks, staring at the monitor with alarming intensity.

“Yeah, but look,” Jason exclaims, pointing at one of the results. “He’s got something in him that doesn’t belong.”

“For once, Todd is right. The tests show foreign substances in his blood.”

“Wait,” Tim mutters as he leans over and begins typing on the computer, bringing up an extensive menu and going through various files. “That looks so familiar.” An image is pulled up on the monitor. “Here it is! The stuff in his blood matches the stuff found in what remained of Joker.”

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.

“If this is substance is in Master Y/N’s blood, does that mean he is responsible for Joker’s death?”

“Bruce, you can’t lock up Y/N after bringing him home,” Dick whines. “You have to admit, your thing with Joker was only going to end one way!”

“We don’t even know if Y/N killed Joker,” Tim interjects. “It’s possible this strain of mold was in both of them and Joker’s was somehow activated, killing him.”

“That’s not exactly comforting, Drake,” Damian responds, glaring at Tim. “That means that Y/N could be in danger. If I had my pick, I would he be responsible for Joker’s death. Knowing he can take down as formidable as the Joker is proof he is a Wayne and my brother.”

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 “perfect world” 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.

“We need to bring him back here, Bruce,” Dick says, defusing a fight between the two. “If he’s in danger, he needs to be back home.”

“I agree,” Bruce responds. “Cass, you and I will go. I’ll distract him and while he’s busy yelling at me, you’ll sneak up behind him and inject him with a tranquilizer.”

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 you’ve made it clear you aren’t 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, they’ll be able to conduct more in-depth tests and be able to find out what’s 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 can’t deny there’s a small inside him that’s glad this has happened. This discovery accelerates their plans and will have you brought home far sooner.

And, there’s 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 must’ve made your temper more volatile and made you lash out at them.

It’s the only explanation.

“Excuse us,” a familiar voice calls throughout the cave, stoping his dead in his tracks.

That voice… No, it can’t be. There’s no way…

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.

“We believe there are some things we should talk about,” you say as you walk closer to them, making his children back up with each step you take.

“No fucking way,” Jason remarks, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Wait,” Tim says as he rushes over to the computer and rapidly types on the keyboard. “You can’t be Y/N. His phone says he’s still in Goodsprings and we’ve been monitoring his GPS signal, so there’s no way you could’ve come all the way to Gotham from Nevada without us knowing!”

That’s right, they’ve 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 would’ve done the same to your computers that are linked to your phone, but your cybersecurity is tougher than they anticipated (clearly custom) and they haven’t been able to crack the encryption.

He knew you were skilled at making videos games, but he didn’t know your skills with technology expanded into cybersecurity. Ever since they made that discovery, Tim’s spent nearly all day trying to pierce your firewalls, but hasn’t made any progress. He’s also made it clear he wants to have lengthy conversations on computers and programming with you once you’re back home.

So, you’re 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?

“Who are you” Damian hisses, taking a defensive posture. “And what gives you the right to assume the form of my brother?”

“You have some nerve calling him your brother,” the Not-You hisses back, the smile morphing into an all-too familiar snarl. “He is too good for you, for any of you.”

Even though he knows this isn’t you, hearing those words in your voice still hurts him.

“Do you know Master Y/N,” Alfred interjects, trying to bring tensions down, most likely so he can learn more from this person.

“Yes, we do,” Not-You responds, looking at the butler, the snarl morphing into a look of… admiration? “And 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.”

“Look, whoever you are, stop taking Y/N’s form,” Steph exclaims. “You’re obviously a shapeshifter, so turn back to normal! Or the very least, take a different form!”

“Oh, do you all wish for us to take another form,” the Not-You asks, a ghost of a smirk gracing “your” face.

“Yes,” Bruce says without hesitation.

It’s bad enough to see you look at them with such hatred, he won’t tolerate some imposter doing the same thing.

“Very well.”

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 Bruce’s heart stops when he takes in the new form.

“Hello, Bruce,” the shapeshifter says in a voice he hasn’t heard in years.

Not since that fateful night in Crime Alley.

“Good God,” 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.

“What’s wrong, Bruce,” 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. “I thought you would be happy to see me. It has been so long since I was killed.”

“No,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You’re not her. You can’t be.”

“But I am. Do you not see? I know everything you have done.” His mother’s face then morphs into a disgusted snarl, making him sick to his stomach. “And I am absolutely disgusted in you! Why did we have to die that night? Why not the disgrace we once called our son!”

He knows this isn’t his mother and she never would’ve called him a disgrace, but hearing those words in a voice he’s longed to hear for so long makes him want to cry.

He’s had dreams of seeing his mother’s in the flesh again and now he has to endure this berating? Is he truly that horrible of a man to deserve this?

“Stop it, you bitch,” Jason exclaims as he steps between Bruce and the shapeshifter. “Take another form or get the fuck outta here!”

“Oh, you want us to another form?” His… the shapeshifter shifts once again and in his mother’s place is…

“Hiya, Dead Hood,” Joker exclaims before exclaiming in that all-too familiar cackle and waving around a crow bar in his hand. “Did you miss me?”

It doesn’t 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 Jason’s 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.

“You have five fucking seconds to take another form before I beat the shit outta you,” Jason says in a tone that says he means business, his eyes flickering into that shade of Lazarus green.

“How about this form,” the shapeshifter says in Joker’s voice before changing into John Grayson, making Dick tense up. “Or this form?” John Grayson then shifts into Janet Drake, making Tim tense up.

“Alright, you made your point,” Barbara shouts. “Just turn back into Y/N.”

And with that, the shapeshifter takes your form again.

“Who are you,” Bruce growls, pissed that his sons have had their trauma jabbed at. “We know you’re not Y/N, but you know him and us.”

You may call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete,” Tim asks. “So, you’re not human?”

“No, we are a super colony of mold given sentience via a Lazarus Pit.”

“Of course a fucking pit’s involved,” Jason mutters.

“What’s your tie to Y/N,” Dick interjects.

“Y/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.”

“So, you’re using him.”

The Megamycete glares at Bruce for his accusation.

“No, he and us operate on mutual trust and respect. Y/N is a respectable young man.” A smirk appears on “your” face. “A trait he clearly did not inherent from you.”

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.

“Were you responsible for the Joker’s death,” Steph chimes in. “We found weird strains of mold in his remains and you’re a walking, talking pile of mold.”

“While we are not directly responsible for the Joker’s 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.” It gives Bruce a wide smirk. “In a single night, our host did more to help Gotham than you and your brood have done in years.”

Knowing you were responsible for killing Joker didn’t sit well with him. Sure, he’d accepted that Joker’s 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 him…

“What about Harley,” Dick asks, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts. “He killed her too?”

“She forced his hand. He had no choice.”

“What do you mean he had no choice,” Dick shouts. “Did you force him?”

“Do not be stupid,” it says, glaring at his first son. “Our 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.”

No, this thing has to be lying. There’s no way you, one of his sons, could ever rationalize killing someone. It had to have forced you to kill them. It had to…

“How did you even find Y/N,” Damian interjects.

Upon being asked that question, it smiles. And not a normal smile, but a smile that says it knows something they don’t know and something tells Bruce he’s not going to like it.

“He was thrown into our cavern after being left for dead.”

Bruce hears the words, but they just don’t process.

You were… left for dead? When? How?

“It was four years ago, while the butler was on his vacation. That day, his boss was forced to retire due to Gotham’s 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.”

You were held hostage? Why didn’t you call for them? For him?

He knows you have no reason to think he’d help you with homework, but surely you’d call him if you were ever—

Just then, memories from that time frame kick in.

Random…

Phone call…

Oh… Oh no…

“Since the butler was out of the country, he actually reached out and gave the thugs the phone number for this manor.”

He so desperately wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“You said all your children were with you and you all laughed and mocked the leader of the thugs.”

He sees all his children tense up at the realization and Alfred looks at him to see if it was true. Based on the butler’s look of shock and disbelief, he knows it’s the truth.

“The 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.”

He remembers that night. He thought it was so stupid that someone would think he wouldn’t 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, isn’t he?

“After 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.”

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 he’s ready to go nuclear and Bruce doesn’t blame him. Hearing all this years later and he had no idea what happened just proves he was never worthy of being your father.

“He 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.”

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 would’ve never been found and all there would be to remember you by would be a tombstone with your name in the Wayne Cemetery. Hell, you’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with the Wayne name, so you probably would’ve never agreed to be buried with the rest of the Waynes.

“Our joining restored him to full health and gave him access to many powers, including our records.”

“Records,” Tim asks, clearly interested in this.

“We 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.” It chuckles. “In 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.”

You were the one who did that? He’s 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.

“Alright, so that solves a lot of mysteries,” Dick interjects. “But that still leaves one: why are you here?”

“We have been by our host’s 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.”

“He’s my son,” Bruce answers, not liking what this thing has to say.

“He’s family,” Dick adds. “Of course we’d want him back.”

“But 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.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re taking about,” Jason exclaims, clearly getting more and more pissed. “Yeah, we fucked up! But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a part of this fucked up family!”

“He 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.”

“That’s because you’re manipulating him,” Damian interjects. “Nothing will change the fact that he’s my blood brother.”

“It is funny you say that when the last interaction you had with him was a fight.” It lifts hits arm and manifests a gold pen in its hand. “Do 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?”

Bruce gets the feeling that he’s not going to like why that pen is so important to you and based off Alfred’s expression, that feeling gets even worse.

“This 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.” It turns its gaze from Damian to the rest of them. “And the rest of you supported this irreverent mongrel and condemned our host without listening to him before passing judgment.”

It seems like a day can’t 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 “simple pen” was the only thing you had to remember your mother by…

It just never ends, does it?

He could spend the rest of his life atoning for everything he’s ever done to you, spend his last dollar to make your wildest dreams come true and he’d never come close to earning your forgiveness.

He knows he’s not the best father for his children, but he was never worthy of being your father and he’s certainly not that now.

“Y/N,” he whispers, knowing this isn’t you, but it has your face, your vice, and your memories, so it’s the next best thing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He knows tears are falling from his eyes, surprising both Alfred and his children. He doesn’t want them to see him like this, but he can’t help it; the last few days have been one emotional turmoil after another and he’s reached his limits.

He failed his baby in every way possible.

“Now you understand,” it responds as it walks closer to him. “You 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 host’s business.”

“Father,” Damian exclaims. “You can’t possibly be considering this!”

“Bruce,” Dick adds. “You aren’t going to actually do it, right?”

“Don’t fuck this up, Bruce,” Jason adds.

“We can’t just give up on him,” Tim adds.

“Yeah, he’s your son,” Barbara adds.

“He’s our brother,” Steph adds.

‘Family doesn’t give up on one another,’ Cass signs.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred warns, clearly not pleased at the thought of giving up on you.

He should, though. He knows that he’ll never be worthy of calling himself your father and you’ve 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, he’d 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 don’t need them and clearly learned how to live without them. Over the past few days, he’s 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 he’s 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 he’s breathing, he’ll hold onto those two things until the bitter end.

Is it possible that in his mission to protect his city from Arkham’s 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, he’s constantly remembering that his children are their own people and that even though they may leave him, they’ll always come home.

And that’s what his situation is with you. He knows he fucked up with you and he can never undo the damage he’s done to you, it doesn’t change the fact that you are his blood, his son, his firstborn.

You belonged to him the moment you were born and there’s 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 can’t (his time as a Justice League member has taught him that going back in time is more trouble than it’s 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 there’s one thing Bruce is very good at over the years, it’s overcoming obstacles.

“No.”

“Pardon,” it says, confusion etched onto its face.

“No,” he says loudly, making it clear he has no intention on letting you go. “Y/N is my son and their brother. He belongs here, with me and his family, not in some backwater town with some sentient mushroom. We’ll find a way to bring him back here and separate the two of you. And when we do, he’ll 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.”

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.

“Our 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.” It motions to his children. “You have plenty of children here to drown in your need for forgiveness, surely you can make do with one of them.”

Then, it leans closer towards him, a smug look adorning its face.

“Also, 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.”

It’s 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, he’s 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.

“We’ve fought plenty of Metas in the past. Do you really think you’ll be any different?”

“We 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.”

“And what’s that?”

“Unbridled hatred towards you.”

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 don’t hate his guts. He’s spent years being cursed at by all of Gotham’s rogues and beating all of the Riddler’s countless murder attempts to know Batman is at the top of many people’s Most Hated lists.

“If you don’t think half of Arkham doesn’t have dart boards with our pictures on them, you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Steph mocks.

“We 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.

“Joker would be a perfect example of this as he was as obsessed with you as you were of him.”

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).

“But 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.”

He knows you hate them, but hearing that you hate them enough to fantasize about killing them cuts him deep.

“Please, I tried to kill Tim and Bruce back when I returned to Gotham,” Jason mocks, but Bruce can see Jason’s obviously concerned about hearing you thinking about killing them. “And Damian took a few tries at Tim. Everyone in this fucked up family’s got anger issues, it’s nothing weird.”

“You 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.”

“So you don’t plan to absorb us,” Dick asks.

“Our 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.” A small smile etches across its face. “We 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 host’s revenge will finally be complete.”

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?

“Make all the threats you want, creature,” Damian boldly states. “Nothing will stop us from bringing Y/N home.”

“Then 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.”

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.

“So,” Alfred says, breaking the silence. “Was anyone ever going to tell me about a call regarding a random?”

The tension becomes so think, Bruce thinks he’ll start to choke on it. He racks his brain to come up with any answer, but doesn’t find any. At lease not one that won’t 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.

“I 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 wasn’t a priority for any of you, but I never would’ve dreamed you would allow him to be put in danger like being held hostage by common thugs.” Every word he says is dripping in venom. “I am absolutely disgusted with all of you.”

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.

There’s nothing he can do that will ever make up for all that he’s 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 he’s lost every bit of his skin and he’d never scratch the surface of everything he’s 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 he’s 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 that’s not all he did, was it?

As much as he wants to, he can’t 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 that’s his fault, not Tim’s. His inadequacies are his alone to deal with, not any of his children’s (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 can’t 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 you’d be asked to join before giving up?

When exactly did you give up on them?

And of course, he can’t forget about how he handled you and Damian meeting, another sign he was never fit to be a father. He knew Damian’s 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 he’s 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 didn’t matter to him and that Damian was the only one he considered a biological son.

Y/N, his baby boy.

He’s so sorry.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Bruce finally says, making his family turn their eyes to him. “We still need to bring Y/N home. Meeting this Megamycete just makes it more important we get him back to the manor.”

“And 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.”

“We can find a way to neutralize it,” Tim chimes in, motioning to the crumbled remains. “I’ll analyze the remains to find a weakness.”

“And if that’s not enough, it said it has roots all over Gotham,” Barbara adds. “I can use the Clocktower to locate the closest sample.”

“Say you manage to subdue Master Y/N and rid him of the Megamycete. What then?”

“Then we make it clear he’s a part of our family now. And we’ll keep telling him that until he believes it. And when he does, we’ll give him the love we should have given him.”

Alfred looks at him before glancing at his children, all of them nodding in agreement.

“I shall hold all of you to that promise. We have a second chance to right our wrongs. I highly doubt we’ll be given another. But don’t think for a second this conversation is over.”

And with that, the butler turns on his heel and promptly makes his way out of the cave, clearly still furious at them.

“Alright, everyone,” he says, getting their attention. “We have work to do. Barbara, get to the Clocktower and start searching for the Megamycete’s 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.”

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 he’d always be there for you, but he couldn’t 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 wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t asked to be born, you didn’t ask to lose your mother in such a tragic way, and you sure as hell didn’t ask to be given to a man who had no right to be called a father.

He—

No, this line of thinking isn’t 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). He’s done the same thing to so many other thoughts and feelings, what’s 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 that’s already an uphill battle, the true war will be convincing you that they’ve changed and that you need to come back to the manor and live with them.

You’re 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, he’ll throw the largest gala Gotham’s ever seen to show his love for you.

He’ll 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, he’s 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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comicaurora · 6 months ago

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...What happens if I put a full twenty dollars into the urban fantasy vending machine?

it's been on the backburner for over a year, so nothing fresh, but for twenty dollars in the urban fantasy vending machine, here is a short vignette I haven't touched in a year and a half

The room was crisp and bright, all sharp edges and polished monochrome. The sun shone in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, refracting off the sparkling glass and steel spires that carved out the skyline and focusing with almost suspicious precision directly into my eyeballs. I slumped down further in my chair and squinted across at the empty desk. Everything was too damn bright.

“Can I get you anything, detective?”

The voice that rang out from behind me was innocent and musical. The woman it belonged to was not.

I scowled. “Absolutely not.”

“Suit yourself.” I could hear the indulgent smile. “The coffee’s very good, you know. I don’t settle for anything less than the best.”

“I’m sure.”

“And with a nose like yours, I’m sure you already knew.”

Water boiled, and a rich, bitter scent coiled through the air. It was good. Probably that Blue Mountain stuff, or - no. It had to be Turkish. Of course she’d do Turkish.

I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled harshly. There was no way around it - I was exhausted. I’d hit the 48-hour sleep dep limit back on Saturday and had been burning through raw determination ever since. It was damn stupid of me, frankly. I probably couldn’t even handle arithmetic right now, let alone solve a mystery.

But it’d be real stupid of me to accept a drink from the most notorious poisoner in history, so I was just going to have to deal with it.

I reluctantly opened my eyes and the world blurred back into focus as a tall figure briefly eclipsed the dazzling display of sun-sparkled skyscrapers. A coffee cup settled on the desk with a soft clink. There was a rustle as she settled into the high-backed chair and leaned forward. The sun caught in her golden braided bun and played across the shoulders of her elegant black suit. Pale, slender hands clasped the coffee cup with practiced precision.

“So,” Medea said. “How can I help you today?”

Her eyes were honey-gold. Granddaughter of Helios, the myths had said, and the sun certainly seemed to be in the habit of favoring her. Her corporate empire dealt in energy. Geothermal, hydroelectric, solar, even nuclear - all those shiny, clean alternatives that were slowly outcompeting the old oil-burning models. Her power stations were already keeping the lights on for half of the eastern united states. It was a hell of a niche she’d carved out for herself, and like everything else she’d ever done, she was stunningly good at it. Then again, for a demigod princess and compulsive social climber, the world of corporate politics must’ve felt like a home away from home.

Her gaze was steady and level, like I wasn’t cutting into her busy workday. Like she had all the time in the world.

Well. She did, didn’t she?

I sighed. “There’s a new drug on the streets.”

“Is it Tuesday already?”

“This one’s different.” I rubbed my eyes. “Right now, they just think it’s a hallucinogen.”

“And?”

“It’s not. It shows what’s really there.”

The coffee cup froze halfway to her lips. “How much?”

“Can’t tell for sure. Sounds like they’re seeing fairies, sprites, goblins, standard hidden world stuff… but I’m pretty sure it cuts through glamour. Might even go deeper, start showing shifter’s true forms.” I leaned back. “The secret world won’t stay secret for long if the users and abusers start comparing notes. I was half-tempted to take some of the stuff myself just to find out how much they know, but I’m not exactly a neutral test subject.”

“Yes, between your physiology and your temperament, that would be very unwise.” The clink of her cup cut off my half-hearted retort. “Do you have any mortal friends who might be willing to take the plunge?”

I barked a bitter laugh. “All my mortal friends are wizards or cops.”

“Unfortunate. I see why you came to me.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers together. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Damn. Damn. Why was I surprised?

“That kind of potion isn’t really my style anyway,” she said. “Illusions and the breaking thereof are rather… outside my typical wheelhouse.”

“I know, I know.” I rubbed my eyes again. “I didn’t think you were making the stuff. I just hoped maybe you knew something. Nobody knows where it’s coming from.”

“The Goblin Market?”

“Obviously some people are dealing it through there, but I don’t have a supplier.”

“Tricky.” She leaned back. “What’s the delivery method?”

“That’s the weird part. It’s topical.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Unusual. No ingestion or injection?”

“No.” I dug into my jacket pocket and pulled out the scuffed stainless steel tin, then dropped it on her desk. “Kid up in Wicker Park saw me, dropped this and ran. Broad daylight. I wasn’t even changed.”

“You do cut an intimidating figure regardless.”

I scowled. “I don’t know what he saw.”

She nodded once, then gestured at the tin. “Do you mind?”

“Be my guest.” I sank deeper into the chair.

She delicately picked up the tin and traced a nail around the lid. “The container is mundane.”

“Yep.”

She turned it in her hands, the battered metal catching the light. Then she cracked the lid.

I braced myself and squeezed my eyes shut. The smell was overwhelming and utterly unidentifiable - syrupy, sickly, wormwood and petrichor and rot. The headache I’d been nursing intensified.

I heard her sniff. Lucky woman. She had to try to smell the stuff.

“Otherworldly ingredients.” There was a click and the smell dissipated. I risked cracking an eye open. She’d replaced the lid and was staring at the container pensively.

“What do you think?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should be asking you. If I want to identify the makeup of an unknown mixture, I need a full lab and the favor of Hekate. You just need your nose.”

I groaned. “All I know is it’s weird and I hate it.”

“Weird?”

“Weird! I can’t pin it down. It almost smells like something, but” - I waved my hands vaguely - “it’s all wrong.”

Medea stared for a moment, then set down the tin. “Detective, have you ever been to fairyland?”

“I assume you’re not being euphemistic,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“No. I’m referring to the realm of fairy. Built on the ruins of Tír na nÓg, ruled by the Fairy Queen, land of glamour and illusion, home of the people of the hills. You must be familiar.”

“Of course I am.”

“But you’ve never been there?”

“I don’t do otherworld travel if I can help it.” I sat up. “Why?”

Medea idly traced a finger over the tin. “The bones of the fairy realm are very real, but for the most part, the realm is a beautiful illusion starving for reality. Your senses are entranced by a perfect, glamorous experience, but your body and soul waste away. Surely you’re familiar with the harmful effects of fairy food?”

“On paper.” I glanced at the tin. “You think this is some kind of illusion?”

“Just the opposite.” She tapped the lid sharply. “Fairyland is nothing more than the eternal dream of the Fairy Queen, but Tír na nÓg is as real as you or I. A land of promise and plenty, lost to ruin when its link to this world withered away. Its denizens fading to shades, its fruits and flowers rotting and decaying where they grew.”

I frowned. “This… this isn’t your area. Why do you know so much about this?”

She sighed. “Really, detective. Did you really think, over three thousand years, I stayed entirely in the mediterranean?”

“No, of course not-“

“After my flight from Athens I broadened my horizons significantly. I have visited the realm of Fairy several times.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, after the Tír fell to ruin, the quality of ingredients I could acquire plummeted rather dramatically. Gossamer illusions make for poor potions.”

I tried to cut through the fog in my head. Things were coming together. “You… think this was made in fairyland?”

“I think it was, at minimum, made from fairyland.”

“The smell… is odd. Like a floral perfume gone wrong. Rot making everything sweeter.” I scowled. “Not an illusion. Illusions don’t smell that bad.”

“Good,” she said. “Then some industrious denizen appears to have scoured the far edges of Fairyland to acquire ingredients from the ruins of the Tír.”

#asks #not aurora #urban fantasy thing #prose writing

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redlandsashlyninstruments · 28 days ago

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#gold testing #gold testing machine #manufacturer

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eccentricallygothic · 9 months ago

Text

Sunshine

Pairing: Recovering Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes | Lab technician!You.

Description: As Shuri's top and most emotionally intelligent technician, you are the one Bucky ends up opening up to during his recovery in Wakanda… And then some.

Warning(s): Top Bucky, bottom reader, his vibranium arm, inexperienced reader, experienced Bucky, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, allusions to unprotected p-in-v sex, nipple biting, kissing, virgin reader, smut with plot, reader and Bucky like each other, brief mentions of his Winter Soldier days, age gap, teasing, humiliation, size kink, allusions to dacryphilia. Minors do not interact.

Type: Request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms, here.

Note: Can you tell I am obsessed with the arm?

MASTERLIST

It was usual for Bucky's corner of residence to remain deserted. He was still relatively new to Wakanda and people had heard enough tales about his past life to not welcome him with too much hospitality. They didn't take too warm heartedly to outsiders as it was. And a former killing machine was… well, you guessed it. But you were not sure that Bucky really minded. Apart from the bond he had formed with you -very slowly and steadily, might you add- during his therapy in Shuri's lab, you had observed he preferred being by his lonesome and did not mind the isolation.

The more you found out about him, the more you reckoned he probably needed it.

That was the reason why you felt guilt nip at your cheeks when you heard some leaves rustle behind you and when you instinctively turned to see what it was, you found no one other than Bucky staring back at you. Momentary panic settled in your bones but before you could try and ramble your case and embarrass yourself any more, Bucky offered you a small and friendly smile. You had no idea what it was about him that made you all shy and mum because usually you were a very confident and forthcoming person. You were Shuri's top technician after all. But there was something about the way Bucky's blue eyes watched you, how they flickered down your face just momentarily at times, the manner in which his lashes flexed if he looked further down south, and how his tongue subconsciously swiped across his lips during a conversation sometimes.

It spread warmth throughout your whole body.

… Like right now.

“The… stars are so bright tonight” you tried your best to mask the awkwardness with a casual amiability. What? Bucky made you feel nervous, alright?

The male only hummed in agreement as he quietly took a perch beside you, letting his longer legs down the edge of the lake that ran behind his cabin and letting his now bare feet touch the water that everyone used for swimming and fun.

The two of you stayed like that for a little bit, Bucky had never been much of a conversationalist in all the time you had known him and it was always you who had to prompt him to speak or engage in casual talk or even a discussion. A content smile played at your lips while you gazed up at the stars. You liked his corner of the land. It was very calming and serene. Perhaps even more so than the rest of Wakanda. Or so you felt.

It was Bucky's corner after all.

“So… how's the new arm?” You nodded towards the black and gold vibranium arm that the lab had finalized after various meticulous precautions and measurements while giving him the best mental and even physical therapy possible all the while. Shuri had called in Bucky this afternoon to finally install it into the socket you and other technicians had built into his side. After one last test to see if his HYDRA conditioning really was gone for good, it had been you who had with the use of tender and nimble fingers locked the arm into place. It had been a rather emotional moment and you were the only tech Bucky had allowed to touch him. Since he had never been allowed any liberty in his past life, Shuri made sure you all respected the man's comfort first and foremost.

You could never have a problem with that.

“Pretty good, actually” your eyes followed the glint of the moonlight bouncing off the bionic limb as he flexed his fingers and slowly twirled his arm for you to see. “More comfortable too” you were a nerd so it got you excited. And no, the fashion in which the digits of his new hand had stretched had nothing to do with it.

“Yes! Shuri actually wanted to use…” You began the technical ramble Bucky didn't really understand but didn't mind either. “I suggested we instead use…” And it wasn't sympathy humming either, you had learnt that the Soldier had retained his sassy side and if you were boring him out, he had his quiet ways of giving you a shut up call. “Because I knew that it would bite on your skin…” You hadn't realized just how close you had scooted into Bucky and the way you were cradling his vibranium arm and its various crevices while it laid in your lap until his hot breath fanned some of the stray strands away from your face. “S- So…” Your voice wavered from the hyperawareness all of a sudden, eyes flickering down to his lips before you could stop them and your no longer coherent words quivered. “I- I… she… we…” A breathless chuckle escaped him.

“Y/n?”

“Bucky?” You tried to focus and as a result ended up widening your eyes so much that you looked like a fish out of water. What? Straight A bookworms like you didn't enjoy the luxury of knowing their way around the sex of interest.

“Shut up” his words were outwardly blunt but the tone in which he said them, the half smile which made his lips handsomely droop to one side and the manner in which he leaned in soon after stopped you from getting offended just in time. Though you couldn't really visualize yourself getting mad at him anyways.

“Okay, Bucky” was all you were allowed to blurt out before his pleasantly soft lips pressed against yours. You whimpered into his mouth from how tender the kiss was and how delicate he was about it. You had no idea what you were expecting and if you were even expecting something, but something so soft coming from a man with a stature like Bucky's, you were taken by a pleasant surprise. The kiss was warm and meaningful.

… But way too short.

You gasped once you came to your senses and realized the gravity of the situation. You were kissing Bucky fucking Barnes! The kiss had been rather brief– too brief, but it had also felt like an eternity at the same time due to how your brain had declined you of its service.

Bucky was taken aback by your gasp and now a guilty panic began to mar his handsome features. “I… am sorry…” He wasn't as inexperienced as you but there were generations and years of lack of practice between you two and self doubt began to fill him. “I–” you vehemently shook your head when he began to back away.

“N- No! No, no!” You repeated desperately. “No, Bucky!” You finally had him after months of secret wondering and longing and you were not about to let it go. “No!” So you leaned in yourself this time and hurriedly pecked his lips before pulling back a little to look at him to see if he was still comfortable with it. The next kiss you pressed to his lips was admittedly one that caused for guilt to knot up in your chest because his expression had been difficult to read and in case he didn't want to take this any further, you needed to feel him one last time.

Bucky wordlessly kissed you again and you didn't give him a chance to back away this time. And after that it was a passionate tussle of your hands and lips pulling and sucking down at one another until you were both undressed in Bucky's bed, tangled together.

Bucky's vibranium fingers cupped the side of your face as he put his hot tongue into the kiss. You were laying down on your back in the middle of the bed and his huge form was bent over you, one knee pushed between your legs. The man knew how to kiss and he certainly knew how to eat, it was clear from how his tongue pressed against yours before it went to explore the rest of your mouth. The way he swirled it around your own sent heat and shivers down your abdomen and straight to your core that had begun to pulsate when you were still outside.

“Tell me, doll,” his guttural voice made you moan into his mouth when he let his bionic fingers trail down the side of your body before they found a hold in the soft cut between your hip and torso. “Did you fantasize about me touching your pretty body like this when you used to ‘inspect’ the arm, hm?” You blushed severely. Bucky knew a slut when he saw her. Even the shy little inexperienced ones like yourself. He was twice your age and had ten times more experience.

“B- Bucky…” You felt called out as your ticklish palms -courtesy of his stubble- began to moisten up from the shame his words made you feel.

“Are you really gonna deny it?” His voice was low and sexily lewd. That tongue of his did the sexy thing again where he ran it along his flush lower lip and your thighs quivered in response to the visual. “Because I've seen the way you used to look at it… The way you looked at it today…” Images of him flexing his fingers as trial from earlier today appeared before your eyes and you couldn't help but wonder if you would feel them tonight. Or how they'd feel if one was to get lucky with him. The thoughts made you want to tighten your thighs against one another, only his knee hindered your wishes.

“Bucky…” It was a whine this time and he chuckled.

“Aw, what is it, huh baby?” He hungrily kissed your lips again before he pulled back just enough so he could be audible but not so much that the spit string between your mouths would break. “Tell me and I'll give it to you” you surprised yourself by placing your hand over his and eagerly pushing it down towards your aching pussy. Bucky snickered. “Is that what you want, pretty girl? My fingers in between these sexy little legs of yours?” You sheepishly nodded but said nothing, rolling your hips from the surge of lava his deep voice was causing in your loins. “I am sorry, baby. But this won't do” he clicked his tongue as he pretended to pull away.

“W- What?!” Your imploration was unintentionally loud. “Why?!”

The coral of his eyes had become so much darker than when he had first kissed you. “Because you must use your words for me first” his body weight rested on his elbow as he stroked your face with his right hand, speaking in the tone of a man addressing a child. “Tell me what you want” his metal fingers kneaded the tender flesh of your hip as his lips pressed against you in a series of pecks.

You softly pouted. “B- Bucky!” The whine you let out was accusatory in nature. Because he knew exactly what you wanted.

“Aw” he mimicked your pout. This man was so different from the recovering sunshine you had known before this night. The disparity caused for a drop of hot arousal to bubble past your opening. “Would you look at this pouty little thing here?” His thumb traced the shape of your bottom lip before he pressed it down with the tip.

“P- Please…” He was being so mean. It embarrassed you. But it also added to your arousal.

Bucky was making you work for it.

“I know, baby. I know…” He pressed kisses along your jaw in consolation, metal fingers coming up to toy with the swells on your chest. “Pretty things like you aren't used to putting in much work, are they?” Well, no. Simply because this was the most action you had ever gotten. But it made your pussy throb nevertheless. “Well, that's not how things work around here, baby. You gotta tell me how you want me first” you whined past the thick bile in your throat but Bucky did not relent, instead choosing to intently watch you until you caved to him and your need.

He could do that for the rest of eternity anyways.

“F- Fine…” Your voice was a begrudging whisper once you realized there was no way out.

“‘Atta girl, go ahead…” His voice was a much agreeable velvet.

“N- Need you…” You cleared your throat since you were barely audible. “Need you, Bucky” your back arched in shock and a whimper escaped you when you went to place your smaller hand on his bionic one to guide it to your pussy only to him twist your nipple that he had been fingering at the very last moment.

“I am sorry, what was that?” The clamber in his breathing rate signaled that he had heard you loud and clear. But he just wanted to be cruel to your dignity.

You were on the verge of tears. “Need you, Bucky!” Before you forced his hand down your body again. “... D- Down there!” The lower part of your abdomen was thumping like it did when you had first discovered the state of arousal.

“Down where?” You felt like screaming at the tease in his tone.

“Y- You know where!”

“Do I?”

You hissed. “Down there!” You made him cup your pussy. “Here! Right here!” Your breath quivered at the feel of the metal brushing past your sensitive petals. “B- Between… between… Ah!” Your blood curdled at the wanton moan you let out, surprised by your own ability to make such a sound.

“Oh, so you mean this cute little pussy, huh?” His bionic digits finally spread themselves over your needy core and your mind nearly melted out of your ears.

“Y- Yes!” You breathily admitted, flinging your head to the side as you gripped his shoulders from the sensory overload, your hardened nipples grazing against his hairy chest.

Bucky tutted like the teasing asshole he was. “You gotta say it, baby” his fingers squished their way between your pussy lips and the feel of the textured digit running down the stripe between them had you shuddering. “Say it properly. Tell me you need me in this cute little pussy of yours” when you whined in protest, he licked a stripe on the side of your mouth and then sealed it with a hot kiss. “You can do it, pretty girl. You're already doing so well for me” his words had caused you to make a puddle of warm white liquid on his bed. But Bucky didn't seem to mind. “Come on.”

“N- Need you in m- my…” Your throat dried out and your voice remained absent until Bucky hummed in an encouraging manner and dipped his head between your head and shoulder to pepper kisses along your sensitive throat, metal fingers flexing over your pussy in a rapid, circular design. Your smaller body quivered under his, knees buckling up to press into his sides from the sensitivity of it all. “Need you in my c- cute little pussy so bad– oh!” Your back jerked itself straight when Bucky's middle finger found its way into your weeping cunt all of a sudden.

“Sorry, whose cute little pussy?” His friendly smile had any intentions but.

“M- My cute little pussy!” Your toes curled at your own words.

“See, baby?” His teeth that were busy marking you his grazed against the soft skin of your neck. “That wasn't so hard now, was it?”

“Oh, Bucky!” He scooped you up against his chest with his other arm and crawled with you until your head was on his pillow and he was hovering above you. Your lips were parted and your balmy pussy was tight around his finger that fucked in and out of you as a steady pace.

“I think we have ourselves a problem here, doll” Bucky rasped as he tickled your clit with thumb, adding another finger to your opening. You were so wet that despite the tightness of the band, the metal digit slid right in.

You couldn't help but rock your hips against his hand, your own stroking his arm that rested on your torso while he played with your nipples. “W- What problem?” Any volume above what classified as whispering was impossible for you in your lust dumb and still shy state.

“Your pussy is too tiny for me” and that night you lived to learn that he was right.

Minutes– no, hours had gone into Bucky opening you up and preparing you for his girth, shushing and consoling you with kisses and praises before your taking. Though you had been insistent that he not stop what he was doing because of how good it felt, tears and snot had admittedly been spilled.

But the way his thick cock had filled you up to the brim so completely, the manner in which all its crevices had pressed against your tight velvet walls, the fashion in which his tip had created for itself a sensitive spot deep up your cavern, the affectionate and intimate style in how Bucky had snaked his vibranium arm around your form to hold you close against him while his hips had done their eventually brutal work and the length of his cock had rapidly fucked in and out of your stretched out cunt, your fingers tugging at his dark locks whilst his mouth marked you everywhere he desired, the pleasure you felt from the sting his mouth produced, and the bobbing of your knees which lay atop his against his sides… the orgasms had been loud and many.

Though when the two of you exited his cabin the next morning and entered the line of sight of your employer who was both surprised and impatient by your being late to work for the first time ever, the mangled expressions of passion from the night before were present on neither of your faces, content smiles having replaced them.

You had high hope it was going to stay that way.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes blurb #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sergeant james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

Text

And You Were Brighter Than The Light Pt. 1

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Pt. 2

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, fluff, angst, no use of y/n, mental health issues, canon-divergent au

Summary/Warnings: There are a lot of Avenger's at the compound. And you never leave your room. It's a good thing you did, though. Just once. Otherwise you never would've met Bucky

Author's Note: I love sad men more than I love myself. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7.6k

Bucky saw an angel.

He was almost certain he saw a real, moving, glowing angel. Hovering over him as the world shifted and blended around him, and She became sharp and clear and the only thing he’d ever need to see again.

Beautiful. She was beautiful.

He had really missed looking at beautiful things.

And She had to be an angel. There was no other explanation beside Bucky was watching an angel, perfect and ethereal above him, because everything had been a lot of pain and stained red vision, but She’d placed a soft hand on his brow and he’d been so warm. It had been like summer, the world in a full bloom of color and the air in his lungs impossibly clear. As if She’d injected him with a drug, and his heart was no longer lead but gold, and his every organ and muscle were soothed to relaxed.

Only an angel could make him relax. Go all loose and floppy like a damn rag doll, wipe his every instinct of fight and scrape like an animal when he knew he was vulnerable.

Bucky was vulnerable here. On his back, with the angel over him and his whole body exposed to the world. But there was no fight in him. No urge to flee or guard anything, though there had been no order to be at ease, no paralytic injected into his blood stream.

The angel started to hum, and his body relaxed even further. He was sleepy. Not tired or exhausted, with itching eyes and the world blurred in odd shapes as he fought his brain to stay awake, but sleepy.

Like he was safe.

And everything would be okay, if he just let the darkness wrap over him as the angel continue to hum.

The last thing Bucky saw before he gave in was Her. The angel. Still beautiful in ways he didn’t have words for, still touching him, still watching him like he was being studied. Like there was a test or trial he needed to pass, but She didn’t expect him to fail in the slightest. No fear on Her features, no caution or tension. Only curiosity and care because She was an angel, so She could look right into him and find all She desired without ever needing to ask.

The only thing that reminded him that he hadn’t seen an angel was the fact that if death was coming—it didn’t feel like it was, not as the angel kept Her hand on his skin and sleep closed faster in—Bucky would not be headed to whatever paradise had sent Her to his side.

He’d rot away under the ground, and—as the peaceful, purple and blue and green darkness moved over his vision and the angel faded into only a song—pray that Hell truly was a place of fire, because he’d spent long enough in the cold.

———

Bucky was not dead.

A lot of things hurt, but he wasn’t dead.

It was unfortunate.

Now he’d have to write on of Starks dumb fucking mission reports.

His eyes stayed closed as he grabbed his every, slightly dulled sense and pulled them back into his body, sharpening them by brute force and keeping his breathing steady and measured. Nobody needed to know he was awake yet. And as long as he remained asleep, he’d have an advantage.

There was a steady beep on a machine, and a little clamp latched onto one of his fingers. A human one. The metals ones were relaxed in thin but soft sheets, and the mattress under Bucky’s bed was stiff and filled with odd bumps.

He was in the infirmary. He’d gotten shot with a dart on a mission, and the dart had been filled with a poison strong enough to knock him down, and he was in the infirmary. His heartbeat was normal, the air was about two degrees below the normal temperature, and his IV-

There was no IV. There was an aching pain and a heavy weight over his every nerve, but there was no IV.

They’d need an IV to combat the poison. Bucky wasn’t dead—he didn’t even feel like he was dying—but there was no IV. It didn’t track. There were many, many things about this world he didn’t understand, but medical things were often straight forward and simple. You get shot, you needed stitches. Your arm gets ripped off, you need a new arm. You got brainwashed, you need a psychiatrist.

You get your veins pumped with a white-hot poison that brings you to your knees and makes the world spin, you need an IV.

He kept himself together. He wasn’t dying, so there was no need to burst up and demand answers, but someone had meddled with his body and now he’d need to be careful. He’d been certain Steve had been the one who grabbed him after his knees gave out, but Bucky knew far better than to trust his own memory, so now all he had to do was ensure that he kept the upper hand. He’d figure out what these people—whoever had him, whoever had tried to warp something in him that he still couldn’t identify—had done to him when he got back to the compound, and he’d make sure the world was safe from whatever new weapon he’d become, but he had to keep the upper hand-

“I know you’re awake, Sargent Barnes.”

Bucky heard the skip in his heart through the monitor.

Fuck.

He didn’t move. He didn’t dare. He couldn’t identify that voice—it was a lovely voice, musical and almost heavenly, honey without being too sweet, a little bit of a rasp or drawl or rough edge around the words—so he’d been right. Someone he didn’t know had touched him, and now he had to think fast-

“I know you’re playing dead, as well.” The woman—Bucky was pretty sure it was a woman—said, and she sounded a little bored. Or annoyed. Her tone was really hard to read. “Steve told me he’d be back in a few hours, so you can keep pretending you can’t hear me until then.”

Steve.

He wasn’t in a strange bunker or lab, because Steve wouldn’t have just left him somewhere unsafe—Steve didn’t even like letting Bucky use a damn can opener in case it somehow triggered him—so it was alright.

Bucky opened his eyes slowly, and god, why was is so fucking bright-

“FRIDAY, can you please lower the lights?”

“Of course, doctor.” It wasn’t bright anymore. Bucky’s brain felt a little fuzzy. “I have also alerted Captain Rogers that Sargent Barnes is awake. He is running a little behind from the city, and would like to know if Mr. Wilson would be welcome to observe in his place.”

Bucky’s jaw grit, because he was getting on better with Wilson, but he didn’t need the asshole watching him like he was a dog who would bite someone or piss on the floor if left unattended-

“I think I’ve got it, Friday. Thank you.”

Bucky frowned, glaring at the ceiling as his eyes continued to open at a horribly slow rate. When he managed to find his voice, it was hoarse.

“Are you a mind-reader?”

She gave a soft laugh. “No.

“You my doctor?”

“No.”

“Nurse?” “No.”

Bucky felt his hand twitch slightly. “Guard?”

“No.”

He turned his head, ready to raise his brow and figure out who the hell Steve had left him with, and the world stuttered. Rewound just a pace before rushing forward, as the beeping of the machine sped up, and Bucky gaped at Her.

It was the angel. She was real.

Bucky hadn’t dreamt of or hallucinated Her, she was right here and somehow more beautiful when his mind wasn’t melting into his skull and his blood wasn’t trying to rip out of his body.

He’d seen an angel.

Twice.

“Know any words besides no?” He whispered—god, he sounded weird, and weak, and a little pathetic—and She smiled at him.

It was the prettiest smile he’s ever. He’d start wars for that smile. He’d end wars for it. He’d reverse the orbit of the earth and rewrite everything that was determined, just to see that fucking smile on the face of a woman he didn’t even know.

“You know,” She tilted Her head slightly, and Bucky felt himself mimic the movement. Like already, he was bending for whatever will She had. “I think I might.”

———

Stark’s compound was too big. There were too many rooms, and things, and people. So many damn people, that Bucky had somehow been living in the same house as this woman for almost a year and he’d never even seen Her.

She’d told him that She was—technically—an Avenger, but She didn’t like to fight or participate in things, so she spent most of her time in her private lab, and kept good company outside of the other Avengers. She said they were better than the people, softer too, and Bucky didn’t know what the hell that meant but he liked how She’d said it, so he’d nodded and asked Her name.

It was a perfect name. Bucky hadn’t known there could be perfect names, but this was one of them. He’d repeated it to memorize it—it felt impossibly critical that Bucky memorize Her name—and it had tasted good on his tongue, and felt right to pass through his lips. A little like oxygen.

She’d explained her powers as well, but with very big words Bucky didn’t think were real. He’d said at much, and She’d simplified with a bright look in Her eyes that reminded Bucky of the moon. Shining and soft and easy to look at and wonder if he could touch it, if he just reached out to try.

He’d had to ask Steve, very casually a few days later so as not to be suspicious, what Biology manipulation could do.

The casual approach had not worked.

“Oh, right.” Steve had said Her name with raised brows. “You finally met her. Not getting her powers?”

“Guess not,” Bucky had muttered “You going to explain them?“

Steve had just shrugged. “Wish I could. Only ones who seem to really understand them are her, Stark, and Vision. Even Banner gets confused. Far as I’ve got, she’s got some sort of harmony with things. I mostly see her when we get a really bad injury on a mission, there’s not enough time for the usual fixes, and she works a miracle.”

Bucky had frowned. “Like the poison.”

Steve had nodded, and Bucky hadn’t pushed further. He didn’t need to give away how he hadn’t stopped thinking about Her—Her smile or voice or face or how She’d sat with Her legs had been crossed like some sort of princess, but She’d looked like far more than just royalty under the harsh fluorescent lights—and he spent a lot of time wondering how he’d somehow missed her, when they’d been under the same roof for months.

She’d told him She was never out much. But this didn’t seem to be true, because suddenly Bucky was seeing Her everywhere.

First it was in the kitchen. Sitting across the counter in the morning, giving Bucky a small, world-ending smiles over breakfast. She never bothered with small talk, only giving him a soft Hi and wave when she walked into the room, and a nod and bye when she walked away. Her presence was always more than enough, though, because suddenly eating didn’t feel like a chore he allegedly had to complete to keep living.

It was period of time he got to see Her. See how She moved through the world, see how She’d take her eggs and what drink she’d have and which mug was Her’s, because then he’d place his right next to it like a fucking creep.

But he liked it. He liked how their handles would bump against each other, and how when Bucky would leave his mug in the cabinet first—leaving the kitchen before She did—he’d still find them in their right place.

Besides each other.

He liked how She’d chase the last three soggy cheerios around the milk with an adorable, focused frown. He liked how She’d run her hand through her hair like it soothed her, and it would always make his fingers flex to mimic that movement as well. She seemed to tilt Her head whenever she was thinking, and She sat with her legs crossed, and sometimes—when She’d wear headphones—she’d tap her nails in perfect rhythm with the song.

Bucky really liked how She held her spoon. It was an odd thing to like, but that didn’t stop Bucky from being entranced every time She moved. She’d spin and flip it in Her fingers, and set it down very carefully when she was done.

And Bucky liked it. He liked Her.

He liked Her so much he couldn’t stop looking at Her. She looked like an angel in every light, but the breaking colors of the sunrise made Her look like art. Bucky wished he could paint, or sculpt, or do something besides grip his fork like a weapon—it was—and stare at Her-

“You have hot sauce on your face.”

Bucky blinked at Her. She hadn’t looked up at him. If they weren’t alone, he wouldn’t be sure she was speaking to him.

“Wha-“

“Hot sauce.” She repeated, raising a finger to point at Her cheek. “Here.”

She was right. Bucky mirrored Her movement, and his fingers came away red and sticky.

There was a moment where his heart fractured and stumbled against his will. He knew it wasn’t blood. He knew he hadn’t hurt anyone. But his body was quicker and played dirtier than his mind, and it went into overdrive.

Blood. Horrible and tainted on his hands, and it was choking him but he’s breathing just fine, and his skin is burning and wrong on his body but there’s nowhere else for it to go-

A foot bumped against his under the table, a soft song filled his ears, and the world became light and easy.

Bucky breathed, and Her foot stayed pressed against his.

She’d never once looked up from Her cereal, and when he walked into the kitchen the next day, there were napkins on the counter.

———

After that, She was at the stupid, mandatory team-bonding meetings. Steve and Stark’s well-meaning—at least in Steve’s case—late night movies, games, or required two hours sitting in the common room and not fighting with each other.

He’d never seen Her at one before. They were mandatory, and not in a flexible, do your best to come kind of way. Bucky knew that, because he’d tried to skip them, and Steve had dragged him by almost the nape of his neck.

But She’d missed all of them. And suddenly She was sitting silently in the corner, and Bucky knew it wasn’t just he who noticed. Bruce offered Her a drink with wide eyes, Sam cleared his throat in the middle of a conversation, and nodded to where She was sat with a questioning expression that no one had been able to offer an answer to, and Stark had been staring at Her all night.

But it wasn’t the way Bucky stared—where he was trapped staring at all the stars condensed before him, and he never wanted to look away—but like a bomb, set to go off any second.

“Dr. Dolittle’s out of her cave,” Stark muttered to Steve at the bar, and Bucky didn’t think he was supposed to be listening, but he didn’t really care. “You call her?”

Steve shook his head. “She told me she’d be here. And it’s not exactly a bad thing, Tony. We’ve been trying to get her to come to one of these for almost two years-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just-“ Tony glanced over to where She was sitting on the floor playing solitaire with a deck of beaten cards, a weary expression on his face. “Heads up would’ve been nice. Good. For all of us, not just me and my paranoia.”

“She’s not going to do anything-“

“But she could.” Stark shrugged, giving Steve a pointed look Bucky didn’t understand. “Half a thought and all of us are dead, Cap.”

Steve sighed, but didn’t push back, and Bucky frowned. She was an angel. She wouldn’t kill anyone. Bucky didn’t really know Her, but Steve said she didn’t like doing missions, and she didn’t really seem like the killing type.

But Tony spoke of Her like she was dangerous. Unpredictable.

It was just another thing to be added to the list of things Bucky didn’t understand.

And She was there the next week. And the next. Over and over until people weren’t acting like She was a shocking presence, but rather a phantom. Visible, but not real. She always played solitaire. She always sat in the same corner, and she never participated in the actual team building.

Bucky realized She only ever really spoke to four people. Steve and Tony when they spoke to Her, Wanda when she’d drop at Her side and they look anywhere but each other as they had a quiet conversation, and Natasha when she brought Her food.

Bucky wanted to talk to Her. More than just quick words exchanged in the kitchen. A real, normal conversation to learn how She said different words, and what She thought of things, and if when She smiled with full light in his direction it would be as powerful as he thought.

“I can play solitaire.”

She looked up at him with a completely neutral expression, and tilted Her head to the side. “Congratulations.”

Bucky stared at Her, and she just stared right back. It was unsettling, and his heart was going to pound of his chest, and it had taken twenty minutes to walk over here but he was ready to damn it and flee like a coward-

“Can you play war?”

“I-“ Bucky swallowed, and he probably looked like an idiot, but She was looking at him so nothing else really mattered. “War?”

She nodded. “The card game.”

He shook his head, and She shrugged.

“You’ll learn.”

He did. It was boring and simple and repetitive, and he liked it, too. He liked that he didn’t have to think, and that he could never be doing anything wrong, and that She was talking to him the whole time. She asked him questions, and he answered, then She’d hum and offer him Her own answer like a reward.

“Do you have a favorite animal?”

He nodded, flipping his top card over and watching Her carefully. There wasn’t a wrong thing to say here, it was a personal preference.

Bucky was almost certain he’d be able to create an incorrect answer, without even trying.

“I like cats.”

She hummed. “Me too. I know a few, if you want to meet them.”

It had been an odd way to phrase that, but She seemed odd. And She kept talking, so Bucky hadn’t pushed it.

“Are you drinking?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t work on me.”

“Super Soldier?”

He nodded, and She hummed.

“I don’t drink unless Natasha makes it.” She told him, folding Her cards back into a neat little stack, shuffling them without ever breaking Her gaze. “All the other ones are dogshit at it.”

Bucky had to swallow his snort. “I’d believe that.”

“Do you watch movies?”

“Not really, no.”

She tilted Her head at him. “Have you tried to?”

Bucky raised his brows. “Tried to watch movies?”

She nodded, and he shrugged.

“They all seem to be the same these days. Not that interested.”

She made a face at that. “They weren’t all that different in the 40s, Bucky. I’d argue they were worse.”

She’d said his name. She’d said Bucky, and he’d never loved his name more than when it was spoken by Her.

And he’d agree to anything She told him, so he nodded.

“You, uh-“ He paused, watching Her carefully. “You got any recommendations?”

She had hundreds. She had more opinions on what Bucky and Steve had missed than Sam did, but She was cute and bright-eyed as She said them, and Sam was just annoying.

Bucky wouldn’t remember everything She told him.

But that gave him an excuse to talk to Her later.

She looked around the common area, scanning over the crowd of slowly dwindling avengers. “Do you guys really do these every week?”

“We’re supposed to.” Bucky shrugged. “If we don’t, Tony revokes our FRIDAY privileges.”

She frowned. “That’s dumb.”

Buck couldn’t stop this snort, and it didn’t hurt when it broke out of his chest. “You’re telling me.” He muttered. “How come you haven’t been dragged into one before?”

He didn’t expect the full answer. He didn’t get the full answer. But She did run a hand through her hair as she flipped another card, and he got an answer, which was more than enough.

“Because I didn’t want to.” She said. “And Tony’s scared of me. Most of them are.”

“They’re scared of me, too. I still end up here.”

She shook Her head. “You’re unstable, but not dangerous. It’s different.”

Bucky stared at Her, unable to hide the expression of pure, numbing and dizzying shock on his face. “I’m unstable, huh?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “But it’s not loud. It’s colorful. And don’t worry. All of you are unstable. Except him.” She pointed to Vision, standing silent behind Wanda with a small smile on his face. “I don’t know about him.”

She was really pretty. And She’d just called him unstable, but She’d also called him colorful, so Bucky wasn’t really all that offended.

And he still liked Her.

He couldn’t find a part of Her he didn’t like. He needed to, but he couldn’t.

There had to be one part. Just one thing about Her that could be a flaw, that Bucky could cling to and force Her to seem more human.

Because from the start, the sight of Her made his heart skip a beat before falling into a strange time, and his brain would feel less like a burden, and his whole body would turn warm. It was strange, and dangerous, and distracting. It grabbed his attention and demanded his devotion without Her ever speaking a word, and since Bucky started talking to Her, he failed to find something to kill that odd reaction. It could prove deadly.

It felt deadly. It felt like a sickness that he didn’t want to be cured of. And every time he’d go to another mandatory meeting She’d be in the same corner, and they’d play war and talk, and Bucky knew so much about Her and he liked all of it.

“What would you add to the compound?” Bucky had started to ask the questions. He still always answered first. “I want a computer.”

She gave him a strange look. “You don’t… Have a computer?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t know where to find one-“

“You buy one.” She said, a small frown on Her face. “Just like a phone.”

“I didn’t buy my phone.” Bucky shrugged. “And I don’t like it. Only use it cause Stark makes me.”

She raised her brows. “So why do you want a computer?”

“I’m trying to catch up with the times.” He drawled. “Sam says everything’s on computers. Answer my question.”

“Your-“

“What would you add to the compound?”

“We need more water.” Her answer was almost immediate, and She was still looking at him. “You know a computer isn’t an addition, right, Bucky? A hedge maze would be an addition.”

Bucky frowned. “Why would we need a hedge maze.”

“We wouldn’t. But don’t waste your wish on something I can bully Tony into buying you-“

“You’d bully Stark for me?” Bucky stared at Her—She might be better than an angel—and She shrugged.

“I’d bully Tony for a pack of stale gum.”

He snorted. “Well then, don’t let me stop you. Bully away, doll.”

The word slipped out, and even in the low light of the common room, Bucky could see Her flush.

It was beautiful. It made Her look more like at least something heavenly, but more tangible as well. Like he could reach out and hold Her cheek, and it could, maybe, be warm.

“I will,” She mumbled, Her fingers stuttering for the first time as she flipped a card, and Bucky liked Her more.

This was cancerous. It only spread, and he lost a little sleep because he couldn’t stop picturing her, and he kept turning around to look for Her in places he knew she wouldn’t be, and all his dreams were plagued by Her smile.

Because She’d smiled. At Bucky.

He’d been training in the compound gym, and She’d been there, and the world had done its little skip as Bucky just watched Her.

She wasn’t alone. She and Natasha had been sparring on a mat—almost dancing around each other with unwavering focus—and She moved with an unsurprising grace that drew Bucky in like a moth to a flame.

He’d heard Sam say Her name from somewhere behind him. “She’s out early.”

“Nat said she asked to move their training,” Steve had said, and when Bucky glanced over his shoulder, Steve had been watching Her and Natasha with a curious expression. “Didn’t mention why.”

Bucky had frowned, and forced his voice to remain casual. “When did she train before?”

“Midnight.” Steve had shrugged, then Sam had said something about not wanting Bucky and Steve to forget he wasn’t a super soldier and could be crushed under weights, and the conversation had moved on.

But She and Natasha had stopped for only a minute. And She looked over from the mat, spotted Bucky, and smiled.

Just for him. Just from the sight of him. Just as blinding and critical as he’d thought it would be.

Then She’d mouthed Hi.

He’d mouthed Hi in return, and She’d smiled again.

Are you training with them? She’d pointed to Sam and Steve, Bucky had nodded, and She’d shaken her head. Don’t. Steve is going to fart soon, and it’s going to smell.

Bucky had blinked at Her. How do you know that?

She’d shrugged, and ignored the question. Can you tell Sam to stop using Redwing around the Compound, please.

Why don’t you tell him. He’d pointed at Her, and She’d given him a flat look.

I don’t want to. And you’re friends with him.

I am not.

You are.

Bucky rolled his eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips. He’s not supposed to be using it at all, doll. Tony yelled at him already. Are you sure?

She’d nodded, and Bucky could’ve sworn She was flushing. Positive.

He raised his brows. How?

The birds told me.

Natasha had said Her name, their silent conversation of gestures and exaggerated movements ended, and Bucky had been left staring at Her.

She was odd. Incredibly odd, in a way that only seemed to feed into Her beauty. He couldn’t stop staring, and he knew that was a general problem, but it was amplified with Her. Sam had to hit him on the shoulder to get his attention, and would only stop wiggling his brows and making kissing noises when Bucky told him to stop using Redwing around the compound, and he froze.

“How’d you know I’m-“

“A bird told me.” Bucky had repeated Her reason. From Her it had sounded mysterious and elusive and ethereal.

From him it just sounded insane.

But it worked, and Sam called off Redwing with a grumbled threat at Bucky not to snitch to Stark.

Ten minutes later, Steve farted so loud it shook the earth, and they had to clear the training room due to the toxin-like smell.

As they walked out the door, She gave him another smile, and mouthed, told you.

You did. He mouthed back, and prayed no one was looking. He was grinning like an idiot. Are you hungry?

No.

Bucky’s heart shifted back to lead and dropped to his stomach, but there was a shimmer in Her eyes, and she wasn’t done.

But I’ll go with you.

He blinked, but nodded. She would go with him. He’d go with Her. He’d go almost anywhere with Her.

And there wasn’t a single thing about Her Bucky didn’t like.

———

“You don’t have to do this for me,” Bucky said Her name, trying and failing not to stare at where Her hand was wrapped around his wrist. The metal wrist. She was touching the metal wrists and wasn’t recoiling, even though there was no heartbeat to feel under her fingers. “I said I was curious, not about to die if I didn’t see-“

“I’ll die if you don’t see.” She shot him a small, soft smile over Her shoulder again, and there he went.

She’d die. Bucky couldn’t allow that.

He was a goner.

“Alright,” he muttered, although nothing changed. It hadn’t been as if he’d been fighting Her all that hard before. “You gonna tell me what to expect?”

“No. It will ruin the surprise.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but She wasn’t done.

“And I know you hate surprises. You’ll like this one.”

He paused, and nodded. He trusted Her. More than he trusted himself.

“If you’re wrong, we’re skipping the next meeting together and you’re taking the heat for it.”

“Deal.” He could hear the smile in Her voice. He’d taught himself to identify the sound under a million feet of water and over the loudest ringing in his ears. “You know we can do that anyways, right?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m not trying to force you fight with Steve, doll-“

“Why?” She shot him an amused look over his shoulder, and it struck him like lightning. “I’d win.”

She’d fallen back a pace, until Bucky wasn’t being dragged behind Her, and—if he grew a new pair of balls and damned all the possible consequences—he could tug Her to rest under his arm.

“I’m not doubting that.” He said, hoping his voice was a little steadier than his heart. “I’m tryin’ to save my friends’ honor. You’d destroy him, and then you’d need to do the paperwork for it. There’s a lot of paperwork involved in this shit. You’d hate it.”

“I know.” She ran a hand through Her hair, giving him a small smile. “But it would be worth it. If I don’t have to go to all of them, you shouldn’t either.”

Bucky grinned.

He’d been doing that a lot lately.

She stopped outside a large, metal door, and this was it.

This was Her room.

“Are you-“

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure, Bucky.” She gave him another smile, and he folded once more. “I don’t do things I don’t want to.”

He frowned at that—suddenly, many, many doors of what She wanted to do were open, and he both wanted to explore all of them and stay comfortably in the dark where that statement could mean what he wanted it to mean—but She was moving, and he had to follow Her.

He’d asked what was in Her lab. She’d said everything.

He’d shaken his head and said everything couldn’t be in Her lab, because that didn’t make any sense.

She’d said She’d show him and prove it.

And now they were here.

She paused with Her hand over the scanner. “You’re not allergic to anything, right?”

“No-“

“Good.”

She pressed Her hand down, the door opened, and Bucky’s jaw dropped.

It was everything. Open grass and trees and so many animals he was almost certain he had to be seeing things. Maybe he’d hit his head, and this was a dream. Maybe this whole thing had been a dream, and he really had died that first time he saw Her. There was no other explanation for how Her palm was still resting on his chest, or how there were an impossible amount of real animals looking at him with possibly more judgment than people did.

He said Her name as the door closed behind them, unable to look away from where a moose was staring at him. “What the hell is this.”

“My lab.” She said, and when he shot Her a glare, she was smiling.

It melted most of the barbed wire that had formed over his skin. He was still really fucking confused.

“Why is your lab a zoo-“

“It’s not a zoo. And they don’t like that word, don’t use it.” She nodded to the animals, who were all still staring at Bucky. “Tell them who you are.”

He blinked at Her. “Will they, uh, they going to understand me-“

“No. But I’ll translate.” She shrugged. “They’ll trust you more if you do the introduction yourself.”

Bucky nodded slowly, and he wasn’t sure how the hell his life had led him here. Telling a room full of horses and dogs and birds—a lot of things were starting to make sense very quickly—that his name was James Buchanan Barnes, and he was a super solider, and he was Her friend.

She repeated his words in English, and when he frowned at Her, she gave him a small smile.

“They understand when I say it.”

“Oh.” This had to be a dream. “What.”

She tilted Her head at him. “You know how my powers work, right?”

“No-“

“No?” Her eyes widened. “Why don’t you-“

“You never told me, doll.” He gave Her a pointed look, and realized they were walking further into the strange room. The animals weren’t really looking at them anymore. This was still insane. “I had guesses, but none of them were this.”

He gestured to the room, and She sighed.

“That’s… yeah, that fair.” She ran a hand through Her hair, nodding to a bobcat as they passed it. “Do you want to know?”

“I think I need to.”

She smiled again, and nothing could be that bad. Bucky was still making Her smile.

“I’m in perfect harmony with all living things. So I can sense anything within anyone’s body like it’s- kind of like it’s sixth sense? And I can speak to animals, obviously, and I can manipulate bodies to a limited extent-“

Bucky frowned. “Like healing things?”

She nodded. “Yeah, but it takes a lot more focus and energy. And it kind of hurts. I get a tension headache. I usually hum to focus properly, otherwise I get dizzy.”

He felt his jaw tick. She’d healed him. When he’d first met Her, she’d healed him.

He didn’t know how to reckon with that. He’d caused Her pain. Just to save something already damned like Bucky was, She’d hurt herself-

“Was I right?”

He stared at Her. “What?”

“The surprise. Was I right?” She was watching him carefully, something delicate behind Her eyes Bucky might rather die than break. “Did you like it?”

He gave Her a soft grin, and she was already standing taller before he even answered. “Yeah. Fine. You were right.”

She looked back to the path ahead of them—there was a path, a real dirt path, and they were somehow still walking, and science really could do weird fucking things—and hummed. “I know.” He chuckled, falling into perfect pace beside Her, and Her voice was softer when she broke the easy silence.

“They like you.”

“Them.” She said, nodding to a passing fox, and made a loose gesture to the madness around them. “They like you. They don’t like anyone but me.” She paused, tilting Her head the air. “Except the ants. The ants like Scott.”

“Why do you think they like me-“

“Because they told me.” She shrugged. “Do you want to meet the cats?”

All Bucky could do was nod, and follow Her deeper into the lab. She was explaining a lot of things about how Stark had designed the lab specially for Her, and made artificial sunlight for the animals, and they could all come and go as they pleased but most of them—Her included—preferred to stay.

“And you’re a doctor, right?”

She let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. Of Zoology. For obvious reasons. But they do most of the work in here. I just transcribe it.”

“Oh.” Bucky frowned, Stark’s voice tugging at the back of his skull. “Can you kill people?

“Yes.”

She didn’t flinch at the question. Or sound offended. And She was showing him all of this when nobody else had gotten to see it, so Bucky pushed a little further.

“How?”

“Just like I can heal things, I can hurt them.” Her voice was incredibly causal. The fake sunlight made Her hair fill with colors Bucky had never seen before.

He’d never seen Her in full sunlight before.

It made Her skin glow and Her hair look like a halo and Her eyes somehow brighter. It made Her look more like an angel.

He never wanted to leave this place.

“I could stop a heart or shut down a brain, if I wanted.” She was still talking. Her voice was like a hymn. “But I don’t.”

“That’s why Stark is so afraid of you?”

She nodded. “That, and I have an army.”

Bucky raised his brows. “The animals?”

“Yep.” She gave him another smile. “You have them too, now. They really like you.”

He chuckled. “You know, you’ve said that already-“

“I’ll say it again, Buck.” She waved him off. “You need to hear it.”

———

She slept in Her lab. She had a little, undisturbed hut in the back, and it had a kitchen. Bucky tried not to think about that too much. How She’d never need to leave, if she didn’t want to, yet She had.

And She was spending more and more time there again.

But Bucky was too.

He’d never found something not to like about Her. It was a little too late to turn back now. He liked it here, because he liked—more than liked, loved, but that was a terrifying word that felt like too much and not enough all at once—Her. Being near Her. Watching Her be somewhere She liked, where she was comfortable, and where they were both wanted.

She hadn’t lied. The animals did like Bucky. Sometimes they’d greet him, when he was in Her lab. He was friends with all the cats, and a few of the varying canines, and a lot of the birds. After they moved breakfast from the kitchen into Her little sanctuary, he’d started to bring them things from the kitchen, and they liked him all the more. She’d told him She tended to like animals more than people, and he understood that. They seemed nice, and he’d seen them all care for each other and Her—he liked that there were living things that seemed to care for Her as much as Bucky did— and sometimes an animal would walk up, She’d start talking to them, and Bucky would just watch Her until he was invited into the conversation.

“Josie wants to know if you’ve ever had fish.”

Josie was a wolf. The small one, who had a large scar through her ear. Bucky was still trying to learn all their names, but he was getting better at it.

“I have.” He told Josie, looking her right in the eyes. According to Her, it was better if he addressed them directly, even if She still had to translate. “A lot of it.”

She repeated the words, Josie made a noise, and She turned back to Bucky.

“Did you like it?”

He shrugged. “It was fine.”

She smiled at him. “Just fine?”

“I’ve had better.”

“Like what?”

Bucky paused, watching Her carefully. “I like stir fry.”

She nodded, and the conversation moved on.

Three days later, dinner was stir fry.

———

Sometimes, if Bucky was having a shit night, he’d knock on Her door and it would open for him. She’d asked FRIDAY to let him him whenever he asked.

He was almost certain even Stark didn’t have that privilege.

Tonight was worse than normal. Tonight had been suffocating. Not like air was stolen from him, but like there was too much. Like his lungs were being stuffed and he couldn’t find a way to dig the oxygen from his lungs, because he’d demanded more than he deserved, and a bill always came due. The other shoe would always drop. Everything had been good lately—and it was because of Her, but he didn’t know how to say that yet—but that just meant the crash would be worse, and the fall would knock his heart right out of his chest.

It wasn’t really in his chest anymore, though. It was in Her hands, and she didn’t even know.

And when he found Her tonight, something felt different. She didn’t ask questions, when he stopped at the edge of Her bed with hair stuck to his brow, shifting on his feet as he waited for permission.

She just stared at him, and something frightening and hot rushed through Bucky’s body when he realized he’d forgotten a shirt. He’d woken up in a cold sweat with an image of a metal hand around Her throat, imprinted on his vision, and his own screams echoing in his head as his body pressed on no matter how hard he fought to stop, stop hurting Her, Bucky loved Her so why wouldn’t he stop hurting Her-

And he’d rushed to Her room.

And he hadn’t put on a shirt.

She could see all of him. It was too much. All his scars on full display, and She could see where his skin became cold metal, and She loved living things so how could She love him-

But She didn’t ask questions.

She just scooted to the side, gave him an expectant look, and followed his movements with shining eyes as he moved to sit on Her mattress.

When he dropped at Her side, he felt like he should say something. They’d done this before, but there had never been this easy, warm hum in the air, and he’d always had a shirt on.

Then She twisted in the sheets to cross Her legs under her body, and started to scan over him. Over his skin and metal and scars and hunched position on Her bed, Her expression unreadable in the artificial moonlight.

Bucky had been judged before, in a court, where they decided if he was worth anything more than a cell deep underground or adrift on the ocean.

This felt more important.

“Can I touch you?” Her voice was soft, and suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen.

He nodded, and She reached out with careful fingers, slowing tracing over every scar on his chest with that same unreadable expression. It was an effort not to shiver under Her touch, not to lean forward and try to take more when he was owed nothing.

But there was something strangely calming about it. There was nothing hateful in Her eyes, and she wasn’t recoiling, and everything felt blurred and soft around the edges, and his head was lighter on his head than it had been in eighty years, and She was humming-

Bucky grabbed Her hand, narrowing his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that.” He muttered, squeezing Her hand in his. “I’m not worth hurting yourself-“

“Don’t be an idiot.” She tilted Her head at him, slowly prying Her hand from his grip. “Of course you are.”

Bucky stared at Her, She started to hum again, and this time he didn’t try to fight it.

He’d been sure She looked most like an angel in the sunlight.

He’d been wrong.

In the moonlight She looked like heaven. Every shadow seemed to be designed to cast over Her features just right, and the glow on Her skin was softer, but seemed to be coming from inside of Her, and Her hair was floating slightly around Her head as an artificial summer breeze picked up.

But nothing about Her was artificial. She was the realest thing Bucky had ever known.

And he was almost certain he loved Her. Really, fully loved Her, the way they wrote songs and stories and waged wars for. That he’d loved Her all along, and he just didn’t know how to be positive of it. Maybe he just liked Her, and She was so beautiful he was confusing it for love.

But he was certain he wanted to be real with Her.

That he wanted to be half as beautiful as She was, to see if he could learn how to find a proper name for the sickness She’d planted in him, and how he gladly rot away from it if it meant She’d be at his side.

“Could you,” he cleared his throat, waiting for Her to look back to him before he continued. “You’d be able to heal them?”

He didn’t have to elaborate on what he was referring to. And Her gaze darted back to his chest for only a second, Her fingers resuming their path—like She was trying to map him, memorize him the same way he’d memorized Her—as She looked back to Bucky.

“I could.” Her voice was soft, and Her smile was softer. “But I won’t.”

He swallowed, his voice almost a croak. “Why?”

“Because I like them.”

Bucky felt real. She was still touching him, and She looked like an angel but She was watching him like he was holy, so he felt human.

And, for once in his life, he was sure.

End Note: Have any of you seen the Avenger's episode of Phineas and Ferb?? That's what we're channeling with Her lab.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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harshadgroupsblog · 1 year ago

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lunarrues · 1 year ago

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greek mythology legacy challenge

UPDATED AND HEAVILY EDITED!!!

hi loves. i’ve spent so much time trying to find a legacy challenge that interests me, and i stumbled upon this one on the forums. however, i decided to put my own spin on this theme, and create my own goals and rules. use the hashtag #greek mythology legacy so i can see your gameplays!!

also, feel free to bend the rules to your liking. if you don’t have a pack i mention, you can bend that rule, or you do have a pack that i don’t have that you think would fit, you can add that in however you’d like.

note!!!!!: i am still testing this challenge, so edits will probably be made :)

overall rules:

- you may only use free real estate cheats when you first start

- you can only move onto the next generation when you’ve completed all of the goals

- i recommend setting your life span to normal or long

- you can use any gender for any generation!

- you don’t have to actually name them the god’s name if you don’t want to. be creative!

- try to use their assigned colors in some way (clothes, hair, skin, house, etc!)

GENERATION ONE: ZEUS ⚡

god of the sky, king of the gods - white

Born under the shadow of an abusive father, your mother fled with you to Mt. Komorebi where she raised you in seclusion. But now, you crave power—over your destiny and over others. You rise as a political force, charming the world while hiding your growing hunger for control. Though your mother warned you against becoming like your father, your path is already paved in betrayal and charisma.

You begin your life in a secluded snowy town, your mother's protectiveness bordering on paranoia. She feared the return of the man she fled—and so, she built you into a person who would never be powerless again. You’re magnetic, ambitious, and dangerously persuasive. You build alliances, tear them down, and seduce enemies into submission. You crave a legacy so large the gods themselves would envy it. But even in power, you cannot stop looking over your shoulder… because you know the sky holds thunder—and not just your own.

traits: non-committal, ambitious, charismatic

aspiration: successful lineage

career: politician (politician branch)

goals:

Live in Mt. Komorebi throughout your life

Reach level 10 in the Politician career

Acquire and use a weather machine to control the skies

Marry a long-term partner and have two biological children

Have three additional children through affairs with other Sims

Reach level 10 Charisma skill

Gain Notable or Rising Star celebrity status from your influence

Throw at least 3 Gold-level social events

Have a strained relationship with one of your illegitimate children

GENERATION TWO: POSIEDON🌊

god of water, the ocean - blue

The pressure of your father's legacy pushed you to rebel. You flee to Sulani, searching for peace and purpose. The ocean calms your mind, even when your emotions surge like waves. But you're not just here to heal—you're here to restore, to protect, and to reclaim the wild power of the sea.

You’ve always felt a calling deeper than the politics and affairs of your father’s world. The sea has spoken to you in dreams, pulled at your bones when you lived inland. You knew you had to return to it. The chaos of your childhood—your father’s betrayals, your mother's quiet resentment—left you seeking something bigger, older, more sacred. In Sulani, you find a new rhythm. You shed the tight suits and sharp words for bare feet and salt air. But peace doesn’t come easily to you. You’re passionate, impulsive, sometimes destructive. The waves may carry you, but you are a storm in human form.

traits: child of the ocean, loves outdoors, erratic

aspiration: beach life

career: marine biologist

goals:

Move to Sulani as a Young Adult and live there for the rest of your life

Become a mermaid (or be born as one)

Reach level 10 in the Conservationist (Marine Biologist) career

Max the Fitness and Logic skills

Frequently do beach clean-ups (scuba dive, snorkel, clear trash, etc.)

Discover at least 5 underwater treasures

Marry someone native to Sulani whom you meet after moving

Have 1–2 biological children

GENERATION THREE: HERA

goddess of marriage, women - purple

Raised in a dreamy beach town, you fled to Del Sol Valley to chase the spotlight. Fame tastes sweet, but love is your real obsession. You crave devotion—and if you don’t get it, you spiral. You build a glamorous life with your perfect partner... until jealousy poisons your love and parenting becomes a performance.

From childhood, you watched fairy tales on repeat, dreaming of gowns and red carpets and weddings so extravagant they could stop traffic. Your mother never saw you; your siblings outshone you. So now, the world will. In Del Sol Valley, you become a rising star, radiant and unstoppable. But attention is never enough. You long for deep, perfect love—but perfection is a myth. Your jealousy twists even the truest love into suspicion. And when you become a parent, you repeat the cycle you swore to break: loving one child while another stands in shadow. Your life is a soap opera—and you’re always the star.

traits: ambitious, romantic, jealous

aspiration: world-renowned actor

career: actor

goals:

Move to Del Sol Valley as a Young Adult

Reach 5-Star Celebrity status

Reach level 10 of the Actor career

Marry another celebrity and maintain a gold relationship with them

Become jealous at least 3 times due to romantic insecurities

Have 3+ children, but favor one and clearly neglect the future heir

Max the Charisma and Acting skills

Publicly call out a romantic rival or get into a fight with a fan

GENERATION FOUR: HADES🕳️

god of the underworld - black

Unseen. Undervalued. Unloved. That’s how your mother made you feel. While she preened for paparazzi and doted on your golden siblings, you were a shadow in the halls. Your anger simmered until it turned into ambition—not for attention, but for control. Power in its purest form. You go underground—literally and metaphorically—carving out your empire in the criminal world. But no matter how high you rise, the void never leaves. You love no one, not even your child.

traits: materialistic, macabre, gloomy

aspiration: public enemy

career: grim reaper

goals:

Join the Grim Reaper career and reach the final level

Reach level 10 in Mischief and Logic

Max Medium skill (Paranormal)

Keep urns of at least 5 Sims on your lot

Have one child with whom you maintain a strained or cold relationship

Live in Forgotten Hollow or a haunted lot

Write a Book of the Dead and display it publicly

Fall in love with a ghost

GENERATION FIVE: ARES

god of war - red

Born to a god of the dead and a ghost of a mother’s memory, you arrived in a household where warmth was rare and love was transactional. You were never held gently, only sharpened like a blade. Your father, the keeper of souls, never looked you in the eyes. Your nannies called you “the fury in the nursery” as you grew—a child with a thousand tantrums and fists that curled before words ever did.

At school, you were the one in detention for fighting, always being “too much.” No one taught you how to feel—only how to fight. But the military gave you something your home never did: structure, clarity, rules. You could pour every drop of rage into reps, drills, and battle tactics. You became a soldier not just in career, but in soul.

Still, your battle isn’t just in the field—it’s in your blood. You don’t just fight wars. You fight everyone: your commanding officers, your children, the world. But you also fight for something: legacy, honor, loyalty. Your children may fear you, but they’ll also know strength. You’ll raise them like weapons—but love them like comrades.

traits: athletic, hot-headed, ambitious

aspirations: athlete

career: military (officer branch)

goals:

Join the Military career (Officer branch) and reach level 10

Max the Fitness and Wellness skills

Complete the Bodybuilder aspiration

Win 5+ fights

Train your children in fitness early

Have at least two children, but show clear favoritism to the one who resembles you most

Go on a camping trip with your children (Outdoor Retreat) to train them “in the wild”

Be a strict parent: punish misbehavior, demand respect (Parenthood pack)

GENERATION SIX: ATHENA

the goddess of wisdom - silver

You were born with a mind sharper than any blade. Unlike your war-hardened parent, you craved not conflict but clarity. In the chaos of a militant home, you found solace in structure: books lined your shelves like soldiers, chess pieces whispered strategy, and invention became your sanctuary.

You never knew warmth, but you knew facts. You memorized the stars before you learned to ride a bike. People were puzzles, often frustrating ones, but the cosmos made sense. As a teen, you built your first robot from scavenged trash. As a young adult, you left home with barely any simoleons and even fewer social skills—but you had knowledge. And that would be enough.

You reject love as illogical and instead devote your life to science, research, and unlocking the secrets of the universe. Your house is not a home—it’s a lab. But deep inside, behind the cool logic, you sometimes wonder if there is something to the warmth you denied.

traits: genius, bookworm, perfectionist

aspiration: nerd brain

career: scientist

goals:

Reach level 10 of the Scientist career (or Professor if using University)

Max Logic, Robotics, and Handiness

Complete the Nerd Brain aspiration

Build a fully functional laboratory in your home

Travel to Sixam using the Wormhole Generator

Never marry, but optionally donate to or have a science baby

Earn a Distinguished Physics degree from Britechester

Optional:

Join the Debate Guild and win at least 3 debates

Create and upgrade a Servo

Use Eco Lifestyle to build a clean energy futuristic home

GENERATION SEVEN: APOLLO

the god of sun, light - orange

Raised in a cold laboratory where emotions were studied rather than felt, you rebel in the softest way possible: through music. Your mother saw the world as numbers—you hear it as melody. You were the child humming while assembling rocket parts, the kid who brought a guitar to a robotics competition.

You believe in beauty, in harmony, in people. Your charisma is electric, and people are drawn to you like sunflowers to the sun. You shine on stage, but you don’t perform—you reveal. Music is your truth, your therapy, and your connection. But you also carry a burden: to live as brightly as you feel inside, while honoring the legacy of a family who barely understands you.

You play on the streets, in bars, in bedrooms with broken strings. Eventually, you rise—but you never forget your roots. And when you fall in love, it’s with someone who sees your soul, not just your spotlight.

traits: art lover, outgoing, music lover

aspiration: musical genius

career: entertainer (singer or musician)

goals:

Start playing instruments as a kid

Listen to music often as a toddler

Achieve level 10 in the singing/one instrument, and level 5 in the other instruments

Complete musical genius aspiration

Play on the street or at bars for money

If you have Discover University: get the fine arts degree

marry someone who has the music lover or art lover trait

GENERATION EIGHT APHRODITE

the goddess of beauty, love - pink

Born into a house of artists and dreamers, you always knew love was your power. As a child, you drew hearts on your homework and kissed your teddy bears goodnight. You grew up worshipped, adored—your charm effortless. Your beauty, legendary.

But under the sparkle lies a shattered mirror. You love love, but it never stays. You chase euphoria: parties, hookups, flirtations—but the high never lasts. Still, you reinvent yourself constantly. You’re a model, a stylist, a content creator. Your selfies launch trends. Your heartbreaks inspire poetry. You believe love should be chaotic, beautiful, and wild.

Eventually, you’ll have children. Not from a fairy tale romance, but from midnight confessions and fleeting connections. You’ll raise them with affection—but commitment? That’s for someone else.

traits: romantic, high maintenance, party animal

aspiration: serial romantic

career: fashion influencer (stylist branch) or social media influencer (internet personality)

goals:

Reach level 10 of the Style Influencer or Social Media career

Complete the Serial Romantic aspiration

Max Charisma, Photography, and Acting or Writing (for captions!)

Have 10+ romantic relationships over your life

Woohoo in every possible unique location

Have children through one-night stands or blind dates only

Host or attend parties once a week as a YA

Launch a makeup or fashion brand (Businesses and Hobbies)

Break at least 3 engagements (of yours or others')

GENERATION NINE: HERMES

god of trade, travel - brown

You were born in a luxury tower, but your mother never really noticed. While she was off chasing pleasure, you learned to chase opportunity. You taught yourself to pick locks before you could spell. You flirted with danger—and success followed.

You are the god of loopholes, glitches, and hustle. You can charm anyone, swipe anything, and disappear into the crowd. You love people but never stay long. Every world is a stopover, every connection a transaction. But you’re not heartless—just restless. Always searching for the next thrill, the next scheme.

You’ll fall in love on the road, steal fortunes, and launch empires. But when you finally settle down, it won’t be for comfort—it’ll be for legacy.

traits: active, kleptomaniac, you pick

aspiration: friend of the world

career: astronaut (interstellar smuggler branch)

goals:

Live in at least 5 different worlds

Reach level 10 of Astronaut (Smuggler) or Business (Investor) career

Max Rocket Science, Logic, and Mischief

Swipe something every other day

Befriend at least 15 Sims from different cultures/ages

Marry a coworker or travel partner

Have only one child

GENERATION TEN: ARTEMIS

goddess of hunt - yellow

Your parent was always moving, always chasing something. But you were never interested in speed—you craved stillness. Raised in a van, on beaches, and city rooftops, you finally found peace in the forest. Nature is your sanctuary. Animals are your tribe. And the moon? She’s your only god.

You build your life in the wilderness—not because you reject people, but because you listen better to silence. You adopt strays, nurse birds back to life, and speak fluent dog. Romance never called to you. Children? Maybe. But only your way. Your life is a den, a glade, a warm fire in the woods.

traits: loner, family-oriented, animal enthusiast

aspiration: friend of the animals

career: open a pet daycare, vet clinic, or run a farm

goals:

Own and run a successful vet clinic, farm, or Pet Daycare

Max Pet Training, Vet, and Herbalism (if Outdoor Retreat)

Complete the Friend of the Animals aspiration

Have 3+ pets at all times

As a child, befriend at least 5 animals

Have 3 children child

Never marry

Go Camping once a year (Sims Year)

Have a garden full of medicinal plants and mushrooms

GENERATION 11 - DIONYSUS

god of wine, ecstasy, and rebirth - purple

Born after generations of gods chasing power, fame, and war, you arrive as something entirely different. You are not here to conquer or control—you are here to feel. To heal. To remind others what it means to be alive.

Your upbringing was a swirl of sounds: music from Apollo, chants from the forests of Artemis, wisdom from Athena, and peace from Hestia. You absorbed it all. But while others retreated to their books or battled their demons, you found healing in human connection. You bring people together—in joy, in vulnerability, in chaos, and in stillness. Your parties aren’t about spectacle—they’re sacred. You are a mix of celebration and mourning, ritual and rebellion. You are softness in a world of sharp edges.

You live a life rich in sensuality, creativity, and emotion. You teach others that pleasure is not sin, but salvation. That joy is revolutionary. And when your time comes, you won’t leave behind gold or castles—you’ll leave behind the memory of laughter echoing into eternity.

traits: creative, freegan, you choose.

aspiration: zen guru

career: open a nectar (winery) shop, or a yoga studio

goals:

Reach level 10 in either Wellness Instructor career (if you choose this)

Complete the Zen Guru aspiration

Max Wellness, Charisma, and Nectar skill

Host weekly gatherings with friends or community events

Host a yearly “Ecstasy Festival” with streaking, bonfires, dancing, and storytelling

Use Spa Day to become a certified yoga master

Use Get Together to form a club called “The Vine” focused on art, joy, and wine

Fall in love with someone at this club, or someone you meet at your business

GENERATION 12: HESTIA

goddess of hearth, home, & sanctuary - cream/beige

After generations of gods chasing glory, war, fame, and chaos—you choose quiet. While your ancestors built empires or stole the spotlight, you simply want warmth, comfort, and meaning. You are the flicker of a candle in the dark. The sound of soup boiling. The feeling of a knitted sweater that fits perfectly.

You were never loud, but you were always steady. The peacekeeper. The nurturer. You find your strength in care, routine, and intentional living. You create a haven—whether it’s a tiny cottage, a handmade empire, or a cozy home bakery. You are the soul of your community. While others conquer, you restore.

Romance may or may not come, but love surrounds you—in laughter, in shared meals, in little things.

traits: neat, family oriented, maker (or art lover)

aspiration: super parent

career: stay-at-home wife, open a small arts business

goals:

Complete the Super Parent Aspiration

Max Knitting, Baking, Cooking, and Handiness

Have at least 3 kids

Never move after your Young Adult life begins—make your house a true home

Host weekly family dinners, and a party on every holiday

Craft and gift items to friends and neighbors regularly

Marry someone who also has a Family aspiration

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