#one you click on. which sort of defeated the purpose of trying to make them openable seperately

[ragnars-tooth]

HII HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

As promised, here are seven wips from the last uhh 3 years I've been writing dragons book fanfic on my silly gay computer. They're a mix of unfinished/abandoned/in-progress-but-not-that-important-rn

There are summaries in square brackets between each separate fic with a quick description of what the fuck is going on, when it's going on (e.g. book number, where appropriate) and main players/relationships. (plus a fun little word-count and look at the last time i touched the file… yeah, fun… whoops). These have been bolded to hopefully make them a bit easier to see while scrolling at high velocity.

All under the cut because it's too long for me to do that to your dashboards 🫡

[Lucy & David, chatting about author photos post-book 4. 475 words. (Oct 2022 💀)]

“Hang on…”

David paused, finger still wedging the spine of the book open. He was staring at the flap of the dust cover, frowning slightly to himself.

“Did you use my student ID for my author photo?”

Lucy leant in closer. College David was a little younger than David Rain – same dark blue eyes, but with a rounder face and hair that hadn’t been bleached white by his time elsewhere. The dusty brown still crept in at the ends of his hair, where it was now stuck to the inside of his collar.

Lucy couldn’t remember how many times she had taken down her copy of The Nutbeast and stared at the little card. It was odd to compare the man who’d lived only in her head for so many years to the one sitting on the edge of her bed.

He looked tired now. In-her-head-David had never been tired.

“It was the only one mum had.” She said.

It was the truth; Liz had run through his entire film collection and hadn’t found a single photo of David’s face. He’d been more of a landscape photographer – lots of buses and bridges that hadn’t consoled her as a child. Well, a younger child.

David cocked his head to one side, looking decidedly distraught. “But it’s awful – that’s not an excuse!”

She glanced back down, as though the image might have twisted into something else in the time she’d released her focus from it.

Nope. Still David, if a little pixelly.

“It looks fine.”

His hair was staticky and spidering out in a mess of flyaways, and David had a slight manic glint to his eyes, grinning in an angular, uncomfortable way. There might have been a stain on his shirt – it was hard to tell.

“It does not.”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “And where did you want us to get another? Your return address isn’t even real.”

He flailed the book wildly, “I don’t even have parents! That makes it double your fault for not having a photo of me.” The cover was still propped open an inch or so, the paper caught on his ring. “There has got to be a better one in this house.”

“Can’t fix your face, David. They’re all going to look like that.”

“This is inhumane!” he sputtered.

Despite it all, Lucy found herself smiling.

“We used it at your… not-funeral too.”

“I’m sorry.” David scoffed, eyes very wide. “You used my student identification photo at my funeral?”

“And where were we meant to get another one? You were gone remember? Can’t exactly call ghostbusters and ask them to snap a photo of you.”

David frowned, nose wrinkling at the bridge.

“I don’t think they do that – they bust the ghosts, remember?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You’re a very annoying ghost. Maybe I should give them a ring regardless.”

-----

[Lucy & David, the audacity that some people have to move on and remodel the kitchen while you’re gone, really. 535 words. (March 2023)]

Irrevocably and stupidly, the only words he can get out of his mouth are:

“You moved the fridge.”

It’s not incorrect – it used to push up against the backdoor, and no amount of goodwill could stop you from nearly decapitating Bonny when he pattered through the cat-flap on short notice.

Now, it’s on the opposite wall – plastered in the same old stickers and fridge magnets reminiscent of days gone by. It’s the same fridge where he used to drink straight from the milk carton and look out over the rockery and crooked garden fence, but it doesn’t face the window anymore. David would have to turn fully around, which rather defeats the purpose.

It’s nothing intelligent, nothing profound – so much, so fucking much, has happened in five years and the only thing he can think about is the fridge, Lucy filling her water in the moonlight, barely tall enough to reach the faucet, and the rattling of the entire house in the winter months, post it notes and postcards and crayon drawings of a clan of squirrels.

There are new drawings now – Alexa’s, he thinks vaguely – but it’s not the same. She holds her markers much tighter.

It shouldn’t be a shock. It’s been so, so long since he was last here, but in the same breath it’s as though David had only closed his eyes for a second to rest, and the house has grown and shifted around him.

He knows that this is how things work, he hadn’t expected or wanted them to dig in their heels and sink into the snow with him. It’s a good thing, he tells himself, that things have changed, but he chokes on the inhale anyway.

He’s been left behind.

Lucy leans into the counter, dragging the cuff of her jumper between her thumb and forefinger. She bites the inside of her cheek the same way she did five years ago, but that’s wrong too.

It’s something in her eyes, something heavy and dark that’s never going away – she’s tired, much more tired than a child has any right being, and it seizes something in his chest.

He did this.

She sighs, moving to play with the collar of the jumper instead.

“Bonny likes to be big now and household fridges aren’t really made to withstand the force of a hundred-pound tiger… it got old real quick.”

David wants to say something, to lapse back into the way things used to be, but his mouth betrays him. He nods instead, and Lucy keeps tugging at the green fabric at her neck. It’s his old geography society jumper, he notices absently. It looks older than he feels, silver lettering faded black and brown, eroded away entirely in places. He hadn’t been to many of the meetings, not after truly being inducted into the Pennykettle’s nonsense, but the dusty smell of the common room and their pilfered coffee machine fills his nose.

It makes him want to gag. Where exactly are those members now? The idea of what will become of them if he fails has the prickle of ice rising just under his skin.

How can things be so much the same and so different all at once?

-----

[Henry & David: excerpt from the wider ‘wouldn’t you be mad as hell if you were a normal guy and found out your birth dad is your landlady’s new boyfriend?’ au, post family dinner explosion/revelation. 703 words. (September 2023)]

“Exiled from my own house.” He muttered darkly.

Henry arched a massive eyebrow. “You don’t pay the rent, boy.”

“I do – that is literally the one thing I do.”

“That’s rough, man.” Tam mumbled, hands weighed down by the tall coffee mug he had pilfered. It tipped dangerously as he raised it to his mouth, threatening to douse them all in yet more sludge. Henry frowned and steadied it with one hand. Tam blinked slowly and reset his angle.

“There’re camping beds under the stairs. You can set yourself up in the living room.” Henry narrowed his eyes at the two of them, “You will not be rumpling my upholstery by sleeping on my sofa.”

Tam hummed, setting his mug down owlishly before slogging out of the kitchen. He looked much more jelly than human, and David had half a mind to go and help him before he gave up on assembling the bed and curled up in a heap on the floor. He wasn’t sure if that had been on Henry Bacon’s extensive list of house rules or not.

“Did you know for long?” Henry asked quietly.

The tone took David off guard, breaking him out of his considerations of how comfortable Henry’s plush carpet was and how likely it was Tam was going to get a good night’s sleep in the inevitability that he collapsed from exhaustion.

“Know what?”

“Don’t be stupid boy.” Henry huffed, his eyes softening more than David had ever seen. It was an odd expression for the hard lines of his face. “How long did you know Arthur was your father?”

He laughed.

Turning his wrist to check the face of his watch he answered,

“Oh, about seven hours.”

“Mm, so ruining dinner was a crime of passion then.”

“Or you could say Arthur ruined dinner twenty-three years ago. Ultra-pre-meditated.”

Henry sighed.

“Don’t start writing crime novels, boy. You’re dreadful.” “It must have been a shock to the system then, you’re not one to get angry.”

David shrugged. It sounded almost like a compliment. Two years ago he would have told you with full certainty that dragons were a fantasy. Now they warmed his tea in the mornings. A lot of things had changed in his life since then.

He shifted his mug between his hands and took another sip. The dregs were starting to cool.

“It would have been better if it had been literally anyone else. Arthur’s been so… kind to me since we met and all this… it’s just-” his nose scrunched, “highly contradictory to everything I thought I knew.”

David’s family had come up in conversation before – once Henry Bacon had hold of a thread he yanked and yanked until it came loose, no matter how many loose teeth he took with it. Perhaps that was why he and Tam got along so well.

It was no secret how David felt about the concept of his father. Henry Bacon had shared enough choice words about the man himself that David had to wonder what calculations were running in the back of his mind. Was he unravelling all of his interactions with Arthur, sliding the threads under a microscope? Was he a good man? Honourable?

David didn’t have the answers to that himself.

He shook his head to clear it.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s barely a father – he wasn’t there to raise me and he certainly wasn’t there when I needed him.” He rolled his mug around to observe the escaped leaves. “I think you did a better job at that.” 

“Arthur’s… a complicated man. I’m sure you two will be able to have a civil conversation once this is all said and done.”

When exactly does this get to be done? He wasn’t sure anyone could tell him that. Not for all Arthur’s understanding of the universe and all its components therein was there an equation he could use to fix this. Replace x and y and find how he had missed this. To be so impossibly close and so far away at the same time. No doubt, he would have invented time travel before he would have noticed what sat right in front of him.   

David hummed into his empty mug.

“Sure.”

-----

[Tam/David, General Pennykettle Clan. David is weird after being resurrected, and everyone has questions about Co:pern:ica. There is another family dinner because those are all I write apparently. Tam and David go for a smoke break. 3067 words. (November 2022)]

“’Not like it can kill me anyway.” He says. “I didn’t eat for four years, it’s not like a bit of smoke will do me in now.”

The silence is suddenly oppressive, and when David looks up the entire damn table is staring at him, slack-jawed. He has missed something.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Four years?” Liz is still holding the plate of roasters, stuck in the motion of sliding more onto her plate with the flat of her knife. There is something akin to real horror in her eyes. 

“I was dead for one, yes.”

She extends the plate to him jerkily. “Then you’d better make up for it now.”

Ah! Yes, the human concept of starvation, he’d forgotten that one. Generally pretty upsetting to the average person – makes sense.

David pushes the plate back her way, gentle not to disturb the roasters as he laughs. They’re the herb covered kind and it would be a dire shame to spill them all over the floor, no matter if Bonny might thank him.

“No, really. I’m fine. Had other things to worry about – slipped my mind if anything.”

Other things, yes… let’s say that, shall we?

Arthur has inclined his head towards him in the way that means he’s grabbed the string of an intriguing theory and intends to tug it until the entire tapestry unravels. He gets that look about him a lot.

David shivers despite the British cold always being abrasively hot to him these days. What an odd image to set him on edge.

“Would you call that typical for the Fain? Not needing to sustain a physical body?”

He rolls the unlit cigarette around between his fingers.

“No,” David hums, “I don’t think it’s a Fain thing, I think it’s a dead thing.”

“But you’re not dead now, are you?” There’s a tension in Zanna’s words that he wasn’t expecting. If he were sentimental he might have called it concern. But he’s not sentimental, he’s Fain – he doesn’t do that anymore.

David shrugs. “Not entirely sure if I count as alive either.”

“You do.” She’s quick – always has been to cut off the things she doesn’t want to hear. Zanna has made it clear enough that she doesn’t like the thought that David Rain was never real, that he was some construct given life. He can’t blame her.  

“Can we not talk about how you’re dead or not dead.” Lucy snaps, her plate clinking a dangerous tone when she slams down her fork. David flinches at the sound. Tam has his eyes on him again. “You’re finally back and I don’t want to think about -” she glares at the fireplace, “-all that. I just want to have dinner again.”

He feels a twinge of the heaviness and lightness of space winking back at him. The same sensation of holding Bergstrom’s pocket watch in his open hand and staring into its face, and all that that entails.

Good, it seems to say to him, you’re not here to be liked.

“’Course. Sorry, Luce.”

She shakes her head, and seems to think better of whatever was on the tip of her tongue. She picks up her fork again and returns her gaze to the plate,

“Whatever, answer Arthur’s physics questions.”

David slides his Yorkshire pudding onto her plate in some semblance of a peace offering. Lucy douses it in gravy and almost smiles at him.

“It’s probably an… Illumination thing, rather than a Fain thing.” He tucks the cigarette into the pocket of his shirt. With the way Arthur has crossed his hands on the tablecloth there is no way David is going to get a smoke break any time soon. “I was in limbo for a long time, but I remember that my parents used to cook.”

Those eyes are all on him again. Even Bonny has plodded back into the living room to stare at him, though he’s probably waiting for one of their entourage to drop a piece of chicken.

The cat glides under the table, and from the sound of pattering paws David can hear him settle in Arthur’s lap. The professor removes a hand from the table to rest in Bonny’s fur. Then his eyes move from the patch of wall over David’s shoulders to his face.

Right. Being stared at. That’s what’s happening.

“Not my parents,” he corrects. “One of me’s parents.” That’s worse.

“The me that does not have this specific earth body, but existed in Co:pern:ica.” Better? “The me that had parents.” Nope, that’s even worse.

No one looks like they know what to say. He can’t blame them. This whole family thing is a mess.

“We do eat.” He settles on, then shoves a piece of parsnip in his mouth for good measure. He is safe for the next five to twelve seconds, if he really pushes it.

They’re curious, but no one wants to touch that mess, so Arthur breaks the quiet of everyone glancing off awkwardly at various décor, grimacing slightly. “You had mentioned that the Fain don’t do many menial tasks unless they’re unavoidable – if you remember it that way, then you’re likely right.”

“Well, I don’t remember it, but based on Co:pern:ica David, I’d say so.“ Good Godith, what was in that fucking wine? “His parents cooked, so they had to eat. Probably...”

The looks return, so he moves on quickly, waving his hands vaguely.

“Multiple timelines,” he says, “There’s several me’s, doing about the same thing now. Several you’s too. I’m just aware of them because of the d- Illumimation thing.”

Why did you say that?? Now they’re going to want to know-

“There’s multiple of us?” Tam looks at him over the rim of his glasses, half-smirking, “What, am I still a journalist?”

“Uhhh…” Well. “Of a sort. It’s hazy, but I think you worked for the media.”

Don’t say he got arrested, don’t say he got arrested, don’t say he got arrested for treason and left for dead, don’t say he used to look at you with admiration in his eyes, and that stupid overgrown haircut, don’t say you were jealous of the way he looked at Rosa, for God’s sake David you can keep your thoughts to yourself you stupid bastard.

“You guys have a media?”

Oh great, you’ve just made him more interested. Good job, jackass!

David tries to make a non-comital sound in the back of his throat. It comes out strangled. Zanna frowns at him as she sips her wine.

“Very… State-operated, if you get my drift.”

Tam, ever the journalist, has just opened his mouth to probe for more answers when Liz cuts him off. She has piled up the empty plates in her quadrant of the table. David hopes it isn’t obvious that he’s floundering, but from the fact that she’s diffusing the situation he has to accept that it probably is.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging – who were the rest of us,” she laughs, “who was I?”

You used to read me to sleep. You painted the walls of my bedroom green when I said the grey made me sad. You were the only person we knew who made things with her hands instead of Imagineering them. You went to the Dead Lands and made life. You were my –

 “You were a potter.”

Tam rolls his eyes,

“God, are we all boring?”

It makes him oddly defensive for some reason.

“Zanna worked at the librarium.”

You know the reason. You knew all of these people in a way they can never know. You’ve loved them every universe you’ve been alive in. You always will. They cannot know that. It would be too hard. It would make you cry, and the Fain don’t cry.

“Librarium?” Arthur asks, Bonny’s round face pouting over the edge of his plate, eyes focused on the sliver of ham across a moat of gravy. It’s safe for now, it’ll take at least another ten minutes for Bonnington to figure out that he can step up onto the table.

“It’s… basically a library, but the books are alive and it’s run by Henry Bacon.”

“Mr Bacon?” Lucy looks frankly appalled at the idea.

“A weird Fain Mr Bacon, yes. I think I – I think the other me was living there.”

“Like when Gwiliana kicked you out.”

David snorts. “Yeah, like the week from hell.”

He shakes his head, re-adjusts course, then looks back to Arthur. “We haven’t had physical books in over a hundred years – the librarium was where they all went, Henry-” he nods to the woman on his right, “-and Zanna kept them in order.”

He sips from his glass.

Probably a bad idea, you’ve been running your mouth all night. Shut up.

“They were bloody tricky bastards.”

Zanna looks at him oddly. Her brows are pinched but she doesn’t seem overtly disgusted with the idea. It’s possibly the first time she has been at least neutral on the discussion of the Fain.

On the discussion of who you are.

“You couldn’t have lived at a library. You would’ve made a pig’s ear of it.” Her voice is not cold – it’s a joke, probably. She thinks it’s funny.

“Oh, I did.” He pauses, tries to recall the details. The librarium is hazy for some reason.

He recalls Rosa and her kicker boots, lying in the grass by the well, firebirds overhead. He remembers being eleven, reading about pianists… then being… twenty? He decides not to poke around too hard in that gap, though its vastness is mildly concerning.

He worries that there is something there that is worse than not knowing.

You felt that way before. When you were first living at the Crescent. You had huge gaps in your childhood. Scattered dates and one or two fixed points. You don’t even know if that was real. You don’t know if you want it to be.

David swallows thickly, “I don’t… actually remember what happened while I was there – while he was there. But he must have been there about ten years – that’s what the memories tell me anyway.”

You wanted me to leave the librarium so I would stop distracting you. You made me daisy chain bracelets and we used to curl up in the hammocks together to read. There wasn’t enough room but I would race you to see who could finish their volume faster. You almost always won, but I paid more attention to the details. I never did understand what was meant to be more or less important – it was in the book, so it had to be relevant, right? Mr Henry said we complimented each other nicely.

David is vaguely aware that he has slipped into a long silence. He watches Tam glance across the table at Zanna. His fingers itch for that cigarette.

“There are two of us left wise guy.” Lucy says, finally pushing her plate away. She hasn’t touched the sprouts. She never does. “What did Arthur and I get up to?”

He pretends to think for a moment, leaning back in his seat. His plate still has a mound of mash and peas. It’ll get cold and start going soggy soon. He hasn’t felt hungry since he died. He’ll still eat it.

David rolls his shoulders.

“Arthur was a physicist – it goes over my head but I think it was something to do with time.” Arthur tips his head not unlike a dog. He would love more details but David isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t get it.

You were my dad. You worked a lot. You did a good enough job when I did see you.

“I think… you had a cool name. It’s on the tip of my tongue”

Lucy snorts. “Boring. Just me left!” She arches a curious eyebrow – the one with the carefully placed slit. “And I better be more interesting.”

This is vague too. She’s young – no, really young – and then she’s… less young? But still a little kid. There’s the same chasm in his memory.

How can I know she’s my sister and have no idea when she was born? How do I have no clue what happened after I left – is it just too close? Do I need to write it down?

At the thought of writing a familiar green snout noses its way into his head. Zookie sits on his desk, looking up at him expectantly. The little dragon taps his pencil on the edge of his pad in a way that betrays some irritation. I can’t believe you’re making me fish through your memories, he’s saying.

Nonetheless, Gadzooks scribbles down his answer, then flips the wire-bound book so David can decipher it.

Angel.

It makes his mouth go dry. What the hell did Lucy have to do with an angel, and why does it make him so uneasy? Zookie shrugs and, as he dissipates like smoke, David takes a long drink.

When he finally has enough sense about him not to melt into the carpet or storm off into the night and never return, he smiles at Lucy.

“You were the most boring child I’d ever met in my life. You liked maths.”

“I still like maths!” Lucy snaps, rolling her eyes. “I’m an engineering student!”

David shrugs, “You literally can’t get more boring, Luce.”

She lobs a pea at him and Liz starts gesturing at the two of them with her ladle. There’s the usual lecture about acting like adults, and how Lucy really should know better by now, but David isn’t listening. His eyes keep drifting to the window, out into the garden. He feels odd, though he can’t place it.

He shakes it off – talking about the Fain, delving into the memories of people who are him but not quite always has him disoriented afterwards – that’s all.

And whatever Gadzooks is on about will either happen or it won’t. He can dwell on it later. For right now, Tam is staring at him over the head of his beer – half empty. That seems a little more pressing than Zookie’s one-word puzzles.

-

“I’m gonna go take that smoke.” David says, already out of his seat by the time Zanna can send him a wayward glance. She still seems uneasy – she sees something in his face that she doesn’t like, her brows furrow further and she returns to her wine.

Liz sighs, but makes no move to stop him. “Just don’t throw the butt in the bushes,” she says, “I don’t want you setting all of Scrubbley on fire.”

“Will do.”

He sends her a mock salute, then dips around the door into the hallway.

Tam is three feet behind him when his hand is on the front door. “Figured you might need a lighter.”

David looks back to him before pushing the door open. “You are a shock Mr Farrell! A poet and a smoker – Liz will never approve.”

He gets a wry smile in response. “You started it – you’re the favourite ‘round here anyway. We can call you a bad influence on me.” He pats his jacket pocket – it’s the one with the tartan print lining that comes through at the hood and the cuffs. “Do you need that light or not?”

David pushes the door the rest of the way open, then stops it open with his weight.

“I think between us we should be able to manage.”

They sit on the brick wall that lines the entire front side of the Crescent. It’s perhaps a little too low even for David, but it beats standing around in the cold air, shifting your weight from foot to foot until the cigarette is biting your fingers.

Tam extracts a beaten-up silver lighter from his pocket, then fiddles with the latch for a moment. The cigarette resting on his lip wobbles as he swears, failing the ignition several times.

“No juice?”

He sighs.

“Not even a spark.”

David shrugs, “’s alright, I do have a back-up for when handsome journalists don’t have a lighter.”

He leans closer into Tam’s space, cupping his hands in a small bowl.

He had done this before – maybe not in this life, but the echoes of the action were strong enough that he could feel the order of operations like a phantom pain.

He felt vaguely that he was cupping his hands more to protect it from the wind than as a necessary motion. It would appear when he closed his eyes and thought it – dreamt it.

He conjured up the image of a small candle flame, the orange hue and white core, flickering slightly but solid enough in shape and colour.

Someone was talking over his shoulder – several someones, whispery and faint on the wind. The main voice was familiar enough – Liz, but not quite. He chooses to ignore the difference.

He feels the bright heat and the wobbling shape, forces it to become real, then David Rain opens his eyes.

It isn’t that impressive for a little light that has completely shattered several laws of physics. It looks more like David is hiding a birthday candle in his palms. A very small, very shit birthday candle. Been there, he thinks.

Tam, however, had clearly not been there. His eyes have gone wide, and the cigarette looks in serious danger of tumbling straight out of his mouth.

“Fuck me.” He mumbles.

“Not right now.” David says, raising his hands to his mouth.

The flame is real enough to catch, and David is soon offering his palms to Tam. He bends his head to accommodate the spark.  

Once the second cigarette is lit, David pulls his hands away from one another, extinguishing the light. Tam takes a drag, still staring wide-eyed over the rims of his glasses.

“Jesus fuck. Have you always been able to do that?”

David laughs. Have I, indeed.

“First time.”

“Christ.”

He takes a drag of the cigarette. Two men puffing smoke on the front door-step of the dragon-potter’s house – it was no wonder that rumours of real, scaly dragons have popped up in the neighbourhood. David imagines there might be more rumours of that calibre soon, but pushes it to the back of his mind.

“You had something to ask me.”

He considers denying it for a moment, then lets it go.

“I did.” Tam says, chewing over the next syllables in his head before he finally lets them loose, “Are you alright?”

-----

[David/Zanna. I hit early series David with the transgenderism beam. Zanna does David’s makeup, she has feelings about it. 1038 words. (31 December 2022… omg happy birthday ‘transes ur gender.docx’)]

It’s a joke.

It’s a joke.

Zanna has joked approximately a thousand times that he has the right face for makeup. That David has nice lashes and deep eyes and a just slightly soft jaw. He is indulging in the joke.

It means absolutely nothing, other than that he has a sense of humour.

In fact, it’s so funny that David is sat stock-still. Committing to the bit and allowing his partner to work her magic is going to make the outcome objectively so much funnier.

It’s a little bit secondary school sleepover – not the type that he’d ever been to, of course, there were a few more dicks and a bit less lip-gloss at those, but the thought remains – David perched on the edge of the bed, Zanna leaning tantalisingly into his space, a look of wicked concentration on her face.

He continues to avoid Zanna’s eyes. If he catches them then he’ll just start laughing, and then Zanna will start laughing, and then they’ll be a mess and the joke won’t get finished. Given the time she’s spent on his eye-shadow, it would be a shame at this point.

Lucy had never really been into makeup, or at least none of the fancy stuff. But she had found the idea of doing him up absolutely hysterical. She’d offered a hundred times but the thought had always struck something deep inside him – annoyance, was it? That she felt like he was a doll to practice on, maybe?

That she would absolutely fuck it up on purpose?

And considering the whole joke is that Zanna’s going to make him look like a girl, what would’ve been the point in fucking it up? They’ve already established that being overly serious is hilarious.

That looking convincingly like a girl when he’s not one is the peak of comedy. 

On the desk over Zanna’s shoulder, Zookie huffs. He twiddles the pencil between his paws, scaley eyebrows drawn together.

He flips the page and looks up at David. Whatever he was hoping to see, he does not, and the dragon shakes his head, tapping the book with some impatience.

Hmph, David thinks, if only you had some way to tell me things that we’ve used a dozen times. Or a language we both speak. What a crying shame.

“Alright?”

“Fine.” His voice is a little rough from disuse and nothing else. They have been sat in silence for quite some time.

“Sure?” a brush flicks around the corners of his eyes, “It’s not getting in your eyes, is it?”

“No.”

She snorts to herself, dropping the brush back into a basket of the bastards.

“You’re being very talkative, darling.”

“Sorry, I forgot I was meant to.”

“Relaxing when other people do your makeup, isn’t it?”

David hummed.

“Becca always falls asleep when I do hers. Nightmare when you’re meant to be going out somewhere.”

“Becca?” He tried to conjure an image of Zanna’s older sister in his mind. The result was a woman who was very much normal. Or at least, not someone who dresses remotely like her sister. “Isn’t your style a little… much for her?”

“Oi! She’s not boring, you know. And anyway, I can tone it down, and I am right now. I wasn’t aware you wanted me to make you a gothic princess, David.”

Oh, that might have been ni- funny, it would have been very funny.

It would have been nice to see himself in so much makeup because it would have enhanced how funny the entire situation was.

Which it is right now – funny.

When he doesn’t answer, Zanna knocks him gently with her elbow.

“I’m joking, you clod. You’ve got a perfectly normal face going on. The old ladies in Sainsbury’s will live.”

The idea of leaving the house like this – whatever this looks like – sends a jolt of ice down his spine. It’s an electric feeling that he doesn’t know how to place. It sits deep in his chest in a way that almost hurts. Somehow he’s not sure that it’s a bad hurt.

He forces himself to laugh, though it comes out a little mechanical. If Zanna notices, she is too busy trying to drag the eyeliner across his face in a straight line to comment.

“What’s the point then? Go big or go home, eh?”

-

“Et, voila! What d’you think?”

He looks himself in the eyes and a jolt of panic runs the entire way through his body.

Oh God.

It’s a thin pane of glass in the Pennykettle’s bathroom, but David is half convinced that if he reaches out, his hand will pass straight through the frame.

That’s not him. It can’t be.  

He watches himself crumple before he feels it happen, and once he cracks, the entire thing goes.

Zanna’s arm wraps around his middle, and she starts to pull him gently away from the mirror. David’s feet are cemented to the tile, they continue to stare over her shoulder at the reflection. They’re not convinced they could look away if they tried, as if some ancient magic has bound them to the spot, encased them in ice.

Their reflection is crying. Zanna brushes a hand through their hair carefully.  

“Hey.” She says softly. “We can take this off, if you want.”

She’s already leaning for the makeup wipes when David’s head shakes.

“It’s not that…” Their voice catches, much smaller than it ever has been before. “It’s not bad.”

Then what is it?

The eyeliner has tracked all the way down to David’s chin now, and Zanna wipes away the offending drop before it can stain their jumper. Only when she blocks the mirror fully from view does David look back to her.

“No?” she asks. She’s whispering, like this moment is something that could be broken by a raised voice. David’s not so sure that’s wrong. They find themself leaning minutely towards Zanna. “Then what is it?”

“That’s me.”

The waves finally crash to shore.

It washes over Zanna quickly, and David watches as the words hit them both full force. Her eyebrows arch, and the whites of her eyes widen around her dark irises. But just as quickly, any surprise is gone.

“Oh.” She whispers. “Oh, love.”

-----

[Tam vs Lucy. After winning at the battle of Isenfier, everyone bickers. Tam suffers. (yoinked from larger wip about the fallout of Isenfier) 576 words (June 2024)]

Tam blinked to clear his head. Right…

“The… cat.”

Lucy frowned in that vicious way that all teen girls seemed inherently skilled at.

“She’s a girl now: keep up, Tam!”

He raised his hands in mock-defence, “Right, sorry. And this girl is… our problem why, exactly?”

Lucy huffed again, as though she thought Tam was being particularly dense. Perhaps he was, but he rather thought he was owed a little more leniency on account of only recently having been un-buried-alive. God forbid he be a little behind on his dragon apocalypse lore.

“She’s one of us. She stays.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and jutted her chin in Tam’s direction indignantly. “There’s room in the car, anyway.” She added, as though that was that.

Tam chose to ignore that this was his car, and that it was rapidly going to become a tight squeeze if they continued to adopt every miscreant they encountered in the West Country. Surely ‘Bella’ had family, somewhere? She hadn’t always been a cat - right? - and therefore didn’t really have to become their problem. Though, undeniably, it was difficult to argue with the rapidly deflating look on her face; if she started to cry Tam wasn’t sure he’d be able to argue. Perhaps someone could lay in the boot if it got too cramped. Maybe Zanna would do him a favour and knock him out before he had to do the tetris-ing himself.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Tam.” Bella said, as if Tam had anything to do with the offer. Lucy gestured wildly and with finality to indicate that everything had, obviously, been sorted.

Zanna and David were exchanging looks to the side. “We’ll discuss this in the morning,” Zanna eventually settled on, “No one’s going back to Scrubbley tonight anyway.”

Lucy started.

“Why not? We have to tell mum that everything’s okay – she needs to know it worked and that the ix are gone and-”

David clapped her on the shoulder, having to look up a little to counteract Lucy’s lankiness.

“It’s fine, squirrel. We’re all going to have a chill evening to cool down from saving the world, and let Liz know over the phone not to expect us back yet-” He pat his chest, where the inner pocket of his jacket sat, and blanched. “With the phone I don’t have anymore… where the hell has that gone?”

David let go of Lucy’s shoulder and began to check the rest of his numerous pockets. It was a bizarre interpretation of the dance Tam’s father had done every few feet when he walked through an airport. After smacking enough of his clothing and finding them bereft of his beaten up mobile, David eventually gave up, slicking a hand through his hair and sending dust and soil through it in dark streaks.

“Well, that’s somewhere. Never mind, I’ll call her at the lodge.”

Tam patted at his own jeans and was, for a moment, fooled by a particularly hard wad of dirt. He was forced to admit that he too had lost his phone. It was going to be a damn pain to replace.

“There’s not going to be any electricity at the BnB. This entire place is shredded.” Tam said, as he certainly didn’t have a phone of his own to offer.

“I’m sure I can figure something out.” David said.

Zanna rolled her eyes.

“Why do I hate the sound of that?”

-----

[Sophie & Zanna, end/post book 2, reflecting on the whole ‘wait is this cheating??’ situation (no it’s not, it’s Zanna having a big gay crush on Sophie that she will never completely recover from/come to terms with). They should’ve made out 😔. 277 words (November 2024)]

“Sorry, I – I didn’t know. About you and David.” Once she’d said it, Zanna wasn’t strictly sure it was true. She’d known David had a girlfriend; she just hadn’t cared. It didn’t seem that David had either. She felt herself flushing at the thought, well aware that she’d been caught in the act.

“No harm no foul.” Sophie said, an easy smile on her cherry pink lips. Her eyes crinkled at the corners – the irises very blue, like syrup dripped through ice. She didn’t seem to care in the slightest that Zanna had been enabling her boyfriend to cheat on her. “I was on my way to break up with him officially and we were pretty much over in October. You’re not on my territory, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sophie’s territory truly hadn’t concerned her at all – clearly – but Zanna still felt offbeat, an uncomfortable sweat building at her forehead. Sophie was far too calm about the entire affair, her straw blonde hair tied back in a ponytail low at the base of her neck, strands tickling her face. She brushed one away with her knuckles and brought her hand back to rest in her coat pocket. There was a security in the way she stood – relaxed, unbeaten by the breeze.

Zanna tucked a loose braid behind her ear, the beads and charms clinking in uneven tones.

“It wasn’t his idea.” She found herself saying regardless, feeling like a child at confession. “I kissed him first.”

Sophie’s eyebrows quirked curiously. Her smile widened, top lip curling away from her teeth. She inclined her head gently. “I would imagine so. He’s dreadfully slow with anything romantic.”

[jiminrings]

bestie what if jungkook finally finds out that jin’s friends with y/n 😭😭😭 he’d live in embarrassment for like eight business days

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

jungkook wants to crawl in a ditch for bADLY misjudging a situation he should’ve foreseen in the first place

yoongi has never been this dedicated to curing his hangover

well actually, nO ONE was really forcing him to pick you and taehyung up anyway

you didn't even ask!!! you could 10/10 just call for an uber to bring back taehyung to his place

maybe, just maybe, it's your fault that when yoongi asked you where you were when he's just woken up from a long night of partying, you mentioned "i'm with taehyung" and hospital and go home in the same sentence so that's why he went to overdrive

did he process what you said correctly?? probably not <3

that's the whole reason why yoongi had wasted sIX eggs this morning!!

he read somewhere in passing and watched song-hwa from hospital playlist enough to know that drinking eggs apparently helps you with your hangover and some other things

first, he wasted tHREE eggs because apparently, you're not supposed to drink the eggs !!! whisked !!! because it "defeats" the whole purpose

but it's still an egg whether you whisk it and no one's sane enough to drink raw eggs unprovoked

yoongi nailed it on the second try and he might have gagged a few times but the important thing is, his hangover is all-cured from the stress of digesting raw eggs :D so now he can safely drive at a borderline dangerous speed to pick you and tae up

"hey kiddo."

you peer your head up to see yoongi looking down at you, ruffling your hair in greeting

you've been held up here for less than five hours anyway, and it's not that yOU look tired,,, it's just that maybe you could use a little more sleep

lol you got yoongi thinking for a second that you're the injured on

"hey champ," yoongi acknowledges taehyung who's smiling from his bed, getting a forehead flick from his senior to which he rolls his eyes to

taehyung's... dressed up already in his normal clothes?

he already has his shoe on too so yoongi doesn't quite get why the two of you still aren't standing up

"you're lucky you just got a flick," you add helpfully, yawning in remembrance, "he punched my arm when i fell down the stairs at the dorm."

and wHY is this conversation all pointing to him now??

"because the both of you did stupid things that landed you in the ER!"

"i was just trying to see if i can go down the stairs three steps at a time!!"

"i just wanted to embrace y/n!!!"

very stoopid decisions if you ask him

yoongi shifts his weight from one foot to another, still a little lost because he's already here, and the two of you are all-ready to go, and he's not really a fan of the smell of the hospital —

oh wait

"has the bill already been settled?" he asks in curiosity, fishing out his wallet from his pocket

"mhmm. already did," tae answers instantly, nudging yoongi to put his wallet back where it came from

uhm wait maybe it's the eggs that are talking but uh

..... if the bill's already paid-

"then why are we all just sitting here?"

taehyung opens his mouth but he cLOSES it shut the moment it all clicks in his head, belatedly looking at you whose face screams conflict

yoongi's eyes turn to you on instinct, narrowing his eyes because you're choosing not to meet his eyes

"we're uh, we're waiting for jungkook to come back from the restroom."

...

.....

.......

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yoongi's quiet, almost like he's calculating the variables in his mind

his mind's working harder rn that it did on his finals last week

"so jungkook is here?"

he gets war flashbacks every time he hears his name

he just shudders at the thought of him and he doesn't mean it positively lmao

"y-yeah! did i not tell you that at the call? he helped me get taehyung here," you scratch your nape in explanation, not accounting for the fact that yoongi still vERY much loathes jungkook when you called him

tae's not actually sure if he's helping you when he opens his mouth but he's trying his best <3

"yup! his shoulders were my crutch for like, three blocks. he also bought us food from the cafeteria while we were waiting to have my leg cast!!"

he glances at the fancy paper bags from the cafeteria downstairs, even some take-outs in there that makes it look all-stuffed

how in the living hELL is yoongi suppposed to feel about all of this :|

"i'm back! should i call an uber now? sorry, i bought these tiny hand sanitizers because they were having a sale at the pharmacy. y/n what scent do you-..."

jungkook happily chirps as he rummages through the bag he was given, preparing to scoop all the different scents to present them to you when he jUST had to look down at a familiar pair of shoes

as in the same black converse that he had the relief of looking at when someone was particularly asking him if he ever had a knuckle sandwich

"h-hi yoongi."

yoongi narrows his eyes at the kid who just squeaked, mouth puffed-up in disbelief that he looks like he's hiding a hamster in there

"bye jungkook."

yoongi uses tae as an excuse to shoo jungkook off as fast as possible but that kinda bites him in the ass

taehyung's going through a learning curve with his crutches and yoongi's making him wALK faster!!!! he still needs a little-

oh wait a minute :-)

"jungkook! help me walk to yoongi's car."

no

there is nO way that even taehyung's conspiring against him now

first jin and now taehyung????

tae solidifies his point by winking at yoongi, leaving you alone with him as you carry the paper bags of cafeteria take-outs

he's not exactly sure if he's helping you out at this situation, but once again, he's just trying his best and having fun alright!!! he likes to be included in these types of things hee-hee

yoongi has no choice now but to aLSO drive jungkook home, and the thought just makes him grumble from thinking about it

he'll have to disinfect his seats ://

"i haven't fully forgiven him if that's what you're thinking about," you chime in with his thoughts, looping your arm around his to help quell the visible stress in his mind

"it's your life," he puffs out because he doesn't want to meddle with you, consciously trying not to be overbearing when it comes to your choices

"i know. i just want you to know that your closest friend has the pride and the brains to not forgive an asshole, a goddamn junior, who said really mean things to her," you add thoughtfully and transparently, making yoongi break into a smile

ok that's got the heaviness in his chest a little lighter

"we should probably talk to each other one of these days."

you haven't had a heart-to-heart talk with yoongi for quite some time now because there weren't really any pressing issues of the sort to make the two of you talk face-to-face, but now it's probably needed

"we should."

:D

jungkook has never feared for his life in a car ride tHIS much before

and he's even wearing his seatbelt!!!!

you're sitting at the front seat and he's with taehyung at the back, the latter dozing off because yoongi indulged his request for sleep music with soft rain on the background (it doesn't make yoongi sleepy) in an attempt to make him feel better about his leg

the one-hour loop's working wonders because you're passed out on the front seat too

normally, this would also make jungkook sleepy

but how the fuck can he sLEEP when yoongi looks at him through the rear-view mirror like an apex predator??????

kook could take the easier route of pretending to sleep so he could get to avoid yoongi's gaze

but then if he pretends to sleep, yoongi would clearly see how his eyeballs are still very much trembling even when his eyes are shut and he's the furthest thing from being relaxed

don't get him started on stoplights too!!! that was just pure torture because jungkook was conflicted to whether or not he should look at him rIGHT back

taehyung and jungkook live in the same building anyway so that's more convenient because he actually wouldn't know how to act if he had to drop j-name (he honestly can't digest saying his name) separately

now that that's all over, jungkook feels oddly fulfilled in a way...?

fulfilled in a sense that even if partially, he managed to earn your forgiveness

he feels like he could sleep a little more peacefully knowing that he atleast did something right this time!!!

which is for the exact reason, he's gonna gUSH about this to mr. kim from student affairs!!!

it's uh the weekend and he walked to campus because he thinks that admin works even on weekends (mad respect)

it's noticeably a lot more empty compared to weekdays and it's just filled with freshmen with their hectic class schedules and some students who are just fulfilling units to graduate early

jungkook walks straight to student affairs and it instantly looks empty, the only familiar face in there being namjoon

as in mr. kim namjoon who's wearing a windbreaker rn and whose hair is dEFINITELY blonde than the last time (two days ago) that jungkook saw him

he's not here to work isn't he

wait is he here to rob the place ???!?#?!?

"and what are you doing here?"

namjoon is as confused as jungkook, his mouth opening and closing in dumbfoundedness

"o-oh! is mr. kim here? w-wait, you are here. i mean mr. kim seokjin, sorry. did he-"

"nope," namjoon shakes his head, putting his bucket hat back on to leave jungkook all by himself

namjoon from work and namjoon every other time besides work are TWO different entities

"we just came here to collect our paychecks. you missed jin by ten minutes."

oh well

his momentum's not entirely ruined!! jungkook just has to cram thinking of a recipe to put in your lunchbox by tomorrow and jin is his tried and tested saving grace

technically, jungkook already saw you this morning because of the whole taehyung in a cast thing, but he feels as if that the take-outs from the cafeteria aren't gonna cut it

he still needs to step up his game of course :D

so that's why jungkook forcibly enlisted jimin's help to make fish and chips for dinner and put them in two lunchboxes

one for you and one for yoongi!! he didn't skimp on the fish nor the chips and made sure they're still toasty and in peak-flavor when he delivers it to your dorm

is he intruding? is this a bad time? he didn't exactly know how to process when yoongi told him that he wouldn't stop him from making it up to you

he just iSN'T sure if delivering homemade lunchboxes at 7 in the evening to your dorm is optimal

oh good!! the door's opening :D

"good evening!! i uhm-"

... what

.......... WHAT

what the fuck is going on

seokjin is suprised to see that the guy at the door isn't from the delivery place he ordered from two minutes ago

... he may be disappointed

but what he is amused about is the way jungkook looks beyond confused and intimidated

jin's in a sleep shirt and some boxers and jungkook doesn't kNOW what to feel about all the variables present that he's trying to connect

"you look like you're hiding a goldfish in your mouth."

seokjin remarks and yawns when a fraction of a minute passes and jungkook's still frozen in his spot, his eyes darting to what the kid's holding

"oh c'mon! one for y/n and one for yoongi? you trying to make it up to him too? and none for me?" jin jives him further, leaning against the doorframe with a sleepy smirk on his lips, "i practically live here, and i gave you the tonkatsu recipe, and i'm the one who doesn't get a lunchbox?"

he eventually saw this coming lmao

jin knew that someway somehow, jungkook would come to know that hE's your close friend throughout the whole time

that he's been the sort of middleman all this time but nah he's on your team of course <3

that all this whining he's done to him has all been in the name of you and seokjin had to sit through ALLLL of that with his fists clenched underneath the table to calm himself down

"oh my god," jungkook's literally WEAK in the knees as it all connects in his mind, the gravity of this scenario kicking down on him

he really iS such a fucking asshole

how did he not hypothesize this????? how wasn't he able to connect you and yoongi and jin as each other's closest friends???

his legs are literally about to give out so that's why seokjin snatches the lunchboxes from his hands

"i am so, so, so sorry mr. kim. i-i really didn't-..."

jin pays him no mind, opening the lunchboxes slightly as he whistles at the sight of fish and chips

meanwhile jungkook is so sO close to crying both in realization and very very slight relief because he knows atleast one of your friends doesn't hate him that much

the door opens wider, the creaking getting both of his and jin's attention

"what's taking you so long? is the-..."

yoongi switches his gaze between the two lunchboxes on jin's hand and jungkook sitting on the floor looking like he's had the shock of his lifetime

wow this is really amusing

this is in fact so amusing that yoongi can't help but to snap a picture for him and jin to laugh at later

"bye, jeon."

yoongi grabs one of the lunchboxes from jin's hand and goes back into the dorm, leaving jungkook alone with mr. student affairs

seokjin chuckles as he outstretches his hand to make jungkook stand up and shoo him off sooner than later so he wouldn't look like a pebble in front of your dorm

he pats him on the back, only having to pull him slightly to get him closer to his ear

"we're still mad at you kid, don't get it twisted. you're lucky i didn't expel you."

jungkook pales at the realization overall, only weakly nodding his head as he attempts to take in everything while trying to look at the bright side

seokjin cheerily closes the door, waving at him who looks so close to passing out from hock

"bye jungkook!!!"

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Animage Magazine March 2021 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

The Two Beast Kings

At his daughters’ crisis, Sesshōmaru makes his satisfied appearance! It appears he has some kind of connection with Kirinmaru but their intentions are still unclear. In what way will the two beast kings be involved in the fate of the Yashahimes?

While chasing Tōtetsu who is the last of the Four Perils, Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha finally confront Kirinmaru. The three of them are overwhelmed by Kirinmaru’s immense power. Saving the girls from a desperate situation was none other Sesshōmaru. The impact of the clash between the two great demons shook the earth and was put to an end in a moment. While Towa and others are left pondering what the relationship between Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru is, they somehow managed to survive the fierce battle.

The spirit of the Tree of Ages considers Kirinmaru’s existence as one that should be killed. However, looking at his actions, they do not seem to be simply “evil”. Kirinmaru intended to defeat Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha as they were “the half-demons who would take his head”. However, he could’ve buried the three with one strike of his overwhelming strength. It appeared as though he was not taking the battle seriously in episode 18.

On the other end, although Sesshōmaru saved the girls from a crisis, it looked as though he was not truly hostile towards Kirinmaru. The meaning behind Kirinmaru’s words to Sesshōmaru “I will still have you work for me” puts a weight on one’s mind.

The relationship of the two beast kings who bare many mysteries. It might be a little longer before the full picture behind their motives becomes visible.

Character Bios

Sesshōmaru A proud, ruthless greater demon whose father is the Dog General. Towa and Setsuna’s father. (A man of) very few words, he does not show his thoughts for the most part.

Kirinmaru A beast king on par with the Dog General. He was in a long slumber but was awakened by his elder sister, Zero. Apparently, he’s trying to destroy this world to a degenerate state.

Jaken A small demon who serves under Sesshōmaru. Cowardly but helpful, he placed upon himself the role of child rearing and caretaker to Towa and Setsuna who had been taken from their mother not a moment after being born.

Rin Towa and Setsuna’s mother. She accompanied Sesshōmaru for a long time as a child and has faith in him. For some reason, she is currently sleeping within the Tree of Ages.

Higurashi Towa In order to save Setsuna who had her memories and dreams stolen, she searches for the Dream Butterfly. Her explosive power when Setsuna was driven to a corner was enough to leave a scratch on Kirinmaru.

Setsuna Even in the feudal era she sometimes plays the violin she borrowed from Mama Moe. The details on how she came to wield her favorite naginata, Kanemitsu no Tomoe, will become clear?

Moroha Although she is Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, in order to escape Kirinmaru, she was placed in the care of the wolf demon tribe in her early childhood. She carries the sword Kurikaramaru, which she received from her master, Yawaragi.

The Mystery Behind Sesshōmaru’s Actions

14 years ago, Sesshōmaru took a newborn Towa and Setsuna from Rin and sheltered them in the forest of the Tree of Ages in order to keep them away from Zero and Kirinmaru. However, 4 years after that when Zero burned the forest, Sesshōmaru tolerated her actions. The intentions behind what he is thinking is unreadable.

The Dream Butterfly and Rin

The Dream Butterfly steals Setsuna’s dreams and takes them to Rin who is sleeping within the Tree of Ages. It seems Kirinmaru has something to do with the actions of that Dream Butterfly. What is Kirinmaru’s “profound plan” regarding the Dream Butterfly that Konton of the Four Perils spoke of? And what is the reason behind Rin’s slumber?

Moroha’s Master

Yawaragi, the wolf demon who trained Moroha who was separated from her parents and raised by the wolf demon tribe. The of two them broke their ties 3 year ago but reunited due to Konton’s trap and fight each other as teacher and student. During that battle, Yawaragi explains to Moroha how to fight without becoming Beniyasha. Putting her life on the line, she bestows upon Moroha the grand technique “Crimson Backlash Wave”.

The One Who Will Defeat the Beast King

The prophecy the Shikon Jewel once told Kirinmaru was “(The one who will destroy Kirinmaru) will be one who is neither human nor demon and can impossibly traverse time”. He seems to think it refers to Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha but the difference in strength between the three of them and Kirinmaru is obvious. Presently, it would probably be difficult for the girls to defeat Kirinmaru.

Inheriting the World of “Inuyasha”, Director Satō Teruo

Following the “Inuyasha” Rule for Shot Divisions and Presentation

— Director Satō, please tell us first the details of how you became involved in this current work.

Satō: “Inuyasha” was the first work I took part in as a freelance producer and it also taught me the fundamentals of production. Afterwards, I was the assistant director for “Inuyasha The Final Act” and because of that, they reached out to me this time asking, “We’re going to make a work that inherits the world of “Inuyasha”. Would you be interested?”.

— As a work that inherits the world of “Inuyasha”, what points do you place importance on?

Satō: Among the viewers of this work, there will of course be those who watched “Inuyasha” but reversely, I think there will be those who come to know of “Inuyasha” through “Hanyō no Yashahime”. I intentionally created the work so that when these people reach the point of wondering “What kind of work is “Inuyasha”?”, they’ll get the same taste (as “Hanyō no Yashahime”).

There’s also a task for “Hanyō no Yashahime” to “Inform the generation that doesn’t know “Inuyasha” that there’s a wonderful work by Takahashi Rumiko-sensei called “Inuyasha”.” Just like “Great Detective Conan” that’s also on Yomiuri TV, families can enjoy (the work) together as parents become nostalgic and the children have a fresh feeling. From there, it would be great if the children are told “There’s a work called “Inuyasha”.”

For that reason, I felt that I wanted to depict the characters that were carried over from “Inuyasha” in a way that didn’t feel off as much as possible. The serialization for the original work “Inuyasha” ran for 12 years and the anime continued for 4½ years, so I think everyone has a complete image of each of the characters within themselves. I’m conscious of trying to stick to that set image people have of “This person was this kind of character.” as much as possible.

— Director Satō, you were directly in charge of the storyboard for episodes 1, 2, 4, and 6. What sort of things are you mindful of as you create the images?

Satō: In “Inuyasha”, there was something like an ““Inuyasha” rule” for shot divisions and presentation. I wanted “Hanyō no Yashahime” to inherit those rules. Episode 1 for the most part depicted “Inuyasha” since then so we couldn’t exactly break away from that rule. However, starting from episode 2, if we suddenly used a different shot division method that feels as though it’s from a different work, the viewers probably wouldn’t be able to follow along. Thus, in order to show that rule from the start, I did as much of the storyboard as I could myself.

— What kind of rule is it exactly?

Satō: For example, how Inuyasha releases the “Wind Scar”. Also, I was frequently asked “Tessaiga is always written with dokkun (translator’s note: pulsing sound effect) but what is the “dokkun disposition”?” or “What is “mokomoko”?”. The pulsing Tessaiga does when it transforms is what we call the “dokkun disposition”. The “mokomoko” refers to the fluff that Sesshōmaru trails behind him. There are people who call the fluffy scarf worn during events like the coming-of-age ceremony “Sesshōmaru’s Mokomoko” and we call it “Mokomoko” at the production site too (laughs). Conversely, there are many people who give Setsuna’s mokomoko the same volume as Sesshomaru’s like in the “Inuyasha” era, and I remember at the beginning (animation character designer) Hishinuma Yoshihito-san was always correcting them like, “Please make hers more subdued than her father’s”.

— How do you do the shot divisions?

Satō: We use a sort of old-fashioned method of shot division that’s different from the current trend. Currently, there’s a lot of finely chopped, speedy shot divisions and while cutting battle scenes short is easier, we purposely make it one continuous shot so that the battle is endless. My thought process is that I want there to be traces of “Inuyasha” in that part of the screen.

Even the Effects Have Traces of the Parent Generation

— You spoke of Setsuna’s mokomoko but does she herself know of her father’s mokomoko?

Satō: I don’t think she knows. The clothes were probably given to her by her caretaker, Jaken, like “Let’s have you wear this” (laughs). Towa and Setsuna were named by Rin in episode 15 but they were babies, so they didn’t know. Probably while Jaken was in charge of educating them, he told them “You’re Towa and you’re Setsuna.”

— We heard that Moroha’s clothes is the same as Inuyasha’s “Robe of the Fire Rat”.

Satō: Yes. Just like the “Armor of the Iron Rat” that appeared in episode 16, it is made of fabric from the fire rat. Inuyasha himself is inside the black pearl and Moroha was left in the care of the wolf demon tribe, so Inuyasha couldn’t give the clothes to Moroha. However, I think the wolf demon tribe probably got their hands on something similar somewhere.

— What is the reason for Towa’s clothes being a school uniform?

Satō: It’s probably Towa’s own uniform for living in the feudal era (translators note: basically, it’s her way of dressing for the times). Her reason for dressing as a boy is because “It’s easier to fight in” after all, and it’s something I discussed with Takahashi Rumiko-sensei and (Series Composition) Sumisawa Katsuyuki-san many times. As to why we made her core like that. First, starting from her being a child that avoids the standard femininity, we came up with all sorts of thoughts like “Why not just give her an appearance with a Kyary Pamyu Pamyu like originality”. From within (those ideas), it was Takahashi Rumiko-sensei who came up with “It’s easier to fight in”. She said, “Rather than having a complex reason, wouldn’t a simple reason like this be easier to for the people watching to understand?”. That’s how Towa’s appearance and character were solidified.

— Towa’s weapon is also a little different. What she thought was the national treasure, Kikujyūmonji, was actually a fake, and she creates a blade with her demonic power at the part where it broke.

Satō: That part is probably also Sumisawa-san’s sense. Turning the broken sword into a demon sword. Even though she once obtained the real thing through Riku, the result was that she continued to wield the fake one. I think that part makes things more entertaining.

In a sense, “Inuyasha” was also a story about a sword’s growth. Inuyasha’s Tessaiga absorbs the demonic energy of demons it cuts and turns many techniques into its own. On the other hand, Sesshōmaru created the weapon, Bakusaiga, from within himself. Whether Setsuna inherited that or not is something to look forward to going ahead.

— How did you create the techniques for the three?

Satō: There are various techniques such as Setsuna’s “Scrouge of Swallows” and “Cyclone Burst” and Moroha’s “Crimson Dragon Wave”. The creation was basically Sumisawa-san coming up with the (kanji) characters and us coming up with how to portray them. We had the photographers match the shade and disposition of the effects to the parent generation and lineage. Towa and Setsuna have the same blue and green as Sesshōmaru and Moroha has the same yellow effect as Inuyasha’s “Wind Scar”.

We Want Towa and Everyone to be Happy

— Of the episodes that have aired thus far, which one in particular left an impression on you?

Satō: Episode 15 where Riku talked about the past. It was an episode that was related to the crux of the story and I think it was a crossroad of the past. The fact that it only appears as flashbacks to the three princesses who are the lead characters is characteristic. It was to the point that I was surprised on the day of the recording like “Oh, they’re not here!”. For this episode, we had Yamaguchi Kappei-san, the role of Inuyasha, do the commentary for the PR spotlight and it had an “Inuyasha” feel to it. Rin has grown-up a little bit but for her acting, we ordered that we “Want you to be conscious of childhood Rin” when addressing “Lord Sesshōmaru”.

— Episode 15 was also the episode that revealed Rin was the mother of Towa and Setsuna. What were you conscious of when depicting Sesshōmaru and Rin?

Satō: Regarding that, it was something I wondered about the most as an Inuyasha fan when my work in “Hanyō no Yashahime” was decided. Since Rumiko-sensei did not depict this, there were probably fans that had complicated feelings with how the relationship between the two is presented… In that sense, I’d say it’s best to make it so that the two can properly live together in happiness. How do I put it, it’d be hard to look at if things stay as they are.

— Director Satō, you yourself want everyone to be happy.

Satō: Correct. The moment “Inuyasha The Final Act” ended, I thought everyone would be happy, but it ended up like this… Based on the actions of the other characters, I would like to shape Sesshōmaru and Rin-chan’s afterwards in a way that everyone can agree to. Regarding Moroha, there’s the matter of when she will meet Inuyasha and Kagome. It would make me happy if you could pay attention to that part going forward.

— This month we published an illustration of Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru (P. 42~). Director Satō, do you have any situations you would like to see in future copyright illustrations?

Satō: As a fan, I would like to see the parents and children sitting together. “Inuyasha, Kagome, and Moroha would be there and beside them would be Sesshōmaru, Rin, Towa, and Setsuna” like they had a family gathering at New Years. I think that kind of situation would be fun. However, in actuality I think that might be difficult as the dog brothers don’t get along (laughs).

— In episode 18, Sesshōmaru finally appeared before his daughters and that created major movement in the story. Please tell our excited readers some highlights going forward.

Satō: Episode 19 is a story where the demon slayers play an active, albeit not serious, role. You could say it’s a breather episode and it feels as though the tempo is completely different from episode 18. However, please enjoy it while relaxing (laughs). Following with episode 20, Shiori-san, the half-demon who appeared in “Inuyasha”, will make an appearance. It is an episode where she and Setsuna will interact. Sumisawa-san thought that in order to depict half-demons, this was something that couldn’t be left out and Inuyasha walked down this path as well. Then, the final chapter begins in episode 21. Things will move all at once. Zero, who started appearing in episode 14, will especially be a key person going into the final episode. Please pay attention to her relationship between Kirinmaru and Sesshōmaru.

Having Takechiyo Around Is A Big Help!

“Takechiyo is fun to move. As a therapeutic mascot character, just him being there is a big help and he has room for growth going forward. From the start, Takechiyo was born from “having a character that could be messed with in some way or another like Shippō” but he feels completely different. Also, with Fairouz Ai-san’s tenacious acting, he has grown into a very good character. Apparently, he’s a favorite of Sumisawa-san (laughs).” (Satō)

Sesshomaru’s on A Different Level! The Role of Sesshōmaru, Narita Ken

Episode 18 was his first appearance outside of flashbacks. The impression I got was that it’s as though Sesshōmaru thinks Kirinmaru is “Not an opponent worthy of my time”. That’s why I didn’t even insert a breath and imagined that “he could easily win this” during the scene where they crossed blades. I also checked with sound director Nagura Yasushi-san like “Would you like me to insert a breath?” but he said, “No need”. On the other hand, Kirinmaru was taking breaths so I really think Sesshōmaru is on a different level. Even my impression of Hosoya Yoshimasa-kun was… the level is not the same. Just kidding (laughs). Hosoya is quite adorable so it was fun doing (the scene) with him. What will become of the relationship between Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru is something to look forward to going ahead.

Today’s Diary

This month we visited Sunrise’s studio #1. The selection begins in the conference room lined with plastic models of Sunrise’s works. Hishinuma-san, what do you think seeing all these works we have collected? **

“We created “Hanyō no Yashahime” with the intention of simply gearing it towards the children of today, but there’s a wide age range of contributors. From elementary schoolers to those in their 50s, I can really feel that the work is loved by everyone. It seems there are many people whose deep-rooted support for us stems back to the “Inuyasha” era.”

Which character is the easiest for you to draw?

“The one who’s easy to approach is Moroha. There’s a part of her that resembles her father (Inuyasha) so at first, I was conscious of copying (him). However, over time, I gained the ability to bring out her uniqueness.”

Who is the most popular on-site? (translator’s note: aka the studio)

“I’d have to say there’s a lot of staff who say, “I want to draw Moroha!”. When the plans were stood up, Towa and Setsuna were the two protagonists but Takahashi Rumiko-sensei’s design of Moroha was so appealing that the 3 of them became the main characters you see now. That’s why I want the on-site staff to love on Towa and Setsuna more! Especially for me, I want to continue to sympathize with Towa and watch over her growth with the emotions of a foster parent. Of course, the parent that gave birth to them is Rumiko-sensei.”

The main story is finally approaching its climax. Please show us your enthusiasm.

“My main job right now is designing and copyright illustrations but the staff are working hard towards the climax that will be at the end of March. The story development is going to be hardcore, but I would be really happy if you continued to support us. Look forward to it!”

 ** Back story: This month’s Animage held an art contest for Yashahime with the judge being animation character designer, Hishinuma Yoshihito. Also, this page has a “One point lesson” on how to draw the 3 girls. However, that one is heavily image reliant so I will not be translating it (I do not post scans as much as possible).

[babyybitchhh]

Law x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 6,653

Warnings: sexual roleplay, sex work, excessive/rough breast play, vaginal sex, creampie, set in Wano but honestly I just took advantage of that unknown period when they first arrived, chubby reader

A/N: It's okay, Law doesn't need to use condoms. He's a doctor. : )

♥♥♥♥

“Well, how do I look?”

Head coming up, Law glances over from his spot on the tatami and ire immediately flashes through stormy gray eyes. But you pretend not to notice as you turn in the doorway, letting him see the back of your kimono with its neatly tied bow and the flowing long sleeves that had delighted you when you’d first glimpsed the style of dress in this country.

Truth be told, you were really quite pleased with yourself.

Particularly after Kinemon had assured you it was a lovely choice for the role you were to take in Wano; that of a maid servant working at the finest brothel in the capital where you were sure to overhear plenty of hush hush information the others might not likewise be privy to. The place was frequented by big wig politicians, powerful samurai and members of the ruling Kurozumi faction, according to him, which meant you would be playing an integral part in the plan going forward.

You were glad for it, eager to be of some use in the coming battle to overthrow the shogunate since such an opportunity very rarely presented itself to non combatants like you.

But when you turn back around, beaming expectantly only to find Law glaring across the room, your shoulders quickly droop in defeat. “What? You don’t like it?”

Rather than directly answering the question, he scoffs and looks away. “You’re supposed to be blending in with the people of this country, not standing out like a sore thumb.”

You guffaw, glancing down at yourself. “What do you mean? Everyone’s wearing clothes like this!”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

Try as you might, you just couldn’t figure out what he was finding issue with here. The rich silk print wrapped around your body was understated, not nearly as intricate or attention grabbing as those of the oiran you would soon be waiting on, but that didn’t make it any less elegant. In fact, you’d thought for sure he would like it for just that reason.

The monochrome base with its bursts of color in the form of vibrant, blooming red and pink chrysanthemums had struck you as something he would appreciate for its simple yet undeniable beauty. He’d picked out his own clothes in similar fashion, going with a basic black and white kimono and a relatively plain yet stylish jittoko to wear over top so you weren’t really sure what made your outfit any different.

They were practically one and the same - and you tell him as much when you step across the room, fully prepared to fight him on this.

But as soon as you're close enough, Law reaches out to snag your wrist and he yanks you down on the floor with him. You draw a sharp breath as your knees hit the woven mat, quickly jerking your attention up only to choke on whatever you were going to say when he crowds into your space with that steely eyed frown he was known for.

“W - what?”

“It’s not the same.” He intones, low and unamused. “I’m going to be playing a traveling monk with my face covered. You’ll be working in the red light district. There’s a world of difference here.”

You start to ask him to elaborate, because you just weren’t seeing it, but stop yourself short when the answer abruptly clicks into place.

Oh.

So it was like that.

“Could it be … you’re feeling a little possessive, maybe?”

Law barks out a quick laugh, making your cheeks warm. “And why would that be?”

“I don’t know!” You blurt, embarrassed. “Even if you’re not serious about this - about us, I just thought you might be getting sort of ... jealous, thinking about other men looking at me that way. I guess.”

“You’re not mine to feel possessive about, sweetheart. You know that.”

Too well, in fact; you think as you turn your face away to hide the hurt you were sure he’d find staring back at him.

He's quick to reach out and grab under your chin though, manually turning you back around. “Don’t pout. You volunteered for this job.”

“I just wanted to be useful …”

“You are useful.” He murmurs, the pitch of his voice dropping an octave, intentionally or not, to send static racing down your spine. “Don’t you worry about that. I have a solution that I think will satisfy both of us, though.”

“O - oh?”

Without missing a beat, Law snakes his arm behind him, grabs the tengai sitting at his knee and brings it forward so he can unceremoniously plop it down on top of your head. You squawk, hands flying up to grab the hat which basically amounted to little more than a straw basket and, therefore, should have been easy to remove. But the hand he still had resting on top of the damned thing kept it firmly in place no matter how you pushed at it and you outright seethe when you catch the slightly muffled sound of his smug, snickering laughter.

“Law, you ass! Stop!”

He hadn’t even had the decency to put it on the right way! The slats were facing out at the back of your skull and you couldn’t see anything except warm light bleeding in through the woven textiles.

“But if you wear this,” he tells you in a sobered yet no less amused tone. “I won’t have to worry about horny old perverts looking at you too much.”

“I swear I’m gonna’ - -“ You stammer to a halt, suddenly realizing what he’d said. “So you are jealous that other men might look at me!”

“Mm. Jealous isn’t the word I would use, personally.”

“Oh, then what hell would - -“

You cut yourself off with a flustered gasp when his unoccupied hand abruptly winds around your waist and finds the bow Kinemon had tirelessly struggled to fasten your obi in. He tugs at it, gently at first, and then more forcefully when it doesn’t give. With a click of his tongue, so close to your basketed head that you couldn’t miss it, Law adjusts his grip and feels around for the weak point in the knot. Once located, his long, dexterous fingers make quick work of loosening it with a soft slither of silk that makes you shudder for him and lean into the heat of his body.

The amount of sway he held over you just wasn’t fair.

“Do we really have to do this … with the hat on?”

Obi successfully undone, he starts to unwind it from around your waist one slow loop at a time.

“If I have it my way,” he says quietly. “This is the closest you’ll ever get to having anonymous sex. So the answer is, yes.”

The implication of what he was saying had you running hot, and not just in arousal. “I won’t sleep with any of the men at the brothel, you know.” You tell him tersely.

“I’m sure you won’t, but just in case you ever wonder what it would be like …”

His hand finds your shoulder as soon as the ridiculously long band of fabric is pooled between both of your laps; gentle but commanding in the way he pushes you down to lay out on the floor. You comply, though not without a soft whimper at the uniquely strange pitter patter in your suddenly tight chest.

It’s not that you didn’t understand what he was doing here.

Giving you a taste of what it would be like on the off chance hearing the girlish moans in the next room over ever sparked your interest, so you’d think back on this moment and remember how good he was at fucking you into a blissed out stupor. As if you could ever forget.

But, still, it seemed he wanted you to go into this with that knowledge fresh in your mind. And if it was the thrill of anonymity you wanted, he was clearly happy to oblige in that too. The fact he cared about something so silly, enough to remind you with a hands on demonstration, warmed you from the inside out in a way that little else ever had. He may not have admitted it in quite so many words, but this was possessive behavior if you’d ever seen it.

Admittedly pleased by this turn of events, you lay back with your arms splayed across the tatami mats and feel him move close to hover over you. Bracing a hand on the floor, he begins to carefully part the layers of your kimono with the other, one at a time, while you stare up at the inside of his tengai. You badly wanted to reach up and slip it off your head, or at least spin it around the right way so you could glimpse him through the slats, but you choose to refrain. If not because you were sure he’d just find a way to secure it until he was finished making his point then certainly because you were curious to see how far he would take this.

Law clearly felt something more towards you than just baser lust and general irritation, and that excited you almost as much as his hands on you did.

“To answer your earlier question,” he drawls, gently nudging you back into the here and now. “You look good in these clothes. Almost frustratingly so, actually.”

You gulp down the butterflies dancing in your throat and try your hardest not to smile, even though he couldn’t see it either way. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, silly girl.” His long fingers finally find the nagajuban, the last flimsy barrier separating you from him, and Law noises a brief sound of anticipation as he descends upon it.

A sedate shudder ripples down your spine while he makes casual work of spreading the robe open around you, your nipples immediately puckering when the cool air hits them. It makes you twitch and arch for him, squirming fitfully on your impromptu bed of silk; but he doesn’t stop long enough to pay it any mind and you have to bite back a groan when he somewhat callously palms your breasts with broad hands.

He isn’t as soft with you as he usually is. Not quite so preoccupied with prioritizing your pleasure over his own, and the almost greedy way he kneads at your chest serves its purpose in making you feel like a properly casual encounter. Something to vent his frustrations and nothing more.

You’d like to say it was off putting and that you didn’t like being handled so indifferently, but that would have been a bold faced lie. You were rapidly growing hot under his attention - tipping your head back inside the tengai to mewl out a whine when he bends down and eagerly seals his mouth around one stiff nipple without any of the slow buildup you were accustomed to. You were entirely at his mercy like this, in this particular role, and Law’s affinity for your breasts quickly makes itself known in the form of rough, enthusiastic sucking and nibbling that was perhaps just a little too sharply applied for it to be pleasurable.

But it wasn’t for you that he was doing this, so he takes his time indulgently suckling at the teat in his mouth until you finally whimper and twist underneath him. He comes up at the noise, leaving the tip of your breast feeling sore and unbearably coiled in the scant space that separates the shallow rise and fall of your chest from his. The tight bud gives a muted throb in the aftermath, the ache of it just edging your peripheral, and he chuckles when you squeeze doughy thighs together, rubbing them.

“Oh? You like that, do you?”

You can practically hear the roguish smirk in his tone, and your face goes hot behind the woven barrier. He knew your body well enough to recognize a sound of genuine pleasure from one of tender pain, but you don’t get the chance to correct him before the rough pad of his finger abruptly swipes over the swell of your breast. Sure and steady, it follows the natural curve of it right up to the straining nipple in the center which he delivers a sharp flick to, making you twitch and whine. The heat pooling in your gut seemed to suggest it wasn’t entirely disagreeable but you weren’t used to such indelicate treatment, not from him, and you positively writhe when he palms the weight of it in his hand again.

“My, what a sensitive little minx I’ve invited into my bed. I can already tell you’re going to be worth every penny.”

Understanding immediately dawns and you bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet as he switches his attention to the opposite tit, pinching the meat of it firmly enough to make pliable flesh spill out between his fingers. You shudder at the way he guides the puckered tip to his mouth with a sense of slow, savory anticipation, warm breath wafting against your skin moments before his lips close around it. Issuing a hazy groan, you curl your hands into the fabric laid out underneath you and arch, pushing your chest up to meet him halfway. If it was a sweetly compliant mistress of the night he expected you to play, then that was what you were going to give him.

“Mmm, you’re good at this, mister.” You murmur softly, still embarrassed to be saying it even with your resolve, and he snorts.

“Yeah? Don’t try to flatter me, sweetheart, I’m sure you say that to all the John’s.”

He goes up then and sits back on his knees, both arms stretched out across your body to cup and fondle the weight of your breasts with that same intense focus as before. A puff of air stutters out of you when he slowly drags the blunt of his thumbs over stiff points, making your pussy clench with a sympathetic flutter. Everything felt somehow that much more intense without the use of your sight and it takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to reach up and grab ahold of his bony wrists when he finally pinches one tightly coiled bud between two of his fingers.

“Nggh, w - … wait!” You mewl, your breath coming quicker when even something as simple as that makes your gut twist hard enough to leave you aching for him.

Chidingly tutting at you, Law makes a casual show of teasing your swollen nipple to straining attention while his other hand kneads the opposite breast like a happy feline earnestly fluffing it’s favorite pillow. That is to say, rather aggressively.

“Sorry, but you don’t get to tell a paying customer what to do. That’s part of the deal,” he informs you politely enough, but the reprimand itself as well as the pressure on your tit still makes you wince. “You’re mine for the night, so we’re going to do whatever it is I want. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?”

“... yes.”

“Good girl.” He breathes out, palming both of your tits now to squeeze them. “Stay nice and sweet for me, and I just might leave you a handsome tip when I’m done. How’s that sound, hm?”

You give your head a stilted nod before recalling that he probably couldn’t see it. “I … I’d like that very much, mister.”

“Then you had better make sure you behave yourself. I won’t give you anything extra if I don’t think you deserve it. You need to earn it. Do you understand?”

“Mm, yes … yes, I understand.”

“Good to hear.”

Giving the swell of your tits a bitingly rough pinch, Law slowly drags his palms down so that rough calluses scrape over your sensitized nipples. You can’t quite stop from crying out when the two buds give meaty little jostles in the wake of his hands, so puffy and engorged now that they felt achingly tender to the touch. He seems satisfied by the lack of protest though, and he pauses long enough to give them both another taunting tweak before trailing lower, sharp fingertips dancing across your stomach.

“You have the perfect body for this, you know.” He says, almost casually offhand. “Soft in all the right places and so very inviting. The kind of body anyone could lose themselves in, if given the chance. I’m sure you’re quite popular.”

“Mm’ not …”

Scoffing quietly, he splays his hands wide across your stomach and rubs the soft pudge there before dragging them around to squeeze at plushy lovehandles that seem to mold into his palms. You whimper at the avid attention to your body, even though you really should have been used to it by now, but he doesn’t say anything to scold you for it like some men otherwise might have. Law was more inclined to showing rather than telling, after all, and he responds instead by bringing his hands forward so he can press your thighs open for him to settle between.

“You know I don’t buy that, sweetheart. How could anyone with a working cock pass up the chance to have a pretty little pussy like this all to themselves, huh? You look like you’d just suck me right in.”

His spindly fingers dip into the space between your legs and find plump, velvety lips, slowly pressing in and spreading them apart so he can get a good, long look at you. Choking at the sensation, your thighs tense and flex as if to close him out but you stop yourself from acting on the urge with a tiny, faltering mewl. Your face is on fire behind his hat while you make do with twisting on the floor instead - your hands balling into tight little fists with layers of kimono clenched in them as you try to decide if you should happily offer him your cunt or tell him to stop. It was a surprisingly hard choice to make when he had you so vulnerably exposed like this.

“M - mister … please, you’re embarrassing me!”

“Am I now?” He chuckles faintly, making you flush even hotter. “We’ll just have to fix that then, won’t we?”

Your breath catches in your throat when you feel Law sit back on his haunches again, those long fingers of his still keeping you spread open for him. Trying to brace for what was coming next quickly proves to be an effort in futility when he crowds his other hand in with the first and presses down on your clit with expert precision, rubbing smooth little circles into it. A startled sound of pleasure erupts out of you even as your body goes ramrod stiff, the sensitive nub giving a receptive throb under featherlight pressure which prompts you to angle your hips up in search of more.

He laughs in response to the needy display, unhurriedly adjusting the position of his hand so he can flick at your clit with a slow, steady back and forth of his finger until you finally twitch and writhe, just as he wanted.

“Hmph. Pretty girl. You look good when you squirm for me like that, but I’m sure you’ll look even better when you’re squirming on my cock here in a minute.”

You let out a frazzled, sucker punched sound and twist on the floor, making your heavy tits bounce and jiggle with the jerky motion. “Please … I want it!”

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“N - ngh … I want - want your cock …”

Humming faintly, Law picks up the pace of his finger, battering your clit from both sides, and you almost come up off the floor with a strangled, gasping wheeze. “I didn’t quite catch that, I’m afraid. Would you like to try again?”

“Your cock! I want your cock, La - - haah, m - mister! Please put it in …”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific. Do you want it in your mouth? Or perhaps your ass …”

You shake your head so wildly that the tengai slips up just enough for you to feel a rush of fresh air assaulting the lower half of your face, but you hardly think anything of it in your quickly mounting desperation. You didn’t need to see - you needed to feel him inside you, stretching your guts to capacity.

“No, no please, mister, not there! I want it in my pussy! Please stick it in my pussy and fuck me stupid with your cock! I p - promise I’ll be good!”

At that Law sucks in a sharp, heated breath, letting it back out in a rumbling low groan as his finger drops away from your clit to swipe through the copious slick oozing out of you, testing your wetness.

“Ooh, what a damn good girl you are. You’ll have me coming back for more, if you’re not careful. Would you like that? Do you want to share my bed again?”

“Yuh - yes! I want you to fuck me lots and lots …”

A mildly flustered sigh slips out of him, sending a brief touch of ghostly fingertips across your inflamed skin to make you tremble and shake, still so sensitive even now. “How could I ever say ‘no’ to that, huh? You’ll gladly be the ruin of me at this rate …”

He leans all the way back then, big hands retreating from your body with a deliberate sense of action. You’re left flushed and sprawled out on the floor, dizzily blinking through the needy haze that’s come over your punch drunk mind when you catch the sound of rustling fabric directly in front of you. You think to tip your head down, peering along the length of your nose, and a certain amount of surprise washes over you when you realize you can see something other than just the inside of the basket.

Past the shallow rise and fall of your chest and the soft swell of your stomach, you catch a glimpse of him moving between your bent and splayed legs. He was already naked, his borrowed kimono shrugged off and discarded; sizable cock jutting proudly into the space between you two and leaking a glistening bead of precum. You still couldn’t see Law’s face when the rim of the woven hat was taking up a good majority of your line of sight - just up to about the midway point of his waist - but that only seemed to heighten the feigned sense of anonymity in this situation.

Choking down a much needed gulp of air, you watch as if in a trance while he finishes getting himself situated and reaches out to hook his hands under your knees. Spreading them further apart and then folding them towards your chest allows him to shuffle even closer and settle the fronts of his thighs against your upturned ass, tilting your pelvis up at him in the process. He lets one leg settle beside his narrow hip so he can snake a hand into the now scant space between you two where he gives himself a few savory pumps before guiding the glans to your waiting cunt.

“L - Law!” You gasp, close to delirious at the feverish scene unfolding right in front of you.

“Hmm? Am I not ‘mister’ anymore?” He teases, slowly drawing the head of his cock up and down your slit to coat it in sticky arousal, the soft nudge against your clit on every steady stroke making your hips twitch in anticipation. “I kind of liked the sound of it, to be honest with you. Maybe I should have you call me that more often.”

In a daze, you reach down as if to grab for him but stop yourself short at the last second when you abruptly recall your assigned role here. Fingers twisting in frustration, you ball them up into fists against your lower stomach only to blush red hot at the way he chuckles, faintly laughing at you. You have to fight to keep your eyes open when you want nothing more than to screw them shut, embarrassed, and a quiet whine rises in the back of your throat as you watch Law purposefully guide himself to your entrance. He applies just enough pressure for you to feel the blunt head pressing into you, barely, but not enough to sink in yet, and your toes excitedly curl in the air, eager for the sear of penetration.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He murmurs, drawing your attention away from what’s going on between your legs. “You don’t have to hold back. I doubt you’ll be able to keep it up, anyway.”

You don’t need to be told twice, and you quickly snag your fingers around his wrists as he latches on to your other leg again, digging his fingers into pillowy soft flesh to keep them spread. Noticeably holding the air in his lungs now, Law leans his weight into you and the glans slowly breaches the first ring of muscle with an intoxicatingly delicious rush of friction that has you instantly shaking for him.

He pushes in deeper and deeper, ever so slowly, making sure you feel each individual inch that penetrates you at that tortuously staggered pace. Your eyes start to roll back before he’s even fully seated inside you, and you eventually let out some sort of desperate, wounded animal noise when he finally slides home a small eternity later.

He lets out the breath he’d been holding in a stuttering rush and it seems to rattle through his narrow chest while he takes his time grinding the sharp planes of his pelvis into the plushy give of yours. The coarse but neat thatch of curls at the base of him scratches and tickles, leaving a burning trail in their wake as you gratefully jut your cunt up into the pressure, plaintively asking for more. He felt so good inside you. He always felt so good.

“Nngh … please, Law! Please make me cum on - on your cock, please … I’ve been good …”

“You have.” He agrees, at last angling his hips back until you fear he would slip right out only to push inside again at that same frustratingly slow pace. “You’re a good girl, when you want to be. You know I’ll always reward you for a job well done, don’t you?”

You offer a quick nod, breathless, as you try to crane your neck up to get a better look at where his cock was sedately gliding in and out of you, but it only makes the tengai slide back down into place. Realizing you were once again without sight, you screw your eyes shut and groan bitterly as you toss your head back.

“T - that’s why I wanted to be useful for you …!”

Feeling him hunch over you, and rather suddenly at that, you tense when the slight change in position increases the pressure of him inside your guts. Your mouth warbles open as if to groan but nothing comes out, and genuine surprise rapidly floods the forefront of your mind when he grabs the top of the hat and pulls it off, making you blink owlishly in the suddenly bright room.

“I figured as much when you volunteered for a role as risky as it is potentially invaluable. You’re not a fighter, so it was fairly obvious you had a motive.” Fixing you with a sly smirk, he tosses the tengai aside and settles more squarely on his knees. Picking up the force behind his thrusts, now perfectly angled to drive into your upper wall and attack the tightly clustered nerves on the other side, Law clutches at you all the more fervently until you’re positive you’ll find bruises in the morning. “But I trust you … I know you’ll do a good job, sweetheart. You always do.”

Letting out a series of whimpering groans, you push up on your elbows so you can flick your attention between his glistening wet cock as it drives into you and his handsomely pinched face. “Then w - aah - what was all that b - before … you ass?”

He offers you a tersely clipped laugh. “Just a bit of fun, mostly.”

“Such a … nngh, such a jerk …”

Chuckling under his breath, Law lets up his hold on your legs in favor of sliding broad palms across your stomach, calluses scraping, to get a good grip on plushy hips. You respond with a low groan as you struggle upright so you can get your hands under you and push up, slanting your pelvis down to meet his leisurely thrusts tit for tat. The hushed sound of skin meeting skin picks up in the old room, otherwise silent besides the soft moans and faltering breaths coming from the two of you.

It was unexpectedly nice, given the circumstances.

“Yes, right t - there … haah, so good, you feel so good, Law. God, don’t stop …”

“You know I won’t,” he rumbles, possessively squeezing your sides in a pinching tight grip so he can guide you into a more energetic bouncing motion that has your heavy tits bouncing for him. “But I meant what I said earlier … any man would be a fool to pass up a night with you. I’m sure you’ll be quite popular in the brothel.”

You shake your head, sucking in a faltering gasp. “I don’t c - care … I only want you …”

“How reassuring …”

A shaky groan puffs out of him and the sound races straight to your cunt, making you clench around the stiff cock relentlessly carving out a space within you. Your subconscious reaction only seems to make him dig up into your sweet spot all the more insistently and, seething, you close your eyes, dropping your chin to your chest. You could feel the coil inside you slowly tightening just that little bit more each time he slid up inside you, making your toes curl while you struggled just to keep up with the pace he wanted.

Your legs and arms were quickly growing tired though and, with a soft, whining plea, you lift one of your hands to reach for him. Law catches on quick as usual, immediately letting go of your hips so he can curl one arm under your armpit and across your shoulder blades. With very little effort on his part, he hauls you up against him and locks the other arm behind your back so he can hold you in his lap.

“You like it better this way, sweetheart?” He murmurs, bracing his scruffy chin on the center of your chest with his head tilted back to look up at you.

“Ahh - mm, mhm!”

Clinging to his broad shoulders, you adjust the positioning of your feet and bounce on his cock a little more smoothly now. He seemed to hit even deeper than before, knocking something inside of you that made every inch of your body feel like it was on fire. You could hardly breathe through it, sucking in one haggard gasp after another while you continued to work yourself over until you felt near delirious with the need to cum.

You weren’t quite there yet though and you curl yourself around him, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder so you can inhale the smell of him into your contracting lungs. Pinewood and ozone, the faintest note of antiseptic. You could even make out a faint trace of the dark, heady cologne he hardly ever bothered to put on. It was indescribably intoxicating, and you couldn’t take much more of it.

“Wanna’ cum …” you mewl against his collarbone, feeling like you were moments away from drooling all down the front of him. Your mind was a cotton stuffed mess.

Turning his head, Law presses his mouth to your hair and gently kisses you. “Are you starting to get tired?”

“Yuh - yeah …”

He tsks at that, the sound warm and comforting in your ear.

You suddenly choke on a sharp inhale when he tightens his arms around you without so much as missing a beat, hauling you up even closer to him and prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist with a light jostle. Crossing your ankles behind his back, you hang on for dear life as he somewhat awkwardly goes up on his knees, adjusts the grip he has on you - all without dislodging himself from your pulpy cunt - and then pivots his hips forward to test the angle.

The action rocks you in his arms, increasing the pressure on the downward slide when your soft ass paps against the fronts of his thighs. It knocks the air right out of you and you jolt, lifting your face from his shoulder so you can keen in frazzled, almost hysterical pleasure. You sounded like something wild and mindless.

“Is that better?” He whispers, his tone much too smug for him not to already know the answer.

Law doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before he does it again though, more forcefully this time, and you practically shriek in wordless delight. The momentum of his gravity assisted thrusts builds into the next, and then the next until he was fucking into you at such an enthusiastic pace that you couldn’t even begin to keep up with it.

Your mind completely blank now, you let your mouth hang open in doped out bliss while you freely moan and squeal in pleasure; the sticky wet squelching between your bodies and the sharp smack of skin on skin serving as an all too appropriate backdrop for the sounds you were making. The coil inside you was quickly reaching its breaking point and all you could do anymore was clutch at him, digging your nails into his back while he relentlessly slammed into you.

His straining grunts, so hot and heavy in your ear, had you vibrating like a wound up ball of static electricity and you hung there on the precipice for a horribly long beat, silently praying for the pin to drop. You weren’t sure how much more your aching cunt could take at this level of intensity - and then, so abruptly it almost startles you, he turns his head so he can shove his mouth against your neck and kiss you again.

It was, embarrassingly enough, the abrasive burn of his chin scruff that finally shoves you over the edge.

Toes curling to the point of genuine discomfort, you jerk in his hold so violently that it nearly tips the both of you over onto the ground. Law is quick to steady himself though and he crushes you against the front of him with a rumbling groan while your cunt spasms and tries to strangle his cock in a chokehold. You were far too caught up in the wild, full bodied tremors that were wracking through you to complain about the creaking ache in your ribs from where he was holding on to you so tight, but you also didn’t really care.

You were floating somewhere far above the physical realm, your flesh and blood body little more than an afterthought at that point.

Finally, you come back to earth with a strangled, heaving gasp, hands scrabbling against Law’s sweaty back as you writhe in his arms like you were something feral and untamed. He wasn’t about to let you go anywhere just yet though, and he rocks forward on his knees so that your back hits the rumpled layers of your kimono again. Keeping his arms locked around your quaking frame, he settles close enough to rest the fronts of his thighs on the backs of yours and pin them to the floor underneath him.

The vigorous pounding that follows seems to drag out your soul shattering orgasm to the point of real discomfort and it very nearly sends you spiraling into another. Your legs were flexing in the air, jerking with each powerful thrust of his narrow hips, but he was chasing his own high now and he couldn’t be bothered to stop long enough to pay attention to your desperate bleating. For a brief moment in time, he was a man well and truly possessed.

“Oooh, fuck, you get so tight when you cum, sweetheart, hng - haahn, your pussy’s so good to me, you know that? I’m gonna’ fill you up, baby, you ready? It’s coming …”

You jerk your head in a disoriented nod and Law drops his face to your shoulder, his slender frame shaking uncontrollably with the intensity of his fast approaching release. The obscenely loud, sticky wet squelching that noises between the two of you only seems to highlight the rough, primal quality of the seething grunts and groans that slip through his clenched teeth, rattling around inside your otherwise empty skull. You were starting to ache, in earnest this time, and reflexive tears sting at the corners of your eyes while you fervently cling to him, brokenly moaning at each desperate stroke of his cock.

For better or worse, it only takes a few minutes of this brutal pace to have Law’s hips stuttering and losing their rhythm, his thrusts gradually turning sloppy and uneven before grinding to a complete stop. Heaving, he puts the whole weight of his body into it and slams himself inside the mess he’s made of your cunt, mercilessly rocking you back against the floor once, twice, three times. On the fourth plunge, he suddenly freezes on top of you, lurching with the loss of momentum, and a powerful shudder races down his spine while he sensitively twitches and paints your guts white.

You let out a flustered groan at the sensation, delighting in the way the warmth of his release settles and spreads through you, coating your palpitating walls in creamy discharge. It was enough to send a fresh wave of tremors racing up your legs and the two of you groan in near perfect unison as you both go limp, struggling to catch your breath.

He recovers somewhat quicker than you do, eventually pushing his weight up and slipping out from between your legs so he can tiredly roll over onto his side next to you. You’re still panting when he turns you to face him, gently drawing you up against his shallowly contracting chest so you can nuzzle your nose into the thin patch of hair there. You could still smell him, a faint comfort, through the faint musk and various bodily fluids now sticking to your skin, and you were content to enjoy it for just a little bit longer.

His hand slides around to rub across your back while you both work at coming the rest of the way down from your peaks, a true feat after that unexpectedly intense session, and he lets you press in close until it was hard to tell where one of you stopped and the other began. If asked prior to this, you wouldn’t have thought you’d be all that into role playing in the bedroom but, somehow, it was actually kind of fun with him.

Law did often seem to have that effect on you.

“Hey,” he says at last, bringing his hand up and around to gently brush the hair back from your temple. “You hungry?”

Still thrumming, you give yourself a moment to think about that. “Mm, I could eat.” You murmur even as you contentedly snuggle somehow even deeper into Law’s chest, getting comfortable.

He gives an amused snort and drags his rough palm down along your side, delivering a sharp pinch to the meat of your ass to make you jolt.

“Come on, let’s go see what kind of food we can get in Wano. I’m sure we’ll find something good, or at least something edible.” Pausing, he dips his face close and presses his mouth to the top of your head, speaking into your hair. “And when we get back maybe I’ll eat you next.”

[seouliie]

bikini bottoms (m)

having a job as a lifeguard on the beach has you doing many things you’ve never done before. stopping fights between a 5 year old and a seagull, spending hours trying to dig a jeep out of a 4 foot hole some doofus had dug, and lastly, giving jung hoseok a blowjob.

(gif from weheartit)

GENRE: e2l, smut, lifeguard!au

WORDS: 2753

MEMBER: jung hoseok

WARNINGS: really only a blowjob, implied smut, possible part two, hoseok is a fuckboy, mention of sexual harassment, there’s banter in this and hoseok slaps yn’s ass, but it’s all playful!!

The wooden chair of the lifeguard tower creaks as you sit down, as if releasing a heavy sigh after a long night of no usage, now to be sat on at the fresh time of 10 am- the start of your work day. From above, the people now rolling in to the beach start appearing, encouraged by the sunny sky and beautiful weather to get on their swimsuits and hop in the clear water.

This was an everyday thing for you- and you loved it. The fresh air seemingly always in the atmosphere, tinted by the salty smell of the sea, the sun, the sand- everything. It was the perfect way to start your day, and the perfect day to end it. Your mornings could never go wrong at the beach.

From the corner of your eye, you can see the outline of a rather familiar figure making his way towards the lifeguard tower, a frown naturally forming onto to your lips.

Well, except for one thing.

Meet Jung Hoseok, the heartthrob of the beach. Not gonna lie, the only reason you haven't filed a complaint for him to get fired was because almost half of the people who come to the beach are teenagers who want a piece of him. Not just him- his dick. If he did evidently get fired, then less people would actually come, meaning less money for you. Yes, you have thought this through before. And you prefer money.

"______!"

You sigh, not wanting to interact with this sex machine at least until you've had your third cup of coffee. Lazily, you respond: "Yes, Hoseok?"

He smiles when you make eye contact with him, his gaze pure and playful. "You left your shoes at the shed! I wanted to bring them to you!" A hand covers his eyes from the rays of the sun, and he lifts his other hand to reveal your pair of dark blue flip-flops hanging off his middle finger.

"I know, Hoseok," you reply. "I leave them on purpose. I don't like the feeling of shoes on a beach." You rake a hand through your hair, your strands getting blown into your eyes from the slight wind.

"Well, I brought them, so you might as well wear it." He smirks as he waves the shoes around mockingly. From afar, the sound of a baseline is audible, hinting that the car of the boy-crazy girls have arrived.

You scoff. "Just throw them up or something. Don't you know how? Weren't you captain of your basketball team?"

Hoseok laughs, a sound that- for some reason- causes your stomach to flurry. "First of all, I was not captain and I barely played since the coach despised me. Secondly, I will not throw these up, and you will come down to get them."

High-pitched laughter rings through your ears, causing your mood to already turn negative. You roll your eyes. "Don't you have some girls to fuck? I can practically hear them calling your name already in their squeaky ass voices like some fourth graders."

At this, the raven haired boy pouts, slight wind brushing his bangs into his eyes. "Come on, I'm trying to be nice, princess."

You bit your lip. The sun was pretty hot today, the wood burning up below your feet. Maybe you should put some comfort between your skin the the fiery hot chair. "Alright fine." You stand up and turn around, going down the ladder one foot at a time.

Little did you know, Hoseok was not focused at all on giving your shoes back. After he saw you climbing down the little wooden stubs, his eyes were trained on your ass, naturally pushed out each step. Once stepping onto the grainy smooth sand, you swiftly grab your shoes from his hand, pulling him out of his trance.

You bend down to slide the soft material onto your feet and shake your head. "God, making me do all this extra work for nothing-"

A hard smack to your ass cuts you off mid-sentence. Jung fucking Hoseok. Almost breaking your neck from looking up so fast, you notice that the human incarnated form of aggravation is not in front of you like he was a second ago. He's halfway up the ladder.

"Hoseok!" You cry, shocked by how he slapped your ass and how he climbed the goddamn thing so fast. "The hell are you doing?"

"Getting away from those girls." He says as he reaches for another slab of woob. "Jesus, you fuck them once, and they get all attached."

The group of girls have already set up their towel on the pale sand, one of them already oiling themselves up. He fucked them all? Like.. at once or all tog- You huff a breath of air. You are not going to be thinking about that right now.

"Not all at once, of course," He calls out, which makes you wonder if you were thinking out loud. "Although it definitely wasn't individual." Hoseok talks with a sly tone, raising a brow at you.

Looking back at the girls, you see them talking amongst themselves. However, they are all turning their heads, looking for one thing- the thing that's sitting at the top of the lifeguard tower.

Realization hits you like a truck. "Jung Hoseok, you are not leaving me with those maniacs."

He snorts, raking a hand through his hair. "Yes you are! I got you your shoes, do me this favor."

You could not believe the audacity of this man. He practically forced you to take the shoes, and now as a 'favor' you had to deal with those hoes who you only wish would get a grip of self worth so they stop chasing after that man? What a great way to start your day.

"Oh my fucking God." Anger is flowing through your veins, taking over your thoughts and actions, and you no longer can feel your sanity. "This is not a fucking favor, this is you manipulating me for you sake, so fuck you slutty bitch!"

The sand is wet and warm as you roll it into a ball, turning around and chucking it at Hoseok’s head. You barely miss his slim face and hit his neck, but still doing damage by getting stuck to his skin. "That's for slapping my ass, asshole."

You miss the way he eyes your leaving figure up and down after wiping the sand off his neck. Oh, he just loved messing with you.

-----

Swimsuits are tight. They curve around one's body perfectly, almost painfully, used for swimming or other water activities. They're actually pretty comfortable, if you do say so yourself, and you take pride in knowing the way your body looks in the bright red one piece of the lifeguard apparel.

But wet swimsuits are a whole 'nother story. Wet swimsuits are the devil themselves. They're sticky and distressing and tight, feeling like hell in spandex form suffocating your body and not letting you get the blood you need. Not to mention they take almost an hour to take off.

"God, can't I just take it off?" You whisper to no one in particular. The pad of your thumb scrolls through Instagram, images of other people's picture-perfect lives on view to the world. Feeling itchy, you continuously adjust your swimsuit, trying to find some relief for the discomfort you currently felt.

Sounds from the door break the much appreciated silent atmosphere you were miraculously blessed with, of course broken by the one and only  Jung Hoseok. "Help me," he quickly says, slamming the door of the hut shut. There's still some sand stuck on his bare upper chest from where you've hit him.

You scoff and look back down to your screen. "Help yourself, Jung. You've clearly been doing that the whole day, anyways." You squeeze your eyes shut as memories from earlier in the day came rushing at you.

The girls approached you right after you walked away from throwing the sand at Hoseok, ignoring the way he screamed your name repetitively. Not only did they waste your time by asking you where Hoseok was, but once you wouldn't let them go up the lifeguard tower, it got into a heated argument and one girl had the audacity to throw you into the fucking water.

She was strong, not gonna lie, but over what? A simple fuck? From the man who probably has a little tic-tac anyways? Oh, how you went off on them.

"They, uh-" Hoseok's voice slightly cracks, and he's talking in a slight panicked way, fast and mumbled. "They sort of attacked me- harassed me."

You look up. "They harassed you? You mean like... harassed harassed or harassed harassed?" He just blinks and shyly points to his trunks.

"Harassed harassed." Your eyes trail down, and the little bulge in Hoseok's pants momentarily shocks you.

"Holy shit, Hoseok."

Eyes wide, he nods. "I know. They fucking went after me once I got down the tower, so I ran here as fast as I could." When his breathing begins to slow, Hoseok moves to stand next to the big wooden table in the center of the room. "God, crazy bitches."

"And you got turned on from that?"

Not from them, he thinks to himself. But he wasn't about to let you know that he was already having his senses heightened after he saw your wet figure in the water.

"Well not exactly. It's kind of, just, you know," he sighs in defeat and shakes his bangs.

"And you want me to help... how?"

Hoseok stares at you, saying nothing. And you realize it.

"No, Hoseok, no way." You click your phone off and set it on the armrest of the wooden chair. "I'm not gonna sleep with you."

He lets out a frustrated groan. "I'm not asking you to sleep with me, just help me deal with this!" His hair comes out slightly ruffled after he rakes his hand through it. "I can't walk around with a fucking tent in my shorts around everybody. There's children!"

It takes all your self control and dignity to not look down at his crotch once again, for the outline is becoming more and more visible as the seconds roll on. And you've got to admit, he doesn't look as small as you thought. "Why should I do that? You've basically ruined my whole day by tricking me into getting down from the tower so I had to deal with those psychos. Not to mention, you slapped my ass and one of them threw me in the goddamn water!"

"Okay, well," Hoseok tries to counter argue. "You... threw sand at me." He knew he wasn't convincing anyone with that. "Please ________ just help me. I swear I'll make it up to you."

You think. You actually think about it. Blame it on the fact that the Jung Hoseok is practically begging you for it. An amused idea runs through your mind as you think of all the things you could make Hoseok do for you, all the embarrassment that would come with it, all the revenge you would finally get. Without saying anything, you make eye contact with his desperate form and stand up, walking towards him. His eyes widen.

"Woah, you're actually gonna-"

"Stop talking." You turn the both of you around and push him onto the chair, kneeling down in front of him. Hoseok is so stunned he doesn't even realize he bumped your phone off the armrest and onto the sandy floor. His breath gets stuck in his throat at the sight of you on your knees, ready to take him in your mouth. You run both of your hands up his thighs before slowly outlining his cock lightly with your fingertips.

"Jesus Christ," he breaks underneath your touch. He couldn't believe he was gonna get sucked off by you, the girl who's hated him since they first met. It was unbelievably hot. He sucks in a harsh breath when you squeeze his clothed dick. "Please don't fucking tease me, ______"

His length hardens in your hand when you begin to sensually rub your palm against it. You would be lying if you said that you weren't even the slightest bit turned on. "Patience, Hoseok," you grin. "God, you're so desperate for me, huh?"

A whimper. Jung Hoseok fucking whimpers.

Dominant, cocky Hoseok, just whimpered. For you. And it went straight to your core.

Rubbing your thighs together, you opt for some relief from the tingling you felt. Hoping to distract yourself, you toy with the waistband of his swim trunks for a few seconds before finally pulling them down his thighs.

It was much different than you would've ever imagined. In the past whenever you thought about his dick, which was rarely ever, you obviously knew he was packing some size considering the amount of times he slept around. However, seeing it in person has outdid all of your previous expectations. His dripping cock had length to it, but the thickness was shocking. It was unbelievably thick.

"Fuck," you whisper. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, your fingertips barely able to touch each other. You give it a light squeeze before slowly sliding up.

Hoseok is watching your every move, his hands forming fists by his side to keep him from thrusting himself into your grip. "_____- shit." He leans his head back, clenching his jaw as you spread his precum around his length, making sure to coat every spot with his juice. The sight of his throat bobbing up and down makes your eyes flutter. God, why is he so hot right now.

"Your so naughty, Hoseok." You lightly trail your tongue up his cock, keeping your eyes on him the whole way up. Wrapping your lips around the head, Hoseok whimpers once again when you begin to suck on the swollen tip. He can't hold back anymore and snakes his hand into your hair, pulling at the roots while letting out deep groans.

When you take all of him in one go, he slowly pushes down on your head so that his tip meets the back of your throat. The sound of you quietly gagging sends him into overdrive, his body shaking from the pleasure. You grasp at his thighs, clawing your nails into his skin. "______, please please please, fuck."

Remembering a tip your friend once gave you, you hollow your cheeks and suck, continuously bobbing your head up and down. Obviously, your friend knows what she's doing, basing off of the way Hoseok lets out a loud vocal moan and thrusts wildly into your mouth. You've never seen him like this- so unhinged and in a way almost pathetically desperate. It was turning you on beyond belief.

He's close and it's obvious, sweat dripping down the side of neck, letting out a string of curses and swears as he gets closer to his high.

"Fuck, _____ don't stop, p-please don't stop." His voice sends a rush of warmth to your core, and his other hand releases the grip on the armrest to join the other in pulling your hair. Both of his hands are grabbing at your head, and you move even faster, giving his throbbing cock a couple swirls with your tongue until finally he's squeezing his eyes shut and releasing his seed into your mouth. The warmth in your throat seems to never end, akin to the strings of moans Hoseok lets out. After swallowing, you release his cock with a pop and wipe his cum off of your chin with the back of your hand.

Hoseok tilts his head back and keeps his hands in your hair, wanting to pause for a while for him to catch his breath. "Goddamn, ______." He lets out a breathless laugh.

You smile breathlessly and rub your hands up to his abs, tracing the outline lightly with your fingertips. His eyes darken again as they watch your lips swollen red and with his cum dripping down the sides. He forces himself to loosen his grip on your hair and slowly pulls his hands back.

You grab it before he can fully retreat. He looks at you, confused. A soft laugh escapes your lips.

"You still owe me a favor, shit head.”

[vnderoos]

oblivious ✷ harry potter

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language word count / 3.2k

masterlist in bio ↴

A SOFT, ORANGE LIGHTING WAS SMOOTHED over Ginny Weasley's face as she and Y/N Y/L/N sat on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. The Gryffindor common room was mostly quiet, save for the occasional house members passing through, but other than that, they had the whole lounge to themselves. Ginny was tucked into the corner of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest, and Y/N was sprawled out over the arm, her legs sticking straight out in front of her. It was a surprise that the red-headed girl even fit on there at all, really, with how much space her friend was taking up.

Y/N let out a loud sigh and she threw her head back, her body curving over the armrest and letting her hair dangle down beneath her. "I just don't understand how someone can be so blind. Harry is honestly just the cutest thing, but I swear, this is driving me up a wall," she complained, another whiny groan slipping from her mouth as she ran her hands over her face in frustration. "I mean, I thought I made it quite obvious, but Merlin, Ginny, he is so painfully oblivious. I really don't know how much clearer I could make it." Her voice was muffled as she spoke between her fingers, letting her arms flop over the couch only after she'd finished.

Ginny rolled her eyes at Y/N's distress and she propped one of her elbows up on the armrest on her side of the couch, resting her chin on top of her fist. "You could always tell the man, you know," she suggested matter-of-factly, accompanied by a small shrug of her shoulders, and she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear with her free hand.

Y/N was quick to sit up from her limp position, properly sitting herself up and crossing her legs on her side of the sofa. She shot Ginny an incredulous look. "Tell him? No way," she scoffed. "What if he hasn't 'picked up' on anything because he doesn't like me like that? I can't imagine he wants me to hurt myself with my pathetic little crush, so maybe he's just thinking of a way to let me down easy or something," she theorized, honestly willing to believe anything if it meant she didn't have to spit out her feelings for what they were. She much preferred the whole 'shamelessly-flirting-until-he-either-rejected-her-or-confessed' ordeal.

Even though it seemed entirely unlikely that Harry was going to do either anytime soon.

Ginny couldn't help but laugh, placing her free hand over half of her face as she did. "You talk a lot about Harry, but you're just as clueless as he is, really," she pointed out and Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. "The two of you are constantly dancing around each other. It's getting sad to watch," she continued, letting her hand fall across her knees as she spoke.

"I am not, Ginny." Y/N clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. "I think I would've noticed if he was showing interest, too," she defended.

The Weasley girl giggled and she pretended to go along with her words. "If it helps you sleep at night, then sure," she tutted. After that, Ginny straightened her legs out over the side of the couch and she stood up. "But, if we're done with that, do you think the house elves have any leftover pastries from dinner?" she questioned and Y/N shrugged.

She followed Ginny's lead and got to her feet, straightening out her clothes when she was standing straight up. "I could go for a tart or two, so if you wanted to go look, I wouldn't say no to tagging along," she offered.

"We'd better get to the kitchens soon, then."

Then, almost as if she and Ginny had summoned them, a group of Gryffindor boys were making their way into the common room just as the girls were making their way out. Y/N barely had time to put faces or names to any of them before she walked smack-dab into one of their chests. "Oh," she huffed as the slight impact knocked some of the breath from her lungs and the boy's hands wrapped around each of her arms to steady her. She smiled sheepishly, staring down at his shoes and planning to thank him, but when her eyes trailed upwards, the heat that rushed to her cheeks was immediate. Her eyes locked with Harry Potter's, in all of his pale-skinned and messy-haired glory, and it was like her heart skipped a beat. Pull it together, Y/N.

"God, Harry, I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going—"

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I should've been more careful, but I—"

The two of them started to apologize at the same time, both cutting themselves off when they realized what they were doing, and Y/N swore she turned three shades pinker. Part of her hoped Harry wouldn't say anything, but something told her he didn't even notice at all.

"Oh, it's fine," she hummed, once again, at the same time as Harry, but he'd replaced her 'fine' with an 'alright'. She opened her mouth to say something else, but her mind had suddenly gone blank as she stared up at him. Even dulled by the shine of his glasses, his green eyes were still twinkling as he looked down at her, and her stomach churned. She wanted to say something that wouldn't make her seem like a complete idiot but all she could stutter out was, "You— um, your hands, Harry."

Y/N wanted to smack herself in the head when she saw the surprised look that flickered onto his face. His eyebrows shot upwards as he looked down at his hands, which were still steadily gripping her biceps, and he pulled them back quickly. "Merlin, sorry," he whispered, almost to himself, and he flashed her a nervous smile. It was quite cute, actually, and she returned it with one that was just as awkward.

Somewhere behind them, Ron cleared his throat, obviously trying to get them to speed things up a bit, and Y/N flashed him a half-grin.

"I guess," she paused, pointing at Ginny who was watching the entire scene unfold with a scrunched up nose and curled lip (wondering how bloody unaware two people could possibly be). "I guess I'll be going now," she hummed and Harry nodded his head. She moved to step around him at the same time he went to do the same, but she found herself in the same position when they both stepped in the same direction. "Sorry," she laughed and when she moved again, Harry moved with her.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle as she got herself into a sort of back-and-forth dance with him, and it wasn't until he placed his hands on her waist and spun the two of them around that they found themselves on the sides that they needed to be on. "Right. You'll be off now, yeah?" he asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and she nodded her head.

"Yeah, thank you," she hummed, pivoting on her foot. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Y/N," Harry stammered out in return, his voice cracking a bit over the first word, but she hardly noticed as she started towards the kitchen with Ginny. As she walked away, leaving the guys behind her, she could hear them laughing amongst themselves. One of them—Seamus, she figured—said something in a high pitched voice and the laughter only intensified. "Oh, bugger off," Harry yelled in return.

Y/N shook her head, letting out a huff of amusement at their boyish behavior, and she looked over at Ginny, who was already looking at her. Ginny's eyebrows were cocked and her arms were crossed over her chest. "Do I have to say 'I told you so' or have you picked up on what just happened back there?" she inquired, waggling a finger back in the direction of Harry and the others.

"What?" Y/N shrilled, peeking over her shoulder. It wasn't like any of them would be behind them, anyways, but her gaze had followed Ginny's finger on instinct. "That was a perfectly normal interaction, Gin. You didn't tell me anything," she argued, whipping her head around to watch where she was going again.

Ginny threw her hands out in frustration. "Why don't you just tell him you like him?" she blurted.

Y/N's jaw dropped and her eyebrows knitted together, because was Ginny daft? "I can't," she refused. "What if he doesn't like me and I just embarrass myself?" she explained.

The redhead didn't seem to be having it and she grabbed Y/N's wrist before she even had a chance to pull it away. "You know what? I'm so tired of watching this," she said as he started back towards the main section of the common room, which they'd just left from.

Y/N flashed her friend another 'what-the-hell' look. "Ginny, what on Earth are you doing?" she yelled—as quietly as she could, which sort of defeated the purpose—as Ginny forcefully dragged her back towards the room. She tried to wipe the look of annoyance off of her face when they reentered the room, where the boys were chuckling over something one of them had said.

"I'm getting this over with once and for all," Ginny said, not even bothering to be discreet as she marched right over to the group with Y/N. Ron and Seamus exchanged confused glances and Harry looked up at Y/N, cutting his laughter short. He nodded at her with a tilt of his head, like a cute, little puppy, and she smiled at him in a silent apology for the events that were about to unfold. "Harry, you like Y/N, don't you?" She knew that Ginny was going to say something stupid the moment they'd turned around, but she didn't expect that.

She watched as Harry's cheeks flushed a bright pink, and instead of hers doing the same, she could feel herself pale, like all of the blood had left her face. She could hear the thudding of her heart in her ears as it suddenly started to pick up the pace. She had no idea what Ginny was thinking and she really wasn't appreciating this. "I mean, yeah, she's great," Harry answered hesitantly, promoting Ginny to look over at the girl beside her. "I'm not sure I understand what's happening," he followed up, pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.

Ginny tore her eyes away from Y/N. "I know you think she's great, but you like her, don't you?" She continued.

Y/N's eyes blew wide at the question and she gasped, wasting no time in ripping her arm out of Ginny's grasp. With her newly freed hands, she shoved her lightly to the side. "Bloody hell, Ginevra, do you ever shut up?" she all-but-yelled and she watched as Ginny stumbled to the side, laughter bubbling up out of her lips. As Y/N's stomach swirled and her face grew hot, she didn't realize what was so funny about it all.

In fact, she almost felt like she was going to vomit.

Ron, Seamus, and even Dean, had all joined in on the laughter, fueling Y/N's white-hot embarrassment, as she looked at Harry. His eyes were almost as wide as hers and he opened his mouth to say something, to ask another question or even apologize for his friends' behavior, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Y/N on the other hand, felt like the entire room was spinning. All she could think about was her friends laughing and how her secret was out now, and it was all Ginny's fault.

She could feel tears stinging in the spaces behind her eyes and she ran a hand nervously through her hair. Part of her wanted to hex the shit out of Ginny right then and there, but she was more worried about the fact that Harry hadn't said anything. Ron had his hand on Harry's shoulder, steadying himself as he doubled over in laughter, and Harry hadn't said anything.

She couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, with her heart in her throat, and she was running out of the room before she could change her mind.

"Y/N, wait—" Harry called after her, but she ignored him.

She pushed the portrait of the Fat Lady open wide and she climbed through the hole as quick as she could. She ignored the questions from the woman as she pressed the painting closed behind her, and when she stepped out onto the staircases, she was running as far down as she could get. She was almost surprised she hadn't fallen down a whole flight, considering she could barely see through the tears that prickled in her eyes. She couldn't believe that Ginny had put her on the spot like that.

They were supposed to be friends—best friends—and best friends weren't supposed to embarrass each other in front of Harry bloody Potter.

Y/N only stopped running when she reached an empty corridor, at the bottom of one of the staircases she'd ran down. There were no windows there, only open balconies, and the cool breeze that blew through brought the only movement in the entire hall. She sat herself down on the bottom step and buried her face in her hands. She was done crying by then, but she didn't know if she'd ever get over her bout of crippling mortification.

After a few moments of sitting alone, replaying the incident over in her head, she could hear footsteps at the top of the stairs. "Y/N." She heard his voice and her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

She turned around to look at Harry, who was making his way down the staircase. His eyes were warm and sympathetic, and his eyebrows were furrowed gently. "Harry, I'm sorry," she mumbled as he took a seat beside her on the step. "I had no idea she was going to do that, I—"

She started to continue, wanting nothing more than to defend herself and clear the air between them, but he shook his head with a small smile. "It's okay, really," he promised, letting out a soft laugh as he threw his arm over her shoulder and hugged her into his side. He looked down at her for a moment or two before his smile faltered slightly. "Were you crying, Y/N/N?" he questioned and his voice was quiet, like he was afraid he might scare her off.

"No," she denied quickly, but he didn't seem to buy it. "Maybe."

"Why? It wasn't that bad." Harry moved his arm, resting his hand on her knee instead.

Y/N sighed. "Because I'm embarrassed, Harry. Ginny humiliated me in front of everyone, in front of you," she explained and she laid her head on his shoulder, her eyes locking on his hand. "I'm sure you've gathered how I feel about you by now, too, yeah? Thanks to her," she grumbled.

Harry laughed softly and he gave her knee a comforting squeeze. "I mean, I ought to be thanking her. If she hadn't done that, I never would've known how you felt," he admitted.

She sat up in an instant at that, turning to look at him with a dumbfounded look on her face. "Really, Harry? I thought I'd been obvious about it," she told him.

He shrugged his shoulders as a sheepish smile settled onto his face. "I thought you were just being nice because you heard I was the Chosen One, or something," he explained.

"What?" Y/N laughed. "You think I'm that shallow?" she questioned.

Harry was quick to shake his head, holding his free hand out defensively. "No, no. I didn't mean it that way, I just thought it seemed impossible that you'd like me back," he hummed in confession. "It seemed too good to be true, so I just settled for that instead."

"Are you kidding me? You're— wait," she started, but when she registered his words, she cut herself off. Everything seemed to fall silent as her hopeful eyes met his. "Like you back? Does that mean..." she trailed off and Harry nodded once. Her heart was about to beat out of her chest. "Are you serious?" She asked.

"I mean, yeah."

"Ginny didn't put you up to this?"

Harry shook his head softly. "No, it was of my own free will," he promised to her.

Y/N couldn't help the giddy smile that tugged its way onto her face and she looked down shyly, as if to hide it. "Okay," she hummed.

At that, he shot her a scrunched up look. "Okay?" he repeated. "That's it? Just okay?"

"Well, I don't know what else I'm supposed to say," she protested. "You already know I'm mad for you," she told him.

He laughed and offered her a small shrug. "I mean, it doesn't involve much talking, but I might have an idea," he hummed, his eyes flickering to her lips, and he brought his free hand to cup her jawline.

Y/N could feel her face grow warm beneath his touch and she fought a grin. "Oh," she muttered, staring into his eyes for a moment and looking for any sign that this wasn't real, that he didn't want this, but she couldn't find one. "What're you waiting for, Potter? I don't bite," she teased and he sputtered out a small laugh.

Instead of waiting for him to kiss her, she grabbed Harry by his shirt and planted her lips against his. He laughed against her mouth as he kissed her, pulling away so he could kiss her nose, both of her cheeks, and then her mouth once more. All of his kisses felt so sweet, each one instilling a certain warmth in her that made her feel like she was home. Harry's lips were slotted into her own, pressing pecks to her top lip and the corners of her mouth, and when he pulled away from her, she couldn't remember another time where she'd seen him smile so big.

"As fun as this is, I think should get back now. It's almost curfew," he pointed out and swiped his thumb over her bottom lip.

Y/N pressed a kiss to his finger and she nodded. "Yeah, you're right." Harry pulled his hands off of her lightly and stood up, offering one of his hands down to her and she took it with a grateful smile.

He pulled her to her feet and they made their way back to the common room, hand-in-hand.

Ginny and the boys were sprawled over the sofa and various other chairs, and they all looked up when the two entered the room. A cheeky smile crossed onto her lips and she winked at them. "Well, it's about bloody time," Ron stayed, gesturing to their intertwined fingers, and Y/N looked at Harry with a smile. He placed a kiss against her temple.

"You're welcome," Ginny piped up.

Y/N simply hit her a clean middle finger.

↴

taglist / @umpoedameron​ @pvintbreak​

[narrators-journal]

Return to sender

CW: I’m bad at writing pregnancy stuff,

first part: here

previous part: here

Before you knew it, you'd been on your own for almost four months. God, it's been so long. You thought with a bit of fear as you drove home from the store in the swiftly waning light of evening, glancing at the passengers seat where bags of all of the supplies you had looked up for having a home birth. Which wasn't going to be fun, but going to a hospital meant paperwork and being kept in one place for an unknown amount of time, easily trackable, not to mention the hospital birth records would be perfectly accessible to the Zoldycks, meaning they could track down your baby. So, you were just going to bite the bullet and do it yourself. On the bright side, I have about 2 months to prepare and learn, so things will go great. You told yourself, sending a quick prayer to any god listening that you didn't face any complications, because you'd only gone to one doctor's appointment for the baby, and while it didn't show any bad omens for the birth, that had been ages ago, so you weren't really sure of how healthy your baby currently was. Though, some of that anxiety was more-so from the small changes you'd begun to notice in these last few weeks. It wasn't anything major, mostly cramping, more backpain, and exhaustion, but good ol' google had told you these may be signs of pregnancy. Hence the evening trip to the store for all of the things you lacked at home for a home birth. You hoped you were just being overly cautious, but you couldn't be too sure. Despite that though, you did your best to stay positive and just went about collecting your shopping as carefully as you could and waddling up to your nasty little apartment. You were pretty happy at the bottom of the stairs, on edge, as always when the place you lived had so many sketchy people that their aura seemed as engrained in the carpet as the mystery stains on your bedroom floor, but your mood instantly fell when you got to the top of the stairs. You stood there, heart racing, (e/c) eyes wide and frantically searching for any reason as to why you were suddenly so nervous. After all, you'd worked through this level of anxiety in your first month there, you should have a better handle on it than this, but then it clicked. It's too quiet. You realized, putting a hand on the banister to steady yourself as the dread hit you. Your apartment building was still bustling with noise, from neighbors having sex loudly, to someone's kids getting into a shrieking match, those noises were pretty mundane to you now, but something still felt too calm. Like that moment in movies right before the murderer attacks. Calm down, everything's fine. You told yourself, taking a deep breath or two to try and wait for the wave of paranoia to ebb. One of the neighbors probably just has some sort of guest over. Or maybe some strong nen user passed by, I'm sure it has a reasonable explanation. You continued to reassure yourself, but the feeling didn't pass. Some voice inside of you just kept screaming about something being way too off, maybe it was your survival instincts, maybe it was simply your paranoia acting up, either way you decided to trust your gut. So, you compromised with yourself. You gathered your bags and unlocked your apartment to place them in, ensuring they'd be safe when you returned tomorrow, than you made your way back down to the foyer as swiftly as you could manage while heavily pregnant.

         "Are you alright, miss?" A man suddenly asked, making you yelp, but when you looked over, it was just some dark haired man with a cross-shaped tattoo of sorts on his forehead sitting at the guard's seat. You'd never seen him before, but you tried your best to not be impolite. At worst, he was some sort of spy for Illumi, but if he wasn't and he was just one of the many sketchy guards that worked for the apartment building, you still didn't want to offend him. So, you laughed a bit, clasping your hands over your stomach to hide how badly you were shaking,         "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realized I'd forgotten something in my car, don't want it stolen." you said in a shakey but kind voice, which made the man snort a bit,        "Would you like me to go out there for it? I promise not to steal anything," he offered, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief while he was oddly amused by his own words, but you shook your head, brushing any stray strands of (h/l), (h/c) hair from your face as you spoke,         "No thank you, but I a-appreciate your offer." with that, you made a beeline for the door, swiftly stepping outside and taking a deep breath of the fresh spring air. All at once, your anxiety began to wane, which you were immensely thankful for. Slowly, you let out a breath and waddled over to your car, ignoring the pinching cramping sensation that had plagued you for about a week now and just deciding to sit outside in your car for a while and maybe sleep there for the night since the upstairs of your building felt so weird. However, when you got to the vehicle, you pulled at the handle and nothing happened. When you tried a second time, the same thing happened, the door didn't budge. To make thing worse, you couldn't seem to find your keys when you checked your pockets.          "Of course, it'd be just my luck that I'd lose my damned keys and lock myself out of my car." you muttered, leaning against the car and resting your head against the window, trying your best to think up a second alternative to going back inside when you heard it. The single voice you wanted to never hear again,        "I must admit, you're a lot more resilient than I first thought." Illumi hummed, and before you could even think to react, he trapped you against the car, slamming his hands into the window so hard you heard it begin to crack. You shrieked and pressed your back against the car, less scared of getting cut on the glass than you were of Illumi, but instead of getting killed with his aura, or manhandled into some unmarked van, or hell, even being yelled at like you'd expected, you simply felt him brush a stray tear you didn't realize you'd shed from your (s/c) cheek, and when he did speak, he was as calm and unreadable as ever,          "You had me highly worried these past few months," he said, pushing himself off of your car and looking you over, keeping one of his hands on you in some fashion the whole time, just in case you tried to bolt or fight him off, but you never did, you'd frozen in a mix of terror, defeat, and a dizzying sense of warped relief that nearly made you nauseous. "Now, you're coming home and we are going to have a nice, calm, talk about your mistake and how you can fix it." he said, grabbing you by the wrist to lead you away. However, when his words finally sunk in, you were filled with another sense of frantic determination, refusing to move as best you could while your (e/c) eyes welled with tears again, though that was more from the pain of Illumi tightening his grip on your poor captive wrist when you resisted.           "No!" It came out a lot more forceful than you expected, "No! I don't want to go back a-and subject any child to whatever torture created you!" Finally, it was your words that earned a pause, and when you looked up to his face you saw a mixture of hurt, annoyance, and a shred of understanding flit across his doll-like facial feature ever so slightly.          "(y/n), you need to calm down. You're growing hysterical and you're going to hurt yourself trying to fight me. Just relax and come home." He ordered, but you shook your head and continued to resist as best you could, which thankfully worked since the assassin didn't want to purposely hurt you         "No! Just let me go, please! K-kill me if you must, but I don't want to go back!" you cried, and in a frantic attempt to get away, you pulled at your wrist as hard as you could, and by sheer luck, actually slipped through Illumi's grip. Sadly, your luck was spent with that last trick, so your attempts to get into the apartment building and maybe get help from the guard were quickly thwarted. Some part of you thought that maybe you could get away from Illumi Zoldyck again, but failed to realize he was a lot faster than you, even if you weren't about-to-burst pregnant. In a hope-crushing flash, he'd grabbed you again, wrapping his arms around your torso to yank you back against him and holding you there with one arm while his free hand captured your wrists to stop you from frantically flailing.             "(y/n), if you do not calm down right now, I will get the doctor to use sedatives on you." he warned, his voice low and dripping with foreboding, which, if you had any fight left in you, washed it away like he had the first day of your escape. However, you'd gone still for another reason.              "I-Illumi, let me go," you squeaked, your heart pounding so hard you didn't think you'd be able to hear his reply,              "Absolutely not." He then tried to lift you up a bit so he could move you, but you wriggled              "No! P-please listen, Illumi!" You plead, "I-I think my water just broke!"

[paqoe]

SARY NEVER CLEAR (review!!!)

hi!! so i beat sary a few days ago, and i just wanted to use this funny little new platform of to give some of my thoughts on the level:

overall, I think this level is really fucking cool. It’s definitely one of my favorite extremes (especially on the list), and I really like how the level feels in general - for a level of its difficulty, it feels surprisingly fun and I found it hard to get genuinely frustrated at it in part due to how little it takes itself seriously (more detail further below)

obviously, however, being (to a degree) a joke level means that it’s bound to come with some flaws. the decoration is definitely questionable at some points, and the gameplay is about as good as you would expect a level with 1.6 base gameplay to be. with that being said, i still found it pretty fun, despite my bad luck!!!

overall, my favorite parts in the level (deco-wise) are definitely 0-19 and 28-37 (theyre super similar in deco style, so im treating them as pretty much the same part). god i just cant explain it they just look SO CLEAN idk why dbjnfgkj   ↓↓

outside of the aforementioned parts, the level definitely shows its age (2017 mostly???) with its very questionable glow usage, particularly in the midsections.  ↓↓

i’ll never understand why people ever thought (and still think, for some reason..) that glow, particularly T3 glow, can just be slapped on and make anything better, and it ruins parts which would otherwise look pretty clean.  ↓↓

due to the fact that the level isn’t trying to be good, i’m not going to waste time picking apart the deco and giving super specific feedback since that really isn't the point of the level

with that being said, i want to touch on the gameplay in more detail before delving into my thoughts on this level conceptually. i’ve never really been one to harp on playtesting (or a lack thereof) as a problem with levels, but god this level would’ve been a lot more fun had it been properly playtested. here’s a list of some parts that i had issues with:

24% ship transition

28% invisible ship part

31% ufo click

37% orb spam

55% quads (this is intentional level design tho)

57% orb chain

66-67% straight flies

75% orb chain

78% orb timings

81% quads

91% mini ship

however, just because there’s a long list of bad parts doesn’t mean i wish it was properly playtested!!! i think that, for a level like this, playtesting sorta defeats the purpose, which brings me to the main reason why i’m writing this, that being my thoughts on the level conceptually:

i really like the purpose that this level fulfills. i’m a big fan of how little it takes itself seriously, and it’s clear that the creators had fun with their parts. from the shoddily-made blinking eyes, to the invisible ship section at the end, to the broken english scattered throughout the level, i love all the little charms and quirks that it has, and i think it’s awesome how such a quirky little level ended up so high on the list in a sea of levels that take themselves too seriously and focus too much on looking good.

i think this level also serves as a perfect indicator of how to properly implement “infamous gameplay” into your level, like “the line” in phobos or the quads in this level. ↓↓ 

anyone who has heard of phobos or SNC, for example, has heard of these “infamous parts”, and i think creators trying to ride off of this feeling is a problem that i’m starting to see come up more often. in general, i think that “infamous gameplay” should have a reason to exist. for phobos, it’s because of the lack of experience of the people in the collab, and for SNC, it’s because it was derived from a shitty old impossible 1.6 level and made to be a joke - the thing that makes SNC shine in this regard, and that makes it fine to have, is that it embraces it. 

it seems to me that a lot of hosts try to create a similar feeling to these sorts of levels in an effort to make their levels more “remembered” and it just falls flat because every other aspect of their level is trying way too hard to be good. 

to a similar degree, i think this same logic applies to the humor that SNC has - i don’t think levels like cersia difficult will ever have the same feel for me, because they just feel like they don’t lean into it other than simply having The Funny Text just . existing  ↓↓

anyways, enough of my gushing / ranting. i know that tumblr is definitely an  odd choice for writing reviews, but i don’t want to make an alt on an existing platform and both youtube and twitter don’t feel free-form enough. i’m not sure how well my thoughts have come across here and hopefully i wasn’t too harsh in that last part, but thanks to anyone who read the whole thing :)

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

Yeah the Loki finale was meh/disappointing it doesn’t even feel like a Loki show anymore. I swear you could swap him with another character and the story would barely change.

Hi, anon! I'll put thoughts under a cut since idk who all has seen the Loki show yet.

Tbh, Loki is my favorite character from the MCU. I have waited for YEARS for this character to have an actual spotlight...

And I really wanted to like this show, I really did. Like, I legit wanted to just turn off my brain and enjoy everything?

But yeah, your message resonates with me. There were things I liked about the show, but once I got over the cool CGI and angst and female gaze, it just...feels like Loki got sidelined in his own story? The focus hadn't been about him specifically since episode 1. It instead shifted to Sylvie, who is different enough from Loki that she might as well have been Hawkeye still on his Endgame rampage for justice. And it was Sylvie's problems and Sylvie's motivations that drove the story. Which, you know, were interesting in their own way but not what I was expecting from a Loki show. A lot of scenes were just Sylvie running around and Loki somewhat helplessly following along in a daze that this is what his life has become. He was just ultimately a very passive character in someone else's story...because as the finale clearly showed, his core issues that needed to be worked out weren't in alignment with her own.

So it's sad to me that the show opened up by saying that Loki's destiny was always to function as a dead-end catalyst for other people's character development/journeys. And in the end, that's...exactly what Loki became for all the other characters in this show. ;A; And I'm not sure what they have going on for s2, but I fear he'll just play second-fiddle to Dr. Strange at this point.

I have other issues with the show as well....

___

I felt like they also massively declawed him? Ignoring the comics entirely (where he's even more badass) and looking just at the movies: He survived a Hulk smack-down, could toss humans like they were nothing, could travel between worlds through a variety of means, could already see into people's minds/memories and cast illusions and even change his form, and yet somehow all of this got retconned to make him a less powerful sorcerer compared to his Variants.

I remember this guy being actually dangerous and physically capable, which is why they locked him up. Loki used to have Avenger-level capabilities and strength. But now, he can't hardly fight off a human, and his defense skills are relegated to basic hand-to-hand combat and a dagger. The show even makes fun of his abilities and calls him a pussycat and turns him into a tie-wearing analyst...But I suppose that's in line with the general downgrade of his abilities in recent MCU movies...

___

And if being a sidekick in his own show and having his abilities retconned wasn't enough, I feel like the show failed to convince me that it really understood and is working to grow Loki's character.

The underlying issue that the show calls out as Loki's ultimate weakness is that he's "afraid of being alone," and that this feeds a narcissism complex. But this doesn't really make sense to me? Because he didn't grow up alone or unwanted. He had a mother (Frigga) who loved him deeply and taught him magic. He clearly made it into adulthood believing that Odin was his father, who certainly wasn't absent. He was always on adventures with his brother. He had clearly tried to build a reputation for himself that was differentiated from his brother's (the Silvertongue). This goes against how narcissists don't really have a personality of their own because they just absorb other people's mannerisms to fit in...So like, idk about parsing out the details of narcissism as a clinical diagnosis because I'm not a psychologist, but something feels a little odd here to me? Like, it's more than just...fear of being alone that drives Loki to be destructive? The loneliness is only a symptom??

The problem based off the early movies, providing that I'm not entirely an idiot in listening (which I suppose I could be), was that he was always in Thor's shadow and was never considered an equal, someone worthy of respect despite their differences. Even in the 2009 movie, his peers belittled his title as a Silvertongue and his love for magic. Discovering that he was actually an unwanted frost giant just twisted that knife in deeper and set him on a self-destruct path, once and for all. And it's really interesting to me that throughout this show, people are still constantly trying to establish themselves as alpha over Loki and make jabs about him as worthless and weak. And he's just desperate enough for validation to still try bonding with them the instant anyone tosses a bone of mild curiosity at him.

The fact that he's still positioned as less valuable and less respected than Sylvie, and that even Sylvie herself ultimately usurps equality in their relationship/partnership to enforce her will is just...depressing.

And for all this discussion about Loki changing/redeeming himself, at the end of the day, his perspective hasn't really changed? He still identifies himself as untrustworthy, even though he careens as a desperate lap dog for Mobius' approval and then Sylvie's once she gives him an ounce of attention. He has difficulty with accepting the value of a life, especially in regard to his own life. For example, he was still willing to consider upholding the death of future untold numbers via pruning despite being such a victim himself. And that's not a slam to his worry about a worse alternative, which is probably valid, but it's still weird that he does not believe he could contribute to a powerful resistance group capable of taking out multiple variations of one human man.

It's even weirder that he still seems to be caught in a tailspin regarding "necessary dictatorship," even though Loki is supposed to be a Silvertongue and could have won He Who Remains over as an ally against the other Variants of He Who Remains, thereby dismantling the TVA and freeing the multiverse. But unfortunately, he still can't see beyond two binary roads (mass chaos vs. subjugation). He has totally lost his confidence and identity as a Silvertongue. He can't see an alternative option despite supposedly being a Master Strategist, and that's echoed in how his initial thought to defeat Alioth was to kill it in a very Thor-ish, Asgardian way.

And because he has accepted the show's narrative that he is not capable or worthy of respect for his own unique talents, he openly just..accepts the concept that he's not meant to mean anything to anyone but himself ("I just want you to be okay") or do actually anything meaningful with his abilities. This probably underscores why he is so incapable of using his full powers for a Chaotic Good.

And for one final jab of hopelessness, the show immediately reverses the one (1) other mildly positive relationship he had just started to build via Mobius, solidifying that once again, Loki is not allowed to have friends. Loki is not allowed to have equals. Loki is not allowed to be respected. Which is probably why even when he's surrounded by other people, that's why he still feels alone.

I'm just sort of dead that for all the time the show spent on diagnosing Loki, it never got deep enough to ask why he feels alone.

Conclusion

So idk, the show just kinda depressed me tbh. I don't want to be this critical??? They have really great actors, interesting concepts, and clearly a strong CGI department. Again, not sure I could do better, so I recognize I'm playing armchair critic here. Maybe it'll get better in s2. I really want this show to prove me wrong and move Loki into a level of character development where he can like, actually have purpose in his own title show beyond serving as second-fiddle to other people in other people's self-discovery journeys.

Like please, just let him realize that he can have a positive, meaningful purpose. And that whatever his purpose is, that he is Enough just as he is, and that he can contribute meaningful things to others and be fully worthy of respect. And I think once that clicks with Loki, we'll see him really grow into something phenomenal. Something truly formidable, even if that character doesn't sit on a throne....

It's possible the show could go there? But I'm just a little leery that it's not really a show about Loki....

[imagine-always-and-forever]

Flutterings & Tequila - Part 13

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: Clue hunting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 3,115

Tags:  elle88531,  violentmommabear42, pisicakawritesshitatfour, a-quarter-horse-called-biscuit, hoeofnjadaka, thegingerthatwaited, despressolattes, aomi-nabi, pie46733, (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: so I’ve been saying I’d get back to this for ages. I know. But truthfully I hit such a brick wall that writer’s block as a concept had to add another tier to it’s existence just for me. Thankfully, for no clear reason whatsoever, it poofed away as some strong desire to write this again came to me after work. So... tada? Also I am sorry but so so many of you asked to be tagged (I’m very flattered!!!) that I think I’m missing a bunch of people. If I missed you send me a message and I’ll add you to the list. Enjoy 😊

Part 1  |   Part 2  | Part 3  | Part 4  | Part 5  |  Part 6  | Part 7  | Part 8  | Part 9  | Part 10  | Part 11 | Part 12

You’re trembling slightly as you walk down your stairs, breath coming out shakily as you try to calm yourself down. You had 24 hours to find out at least something about what the Mikaelsons were doing here. 24 hours and no clue where to start.

  Through the back window you could see Klaus and Elijah making their way out of the guest house. Their expressions were drawn and Klaus had a small black bag clutched in his hand. Your eyes darted to the door to the house. Were you that stupid?

The fact that your feet were already moving you forward gave you a clear yes, but at least you could report back to Josie that you did, despite her belief, have some sort of self-preservation. It was just a really fucked up kind.

  The door to the guest house opened with ease. Of course the Mikaelsons didn’t think to lock it. What was the point? Who would try to get in to their home without their permission and who would live to tell the tale?

  Well, hopefully you.

The painting supplies were still right where you left them. Your eyes swept across the room in front of you, cataloging what you saw. You’d helped Josie redecorate last summer, but it looked like the Mikaelsons took it upon themselves to do some of their own renovations. It was a little bit embarrassing how little of the place you’d payed attention to when you were here with Klaus.

 They’d rearranged half the furniture for gods sake and you hadn’t noticed at all. With a frown on your face, you examined the new layout of the room. You wondered what prompted the rearrangement. The couches being moved about made sense to give Klaus extra space for his easels. But what was the purpose of switching the office area with the dining room?

  The office, which you were truthfully rather proud of last summer, looked like Elijah’s doing. Two bookcases now sandwiched in the desk against what was supposed to be the accent wall of the room. Not a single bit of the pop of color on the wall was visible now. The imposing set up didn’t even look touched. You could feel your eyebrows tense as they tried to furrow further with your deepened confusion. Dust collected across the books on their shelves. You swiped a finger through it. Coated.

It surprised you that Elijah wasn’t as much of a neat freak about his environment as he was abou his appearance. Though, you suspected if he was he’d have spent most of his millennia+ on earth cleaning up after his siblings. You snorted to yourself. Didn’t he already do that?

A blank space on one of the shelves drew your eye. Amongst a sea of books and paperweights, a patch of dustless real estate on an otherwise packed bookcase stared back at you. If those Nancy Drew books you read as a child had taught you anything, that prominent rectangle of empty space meant that something had been moved. And recently.

That, you smiled to yourself, was a lead.

A scan of the desk and the rest of the shelves confirmed that whatever it was hadn’t simply been reorganized. You pulled open the drawers of the heavy oak desk. Pens, paperclips, highlighters, sticky notes, stapler, hole punch, scissors, and more pens. No. Notebooks, empty folders, the coffee maker’s instructional guide. No. Empty space with a single pen cap rolling around. No.

A dead end.

You got down on your knees. The floor was clean. Under the couches, too. The ottoman with the lift up storage option, empty. The side tables small draw with it’s tendency to stick (a single missing screw from Ikea can really screw your building abilities), empty. You moved to the TV console, frustration building.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You checked the shelves. You were too short to reach the top ones but the Mikaelsons weren’t. You grabbed a chair and stepped up. It was in vain. Careful to put it back as you’d found it, you moved the chair in defeat. You checked the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard were empty. The fruit salad in the fridge seemed to judge you and you sighed. You didn’t expect it to be in the fridge but it was almost eight at night and you’d torn the downstairs of this house a part.

 The Mikaelsons could be back any minute and you’d found nothing. What if there was nothing? Had you wasted hours of your short time frame on trying to find something that didn’t exist?

It dawned on you that Klaus’s little black bag just might have –

A groan escaped your lips. What a colossal waste of time. Time that to you did not have to waste. You closed the fridge, head coming down to lean on the cool stainless steel door in defeat. Maybe there was a clue you could find back in the main house. Josie’s room might have something that you could give Jess.

With a deep breath, you straightened up. No point in giving up until Jess’s voice was ordering you to kill yourself. Josie would expect nothing less from you, and in truth, so do you.

As you walked through the house to the door you passed by one of the many shelves you checked and just like in one of those long rumored witch’s intuition stories, something pulled your eye to it once again. Something pulled your eye directly to an unassuming wooden framed photo that you didn’t register as new. So, something you’d had to have seen a million times by now, surely. But why then did it feel so very important to look at it?

You walked over, cautious of this intense urge in your blood. It was often hard to tell with magical urges if something was for good intent or bad.

  The photo was in black and white. A little girl sat on a dock, one tooth missing right in the front. A man in an ornate three piece suit that had to predate the Georgian era stood by her, looking out of place but pleased with himself. Beside him was a boy that looked around your age. He was scowling in the photo. In his had he held something tightly, as if he would die if it were ever lost to him. Your eyes scanned the photo back and forth, that feeling still present. What was it? What were you supposed to see?

  The background of the photo was just water. A lake most likely. There were no lakes here. Where were they? Who were they? You leaned in to get a closer look. The photo quality was bad and it wasn’t until you looked hard that you realized it wasn’t a photo at all. A painting. A small, incredibly detailed painting.

  Klaus?

But no. How? You knew this painting wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You also knew that some how you had never noticed it. How could you go so long seeing something so often, convinced it was just a photo of something unimportant?

Almost like magic. Why would anybody spell this little painting with an unnotable spell? More specifically, why did Josie (because it had to be her) cast this spell when you were the only other person than her to see it? You didn’t have guests usually. It was why you had been so surprised when she had announced the renovation of the guest house last summer.

  The moment the skin on your fingers touched the painting’s surface, a vision clear as an actual photo slammed into your mind’s eye. Blinded by the image, nothing existed but it and you were enraptured what you saw.

  It was the exact image that had been painted, but the details were sharp. You could see the threads of the man’s suit. The pours of the little girl. The splintered wood of the old dock. Everything of the moment preserved perfectly in a snapshot.

  There was no sound. You felt nothing from the scene. This was not a vision of the past that let you experience the moment with those in it. You could see the wind sweeping through the girl’s locks but you couldn’t feel a thing. This was the scene of the painter through the painter’s very eyes.

But who’s eyes? And who were these people?

You looked focused on their faces. The little girl’s slightly downturned nose and her rounded jaw clicked in your mind as your eyes rested on her’s. Josie. A young Josie. This made sense. This was a memory Josie had that she wanted to keep private. But why? And why keep the painting if she wanted it secret? The man beside her was probably her father, right? 

As your eyes shifted to his features and they sharpened into view for you, Josie’s body blurred away. No, you realized. That was not Josie’s father. Though you had never met the man or seen his photo before, you knew this was not him. Because this was Elijah Mikaelson.

  At least it made sense now how they knew Josie. Old friends indeed. But what on earth was Elijah doing standing on a dock on some lake with a Josie when she was a child and a boy? As your eyes darted to the boy, the change of the image didn’t surprise you. Josie and Elijah blurred and he came into focus.

  Despite not having known him for as long or studying his face too much, it was clear by his eyes that you were staring at a teenage Jess.

You gasped and were ripped from the image.

  Around you, the guest house came back into view. In your hands, clutched tightly, was the photo. Your heart rate was up and you didn’t know when you had started to breath so quickly or so hard. You blinked your dry eyes. Josie, Jess, and Elijah?

  The sound of wheels pulling up on the gravel drive had your head shooting up. They were back. You didn’t have time to get to the house and though beautiful, Josie’s flower filled garden didn’t actually give you much cover to hide. Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs.

  The bathroom door was open and from downstairs, it was easy to see. Too obvious someone was here. The bedroom beside it was locked and you didn’t have time to find the spare key somewhere on top of the door. The closet next to it was too small with the vacuum in it. It wouldn’t do. You spun around, unsure how close the Mikaelsons were and if they were listening. 

The other bedrooms had their doors open. Shit. Too suspicious. One door, directly across from the stairs remained. Could you even make it before they opened the door?

You didn’t have a choice. The handle to the room jiggled and the door clicked open. You slipped inside and went to close it as gently as possible when the front door opened. You froze. The door was still a jar. They’d notice if for sure.

“Well that was fun,” Kol sighed and you heard him flop onto the couch.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Rebekah huffed and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way through the house.

  “Drink?” Elijah asked nobody in particular.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah said with a short tone and you almost squeaked in fear as you realized she was starting up the stairs.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, sister!” Kol called after her.

  “You’re a reckless idiot without a scrap of self-control,” she seethed back.

“It’s not like he actually liked you,” Kol scoffed.

Something expensive sounding shattered followed by Kol’s laugh.

  “May I remind you that this is not our home?” Elijah’s calm voice of reason came.

  You waited with baited breath for something to happen next. If Kol could get one more quip in to make Rebekah break something else you could use the distraction to close the door properly.  

“What happened?” Klaus said, evidently just entering the house.

  “I’m going to bed,” Rebekah stated and you closed your eyes as a curse tried to come out of your lips.

  “Sister,” Klaus stopped her and his voice was much closer now. He was on the stairs with her, you guessed. “You cannot get angry every time one of your many suitors gets eaten by our brother. You know how he is,” he explained in a hushed voice with a taunt.

Something smashed against the wall again.

“KOL,” Elijah reprimanded.

  A thud sounded against the wall and you reached for the door, ready to close it if another opportunity struck.

  “Enough property damage,” Klaus told his brother.

  “It was her fault anyway. You know it,” Kol argued.

“I was getting him to trust me,” Rebekah’s voice was further away. She must have joined her brothers down stairs again.

“And that involved opening your legs for him, did it?”

You knew it was coming so as Rebekah jumped to attack her brother, you ceased the moment to shut the door. The soft click would be lost to them as they tried to pull their sister and brother apart.

  The room you were in hadn’t been touched since the renovation. You walked over to the window to see if there was any feasible way down.

  “Deal with it,” Klaus’s voice came from just outside the door. 

You whipped around, eyes wide, as you realized they solved the little dispute far faster than you thought they would. You dropped to the ground as you heard Elijah reply to his brother. The door clicked open as you lifted the duvet and scooted yourself as quietly as possible under the bed.

  Luckily, Klaus’s instructions invoked a lot of opinions from his siblings. He stood in the doorway and barked out orders at them. Something else was thrown. As you spelled your breath silent, you spared a thought for all the things you’d have to replace by the time the Mikaelsons moved out.

Klaus shut the door with a harsh thud and switched on the light by the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sheer bad luck you had that this of all the rooms was his.

  Klaus moved around the room, silent except for his steady breathing. Something was placed delicately on a surface in his room. Then, he moved to the window and you heard it slide open. He breathed deeply. The rustling sound of fabric peaked your interest. Something landed on the bed. The unmistakable sound of a zip had a flush come to your face. Oh no.

  Another thing was thrown on the bed. You imagined Klaus’s shirt and jeans piled on his sheets. This was bad. He was going to bed. You were going to be stuck down here for the night.

Klaus opened his door. Huh? And then he left. Wait what?

Cautiously, you lifted the duvet and peeked out. Nothing. You scooted to the other side of the double bed, wincing as the underneath spring of the bed caught your hair and it pulled. The other side confirmed that he had definitely left and shut the door behind him.

  Apparently the plus side of hiding under the bed of a paranoid hybrid with even his siblings at times out to get him was that he kept his room strictly closed off to everyone else.

  You scooted out from under the bed. The window, now open, was your best bet. Who was to say if the path to the door was empty or if you could open the front door without alerting anyone. A well timed cushioning spell would make the rose bush you’d land on hurt a little less. The thorns would still be a bitch though.

  A sudden realization hit you that you forgot the painting at some point in your scooting. You rushed back to the bed and had to scoot back under a bit to reach it. As your hand touched it, you were once again rushed into the snapshot of the scene.

This time you knew you weren’t the painter. You looked down to your right at the top of Josie’s head. To your left was Jess. This was Elijah’s view. Which meant, if you looked straight ahead you’d most likely see –

It wasn’t Klaus.

  You frowned. You were sure it would be Klaus. But you didn’t recognize the man painting on the tiny canvas in front of him with a concentrated look on his face. He had brown thinning hair and a sullen face with cupid bow lips and a nose people would pay good money for. He was an odd man that was handsome and not. You wondered who he was and tried to get the image to focus in further to find some distinguishing feature of some sort.

You were once again ripped back into reality as you registered the sound of footsteps outside the door. The window would have to wait and you dived back down and rolled under the bed, hitting you head as you did so. You bit your lip in pain as the door opened.

Klaus was back.

  You couldn’t say if he was gone long or not as you had no idea how much time you had been lost to that vision. It didn’t seem long, but then again they never did.

  Klaus sighed. The distinct sound of a towel rubbing against hair was the only sound in the room for a while as you put together that he just came from a shower. So, he was probably naked. You bit your lip for a different reason. You listened as Klaus toweled himself dry. He pulled a drawer open and assumingly put on some kind of clothing. You hopped it was at least a pair of underwear.

The bed dipped as Klaus sat. The lamp was clicked off. Shuffling from above. The bed dipped in different places as Klaus got comfortable. As luck was not your fan, he settled directly above you. You didn’t dare scoot one way or another. He’d surely hear it.

So you were spending the night here then. Great.

Klaus fidgeted above you again, having the gal to not find a comfortable position for the night. You stared at the springs and mattress centimeters from your face in annoyance. To be fair, this could have been the comfiest floor in the world and you still wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not with Klaus above you and the rest of the Mikaelsons scattered about the house. No hope of escape until morning.

  A sharp inhale cut through your self pity. Another one. Was he…?

[longitudinalwaveme]

The Man in the Mirror

Sam Scudder, the costumed crook known as the Mirror Master, accidentally swaps places with Dr. Samuel Scudder, the heroic Mirror Master of a mirror dimension and a man who is everything he isn't: a beloved hero, a skilled optometrist, and a devoted husband and father.

Sam never went to medical school, and knows he isn't exactly a good role model for kids. Dr. Scudder, for his part, isn't particularly thrilled to be stuck behind bars for the crimes of his counterpart. Can the two men find a way to reverse the switch, or will each be doomed to live out the other man's life?

Dr. Samuel Scudder, an optometrist who had achieved much greater fame as the Mirror Master, had visited a number of alternate realities over the years. Not only was traveling to alternate realities part and parcel of being a superhero who helped to save the world, but he also had stumbled onto dozens of them as the result of his constant experimentation with the Mirror Realm. However, this particular trip had gone disastrously wrong. While he was no stranger to accidentally transporting himself to alternate dimensions, he had always been able to transport himself back to his own reality with little difficulty. This time, it was as though the Mirror Realm had closed part of itself off. While he was still able to use it to traverse across this dimension, when he had tried to transport himself back home, a wave of energy had ejected him from the Realm. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck in this dimension. 

Dr. Scudder would have been dismayed to be stuck in any dimension other than his own, of course, but in most of them, he would likely have had access to resources that he could use to get himself back home via another route. This reality was far more problematic, because, as he had abruptly discovered when he had been arrested for escaping prison only a few minutes after his arrival, his counterpart in this reality was a criminal. Since he and the criminal Samuel Scudder of this dimension were physically identical, the authorities had naturally concluded that he was his counterpart and had sent him to prison in his counterpart’s place. Now that he had been mistaken for his counterpart, Dr. Scudder’s options for getting home were very limited. He couldn’t exactly go looking for help while locked up in prison, and the fact that everyone would assume that he was the Samuel Scudder of this dimension meant that few people were likely to believe a word he said, especially about something as unlikely as him being from another reality. If this had been the work of his counterpart, Dr. Scudder had to admit that the man was brilliant. Who better to get locked up in your place than someone who was for all intents and purposes your identical twin? 

“Dinner, Scudder.” The voice of one of the prison’s guards broke Dr. Scudder out of his reverie. The man shoved a tray into the cell. 

“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Scudder replied quietly. His counterpart probably wasn’t nearly so polite to the guards, but he saw no reason to be rude. The guard looked a bit surprised, but didn’t say anything as he walked away. Once he was gone, Dr. Scudder started eating the food and quickly discovered that yes, prison food was as bad as reported. In spite of the taste, however, he ate all of it; growing up on Skid Row, never knowing where his next meal might be coming from, meant that he never wasted food, no matter how poorly it tasted. 

Once he had finished his meal, he started to look around the cell to see if he could learn anything about the habits and personality of his counterpart (other than his obvious criminal tendencies). The absence of mirrors basically confirmed his suspicion that his counterpart used the same mirror technology that he did; it was likely intended to prevent any escape attempts...and was woefully inadequate for that purpose. It wasn’t just mirrors that allowed access to the Mirror Realm; any reflective surface would do. Short of locking him in a cell with no light, which seemed morally questionable at best, the only way to prevent this universe’s Samuel Scudder-or Dr. Scudder himself, for that matter-from escaping would be to spend more money than the prison’s budget likely had on technology advanced enough to counteract the effects of the mirror tech. Both he and his counterpart effectively had the power of instant teleportation; containing them was almost impossible. Dr. Scudder had never been more glad that his mother had caught on to the addiction problem he’d developed in high school after...after...no, not thinking about it-than he was right now. The amount of damage he could have done if he’d fallen into crime like this Samuel Scudder apparently had was immense. 

Further perusal of the cell uncovered a scientific tome about the nature of light that had evidently been borrowed from the prison’s library, an old JSA comic book from the same source (Dr. Scudder couldn’t help but smile at that; he’d always loved those old comics and had a pretty substantial collection of them), a picture of his counterpart with a man who strongly resembled George “Digger” Wiggins, the head of Wiggins’ Toy Company, and a mostly-complete pack of cigarettes. At the last, Dr. Scudder groaned. It had taken him several years to kick his addiction to smoking; he definitely didn’t need the temptation to fall off the wagon now. He quickly shoved the cigarettes back under the cot and, fairly certain that he’d found everything of interest in the cell, started leafing through the comic book. He was delighted to find that it was a story that he actually hadn’t read before, and was soon lost to the world, swept up in the adventures of his boyhood heroes. 

****************************************************************

Sam Scudder had broken out of prison a number of times; it was, after all, practically a prerequisite for any self-respecting supervillain. However, while his grand escapes had often gotten his name in the papers, he had to admit that being greeted by a cheering crowd shortly after breaking prison was new. 

“Mirror Master! Mirror Master!” Bewildered, but never one to turn down attention and applause, Sam waved to the crowd. The cheers and applause got louder, and a couple of children ran up to him. 

“Mr. Mirror Master, sir, could we have you autograph?” one of them asked. 

“Uh...of course, kiddo,” Sam replied. He was still a bit perplexed by the situation, but it was starting to seem oddly familiar. He signed both kids’ papers, and they beamed. 

“Wow! This is the biggest thrill of my life!” the other kid exclaimed as they excitedly ran back to a woman Sam assumed was their mother. And then it clicked. He’d been in a situation very like this one before, shortly after his initial discovery of the Mirror Realm. He had discovered a mirror reality of sorts where the Flash was a crook and his own counterpart, this universe’s Mirror Master, was a do-gooder, and had been mistaken for his counterpart by a couple of kids when he had gone to that reality in order to further a plan to defeat the Flash. Clearly, he had ended up in that reality again...but this time, he had no idea as to how it had happened. He had entered the Mirror Realm in order to transport himself closer to one of his hideouts….and when he had emerged, he had been surrounded pretty much immediately by this crowd.

Whatever the reason he had ended up here, though, he’d need to be going. As much as he loved the limelight, he had far too much to do in his own reality to stick around in this one. After signing a dozen more autographs and agreeing to have his picture taken a few times, he bade the crowd good-bye, entered the Mirror Realm, and headed back to the path he usually took to return to his own reality...only to suddenly be violently ejected from the Mirror Realm. Luckily, he wasn’t deposited back in front of the crowd, but it was still worrisome (and a bit painful). It seemed that, for whatever reason, the Mirror Realm was blocking his path back home….which meant that he was stuck in this reality. Sam groaned. The last thing he needed was to be stuck in a reality where everyone would think he was some pillar of the community or something.

The only bright spot to this mess (other than the fact that he wouldn’t have to dodge police or the Flash) was the fact that the Mirror Realm had at least deposited him next to a building that looked like the hideout he had been trying to reach in his own dimension, albeit much less dilapidated. He pulled the key to the building out of the gun holster where he stored it, discovered, to his relief, that it still unlocked the door, stepped inside the building, and pulled off his cowl. The building’s interior was much homier and more put-together than the interior of his hideout, but it was still pretty clearly the same structure. Before he could make any further observations, however, he was distracted by the sound of approaching footsteps. 

“So, my heroic husband’s finally home. It’s good to see you again, dear. How was work?” For his part, Sam barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping open. The woman standing in front of him was a perfect replica of his high school sweetheart, Jenny Conners...but if she was calling him husband , that meant that his heroic counterpart had gotten married to his Jenny! 

“Uh, hi, Jenny! Work was...work was good,” he said awkwardly. Jenny (or rather, Jenny’s counterpart) laughed. 

“In other words, Officer Snart and Dr. Dillon got into another spat about whether or not Dr. Dillon is a suitable candidate for Ms. Mayor Snart’s hand in marriage,” she said. In spite of himself, Sam smiled. Insane alternate dimension where the Golden Glider was the mayor or no, it seemed that some things remained consistent no matter where you were in the multiverse. 

“Sadly, that seems to be the argument that will never die,” Sam replied. Suddenly, he heard several more footsteps, and then three little girls rushed into the room. 

“Dad, guess what? My team won the basketball game in gym class!” 

“Do you like the way Mom fixed my hair, Dad? I can’t decide if I like it or not.” 

“Hi, Daddy!” 

Sam was thunderstruck. His do-gooder counterpart being married to his high school sweetheart had been unexpected, but really not too surprising in the grand scheme of things. The fact that he was a father, however….that he would never have predicted. 

“I didn’t quite catch that, guys. Could you repeat what you told me a little more slowly?” he asked, wondering just how much of a tell his discomfort in this situation was.

“My team won our basketball game in gym class!” The girl who said this was wearing jeans, a t-shirt that read “Centerfield Elementary Basketball”, and gym shoes, and had her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. 

“Good job,” Sam replied, unsure of what else to say. 

“I was wanting to know what you think of how Mom fixed my hair,” the second girl said. She was so like the first girl that she almost had to be her twin, but she was wearing a purple button-down and a khaki skirt, and her hair was pulled into two braids, each adorned with a purple ribbon. She was adorable. 

“You look great, sweetheart,” Sam said. His own father had died when he was a baby, so he had no idea if he sounded appropriately fatherly or not. That being said, the girl beamed, so he had at least succeeded in making her happy. 

“I was just saying hi, Daddy. I love you soooo much,” the third little girl said. She was clearly younger than the other two and was wearing a pink dress with “Daddy’s Little Princess” emblazoned on it, and before he could even respond, she had hugged him around the legs. 

“I love you, too,” Sam said weakly, feeling increasingly lousy. Posing as his counterpart was one thing when he was plotting against the Flash or receiving the plaudits of a crowd, but quite another when he was with the counterpart of his high school sweetheart (who thought that he was her husband) and her children. He needed to get out of this situation, ASAP. Luckily for him, Jenny’s counterpart (maybe he’d just call her Jennifer for the sake of simplicity) provided him with the means to escape. 

“Girls, your father has had a long day. I think he needs to rest a bit. You can tell him all about your days at dinner, but for now, why don’t you let him go to our room so that he can recover from work?” she asked. The three girls nodded.

“Thanks, Jenny,” Sam said. With that, he took off for his bedroom (or at least, where his bedroom was in his hideout) and was pleased to see that it was his counterpart’s bedroom as well. Not having to completely relearn the layout of the house was a relief. While it was much more homey and had a queen-sized double bed instead of a single one, it was still recognizably his bedroom. His counterpart even had a similar collection of JSA comics! Thrilled, he pulled one of his favorites off of the shelf and started reading it. Soon enough, his situation was temporarily forgotten as he was swept into the world of his boyhood heroes.

****************************************************

Dr. Scudder had been puzzling over why his cell, which had clearly been designed with two inhabitants in mind, had so far only held one person for a few days when two of the guards walked up to it, escorting an inmate Dr. Scudder hadn’t seen so far between them. The inmate in question was swearing quite colorfully and looked familiar, though he couldn’t quite work out why. 

“Harkness, if you don’t shut it right now, we’re putting you in solitary,” one of the guards barked. At this, the inmate stopped swearing and apparently decided to settle for giving the guards a death glare instead. 

“Here’s your cellmate, Scudder. Stay back from the door if you know what’s good for you,” the other guard said. 

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Scudder replied, prompting an odd look from the inmate. The doctor sat down on the cot that he now sincerely hoped hadn’t been intended for the new arrival, and then the guards opened the cell door, uncuffed the inmate, and pushed him inside the cell. A minute later, the doors were locked again, the guards were gone, and Dr. Scudder found himself with a cellmate.  

“Since when are you so bloody polite with the guards, Scudder?” the man demanded in a thick Australian accent. At this point, Dr. Scudder realized that the vague sense of familiarity was probably due to the fact that this was undoubtedly George Wiggins’ counterpart and the man he had seen in the photograph with his own counterpart. In other words, he was familiar with how the Samuel Scudder of this dimension ought to behave.

“I can blow this joint whenever I feel like it. Why cause extra trouble for myself before I do?” Growing up on Skid Row had given Dr. Scudder a general feel for how people talked when they were trying to be tough, but he wasn’t sure if that made him a convincing arch-thief or not. His cellmate shrugged. 

“Suit yourself, mate. Where’d you put the cigarettes? I could really use a smoko.” Dr. Scudder gestured under the cot he was sitting on, figuring that this man probably wouldn’t be terribly responsive to a lecture about the dangers of smoking, and soon afterwards, his cellmate was lighting up a cigarette.

“Strewth! I needed that. Here, you have one, mate. You look like you need it, too.” He threw the pack of cigarettes across the cell towards Dr. Scudder, who caught it on instinct, then frowned. His cellmate might well become suspicious if he didn’t light up a cigarette of his own, as his counterpart had clearly never bothered to break his addiction to smoking, but Dr. Scudder had promised his mother and Jenny that he would kick the habit, and he intended to keep that promise. How was he supposed to do that and keep his cellmate from figuring out that he wasn’t who he thought he was?  

“Not now,” he finally said. He knew himself. If he started smoking in this dimension, even to prevent his potentially-violent cellmate from getting suspicious about him, there was a good chance that he wouldn’t be able to stop. He was, after all, still technically a nicotine addict. 

“I’ll be stuffed! You don’t want a durry?” his cellmate asked. 

“I said not now!” Dr. Scudder exclaimed. 

“You don’t need to get up me, mate. You don’t have to if you don’t wanna. Just not sure when you became such a conch is all,” his cellmate replied. Although Dr. Scudder had worked with George Wiggins on occasion, who had just as much of an accent as his apparent counterpart, their paths didn’t really cross often enough for him to have a full grasp on Australian slang. As a result, he wasn’t entirely sure what his cellmate had just said. 

“Whatever,” he said, hoping that this rather brusque retort would get his cellmate to drop the subject. He was very relieved when it actually seemed to work. 

“So I’ve been thinking. The exploding and electric boomerangs are bonzer and all, but wouldn’t it be really something if we made a boomerang that coil let me teleport like your mirror gizmos do? The bloody Flash’s gotten too good at counteracting my flying ones,” his cellmate said. After a brief period of confusion, Dr. Scudder remembered that George Wiggins had a heroic alter ego named, of all things, “Captain Boomerang”. It seemed that his counterpart in this reality used the same gimmick (and, if Dr. Scudder’s counterpart was anything to go by, likely the same name as well) and was looking to upgrade his arsenal. Since the man was obviously also a crook, Dr. Scudder didn’t want to help him in this endeavor, but he needed a way to refuse without making it too obvious that he wasn’t actually the Samuel Scudder of this reality. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Teleportation is my gimmick,” he replied. In his experience, supervillains tended to be incredibly protective of whatever gimmick they used when commiting crimes, so it seemed logical to assume that his criminal counterpart would be equally protective of his gimmick.

“It’d specifically be a teleporting boomerang, mate. I’m not gonna take over your mirror thing or nothin’. That’s too weird for me, anyway,” his cellmate said. As much as Dr. Scudder wanted to protest the hypocrisy of someone who solely used weaponized boomerangs to commit-or prevent, in the case of his universe’s Captain Boomerang-crimes describing his gimmick as weird, he had to admit that there were a number of things about his tech and the Mirror Realm that he didn’t fully understand. Even when compared to weaponizing boomerangs, his tech was pretty weird. Instead, he decided to use the weirdness of his powers to his advantage. 

“If you wanted to get the effect you’re looking for, you’d have to use my weird tech. It’s the only form of teleportation any of us have access to...and even I don’t really understand it fully. In the hands of an amateur, it could be totally useless, or really hazardous to their health.” His cellmate frowned thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, that’d be right. Guess I’ll leave the freaky teleporting stuff to you, mate,” he said resignedly. 

“The Mirror Realm isnae so ‘weird’ once ye learn its rules, ye ken. Scudder’s always been tae cautious tae really explore the place, but once you do...why, ye’ll never want tae leave Wonderland,” a third voice, thick with a Scottish burr, said suddenly. Then, without warning, a third man walked out of the cell’s sink and into the cell itself. Like Dr. Scudder and his cellmate, he was dressed in prison greys, and, given what he had just done, Dr. Scudder might have thought that he was the Samuel Scudder of this dimension if not for the fact that, beyond a basic similarity in their builds, the new arrival looked nothing like him. He was a bit stockier than Dr. Scudder was and had wild auburn hair, a black eye, and a noticeable tooth gap that was visible thanks to his mildly unsettling open-mouthed grin. Even more unsettling was the fact that his cellmate didn’t seem particularly thrilled to see the new arrival. 

“Not this loon again. I don’t care what Cold says, this limey’s not the full quid.” 

“I’m nae more a limey than ye, ye minger. I’m a Glaswegian, nae a Londoner,” the other man replied. 

“Who are you callin’ a minger, you yobbo?” At this, the conversation rapidly devolved into an incredibly bewildering series of what Dr. Scudder presumed were Australian and Scottish insults and lots of loud swearing. Inevitably, the noise attracted the guards, who stormed over to the cell. 

“Quiet in there! Do we need to...oh, no. Not again!” one of them said. 

“How does McCulloch keep doing this? He never has any tech on him when he’s brought in, and he’s not an inventor like Scudder. How can he keep escaping his cell and going into other inmates’ with no tech?” another asked. 

“Maybe he’s a meta?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous! If he was a meta, his powers would be detected by our scanners. Dillon’s always are.” 

“But how else could a cokehead like him pull stunts like this off?” 

“Maybe he has help?” 

“In case you two have forgotten, we’re supposed to be capturing him and taking him to solitary for being out of his cell unsupervised,” the first guard said gruffly. The last comment finally seemed to draw the Scotsman’s attention away from his argument. 

“Oops! Looks like I’d better be going. Ta!” With that, the newcomer vanished back into the Mirror Realm...and Dr. Scudder realized suddenly that, as far as he knew, there was no “McCulloch” who was running around with his powers in his dimension. So where had this McCulloch come from? 

************************************************************************

The longer Sam stayed in this mirror dimension, the less he liked it. He was an illusionist by trade; seeming to be what he wasn’t was practically his calling card. However, even he could only keep up an act for so long, and pretending to be his do-gooder counterpart had already been exhausting him. And then he had learned that the Sam Scudder of this dimension was an optometrist! “Fake it ‘til you make it” had been effective in a number of situations in the past, but he somehow doubted working as an eye doctor when you’d never even graduated high school would be one of them. Fortunately, his counterpart had evidently just started a week-long vacation from work when he had arrived in this dimension, so he hadn’t actually had to work as an optometrist yet, but what was he going to do if the week of vacation ended and he was still stuck here?  

“Honey, are you alright? I know you’ve been really busy lately-it’s why you took this vacation, after all-but you seem like you’ve been avoiding me and our daughters lately, and I’m getting worried,” Jennifer asked as she adjusted his tie (or rather, his counterpart’s tie that he was wearing). She had informed him earlier that day that “they” (she and this world’s Sam) had planned to have a dinner party at their house today, and he had spent most of the day helping her and his counterpart’s cute kids make the place presentable for their guests (“I know she’s your friend, but she’s still the Mayor. I don’t want the house looking like a tornado went through it!”) Sam frowned. 

“I guess I must have been more stressed than I realized,” he said lamely. What else could he say? “I’m uncomfortable around you because I’m not really your husband; I’m his criminal counterpart from another dimension”? Even if she believed him, the only thing saying that would accomplish would be to get him locked up in this dimension. As creepy as it felt to lie to someone who looked so much like his old flame, looking out for number one was still more important. Jennifer sighed. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised. You work full-time as an optometrist and as a superhero; and then you’re also a dedicated father who helps around the house when you get home. That’s a lot for anyone to have on their plate...and that’s not even counting what happened to your mother two years ago. Therapy or no therapy, I don’t...I don’t think any of us are really over that.” Sam looked at her in alarm. What had happened to his mother? Er, his counterpart’s mother? Before he could think of a way to ask about it in a way that wouldn’t make it clear that he had no idea what had happened, Jennifer continued her thought and answered the question for him. 

“I mean, we knew that the superhero life had risks before you got into it, but I never thought...I never thought that the Flash would go after a sweet old woman like her just to get to you. She...she didn’t even have a chance to run before...before-it was just like my father all over again,” Jennifer said. Once, Sam had miscalculated where to exit from the Mirror Realm, falling almost ten feet and landing flat on his back. It had knocked the wind out of him completely and it had taken him several minutes to get his breath back. Learning that his mother-no, his counterpart’s mother-had been murdered by the criminal Flash of this dimension had a similar effect. He’d already lost Jenny’s father all those years ago when….no, not thinking about it; the idea of losing his mother like this Sam Scudder had was horrifying, no matter how estranged he was from her. Amidst the horror, Sam felt a sudden appreciation for the Flash of his dimension. Having a clean-cut busybody Flash was annoying, but a monstrous Flash who murdered innocent old ladies would be way worse. 

“I...I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Sam said. And, for perhaps the first time since he’d arrived in this dimension, he was telling the complete truth. 

“I know. Neither can I. Do you want to cancel our dinner party? I can if you need me to,” Jennifer asked. Sam shook his head. He needed something to take his mind off what he had just learned, ASAP. All canceling the party would do was give him more time to mull over what had happened to his counterpart’s mother and...I’m not thinking about it! He had spent years not thinking about things like that, and he didn’t intend to start now. 

“No. We’ve already cleaned the house and everything, and the kids’ll be disappointed if they don’t get to see the guests,” Sam replied. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

All right. In that case, we’d better get downstairs. Officer Snart’s always early to things like this,” Jennifer replied. With that, he and his counterpart’s wife joined the cute kids downstairs, and, sure enough, the doorbell rang less than ten minutes later. Sam opened the door and was promptly greeted by the bizarre sight of a man who looked just like Len Snart, but wearing a police uniform. 

“Hey, Doc. Thanks for invitin’ me. How’ve you and the missus been?” he asked. 

“Uh, fine. Thanks. How about you?” Sam replied awkwardly. 

“Busy. Trainin’ rookie cops who think they know everything just ‘cause they went to some upscale police academy’s a pain, but what’re ya gonna do?” If there were two phrases that did not belong together in the same sentence, they were “police officer” and “Len Snart”...but then again, his counterpart was an optometrist. Len being a cop was pretty tame by comparison.  

“You love them all already, don’t you?” Jennifer asked. 

“Eh, they’re decent kids. Better than the batch I had last year...especially that creep I kicked off the force and arrested for beatin’ up his wife an’ kids. He picked the wrong Lieutenant to pull that crap with,” Len’s counterpart replied.  

“And how are Lucy and Jackson and your foster kids?” 

“They’re doin’ well, for the most part. My latest boy thinks he’s tough and he’s been givin’ me a bit of a rough time. Kid’s fifteen years old and thinks the world is out to get him, not that I can blame him after what he’s been through. Reminds me a lot of me at that age.  I just hope I can do for him what Officer Frye did for me an’ my sister,'' Len's counterpart explained. Sam felt really disoriented. It was very strange to have a man who looked and sounded and acted so much like Len Snart, but was also clearly not him.

“It wouldn’t be the first kid you’ve helped through a rough patch...and if you think he could benefit from therapy, my door is always open,” Jennifer said. 

“I appreciate it, Mrs. Scudder.” With that, Len’s counterpart was swarmed by Sam’s counterpart’s adorable children, who were clearly quite fond of the man. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. This time, there were two people on the other side: a man who was a dead ringer for Roscoe Dillon, and a woman in a very well-made pantsuit who looked exactly like Lisa Snart. Oh, right. The Golden Glider was the mayor in this reality. 

“Hi, Sam! Hi, Jennifer! How are you? I’m so glad we were able to make it,” Mayor Snart exclaimed. 

“We’re glad to have you here, Ms. Mayor. And Dr. Dillon, it’s good to see you,” Jennifer said. Sam waved awkwardly. 

“Likewise, Mrs. Scudder,” Dillon’s counterpart replied. Much like Dillon, he didn’t make eye contact, but he did smile, something that Dillon rarely did. 

“Hey, sis. How are you? Nobody’s been hasslin’ you in the office, right?” Len’s counterpart asked. 

“I’m a politician, Lenny. Being hassled is part of the job. But trust me, I can handle it,” Ms. Mayor replied. 

“You sure? ‘Cause I don’t want nobody hurtin’ my baby sister.”

“Yes, Lenny. I’m sure. I’m a big girl now. Isn’t that right, Dr. Scudder?” This, thankfully, was a question that Sam could answer pretty easily. 

“Your sister’s a remarkable woman, Len. She can handle herself,” he said. This Len probably wouldn’t listen any more than his Len did, but it was true in both realities. 

“Dr. Dillon, could I look at your tops, please?” This question came from Sam’s counterpart’s youngest daughter, whose name, as he had learned, was Samantha. Dr. Dillon’s face lit up. 

“Of course, darling. Which one would you like to see first?” Soon, he and Samantha were lost in a world of their own, both apparently completely entranced by Dr. Dillon’s tops. Ms. Mayor smiled. 

“I can’t wait until we have children of our own. No matter what he says, he’s actually really good with kids,” she said. While it wouldn’t have been true about his Dillon, Sam was inclined to believe her about this one. Several minutes later, with Dr. Dillon and Samantha still playing with tops, Ms. Mayor and Jennifer in a conversation about school funding, and his counterpart’s twins, Kathy and Kinsley, eagerly recounting their adventures at school to Len’s counterpart, the doorbell rang again. Sam answered it again, and this time found two men and a little boy on the other side. One was clearly Mick’s doppelganger, wearing a fireman’s uniform, and the other looked a lot like Mark Mardon, only a bit more well put together than the Mark of his reality and with a toddler on his hip. All right, he already knew Mick was a firefighter in this reality, so what weird thing did Mark do? And who was the kid? 

“Hi, everybody! I brought my homemade chili!” Mick’s doppelganger exclaimed. Sam made a mental note to politely avoid it. He’d tried the chili of his Mick once, and his mouth had felt like it was on fire for a week. 

“Hey, Mick! How ya doin’?” Len’s counterpart asked. 

“Great! Oh, and Dr. Scudder, Mrs. Scudder...thanks for having us over!” Mick’s doppelganger replied. 

“You’re welcome. Good to see you,” Sam replied weakly. He was glad that the guests were doing most of the talking. He was ordinarily a good liar, but three straight days of pretending to be someone else had worn him down, and he didn’t think he could’ve convincingly posed as his counterpart if the counterparts of the other Rogues hadn’t been doing most of the talking for him. 

“My wife says she’s sorry she couldn’t make it, but she has work tonight, and well-you know how it goes. It’s just me and our little guy tonight,” Mark-but-not-Mark said. 

“Oh, yeah. Julie mentioned at work that she’d be staying late tonight, now that I think about it. Guess I just didn’t think about it in relation to the party,” Len’s counterpart replied. So, Mark’s counterpart was married to a cop and they had a kid? Weird, but still not weirder than Lisa being the mayor. 

“Want down!” the toddler exclaimed. Mark-but-not-Mark obligingly set the kid down on the floor, and the twins immediately ran over to him, apparently thrilled by his arrival. 

“Aww, he’s so cute, Mr. Mardon!” Kathy exclaimed. 

“I can’t believe he’s so big now! I remember when he was just a tiny baby, and now he looks big enough to play ball with,” Kinsley added. Mark-but-not-Mark smiled. 

“He’s gonna be a regular heartbreaker when he grows up...just like me,” he said. 

“Yeah, you’re a real heartbreaker all right, Mardon. You break the hearts of anyone who looks at your ugly mug,” Len’s counterpart joked. Mark-but-not-Mark laughed. 

“You’re just jealous because I got voted the most handsome weather forecaster in the Midwest,” he said. Sam had to hold back a laugh of his own. He should’ve figured that Mardon’s counterpart would be a weatherman. 

“So, what are we having for dinner?” Mick’s doppelganger asked. 

“Italian food. I ordered it in from that Italian restaurant that’s owned by the aunt of-” 

“Hiya, everybody!” 

“Giovanni Giuseppi, the famous inventor,” Jennifer said. Sure enough, a small man who looked just like the Trickster, up to and including the garish fashion sense, was floating next to the partially-opened window. Sam walked over to the large window and obligingly opened it the rest of the way, and then the Trickster’s counterpart walked inside before descending and settling on the floor. 

“Uncle Giovanni! Uncle Giovanni!” the twins exclaimed.

“Gio!” Mark-but-not-Mark’s toddler said. 

“Hi, kids! Who wants a balloon animal?” All four children raised their hands, with Samantha even looking up from Dr. Dillon’s tops. Giovanni promptly set to work making balloon animals for the kids, chattering up a storm all the while about his newest advances in aerodynamic technology and the marketing success that the Airwalker shoes had proven to be. In fact, he was still chattering away when the doorbell rang again. Sam ran over to answer it, and was greeted by the strangest thing he’d seen all evening: Digger Harkness, with his hair combed, wearing a tuxedo. 

“G’day, everybody!”

“Well, if it isn’t the toy tycoon turned superhero. How’re you doin’, Mr. Wiggins?” Len’s counterpart asked. Sam frowned. Mr. Wiggins? 

“Fair dinkum, mate. Thanks for inviting me to your party, Dr. Scudder. It’s been a wild couple ‘a’ months, it has, inheriting my pop’s company and moving to a new country and all. It’s nice to know I’ve met some bonzer people since coming here,” Digger’s counterpart replied. 

“I know I’ve been wanting to get to know you better. I love Wiggins’ Toys!” Giovanni exclaimed. 

“And I am very curious to learn more about the man who inherited the company which created so many of my beloved tops,” Dr. Dillon added. 

“Well, as you might’ve guessed, I’m from Oz. Grew up in the Outback surrounded by lots of nothing...well, nothing except kangaroos, deadly spiders, venomous snakes, and lots of cows. My family never had much quid, so it was a bit of a surprise when I got a letter saying that I was the sole inheritor of some rich Yankee bloke’s company and fortune. Turns out I had a father I never knew about. Never even got to meet the guy. Apparently he and my mum had had a bit of a fling a long time ago that produced me, and he felt guilty enough to make me his heir on the off chance that he passed. I...I’m a bit out of my depth runnin’ a whole company, but my mum didn’t nickname me Digger for nothin’. I’m gonna take the company to greater heights than my pop ever did...and what better way to start than being my own marketing campaign? I always had a knack for boomerangs, after all. Frankly, the fact that Captain Boomerang gets to help people is just a bonus,” Digger’s counterpart explained. 

“My, Mr. Wiggins, that’s quite a story,” Jennifer said.

“Digger is fine, love. I’m not one to stand on formalities,” Digger’s counterpart replied. Sam, for his part, just shook his head. Just when he thought his life couldn’t get any crazier…..

***********************************************************************

“You got a visitor, Scudder,” Correctional Officer Paulson said. 

“A...visitor, sir?” Dr. Scudder asked. 

“Yeah. Your mother’s here to see you, goodness only knows why,” Paulson replied.

“My...my mother?” Dr. Scudder asked, certain that he’d heard something wrong. 

“Martha Scudder is your mother, isn’t she?” Dr. Scudder was utterly bewildered. That had indeed been his mother’s name...but his mother had died two years ago! 

“Are you sure it isn’t Jenny?” he asked. Maybe the guard had somehow gotten his counterpart’s wife’s name confused with the name of his counterpart’s mother. 

“What are you going on about, Scudder? Who’s Jenny?” It was at this point that Dr. Scudder realized that his counterpart differed from him in more ways than just being a criminal and an active smoker. If the guard didn’t recognize the name Jenny, then it stood to reason that...that his counterpart had never married his Jenny Conners. While in some ways that was a relief (as it meant that his counterpart wasn’t getting himself sent to prison as a husband or a father), in other ways, it was a bit sad...because it meant that Kathy and Kinsley and Samantha, his beloved children, probably didn’t even exist in this reality. And if there was that big of a difference between their realities, could his counterpart’s mother still be alive?

“Uh, never mind, sir. I...I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said quickly. 

“Then let’s go. She doesn’t get a lot of time with you; let’s not waste what little she has,” Paulson barked. With that, he led Dr. Scudder out of his cell and to the prison’s visitation room. Dr. Scudder was directed to one of the chairs, sat down, and then waited, feeling more than a little awkward and nervous. Even if his counterpart’s mother was still alive, her son was a criminal. That had to put strain on the relationship they had….and what if his counterpart’s mother was cruel and had played a part in how her son had turned out? About a minute later, the door on the other side of the glass opened, and a woman walked in and sat down across from him. Sure enough, she looked just like his mother had before...before….no, not thinking about it. Even though he knew, logically, that she wasn’t his mother, he had been utterly unprepared for the storm of emotions seeing the woman unleashed. He barely managed to pick up the phone on his side of the barrier before the tears started to flow. 

“Mom...oh, mom...I’ve missed you so much,” he said weakly. 

“I’ve missed you, too, Sam, and I’m worried about you. You’ve always been a smart man; I don’t understand why you insist on ruining your life, or why you insist on driving me away. You were such a good boy; I don’t understand what went wrong.” Dr. Scudder knew that this woman wasn’t really his mother, he did, but it didn’t matter. The emotions-and the guilt-that she stirred up were the same. 

“Mom, I’m... I’m so, so sorry. It’s all my fault!” On some level, Dr. Scudder knew that his guilt over his mother’s death was irrational, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible for it. If he had never become the Mirror Master, his mother would never have become the innocent victim of the Flash. She would still be alive, and his children would still have their grandmother. And besides, surely someone with access to as much amazing technology as he had should have been able to keep her alive. He’d saved thousands of other people….what was wrong with him that he hadn’t been able to save his own mother? 

“Sam, are you all right? I haven’t seen you get this emotional since you were a boy.” Dr. Scudder struggled to compose himself. The last thing he wanted was to distress his mother-his counterpart’s mother-but he was finding it really difficult to stop crying. In a way, he was getting the opportunity to talk with his mother one last time, something he had longed for since her death. It wasn’t particularly surprising, then, that he was having trouble controlling his emotions. 

“Don’t...don’t worry about me, Mom. I...I just want you to know that I… I love you. I couldn’t...couldn’t ask for a better mother,” he finally managed to choke out. His counterpart’s mother smiled weakly. 

“I know, son….but I wish that you’d show your love by straightening your life out rather than pushing me away. I know you think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is making it harder for both of us. I’m not worried about what people will think of me because of you, I’m worried about what you’re doing to other people-and yourself. If people want to judge me for being your mother, that’s fine...but you’ve played this game long enough. My son is Sam Scudder, not the Mirror Master. When will you remember who you are?” she asked. If Dr. Scudder ever met his criminal counterpart, he was going to be strongly tempted to punch the man. How could he put their mother through this? Couldn’t he see what he was doing to her?

“I...I don’t know, mom. I’m sorry,” he said. He wanted to promise her that her son would straighten his life out, but, no matter how much she resembled his mother, Dr. Scudder was not this Martha Scudder’s son, and he didn’t want to break her heart by promising change that his counterpart might not follow up on. His counterpart’s mother looked disappointed, but not particularly surprised. 

“Oh, Sam…” she murmured, and Dr. Scudder almost started crying again. His poor mother…

“How...how have you been, mom?”  

“I’ve been doing well. Work’s going well, and I’m not too lonely. I’ve got my church group, and I just saw Jennifer Conners two days ago. She’s doing well.” 

“Has...has she met anyone?” Dr. Scudder asked. Hopefully, this Jenny wasn’t still pining for his counterpart.

“No, she hasn’t. She says that she’s happy with her job, and that she doesn’t need anyone.” 

“She’s not still waiting for me, is she?” His counterpart’s mother just shook her head. 

“I honestly don’t know, Sam. I’ve told her that she shouldn’t throw away any chance of a romantic life on the off chance that you come back to her, but I don’t know if she’s listening or not,” she said. Dr. Scudder frowned and decided to change the subject. Talking about Jenny reminded him of how much he missed his wife, and he was emotional enough as it was. 

“Mom, do you remember the time I won the Pine Car Derby when I was a Cub Scout?” he asked, hoping that this was something both he and his counterpart had done. Luckily, his counterpart’s mother smiled fondly. 

“Of course I do, Sam,” she said. 

After an enjoyable twenty minutes taking a trip down memory lane, Correctional Officer Paulson stood up. 

“All right, time’s up,” he said. 

“Good-bye, Sam.” 

“Good-bye, Mom. I love you,” Dr. Scudder replied. With that, he allowed Officer Paulson to lead him back to his cell. 

“You’ve got a better mother than you deserve, Scudder.” 

“I know, sir,” Dr. Scudder replied. He didn’t think anyone could deserve a mother like Martha Scudder-either his or the one of this dimension. When they arrived at the cell, George Wiggins’ counterpart was inside. Evidently, he had returned from his shift in the prison’s workshop. He had a noticeable black eye that he hadn’t had when he had left the cell in the morning. 

“Scudder! Good to see ya, mate!” he exclaimed as Dr. Scudder walked into the cell. Dr. Scudder nodded in greeting as Officer Paulson locked the cell door behind him and walked away. 

“What happened to your face?” Dr. Scudder asked, careful to maintain the “tough guy” impersonation he’d been putting on around George Wiggins’ counterpart. 

“Some whacker bailed me up and challenged me to a fight. Bloody idiot thought he was tough and wanted to prove it by beatin’ up a real bushranger. I decided to let him have a go with me...and well, if you think I look bad, you should see the other guy! Next time he decides to pick a fight, he’ll know better than to mess with Digger Harkness,” the criminal replied proudly. 

“First time in prison?” Dr. Scudder guessed. 

“Reckon! What about you, mate? What’ve you been up to?” 

“My mom visited.” 

“Must be nice to have somebody who cares enough to visit. I haven’t had a visitor in prison since I left the Outback. How’s your mum doing?”

“She seems to be doing all right. It was nice seeing her,” Dr. Scudder replied. As emotional as the experience had been, it had also been nice to talk to a Martha Scudder one more time. 

“She had good timing, too. You almost didn’t make it back in time for pickup.” Before Dr. Scudder could ask what that meant, he found himself pulled through the Mirror Realm and deposited him in a rather dilapidated building. 

“Howzitgoan, Scudder?” The speaker was Evan McCulloch, the other person in this dimension with access to the Mirror Realm. It seemed that the mystery man had broken him out of prison, but for what purpose? 

**************************************************************************

“So Cinderella married her prince, and the two of them lived happily ever after. The end,” Sam read. Samantha smiled. 

“I love this story. Thanks for reading it to me, Daddy,” she said. 

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Samantha.” Sam replied as he carefully shelved the book. 

“Good night, Daddy!” Sam switched on the nightlight and then turned off the light. 

“Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he said. With that, he left the little girl’s room, quietly closed the door behind him, and groaned weakly. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was falling in love with his counterpart’s family, and the more time he spent with them, the more guilty he felt for not coming clean. As if to underscore his guilt, Jennifer immediately walked up to him and beamed. 

“You’re such a great father,” she said. 

“Well, they’re great kids. It’s not hard,” Sam replied. 

“That they are. Maybe we should try for another. I mean, I’d love to have a little boy-or another little girl,” Jennifer said. Alarm bells went off in Sam’s head, but before he could react or try to change the subject, Jennifer kissed him. He wanted to return the kiss-she was, after all, as beautiful as his Jenny had been-but he couldn’t. Even he wasn’t low enough to kiss someone under the pretense of being their husband...especially not someone like Jenny. 

“Jenny, no! We-we can’t do this!” he blurted out. 

“What...what do you mean?” Jennifer asked. 

“I can’t do this to you. I...I’m not who you think I am. I’m not your husband!” Jennifer backed away from him in obvious horror. 

“Then who are you?” she asked. 

“I’m your husband’s counterpart from an alternate reality. My name is Sam Scudder, and I am the Mirror Master, but I’m not a doctor and I’m not a hero. I’m a thief. I use my mirror tech to steal stuff, and I came to your reality after escaping from prison,” Sam replied. Jennifer stared at him in horror for a few seconds, and then slapped him across the face. 

“I...I probably deserved that,” he said. 

“Probably? You came into my house and pretended to be my husband for almost a week! Being a thief is bad enough when you’re just stealing things! You deserve a lot more than a slap, buster! How dare you try to steal my husband’s life! How dare you trick me into thinking that you were my children’s father! And where is my husband?” Jennifer exclaimed. 

“I...I’m not sure,” Sam replied weakly. 

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” 

“I came to your dimension by accident, and the Mirror Realm isn’t letting me get back to my own. I didn’t intentionally do anything to your husband. Trust me, I know I’m not a hero. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life pretending to be one...but I don’t know where your husband is or how to get back to my home dimension,” Sam babbled. 

“And so that makes it okay for you to pretend to be my husband?”

“No, it doesn’t….but I...I...well, honestly, I think your husband is what part of me wishes I was. Being a father and a husband and a hero...it’s not what I am. It takes a better man to do that than I am….and I wanted to convince myself that I could be that for a little while. Well, that, and I didn’t want to get stuck behind bars in this dimension and possibly never get home,” Sam explained. 

“What did you do to my husband?” 

“I don’t know! I told you, I don’t know! He could be stuck in my dimension, but if he is, I can’t get him back! I’m trapped here; the Mirror Realm won’t let me leave this dimension.” 

“And you’re a criminal, so for all I know he could be in prison right now! Are you proud of yourself? You might have sent an innocent man to prison!” 

“I...I’m sorry, Jenny.” 

“Get out of my house!” Jennifer exclaimed. Sam complied, using the Mirror Realm to leave the house and travel to another one of his hideouts, one that was much more familiar to Sam than the one he had left. This building was effectively a laboratory, one that was full of mirror technology. Sam smiled weakly. The secret was out; it was time to stop pretending that he was anything like his heroic counterpart. Now he could focus on finding a way of fixing the Mirror Realm and returning to his home dimension. He could go back to being a famous criminal, Dr. Scudder could be reunited with his wonderful family, and all would be right with the world again. So why did the idea make him feel so upset? He certainly wasn’t the sentimental type. 

Sam spent the next few hours tinkering with the mirror technology in his counterpart’s laboratory, trying to figure out what had gone wrong with the Mirror Realm. He was preparing to take a snack break when a red blur appeared in the lab and solidified into what seemed to be the Flash. Before Sam could ponder which Flash this was, the speedster pulled off his cowl, revealing a shock of red hair. 

“Look, Mirror Master, I hate you as much as any crook, but Barry’s gone too far this time. I can’t let him do something like this,” he said, confirming his identity as the mirror version of Wally West. 

“What’s he planning to do?” Sam asked. 

“He said….he said...he’s going after your kids, man! He’s gonna kill your daughters to get you off his back, and that just ain’t right,” Criminal Wally replied. Sam was horrified. Killing kids was like killing old ladies. As Criminal Wally had put it, it just wasn’t right. 

“Do you know anything else?” 

“I think he’s planning to launch his attack tomorrow at 12 noon….but I’ve stayed too long as it is. If he finds out I told you what he was planning, he’ll kill Linda, and I can’t let that happen. Gotta run!” With that, Criminal Wally disappeared in a red blur of motion, leaving Sam alone once more.  

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked aloud. He certainly didn’t want the monstrous Flash of this dimension to kill his counterpart’s adorable children, and he wanted to be indirectly responsible for their deaths by having accidentally taken their father’s place even less….but, as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t have the best success rate against the Flash of his own universe, and the Flash of this dimension was a ruthless murderer, one whom he knew lacked the reservations of the Flash he was familiar with. He was good at playing cops and robbers, and at evading trouble, but he doubted he would be able to survive a brutal fight with a speedster who could murder old ladies and little kids without any apparent guilt. Quite frankly, the idea of fighting the Murder Flash terrified him. Maybe it made him a coward….but he definitely didn't relish the thought of getting brutally murdered by a psychopath. 

“Who am I kidding? I’m no hero. If pretending to be my counterpart taught me anything, it’s that I’m not a hero. Those poor kids….they’re gonna die, and the only thing that’ll happen if I try to intervene is that they’ll watch someone who looks like their dad get killed right before they die.” He couldn’t do anything; better to just disappear into the Mirror Realm until the carnage had ended. Sure, he’d feel terrible when it was over, but it wasn’t his fault that the Murder Flash hated Dr. Scudder, and it also wasn’t his fault that the psychopath was willing to kill kids. It wasn’t, and if he told himself that enough, maybe he’d be able to live with himself after this was over.

******************************************************************

Before Dr. Scudder could ask either the mysterious Evan McCulloch or George Wiggins’ counterpart about just what exactly was going on, several more people filed into the room, most of whom bore an eerie resemblance to his friends from his own dimension. There was a small, lithe blonde man with a mischievous smile who looked exactly like Giovanni, a beautiful woman who looked exactly like Mayor Lisa Snart, a man in a suit and strangely striped top hat who strongly resembled Dr. Dillon (if Dr. Dillon had had unsettling glowing eyes), and a tall, muscular man who could have been Mick Rory’s twin had his body not been covered in burns. More strangely yet, standing next to Giovanni’s doppelganger was a slight young man with long red hair. Dr. Scudder couldn’t be sure, but from the pictures he’d seen of the man in the newspaper, this man looked like he could be Hartley Rathaway, the sole heir to the Rathaway Publishing Company. What in the world would the son of two billionaires be doing in a place like this? Before he could ponder this question further, however, two more people entered the room, arguing loudly. One of them was probably the doppelganger of his friend Mark Mardon, and the other was, without a doubt, this universe’s version of Officer Len Snart. There was no mistaking his icy blue eyes. 

“How irresponsible are you?” Officer Snart’s counterpart demanded. 

“It’s...it’s not my fault, Cold! I didn’t even know about this until yesterday!” Mark’s doppelganger replied.

“How many times have I told you to be careful? I ain’t gonna lecture nobody about havin’ an eye for the ladies, but the last thing I need is to have my guys gettin’ people pregnant! It creates way too many complications...like the fact that you might wind up as a toddler’s closest living relative!” 

“Come on, Cold! How was I supposed to know that Officer Jackam would get murdered by a knife-wielding maniac? That’s not exactly something that happens every day!” 

“Even if she hadn’t gotten herself killed, you still would’ve owed like three thousand dollars in child support. The last thing we need is more attention from the police, and you know how much Central’s cracked down on deadbeat dads! And don’t give me any of that crap about them not coming after us for that...the mom was a cop! Which, by the way, makes you even MORE stupid and irresponsible! Seriously, a cop? What were you thinking?” 

“I know what he was thinking! He was thinking that he was lonely, and that she was really hot,” Giovanni’s counterpart snarked. 

“Um, excuse me, but what exactly is going on here? I’ve been in prison for a week or two, so I’m not caught up on current events,” Dr. Scudder asked, in the hopes of both cutting off the argument and figuring out what was going on and why it concerned him (or rather, his counterpart). 

“Don’t look at me, mate. I’m in the same boat as you,” George Wiggins’ counterpart said. “Cold”, which for some reason seemed to be the name everyone was addressing Officer Snart’s counterpart by, frowned. 

“Mardon was stupid enough to have a one-night stand with a cop and get her pregnant, and now not only does he owe more money than he has in child-support bills, but he’s also the kid’s closest living relative because the cop-Officer Jackam; she arrested you once, remember?-got killed by a crazy knife-wielding cultist,” he snapped. 

“C’mon; it’s not like I knew I had a kid. If her partner hadn’t tracked me down and told me, I’d have never known about him. I wasn’t consciously missing child support payments,” Mark’s counterpart protested. 

“That don’t exactly make it better, Mardon,” Cold replied. Dr. Scudder, for his part, had mostly worked out what was happening. Evidently, Mark’s counterpart and Julie’s counterpart still had had a son...but they weren’t married to each other, Julie’s counterpart had been murdered, and Mark’s counterpart was a criminal and hadn’t even known that his son existed until recently. But in that case, where was Josh? 

“So...who’s got the kid?” he asked, trying to sound casual. 

“Right now? Officer Chyre, the only 58-year-old beat cop in the entire police force. He was Julie’s partner, and her father’s partner, and her grandfather’s partner. Guy’s old enough that he was a rookie cop when my old man was on the force, and he wanted to adopt the kid himself. Said he sees him as a grandson almost,” Cold replied. Dr. Scudder remembered Officer Snart briefly mentioning that his father had been a corrupt police officer. Evidently, this was also true of his counterpart’s father. 

“Then why bring Mark into it at all? If Officer Chyre wants to raise the child, why didn’t he just apply to have him adopted? It isn’t as though Mark would be likely to win any sort of custody battle.” This question came from the red-haired young man who looked a lot like Hartley Rathaway. 

“Well, you see, there’s a bit of a catch with this particular kid. He can control the weather,” Cold replied. Dr. Scudder stared at Cold in shock. 

“He can do what?” The Josh in his reality didn’t have any superpowers...and neither, for that matter, did the Mark Mardon of his reality. 

“He can control the weather. When he’s happy, rainbows appear. When he cries, it rains. When he’s angry, it storms. And he’s two years old and has no control over any of it.” Cold said. 

“But how?” 

“At the moment, I think the working theory is that the weather wand somehow altered my DNA; that somehow its weather-controlling powers got encoded into my genes or something and were passed along to my son,” Mark’s counterpart explained. Dr. Scudder wanted to protest that a device that could control the weather was patently ridiculous, but it wasn’t really much stranger than his mirror technology, so he couldn’t. Although if sufficiently advanced and bizarre technology could encode itself in the user’s DNA, did that mean that there was a possibility that he had given his children biological superpowers without realizing it? It was a sobering thought. 

“Regardless of how he got the powers, the point is, he has them now, and the only way to counteract what this kid can do is to use the Weather Wand. As a result, anybody who wants custody of the kid also needs custody of the wand….which is why I had Evan bring everybody here. Thanks to Mark bein’ a moron, we’ve got a real problem on our hands,” Cold said. 

“Hey!” Mark’s counterpart protested. Cold ignored him.

“So, the way I see it, Mark has to either give up the Weather Wand, or take the kid himself. Otherwise, we’re running a very real risk that this kid’ll destroy the city or somethin’,” he said. 

“Could we not simply allow Flash to deal with the weather created by the child?” Dr. Dillon’s counterpart asked.

“That might work for some of the stuff the kid can do, but probably not all of it. Like, I know he can stop tornadoes, but can he stop a hurricane? Mark doesn’t have any internal powers, so Flash can stop all the stuff he does by knocking him unconscious or getting the Wand out of his hands. The kid’s powers are internalized. They can’t be taken away from him, and, since I doubt the Flash will take to punching a toddler in the face, the only solutions are waiting for the kid’s mood to change or using the Wand. And before anyone suggests that Mark could just counteract the kid’s power with the wand without taking the kid...do you really think the cops’ll just give him the Weather Wand if he’s in prison or something?” 

“Couldn’t the cops or the Flash or whoever just use the Wand themselves if that happened?” This question came from Mayor Snart’s doppelganger. Cold frowned thoughtfully. 

“That’s a point, sis...but what if there's a learning curve for the Weather Wand? I know I couldn’t do all the stuff I do now with the Cold Gun back when I first started using it. If the Wand’s got a similar learning curve, the kid’s tantrums might destroy the city before they figured out how to use the thing. That kid’s a walking time bomb; playing hot potato with the only thing that can counteract his abilities seems like a stupid idea,” Cold said. 

“Couldn’t he just give the Wand to whoever takes the deadly anklebiter and make another one for himself?” George Wiggins’ counterpart asked. Mark’s counterpart flushed and looked pointedly at the ground. 

“No. I can’t...because I didn’t invent the wand, my brother did, and he’s dead. I followed his blueprints to make the Wand, and those were destroyed a long time ago by the Flash to prevent anyone from making a more powerful version. Without the blueprints, I’m not smart enough to build another one. And I am not giving up my Weather Wand to anybody else! How exactly can I be the Weather Wizard without it?”

“It don’t matter, Mardon,’cause you’re done as the Weather Wizard whether you give up the Wand or not,” Cold said. Dr. Scudder made a mental note to tell Mark about the “Weather Wizard” name if he ever got back to his home dimension. He’d probably think it was a cool nickname for a weather forecaster, even if he didn’t have a wand that controlled the weather like his counterpart apparently did. In speaking of that Mark, his eyes were now sparking with electricity, and Dr. Scudder suddenly questioned the validity of Cold’s claims that the man had no natural superpowers. Normal people couldn’t shoot electricity from their eyes, after all. 

“What do you mean, I’m ‘done’ as the Weather Wizard?” he snapped. 

“I mean that since I’m not keen on the idea of my city getting destroyed by a superpowered toddler throwing a tantrum, you’re either giving up the Weather Wand, in which case you’ll have to stop being the Weather Wizard since you’ll have no powers, or you’re taking the kid,” Cold snarled. 

“Are you crazy? I’m not taking the kid! I don’t know anything about kids! And even if I was taking the kid, why would I stop being the Weather Wizard? Digger has a kid, and he’s still Captain Boomerang!” Mark’s doppelganger exclaimed. 

“Digger’s kid is sixteen years old, and doesn’t have potentially city-destroying superpowers. Your kid is two and does,” Cold replied. 

“Well, I’m not taking the kid anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” Mark’s doppelganger said. 

“Then give me the Wand so I can get it to whoever’s gonna be using it to stop the kid from accidentally destroying everything,” Cold ordered. 

“What? No! You can’t take my Wand! I need it!” Mark’s counterpart cried. 

“Then you’re taking the kid?” Cold asked. 

“No! Do I look like a father to you?” In response, Cold grabbed Mark’s counterpart and pulled a thin metal rod out of his left sleeve. 

“Make up your mind, Mardon. What do you want more: having the wand, or not having the kid?” he asked. 

“Give me my Wand back!” 

“Not unless you agree to take the kid,” Cold said. 

“What makes you think they’ll even let me have him?” Dr. Scudder thought this was a good question. Mark’s counterpart was a supervillain, after all. 

“Three reasons. First, you’re his closest living relative. Second, you’re at least moderately competent with the Weather Wand. And third, you’re technically out on parole right now. Normally, you’d never get custody just by being on parole, but given the fact that you’ve got a kid with the potential to destroy the city, I think they’ll be inclined to give you him just to make sure that the city stays in one piece. So I repeat, what do you want more? Do you want to have the Wand, or do you want to not have the responsibility of the kid?” Cold replied. 

“I want both of those things!” 

“Tough. Should’ve thought of that before you got Officer Jackam pregnant.” 

“Wait...if his son is powerful enough that he could potentially destroy the city, why haven’t we ever heard of him before? That seems like something that would’ve traced him back to Weather Wizard a long time ago,” Mr. Rathaway’s counterpart asked. 

“From what Chyre said, his powers were dormant up until recently. About a week ago, he made it rain indoors, and his powers have been steadily increasing since then. Yesterday, when he threw a fit, it created a miniature tornado that almost destroyed Chyre’s house,” Cold replied. Dr. Scudder looked up in alarm. If the child’s powers really were increasing that rapidly, then there was no wonder that Cold wanted to make sure that his powers were kept under control. 

“Then I...I guess I’ll take the kid. I can’t give up the Weather Wand. I just can’t! You have no idea what losing that sort of power would do to me,” Mark’s counterpart said. 

“You do realize you’re still not gonna be able to be the Weather Wizard, don’t you? Kid that could destroy the city or not, they’re gonna be watching you like a hawk...and if you give them so much as a hint that you’re committing crimes, they’ll give the kid and the wand to someone else,” Cold asked him.

“I don’t care! The Wand is the only reason I’ve ever been anyone! I can’t give it up...even if it means I get saddled with a kid!” Befor Dr. Scudder could think of a way to ask about the potential danger of letting this man raise a child, Cold cut him off by speaking up again. 

“And if I find out that you’ve been doing anything-anything at all- to hurt that kid, Mardon, you’ll have me to answer to, understand?” Cold barked. 

“Yes, sir,” Mark said weakly. Cold shook his head. 

“Cold, you do realize that removing Mardon from the Rogues will reduce our overall power level significantly, correct?” Dr. Dillon’s counterpart asked. 

“Of course I realize that, Dillon...but Mardon’s made his bed, and now we’re all stuck lying in it. Come on, Mardon. Let’s get your kid,” Cold said. Mark’s counterpart made a sad little whine, then followed Cold out of the room. 

“So, how long do you think it’ll be before Mark loses the kid and the wand?” Giovanni’s counterpart asked, sounding entirely too cheerful about the prospect. 

“I give it a week, at best. Mardon’s incompetent,” Dr. Dillon’s doppelganger said coolly. 

“Not with Lenny breathing down his neck. My bet is that it’ll last a few months before Lenny slips up enough to not be around when he does something stupid,” Mayor Snart’s counterpart replied. At this point, Dr. Scudder decided that he had had enough of this particular group of people to last him for a good long while, and quietly slipped into the Mirror Realm. True, he couldn’t use it to get home, but anything was better than getting further wrapped up in the apparent soap opera that was the life of his counterpart when not in prison. Unfortunately for him, the solitude of the Mirror Realm lasted for only a few seconds before it was invaded by the mysterious McCulloch. 

“Howzitgoan?” he asked. Dr. Scudder almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound.

“What do you want?” he asked as soon as his heart started beating at a normal rate again. McCulloch let out a disturbing chuckle. 

“Ye should see the look on your face!”

“I said, what do you want?” 

“Ye ken, ye don’t have tae pretend nae more,” McCulloch said. Dr. Scudder felt a sense of dread settle in his stomach. McCulloch knew. 

“W-what do you mean?” he asked. McCulloch laughed again. 

“Ye can knock that off. I didnae come up the Clyde on a banana boat, ye ken? I mean that ye aren’t Scudder...at least, ye are nae the Scudder of this reality. That’s right, int it nae?” 

“How...how did you-” 

“How did I figure it out? I’m a canny lad, I am. I’ve known since I saw ye. Scudder’s a southpaw, ye ken. Would’ve caught the cigarette pack with his left hand, nae his right. And his hair curls in the opposite direction from yours. Going intae Wonderland with ye just proved what I’d already worked out on my own, ken? You’re his literal mirror image, and but.” 

“So why didn’t you tell anyone?” McCulloch shrugged. 

“Didnae feel like it. So, who are ye really?” 

“Dr. Samuel Scudder. I’m an optometrist. And a superhero,” he replied. He wasn’t about to tell this lunatic that he had a wife and children. McCulloch laughed again. 

“An optometrist? That’s pure barry, it is! Wonderland transport ye here, Dr. Mirror Master?” he asked. 

“What is Wonderland?” 

“Ach, that’s right. If ye are anything like the Scudder I ken, ye have nae creativity. Ye probably call it the Mirror Realm. Pure boring name, that.” 

“Then yes, I was using the Mirror Realm when I was transported here. For whatever reason, it’s been blocking me from leaving this dimension since then, so I haven’t been able to get home. I’d guess that your Scudder is  probably stuck in my reality,” Dr. Scudder. Evan nodded, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Wonderland does weird things like that, it does. Pure deid brilliant place, int it nae?” 

“Then why has it never happened to me before?” 

“Suppose it’d be because ye and my Scudder have nae used Wonderland tae go tae the same place at the same time before. Got confused, it did. That’d be why it locked ye both where ye were. It’s likely still sortin’ out it’s confusion, ken?” 

“How long will it be before the confusion sorts itself out? I need to get home,” Dr. Scudder asked. 

“Weeks? Months? Years? Could be decades.” 

“Decades?” He couldn’t be gone that long! 

“Calmy doony, Dr. Mirror Master. I can get ye home. All I need do is find the portal tae the dimension that’s the mirror of ours, ken?” 

“How do I know I can trust you? From all appearances, you’re a supervillain.” 

“From what ye told me, getting you back home’ll be the only way to get my Scudder back. I want him around, ken? Man’s a genius,” McCulloch. Dr. Scudder frowned. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he could trust the mystery man, but the thought of leaving his city and his family without any protection from his universe’s supervillains for any longer horrified him. He’d already been gone for nearly a week! 

“All right, McCulloch. If you can get me back to my home dimension, do it.” McCulloch gave a slightly unnerving smile. 

“Off we go, then. Hold on tight, Dr. Mirror Master. The trip might get a wee bit rough!” 

************************************************************************

Sam checked his watch. 11:45 AM. Fifteen minutes until the Monster Flash of this dimension killed the innocent children of his counterpart. Which wasn’t his fault! It wasn’t! It...oh, who was he kidding? It was. They were going to die, and he would be responsible for it, as surely as if he had killed them himself, because, unlike the Sam Scudder of this dimension, he wasn’t even remotely a good person. He was selfish and self-absorbed, and apparently a coward as well. At his core, he was still the same weak, stupid teenaged boy; trying to protect himself from the memory of his girlfriend’s father being murdered in front of him for no reason at all by acting like he was tough. He had spent years hiding, in one way or another, from the man in the mirror, because when he looked at the reflection of Sam Scudder, he didn’t like what he saw. He sighed weakly as he absently looked into his counterpart’s bedroom through his side of the mirror that hung on its wall. Sam had never hated himself more than he did at this moment. 

Suddenly, his eye fell on his Mirror Master costume, which was lying next to an old JSA comic, and he felt a sudden surge of disgust. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t just Sam Scudder, he was the Mirror Master! Supervillain or not, the Mirror Master had been based on the members of the JSA, and he wasn’t afraid of anything, not even the Murder Flash! Sure, he’d never beaten the Flash of his reality, but he’d never fought the Flash over anything nearly as important as this. With his brilliant inventions and the fact that he was keeping a bunch of adorable kids from getting hurt on his side, he was sure to win! Smiling smugly, the Mirror Master stepped into his counterpart’s room through the mirror and changed into his costume. He had gotten about five inches out of his room when he was confronted by Jennifer. 

“What are you doing back here?” she said, clearly furious. 

“No time to explain, I’m afraid. Madam Jennifer, you’re about to witness the greatest act of the Mirror Master’s illustrious career: the moment when I finally defeat the Flash!” Another convenient thing about being the Mirror Master was the fact that Sam could bury his emotions under the theatricality the role required. 

“The Flash? Isn’t he in prison?” 

“Take it from another supervillain, Madam Jennifer: we rarely stay in prison for very long.” 

“Why would you want to stop another supervillain?” 

“Because, Madam Jennifer, even I’m not enough of a monster to butcher children.” Jennifer gasped. 

“You don’t mean that he’s…” 

“I’m afraid so.” He handed her one of his mirror guns. 

“If you think I’m going to abandon my house to a pair of maniacs, you’ve got another thing coming, mister!” 

“That’s not it, Madam Jennifer. I’m going to meet him outside. If it looks like he’s winning...or like I’m going to betray you somehow-you can use this to protect yourself and the house and get the kids to safety.” 

“Why should you care what happens to us?” 

“Because I’d like to be able to look at myself in the mirror when this is done. And besides, I wouldn’t be much of a Mirror Master if I passed up the chance to defeat the Flash, now would I?” Jennifer didn’t look convinced, but she stepped out of his way. 

“If you mess this up, you won’t have to worry about the Flash killing you...because I’ll kill you myself,” she said. Mirror Master laughed. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Madam Jennifer.” With that, he went down the stairs and was about to go out the front door when Kathy, Kinsley, and Samantha surrounded him. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell us good-bye, Dad? You usually do when you go on a mission,” Kinsley asked. Mirror Master sighed, knelt down so he was at the girls’ level, and then took off his cowl. This was one situation Mirror Master wasn’t of much use in. 

“Kids, I have to tell you something. I….I’m not who you think I am. Your dad’s a really good person, and with kids like you, I can see why, but I’m not your dad. I’m an alternate version of him from another reality, and I got stuck here thanks to an accident with the Mirror Realm. My name’s Sam. I’m a Mirror Master, too, but...I’m a bad guy. I’m not going to hurt you...you’re great kids...but I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and pretending to be your dad was one of them. I’m very sorry, and I get it if you don’t forgive me or anything. But I need to tell you something. The Flash-the really bad man your dad fights-is coming here to hurt you guys. I’m going to try to stop him. If it looks like I’m going to lose, you need to go find your mom so that she can keep you safe, okay?” he said. In response, Kinsley kicked him in the shin. 

“That’s for pretending to be my dad.”

“I...I deserved that.” 

“Yeah, you did. But don’t worry. If you get your butt kicked by the Flash, I’ll make sure to get Kathy and Samantha to safety,” she said. 

“Good.” 

“Bye, other Daddy,” Samantha said. Sam choked up. 

“G-good-bye, Samantha,” he said. With that, he pulled the cowl back on, left the house, locked the door behind him, and started setting up his mirror traps. When it came to fighting a speedster, nothing was more important than being prepared. 

After six minutes of rapid-fire preparation, a red blur sped into view and solidified into the Murder Flash, activating one of the mirror traps as he did so. 

“Well, my Flashy foe, it’s about time you showed up. What took you so long?” The Murder Flash snarled as he dodged and vibrated through the explosion of jagged mirror shards that he had set off, then ran at one of Mirror Master’s mirror duplicates, which sent him straight into another trap, this one capable of inducing temporary disorientation. 

“Nice try, Flash! I see your brain is working as fast as ever!” The Murder Flash’s only response was another snarl. He tried to run towards Mirror Master, but the disorientation caused him to land flat on his face instead. Naturally, being a Flash, he was back on his feet in another second, but it had given Mirror Master just enough time to swap locations with another of his duplicates. The Murder Flash proceeded to run into three more mirror-traps, shaking off the effect quickly but giving Mirror Master valuable time to relocate himself and create more traps. Mirror Master smirked. What had he been so worried about? This was much easier than fighting the Flash of his dimension! 

“I’ve got to say, Flash, I was really expecting more out of a supervillain like you!” he crowed.

“You’re not Dr. Scudder!” Suddenly, Mirror Master found himself in the grip of the Murder Flash. He managed to use his special contact lenses to shoot a laser into the Monster Flash’s hands, prompting the other supervillain to release him and giving him just enough time to hide himself once more. Okay, so maybe he’d been wrong about how easy this would be.

“What makes you say that?” Mirror Master asked as he set up another trap. 

“Because your vibratory aura indicates that you’re from another reality. What are you doing here, and where is the good doctor?” The voice sounded like that of the Flash’s, but with a cold undertone that made it very disturbing. 

“Accident with the Mirror Realm. Your Mirror Master’s probably in my dimension right about now,” Mirror Master replied. 

“In that case, I will make you an offer. I don’t know how you found out that I was planning to murder Dr. Scudder’s family, but it doesn’t concern you. Leave now, and I will let you return to your own dimension unharmed.” Mirror Master smirked. 

“Sorry, but I have a policy against making deals with psychopathic child killers, and another policy against making deals with people who think they’re supervillains,” he said. 

“Then you will die with them,” Murder Flash said. He promptly ran at another Mirror Duplicate and was temporarily trapped in a mirror. 

“You see, this is what I mean! You’re a villain-there’s no doubt about that-but you aren’t a supervillain. You know what the difference between the two is?” he asked as the Murder Flash burst out of the mirror that had been holding him. In response, the Mirror Master pressed a button on the inside of his suit. An image of a disco ball appeared, spreading colorful light all across the lawn, disco music began to play, and several laser beams started chasing the Murder Flash. 

“PRESENTATION!” he exclaimed. The lasers slowly started to box the Murder Flash in, and Mirror Master watched as he ran out of places to run. He had done it! He had beaten the Flash and saved the kids! Of course he had! He was the-UGH! 

“Did you really think your silly trap could hold me? I can run much faster than light! All I had to do to escape was break light speed!” Weakly, Mirror Master reached for his gun, only for the Murder Flash to beat him to it and snap it in half. 

“One last chance, “Mirror Master”. Your tech is gone. Now get out of my way, or I will kill you, slowly and painfully.” 

“Not happening. You see, I’m a lousy person. I lie and I steal stuff and I’m not nearly the man your Mirror Master is. I’m a supervillain...but the thing about supervillains is, we never know when to quit!” With that, he forced himself to get to his feet...only for the Murder Flash to knock him back down again and throw punch after punch after punch into his face and abdomen. He was about to start wondering if your life really did flash before your eyes right before you died...when suddenly, the Murder Flash was hit by what seemed to be a solid beam of light. He shrieked in apparent pain and fell unconscious. 

“Howzitgoan, Scudder?” Sam groaned. Saved by McCulloch...he was never going to live this one down. Then everything spun around, and the world went black. 

When he came to, Sam found himself in what looked like a hospital room, surrounded by Jennifer, Kathy, Kinsley, Samantha, McCulloch (ugh), and a man who could’ve been his identical twin. Undoubtedly, this was the other Sam Scudder. 

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” McCulloch said. 

“Shut up, McCulloch.” Sam winced as a wave of pain washed over him.

“How are you feeling?” This question came from the other Sam, which made it more than a little weird. 

“Like I got hit by a train,” Sam replied. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve got four broken ribs and a concussion,” his counterpart replied. 

“I guess you’re Dr. Scudder. Nice to meet you, I think,” Sam said. 

“And you must be Sam. I spent almost a week in prison because of you….but on the other hand, you did risk your life to save my family, so I’d say we’re even on that front. I’ve been...curious to meet you,” Dr. Scudder replied. 

“Same here. So, optometry, huh?” 

“A bit on the nose for the Mirror Master, maybe, but it seems to be more profitable than crime,” Dr. Scudder said. Sam flushed. 

“Yeah, if there’s one thing pretending to be you taught me, it’s that I might want to consider cleaning up my act a bit,” he muttered. 

“If you need a place to start, I’d suggest kicking your smoking habit and treating your mother a little better.” 

“No promises...but I’ll think about it. And...I’m sorry about your mother, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do if my mother was killed,” Sam replied. 

“I...I still miss her...but I actually got to talk to your mom while I was in prison in your dimension, and I think...I think that helped me work through some of my feelings. It was like getting to talk to her one last time, just like I always wanted.” 

“If it helps, you’ve also got a great family. I wouldn’t almost die for just anyone,” Sam said. Dr. Scudder beamed as he put his arm around his wife. 

“Believe me, I know.” 

“Thanks for bringing our Dad back, Mr. McCulloch,” Kathy said. 

“And getting to see a cute lassie like you smile? The pleasure was all mine,” McCulloch replied cheerily. 

“You three are going to have to catch me up on what I missed after McCulloch and Sam go back to their own dimension,” Dr. Scudder said. The girls beamed. 

“You’re gonna love it, Dad! We’ve never had a story as cool as this before!” Kinsley exclaimed. Then she ran over to Sam and gave him a hug. 

“And that’s for saving our lives!” she exclaimed before running back to her dad. Then Jennifer walked up to him.

“I’m still not exactly happy with you...but what you did back there was pretty brave. Maybe you’ve got it in you to be more like my husband than either of us thought. You helped save my daughter’s lives and allowed my husband to have a family to come home to, so I suppose I need to thank you for that. But if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I will personally give you another four broken ribs!”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I hate tae cut this little reunion short, but it’s best if we get going. Scudder and I have our own reality tae get back tae,” McCulloch interjected. 

“Bye, Dr. Scudder,” Sam said. 

“Good-bye, Sam. Be careful going through the Mirror Realm. You don’t want to hurt yourself worse,” Dr. Scudder replied. 

“Good-bye, Jennifer. Good-bye, Kinsley. Good-bye, Kathy.” 

“Good-bye.” 

“Bye!” “Bye!” 

“Good-bye, other Daddy. I hope you find out how to be a good guy,” Samantha said. 

“Good-bye, Samantha,” Sam replied, tearing up. 

“Are ye crying?” McCulloch asked. 

“Shut up, McCulloch.” With that, Sam stood up (very gingerly) and allowed McCulloch to pull him into the Mirror Realm and back to his own dimension. 

“Welcome back, Scudder. Things haven’t been the same without ye, ye ken?” McCulloch said as they stepped into the Rogues’ latest hideout. Before Sam could react, he was greeted by a grouchy-looking Captain Cold and a baffled-looking Mark Mardon, the latter of whom was holding a strangely familiar toddler on his hip. 

“Hey, Cold. Hey, Mardon. Hello, little Josh,” Sam said. 

“Hey, Sam. Wait...how’d you know his name was Josh?” Mark asked.

“And why do you look like you just got run over by a train?” Cold added. 

“It’s a long story, and one I don’t think I’m up to telling at the moment. For now, let’s just say that I met the man in the mirror, and he changed me for the better.” 

[petri808]

Sanjou no Ai

click to read from beginning

Bakudeku Au fic, final chapter

For the first few months of their new arrangement, the mated pair settled into a routine of sorts. Almost every night, the okami would return to the Shrine after nightfall and spend it with Izuku, but always left before the sun peaked over the horizon the following morning. It was okay for the time being since now Katsuki could take his time in re-educating the kitsune on the ways of a yokai. And there was so much that Izuku had no clue about. Until now, he only had the scant information left by the previous shrine keeper and the instinctual sides he couldn’t avoid. But even those had not gone without question because he didn’t always understand why he felt the way he felt or did the things he did. For instance, he thought he was ‘born’ to live a life in the shrine, but that wasn’t true at all. The god created them for purposes, such as the okami to protect the wolves and forest, the kitsune too had a similar role. Then at some point when the current shrine was built upon the mountain, the kitsune yokai pledged to help the humans. Generations later left the likes of Izuku in a role he didn’t even know why it existed but performed faithfully… until now.

The information left him semi-torn about his life. Should he continue to honor that treaty and stay at the shrine, or give into his instincts and become a free protector of the forest? It shouldn’t be such a difficult choice, but what brought on the anxiety fell more into could he do it? Could he learn to fend for himself? It was an internal battle that’s been raging from before he and Katsuki mated, but now took center stage. Of course, the okami assured his mate that he wouldn’t be alone. As the alpha it was his responsibility to provide for and protect his omega, especially if the kitsune became pregnant. And besides, Izuku needed to give himself more credit for his strength. Katsuki pointed out how the man had risked his life to save an injured wolf, did that not show how strong or brave he could be when needed? Izuku had no argument against such a statement.

Still, that didn’t calm his mind, if anything, new thoughts would come for Izuku to mill over. Okay fine, maybe he would be okay for himself, but what about with the pups Katsuki mentioned. He’d have to worry about protecting their lives. A family was just another topic he was trying to wrap his brain around. Like first off, they were both canines but not the same species. Again, it was the okami who reminded the kitsune of magic, that they don’t operate under the same laws of nature. Which didn’t really explain much at all, so he simply put it aside instead of continuing the conversation. Next, if they were to desire a family, Izuku definitely would need to leave the shrine. Katsuki wasn’t pressing him over the topic, but maybe it was those omegan features kicking in that made the kitsune think about it. Like some hormonal drive to reproduce because he certainly never felt such instincts before!

One night after another mellow round of love making, they lay there cuddled in Izuku’s bed.

“Kacchan,” the kitsune whispered with hesitation in his tone. “Why haven’t I become pregnant considering how often we do this?”

“Where the hell did this question come from?”

“I know it’s random… but, oh, I don’t know, it’s just something I been wondering about for a few weeks now.”

Katsuki’s turned Izuku around to face him. “If you really must know. I’ve been using magic to sterilize my seed because I know you’re not ready.”

That answer made the kitsune a little irritated. Shouldn’t such a decision be made by both of them, together?! Regardless of if he was ready or not. “That’s not fair.” Izuku pouted.

“Oh, and you saying you are? You know full well you cannot be working here and get pregnant. Look, you should be happy that I’m not pressuring you to leave this place immediately and take your place in my nest where you belong.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Izuku whimpered in toil.

Katsuki was digging down deep not to lose his patience right now, but after months of waiting could anyone blame him? He took a deep breath to control himself from growling. “I know you’re scared of being away from here, but I don’t know how many more ways I can say it, you don’t have to be. I’ll take care of you and our family when we have one. You just need to decide between the shrine and me.”

“Decide right now?”

“No. Now you sleep,” Katsuki bundled the kitsune against his body preferring to end the night for now and deal with it later. “But you will need to do it soon.”

But Izuku was no fool and could sense the irritation in his mate. He could tell Katsuki was just holding back from lashing out. “You’re not mad at me… are you?”

“I’m trying not to be. So, go to sleep.”

Izuku’s voice lowered, quivering in tone. “I know you just picked me because I’m the only yokai around, and I’m okay with that. I’m just sorry I’m so weak.”

That was the last straw. Izuku’s self-defeating aura and sadness was oozing out and pissing him off! Even though the alpha within him felt pained, it wasn’t enough to change Katsuki’s mind. He sat up with teeth partially bared and speaking through a gritted tone. “That’s bullshit! I could’ve left the area and found someone else if I’d wanted to! I told you, I picked you because I liked what I saw. Yeah, you ain’t physically strong like me, but you have your own strength, a kind of strength I’d never possess, and if you can’t recognize that, then… Argh! You need to figure shit out! The okami leapt to his feet. “I’m going home! When you’re ready to make a damn decision. You know where to find me!”

“Kacchan!” Izuku cried out as his mate transformed and bounded out of the dwelling, but it was too late. He’d screwed up big time all because he was such a weak fool! How did Katsuki ever see a strength in him? Where was it? Just look at him, he was small, skinny, and always nervous of making a mistake. His mate was right. He couldn’t see whatever it was that Katsuki saw in him.

Izuku curled up into a ball and pulled the blanket over his body as he wept openly. The omegan part of him was in so much pain… it called out for its mate, cried at the loss… oh, it hurt so much! Kami, it felt like someone had ripped his heart right out of his chest and stomped it into the ground. He’d never felt so much pain before and even though physically there was nothing wrong, his entire body was suffering. It ached, every bone, every fiber of his being a wave of numbness and throbbing all mixed together. This must be the bond, Izuku realized. Until now their bond had given nothing but pleasure and now it burned like the hottest fire from the sun.

“Kacchan…” he whimpered into the silent night air. The darkness consumed him inside and out. What to do… what to do… he needed Katsuki to breathe, to live or a broken bond would surely kill him.

He didn’t know at what point he’d fallen asleep, maybe from pure exhaustion, but the next thing Izuku knew he could see light filtering though the blanket. Morning had arrived and with it an absolutely shocking pain, twice the level of anguish as the night before. His mind was reeling, so fogged over from all the turmoil that he could barely move, barely function. “Kacchan!” He screamed out! Ready or not, it couldn’t go on like this. For all his fears and anxieties, the only thing he knew for certain, bond or not, was he needed Katsuki. He loved Katsuki. And so right then and there Izuku knew what he needed to do. It physically hurt to get up, but Izuku did his best to dress himself and stumble into the shrine. All these months he’d hidden any sign of changes. Now it was time to come clean. He couldn’t stay.

The priests were already up and about doing their daily chores like usual. So, while remaining cordial despite his slow, pained movements, Izuku searched for the elder to speak with. Elder priest Toshinori was a kind and caring man, over 80 years old by Izuku’s estimation and had been at this shrine for close to 60 years. Izuku cared a lot about the elder, like a surrogate grandfather figure who was always ready with wise words and guidance for any seeking it out. But he could tell this man’s younger years were hard and laborious. Though thin and aged now, his sinewy tanned skin and worn hands were a testament to a hard upbringing. Izuku often wondered if this is why Toshinori was wiser than many of the others that had passed through these grounds over the centuries. Many priests came from relatively stable but lower-ranking homes who wouldn’t see such a poor upbringing. This man lived and came with experiences to guide his beliefs in a wiser way.

He found the elder in the sanctum reading.

“Mr. Toshinori.”

“Ah, Izuku,” the man looked up from his book. “I was wondering when you might come to me.”

Izuku sat down in front of the man bowing low. “Mr. Toshinori, I don’t know how to say this properly, but I must leave the shrine.”

“I know, and I understand.”

“Wait, how did you know?!” Izuku sat up straight in confusion. “I-I was sure I’d hidden the okami well.”

Toshinori smiled. “For a time, you did, but I sensed changes in you, positive changes. You hid them well, but a sparkle in your eye as you looked at the forest, at times just a pause in your routine as you were deep in thought, smiling to yourself. I knew something was happening to you and I must say it was nice to see you so happy.”

Tears were gathering in Izuku’s eyes at how understanding the priest was being. The internal struggle slowly lessened inside. “I am,” the smile broke free. “He makes me feel so alive, but I’m torn to leave the shrine and everyone here.”

“Young Izuku, it is natural to leave the nest when it is time. This shrine is all you know, and the world can be a very scary place, but it is also part of life to go out into and find your true meaning.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“In a way,” the man chuckled. “Your kind has served and protected this shrine well for a long time but at the expense of losing your very nature.”

“But I want to continue protecting this shrine! I love this place! I love this forest!”

The man leaned forward with a serious expression. “Izuku, would it be too impossible to achieve from outside of the shrine?”

Izuku quieted in thought for a moment before responding. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then the answer is you can still protect what you love and be with whom you love at the same time.”

“I… I never thought of it that way…” ‘Like how Katsuki had protected the offerings…’ “I can do that!” Izuku bowed again to the priest. “Thank you, Mr. Toshinori! I promise, I’ll still help at the shrine, but I will live in the forest from now on.”

Toshinori placed a hand on Izuku’s bowed head. “I trust you will, young Izuku. And do bring your family around someday, I’d like to meet them before I die.”

Izuku looked up with a blush. “O-Okay, I will!”

The air rushing past his face felt exhilarating in his kitsune form. It had been a while since he’d used the full fox body, but ever since he’d consciously made the decision to go to Katsuki, all the pain relaxed, and he wanted to find his mate as quickly as possible. Izuku couldn’t explain what this newly realized sense of freedom felt like, all he knew is he felt lighter. It might take some time to get used to it after being on such a regimented schedule all his life, but it was simply amazing.

He rushed straight for Katsuki’s den hoping his mate would be there, sending out his scent ahead as a calling card. Oh, how he wanted to just snuggle into the Okami’s thick beautiful fur! ‘Please be there!’ Izuku crooned and whined as the pull of their bond grew stronger and stronger. Katsuki must be close! His body could sense it, feel it as he arrived at the entrance to the cave. “Kacchan!” Izuku called out. Movement up ahead was picked up quickly by the kitsunes sensitivity’s hearing.

Finally, the large form of a wolf stood at the apex of the cavern and tunnel, and the happy tears Izuku had been holding back broke free. It was his mate. Soothing energy flowed out from the okami and wrapped the kitsune in a welcoming embrace.

Izuku whined and pressed forward into the okami’s welcoming embrace. “Kacchan, I’m home!”

[warsofasoiaf]

Character Analysis: Jon Irenicus

Irenicus is a fun villain, and I think nailed one interesting element of writing down, that of bringing down the villain’s threat in an interesting and believable way. The hero typically grows in power in any story, not just in a game where your progression is literally your XP, but what the villain does, how they grow, is also interesting. If the villain is more powerful than the hero, and also does things to grow and learn, theoretically the villain should still be wrecking house. BG2 wove this into the story itself, where the more you learned about Irenicus, the less menacing he became, culminating into where he was arguably your lesser at the end: he was powerful but only aping what you were. 

Obviously, spoilers for BG2 abound.

Baldur’s Gate II introduces us to our villain almost as a cold open. Fresh off the high of defeating Sarevok, you leave Baldur’s Gate after being pressured to leave by “dark forces” and by those who suspected that you shared similar heritage to Sarevok. Seems a bit odd, honestly, to oust the Bhaalspawn with suspicion given that during the course of Baldur’s Gate I, you saved two of the Grand Dukes. It’s certainly understandable that folks would fear your heritage and you’d want to move on to greener pastures, but something more than a 3-minute cut scene would have probably set the scene better.

However, this opening, and the ‘cutscene’ that follows gives Irenicus a grand initial reveal to the player. This guy is an ultra-powerful wizard, and he speaks with a clinical detachment as he states: “It’s time for more experiments.” It’s a wonderful opening to illustrate exactly what you’re dealing with. He’s clearly interested in your godly soul, and exploiting it to some unknown purpose. What is unknown, as he gets called away by some unspecified intruders by a golem. In the next scene, magical traps are set off as an unspecified Shadow Thief gets disintegrated. Story-wise, this serves no purpose, it’s purely meant to be a way to show off the new spell effects and other cosmetic changes to the engine from Baldur’s Gate II, with the disintegration dust and the screen shaking. But it does help illustrate the power level that Irenicus is throwing around. Save-or-die spells were relatively rare in the lower level of Baldur’s Gate I, even Semaj, Sarevok’s mage companion, wasn’t firing off disintegration willy-nilly. Throwing around disintegration spells clearly shows that Irenicus is a new high-level baddy. Later we see that he killed characters from Baldur’s Gate I off-screen, Khalid and Dynahier, two of the three sets of paired companions from BG1. This gives their partners reason to join in with the player character, but it also serves to show his power; Irenicus is such a bad dude that he can wipe your party before the game starts, like he was getting coffee. It might be a cruel cut, but that’s its intent, to make the player character mad at the villain, to want to punch his smarmy face in.

Commensurate in the danger of Irenicus is the need to find out what’s going on. Irenicus clearly knows something about your godly soul and so you want to find out what he knows. Even for an upstanding lawful good character, growing in power means finding a way to effect good on a larger scale, and perhaps to overcome the evil in your tainted blood. After all, no matter how good you were in Baldur’s Gate I, you still were an incredibly powerful killer. Sure, most if not all of them were bad dudes, Mulahey the iron ore poisoner, the bandits of Cloakwood, the Iron Throne and their plans to take over the Sword Coast. But chaos and destruction follow in your wake, and that chaos undoubtedly would hurt innocent civilians; Saradush in Throne of Bhaal is clear of that enough. Even just knowing more about what is going on could better prepare you for the next Irenicus or the next Sarevok.

When you go through the starter dungeon (another piece of game design, you are being tutorialized but the pastoral instruction of Candlekeep makes no sense for someone who already had an adventure), pieces of the man start to fall into place. He holds a bunch of captive dryads as concubines to remind him of someone he lost. He keeps an immaculate bedroom for a companion that is never there, with an alarm ready to dispatch the golems to kill any who cross the threshold. There’s a woman that was in his life that is no longer there, and the loss pains him, or at least, it seems that it should. Chatter with Imoen and the dryads show that this mystery man is trying to elicit feelings that he had lost, and that’s an entirely different case of worms than pining over a lost love. There’s some element of almost-unwilling psychopathy to these actions. Other hints in this dungeon illustrate this as well. His servants, discarded in vats and forgotten about entirely, would at first evoke classical evil overlords casually disregarding their own subjects. He’s almost all of the way there, but there’s enough there that the player is suggested that there has to be something more to it than that. He does seem to have some sort of sociopathy to him, where people are objects that he can find fascinating but he has no empathy. We see this later with Wanev, who Irenicus spares solely because he was hit by a spell that left him a lunatic, which Irenicus found funny, the administrator of a jail for the insane now rendered an insane patient himself.

He is powerful though, that much is clear when you break out of the starter dungeon. His display of magic collapsed part of Waukeen’s Promenade, and when the regulatory magical body of the Cowled Wizards comes to shut it down, Irenicus is capable of swatting mages like they were mosquitos. Just like the Shadow Thieves that he had been fighting, Irenicus seems more annoyed at the interruptions than any physical threat posed by his myriad foes. He’s definitely a powerful wizard, and when he finally submits to the Cowled Wizards, he does so clearly as their superior, dragging Imoen along with him. It’s fairly plain from a game design perspective what Irenicus is doing; he’s going to Spellhold so you have to get there. Good characters want to rescue Imoen, evil characters want to interrogate him to unlock the power in your blood. Either way, the player character is given a goal, and Irenicus disappears physically from the story for the moment.

He isn’t absent though. In your dreams, Jon Irenicus waxes philosophical at the player character, evoking thought-provoking questions. He explains the paradox of your existence of being born of murder, given life from the act of taking life. He speaks about accepting the gifts that will be given to you, regardless of whether or not you want them. These dream sequences are clear upgrades in quality and presentation from the spoken-dialogue text boxes from the first game after you beat major milestones. David Warner does a great job here in delivering Irenicus’s lines, he feels like a evil mentor speaking about philosophical topics with the same detachment that he tortured the player character with in the opening. While we find out later that these dreams aren’t sendings from Irenicus but rather parts of your character’s godly subconscious, they suggest to the player going through Chapter 3 that Irenicus does indeed know a hell of a lot more about you and your godly blood, keeping the player interesting in finding out exactly what it is you need to find out. The other quests in Chapter Three don’t have much to do with Irenicus, aside from some random events with the guild war in Athkatla at night, where the player will find out pretty quick that one side is powered by vampires, the level drain and click-dialogue of “your blood is rather inviting” isn’t exactly hiding that there be vampires engaged in a secret war with the Shadow Thieves. Even then, it’s tangential. You knew the Shadow Thieves were attacking Irenicus, which suggests at least some level of camaraderie with the vampires, but as we saw with the deep dwarves in Irenicus’s lair, he doesn’t care about followers, and they might simply be disposable assets if anything at all. If you want to know about Irenicus, you’re going to have to get it from the man himself. 

Of course, as befits a high-level mage, Irenicus breaks out of the prison in a cutscene, kills the Cowled Wizards and goes back to whatever unsavory plans he thought up for Imoen, teleporting into the lobby and chewing the scenery with his “I CANNOT BE CAGED!” speech, reinforcing his position as the central big bad and confirming the Cowled Wizards as mere obstacles. This part of his plan has been made clear. Far from the meddling Shadow Thieves and Cowled Wizards, Irenicus can continue his experiments on Imoen in Spellhold, and it falls on the player character to go there and end it. Irenicus, of course, knows this too, and he makes sure he has contingency plans to deliver you to him. I’m of three minds on this. On one, he’s so powerful it seems that he is so powerful, and Amn so large, that plenty of these isolated areas within the continent would service just as well for Irenicus’s lair. Why waste time with all of this blah-blah-blah and just take what he wants? It’s not like teleport spells are beyond his ken. On the other hand, it’s a good way to break up into the freeform quest design that Chapter Three gives, offers the chance for your characters to level up and get cool gear, lets you rock the stronghold quests which definitely let you feel your class and increase replay value, and the idea of the forbidding wizard in the island lair is an excellent backdrop. On the third, it’s in-character for an immortal mage to have plans within plans, even to the point of complexity addiction, although his conduct afterward sort of torpedoes this idea. 

That is, after he recaptures you, he immediately goes back to work to his experiments, and after another trippy dream sequence with Imoen, you find his plan. His goal is to absorb your divine soul, taking it for his own. He doesn’t explain anything more, but now that he has you, he discards you just as he has so many others. Telling his sister Bodhi to dispose of you is what keeps him from being someone like the Riddler, since he’s actually going for a proper smart villain play and killing the soulless husk he leaves behind just in case he pulls a protagonist move and comes clawing back for his stolen soul. It’s Bodhi’s instability, her desire to hunt you brought on by her vampirism, that keeps you alive. After the player character becomes the Slayer, Bodhi tells Irenicus, but true to his condescending nature, he simply...ignores the PC, writing them off as someone who is going to keel over any second due to their lack of soul, completely oblivious to the fact that Bhaal’s avatar was the Slayer, and it’s clear that something is replacing the void that he left within you. The PC must effectively turn that dismissiveness against him, by releasing the imprisoned mages within Spellhold, from the powerful but mostly harmless Dili to the megalomaniacal Tiax. Yet this hard-fought battle does not end with Irenicus’s death and your victory, instead Irenicus goes to pursue his other, as-yet unknown goals while he sends another band of cutthroats to die at your hand. 

Yoshimo is sort of my feelings on this Irenicus’s Spellhold plot writ small. As powerful as Irenicus is, he really doesn’t need Yoshimo, not if he has Sarmon Havarian and so many others. Yoshimo shows up in the starter dungeon, and is useful if a bit obsequious in a “who me?” sort of fashion. He doesn’t have a really good reason to stay with the party from a story reason that he gives you. He could have said: “Hey, thanks for getting me out. Deuces!” Yoshimo’s geas gets him to want to stay with the party, otherwise he’s dead. In that sense, it makes sense for him to want to be with the group. And as the only thief who gains levels aside from the absolutely annoying Jan Jansen, he’s useful for dealing with annoying traps, because reloading a game because your main PC tripped a trap and got petrified is certainly frustrating. Game mechanics though, interfere with this. You as the player character have control over the six-person party and if you want Yoshimo to be there, he’ll be there, and if you don’t, he’ll sit in the Copper Coronet, geas be damned. He’ll stand right there until you go back in after the Underdark chapter, in which case he flops over dead and hardly anyone cares. That’s a system engine limitation certainly, but it’s remarkably clumsy. What is good though, is Yoshimo’s regret during this. He knows he has to betray you and is forced to do so, and he genuinely likes you. The writing that happens is crisp, Yoshimo truly does apologize and Irenicus backs up his dismissive assholery by telling him to shut up. When Yoshimo confronts you in Spellhold, his writing is crisp. “No redemption, and no second chances. My heart to Ilmater.” He fights you and goes down swinging (which was annoying the first time I played because he had the Celestial Fury +3). And you can actually take that heart to Ilmater, occupying a valuable inventory space through the next chapters until you can reach Waukeen’s Promenade again, where you can choose to forgive him or not, but give the heart to Ilmater either way. It would have been saccharine to restore Yoshimo, but this way, I feel, is more powerful in a world with such powerful enchantments to see the effects on the people whose lives it ruins. So the game can be clunky at parts, and Irenicus can be as well, but there’s true craft and joy in it.

Back to Irenicus though, we get the sense of more to him when we see the intro splash screen for the next Chapter. Making a dark bargain with the drow, we see that they have captured surface elves, one of whom immediately refers to Irenicus as Joneleth, suggesting a backstory far deeper as Irenicus immediately resorts to killing the prisoner after being the one to suggest interrogation instead of immediate execution, a lashing out that seems out of character for the clinically-detached evil villain we’ve been coming to know. The backstory is clear in the Forgotten Realms, the dark elves and surface elves are mortal foes and anyone who is known to the surface elves to ally with the dark elves is a great betrayal. As the PC goes through the Underdark and comes out, they are captured by the surface elves. Through a conversation with Eldoth, it can become evident that the surface elves know more than they are letting on, such as when they are the ones who suggest holy water and stakes to fight Bodhi, despite not knowing anything about either one of them. After you slay Bodhi and restore Imoen’s soul to its rightful place, you can call Eldoth out on it. Irenicus is “the Shattered One,” an exile of the elves, and it’s here that Irenicus’s story becomes apparent.

Irenicus was a powerful wizard and lover of Queen Ellesime named Joneleth. Yet in his heart, Joneleth yearned for more power and sought to take the essence of the Tree of Life, the lifeblood of the city of Suldanesselar, for himself and Bodhi. This dark ritual nearly killed many that existed within Suldanesselar, and so Joneleth and Bodhi were punished, stripping their elven nature and immortality away from them, leaving them with a mortal lifespan, thus Joneleth became Jon Irenicus, the Shattered One. Bodhi sought to become a vampire to transgress the mortal years she had, but Jon had felt that it degraded her to that of a high-functioning beast. Irenicus’s scheme was far more grandiose if also possessing an elegant simplicity: he lost an immortal soul and so he needed to take one for himself. The Bhaalspawn was the perfect choice, powerful enough to defeat Sarevok and awaken the power within, weak enough to be captured and have the divine soul snatched away. With his stolen soul freshly acquired, Irenicus now looked to the second part of himself, to revenge himself on the elves. The dark elf invasion ultimately failed, helped out by the PC butchering the leadership of Ust Natha, but Irenicus is still going with golems and summoned demons to destroy the city, usurp the power of the Tree of Life, and complete his long ago schemes. 

I... I do not remember your love, Ellesime. I have tried. I have tried to recreate it, to spark it anew in my memory, but it is gone... a hollow, dead thing. For years, I clung to the memory of it. Then the memory of the memory. And then nothing. The Seldarine took that from me, too. I look upon you and feel nothing. I remember nothing but you turning your back on me, along with all the others. Once my thirst for power was everything. And now I hunger only for revenge. And I... WILL... HAVE IT!!

When confronted by Queen Ellesime, she even asks if there was any part of him that remembered the love he had for her, and the PC sees that it’s her that was in his mind for the beautiful bedroom way back in chapter one. It was almost certainly her that Irenicus thought of when he was with his dryad concubines. And when she poses that question, he answers with the above quote, that he feels nothing. While it seems like this is a loss of depth, that he’s just a flat character, I don’t think this is the case. Irenicus had the chance to change, for self-reflection. Instead, he remembers it as all the others turning their back on him, without any recognition that his schemes nearly killed them. It’s the classic abuser mentality, how dare you make me do these things to you. When his victims tried to defend themselves, he lashed out and remembers only their ‘cruelty’ to him. It’s this that makes Irenicus, for all his great arcane might, so small. Where before he was this intimidating figure, now he’s a petty man, and fittingly, it’s here that you can kill him. Temporarily, at least, because there’s still one more dungeon. Irenicus and you are still battling for your divine soul, and after a few self-reflective quests of your own, you duel Irenicus, who dies pitiably, torn to shreds by demons as his power fails him. It fits the heroic and thematic heft of the arc. As you grow in power, Irenicus diminishes in threat. He was your torturer, an inhuman menace, then he became just a man, torn apart by tiny demons that you probably could take down by the truckload. 

There’s good things to learn here. Irenicus isn’t a super-unique villain, although some of the villain tropes are personalized for the sake of the Baldur’s Gate story specifics. But he does his job admirably. David Warner’s voice work, and the special effects (pretty good for when the game came out in 2000) really was able to sell Irenicus as an enjoyable villain. 

Thanks for the suggestions, Anons who were looking forward to this.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[psychedellic-phase]

Sanctuary

A/N: i loved this fic request! Requests are always open :)

Summary: Reader is having a bad case of imposter syndrome, but luckily her boyfriend knows just how to help.

tw: none, pure fluff      word count: 2.1k

masterlist

You sat at the kitchen table, head in your hands, staring at your laptop screen. It’s like it was taunting you, lines and lines of words and symbols mocking your inability to fix them. All you had to do was find the error in the code, a task you’ve done a million times. But this time it seemed utterly impossible. The software was due in two days and it was your first solo project and you wanted to impress everyone, finally prove your worth to the company. The pressure was on and it had to be perfect. You needed it to be perfect. But it wasn’t even close to perfect. In fact, every time you launched it, it crashed; leaving you to stare at your reflection in the screen, making you want to give up and cry. 

You knew how to fix it, you always know how to fix it. You’re who everyone comes to to fix it, but you were too nervous to even begin typing. If you failed, you’d be proving everyone who doubted you right. The thought made you nauseous. You’d be proving that every misogynistic a-hole teacher you had in college who said ‘software isn’t a woman’s job’ to you right. All the men at the startup would chuckle at your failure and say something rude like ‘see? that’s what we get for letting a woman do the work.’ You’d be ruining the chances of any other woman who interviewed. Most of all you were terrified of failing and letting yourself down, letting everything you worked for go to waste. Maybe everyone was right; software isn’t a woman’s job. Deep down you knew you were being irrational, but the thoughts just wouldn’t stop. 

You kept staring into the abyss of numbers and symbols, going through every letter in every line. Was it in HTML? JAVASCRIPT? Neither? Suddenly you couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Y/N?” Your boyfriend said opening the front door of your shared apartment, “What are you doing up? It’s 1 am.”

You didn’t look up at Spencer, too fixated in trying to decipher your work to acknowledge him. How was it already 1 am? You’d been sitting there for hours and had done nothing.  

Spencer waved his hand in front of your face, “Y/N?”

No response, you just stared into the code getting more and more hypnotized by it, entering some sort of strange trance. 

“Y/N!” He said more forcefully this time, causing you to blink and look up at him. 

“What?” 

“What are you so stressed about?”

You broke eye contact then and brought your lower lip in between your teeth, “Stressed? I’m not stressed!”

A lie. A very obvious lie. Which Spencer knew, because reading you like a book was high on his never-ending list of talents. 

“Really? You’re not stressed?” He sounded half amused. 

You shook your head, “Nope, never been more calm in my life.”

He chuckled, “Then maybe you should stop chewing on your lip and lower your shoulders, they’re practically at your ears.” He moved behind you and pressed his hands against your shoulders, lowering them for you. He took his thumbs and rubbed the knots that formed there, “Now, Angel, tell me, what are you so stressed about?”

Again, you didn’t answer. He thought he’d catch your attention by using your favorite term of endearment, but instead you just turned your attention back to the screen. 

Spencer didn’t understand, he never would. If you google ‘genius’ a picture of Dr. Spencer Reid is what comes up. With an IQ of 187, the ability to read 20,000 words per minute, three doctorate degrees and three bachelors degrees all by the ripe old age of 30, there is quite literally nothing he can’t do. Except maybe ten push ups, he could probably get to 9. He was a child prodigy and CalTech graduate. You went to public school and a college with a 70% acceptance rate. He was recruited to the FBI at twenty-two. When you were the same age you were a college senior getting trashed at a different bar every Thirsty Thursday. He spends his work days catching killers and saving lives, and you spend yours typing away at a computer hoping something works out. 

Being with him was simultaneously the best and worst thing for your self esteem. Sure he made you feel loved, appreciated, beautiful, important, but he also made you feel stupid. Not on purpose of course, it just seemed like he was  better than you at everything, even the things you thought you were best at. Thank god he’s a technophobe, if he knew his way around a computer better than you that would be the last straw. Oftentimes you wondered why he even wanted to be with you when you so clearly were not on his level, and when there are so many people who are. He’s smart and handsome and could have his pick of the bunch, so why did he pick you? 

“You know, 83% of workers in the US feel stressed out in their jobs, it’s totally normal. I’m stressed all the time at my job,” He said, trying to coax you out of the shell you crawled into. It didn’t work, instead you went through the lines of code again mumbling to yourself that it looked perfect, so what was wrong with it? 

“Can I help? Let me see,” He asked. He didn’t wait for a response, and reached over to turn your laptop towards him. 

“No!” You yelped, and snatched the laptop away from him. You couldn’t have him help you, you couldn’t let anyone help you. If anyone helped you then it wouldn’t be your achievement. This was one thing you had to do alone. 

He sighed and put his hands up in defeat, “Alright alright, I know I’m not a computer whiz. I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” You snapped, getting frustrated with him now. Why couldn’t he just let it go? Why did he always have to try and help? You knew the answer was because he loves you and wants to make you happy, but your judgement was too clouded to see that. You huffed out angrily, trying to suppress the hot, frustrated tears that were threatening to spill over.  

Spencer slid into the chair next to you and gripped your shoulder, “Y/N...Ang—”

You turned to him and cut him off, “What? You think I can’t do this on my own? Don’t you?”

He just took the jab in his stride. “I know you can do it on your own,” he grabbed your hands from the keyboard and held them between his, forcing you to stop for a moment and just be with him.

“Talk to me.”

You waited a moment before conceding, “Okay fine, the software is due in two days and I’ve been working on it for weeks and it still isn’t perfect. Something is wrong with it and I can’t find it and if I can’t fix it then I’m just proving to everyone that I can’t handle this job and that I’m stupid and incapable of doing anything on my own and then I’ll get fired because there’s newer, smarter kids coming into tech everyday and all the men at work will never take another girl seriously again and then after I get fired and end up homeless you’ll realize that I’m actually stupid and useless and that you can do it wayyyy better than me an—”

“Woah slow down,” He interrupted your rambling. You were staring at the floor, hands still trapped between his two much larger ones rendering you useless. He let you go, hands coming up to your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. They  were calloused but soft, and his eyes demanded your attention, darting all over your face to read your expression. He poked his tongue out of the right side of his mouth, the same way he has a hundred times. You softened a little into his touch. 

“I think you have imposter syndrome.”

You pulled back, “What? Don’t you dare try to diagnose me or profile me Spencer Reid.”

He ignored you and started into his own ramble, much like the one you had just finished, “It’s a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist despite evident success. 'Imposters' suffer from chronic self-doubt and a sense of intellectual fraudulence that override any feelings of success or external proof of their competence. It was first documented in the 70s by successful working women who felt like they had ‘fooled’ everyone into thinking they were intelligent.”

You looked at him even weirder now, your eyebrows scrunching together, “Oh?”

“It’s very common in the tech industry because of how fast paced it is.” He said it all so matter-of-factly. 

“I-I don’t think so. That’s not me.”

“Think about it Y/N. It makes sense!” 

It did. It made perfect sense. It explained the constant questioning and anxiety. It explained why you don’t ask for help or offer up an opinion at meetings. It explained why you had jumped from failing a project to being homeless like it was the natural progression of things. A ‘diagnosis’, if you even could call it that, should’ve made you feel better about everything, but it didn’t. 

“I just feel like I don’t deserve anything I have. I-I don’t even know how I got here Spence! Like how did I manage to convince everyone that I’m talented enough to do this on my own!”

He let the words marinate between you. Then it all clicked in your head; you sounded exactly like those women in the 70s. 

“You just proved my point, Angel.”

You glared at him, “Okay here’s another example. I don’t deserve you. You just got home from a long day of saving lives and being a genius crime fighting machine and instead of getting some damn sleep you have to console me because I’m over here crying like an idiot because some code won’t run.”

Spencer’s hand came under your chin, forcing you to look at him again, “You don’t know how much you do for me, do you?”

You just shook your head, genuinely not knowing what he meant. 

He smiled, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little, “Yes I am a life-saving crime-fighting genius, but without you I wouldn’t be able to cope.”

“Really?” You sniffled. 

“Yeah, Angel, really. I spend all day looking pure evil in the face, and without you to come home to and talk to I’d be trapped in my head all day, thinking of what I could’ve done better. You’re my safe space. Without you I’d probably go insane,” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

You smiled now. You believed him; Spencer isn’t one to lie, “And you’d have no social life.”

He laughed, “Hey! I’d have a social life.”

“Who? Henry and Jack?”

He laughed, “You’re right, I’d have no social life.”

You stood up then and he followed suit. You threw your arms around his slender frame and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Spencer’s shaggy brown hair tickled your cheek but you didn’t mind. All that mattered was his heartbeat and breathing. You were his sanctuary, and he was yours. When either one of you would dive head first into the deep end, the other would be waiting there to catch you. Tonight it was his turn. 

And catch you he did, into a loving kiss, holding you close to him. When you pulled away he planted another kiss on your forehead and mumbled into your hair, “Trust me, you keep the internet world running. Without you we’d all be lost.”

You sighed and thanked him, happily sitting in front of the laptop now. All your fears had been pushed away. You knew they would resurface eventually, but right now it felt like you were unstoppable. With two simple corrections you tried to run the code and it worked perfectly. 

“See!” He cheered, squeezing your shoulders again, “You deserve the world, Angel.”

You stood up and jumped into his arms for another hug, wrapping your legs around his waist, his arms holding you up.

“You may be a life-saving, crime-fighting genius Dr. Reid, but I am a bad-ass, intelligent, woman who codes at the top of a male dominated field.”

He smiled then, pride practically beaming out of him, “Well, I’d say we’re a perfect match.”

[please-buckme]

The Assistant

Hayden Christensen x reader

Chapter 2

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It’s a Saturday and it’s late. Mr. Christensen asked you to come in just in case he needed something. All you did was sit there, on your phone, rolling around in your chair. The only productive thing you’d done since coming in was get dinner from a restaurant down the block.

You’d be more okay with coming in on your days off if you actually had work to do or liked him but you didn’t. He also kept the door shut so you were utterly and completely alone. Every now and then you’d ask if he needed anything; coffee, something from the vending machine, for you to pick up dessert, a soul but he’d just wave you off.

It had gotten late and you were extremely bored, not to mention exhausted. You continued to roll the chair back and forth before deciding it was time for you to go home. You packed up your belongings and contemplated for a moment. Should you just leave? It doesn’t seem like a fireable offense but at the same time, did you care? All your hard work over the past 6 months wasn’t worth it, you thought. You’d simply just tell him you’re going home. What’s so bad about that..?

You walked over to his office door and knocked hesitantly before opening it just a crack. “Yes.” You open the door a bit more following his response. Papers were stroan atop his desk as he studied the paper in front of him.

“I was just, um, do you need anything before I go?” You ask.

“You're leaving?”

“Well we’ve been here for hours and you haven’t asked anything of me work related so I thought-“

“You’re not having fun, is that what you’re saying?” He looks up at you now, eyebrows furrowed.

It wasn’t on purpose but you felt a small smile tug at your cheeks. “Uh, no.” To your surprise he just smirked in response. You heard him click his pen shut as he rose from his desk and stretched his arms over his head. You’d never seen him this disheveled before tonight. His necktie was thrown to the floor along with his jacket. He had on a blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top button undone. This new side of him made you slightly worried. Was something wrong that he didn’t want to tell you about? You didn’t want to cross a line by asking but you were nosy at heart so you did, “Is something wrong?”

He gave you a puzzled look, bringing his arms back down out of their stretched position. “No. Why do you ask?” He walked around to the front of his desk. You watched as he leaned against it, lazily and folded his arms over his chest. Was he drunk? You’d never seen him drunk. Someone so structured wouldn’t do that at work, would they? The thought of him being drunk made you a little uneasy so you just decided to drop it.

“Uh, no reason. Am I good to go?” He gave you a sloppy smile while standing from his leaning state. He sauntered towards you slowly still crossing his arms over his chest. You stood there quietly staring at the floor trying desperately to avoid eye contact. You waited to see his glossy shoes as he approached you, immediately smelling the liquor that seemed to be seeping through his pores. “Let me make you a drink.” He drunkenly mumbled.

“Uh, no thanks. I really should be-”

“I insist.” He says cutting you off, again.

You sigh in frustration. If you didn’t like him sober, would you really like him drunk? He did make it kind of sound like you had no choice in the matter though. “O-okay just one though and then I really need to get home.” He backed away from you and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. You slumped your shoulders in defeat, dragging your feet across the carpeted floor to the vacant seat across from his. .

“What's your poison?” He asked over his shoulder.

“I’m not much of a drinker so I guess whatever you’re having.” That was sort of a lie, you just wanted to get this night over with and go home.

You heard the liquid pour following the sound of the cap spinning back onto the bottle. He handed you your drink which seemed to be whiskey in an, of course, beautiful glass. You took a sip as he sat down across from you. It tasted expensive, almost too good for your own taste buds. Taking another sip you looked up to see him staring at you, circling his drink in the air. This is the longest the two of you had spent time together when it wasn’t work related, so you didn’t quite know what to say. He was fixated on your face looking intently at you. He clearly didn’t mind the awkward silence but you did, so you said, “Um, thank you for the drink, Sir.”

“Hayden.”

“What?” you asked, confusion in your voice.

“That’s my name.” He told you as if you didn’t already know.

“I-I know, I practically know everything about you,” you laugh before continuing, “but i’d like to keep things professional, if you don’t mind, Mr. Christensen.” For a moment he looked at you in confusion but then relaxed his face, taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re very good at your job, you know?” You blush at his compliment. He had never come close to saying anything like that in all the months you’d worked for him.

“Uh, thank you, sir. That actually means a lot.” You gushed.

“So you know everything about me, you say?” The smirk reappearance on his face.

You laugh, “I said ‘practically everything’ it’s literally my job.” You continued laughing, making him chuckle a bit at your words.

“Yes, that’s true.” He says bringing the glass back up to his lips. His lips. You’d never actually studied his facial features, of course you’d seen his face a million times but you were never really looking at him. You watched his bottom lip against the glass and couldn’t help but notice how plump it was. When he lowered his glass you saw them in their fullness. They seemed soft and almost delicate. You watched him move his mouth as he spoke to you, not focusing on the words at all. Turning your focus now to his nose, it was, um, boopy and actually perfect. Usually a nose has some sort of ill-favored feature but not his.

You were about to make contact with his eyes that you’d become all too familiar with when he waved a hand in front of your face, ruining your focus. Clearing your throat and taking a small sip of your drink you asked, “I’m sorry, what?” He laughed.

“I asked how long you’d been living here.” He restated. You were so embarrassed. He clearly caught you staring but you couldn’t help but notice the blush now on his face, you’d flattered him. This made you think of his ex wife, had she ever really seen him the way you just had? The amount of time he spends in the office you weren’t even sure how they met. You’d met her once though. One of those totally gorgeous, model type bodied women who only marry into money. That’s why she wanted him back so badly, without him she’s broke.

You cleared your throat again, then answered, “The second I got the call about the job.” You didn’t apply for the job exactly. When you graduated one of your favorite professors sent his company your resumé. After the last assistant quit they called you immediately. “Did you know I didn’t apply?” You asked out of curiosity.

“Hm? How did you get the job then? Well known family?” He asked. You couldn’t help but bust out laughing. What wealthy family would put their daughter through this?

“No offense but if I were from a wealthy family,” you leaned in a little closer to whisper, “I wouldn’t be here.” The whiskey was definitely kicking in on even from just a few sips. You felt much more confident in talking to him.

He laughed at your answer, “That’s fair.” He continued to laugh while finishing off his drink. Not wanting him to be alone you finished yours off too. “Another?” He asked.

“Oh no, I really should be heading home.” You set the glass down on his desk while standing up.

“Should I walk you home?” What? Okay maybe he should be drunk more often, you actually liked him a lot more this way. Even though it’d be nice to have someone walk you home, he was still your boss. You wanted to be professional about your relationship.

“Oh thank you but no.” It came out harsher than you’d meant it. “I mean the gesture was really nice I just- yeah.” He laughed. His laugh was a pleasant sight. His perfect white teeth complimented his beautiful tan skin, especially in this lighting.

“Can I walk you out then?” You nodded in agreement. You slipped your backpack on before heading to the elevators.

The elevator ride was awkward. He stood on the wall opposite of you and twiddled with his fingers like a child. It amazed you how different a person can be when not at their best. If this was his worst though it flattered him. It’s sad but he had been much nicer in those thirty minutes than he’d been to you in a whole day. You wouldn’t actually mind going to work if this guy was your boss.

Once the elevator opened you both sprung up in relief. He walked you down the long empty hallway inching closer and closer to you with every step. “It was nice talking to you.” He whispered so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

“Oh, you too.” You looked up at him shyly as you approached the front door. He towered over you, standing much closer than you realized. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips. Your heart skipped a beat when you made eye contact with him. He swayed slightly back and forth throwing a hand up over your head to rest on the door frame. “I-I should go.” You said not breaking eye contact with him. He answered with ‘mhmm’ but you weren’t moving. Why weren’t you moving? He started inching closer and closer and you still couldn’t move. You could feel his breath on your face now. You wanted to be professional in this moment but you’d be lying if a tiny, microscopic piece of you didn’t want to attack his face.

He leaned in a little closer hovering over your lips before whispering, “Goodnight.” He pulled away from you completely with a smirk on his face. You blushed but laughed. As if he actually wanted to kiss you.

“See you Monday, Mr. Christensen.” He waves while walking back to the elevators. You exit the building feeling absolutely thankful you didn’t kiss your boss.

Chapter 3

[spencervoid]

Undercover | Spencer Reid

*I do not own this GIF nor do I take credit for it!*

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

A/N: This idea was inspired by the song “Us” by James Bay and Alicia Keys which is an INCREDIBLE song by the way! [Edited] Okay, writing this I didn’t expect to be this long but I kept adding as I went along aha so bear with it!

Warnings: angst, tension, death, blood, a lot of sadness, fluff, kissing, happy ending :)

NO SMUT! I’m not comfortable with writing that sort of stuff so I won’t go further than a very intense kiss, thank you.

Word Count: 2.6k words (reading time; 20 mins average)

[If your name is Anna then change the undercover name to whatever you like]

“I hate dresses.” You mumbled underneath your breath, stepping out of the SUV with Reid by your side. This mission was definitely out of your comfort zone but Emily claimed that there was no one better for the job. All you both had to do was profile the room after an anonymous tip came in that the unsub was going to be attending the party.

A couple of days ago, you and Reid had gotten into quite an argument and it had been awfully tense between you two since then, despite the tries from the rest of the team to get you two to at least acknowledge each other’s existence. Your heels clicked against the pavement as the warm air hugged your body closely, Reid looking around the area like the maniac he was. Defeats the purpose of being discreet. 

You walked confidently, your hair was brushed back behind your shoulders, various rings slid onto your fingers with a very shiny diamond one on your ring finger of your left hand. Shoot, you almost forgot you were ‘married’ to Reid. Seriously, why couldn’t JJ go?

You approached the front door, the bodyguard stood with a clipboard in his hand. “Names?” You looked to Reid as he studied the man’s face, a light smile built up on his face. “James Meulbrook.” You planted a fake smile on your lips, as the bodyguard flicked through the pages, chewing his gum obnoxiously. “Ah, Mr Meulbrook, yes.” 

The bodyguard spoke, ticking off the name with his black fountain pen. He looked to you, eyeing you up and down and you resisted every urge to gauge out his eyes with a fork but just tilted your chin up, a sudden hand on your waist, pulling you in. “And who’s the lovely lady?” 

“Anna. Anna Meulbrook.” The bodyguard looked up at Reid, who had his jaw clenched and his other hand balled into a fist behind his back. The man looked visibly intimidated as he cleared his throat and stood to the side, motioning for the pair of you to walk in. 

You both took his invitation in and walked side by side, but before you could go downstairs to where the hall was, you were stopped. You felt a soft grasp on your hand, turning to face Spencer, he was looking down at your face with a worrisome look. “Careful alright? We know what this unsub’s capable of.”

You nodded firmly and pulled your hand out of his, walking down the steps to where the huge hall was located. There were a couple of tables gathered on both sides of the hall, with an extravagant and expensive chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“Woah.” You whispered, picking up your dress so you wouldn’t trip over it as you strolled down the stairs. You met the eyes of other people who had came tonight, a gleaming smile on their faces.

A waitress even complimented your dress as you made your way across the hall, being offered a drink. Spencer walked with both of his hands in his pockets, looking around the room with a tight lipped smile on his face. You refused the drink and took a seat on the table with ‘The Meulbrooks’ sign on it. 

Spencer sighed and sat down besides you, whispering in your ear, “if we’re going to make this whole marriage thing work, you can’t be mad at me.” You scoffed quietly, looking to him. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Throughout the night, Spencer stayed on his side as you stayed on yours and followed the instructions Hotch strictly told you to stand by. 

‘Be welcoming, act like you fit in, and don’t approach the unsub if you spot him. You’ll be unarmed and be putting everyone else at risk. Call us. We will be watching the entire time just in case something goes wrong.’ 

You were talking with a couple of women who were sat on the same table as you, so far nothing had come up. Neither you or Reid had found anyone or even suspected anyone, despite how close you were looking at all the people here tonight.

In the middle of saying something, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Excuse me.” You looked up and saw Reid smiling at the ladies before looking down at you, motioning to walk with him. Silently obeying, you stood up and picked your dress up off the ground, following Spencer elsewhere. 

He turned around to face you, looking around to make sure no one else was in conversation distance. “I think I’ve identified the unsub.” You furrowed your eyebrows, shifting uncomfortably where you stood. “Who?” 

“On your 6, navy blue blazer.” You looked down to the floor, whispering, “Talk to me. Pretend we’re in a conversation.” As Spencer rambled on about something to do with the laws of physics, you smiled at him and calmly looked to your left. You observed the man Reid was suspecting and looked back up at him.

“We agreed on a young male, not a 40 year old.” He rolled his eyes, pulling his hair back behind his ears. You both quietened down as a couple walked past, resuming to your conversation moments after. “He’s been staring at you for the last hour.” 

You tilted your head at him, “Can’t handle the fact men are attracted to me?” 

“He’s been staring a little too intensely to be attracted.” 

“I think I would know if he was staring a little too intensely, I am a profiler after all.” You turned to walk away but Spencer grabbed your hand, pulling you back to face him. You hastily whispered in a hushed tone, trying not to grab the attention of the people around you. “Let go of me, I have a job to do.” 

“You’re getting a bit too comfortable to be doing just a job if these men are staring at you.” Your mouth hung open as you scoffed, your voice getting louder. “What??”

You knew better than to blow your cover and put everyone at risk so you took a deep breath and yanked your hand out of his grip. “At least I’m trying to do my job right, James.” You emphasised on his fake name, a man and a woman approaching the two of you as you both simultaneously turned to them, fake smiles plastered on your lips.

“Mr Meulbrook, we just came over to say how much we admire your charity work.” You looked down to your feet for a brief moment, rolling your eyes before looking back up to face the couple and your ‘husband’. “I’m going to get a drink.” You excused yourself and gave a curt nod towards the two guests opposite you. 

You spun on your heel and walked away, heading back to your table. Spencer watched you walk away, remorse filling his chest. He wanted to apologise, not just as James but as Spencer too. 

“In trouble with the Mrs?” Spencer was shook out of his trance, looking back at the man. “Don’t we all?” He threw a light-hearted comment in an attempt to make him feel distracted but it didn’t work nonetheless. You were the only thing he could think about. 

As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, you desperately tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall out, Spencer’s comment earlier running through your mind. Did he actually mean that? Did he think you were purposely trying to get men to stare at you? As if it was your fault that men couldn’t keep their thing in their pants when seeing an attractive woman, that was their problem. Not yours. 

You heard heels click against the floor as you took a deep breath and pretended to fix your hair as the woman gave you a small smile in the mirror before walking into a stall. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks when you heard a piercing sound run through the building. 

Fire alarm. 

You briskly walked back to the hall’s entrance when you got pushed back by a swamp of people who were running out, some screaming and some in complete terror. You were entirely confused, holding a lady back and trying to get her to calm down. “Hey, hey, hey, what happened?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” She was about to explain but ran away when she heard her husband calling her name out, ushering her into their car. You looked around frantically, searching for...

A sudden gunshot echoed through the hall as you ran in, seeing a young lady lying on the floor, blood flowing from the centre of her head as she laid lifeless on the ground. “Oh my god.” You whispered, tears escaping your eyes as you brought your hand to your mouth. 

You noticed the bullet holes decorated across the ceiling, a silencer on the floor only a couple of feet away from where the body was. 

Running to the girl, you saw the exit door wide open assuming it’s where the unsub must’ve escaped from. You couldn’t help the tears uncontrollably run down your cheeks, bringing your fingers to your head, running them through your hair in frustration. 

Two FBI agents, one unsub, one victim and he still got away. God you felt so stupid. 

Great, now your phone was still in the bathroom and you knew if you left, the press would be right outside so now you had no way to contact any of your team. Not to mention that you had a body laying in front of you, an escaped unsub and your own personal audience waiting for an answer outside.

You walked out of the hall, turning back every five seconds to see the girl, your chest filling up with guilt that you didn’t see to her in time. You couldn’t help but put the blame on yourself, thinking about the what-ifs.

Walking out into the outside, an army of guests and paparazzi gathered around you within seconds, knowing you had to answer for what had just happened inside but you couldn’t even bring yourself to figure it out. Being the liaison of the team really came with it’s disadvantages.

Questions, comments, blames were getting thrown at you in every direction as you agitatedly looked around, trying to calm down the situation. You were still crying, your body still pumping adrenaline, your mind still in shock and utter denial.

Thankfully, you heard a loud and deep voice take control of the situation and push the people away from you. Sighing, your body limped from the overwhelming pain you were feeling in your chest when you looked up and saw him.

But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was looking at Emily and JJ, talking to them in a frustrated manner.

He was shaking his head, his eyes were red and his fingers were crossed. Something he did when he was nervous. Almost instantly, he caught your eyes looking at him as he took a sigh of... relief? Suddenly, any defences you had built up against him were just paper. Before you even knew it, you were engulfed in his arms and his blazer was wrapped around you. You could feel his torso and the heart that beat from within. His hands were folded around your back, drawing you in closer. You could practically feel your body shake, crying as you nuzzled into him further.

Spencer pulled his head back and softly wiped your tears with his thumb, even his gentle touch brought more relief than your heart could hold. He pulled your hair back behind your ear, almost assessing your face for any sort of pain or damage. “I-I let him get away, she’s gone. She-She’s gone.” You cried out in whispers as he tried to calm you down, resting both of his hands on either side of your face.

“This isn’t your fault angel. You did nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong.” Spencer repeated to you, kissing your forehead gently. “They’ve secured each exit, every unit is out on the road. We’ll find the son of a bitch.”

Your cries went to silent sobs as you rested your head on Spencer’s firm chest, his hand on the back of your head as he ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He continued to whisper, everyone else around you keeping a safe distance, they were sure Spencer was doing a good job and he was. There was no one you trusted more to take care of you.

After a couple of hours, the unsub was captured somewhere in the woods when a person called in, reporting someone of the exact same description. He was disarmed at the scene and was already on his way to the police station where Hotch, Rossi and Emily followed.

You were leaned up against the side of an ambulance, still wearing Spencer’s blazer, you gazed out into the distance, hearing all the chatter and noise behind you.

You felt a vibration come from the blazer’s pocket, pulling out Spencer’s mobile, you read the new message sent. “Got your phone :)” You smiled to yourself, scanning over the message a couple of times before locking the phone and putting it away.

Hearing footsteps slowly become louder, you turned your head to see a familiar brown haired boy walk over. A soft smile on his face.

He stood in front of you, hands dug into his pockets as he pulled out your phone and handed it to you. “Thank you.” You mumbled quietly, earning a hum in response.

You had every urge to ask him what was on your mind, what you were thinking since you’d shared that hug, every moment didn’t seem right until this one. When it was just the two of you. When you were both enjoying each other’s company silently, you knew it was the right moment.

“Why were you crying?” You looked up to meet his eyes who were already fixed on you, his lips twitching as he thought of what to say. Taking a step forward, he spoke confidently, “because I thought I’d lost you.”

You nodded gently, picking at the rings on your fingers as you decided on whether or not you should ask the next question. But you did anyway. “What you said in there, about me wanting men’s attention, did you m-”

“No. No I didn’t mean that Y/N. What I said in there were lies. All of it. You’re beautiful okay? You can wear anything you want and men are always going to look at you because every ounce of you is perfect. Every ounce.” You opened your mouth to reply but he beat you to it, “look, I was just jealous. I was jealous because I mean Y/N, look at you. You’re so damn beautiful.”

There was a brief pause between you both when he spoke back up again. “Just say the word and I can show you Y/N. I can show you just how much you mean to me.”

You stopped for a moment, placing a hand on Spencer’s chest as he looked down at you, waiting patiently. There were a million thoughts running through your head but you knew deep down you wanted him. Despite how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

“Okay.” As soon as the word left your mouth, Spencer lifted your head with his thumb, his forefinger resting underneath your chin. You closed your eyes as he leaned in to your face, feeling a pair of lips brush yours instantly afterwards. It was soft and delicate, as if he was asking for permission to go further.

You brought your hand slowly up to his face as the kiss continued, the touch of his lips against yours getting more and more intimate. He could feel the warmth of your skin, smiling against your lips at how you were probably turning pink.

And yes, you were turning pink. You could practically feel your limbs inside shaking, your heart beat quickening and your body melting under Spencer’s gentle touch.