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keigoslovebird · 4 years ago

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Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball.

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins.

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end.

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you.

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.”

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.”

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

��W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms.

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball.

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi.

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject.

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed.

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose.

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for.

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy.

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay.

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is.

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp.

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?”

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him.

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest.

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly.

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit.

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place.

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is. Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure.

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles.

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else.

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body.

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.”

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.”

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue.

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight.

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts.

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom.

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him.

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?”

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames.

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home.

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime.

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband.

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug.

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.”

Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep.

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in.

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.”

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep.

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.”

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist.

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together.

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #hq smut #hq fanfic #reader insert #hq reader insert #hq imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #ushijima smut #bunny scribbles

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years ago

Text

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.”

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yerawizardjulia · 3 years ago

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Too Rich for a McNugget (Wolfstar)

A university student enters an antique shop in a panic. How do you buy a wedding gift for a cousin you hate?

Sirius wouldn’t have looked twice at the dusty shop if he wasn’t stupidly, desperately late. The high street itself was laughing at him and he was uncomfortably aware of the scrubby guy on the bench that had definitely seen him walk past the same shop window three times in a desperate attempt to see anything other than tea towels and obnoxiously cheerful decorated mugs with ‘World’s best dad’ printed on the sides in Comic Sans. His fingers were slippery in anxious sweat as he pressed the home button on his phone, his iPhone six, another reason his presence would be scorned at this godforsaken gathering. The smudgy screen blinked into life and displayed, seemingly smugly after Sirius’ growing resentment towards the device, 12:42.

Twenty fucking minutes. If he didn’t show up with a gift he might as well not show up at all, an option he would have embraced wholeheartedly if his mother hadn’t pincered him into a corner at their last, regularly depressing routine coffee catch up and told him the deeds to his inheritance were under considerable threat if he did not attend. He wouldn’t have minded, but being twenty grand in debt to an English degree in a rented apartment with black mould creeping onto the ceiling made him reconsider his options.

Fucking Narcissa.

He wouldn’t have been looking forward to the wedding even if she wasn’t marrying a right wing, Eton-educated, ‘can’t control these blasted immigrants’ CEO of whateverthefuck that looked as though he’d never even touched an item of clothing that didn’t come from Armani. It was so typical of his cousin to find a man who deferred so minimally from their shared families’ frankly alarmingly consistent Tory heritage that Sirius had had to do some extensive Googling to confirm that Lucius Malfoy was not in fact, a not-so-distant relative.

A text buzzed in his hand, the little green notification welcome on the screen. At least it was an excuse to loiter outside this shop window for another minute or so without looking like a genuine psychopath.

‘Just get her a toaster or something idk.’

Sirius hadn’t really expected James’ solution to his predicament to be helpful, but his flatmate’s response nevertheless sent the hopeless feeling in his stomach a few inches lower. He had never expected for his future to be balanced on the purchase of a wedding gift, but he would almost prefer to sit his first-year exams, which he had taken with a hangover so severe it felt like he was going to vomit out of his eyeballs, all over again than have to look at this shop window for a second longer. He pictured sitting in a gutter in London, like the tramps that his mother refused to make eye contact with during their trips out during his childhood, drinking from a bottle wrapped in brown paper and thinking; if only I had gone with the luxury jam set. He had discarded the idea after noticing the Tesco’s Finest logo above the barcode, but it was beginning to look like his best option.

Another text. No, a call. Sirius shoved the phone back into his hoodie he was using to mask the aristocratic wedding attire beneath. Keepers of pretentious little shops such as the ones lining this dusty high street tended to bump their prices through the roof if they saw someone of his blood walk in. Old blood. Old money. It was unfair, really, because Sirius didn’t actually have any. If he did, he probably wouldn’t mind paying the exorbitant prices; James spent half his life agonising over how independent businesses were being suffocated by Amazon. But Sirius had nothing to his name until his dear grandparents decided to snuff it. The phone ceased buzzing waspishly in his pocket, and he decided he had better check who he was ignoring.

Typical fucking Regulus.

Probably the only human being under twenty that actually went out of his way to call people, rather than text. He would be there already, exchanging pleasantries in the foyer of the Malfoy’s third manor home. Checking to see whether the Black family disappointment was showing his face, or if he’d have to rely on his six predicted A* grades and brand new Porsche that probably cost more to insure than it did to buy to present himself as the golden child. He’d probably have a stupid little flower in his stupid little button hole. Being a cousin of the bride and a groomsman of the groom, Regulus had firmly nestled himself already into this hideous conjunction of families. He had a job lined up for him in Malfoy’s London branch. In six months, he’d probably have his own office.

Sirius had diluted his shampoo with water for the second time this morning.

He scowled and kicked a bottle cap along the pavement as he stumped, once again, down the row of shops. The circular metal projectile skittered across the tarmac and bounced off a door frame. He stopped, staring suddenly at the sign swinging on a pair of metal hooks like it was a medieval fucking tavern.

Fletcher’s Quality Gifts and Trinkets.

Somehow, inexplicably, Sirius’ eyes had slid over this shop four times as he’d panicked his way up and down this stretch of pavement. There was no window display, that was why. The door fit seamlessly between Bobbin’s Haberdashery and a derelict Cafe Nero. Sirius felt his phone buzz again and suppressed the urge to throw it into the path of the lazy, midday traffic crawling its way up the high street. He stared at the chipped paint and begged silently, to whatever entities may have been listening, that he would find something, anything to take to this fucking wedding.

The door jammed awkwardly on the floor as Sirius pushed it open. It made a juddering, dry squeak, scuffing on the splintery wood. Sirius winced, and half thought about just turning tail and walking out again, going back to pick up that cheap-as-shit jam set. Narcissa probably didn’t even eat jam. Was jam vegan?

He had to push his way in sideways, and as he did so, the door unstuck, swinging open and leaving him standing, pointlessly squashed back against the door frame. Sirius closed his eyes and wondered whether anything was going to go right today.

When he opened them, a guy was blinking at him from behind a checkout desk. A book was open on the surface before him and his long legs with too short trousers that showed a few inches of garishly coloured socks were rested upon the desk next to the till. He removed them hastily to the floor as Sirius stared.

“Sorry, the door- It gets stuck- you have to like-“ He mimed something that Sirius couldn’t even begin to relate to unsticking a door. “Sorry,” he finished, lamely. He bent over his book. Sirius peeled himself from the frame, not taking in the low beams that he would probably hit his head on or the items grouped together in nonsensical piles on the shelves and stacked on the floor.

This guy was gorgeous. He had an odd collection of features that were nothing special, when you looked at them individually- a nose that listed to the left, a thin top lip, a smattering of pigmentation on his cheeks that suggested acne that had been grown out of- but together... Sirius couldn’t stop staring at him. That tawny hair- fucking tawny, who am I, William pissing Wordsworth?- That sharp chin, those long fingers that teased the edge of the paper as he finished reading his page.

He was absolutely, fundamentally, not Sirius’ type. Any romantic entanglements he had had- and granted, it was not a long list (he and James had one sellotaped to the fridge)- involved men so deep in the closet they were practically choking on mothballs. They were footballers, mostly, insecure, ‘just experimenting’. Sirius didn’t know why his gaydar was sounding off so strongly. Was it the deeply uncool granddad jumper that somehow looked like it belonged in Men’s Vogue when draped over his long torso? Sirius was hardly modest about his own looks, but if he tried that jumper on he would look like the kid that forgot his P.E. kit. The same went for the not-skinny, not-baggy jeans that looked as though they were made for literally anyone other than him but somehow, looked really cool and why did Sirius love those hideous socks so much? Did they have pineapples on them?

The guy, seemingly unaware of Sirius lurking behind the shelf closest to the door, propped the book up in his hands, and Sirius read the title- The Picture of Dorian Grey.

Well, there it is.

“IneedapresentforacousinIhatewho’smarryingaguythathasprobablynevereatenaMcDonald’schickennugget.” Sirius was hardly more aware of the words projectile vomiting from his mouth than he was of the way he was sidling towards the checkout desk with his hands wringing in front of him like he was expecting this guy to stand up and shout at him.

Brown eyes emerged from behind the finest work of Oscar Wilde, carrying a look of mild alarm.

“Because, he’s rich, not a vegetarian.” Sirius finished. His mouth seemed a long way behind his brain, but perhaps that was a good thing, because his brain was currently screaming FUCK ME and Sirius was not willing to be barred from any more establishments for hedonistic behaviour.

“A wedding present?” His voice was mild, like Sirius had just asked a perfectly normal question for a stranger to ask a shop employee.

“Uh, yeah.” Why was he blushing? He never blushed. He stepped back needlessly as the guy rose from behind the desk. He was tall. Proportionately tall, with long limbs and a long neck and long god knows what else. Sirius nearly fell to his knees in reverence when the guy cracked a smile that caused a dimple to poke in his cheek and exposed sharp canines that Sirius never considered worth noticing in anyone before but holy fuck he would be now.

“You know what, I think I’ve got something.” He was walking away down one of the dark-ish isles, stooping considerably to avoid the beams and Sirius was trailing after him, awkward and out of place and acting so drastically not like himself he wondered if he had sustained a concussion at some point. Maybe when he was forcing his way through that rude fucking door. The hair at the nape of this guy’s neck curled slightly like he was due a haircut. His trainers were really beat up and old, and Sirius was sure he could see one of the laces fraying and considered whether he should warn him he was about to trip.

“When is this wedding?” His voice was still mild and almost disconcertingly polite; he had stopped and was rummaging among a pile of objects on a shelf-seriously, how was anyone supposed to find anything in here?- and Sirius was still staring at his trailing shoelace.

“Well, sort of now.”

He stood up a bit straighter as the brown eyes widened, and he was looking at him, properly, for the first time and Jesus Christ, how were you supposed to stand normally? Where were your arms supposed to go? Eyebrows, light brown and shapeless and a bit sparse at the ends, furrowed and he let out a small huff of amusement. It was the politest expression of ‘this dude’s a complete disaster’ that Sirius had ever seen. “I’ve been putting it off,” he added needlessly. Something about the way this guy was now looking him up and down as if he could read his life story just from Sirius’ tailored trousers that he’d forgotten to get dry cleaned and his hoodie that was actually James’ and his shoes that looked expensive but were actually from TKMaxx was making him need to offer increasingly poor explanations for his shambles of a life. “I don’t want to go, but I have to, and I hate weddings anyway, but especially this one, and I-‘

The look of curious amusement on the guy’s face- god, Sirius really wanted to know his name- halted his rambling. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m not normally this stressed.”

“That’s okay,” he replied, as if it was his job to tolerate a load of garbled nonsense from strangers, like he did it regularly, in fact, which made him wonder what kind of people actually came into this shop that you could barely tell existed. He was still rummaging through the shelves, Sirius was pretty sure a couple of things had fallen off the back and were now in the dark recesses of the between-shelf-and-wall space where things went to die. God, did anyone ever actually buy anything in here? He found it easier to control himself when the guy stopped x-raying him with his eyes, so he said “er, how long’s this shop been here?”

“Oh, I’ve only worked here six weeks. No idea, ages, probably.” He picked up a remarkably creepy porcelain figure of a shepherdess that was covered with so much dust that at first glance, Sirius thought it was some kind of radioactively-deformed elephant.

“I see what you mean,” said Sirius, staring at the figurine reproachfully. “How does anyone find anything in here?” The questions were not what he actually wanted to ask, which involved something along the lines of are you gay-are you single-are you safe from asbestos in this shop and do you think I’m a complete weirdo. He perked up when the guy let out another polite huff of laughter.

“Most customers have been coming in here for years,” he said, “I don’t see a lot of new people.” His eyes flickered to Sirius and back again and Sirius felt as if he was preparing to dive from a very large boat into a sea that was very cold.

“What’s your name?” Sirius asked, louder than he had meant to. He cringed inwardly and for the second time, considered legging it out of the door when he was once again regarded by a pair of searching brown eyes.

“Remus,” he said. Sirius could tell he was waiting for him to laugh. When he didn’t, because how the fuck could this man get any more attractive, and somehow the name Remus suited him down to his shredded laces, he turned to face him, as if in defiance.

“Hilarious, I know. Remus Lupin, which makes it even better.” Sirius’ resolve cracked at this.

“What?” He squawked, dragging his eyes over Remus again, because he looked like any novelist's wet dream and his name was Remus fucking Lupin... “Mine’s worse.” Sirius said, straightening again. Remus Lupin was rolling his eyes as if in grim acceptance of the barrage of snide jibes that had yet to tumble from Sirius’ mouth, but his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair at Sirius’ response and his arms were folded across his chest, which pulled the loose neck of his jumper down and exposed a few inches of pale sternum.

“I don’t believe you.”

Sirius grinned at this. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand out of the pouch/pocket/thing on the front of his hoodie which was definitely not a secure place for his phone, wallet and keys, and held it out.

“Sirius Black. Pleasure to meet you.” Remus’ mouth had fallen slightly open and a smile was touching at the corners of his lips as he took Sirius’ hand. Sirius was almost surprised that there was no jolt of electricity from all the built up static in his woollen jumper, but his skin was cool and his fingers were thin and twiggy and the knuckles were surprisingly big, and he didn’t drop it straight away, which made Sirius wonder if it was intentional, like a sort of gay signal, and then he remembered the Oscar Wilde book on the checkout desk and stopped trying to look for gay signals.

“Holy shit,” Remus spluttered. The profanity rolled masterfully from his lips; Sirius had never quite got the hang of swearing after his stuffy, conservative upbringing. Remus made it sound graceful.

“What a pair, eh?” said Sirius, and then cringed inwardly again because they weren’t a pair, they were complete strangers but somehow it felt like they’d known each other forever and fuck when did it get so hot in here? He looked at the shelves where Remus’ other hand still rested, and tried to ignore the eyes that were sliding up and down his body as Remus Lupin gave him what Sirius recognised as ‘the gay once-over.’ Dressed in the odd assortment of James’ secondary school football hoodie that had been surpassed by the frankly unnatural growth of James’ shoulders, pretentious shoes and crinkled dress trousers, Sirius was acutely aware that he was not looking his whole and considerable best. Christ, he might even look straight.

“There’s um-you said you might have something?” Sirius said, after another twenty five seconds in which Remus’ gaze had lingered on the rings Sirius had forgotten to take off (his mum would kill him if he turned up to a wedding looking like anything other than a Conservative Straight Man) and then drifted to his hair which was probably fried from all the sweating and running about and cheap shampoo. Remus blinked at these words, and whipped his head back to the shelves as if startled he had been caught in the act.

“Yes! Sorry, it’s-erm-can you hold this?” He plonked a cast iron sewing machine into Sirius’ arms who sagged beneath the weight, wheezing as he tried to lock his knees without Remus noticing. What the hell kind of Hulk body was hiding under that jumper? Eyes streaming, he balanced it on top of a pile of ancient National Geographic magazines and prayed it would not succumb to the inevitable force of gravity. Remus was deep into the recesses of the shelf, standing on tiptoe to reach the very back. His socks were visible again and Sirius could see now that they were not pineapples, but durians. Cute. His jumper was riding up as he stretched to whatever unknown artefacts lurked at the very rear and now it was Sirius’ turn to stare, because there was some pale midriff exposed above the waist of his jeans and he was skinny, but not skinny, kind of-lean? Was that the word? He had that vee of muscle above his hip and Sirius was suddenly struggling not to choke on his own tongue.

"Here it is!", came Remus' muffled voice, and Sirius took a step back hurriedly. He was pretty certain he had been gazing glassy eyed at the shop-keeper's navel where a delicate line of dark brown hair descended below his belt, and pinched his own wrist hard behind his back as Remus' head emerged, and he shook some cobwebs out of his curly hair. He was holding a small box, and Sirius’ first thought was that if something covered in that much dust came within eight feet of Narcissa, her immune system would likely spontaneously combust due to overexposure. People like her didn’t have immune systems, they just loaded themselves up with fucking multivitamins and avoided any establishments without at least two Michelin stars.

“Sorry it’s a bit-“ Remus blew a cloud of dust off the top of the box, coughed, and wiped it off on the back of his jeans, muttering ‘need to stop smoking.’

Sirius almost went feral at the image of his lips pursed around a Marlboro, but managed to pull his face into a socially acceptable frame in time for Remus to pass the box to him. “What do you think?”

Squatting in a bed of midnight blue velvet, sat a pair of silver napkin rings. They were ornate, and completely hideous. Sirius started to grin. He picked one up to examine it. It was decorated with a stag, and the other with a doe. It was likely the engraver had never seen these animals in the flesh, which would account for their mildly horrifying humanoid faces.

“Perfect,” muttered Sirius, turning the ugly silver object over in his hand. It was heavy and looked antique, and Sirius knew it would fit right in with the future Mrs. Malfoy’s entirely tasteless kitchen decor. He looked up at Remus, disbelieving in the way he had absolutely nailed Sirius’ mission. “Absolutely bloody perfect.”

Remus grinned back, a wondrous sight, his hands half in the pockets of his faded jeans. Sirius returned the napkin ring to its box, and then thought of something that made his smile falter.

“Are these solid silver?”

“Yep,” Remus said happily. “Nineteenth century antiques, I believe.” But Sirius was pushing the box back into his hands, shaking his head.

“I can’t afford that, sorry I-“

“Five quid.” The box flew back into Sirius’ hands before he could blink.

“Come again?”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “I’m the only person who knew they were there, and I doubt anyone else would want to bestow something that vile on a newly wedded couple.”

Was this guy even real? Sirius couldn’t quite fathom what he had done to deserve this act of kindness, but he wasn’t about to turn it down.

“Thank you,” he said, earnestly. Remus shrugged again, but the smile remained. He took Sirius back to the counter, where he took the box back from him and, while Sirius dug in his pocket for some change, produced some silvery wrapping paper and parcelled it. Sirius stole a surreptitious glance at him as he tied it off with a navy ribbon. His eyelashes were sandy like his eyebrows, but they were thick and almost touched his cheeks when his eyes were cast down on his work.

Sirius was having a crisis. He had never asked for anyone’s number before, but the thought of walking out of this shop and never seeing this god-sent individual again was criminal. His mouth felt dry. What if he had misread this interaction completely, and Remus was just a friendly, helpful guy? He glanced at the book, now balanced on top of the till while Remus rang up, and took a breath.

“Good book, that” he said, indicating The Picture of Dorian Grey awkwardly. Remus looked from him, to the book, and back again. While Sirius experienced a burning sensation in the base of his chest, Remus nodded non commitantly, and swept the stack of pound coins Sirius had placed on the desk into the till. He looked away, agonising, kicking himself internally at his own ineptness, as he pulled a receipt from the till and passed it and the neatly-wrapped box across the table.

“All done.”

“Thanks.” Sirius could feel his cheeks burning, and decided a clean getaway was well overdue. He had picked up the items and had half turned away when he heard- “I wrote my number on that receipt, you know.”

The burning in his chest now felt like a slowly inflating balloon. He looked down at the smooth piece of paper and saw a number scribbled in biro on its surface. Eleven numbers. Definitely a phone number. He turned hastily back to Remus, who was- Sirius was pleased to see- also looking slightly bashful.

“Thought my gaydar had malfunctioned for a minute there,” Sirius said. Remus laughed.

“It was really great to meet you.” He said, placing his feet up on the desk again.

“And you,” Sirius replied. Elated, he headed for the door before Remus could change his mind. He dreaded to think how late he was now, but he couldn’t think of a situation more worth a bollocking from his mother than this one. He had yanked the reluctant door open when-

“Hey, Sirius?”

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder. Remus was peering over the top of his book at him again.

“Let me know how the wedding goes.”

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #muggle au #Marauders #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #wolfstar au #remus x sirius #remus is a little shit and i love him

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sanstropfremir · 4 years ago

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episode 9 baby!!! dear lord that was a lot!!

frankly, i'm still in shock that i full on manifested an opera stage, AND it was a rock opera stage at that! plus i got a jazz stage AND a taemin stage??? if they’re pulling out all my favourites now then what on earth are they gonna do in the finale??? this was a very overwhelming crop of stages, i thought i was going to be prepared, but oh no i was not prepared. i'm just going to get right into it because this one is gonna be long and i have many words. i'll discuss in airing order first, and then put my personal rankings for this round at the end.

btob

costume

changsub, you absolute king. spectacular. stunning. incredible. zoot suit riot playing in my brain on repeat. will i finally get the zoot suit revival of my fucking dreams instead of this current drab ill-fitting suit trend? for those who are wondering why in the fuck changsub is dressed like that and what on earth i’m talking about, the specific cut of suit that he’s wearing is called a zoot suit, which were popular in mexican, black and italian american communities in the 30s and 40s, until they were outlawed by the united states war production board as a fabric rationing method as part of the war effort in 1942. there was a huge amount of mob violence surrrounding the wearing of them (there were actual zoot suit riots) as they were direct counter culture fashion to the predominant drab trends of white americans at the time. i'm actually very impressed they got a proper (modernized) cut of zoot suit instead of just putting him in an oversized one; there are actually specific structural differences. the pegged trouser legs, large should pads, and knee length single breasted jacket are key features, and they were often in much more flashy fabrics than a pinstripe, but they get points for effort. i wish they had put all of them in zoot suits but he’s playing the ‘lead’ actor so i will begrudgingly forgive them.

eunkwang those are the stupidest sleeve garters ive ever seen i love them never take them off. they’re like someone decided to repurpose a suspender in the worst way. excellent. i do love that they’ve got three of them in oxford saddle shoes, another great touch.

love the three piece and the fedora* on peniel. it's also in a relatively close period cut; waistcoasts (vests) were generally cut much higher in the neck pre-war, we only start seeing the neckline slide down in the 60s (i think? i don’t remember when exactly). also love to see a proper sleeve and jacket length, it's good practice to have at least a finger’s width of sleeve cuff visible ahead of the jacket sleeve when hanging at rest. also looks like there’s french cuffs on everyone, which is also great.

minhyuk in his slutty lowneck shirt....thank you. in addition to the zoot suit revival i would also like a revival of those ultra low necklines on mens’ shirts from like 2010-2011. i don’t think those are the same boots from the backdoor stage but those are some beautifully cut boots. i also loved the little details of his crewmember look, especially the chunky watch and the string bracelets; those are super realistic, i know so many crew with them and i had several for many years. and who doesn’t love a visible button fly?

none of any of the other costumes are period in any way shape or form but i’m forgiving it because there’s several layers of meta in this stage, and they explicitly based it on la la land, even though we don’t respect la la land in this house. do i wish they had gone more strictly period with at least the jazz club ‘actors’ a little more? absolutely, but i'm not mad about it.

set

again we’ve got a good delineation of the two different ‘stages,’ there’s the club itself in the smaller stage and the soundstage set in the larger space. you can pretty clearly see all the ‘pieces’ of the set on the soundstage, especially the obvious set painting techniques on false prosc frame and the window facade from that first little scene. also the you can see the castors (wheels) on all the setpieces too, which is another nice little versimilitudinous** (triple word score!) touch, as old hollywood movies were made still using theatre stagecraft techniques.

i love how the visual shorthand for ‘this is a set wink wonk’ is just...leaving a ladder on stage. i see it all the time and it's so funny. it doesn’t always make sense because as soon as there’s actors on set the ladders are the first thing cleared because actors cannot be trusted, but yes there are always ladders, so. also psa ladder safety is no joke, please be careful on ladders.

nice streamline of the mnet deco into the club. i’m consistently surprised at how well the designers have been able to mask it or use it to their advantage, because in the normal kingdom stage lighting it is SO obvious and stylistic that it always sticks out.

i'm going to ignore the fact that they implied changsub and miyeon were drinking wine out of martini glasses.

lighting

no complaints, it does its job. everything is visible and super clear. love that the ‘scene’ changes are made through the lighting, it's a really simple and effective device to change atmosphere. purple/blue/amber are the most flattering colours on human skin and that’s why you see it so commonly in stage lighting. also blue/lavendar is the best way to show nighttime/moonlight.

really nice and subtle projection work, especially with the billboard bit and the blue moon sign in the club. despite being obviously meta/’world breaking’ it’s actually very seamless and fits well into the flow of the stage.

sound

i love love love the big band feel in the intro, combined with the piano lead. very duke ellington, as all things should be.

no complaints. i love big band. i love eunkwang’s voice. i have nothing else to say.

staging

i LOVE this movie within a movie within a performance meta nonsense! it's such a fun concept and it is exactly what i wanted ikon’s first round stage to be! i also love to see btob consistently coming up with concepts that are inventive and fun and allow them to showcase their technical performance skills without the aerobics the younger groups are putting themselves through. it provides a really lovely variety and it just goes to show that you can make impressive, dramatic stages without having to be serious or ‘dark.’

i do wish they had leaned into the band director/lead singer with eunkwang a bit more; this could have been a really excellent place for a tap number a la the nicholas brothers or an homage to cab calloway. i know i know this was meant to be la la land themed but la la land is a cheap and whitewashed version of jazz and look me right in the eyes and tell me this isn’t the greatest tap routine of all time. i know i’ve typed this out somewhere before but la la land is just a conglomeration of old hollywood tropes and so stylistically cheap that this would have such a better visual core if they had actually looked back at the real old hollywood musicals like stormy weather. even singing in the rain and an american in paris have such phenomenal visuals and are really beautiful examples of the scope you can pull off with a limited technical capacity and sticking to these old techniques.

now that i'm thinking about it, oh my GOD i would DIE for a lindy hop routine in kpop PLEASE. i know it would never happen because kpop doesn’t like partner dancing and not a single kpop boy has the chops but oh you think fourth gen has too many acrobatics?

this got off track but i think you see my point.

---

ateez

costume

these are really sharply cut suits. and the detail work on the beading??? so beautiful. i'm disappointed that they gave me a rock opera stage without the true ridiculousness of rock opera costuming, because they could have pushed this a lot farther if they really wanted. a tragic lack of gay little outfits, seonghwa’s lace choker is just not enough! two favourite suits: hongjoong’s and yunho’s.

that being said i do actually really like these. this stage is actually very modern opera with a kpop twist and i'm a little surprised by that? i continue to be impressed by the ateez team who are clearly doing their research.

i'm absolutely not going back through their stages to check all the choreography but i wonder if you can track all the ‘wound’ placements to places they’ve been ‘hit.’ i wouldn’t put it past them to have put that thought in but also i’m not expecting that much either.

who is this white grim reaper bdsm executioner chain arm man. where did he come from. i have no idea and i love it.

why is honjoong blindfolded. it was such a fast beat, if youre gonna blindfold someone give it a little longer and some more obvious narrative weight!

seonghwa does that quickchange, runs across that massive stage to the smaller set, and gets into places in like 45 seconds. it's not the hardest quickchange in the world but still, under a minute is fast for any quickchange, especially when there’s travel time involved. i think the fastest, most complex quickchange i ever did was in university which was a 50s cocktail dress into a flannel and culottes with a shoe, hair, and jewelry change in 35 seconds. and that took three dressers. quickchanges are always impressive. the added bonus of this review being later is that i can specifically reference that you can see him book it the fuck off stage in the full cam!

cute moment with the backup dancers dressed in costumes from the previous stages. i'm assuming this is a time travel reference? i'll get more into my thoughts on this in the staging section. regardless, love to see that iconic seonghwa moment again.

set

this is such a restricted space! they really pared down their dancing space with those staircases and ....arms? honestly i have NO clue what these are supposed to be. the only thing i can maybe think of is flying buttresses??? but why?? i mean, i'm 90% sure theyre just there for drama and i agree but i do still have questions.

there’s a lot of moving parts in this set? the buttresses, and the upstage centre staircase. i don’t think the staircase is totally automated because i spotted some dancers securing it in place, but it’s still a moving part. i do really like that we get that expanding upwards energy, because it's really tough to get functional level movement in this kind of a performance, mostly because of its length and because it moves so quickly. so seeing the downward vertical movement and then the upward movement was actually a really nice visual contrast that made use of how tall those fucking ceilings are, and the fact that they had less horizontal space. in sort of similar way to sf9’s jealousy stage, using long, narrow vertical lines really makes it feel like a castle space. the interiors of castles, especially the really old ones, are a lot smaller than you think they would be.

i’ve actually seen that type of small house/tent/thing several times in various types of performances before, but i think this is the first time i’ve seen it used as a time travel device (other than in the say my name mv). aesthetically it's a bit incongruent but i dont really mind because i'm used to watching rock operas that look a lot weirder than this.

lighting

there is so much happening. i have NO clue what the projections are doing. i dont hate it though, so that’s a plus? there’s a clear-ish colour arc even if it does get a bit funky in the middle, which is why the projections dont feel as insanely distracting as some of the other stages we’ve seen.

the climax is a perfect example of how to light a busy stage with primarily red but still maintain clarity on the performers. a little bit of red goes a long way; the spark stage from last week would have looked so much better if they had done what the ateez designers did here.

sound

i know it's only ode to joy, but answer already gets my motor running and then i get so gassed by the guitars and then by the time those vocals come in i'm inconsolable. i don’t know why i wasn’t expecting a rock opera stage but i'm so glad i got that surprise because i genuinely love rock operas so much. it's two of the most dramatic genres in music, what more could you possibly want?

staging

the choreo for answer is so goofy that I'm kinda glad this was mostly terrible mnet boom shots. i love it, but you can't deny that it's goofy. i spotted a couple of moves from their other choreos as well?

choreographing dance fights is just as difficult as choreographing real fights and i think they did a fairly good job here. i think it was a solid mix of dance and conflict that erred on the side of dramatic rather than accurate and i prefer that over trying to be ‘realistic.’ i’ve only ever seen one truly realistic fight scene on stage and that was for a deeply naturalist play (boring and a waste of the medium), but the best fight scene i’ve ever seen was in the prague national ballet’s adaptation of kafka’s the trial where three ballet dancers beat the absolute snot out of the main character with the most beautiful leg extensions. that whole show was probably one of the best pieces of dance i’ve ever seen, holy fuck it was so good.

despite how insane the music and the visuals were going, i actually really liked how sedate this was, on the part of ateez’s performance. there was a really sophisticated and resigned energy from them that is very different from what we’ve previously seen and i think that was a pretty admirable risk to take. reaching the top and then throwing away the crown? especially in a competition where every other stage has involved stealing crowns or royalty and there’s a group competing that got here through that very concept? that shows a real maturity, peace of mind, and foresight that i did not at all expect from a bunch of 22 year olds.

here we come to a very interesting comparison. both ateez and tbz are very heavily leaning on previously established group lore. we all know my thoughts on why it isn’t working for tbz, but here’s why i think it is working for ateez: it's because it doesn’t matter to the audience’s understanding of the stage. i had absolutely no fucking clue what was going on the first time i watched this, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the music and all the weird shit they were doing. i totally believed that they understood what was going on. there’s a loose enough established conflict right at the beginning that draws us in, and really it doesn’t matter who they're fighting because they win in the end. the key here is that they’re so earnest. they believe 100% in every move they make on that stage. there’s no winks to camera, there’s not a drop of irony. they really deeply care about the ridiculousness of it all and that’s what makes it work. i sure as fuck dont know what’s going on, but i can see that they do, and i trust that. this is what i meant when i talked about convincing the audience you belong on stage in my stage presence post. i’ve never once believed that juyeon was anything other than an idol. he’s talented and very beautiful and he may occasionally stand on that stage like he owns it but it's always as juyeon. as an idol. but when hongjoong flaps around in that gigantic fur coat i 100% believe he’s a pirate captain. I believe he’s a punk rebel leader. i believe him a resigned king. there’s always a level of irony you have to fight as a performer because we all start from a place of disbelief. acting is not just lying to the audience, it's lying to yourself too. and if you succeed in convincing yourself? well, you’re already halfway to convincing us.

i checked it out because i wanted to see if they did the blindfold how i expected them to and was genuinely surprised by hongjoong’s fancam. the boy is EMOTING even when he knew the camera wasn’t on him; that’s a real dedication to craft.

ok i'm finished talking about this stage, this is over two pages in my document, there’s so many things i have not covered here but that’s fine, i'm quite sure any further thoughts will end up out there at some point.

---

sf9

costume

let’s get it out of the way......crop top. crop top? crop top. crop top.

ok, besides the crop top, i think i might actually like the backup dancer outfits more...? i find mannequin adjacent looks really fascinating and i thought there was a lot more they could have done here in connecting the two thematically. i actually think a change of costume on the boys would have been very interesting, especially because there was a lot of inference and direct reference to changes of colour.

ALL the backup dancers are wearing the same wig and i LOVE that.

special mention zuho’s.....jacket? the right idea but it absolutely should have been one of those extreme french cut bodysuits, you COWARDS. don’t come at me with this ‘male version of venus’ if you don’t have your whole torso out! come on!

set

not sure if this is meant to be a department store, a factory, or a white cube gallery. honestly you could make the case that they’re all the same place anyways. more on this later.

i loved the movator and wish they had used it more! that sequence was so good and they could have done some more interesting repetition sequences to further highlight the ‘sameness’/the breaking of that sameness.

i feel like the set could have been used more as a whole? i would have loved to see some mannequin interactions with those boxes, because all they did was dump colour everywhere.

....why did they feel the need to include the rain bit? i know it's likely because it's in the mv and at the 2018 dream concert taemin does perform move in the rain, but with the standing still and the box walls with the words it just looks like a department store ad. which i...dont think is what they were intending?

lighting

nothing really to say here. it has a similar feel to the mayfly rap stage, which is fine because the lighting for that was good. i could tell what was going on all the time and that’s the most important part. notable standouts are the lips sequence, that's fun use of pop iconography and very effective, and the scanning lasers at the beginning.

the repeating sequence in the edm dance break is actually done pretty simply, it's just what happens when you point a camera that’s livestreaming to a monitor directly at that monitor. it's a very cool effect and it was neat to see it used intentionally, especially with the handheld leds.

actually i also really liked the lightbox tables, those were cool.

sound

the remix was fine for the most part, it was about what i expected it to sound like. i did however greatly dislike that unnecessary edm break in the middle. what was the point of that? it didn’t add anything to the overall sound or arc of the stage because it was SO out of place. there was no connective tissue around it.

oh i was also not a fan of the effect on zuho’s mic. no one else had a discernible vocal effect so it felt a little out of place. also for some reason his cadence and tone right at the end made me think of some of the voices that bo burnam uses for his vocal masque sketches/songs, especially repeat stuff, weirdly? took me right the fuck out of it. i listened to it again after i slept and i’m still getting it, so maybe i’m just going insane so best ignore this part.

staging

loved the mannequin tree, not a clue why it was there.

do actually think this is a successful cover because it does what i was hoping it would, which is take move completely out of the taemin context and put it into an entirely new one. however, i’m really struggling to figure out what exactly that new context is? and what theyre trying to say with it?

obviously they went for a ‘show your own colours/individuality’ vibe, like i said in the set section, where exactly is this supposed to be? from the start i get factory/mechanized environment, which is fine and grand because mannequins and making repetitive motions and products and all that, makes sense. but then there’s stacked shelving type units happening and curtains and that combined with the mannequins give me pretty big department store vibes, which is also fine, because that’s still a comment on commercialization and the mass production of product. but then we get to the movator and the repetitive movements of the dancers say pretty clearly factory, but the lighting and projections are very pop art referential, plus combining that with the white set, just makes me think of an art gallery. so now is this a comment on the commercialization and commidification of contemporary art? are they making a statement about being ‘real’ artists among the others who have lost the critical understanding of why pop art was even a thing in the first place? and then the rain bit at the end literally looks like a department store ad, so are they then making another statement that they still are that packaged product? maybe the episode has more clarity in it but i’m genuinely a bit baffled by what the underlying statement is here.

i suspect it is not as deep as i'm making it, but i did say that i was likely to be hyper critical of this stage AND i am a grad student, so here we are.

---

tbz

costume

ok of all the ‘fourth gen’ style costumes we’ve seen, i actually like these ones more than most. i'm not entirely clear on the theme but i'm assuming it's meant to be post apocalyptic, and i'll take that.

backup dancers in black!!! we’re beyond this!!!

this will be a running theme with this stage, but i’m disappointed these don’t have more depth.

set

compared to every other stage, the set here seems especially plain. there’s so little set dec that it's disappointing. i do like the movement of the pieces themselves combined with the blocking; that first slide underneath the arches was slick and i would have liked to have seen more of that.

yea ok the big snake was cool and also a fairly complex build, but the transitions around it were a bit awkward for my tastes. especially the turn around, why did they even show that at all? you have control over what the audience sees, you can totally not show scenic transitions. skz were super smart about hiding theirs in last week’s episode.

also if you have a bigass puppet like that, i wanna see some more movement from it! it doesn’t have to be complex, we literally just saw a kraken balloon arm wave around aimlessly, but at least there was movement! that snake had a long ass body, why didn’t they at least take a pseudo dragon dance movement with it, that would have been such fun to watch with the iridescent scales. there was a lot of opportunity here!

lighting

i don’t hate it but also.... not a lot to say about it on the whole.

there were two really smart ideas here, the first being the front projection section, which i was SO glad to see! i explained in a previous review, but the projections in kingdom are not actually projections per se, because they’re actually massive led screens. there are two common types of projections in performance, rear projection and front projection. rear projection is when the projector is behind the screen, and front projection is ‘normal’ projection. rear projection can produce a crisper image because you have full control of the light values, because the projector is in a separate room from the performance space. but the downsides are that the projector has to be in a separate room from the performance space. so if you’re short on real estate, it's not ideal. front projection is much more common, because the tech is a lot cheaper and easier to access, especially now, and it requires less real estate because you can ceiling mount about the audience (you can move a projector wherever, this is just the most common spot in commercial theatres). but! in order to get an actually crisp image, you have to be really careful with your light bounce. it’s exactly the same principle as how you kinda can't see a projected screen when you have all the lights turned on, but when you turn them off it's a lot clearer. front projection works best in pitch dark, so when you use it in a theatre you gotta be smart about it. i use front projection a lot in my personal art practice as a singular light source, and that’s what tbz did here in that traveling/snake intro sequence. it’s a really fun technique that they used as a good gimmick because it’s not something we’ve seen before, and you get some great shadow effects because the projector is throwing light directionally at the performers (they have it set up close to the floor, it’s probably on a wheeled cart of some kind). however i did not like the snake intro. a bit too cheesy and out of place, especially because the asset quality didn’t match the rest of landscapes that we have been seeing.

the second smart idea, which is partially also a set and blocking thing but whatever, was that final image of the eclipse within the circle architecture with all the members standing in front of it. it was a great shot and a great ending pose, but it felt like a concept photo. like someone had that image as the idea that they then built the stage around, instead of a narrative first and then imagery after.

sound

this remix had SO much promise! those first two minutes were SO GOOD. i love that dirty discordant strings bit, it's gross and right up my alley. but it really fell off in the back half and i'm sad about that.

staging

i'm sorry tbz but.....what did you actually do differently than exo here? with the exception of the continual game of thrones references? nothing here felt transcendentally different from the original monster. and especially coming RIGHT after sf9’s move, which did go beyond its original context. this feels more like an awards show stage cover than a stage at the level of the others we’ve seen just this episode.

again like with the skz stage, there’s no conflict here. no tension. yes they do a great job covering the dance but it just isn’t enough! this is obviously personal preference and i'm sure lots of people liked the fact that it was uncomplicated, but even just a hint of narrative tension could have pushed this into more engaging territory. and if they didn’t want to do that, i would have loved to see them make up for that with extra visual spectacle. this is the no limits round! ikon is putting a full jungle on stage and these are grey cubes!

i think this is a perfect example of what i talked about at the end of my tbz section in my episode four review; this is a good performance, there are good elements at play and good ideas at their genesis, but the core of the issue is that nothing about this is transformative. all of the ideas here are just exaggerations of the original song. fuck, the snake was even IN the mv! and they didn’t even include the best part which is the lip chains! ive said before and i'll say it again; being a good artist has two steps, the first is understanding the material and its context, and the second is elevating the material from that context and synthesizing something new. tbz are really good at the first step, but terrible at the second.

---

ranking

btob - the cleanest and the most fun of the round. everything i wanted.

sf9 - fun and a good cover, despite being conceptually baffling.

ateez - very extra dramatic nonsense with an unexpected dose of sincerity. and it’s rock opera, of course i love it.

skz - fun, with some good thematic devices but generally lacking in arc. also australian accents, that’s an automatic ding.

tbz - honestly the first two minutes of the remix and the costume are holding this above 6th. it just wasn’t fully formed.

ikon - aesthetically this is a great set design and although i do love the opening and closing moments, everything else scrapes me the wrong way. super personal preference here, i’m not expecting anyone else to agree with me.

i feel like my rankings were probably pretty easy to guess if you’ve been around reading the reviews for long enough. i do have very specific tastes after all. i know sf9 ranked first in the episode but i have no idea what the other slots are. i’ll find out when i watch the episode in a couple of days, but i think yea a first for sf9 is fair. i do think its mostly because it’s a taemin song and you have to do something horrendous in order to fuck up a taemin song, but there is a lot of thought and work that went into that stage.

ok i'm done now, sorry this was later than usual, but i was busier and there were four stages that i had to review. also technical difficulties because tumblr is a garbage platform and nothing works properly. comments/questions/opinions always welcome, i know i didn't expand on a couple of points that i could have so hopefully y'all have some thoughts too!

* the type of hat that ~society~ has told you is a fedora is actually a trilby. what peniel is wearing is a real fedora, i felt the need to correct this unjust hat malignment.

** meaning ‘the appearance of being true or real.’ you do sometimes hear it used by normal people, but it’s more commonly used as a descriptor in film and theatre. it’s also one of the five rules of neoclassical theatre, which are: versimilitude, purity of form, five act structure, decorum, and purpose. the most prominent playwrights from that era are moliere and racine if youre interested in what those look like in an actual text.

#kingdom #kingdom review #btob #ateez #stray kids #the boyz #sf9 #tumblr is so broken it would NOT let me save this as a draft #does my constant hyperlinking make you angry tumblr? too bad im gonna keep doing it #i played in a jazz band in school for seven years #which is another indicator as to why i am like this #one of the first songs i remember learning was zoot suit riot #i have very strong memories of yelling RIOT during performances #i will however forever question the logic of our band teacher making us learn a song written by 'the cherry poppin daddies'#christ on a bicycle this is TEN pages #and it took a full eight hours last night and then i did like two hours of editing after i woke up #maybe i should go back to bed #ah i forgot to tag ikon again lmao #ikon #kpop analysis #text #if there are any spelling errrors do not tell me im tired of reading this #im pretty sure this is my longest review so far i decided to hate myself and did a wordcount #its 5.2K you're welcome you better get a snack for this one #i hope this is an interesting read for people ive lost all objectivity at this point #pls enjoy my semi-comprehensible word vomit!

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teamhappyme · 4 years ago

Text

a series of promising events (1/5)

aaron hotchner x female! reader

word count: 7.9k :)

a/n: hello hello hello! this is my first hotch fic, and the first of three parts (edit: it’s actually 5 now lolol). it’s going to cover 8 (maybe 9?) events over the course of several years, so it needed to be broken up in the most rational way possible. this is my baby, and has been in the editing process with my lazy brain since september. please, please, please, let me know if the timeline or anything is confusing to you! i have a tendency to under explain things (as my profs will testify to), and i don’t want y’all to be confused. i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys!

also, big shoutout to @winterscaptain, you are a gift to the world, tali. i am in love with the ajf universe, and that shit inspired me to polish this piece up for the tumblr verse to see.

alright friends, here we go.

link to part 2: here

****

June 2005

You wouldn’t forget your first day in the BAU for as long as you lived. It was forever ingrained in your memory, the good, bad, and embarrassing moments all stored away. Stored away that is until Derek Morgan decided to dredge it back up as you passed your six month mark on the job.

Derek, Prentiss, Reid and yourself were finishing up paperwork in the bullpen after an unusually slow friday. You were usually the first one done, earning a groan from the doctor across from your desk. They all envied your English degree and professional writing skills.

“Hey bobo,” The nickname Derek had assigned to you was named after your alma mater, and extremely annoying. “Remember your first day, when I tricked you into doing Prentiss and my paperwork for almost two weeks?” You shook your head, not having to look at Morgan to be able to hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you think I could trick you again?”

7:47. Thirteen minutes earlier than you needed to be. Yet the room full of agents you were supposed to join was already filled. You liked these people already, they were punctual and functioned in the morning.

You pushed one of the glass doors open with your ballet flat, juggling your box of office supplies while keeping your crossbody balanced on your shoulder. The sound of fingers pounding on keyboards, phones ringing on loop welcomed you into the BAU. Along with a shove to your back, causing you to lunge forward. You felt something cold run down your back, cursing yourself for wearing a white blouse.

“Are you alright?” You looked up to find a tall mop of brown hair and big brown eyes looking down at you. “Well, I’m a little damp.”

He nodded while looking at your box full of sticky notes and pens. “You must be y/n l/n. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. We’ve been taking bets on what time you’d arrive. And you beat us all with your extreme punctuality.” You laughed. “Sorry to let you down. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” You extended your hand for him to shake, but he just stared at your extended limb.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that sort of thing.” The new voice came into view, shaking your hand that was meant for Reid. He was tall like Spencer, but was lean with a smile on his face. Confident. “I’m Derek Morgan. When JJ told us the new recruit graduated with an english degree, I expected someone with tweed elbow patches and big round glasses.”

“You’re an english major? Statistically speaking, only three percent of the agents that have been recruited for the BAU didn’t have any background in law enforcement or field experience.” This wasn’t the first time you’d been questioned at the FBI for being a liberal arts degree profiler. Your english degree and your fresh age of twenty five left many people to dismiss you through your time in the academy. But you got used to it.

“Sorry to disappoint your stereotypical profile of an FBI agent,” You started, shifting your weight between your feet, now uncomfortable and a little embarrassed in front of your new co-workers.

“Oh I didn’t mean it as an offense. I-” “He’s a genius, but he lacks some social cues. You’re the first girl he’s been around that’s his age in the workplace.” Morgan added and Reid elbowed his ribs. You covered the smile on your face as the two of them started to quietly bicker.

“Let the poor woman go and settle in at least before you harass her.” A brunette woman in a black pant suit came walking toward you. She had a stern face while looking at the two men, but when she turned to you, her face softened into a smile. “Special Agent Emily Prentiss. You do not understand how happy I am to have another woman out in this bullpen.”

You laughed as she led you to the empty desk across from Dr. Reid’s. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thanks.” You placed your box down before taking the place in. “I’m supposed to meet with SSA Hotchner,”

“Agent l/n,” All heads turned to the man descending the stairs into the bullpen. He was taller than the other two, and that was saying a lot since they practically towered over you. He had a clean boys haircut, paired with a suit and tie. No question that this was the unit chief you were to report to. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. Welcome to the BAU.” He shook your hand before looking at the others. “JJ’s ready to debrief in the conference room.”

And just like that, the three agents sprung into action, leading the way to the board room. “We can go over the particulars when we get back from Nebraska. You ready for your first case?”

His face didn’t change, no change of tone in his voice. He lived and breathed for the BAU. Until you noticed the wedding band on his left hand. It was always the first thing you looked for when you met someone new. It was shallow and patriarchal, you knew, but it was instinct. And it put you at ease knowing there was someone out there he was doing this for. Someone he didn’t have to hold this demeanor around.

“Ready.”

“Funny. But if you have any other insults to give, direct them to the head of the english department at Bowdoin. Mention that you’re talking about y/n l/n, with the 4.0 GPA.”

Prentiss led a slow clap as Derek shook his head.

“I think that’s what the kids are calling a ‘mic drop’.” Spencer added and you couldn’t help your laugh. “Alright kid, why don’t you get out of here before we inevitably find ourselves back.”

You turned off the lamp on your desk and grabbed your crossbody and backpack. “Have a good weekend guys. And Reid,” He looked up, and you laughed as he pushed his hair out of his face. “Please recite the old testament for these two if they mock me while I’m gone.” He gave you a mock salute as Prentiss flipped you off on your way to Hotch’s office.

In the six months you’d been here, these three people you shared the bullpen with had quickly become the siblings you never had. Morgan acted as your annoying older brother, constantly picking on you and Reid. Not only were you the newbie, but you were now the youngest, only a year behind Spencer. Emily Prentiss on the other hand, was the protective older sister you always dreamed of. She was confident and held her own against the male dominated team, but knew when to be soft spoken and caring with victims and the team when needed.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid. The smartest person on the planet, in your book. Sure, he was a little socially awkward and didn’t know when to stop listing off all the stats he knew, but you understood. He was consistently the youngest and smartest person in every classroom he walked into. There weren’t many people that wanted to get to know him without bullying him or picking apart his eidetic memory. Despite the problematic first encounter you shared, the two of you stuck together considering your combined intellect and young age. He taught you the ins and outs of the BAU, and helped you get accustomed to D.C. Although, Spencer himself hadn’t really ventured out into the city in the four years he’s been here. So the two of you tried to see as many things as you could in the rare weekends that you weren’t working a case. You worked your way through a third of the smithsonian's, and saw the Declaration of Independence. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little emotional while looking at it. Spencer had called you a nerd, and you didn’t mind one bit.

You walked up the steps to Hotch’s office, case reports in your hand from this week. The blinds were open, you could see him working through the stack of files on his desk. Despite the exhaustion written all over his face, his sport coat was still on, tie still impeccably tight around his neck. Even when he was in private he kept up the put together facade.

You knocked on the door, and heard a quiet ‘come in’ as you twisted the door knob. “L/n,” “I have my case reports from this week.” “Just place them on my desk.”

“How much longer are you here for?” He let out a sigh while closing the file in his hand.

“Another hour or two.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch. “And before you offer to stay and help me, I don’t need any help.”

“You just don’t want to listen to me singing Coldplay under my breath.” He huffed out a semblance of a laugh. A month into your bout here, Morgan had accosted you on the jet on the way home from Milwaukee. None of you had slept in three days, and you were currently enthralled in your new mp3 player and Coldplay's newest album ‘X&Y’. After the third song, a paper cup was thrown at the back of your head, followed by a ‘I’m trying to sleep, bobo’ from Derek. It was a habit of yours that you had yet to kick.

“That’s part of the reason.” “I knew it.” He opened another file, and you took that as a cue to wrap up the conversation. You rummaged through your purse, looking for the blue envelope you sealed this morning.

“Um, I also wanted to drop this off. It’s for Jack, you mentioned he was being Christened this weekend.” You placed the card on top of the pile of paperwork, your cursive handwriting on top. “I was going to get him a stuffed animal or some type of toy, but he’s only three months old and wouldn’t know the difference. This check may be the penny that helps you guys afford Harvard.”

A real laugh escaped his lips now, as he picked up the card. “Thank you, y/n. You didn’t have to do this.” You smiled. “I know, but I wanted to. He’s a cute kid.”

He looked at the framed picture of Jack on his desk, then back up to you. No one else had mentioned the Christening after Hotch first brought it up. He was quiet, and only liked to talk about his family if he initiated the conversation. You could tell you were the only person who had reached out like this, with a simple gift.

Hotch had been the hardest person to get to know in your time here. Despite Morgan saying there are no secrets kept among the team, you knew these people had their demons. And Hotch certainly had enough both professionally and personally. You didn’t want to push the professional boundaries, but you always wanted to be present in the lives of people that you shared time with. To let them know you were thinking of them, and cared for them. It was probably your most damaging personality trait.

“I’ll let you finish your work so you can get home at a reasonable hour. Tell Haley I said hi.” He nodded. “I will y/n. Have a nice weekend.”

****

December 2005

You pride yourself in the fact that you haven’t shot your weapon in the year you’ve spent with the BAU. It meant that you were successful at connecting to these people’s emotions, despite the asterisk next to their name labeling them as a serial killer or sadist. Guns were there to protect you, and they were always the last result. But as you pulled up to a log cabin in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, you had a feeling your record was going to be broken.

The team was working a case where six bodies, two adult males and four teenage males, were found mutilated, along with a cut from sternum to belly button. It was the first case you worked that had no female victims. A small victory, in your mind. But, it was also the first case you worked that the profile of the unsub fit a sixteen year old girl, who had most likely been assaulted as a young child. When children were involved, the team acted differently. They were failed by the people that were supposed to care for them, they were consistently hurt with no one to turn to. And as a result, they would spend the rest of their lives paying for it.

You, Prentiss, and Hotch got out of the suburban, strapping the bullet proof vests onto your bodies. Thanks to Garcia, you had found the unsub’s location once she turned her cell phone back on. A cruiser pulled up behind you guys, two more cops falling out.

“Prentiss, you take the two officers down with you to the exterior basement access. L/n and I will take the main floor.” Hotch ordered as he pulled his gun from his holster.

You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, but there was no time to calm it down. You barely had enough time to strap on your vest.

“Ready?” Hotch looked at you before taking another step toward the cabin. You nodded, pulling your own gun from it’s holster. “Ready.”

You followed him up to the front porch, announcing yourselves before kicking the door in. You cleared the living room as Hotch cleared the dining room and bathroom, leaving you both to meet up in the kitchen.

That was where you found her. You saw her first, hiding half of her face behind the rifle that she had pointed at you. She was trembling, dried tear streaks left on her cheeks. She was petrified.

“Stephanie Moore?” Her grip on the gun tightened at the mention of her name as you heard Hotch’s footsteps get closer. “My name is Y/n L/n, I’m with the FBI. I don’t want to hurt you Stephanie, but I need you to put the gun down.”

Hotch joined you on your left, both of you directing your weapons toward the young girl. “I did what I had to do to survive. They took everything from me, every last shred of dignity I had. I wasn’t going to let them kill me.” You never thought it would be possible for your heart to break while listening to an unsub. But this tiny girl standing in front of you, with her whole life ahead of her, it just hit you too hard.

“I know you did, Stephanie. You were so brave and so strong. Not many people could survive what you did.” She started to loosen her grip on the rifle, you were getting through to her. “I’m here to help you. I want to put an end to all of this.”

You glanced at Hotch and he gave the slightest nod, giving you the okay to take a step forward together. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.” Ever so slowly, the gun started to lower in her hands.

“You’re doing great. Just a little lower and this will all be over.” Before she could completely lower her weapon, you heard the storm door to the basement slam shut.

Stephanie jumped, raising her weapon back up in her hands.

“You said you were here to help me!” She exclaimed, the gun pointed at you as Hotch took another step forward. “I am Stephanie, but other members of my team are trying to help the boy you took.”

Fresh tears started to fall down her cheeks and you knew you were losing her. “Y/n,”

He whispered to you and she moved the gun from your chest to Hotch’s. “Shutup!”

“Stephanie, hey, look at me,” She shook her head, continuing her stare at Hotch. “He’s in on it, he has to be!”

“He’s not! He’s my boss, trust me, Stephanie.” You heard the safety go off, and before her foot landed as she took her first step towards Hotch, you emptied two rounds into her chest. He rushed forward as she fell, kicking away her gun and checking her pulse. Nothing.

You lowered your gun as your breathing increased, looking at the lifeless sixteen year old lying in front of you. A hand covered your mouth as you realized what you’d done.

You killed her.

You remembered what it felt like to be sixteen. Struggling to find your identity, wanting so desperately to be noticed by someone. For anyone to reach out and help you.

But you took that away from her. You ended her life before it even began.

“Are you guys okay?” You heard Prentiss come up through the basement, but your eyes were closed as she entered the room. “We’re good. Y/n took the shot.”

Hotch stood up and dared a look at you, taking in your grief stricken state. “Did you find the boy?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Before Emily could greet you, you ran to the corner of the room, heaving up whatever was inside your almost empty stomach. Your throat burned as you threw up for a second time, vaguely registering two people calling your name.

“You’re okay, y/n,” Prentiss approached you, gently resting a hand on your back. You coughed a few more times before a towel was being rushed to your side. “It’s okay.”

The whirring of more sirens forced you to open your eyes and straighten up from your sick position. Prentiss had eyes filled with concern, not letting go of you until you gave her a slight nod. She handed you a water before she exited the house, letting two uniforms in. They went straight to Hotch, asking questions and looking over the body before their eyes landed on you. You felt exposed, like you were the one lying lifeless on the ground for all to see. You took a few deep breaths to get your breathing under control, and tore your gaze away from Stephanie.

Hotch finished his conversation with the officers before walking over to you. “Hey,” He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but flinch. “It was a clean shot, but protocol states they have to take your gun and badge as well as give a statement to IA.” You nodded, taking your badge from your pocket. “They’re gonna take you back to the station and do an interview. This should all be wrapped up in a few hours. We’ll meet you back there, alright?”

You glanced up at his big brown eyes, warm as they bore into yours instead of their usual slanted nature. “Okay.”

The two officers escorted you to their patrol car, taking your badge and gun before you got in. You felt naked without them, like you were a nobody wandering the streets looking for someone to help, or looking for someone to help you.

It was a good thirty minute ride to the station from the cabin, and when you got there a detective from IA was already waiting for you. They led you into an interrogation room where they already had Section Chief Strauss hooked up through video call. Great.

The questions they asked were pretty straight forward, nothing that couldn’t be answered by a crime scene report from the technicians. But the government insisted on interviewing cops involved in shootings, just in case it wasn’t legal. As if anyone wanted to deal with the psychological repercussions of taking another’s life.

It took them nearly an hour and a half to get through the interrogation. In part due to you almost throwing up a third time as Strauss asked you to repeat the moment you shot Stephanie. They gave you a few minutes to regroup, some ginger ale and crackers from the vending machine to help settle your stomach. They took your fingerprints last, letting Strauss finish up with the bureaucratic discussion.

“That’s all for now Agent L/n. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning when you’re back in Quantico.” “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

They led you out of the interrogation room and back through the lobby leaving you at the conference room your team had been set up in the last three days.

The white boards were still littered with images of the victims, crime scenes, and the unsub. Piles of evidence were scattered along the table, and you tried to resist looking through them again. You knew if you went through the images of the mutilated boys again, you wouldn’t survive the emotional turmoil. But you needed to know that you made the right choice, the only choice to prevent more families from going through the same pain and suffering as the Corbins.

You turned to the white board, glancing at the first victim. Connor Corbin was fifteen years old, on the varsity soccer team, and involved in musical theatre. He was cousins with the teenager that abused Stephanie. She targeted all the men in her abusers life, letting them know what he did to her. Wanting them to understand the pain she’d had to endure because of their ignorance.

You looked through the rest of the victims, the abusers two younger brothers, father and uncle were among those killed. The boys were only twelve years old. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, remembering meeting their mother on the first day you were here. JJ was the one to speak to her, as the communications liaison, most people trusted her with being the most empathetic. That fact was up for debate, in your opinion. She was a wreck, and JJ needed help comforting her from Morgan. But you understood, boy had you understood. Her whole family was killed.

“Y/n,” You jumped, startled by the new voices in the room. Hotch, Spencer, and JJ had arrived back at the station. “Did they clear you?”

You nodded as Spencer walked over to you. “Yeah, Strauss just wants to debrief again tomorrow morning.” “Of course she does.”

Section Chief Erin Strauss is a hardass and not the biggest fan of the BAU. “Did they give you your piece back?” Your hand immediately flew to your left hip, void of your gun and holster. “No, I completely forgot about it.” You went to move toward the door, but Spencer laid a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, I’ll get it.” He gave your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving the conference room.

You spared a glance at Hotch as you started cracking your knuckles. “JJ, why don’t you call the airstrip, tell them to get the jet ready.” “Yes sir.”

In an effort to keep your mind busy, you started to take down the pictures from the white board, erasing all Reid’s notes in his barely legible handwriting. The boy had three PhD’s, yet couldn’t figure out the concept of penmanship.

“Are you alright?” “Fine.” You pulled an empty manila folder out, stuffing Connor’s pictures in. “You don’t have to clean this up for them.” “I know.”

He sighed. “Y/n, stop.” His voice was stern now and you dropped the files. “I asked if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Hotch?” You crossed your arms over your chest, letting a breath out. “We found her, we saved her from hurting anyone else, and we brought closure to Mrs. Corbin. Case closed, the BAU gets to go home.”

Your eyes started to water but you refused to bring your hands up to wipe them away. You wouldn’t let them fall. “We’ve all been where you are right now.”

“I’m confident that you’ve never felt what I’m feeling before.”

“Try me.” He didn’t flinch, his hands remained in his pockets, stare heavy on your own.

“When JJ presented this case to us, that two teenage boys and their fathers had been murdered, it was a no brainer for all of us to take it. Two twelve year old boys dead, two more teenagers missing, how could we not take it? But then we got here, and we met with the victims' families, we learned the boys' backgrounds, the unsub’s profile.” You scoffed, not sure who you were angered with at the moment. “This girl was raped by a seventeen year old boy and his father for two years, and we’re still supposed to treat her like a monster, like Tim Vogel?” You shook your head. “I’m not condoning what she did, but, can you blame her? And then we went in, and she had a gun raised at us. I would’ve been able to talk her down, I know I could’ve saved her if she didn’t have the gun.”

“But she had a gun.” You nodded. “She had a gun and it was raised at you. And I didn’t even flinch to take the shot. All it took was two seconds for me to forget her pain, her trauma, and reduce her to a sick serial killer.”

Even though that’s what Stephanie ultimately was, you didn’t want to accept it. Because she was a person before she went through all that pain, she was someone’s daughter, who was involved in gymnastics and softball, and had stuffed animals scattered across her bedroom. God, were you ever going to forget what she looked like?

“Feeling guilty about taking someone’s life is a good thing. It means your human, that you care.” Hotch freed his hands from his pockets, taking the file you packed out of your grip. “You’re not like them, y/n.”

You dared a glance at him as you felt more tears spring to the surface. Those big brown eyes could tell a story all on their own, and right now, they were pleading for you to believe him. You would try.

“Got the goods.” Spencer came back in, your gun and credentials in hand. “They really had the audacity to I.D. me, as if we hadn’t just worked a case with them the last seventy two hours.”

He got you to laugh, which served you enough cover to wipe your eyes dry. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a rare smile cross Hotch’s face.

But Aaron knew there was more to your guilt than just this little girl. He was the leader of this team, it was his job to know the people he was in charge of like the back of his hand in order to keep them safe. And in the year that you’d been here, he noticed how reserved you were. Too reserved and too broken for a twenty-six year old. How you took on the giver persona to hide the fact that you were terribly closed off to others and your emotions. You would be the first to offer help, to be a listening ear, or lend your shoulder to cry on. But you never accepted it from anyone. Not that you had to, until today.

When Hotch started to notice you and Spencer growing closer at the three month mark, he was excited. Proud, even. He knew you were struggling with the gruesome cases (he knew you threw up after every crime scene, despite your best efforts with barf bags and travel size mouthwash) and hoped you could share your burdens with the young doctor. But it seemed like they only grew in time, like the smile on your face. Hotch just hoped you knew your limits.

“Gather whatever else you guys need for Quantico. Wheels up in thirty.” Reid nodded for both of you as Hotch left the conference room, presumably to find JJ.

“Everything okay in here?” He asked as you continued to empty the white boards, this time at a faster pace. Of course he had noticed the red rim on your waterline and the red tip on your nose. Spencer could read you better than anyone else, regardless of being a profiler or not.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just talked through the case.” His feet stayed nailed to the ground, yet his eyes continued to stick to the back of your head. You sighed and stopped moving, turning to face him. “Spencer, I can feel you boring holes into the back of my head.”

He had a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. We have copies of all this back at the office, I already faxed it over to Garcia. Why don’t we spend the next twenty eight minutes searching for a good burger before the flight home.”

You smiled. “Okay. As long as I can get a vanilla shake, too.”

****

May 2006

Growing up, you always wanted an office job. A boring nine to five with your own cubicle, a script to follow when your phone rang and a customer needed help. You’d have a generic wall calendar pinned on the particle board, sticky notes littering your monitor screen, and maybe a few pictures of pets and future family. It was safe, predictable, and what you were constantly told all you would be capable of.

Now, as you’re sitting on the FBI owned jet with your six special agent coworkers, you can’t imagine living that life you once dreamt of.

It was nearing two a.m., and you were two hours into the flight home from Los Angeles. Reid was passed out on the couch, Prentiss and JJ in the same state of mind in the cluster of four chairs, legs spread out. Morgan and Rossi were sitting across from one another, each listening to their own playlists. And by the way Rossi was tapping his fingers against the arm rest, you knew it was some genre of opera.

This left you in the back of the jet, staring out the window as you passed over Nebraska. You always had the map up on your screen, wanting to know every state you passed over. No matter the case, you always looked forward to the plane ride. It calmed you, oddly enough.

“Not tired?” Hotch took the seat across from you, handing you one of the two cups of tea. “Plane rides are too exciting for me to catch any sleep.”

You took a sip of the hot drink and your face scrunched out of instinct. You never liked tea, but you tried it again and again when people assured you that it would calm you down. It never worked.

“You could just say no,” He added and you smiled. “I know. But my taste buds may change one of these times.”

He took a sip out of his own cup, no change of expression on his face. You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips and his eyes narrowed on you.

“What?”

“Well, you may enjoy the taste, but it seems like it’s calming chamomile effect has never worked on you, either.” “We’re not supposed to profile each other.”

“Then don’t even think about rattling off excuses of why I’m not sleeping.”

He looked down at his cup, slowly nodding his head. “Well if you don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering you, because I know it’s not sleep, I can bore you with Jack’s sleep routine we have to stick to.” You smiled. “You know that I’m the only one on this team that would actually be interested in Jack’s sleeping routine. Hell, anything with that chubby little baby would interest me. Bring it on, Hotch.”

It was no secret that Jack Hotchner was your favorite person on the planet. Not only was he the chubbiest little nugget you’d ever seen, he was the result of two of the strongest people you knew.

The first time you met Haley, she was six months pregnant with Jack, begging Hotch to leave the office early for a date night. You made the afternoon walk up to his office, dropping off some files for him to sign when you first saw her.

“Come on, Aaron. This baby is going to be here before we know it, and who knows the next time we’ll have any alone time will be.”

Before he could respond, you knocked on the open door. Both of their heads snapped over to you, and a red blush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Just dropping off some reports for you to sign off on.”

You smiled at the petite blonde woman while placing the files on the desk. “It’s okay l/n. This is my wife, Haley Hotchner. Haley, this is Agent y/n l/n, she started about a month ago.” She smiled back at you, extending a hand to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’ll leave the agent part out, it makes you sound like a robot.” She said and glared at her husband before placing her hand back on her growing belly. You laughed once you heard Hotch let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t offended with her joke.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The smile only grew on your face as you looked at her, admiring her own belly. “Congratulations on the baby. It’s always exciting to bring a baby into the world.”

“Thank you. If only my husband thought going out with me was half as exciting, he would’ve been gone a half an hour ago.” “Haley!” He was more than surprised that she would speak so cavalierly while at the office, especially around someone he had barely gotten a chance to know yet. But the two girls only shared a laugh.

“Hotch, why don’t you go. I can hold things down around here.” “Y/n, it’s not your responsibility to. And quite frankly-” You dropped a file to the desk, boldly interrupting your bosses statement. You were only acting like this because you knew his wife deserved half the attention he gave to this place. “It’s a friday night, and your beautiful, pregnant wife is asking you to go to dinner with her. JJ and I will be here if anything comes up, I’ll even redirect your calls to my desk.”

“I like you.” Haley said with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. “She means business.”

Hotch let out a sigh, reluctantly grabbing his briefcase and punching a few buttons on his phone to make sure his calls went to you. “You or JJ call me immediately if I’m needed.”

“Promise. Now go have fun.” He gave you the smallest smile as he grabbed Haley’s extended hand to him. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” Haley said as they exited his office. But you weren’t looking for a favor in return. You did this to make them happy, and you always felt better when those that surrounded you were at their best.

But Haley did end up paying you back. She asked you to babysit the first night her and Hotch went out after the baby was born. Apparently, she was impressed with your background in social services that Rossi had drunkenly let slip at the office christmas party. And only you would get excited to babysit a poopy baby, for free. And you continued to do it as many times as they needed you to.

You earned a smile from the reserved unit chief, and raised a fist in the air. “I’ll have to add that to the team tally sheet. I’m now tied with Reid for the lead in making you crack a human expression.” “Doesn’t matter who’s in the lead, you’re all behind Jack.” He quipped back and you returned his smile.

You looked back out the window of the jet, the view of any terrain was quite literally clouded. You could see the moon reflecting on the puffy clouds, and you knew then and there you could be converted to a night person if you could look at this view every night.

“I wanted to check in with you, about Randall Garner.” You looked back to your boss, eyes glued to your own, an earnest gaze in them. “With what happened last time-”

“Last time it was a sixteen year old girl. This time it was a psychotic father who was torturing his child. There’s a broad spectrum.”

“So you don’t feel guilty about taking his life?” The way your stomach flipped at the mention of your actions merely hours ago should have worried you more than it did.

“Of course I feel guilty.” You quipped back, and quickly looked around to make sure you didn’t disturb anyone else. Hotch didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t take this job to play God. I wanted to help people, I wanted to stop people from getting hurt. To be on the other side of the heartbreak.”

Before transferring to Quantico, you worked as a social worker in Brooklyn for three years, straight out of college. You saw first hand the horrors and trauma that came with being in the foster system, and you wanted to help children going through the same situation you had.

This became your life, even after you escaped it. And one day, it became too much. You needed a fresh start, to make a change and help people from a different platform. And with your degree in English, and minor in psychology, the BAU seemed to be a perfect fit for a new career.

“Why did you leave DCFS?” It irked you to no end how his voice stayed so calm when he was clearly agitated. Especially since the silky smooth tone had talked you off an emotional ledge one too many times.

“Why are you interrogating me? Strauss said it was a clean shot, that she was proud to have a man like that dead and accounted for.” A direct quote from the ever emotionless section chief. If only she had any field experience, she would understand what this job was like. “Besides, I’ve been here for a year and half. You should have my file memorized by now.”

“Half of your file is sealed. Strauss must have a soft spot for you.” You actually laughed at that. Strauss most certainly did not have a soft spot for you. She was however under orders from the Attorney General of New York to keep my file sealed, no matter my employer.

“My sealed file has nothing to do with the actions I took tonight.” You uncrossed your legs now and turned your body to face him. This conversation wasn’t ending any time soon. “If I needed help grieving this process, I would ask for it, Hotch. I’m fine.”

He wanted to believe you. More than anything else, he wanted to believe that you had found a routine that helped you forget the daily horrors you saw. But he knew that you were the last to leave the office every night, he knew you drove home with the light on in the backseat of your car every night. Deep down, he knew you weren’t fine.

“We don’t ever truly know the people we work with. Despite the fact that we say there are no secrets in this unit, we all have our own demons we hold onto. I know you’re not fine, y/n.” You let out a strained laugh as you started tapping your foot anxiously against the ground.

“I do though.” For the first time tonight, Hotch had no idea what you were talking about. His furrowed brow only made your throat tighten. “I know every single one of these people’s secrets. They confide in me because they know about my past with DCFS. Everything I knew was confidential, and it ate me up inside not being able to tell anybody the horrors these children go through.” You ran a hand through your hair; the flood gates were open. You feared there would be no turning back now. “It started out as me just wanting to get to know them. I wanted to be liked, and I wanted to trust my coworkers. And then overnight, I became Father l/n, sworn to secrecy by the Parish of the FBI. I’ve become a suggestion box, papers filling me up to the top and no one is coming to empty me out.

“But I can’t even be mad at them,” I said as my eyes started to water, remembering what Spencer said to me two months into our friendship. “Spencer told me I’m the only person that’s ever listened to his problems without suggesting that he see someone to talk to. He said I was the only person that’s ever laughed at his stuffy jokes without making fun of him. I can’t be mad at them for confiding in me in their time of need. But I’m just,” You tried to smile as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m just really overflowing.”

Aaron Hotchner was lucky enough to have never experienced a heartbreak in his life. He met Haley his junior year of high school, she was his first and only girlfriend, hurling him into a life of love and happiness, sparing him any pain from loving someone too much. But as he watched you break in front of him, feeling so overwhelmed by the responsibility to be everyone’s rock, to be everyone’s source of light, he experienced his first heartbreak. And he was sure he never wanted to feel it again.

“So confide in me.” You didn’t think his tone could become any softer. His baritone voice had already been strained to keep from waking the others, and he somehow became even softer. But you shook your head, quickly bringing your hands up to wipe the tears that fell down your face. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the boss. You have all of us to worry about when we’re in the field. You have Strauss breathing down your neck, waiting for one of us to screw up.” He rested his elbows on his knees, slightly leaning toward you. “Most importantly, you have Haley and Jack that need you to be their confidante. That beautiful family needs you to be there when you’re not here.”

“Y/n, if you can’t come talk to me when you’re drowning in your own thoughts, I’ve failed you as a boss.” He sighed at your continued silence. “I can’t force you to open up. But I can’t watch you give and give and give without earning a reprieve of your own.”

So the two of you sat there, in a deafening silence, as you counted the seconds passing by. You were both too stubborn to pull away first, because that would be admitting defeat, and this conversation would end then and there. You counted to one hundred and eighty seconds, three minutes, when you finally got tired of staring into the endless brown eyes of Aaron Hotchner.

You thought carefully about what you were going to say, what you would reveal in the magic that covered the two a.m. air. And no matter how hard you tried to in those one hundred and eighty seconds, you could not keep your eyes from watering.

“I grew up in foster care.” You started, scanning his face for any judgements. You weren’t going to find any. “The last, and most permanent foster parents I had were horrible. It was basic shit that happened to every kid in foster care, nothing scandalous enough to get them to be turned in. But their birth son,” You swallowed, trying to resist the urge to pick your fingernails. “He moved back in with them when I was fifteen. He was a loser, and he started to take a share of the subsidy checks. I heard him in the living room one night with Charlotte, one of the younger girls that lived there. She was only twelve, and I found him pinning her to the couch, a knife to her throat. And I just snapped. I lunged at him, knocking him off of her. It’s all blurry now, except for when I stabbed him in the throat.” My hand scratched at the side of my neck, subconsciously finding the spot I stabbed him. “He died before the ambulance got there. Charlotte and I both gave statements, and it was ruled as self defense. But the statement still lives in my file, and with some convincing, I got Strauss and DCFS to keep it sealed.”

In all honesty, Hotch didn’t know what to expect when you decided to open your mouth. But he never would’ve guessed this. Not from the doe eyed kid that never forgot a birthday, that got everyone a donut and coffee on Monday mornings. Not from the kindest person he worked with.

“You know that took a lot of courage to get out, so it would be nice if you could say something.” You started to panic, wondering if he saw you as a monster, as a killer.

“You were the oldest one there, weren’t you?” Your eyes widened, how did he know that? “You grew up quick and took on the role of the parent for those younger kids. You wanted them to be safe, stay innocent for as long as they could.”

You finally tore yourself away from his gaze, starting to become too strong. Baby steps.

“None of us had a family. I tried my hardest to shelter them from those people and make a family out of the five of us. And it worked. Because all four of them still reach out and tell me how successful they are.”

“But they don’t feel like your family.” You had a sad smile and looked back up at him.

“Do you ever stop profiling?” He mirrored the smile you gave him. “No, they don’t. But I was old enough to understand that they needed each other more than I needed them. Besides, I found a pretty weird family to take me in.”

You earned another laugh from Hotch as you made a check mark in the air, referencing the team tally. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, searching through the cash and cards he had in there.

“What are you doing?” He pulled out a thin wallet picture and turned it over to you. It was of him, Haley, and Jack on his first birthday. “You’ve got more than one weird family to belong to.”

He extended the picture to you, but you shook your head, the anxiety forming a pit in your stomach. “Hotch, this is your family. I can’t,”

“You can. And this family wouldn’t be half as happy as they are in this picture if it weren’t for you and everyone on this team.” You smiled down at the picture, Jack had frosting from his birthday cake all over his face. You reached out and took it between your fingers. “You’re a giver, y/n. You wear your heart on your sleeve and exude more empathy than we know what to do with.” You let out a laugh as you pulled out your own wallet now, tucking the picture in one of the plastic sleeves. “It’s time you learned how to accept the love you give.”

It was deep, too deep to be coming from your boss on the private jet at two in the morning. But he was more than just your boss, and they were more than just your team. And this job, boy this job was so much better than sitting in a cubicle, answering questions from a recited list.

****

#aaron hotchner x female! reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #jules writes shit ??

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years ago

Text

The Lonely Man (Ghost of Tsushima one-shot, Part 2.)

The first one-shot which leaded to the other one: H E R E

One-shot description: Tsushima had found its peace again - Kotun Khan and his men had left the island, the Mongolian invasion had ended. Yet its remnants were sure to last in your home for a long time.

A/N: The warning from the first one-shot still stands. No matter how hard I will be trying, there will be some cultural mistakes, because I am still an European. But just like before, I will do my best to make it as accurate as it will be in my strenght to write the best continuation to the first part I’ve posted like two weeks ago.

Word count: 5.5 K

Pairing: Jin Sakai x female reader (He HAS a strong chaotic-bi energy, but he's talking about girls in the hot springs, so... 👀)

Warnings: xx

It was a few weeks since the spring finally started and since the peace had finally stumbled into your homeland again. It was true - after a long winter, the sun rays finally felt like gentle tickling on your skin. The beaming sunlight was warming you up, making you feel relaxed anytime you had the time to sit in the garden. Just like you hoped previously, the garden next to the farmhouse has bloomed beautifully. The trees had bloomed to be colorful - there was a few Sakuras, which were planted as already grown trees, were pink, so it was putting a smile on your face when the smile leaves flought by.

Yet there also were small trees with red leaves that barely reached your waist. You didn't know what kind of trees it was, but it was making the gardens a wonderful place. And the flowers were making you even more wonderstruck as you inspected and sketched every one of them when you had a while to do so.

A lot of people expected that as soon as the Mongolian invasion comes to an end, which came true ever since it was rumored that Kotun Khan's head was exhibited in the Shikamura castle, the geisha households will come to an end with it as the women will move to bigger cities to have bigger money and better clientele. But it soon became apparent that this wasn't the case. It seemed that the geisha ladies decided to live in the household even if the invasion ended and there was no need to gather in one place.

Although it was a big, former farmhouse back in the day, the mistress was planning on expanding it. The girls could travel to meet their clients from the household, but they would finally take in other trainees and appreciates as well, which would surely be amazing. If this plan would work well the geishas on Tsushima island wouldn't have to worry that their craft would end. This way, they could pass their knowledge on. While you were still living at the household, during the ordinary mundane jobs. You were still going for rice and other kinds of food, but at least, now you had a smart cart and a horse. You were still cleaning up the floors, doing the laundry, and cleaning the dishes.

This was your work. This was what you were doing every day, so you weren't even complaining. Yet even if you sometimes didn't even stop during the day, even if you sometimes took a bath at the hot springs and sometimes, you joined the geisha classes to learn new things, the man sometimes still crept to the back of your head.

It was a long time since you've seen him. It could be many weeks, it could be months. The timelapse from his departure was just running by. Ever since the morning Jin had left, you've heard a lot of stories talking about the legendary Ghost. His progress with repressing the Mongols was publically known and heard about. Your personal favorites stories about the Ghost was the ones talking about him searching for the legendary gear of the old samurai masters, finding bows, and the rumored sets of armors scattered and hidden across the whole island. He still was talking to foxes, following them around to learn all the secrets of Inari.

Yet sometimes, worse news got to your ears. Jin was holding the Mongolian invasion back, almost singlehandedly, yes, but his methods were scary and almost brutal. From the intensity of said stories, it could be heard that Jin was probably falling deeper and deeper into this dark situation around him, which was quite saddening you. But how could you help him? You couldn't just travel through the whole island and tell him to stop.

But when you were thinking about him, you were wondering... Was he thinking about you? Or was it exactly how you thought it will be? Did Jin forget about you as soon as he left the farmhouse on the back of his horse? Yet those were the question you knew you will never have your answers for. Life was just the way it was.

You were a girl who was in the right age to find her a husband, to settle down, and to start a family on her own. Yet it was hard for you to like the boys of your social status ever since you've met Jin. There were nights when the warm breeze reminded you of Jin's touch, there were moments when water or sake reminded you of the man's kiss. Shadows creeping on the curtains and shoji reminded you of his moves. But over time, you knew that you'll forgive Jin. All it was to took was time.

As the spring progressed, there was a young fisherman walking around the house more and more often. First, everyone thought he's just walking around, dreaming about the girls he can never have - but soon enough, you realized that it's not the case. In fact, he was trying to gather the courage to speak a woman of his social status. One morning, he came over to you when you were doing the laundry by the river and introduced himself. It was a nice guy, you had to say. His goal was obvious.

The boy's name was Eiji and his intention with you was to court to you, making you fall in love with him. It was very noticeable he liked you a lot - he was nervous whenever he came around to talk to you. When you tried to joke around, Eiji got shy and he almost didn't know how to respond. Which made you think about Jin even more. When you joked around with Jin, he carefully joked back. And his carefulness wasn't originating from being into you with his whole being - it originated from your social statuses being too different to go at each other with open and offhand jokes just like that.

Yet Eiji was completely clueless at times. You thought it's sweet and slowly, your relationship started to deepen. It was just a natural conclusion that he wanted to get married to you after some time. But... Were you ready for such a big step? Marriage wasn't consisting of engagement of any sorts at the time - it wasn't even legally documented that man had married a woman. All it took was you to move into Eiji's household and to stay there to legitimize your marriage. But there was where the hitch with this whole relationship took the first hitch.

You weren't sure enough to take the next big step. Right at the time, you've been doing pretty well. There was this place you've been the happiest in possibly the longest time. The girls were taking good care of you and you were free to leave whenever you wanted. But... Submitting yourself to a man, bonding with him to create a family.

Or... Was it just your uncertainty about leaving your freedom behind? Couldn't it be something else? When you were refusing Jin's offer, you've told him the following: if you'd meet again sometimes in the future, you'd know that it was the destiny leading you on the same road once again.

Since your family was very keen on honoring the spirits, you've always believed that something like a destiny exists somewhere out there, provided by the almighty universe and spirits watching over you.

Maybe you were hoping that destiny will lead the man back to you, now everything was solved. Jin could be the samurai once again who would soon get married to someone of the same social status, continuing his life for all you could know.

There was no certain and reliable information to trust, regarding Jin Sakai. Some said that he killed lord Shimura. Some were saying Jin didn't kill his uncle, but walked away from the whole Bushido codex since he had violated it so many times. There were people who were saying that Jin Sakai felt so ashamed, that he left for Japan on a small boat, as he got killed by the sea.

His spirit was everywhere, everyone was talking about the man. Yes, he surely turned into the rumored Ghost. A Ghost which followed you on every step and the Ghost, who was ways lingering on the back of your head.

Yet after some time passing by, the marriage seemed like the best solution. The girls had their suspicion about what happened that one night when the samurai asked for your companion, but falling for a man after one night seemed to be dangerous.

Eiji was there for you for long months. The boy brought multiple flowers and small gifts, like new materials to make new clothes out of. He was extremely sweet and noticed the small things you liked, always focusing on them.

After long weeks of the girls talking you down to marry the guy, you agreed to his proposal. But to keep at least some kind of remnants of your freedom and pride, you wanted to have some ceremony. You wanted to have a ceremony in the geisha house, since the mistress was the closest person you had to a family member, just like the other girls.

And everyone seemed to be very excited about this event. It all could be easily explained - this was the first real, happy moment since the Mongolian invasion had ended. It was natural that everyone was going over the top with the preparations. The girls helped you with sewing the nicest shiromuku you could make yourself.

They also managed to get you some top tier fish meat to make food from, and the biggest present was sake brought from a man named Kenji. It was the best sake you had ever tasted.

Yet as all the preparations were coming to an end, another rumor started to go around the place where you lived. A strange man entered the valley where the farmhouse was located - and people were getting a strange feeling from the man.

He was, without a doubt, a ronin. But what was making him strange was his straw hat, the remnants of a group of soldiers, who joined the Khan. But... Why was the person even alive? It was rumored that every Strawhat was killed by Jin Sakai.

Naturally, out of fear and respect, people didn't stop the stranger on his way through the farms and villages. And for a reason, you were worried that somehow, the man will crash your happy day. Which, for a reason, seemed to be a real option.

It was even the biggest thing you were nervous on the morning of the ceremony. The man was on your mind the whole time - when you were dressing up, at the time when the Shinto ceremony was prepared, even throughout the time you were walking through the house, feeling the last remnants of your freedom slipping through your fingers. And that was surely a thing you didn't like. It was just moments from when the ceremony was about to start - soon, someone would come for you to lead you there, as you'd start to conceive Eiji as your rightful husband, living with him until the end of your days, doing everything with him.

Honoring the spirits, taking care of the home, take care of children, cook the food, and... There was so much thing you were about to do on a daily basis. Yet it was like a cycle that would be repeating itself every single day. It was the one thing over and over again which was making you freak out. Until you heard some excitement going around in front of the very house you were waiting in.

Someone was trying to stop someone from talking to you, but the other person seemed to be unstoppable. Soon, the shoji flew open and at the same moment, you sprang up on your feet. A feeling of uneasiness and fear struck you as you looked at the masked ronin standing in front of you while Kohaku was trying to make him leave the room so he wouldn't make you too nervous or distressed before the ceremony.

The man appeared exactly as the rumors described him to look like. Which, on one hand, was the first time you've seen a rumor coming true for the first time. He, indeed, was wearing a straw hat covering his whole face and a worn-out yukata along with airy, comfortable trousers. For a reason, his inner palm was resting on one of his swords as he turned his face at you. A thought flew over your head.

Was this person here to kill you? Could someone hear about your connection to Jin Sakai? Could he be looking for revenge? If that was so, which was highly doubtable, the person was surely seeking revenge at a bad place. Jin didn't care for you ever since he left your settlement. The man won't likely even know that you would be killed. Which, in fact, was very sad... But true. Yet instead of that, the man just fell down on his knee, showing you his humility and respect. With scared expression, you looked back at Kohaku standing outside, wanting to oust the man out.

"I just wish to speak to you, lady." - The man barely spoke out, having you nervously spinning your fingers around as you didn't know what to do. Well, if he'd like to kill you, you'd be already dead, right? He had quite some time, about a minute, to slice your throat or to murder you in any other way. So, there was a possibility that he maybe doesn't want you dead. After a minute, you nodded at Kohaku, closing shoji to have at least a hint of intimacy.

"If you wish to speak of Jin Sakai, I don't know where he is or what is he doing now. I don't know any other reason why would you visit me on the day of my wedding." - Was all you told him as you lounged around the room to take a sip of water to hide the nervousness that was hugging your whole brain. But the man was still on his knees, having his head lowered in front of you to prove to you, how vulnerable he was. And, in that moment, you heard the words which you were thinking so much about.

"You promised that if we'd ever meet again, you will admit that this was all destiny's doing." - The man spoke out a bit cleared than before. With these words, you turned back at him. Your heart almost jumped right into your neck when you realized what he was indicating with the statement. Hoping it's him under the hat, you walked in front of the man, unmasking him with shaky hands. As soon as you saw the black hair, your fingers wanted to do only one thing - to dip into it, to caress it, and to tug on it, just as you did before. - "I'm just staying true to my word, Y/N." - Jin whispered and put your palm on his cheek to feel the caress of your skin again. He was still beautiful as if he hadn't aged a day since the day you've seen him for the last time. The only change from the man you've seen such a long time ago was that this Jin had a scar on the left side of his face, yet in your eyes, he still was almost breathtaking.

With a happy sigh, you got on your knees as well, putting even your other palm on his cheek. A smile lightened up your face as you absorbed every small part of his face with your eyes and your fingers - just moments before he kissed you. On his journey, ever since he left your farmhouse, he was honoring every shrine he had met, hoping he'll meet you at the end of his journey. And there he was, after a long time of traveling the mainland in the shadows, hidden from the eyes of his own people. Yet nothing seemed to change in the way you embraced him or the feeling your kiss had woken inside of him.

"I was... I was worried that you had died, Jin. I was horrified." - A mumble left your mouth when the kiss had ended. Jin, until that moment, didn't notice you were crying the whole time he was stealing the kiss from your lips.

"It's very complicated, my dearest." - He answered, slowly leading his palms on the beautiful clothing you were dressed in. It was special to see normal people evoke a Shinto ceremony. Usually, the wife you moved in with the husband, starting a family. Yet the dress was suiting you - making you look innocent, even if the man had to smirk when he realized he already stole your innocence. At that moment, Kohaku stormed into the room again - yet when she realized who was the man leading his palms over your body, she bowed with the deepest meekness. - "Lord Sakai." - Was the only thing she got out. Jin didn't answer, yet he got on his feet and stopped the lady from bowing even lower.

"I am no lord now, lady Kohaku. You must've heard of it by now." - He smiled shyly, stepping away from Kohaku once again. With deep sadness, your mistress nodded, sighing. - "I did hear about what happened, yes. But apart from your uncle and the shogun, you were the only one who fought for the ordinary people, so in my eyes, you will forever be the lord I know you as." - Kohaku explained simply, backing to the door again. - "I will tell the others about your presence, my lord, to make them understand why the ceremony will be delayed." - Kohaku addressed and left you both in the empty house.

There was something else she was saying with her words. She won't only tell them that the ceremony will be late - she was about to tell Eiji, that no wedding will happen that day. Women were very sensitive to picking up the words and signals that weren't said out loud. And the day Jin left the house on his horse, she immediately picked up what happened the other night, although the never spoke of the issue out loud. Why should she? It was a private matter. You, without realizing, never were the same once lord Sakai left the farmhouse.

"If it's complicated, sit down with me and tell me what happened to you, please," - You asked and invited him to another room, which had opened shoji leading right to the garden, so you both had a nice view. Without asking, you poured the man some sake to make him more relaxed, even if your presence was already doing enough. You checked your privacy three times to know it was safe when you walked behind the man to massage his shoulder, bringing the yukata off his shoulders enough for you to plant a kiss on the nape of his neck.

Jin slowly started opening up, starting exactly on the day he had left you on the farmhouse. He spoke of his friends, Yuna and Taka, of the sensei Ishikawa and even told you rather intimate information about lady Masako, the only survivor of clan Adachi. He spoke of the fight against the Mongols... Until the first beats of his uncle being disappointed in him started to hint on how the story will end. At that moment, his back was leaned into your chest as you held your arms entwined on his chest.

"It was obvious that nothing will be as it was before, I could feel it. His gazes, words, and behavior started to shift heavily. It was breaking my heart apart, yet at that moment, I couldn't take anything back. It was all done, I've already stepped from the journey of honor to save what was remaining after the Mongols stormed through my homeland." - Jin sighed, putting his palm over your forearm to smooth it without paying attention to it. - "Shogun marked me as a traitor and sent my uncle... My own family and blood... He sent my father to kill me as a punishment for both of us."

"While you're sitting here with me now and he isn't, did you kill him, Jin?" - You whispered, gently pushing your fingers under the yukata on his chest, putting the center of your palm on his heart to feel it beating. Yet the man shook his head, watching the sakura in front of you. - "No. While I may have no honor, I wouldn't ever kill my own family. I left him there because I couldn't do it. Yet now I have no family, no honor, and no-one else left. I am a wayfaring ronin on his way to... Somewhere."

This wasn't true and he knew it. He still had Yuna to accompany him. - "You have me." - You whispered after a small while. - "I promised that if our paths ever cross again, I'll admit that this was all evoked by destiny. And here you are." - Your arms around his body tightened. Jin smiled at those words, holding your forearm tightly than before. - "You have a life here, Y/N. I have no right to take it away from you. I came late." - Jin squeezed your arm one more time before sitting up to look you in the eyes. His lips gave you a saddened smile as he rose his palm to smooth your jaw.

"What are you going to do now, Jin? Where are you going?" - You asked, catching his palm in yours as you pressed a peck into the small valley on his palm. - "Well, now I visited you, I will most likely hide somewhere in the mountains to wait for another chance to protect my country, leading a lonely life aside from everyone." - Jin described openly to which you stood up, taking the upper layer of the dress off, standing in front of him in a black yukata and pants similar to his. - "Stop, this is not what you want." - Jin tried to plead you, catching your palms in his.

"I always dreamed of a small house aside from everyone and a peaceful, quiet life. I wanted to marry this man because you weren't coming and I was horrified you might never come." - You answered before kissing Jin to shut him up for a moment. - "Go for your horse, I will wait at the other end of the garden." - Was the last thing you've told him before you left.

The man did exactly what you wanted him to do - he, again, put his straw hat on to cover hid identity, walking out of the house where Kohaku was already waiting for him. - "Lady Y/N is very distraught, please, let her take a moment before starting the ceremony." - Jin bowed to the lady and she repeated his actions, pushing some food she packed for both of you while she told everyone that you had some oppressing matter to attend to.

"Take good care of my girl, lord Sakai. Keep her safe and happy, may the spirits look after both of your souls." - She smiled before turning on heels, walking into the house you were at just minutes ago. And she found exactly what she thought she'll find - the upper part of your wedding dress was laying on the ground next to a half-drank sake. And in the distance, she heard a horse riding off, presumably with both of you on its back.

Presumably, it was Jin's choice to come back for you, yet he'd never meet you if there wasn't for destiny. Your choice of complying with it was one of the best you've made. Life in the mountains granted you both with a great deal of privacy, so you could bond deeper, getting to know each other more close. So close you had started a family after some time, which was the best thing that ever happened to Jin.

Clan Sakai had its successors. He had children of his own to which he could pass his knowledge, knowing that when he leaves the Earth one day, the destiny of the Sakai family will be secured.

Sometime later:

The coffee shop was literally brewing with life. You adored having a shift on days like these - the sun was shining, so people were in a good mood, they were snickering, giggling at laughing and most and foremost, they left you some good, generous tips. Every buck could help you pay off the college loan you were currently fighting with. Sure, having a degree sounded nice, but it was actually expansive to study it when you had no-one to help you with it. And no-one would tell you this beforehand.

With a small smile, you leaned your elbows to the wooden desk behind you, as you started to play with your small notebook and pen, which you used to write down the orders of your customers. That day, you had quite a lot of people coming in to have your delicious sundae with hot raspberries and strawberries. Your workplace sure as hell wasn't the biggest in the town, but you liked it a lot. It had a nice, family-like atmosphere and most of the workers were nice people to work with, which was the reason why you didn't have even the smallest problem with coming to work.

On the other hand, a man was running late on his family lunch. But the craving for a cup of coffee was stronger than he was, so when he spotted the first coffee shop next to the road, he stopped there, leaving his sister in the car. - "Jin! Come on! Uncle is going to kill us" - She cried out of him and it almost seemed that Jin was really coming back to the vehicle - just to get his wallet from there.

This man was unbelievable - dressed up in his leather jacket and with a man bun, he was looking quite ridiculous in the eyes of his older sister. - "Wanna something too?" - Jin leaned his elbows to the opened window on his side of the car, having his sis rolling her eyes monumentally at it. - "Then watch the car and don't drive away with it, yea?" - The man patted the hood before running inside the coffee shop. As soon as he spotted a waitress standing by the countertop, he headed straight to her, not looking at her in the first moments.

"Hey, hey." - He got out with heavy breathing. - "Do you make take away coffee? Please, tell me you're making take away coffee." - A man spoke at you, barely looking at you, seemingly being in a time press. Your eyebrows arched at the question. You hadn't got someone like that every day if you had to be honest.

"Sure, I can make you a cup of our take away coffee, if you want to call it like that. Chill out, are you fine?" - You asked the man with worried, watching him being dressed up in a leather jacket on a day like this one was. It was too hot to have such clothes on. But in the between, you moved behind the cash register to have access to the coffee brewing machines. - "Yea, I was just without caffeine for too long and I'm... Really... Craving... One."

At this moment, the man noticed you for the first time. Yeah, he kinda knew that he's talking to someone the whole time, but at that moment, JIn looked directly to your face for the first time. And the first thing that struck him was that he knew you already. Your face was almost awkwardly familiar to him. But Jin was fully aware of never seeing you before. You were beautiful, eyecatching and something totally out-of-the-world for the man so much, that he forgot how to speak or listen to what you were saying.

"Excuse me?" - He asked you back, jumping in the middle of your monologue. Your eyes widened as the man interrupted you in the middle of naming your offer, having you completely forgetting what you were speaking about. - "I was asking you about what would you like to order." - You mumbled, looking at the man back.

Something was telling you that you've seen him somewhere. These lips were hard to forget about - and you've memorized them from somewhere. Almost as if you already had kissed them one day. The eyes and the entirety of his face... Where the hell did you meet this guy? - "It wasn't this sort of excuse me. I wanted to ask..." - "If we had already met somewhere?" - You finished with anticipation. This conversation could go two ways - either, he'd think you're a total creep or he would be thinking about the same thing as you were.

"Yea. Exactly. Do you have that feeling too or am I going nuts?" - The man's face lit up with a huge smile, which obviously had you smiling in a second too. Quickly, you shook your head and confirmed the weird feeling inside his head. - "Good. Now, for the coffee, I would like a latté with double milk, please." - He finally placed his order and you, since you got through the stranger phase pretty quick, pointed your fingers at him, wiggling your eyebrows. - "I'm on it, chief." - You winked, having the man's eyes watching every move you made.

You moved with such grace that it was hard to take his eyes off of you - it was so hard that Jin had to lean his arms next to the cash register since he wasn't able to turn around from you. There was this force that was simply making the man gravitate toward you, even if he hadn't ever felt like that before. Any girl he had previously dated or slept with never had him gravitating towards them. It didn't matter if they were somehow considered prettier, had better jobs, or whatever, any of them didn't for these reactions out of him. Again, he got lost while you were obviously talking to him.

"Excuse me?" - He woke up from his small trance again, still leaning his upper body the countertop. - "I was asking if you're alright. But now, I almost want to ask you if you're staring at my lovely bottom." - You repeated yourself, finally finishing his order. With a small smile, you took the cup to your palms, searching for a black marker.

"Isn't this against the company policy or something?" - "What is?" - "Flirting with a hot costumer." - The man smiled at you daringly, shoving a strand of his hair behind his ear. As you finally found the marker, your cheeks started to go on fire as you shook your head unbelievably.

"As long as the hot costumers don't mind it, it's not taken as a sexual assault. Come on, what's your name?" - You pushed the cap on the stranger's cup. The man straightened again, putting both his hands on the countertop. You watched as he childishly bit his lower lip, tapping some sort of a melody into the wood. - "Wouldn't you wanna know?" - His playful voice teased you, but just moments after that, you put the cup in front of him, naming the amount of money you wanted from him. Without any word, he paid and even gave you a pretty generous tip, But when you gave him the receipt, the man took the marker and wrote his name and his number on the back of it, giving it back to you.

"And what should I do with this... Jin?" - A victorious smile lighted your whole face up as Jin was already walking back to his car, where his pretty nervous sister was sitting. - "I think youre smart enough to figure it out. My offer is today at eight p.m., so give me the deeds as soon as you decide." - He winked before he turned at his heels, walking straight to the car.

The whole exchange was definitely that once-in-a-lifetime one because you rarely met someone who would make you feel like you knew them from the very first moment you laid your eyes on them. Who knew? Maybe it was destiny showing himself even centuries after the moment you've met someone for the first time. Well, that was pretty crazy to start with, but... Who could really know?

#jin sakai #jin sakai ghost of tsushima #jin sakai one-shot #jin sakai imagine #jin sakai x reader #lord shimura #the tale of the ghost #well here you have it

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nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter II]

Word count: 5,675

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link if you prefer that format.

chapter one

“But my Lord!” I exclaimed, doing my best to hurry after Judge Llewellyn and not slip on the wet steps of the Royal Courts of Justice.

He opened his umbrella over his bald head, absolutely ignoring any attempt of being polite and offering me some cover. So I practically ran after him and stuck myself under his umbrella with him to avoid the pouring rain.

“Miss L/N!” he complained, furrowing his white caterpillar eyebrows. His dark eyes were tiny angry slits staring back at me as he continued walking. “Now you are being indiscreet! You were late. I am sure whatever motion you have got to present can wait until the courts open again on Monday.”

“But it can’t wait, my Lord. Not only that but my team has also uncovered important information-” I spoke so fast I was surprised that every word came out clear as day.

“It can wait. Good evening to you!” he bumped his shoulder on mine as if to dismiss me but I wasn’t letting it go.

“It cannot wait, Llewellyn! If you give me a chance to file these motions this evening, the Wilkes children can return to their mother tonight!” He stopped walking abruptly and turned to scowl at me. I was going to get scolded, I knew it, but I couldn’t for the life of me shut up. “These children have suffered enough, my Lord. I am begging you. You wouldn’t let this happen to your own family.”

“You are out of line, Miss L/N!” he boomed as if we were in the courtroom. I had trained myself not to flinch anymore under duress but the glances we attracted certainly embarrassed me, especially since a few of them were from colleagues passing on the street. “You will address me as it is proper and you will not attempt to put my position in check! Those children are being well taken care of in Children’s Services. May I remind you that we are bound by oath to follow the law? Procedure is procedure and I will abide by it until I retire, which is far from happening. Do not presume that your pretty face will make things easier for you in my court. I expect better posture from you on Monday. Are we clear?”

I could not believe my ears.

Maybe I was out of line - I could agree with that - but I expected more compassion from a man who had been working as a Judge of the Family Division of the High Court for almost as long as I have been alive. But what truly left my mouth agape was the bit about my “pretty face”. If I hadn’t already made things bad I would have had a grand time of making a case of just how misogynistic that claim was. However, I was not going to give him any more reasons to hold me in contempt.

“Crystal, my Lord,” I bit off, trying to meet his eyes without any defiance in them.

“I heard great things about you from Pauline McGowan,” I immediately unfurrowed my brows upon hearing the name of one the strictest professors I had had on Law School. “I hope she was not wrong. Use your brain, not your looks. Enjoy your weekend,” and he was gone, leaving me in the rain.

“I am using my brain, you fucking twat,” I whispered to myself as I hurried out of the rain, taking shelter under a bus stop close by.

Judge Llewellyn had almost made it better by mentioning McGowan but then he ruined it by mentioning my looks. To say I was angry and insulted would be an understatement. Toughen up, I told myself.

Ignoring the stares of my colleagues on the other side of the street, I whipped my phone out of my purse to order an Uber and papers came flying out, dancing in the wind, treacherously out of my reach.

“Fucking hell!”

God, if those papers were damaged that would mean that I would have to get new official ones and take them to Count Dracula, again. And I would not do that. Seeing my distress a teenage boy decided to help me gather them and stick them back in my purse.

“Thanks! Really, thank you so much!” I said for the third time in a row.

He kept staring at me with a silly smile on his face.

“Huhh- can I like… get your number?”

I blinked, digging my nails on the palms of my hands so I wouldn’t burst out laughing. What a fantastic end to a day. Not only had a Count made an attempt to woo me, but I was also insulted by a High Court judge and now I had a 15 year old asking for my number. Cute, yes, but what had I done to the universe to deserve this kind of attention?

“I don’t think so, love,” I managed, putting on an apologetic smile.

“Are you sure? Cus like we can-”

“She’s sure,” said a velvety voice with a hint of finality.

I pivoted to my left to see Count Dracula standing over my shoulder with a polite grin plastered to his lips. I was drilling a hole through his skull with my eyes but he kept his stare on the boy as if I wasn’t there.

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” I said through gritted teeth. Yes, maybe he was trying to be polite but years and years of people talking over me had made me develop a reflex of shooting someone down even if they were on my side. And I knew I most definitely did not want Count Dracula on my side. He was too handsome to be good news.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, Y/N.”

“Are you following me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Finally taking the hint, the teenager shuffled to the other side of bus stop.

“Why would you think that?” he said very slowly.

“You live on the other side of London. And I’d say it is pretty unlikely we would bump into each other.”

“But not impossible. Perhaps fate is at play here, uniting us,” he bowed his head closer to mine, one hand dramatically draped on his chest.

“Charming...” I rolled my eyes. “What are you doing on Strand? There are far more beautiful sights in London.”

He made a show of looking around us as if to analyse the sights. Across from us, the gothic building that served as the Royal Courts was lit up in purple lights from below, casting shadows and highlighting every intricate detail of the structure. Our side of the street was all yellow lights and a mix of neoclassical and gothic design.

Having lived in London all my life I barely realised just how unique and beautiful the city could be to a foreigner. Especially to someone who had lived most of his life isolated somewhere in Eastern Europe, as Renfield had mentioned to me. Strand had become part of my routine for the last years and I hardly paid attention to my surroundings during my daily commutes. Count Dracula, however, seemed to be quite fascinated by it.

“I decided to prowl the city in search of a good meal,” he said at last, taking a step closer so he was stood in front of me. From this angle I could see that he had something smudged on the side of his mouth. “Ended up there,” he indicated a corner at the end of the street with his head “and then I heard your lovely voice arguing with an old man as I finished eating.”

I surveyed him coolly. He smiled under my scrutiny, remaining very still. To be fair Strand did have fantastic restaurants and it was a tourist attraction. He could have just asked any cabbie to take him to a popular destination and ended up somewhere around here. If he was dropped off at Trafalgar Square, he could have wandered to the Courts. Finally, I decided it was not that unlikely that he had found himself all the way from Kensington to Strand.

“You have some sauce on your face,” was what came out of my mouth. I touched a finger to my lower lip to show him where. “What did you eat, bolognese pasta?”

He raised his thick eyebrows, smiling devilishly as if that was incredibly funny and pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket of his blazer.

“Rare steak, actually. Delicious. Thank you for warning me,” he said after wiping his mouth clean. I bobbed my head as a welcome. “What are your plans for the rest of the night? TGIF is what this generation says, right?”

Laughter escaped my lips before I could stop it. Hearing “TGIF” from a man of his prestige and age caught me completely off-guard.

“Yes it is,” I answered, still laughing. “Until twenty minutes ago my plans consisted of going home, ordering takeout and binge watching Netflix until I passed out. But getting in argument with a judge certainly got to me. So I’m heading to Camden Town to get drunk. By myself,” I added so he would understand that I was not inviting him. Why did I even give him so many details? I questioned, suddenly struggling to break eye contact with him.

“May I give you a lift? Merely being chivalrous,” he raised his hands, showing me his palms as if to add to his “innocent” claim.

“Do you even have a car?”

“Not yet. But Renfield has been kind enough to lend me his in the meanwhile. It’s parked not far away from here,” he explained. Moving closer to me he placed a hand on the small of my back, “Please, it’s dark and while you are perfectly able to take care of yourself I would rest easier if I was the one to drive you to this town.”

“It’s not a town,” I replied. “It’s a district.”

“Is that a yes?” he pulled his eyebrows together.

He was an attractive man, I would give him that. Sexy, even. But from my experience that didn’t always equal nice things. However, my brain was starting to disconnect from my body and when his eyebrows did that I felt butterflies doing cartwheels on my stomach. Those traitors.

Use your brain. Hm, maybe Llewellyn could act as my conscience if all else failed.

I felt something poke me on the back of my ribs and I dodged Dracula’s hand to turn and look. An old lady sitting on the bus stop’s bench gazed at me attentively, milky blue eyes shifting between the Count and I. Her hair was white as snow but her face was hardly wrinkled, withstanding the test of age.

“Go,” she whispered, winking at me. “He’s a good one. They don’t make men like this anymore. Trust me.”

My body immediately relaxed as I chuckled. Leaning closer to her, I winked back.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said in the same amused fashion.

She grinned for a second then her expression closed itself again, as if Count Dracula hadn’t witnessed the entire exchange. She shooed me away with her hand and a gleeful glint in her old eyes.

Turning to Dracula, I caught the triumphant expression on his face. If he thought he had won this round then he was seriously mistaken.

“I’ll let you be chivalrous and accompany me there. But don’t think this is an opportunity to make another pass at me. I haven’t got more insolence to spend today”, I took control of my lips before I could smile at using the same word he had accused me of earlier “and I’m trying to be friendly. So, behave.”

A grin slowly emerged on his face, exhibiting white teeth and pouring all his charm into it. His fine lines only appeared when he smiled or frowned which made me question his true age. It made him all the more alluring.

“For now,” he responded, placing a hefty hand on the small of my back again.

_____________________________________________________________

Most of the drive to Camden was surprisingly quiet. I was the only one speaking from time to time to give him directions. But then when he finally made a curve that brought us right into the heart of Camden, an awed sound escaped him.

The neon lights from store signs tinted the inside of the car in red and green. The cloudy night sky had gained a wonderful violet tonality that said that more rain would come but that didn’t stop the Camden streets to be overcrowded. Looking out the window, I could see people getting tattooed inside the nearest tattoo parlour. Vintage shops, pubs, restaurants and the food market all of them busy with boisterous noise from people and music.

It was a stark contrast to London’s weather.

“I love it here,” I told Dracula.

“I… love it, too,” he almost whispered, gawking at two girls with pink hair passing on the street. “Uncanny.”

“That’s a good way to describe it. Hey, there’s a good parking spot,” I pointed ahead to an alley that ran between a salon and an adult store.

He gaped at the adult store window display, showcasing a mannequin clad in latex, a cape and fangs drawn on over its lips. Handcuffs held the mannequin’s hands together while another mannequin was positioned as if to show them whipping the other one.

Count Dracula laughed suddenly and I joined him when he couldn’t seem to stop.

“It’s a trend at the moment in this side of the world,” I explained between laughs.

The car behind us honked and the Count finally made the turn to the alley, parking behind a row of motorbikes.

“Vampires are a trend?” he asked, killing the car’s engine.

“They haven’t been out of fashion since the 90s, especially. But I was talking about the BDSM thing,” I grabbed my briefcase and purse and opened my door.

Count Dracula was standing there a mere second later, holding the door open for me and offering a hand. Frowning, I did a double take between him and the driver’s seat. How had he moved so quickly? I shrugged it off, thinking that he must have gotten out of the car while I was distracted getting my things.

Accepting his hand, I let him support me while I got out of the car. We were awfully close to each other, I realised with a start. I had to look up from his chest to meet his eyes, which glowed red under the neon lights.

“What’s that?” he muttered. It was pure luck that the alley was deserted, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to hear him over Camden’s noise.

The alley was empty. And I was alone in the dark with a man whom I didn’t know very well. My heart hurt as if a hand had squeezed it. Shit. I could feel the tips of my fingers going numb and my legs getting cold from fear.

When had I stopped using my brain and ended up here?

As if sensing my fear, his nostrils flared for a moment and then he stepped back, giving me enough space so I could breathe.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I was being-”

“Polite, I know,” I finished before he could.

Yellow light from a lamppost shone on him when he stepped back and I stared at his face. He was either truly sorry or very good at faking it. We looked at each other for what seemed a long time before I started to relax.

I wasn’t particularly scared of him, I decided after analysing the situation for a second. Being a woman I had been brought up with an instilled and sensible fear of men in general, as it is with most women - unfortunately.

Count Dracula opened his mouth to say something but I was faster.

“It’s fine,” I said reassuringly, to him or myself I wasn’t sure. “Your chivalry doesn’t seem to fit with how on edge I am as a person. Why don’t we tone it down for a minute?” Willing my heart to slow down by taking deep breaths, I sauntered past him towards the shiny and inviting colours of Camden’s markets. I turned around, seeing Dracula with his hands stuffed inside his pockets and a puzzled look on his face. “Are you coming?”

“You want me to come with you?”

“You obviously like Camden. I’m not leaving you around someplace you don’t know, looking like that. You’ll just attract trouble,” I gestured with my head so he would follow me.

Turning the tables for a second made me feel slightly better. He was a tall man and he had this vaguely menacing air about him that made me doubt that he attracted more trouble than the occasional horny person with working eyes. There was no denying he was nice to look at. He just would not attract the same kind of trouble as I would, that was a fact.

“Looking like what, exactly?” he asked when he caught up with me.

“I don’t need to tell you how you look like. You have looked at yourself in the mirror, I trust,” I shot back with a smirk.

“I try to avoid them, actually. I would much prefer if you gave me your thoughts on how I look like.”

Chuckling, I tugged the sleeve of his blazer so he wouldn’t go past the entrance of my favourite pub. The light banter was a good way to relieve my previous anxiety.

“I’m not feeding your ego anymore than that,” I turned to flash him an amused smile as I pushed the door open.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk,” he made, knitting his brows and making an excellent job at feigning indignation.

An involuntary image popped into my head of him making that sound at me while holding the handcuffs from the adult store. I swiveled my face away so he wouldn’t catch the desire that had undoubtedly appeared on my eyes.

Use your brain, use your brain, use brain.

We made our way to the counter dodging the seas of people laughing drunkenly. It took us a few seconds but we managed to wiggle our way up to the nearest barmaid. I waved my hand to get her attention and she signaled back that she’d seen me.

While we waited, the music changed to Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode and I absently started mouthing the words and moving to the beat of the song. I felt more than saw Dracula shifting closer to me and I stopped dancing, fully turning my body so we were facing each other and putting my hips well away from his grasp so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

Dark eyes met mine, a fire burning in them that could have made my cheeks blush a few years ago. I put on my best deadpan expression so he would give up but it was fruitless.

Shifting closer still, he said “You didn’t answer my question before.”

“Which one?”

“What’s BDSM?” he asked precisely when the barmaid came to take our orders.

The barmaid’s mouth fell open for a second but she quickly recovered from it and sniggered.

“Okay…” she drew out. “What can I get you?”

“Rum and coke,” I looked at Count Dracula, looking curiously between me and the woman. “What will you have?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he nodded his head at the barmaid to dismiss her and she left. Seeing my furrowed brows, he added. “I don’t drink… alcohol.”

“I’m sure they serve non-alcoholic drinks here,” I raised my hand to get the attention of the barmaid again.

“No need.”

A large hand closed around my wrist and politely pushed it down but did not let go. Instead, he used it to bring me closer. My eyes flickered from his and to his hand as a silent request to let me go. He loosened his grip but kept his hand on me. I pulled back to create distance between us.

“BDSM stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism… I think. I’m not entirely knowledgeable on the subject. Mostly it’s related to sex but that’s not exclusively the norm.” My response broke his attention on me for a second while he considered it.

“Oh!” He joined his hands and chuckled. “So there is a name for it now. How delightful.”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish trying to find my words. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his, that’s how dumbfounded I was by the implications of his answer. Slowly, he let his gaze travel over me when he stopped laughing and a chill went down my spine. He was undressing me with his gaze, I knew it and I stood there allowing myself to feel desired for a second before taking control back.

I was still trying to work out how exactly I was going to regain control when the barmaid saved me by returning with my drink. Finally, I rescued my arm from the Count’s grip and took hold of my glass. I downed half of it in two gulps.

“You promised me you’d behave,” I declared. God, it was a challenge to maintain eye contact with him but I was not losing this battle.

“I didn’t promise you anything, my dear,” his eyes shone mischievously.

Fuck, he really hadn’t. But if he wanted to play a power game, I could do it.

“I have no interest in you,” liar, my body screamed at me. “So let’s keep it friendly or I’ll leave.”

Dracula inhaled deeply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He straightened for a second on his barstool but then relaxed again, placing an elbow on the counter. The staring contest between us was put on pause and he met my eyes with curiosity instead of heat.

“The judge,” he said simply. “You are clearly someone who does not accept being undermined, so why let him talk to you like that?”

I stared at him. A single black eyebrow jumped up, waiting.

“You’d make a fine lawyer”, I conceded with a small smile.

“Why’s that?”

“You asked me a question that’s perfect to incriminate a defendant. Why would I surrender to him but not you?” I swallowed down the last of my drink, keeping my eyes on him and he grinned from ear to ear. “By following that logic, once I surrendered to Judge Llewellyn it is plausible that I surrender to you as well, is it not?”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” he rubbed his chin, a full grin still stamped on his mouth.

“Mm-hm,” I grinned back. “I don’t have the option to be rude to a judge while working. I was out of line and he was right to call me out on that. As much as I don’t like being treated a certain way for being a woman and looking the way I do, withstanding that treatment is just something I’ve got to deal with on a daily basis.”

“Ah, I see,” his grin faltered for a second and then slowly faded. “And if things were different?”

“Oh, I would whip Llewellyn into submission until he granted me respect,” I shot back, laughing at my own joke. “But I’m not power hungry like that. I like having just enough to have some control.”

“Seems we are drifting back into BDSM territory.”

My laughter came easily again. The rum was obviously starting to affect me already.

“This conversation is taking a weird turn. Let’s go back to basics,” I suggested while showing my empty glass to the nearest bartender. He nodded back to indicate he’d bring me another one. “You sound quite English. I suppose you had a good teacher all the way in... Hungary?” I guessed.

“Romania,” he corrected, rolling his R and accentuating the last syllable. It was the first hint of his actual accent I had heard coming from his lips. “Indeed. Coincidentally, this teacher of mine was a lawyer like you.”

And with that, the conversation moved forward much smoother. Of course with the occasional banter that seemed to be a requirement whenever we opened our mouths. Still, it flowed nicely, the back and forth of questions we had for one another. By the end of the night, I had acquired a sense of trust in him simply because I knew more about him.

He explained that his actual title was Voivode, which was closer to Prince than Count but he preferred the latter because he considered that “Wallachia’s principality was an obsolete system constantly defied by usurpers”. I noticed that he constantly referred to Wallachia, the region where he was born, rather than using the name Romania.

He stated nonchalantly that he was a widower to many brides, which struck me as odd at first but everyone dealt with grief differently. More than once I saw him picking his words as to not give away too much but I didn’t judge him on that for I did the same. He only slipped once upon mentioning a friend by the name of Agatha of whom he had been very fond of but had drowned during a boat trip. When talking of her, I was fascinated by the wistfulness in his voice and the delighted smile that took control of his mouth. Perhaps the rum had played its part but I found it heartwarming to hear him speak so highly of someone who had clearly meant a lot to him.

The more we spoke, I realised he had much more depth than he let on. Sure, he was a cocky bastard but one that wanted more from the world than what his title could provide. Curiosity drove him. He wanted to “drink up” the knowledge from this era which he had been deprived of for so long.

When he’d had enough of talking about himself he started prodding me with various questions, most of which I had laughed off because they were too complex for my brain on alcohol. Some of them were standard questions people made when getting to know one another, as why did I choose to go to Law School, did I have brothers and sisters, had I been abroad. But they got progressively deeper such as would I live forever if I could, would I kill anyone if there were no consequences, did I believe in magic.

“Are you scared of dying?” he asked me at last.

Too distracted eating chips and downing yet another glass of rum and coke, he placed his hand over mine when I didn’t answer right away.

“Are you?” the intensity on his voice made me blink.

I tried to focus and ground myself in reality. Fixing my stare on him, I let the darkness in his eyes engulf me and drown the sounds around us. For a second he was the only person in the room. My heartbeat raced. I was unsure if it was my body trying to sober me up or just him.

“This is an important question for you,” I stated.

“Yes. And I would very much like to hear your answer.”

I licked my lips and shut my eyes in thought. It broke the bubble of darkness that had settled about us and the noise came crashing back, flooding my senses with music, laughter and excited voices.

His hand was still over mine and I moved my own so I could interlace my fingers on his as an attempt to focus.

“It doesn’t matter,” I mumbled, still staring at the pitch black of my eyelids.

“What?”

“Death doesn’t matter. It just happens to people. Were there times I contemplated it? Yes. But it does not matter because I am alive and will eventually die as does everyone on this planet.”

His fingers tightened around mine and I opened my eyes to watch his reaction but there was nothing there. His face was empty, likening one of a statue.

“I think I’ve drank a little too much. Alcohol has a way of making me more insightful than normal,” mumbling and suddenly feeling like I had done something wrong, I withdrew my hand. It was as cold as his. “Will you take me home?”

___________________________________________________________

“You can stop here,” I told Count Dracula and he diminished the car’s speed until we came to a halt.

“They all look the same,” said he, admiring the terraced houses that continued down the street. I could see the Clapham Common’s lights very dimly ahead of us.

“That one’s mine,” I pointed to the closest. It was the only one that had bushes of red and white roses decorating the small garden in front of it. Hugging my belongings, I gave him a small smile. “Thank you. You behaved quite nicely.” I patted his shoulder.

“One of us had to do it,” he smiled back.

I scoffed.

“I was going to say I behaved like a perfect lady but I’m not a lady,” I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open in the same movement, which resulted in my purse and briefcase spilling out of my lap and falling to the street. “Ah, shit!”

Not a moment later, Dracula was out of the car and had taken my things under one of his arms.

“I should show you to your door,” he said, offering me his free arm. “Wouldn’t want you tripping.”

I laced my arm with his and kicked off my heels, not minding that my stockings were the only thing between my feet and the freezing asphalt. I leaned down and picked up my shoes with one hand.

“Less likely to trip now but I’m still not fully sober, so I’ll accept the offer, oh good sir,” I giggled at my own joke.

The automatic light over my door came on when we stepped past the short iron gate that guarded my garden from the street. I wiggled free of Dracula’s arm and turned to him.

“I need my purse,” I informed. “To get my key,” I added when he didn’t seem to register what I had said.

He swallowed and grimaced as if that took great effort. Staring down at the ground, he gave me my things. I frowned, thinking if my joke had been in poor taste while I dug for keys inside my purse. A small sound of joy came out of me when I found them much faster than I usually did.

I was trying to fit them in the keyhole when a low groan reached my ears. I spinned to see Dracula standing way closer to me than he had a moment before. His head was thrown back, face turned upward and with parted lips, as if he was praying. He groaned again, harshly this time.

“Are you alright?” I asked, already fishing for my cell phone inside my purse in case I needed to call an ambulance.

A step closer and then his hands were holding my forearms. I dropped my stuff to ground with the sheer force in which he grabbed me. He pushed my back against the door, standing so much taller than me that he completely obscured the light above us.

“A taste. Just… a taste,” he spoke as if he was struggling to get the words out.

Barely breathing, I tried looking up into his face but he smashed his lips to mine before I could catch his eyes. My eyebrows shot up and I moaned in protest, struggling to push him away with my hands but he still had me well within his grasp. He stopped abruptly, leaning his forehead on mine. My nose was glued to his and I could feel my breath ricochet on his face.

“Count- no. I don’t think we should,” I all but whispered because it was all the strength I had in me. Appealing to reason, good, I told my brain.

And then his lips were on my cheeks, veering closer to my mouth for a second and then back to my cheeks, making a trail all the way to my earlobe and throwing all reason out the window.

“Please, please,” he whispered back, almost pleadingly. A kiss on my jawline made me shudder. A slow lick to the same place he had just kissed rid my body of all the stiffness it had built up. “Let me, my dear, let me…”

He retraced the path he had created and found my lips again. I exhaled, relenting to his touch. This time, my tongue greeted his and he groaned in response. His hands released my arms and circled my body, greedily seizing my hips and squeezing. My fingers found their way inside his shirt and I allowed my nails to lightly scrape the skin on the nape of his neck. He sucked my bottom lip to the point where it hurt but it only served to intensify the waves of pleasure flowing through my body.

A cry of protest left my mouth when he stopped the kiss. But then he followed that glorious path to the skin on my jaw and I shut up. One of his hands snaked up, finding my shirt’s collar and pushing it down. I pressed my body closer to his, striving to feel more of him, and in response his fingers digged down on my ass harshly.

Finally, his lips touched my neck and I tilted my head to grant him better access. Teeth lightly chafed the sensitive skin between sloppy and wet kisses until I was out of breath. Sharp pain followed for a second and I stiffened into his arms only to relax again when he held me tightly. A distinct mix of pleasure and pain flooded my body in a way I had never felt before and a moan tore out of me.

I’m going to have the biggest hickey ever tomorrow, was my last coherent thought.

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things2mustdo · 4 years ago

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When I ask myself what films in recent years have been my favorites, I find that the answers all seem to have a few things in common. One, the movie must tell a compelling story; two, it must rise above its genre to make a larger statement about life or some universal idea; and three, it must be technically well made. All great art—including film—can serve as a vehicle for the presentation of ideas, and the promotion of a certain virtue. Although the mainstream American film industry has become more and more a sad repository of feminist cant and lowest-common-denominator commercial pandering, the foreign film world has undergone something of a renaissance in the past fifteen years.

The best films of France, Germany, Spain, and the UK are edgier, more intelligent, and more masculine than anything found in the US. It was not always so. But the work of great European directors like Jacques Audiard, Gaspar Noe, Nicolas Winding Refn, and Shane Meadows leaves little room for doubt that the true cutting-edge work is being done in Europe. (Argentina deserves honorable mention here as having an excellent film industry). The mainstream, corporate-driven US film industry has effectively smothered independent voices under an avalanche of political correctness, girl-power horseshit, chick-flickism, and mind-numbing CGI escapist dreck.

Movies that deal with masculine themes in a compelling way are not easy to come by these days. Honest explorations of masculine virtues are repressed, marginalized, or trivialized. One needs to scour the globe to cherry-pick the best here and there, and in some cases you have to go back decades in time. Luckily, the availability of Netflix and other subscription services has made this task much easier than it used to be. Access to the best cinema of Europe, South America, and Asia can be a great way for us to catch as glimpse at a foreign culture, as well as reflect on serious ideas.

I want to offer my recommendations on some films that I believe are an important part of the modern masculine experience, in all its wide variety and expression. Out of the scores of possible choices, I decided to pick the handful of films that are perhaps not as well known to readers. My opinions will not be shared by all. I encourage readers to draw up their own lists of films dealing with masculine themes, and hope they will reflect on the reasons behind their choices. Below are mine, in no particular order. In italics is a brief plot synopsis, followed by my own comments.

1. Straw Dogs (1971).

A mild-mannered American academic (Dustin Hoffman) living in rural Cornwall with his beautiful wife becomes the target of harassment by the local toughs. Things escalate to a sexual assault on his wife, and eventually to a brutal and protracted fight to the death when a local man takes refuge on their property.

Dustin Hoffman reaches his breaking point in “Straw Dogs”

This is a classic example of the type of movie that could never be made today. Arguably Sam Peckinpah’s most daring film, it contains a controversial rape scene that seems to leave open the question whether Hoffman’s wife (played by Susan George) was a victim or a willing participant. Faced with his wife’s betrayal, and continuing harassment from local miscreants, Hoffman’s character finds himself completely isolated and must learn to stand his ground and fight.

A chance incident later in the film sets the stage for a blood-soaked confrontation which is as inevitable as it is necessary. Peckinpah presents a compelling case for the cathartic power of violence, and the achievement of masculine identity through man-on-man combat. It is a theme I find myself strongly drawn to. Controversial, powerful, and unforgettable, Peckinpah proves himself an unapologetic and strident advocate of old-school martial virtue. We would do well to listen. His voice is sorely missed today. (Note: avoid the pathetic recent remake of this movie). Honorable mention: Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch (1969) and Bring Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974).

2. Sorcerer (1977).

A group of international renegades find themselves down and out in Nicaragua, and volunteer for a job transporting unstable dynamite across the country to quell an oil rig fire.

Due to inept marketing when this movie was first released, it never achieved the credit it so fully deserved. A motley group of international riff-raff (including the always appealing Roy Scheider) seeks redemption through a harrowing trial. But will they get it? Is it even desirable to escape one’s dark past? The answers are complex, and director William Friedkin refuses to supply easy ones. The characters in this film are doomed, and they know it, but they still hold true to their own code. Which is itself honorable. Consequences must be paid for everything we do in life, and often the price comes in a way never expect. Dark, brooding, and humming with a pulse-pounding electronic score by Tangerine Dream, this film has deservedly become a cult classic. The ending is a shocker you’ll never see coming.

Roy Scheider undertakes the most perilous journey of his life in William Friedkin’s 1977 masterpiece “Sorcerer”

3. The Lives of Others (2006).

A coldly efficient Stasi (East German security service) officer (Ulrich Muhe) is enlisted by a Communist party hack in a surveillance program against a supposed subversive writer and his girlfriend. But monitoring the writer’s life awakens sparks of nascent humanity in the Stasi man, and he eventually must decide whether to follow orders and destroy the writer, or to sacrifice himself to save him.

This German masterpiece was made with great fidelity to the look and feel of 1980s East Germany, and the results are evident in every frame. It belongs on any list of the greatest films ever made. The masculine virtue here is of a different type than viewers may be used to: it is a quiet, understated heroism, the type of heroism that probably happens every day but is hardly noticed. There is no bragging here, no chest-beating, no big-mouthed bravado. (In short, none of the wooden-headed caricatures that pass for masculinity in the US). The ethic here is about love and self-sacrifice, the noblest and greatest virtues of all.

The ethos of self-sacrifice is now considered old-fashioned and almost a punch-line, but historically it was valued very highly. It features in nearly all the old literary epics and dramas of Europe and Asia. Actor Ulrich Muhe pulls off a minor miracle of characterization here with his portrayal of a Stasi man named Weisler, whose special wiretapping assignment against a playwright transforms him from heartless automaton into awe-inspiring hero. The movie made me wonder just how many quiet, unassuming men there must be out there, whose toil, heroism, and sacrifice has never been, and never will be, acknowledged. The ending is transcendently beautiful, and moving beyond words.

4. Homicide (1991).

A police detective (Joe Mantegna) is assigned to investigate a murder case. The case awakens in him stirrings of his long-suppressed ethnic identity. Unfortunately, he will eventually be forced to choose between conflicting loyalties. And the consequences will be devastating.

No modern American director has probed the meaning of masculine identity more than David Mamet, and all of his films are meditations on themes related to illusion, reality, masculinity, and struggle. Homicide, a nearly unknown gem from the early 1990s, is perhaps his profoundest. Mamet knows that a man must make choices in his life, and for those choices, consequences must be paid. And very often, we find ourselves derailed by the mental edifices we construct for ourselves. The Mantegna character is led through a complex and increasingly ambiguous chain of events, only to find that at the heart of one mystery lies an even more inscrutable one. Beware the things you seek. You may not like what you find.

Joe Mantegna deals with the fatal consequences of his decisions in David Mamet’s “Homicide”

5. A Prophet (2009).

An Algerian Arab is incarcerated in a French jail, and is drawn into the savage world of Corsican gangsters. Forced to kill or be killed, he is drawn into a pitiless world that recognizes only cunning and brutality. He finds himself straddling two realities: the world of his own nationality, and that of the Corsicans. And to survive and emerge triumphant, he must learn to play all sides against each other.

This film must be counted among the greatest crime dramas ever made. You simply can’t take your eyes off the screen. The lesson here is that a man must learn to survive on his wits, and do whatever is necessary to stay alive. The Corsican boss whom Al Djebena (Tahar Rahim) works for is just about the most malevolent presence in recent screen memory. Part of France’s continuing internal dialogue about its immigrant population, A Prophet is not to be missed.

Tahar Rahim learns a thing or two about Corsica in “A Prophet”

6. The Beat That My Heart Skipped (2005).

An intense young man (Romain Duris) works for his father as a real estate shark in urban Paris. His “job” consists of intimidating deadbeat immigrant tenants, vandalizing apartments, and forcibly collecting loans. He also plays the piano. Eventually, he is forced to decide which life he wants: the path laid out by his shady father, or the idealistic path of his own choosing. He’s seeking redemption, but will he find it? And at what cost?

Again, we have here the themes of redemption and moral choice. Romain Duris has a screen presence and intensity that rivals anything done by Pacino in his prime, and some of the scenes here are fantastic. (His seduction of his friend’s wife, Aure Atika, is one of many great scenes). All men will be confronted and tested by crises and situations beyond their control. How they respond to those situations will define who they are as men. Duris’s character proves that redemption can be achieved, if wanted badly enough.

Romain Duris embodying screen intensity

7. Red Belt (2008).

Martial arts instructor Mike Terry is forced, against his principles, to consider entering a prize bout. He is abandoned and betrayed by his wife and friends, and must confront his challenges alone with only his code and his pride.

Another great meditation on masculine virtue and individualism by David Mamet. In his own unique dialogue style, Mamet showcases his belief that, in the end, all men stand alone. At the moment of truth, it is you, and only you, who will be staring into the abyss. Our trials by fire will not come in the time and at the place of our own choosing. But when they do come, a man must be prepared to hold his ground and fight his corner. Watch for Brazilian actress Alice Braga in a supporting role here. We hope to see more of her on American screens in the future.

8. Fear X (2003).

A repressed security guard (John Turturro) is searching for answers to who killed his wife. His strange behavior and ticking time-bomb manner begin to alarm friends and co-workers. One day he finds some information that may be a lead to solving the mystery. This discovery sets him on the path to realization. Or does it?

I am a big fan of the films of Nicolas Winding Refn (The Pusher trilogy, and Valhalla Rising), and this one is perhaps his most penetrating examination of a wounded psyche. It failed commercially when it first appeared, as many viewers were put off by his artistic flourishes and opaque ending. For me, this film is the deepest study of grief and repressed rage ever committed to film. All men will be confronted by tragedy, grief, and inexplicable loss during their lives. How we handle it will define who we are. The greatness of this film is that it explores Turturro’s claustrophobic, neurotic world in a deeply personal way, and at the same time suggests that he may actually be on to something. This film covers the same philosophical ground as Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation, in that it hints at the ultimate ambiguity of all things.

John Turturro confronts the unrelenting darkness of his own psyche in “Fear X”

If you are a Netflix subscriber and watch movies frequently, as I do, you may find it useful to keep a notebook near your television and jot down the titles of movies you see, and a few notes about what you liked or didn’t like. You’d be surprised how much you can learn from movies. There are just so many good and bad ones out there that having some system for keeping track of them will be time well spent.

#movies #films

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ducktracy · 4 years ago

Text

182. little red walking hood (1937)

release date: november 6th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: elvia allman (little red walking hood, granny), tedd pierce (wolf), mel blanc (elmer)

buckle up! this is a “lengthy prologue” piece!

perhaps one of tex avery’s most formative cartoons in his career. little red walking hood serves as the first fairy tale spoof of his, a genre that would pop up time and time again in his warner bros. cartoons and even over at MGM (perhaps most famously the red hot riding hood series). not only that, but it’s the first cartoon to debut a purely comic villain—villains in previous pictures had comedic touches, of course, but the wolf (voiced by story man tedd pierce, whose vocals are quite underrated—you may recognize him as tom dover from the dover boys at pimento university) is purely made out to be a rather pathetic, unscrupulous adversary from the very beginning.

even more interesting is that the bulk of the cartoon’s backgrounds are done entirely in colored pencils, by avery background artist johnny johnson, who moved with him to MGM when tex left WB in 1941. the handling on the backgrounds are nothing short of stellar! they truly accentuate the “fairy tale” look and feel of the piece.

maybe the most notable, however, is the debut of tex’s third character of 1937: elmer fudd. i covered this in my review of egghead rides again, and you can read more into the differences between egghead (another 1937 avery character) and elmer here, but the bulbous nosed, derby hat donning little man traipsing around with his guitar case is our favorite befuddled hunter. many have labeled this guy as egghead, and understandably so—they’re eerily similar in more ways than one, and “prototype elmer fudd” is much more monotonous than “egghead”, but this is indeed our favorite little hunter! humble beginnings for sure.

the film burlesques the age-old story of little red riding hood, complete with katherine hepburn little red riding hoods, gin guzzling grannies, nonthreatening wolves, fourth wall breaks, and mysterious whistling men.

already, the cartoon marks an intriguing open, with the title card playing into the action itself: the title card serves as the title of a book, opening to divulge the fractured fairy-tale before us. a cliche, sure, and it was one even by 1937, but with tex avery at the helm, audiences can be reassured that it’s all tongue in cheek. “the mean old wolf was lurking in a nearby pool hall” asserts as such.

indeed, the mean old wolf was lurking in a nearby pool hall--or, rather, cheating. he pulls the lever of a pinball machine, lifting up the machine and tilting it so as to guide the ball in the right hole. the animation of the wolf is spaced and timed nicely, with just enough urgency to convey his commitment to cheating. sticking his tongue out in concentration is a nice plus as well. the drawings themselves aren’t the most pleasing, consisting primarily of mathematically proportioned circles and spheres, but such is life.

close up on the pinball itself circling around the jackpot hole, teetering away to the “OUT” hole at the last second. a minute in, and we already see that this villain is far removed from the mustache twirling, cape-hugging villains that dominated earlier cartoons. instead, we know that this wolf is a loser. carl stalling’s constipated rendition of “old king cole” adds a nice level of sardonic commentary to the wolf’s authority (or lack thereof).

little red riding hood strolling outside the pool hall easily distracts the wolf from his oncoming tantrum. like red hot riding hood 6 years later, the wolf here is instantly charmed, catcalling and preparing to pounce. off-putting as this may seem at first glance, considering little red riding hood is, well, a child, the kicker is that here, she serves as an imitation of katherine hepburn, in both mannerisms and dialect. so, rather than dealing with a naive, innocent girl on her way to grandma’s house, we’ve instead got a hollywood star with her nose in the air, haughtily avoiding the wolf’s advances. (of course, catcalling grown women isn’t any better, but just as a note to dispel any confusion.)

the wolf drives alongside snooty little red in his pompous jaundice-stricken limo, his advances getting nowhere. time to pull out the big guns:

his license plate, reading 0-7734, flips upside down to spell “hello”, with the taillight opening and closing to simulate a wink. clever indeed! it’s some interesting food for thought to imagine how much more exaggerated in speed and tone this gag would have been had this cartoon been made at mgm, though i suppose red hot riding hood answers that question.

ignored once more, the wolf opts to halt the car and hassle red himself. “hello, pretty girl! going my way, babe?”

irv spence’s animation is the most appealing all throughout the picture, and his scenes of red here are no exception. the underrated elvia allman provides red’s katherine hepburn impression--tex LOVED his hepburn impressions, and they would bubble up in his cartoons time and time again. the gag itself would have been much more riotous 83 years ago than it is now, but even then, the idea of little red riding hood speaking with such a sophisticated and haughty tone is enough to be funny.

the contrast between the wolf’s sneering vocals and red’s lengthy speech couldn’t be better. red instantly puts the wolf in his place: “rea-lly, in this modern age of flaming youth, the girl has to put up with such embarrassing situations. rea-lly, we do, don’t we, girls? two thirds of you girls out there have gone through just what i’m going through now. you know how it is, don’t you, girls?” amen to that, sister! (bob clampett would play off of this in his swan song, the big snooze, as an elmer fudd in drag asks the girls in the audience how they deal with such harassment.) spence’s animation is visually appealing in design and also just plain funny.

despite red’s blatant dismissal of his advances, the wolf continues to persue her, tipping his hat as he approaches a stoplight. the stoplight opts to give him a good dose of karma as the light turns from green to red, the “STOP” flag popping out and giving the wolf a nice whack in the face.

however, the wolf has more important matters than glaring at a pesky stoplight—offscreen whistling catches his ears.

irv spence animates the stupendous, colossal, magnificent debut of elmer fudd as he struts across the street, blatantly interrupting the flow of the picture. his slow, carefree movements, the wolf’s visual contempt, and the exclusion of background music altogether accentuate elmer’s interruption. purposeful innocuousness and tastefully so!

back to the wolf at the stoplight, the “GO” sign providing one more whack in the face for good measure. wolf speeds off to hassle his victim even more.

as we’ve seen before, the song portion of merrie melodies has largely been dropped around this time, with little blurbs of songs serving as loose substitutes. here, said substitute is “gee, but you’re swell,” sung in a talk-songy drawl by tedd pierce as he relentlessly struggles to charm red. pierce’s vocals are hilarious, especially contrasted with the closeup of red blatantly ignoring his egotistical remarks. she gives him the cold shoulder, icicles logically forming to accentuate the metaphor. a standard gag, but it juxtaposes so well against the wolf’s inane dribble in the background that it’s hard to roll your eyes too strongly at it.

so caught up in inflating his own ego, the wolf fails to notice the approaching mailbox on the sidewalk, which delivers a hearty reality check as he konks his head against it. red urges him to leave her alone, bidding him goodbye with a haughty “scram, romeo, scram!”

our beloved hero, the whistling, intrusive elmer fudd conveniently pops out of the mailbox, toting a sign pointing directly to grandma’s house. the malice from before at fudd’s presence is gone, replaced by gratitude from the wolf. he peels off down the alley, his limo snaking around every curve. both this and the random appearance of elmer are precursors to tex avery staple gags, especially his time at MGM. amazing how formative a single cartoon can be!

at the beginning, i said that “the bulk of” the cartoon’s backgrounds are done in colored pencil. the pan of backgrounds while the wolf is driving to grandma’s house, whizzing past a hitchhiker elmer in the process, are done in paint. the backgrounds are still just as gorgeous! yet the change does serve as a little food for thought.

like always in a tex avery cartoon, his comedic timing is succint: wolf finally pulls up to grandma’s house, elmer nonchalantly chilling on the back tire--despite the wolf’s purposeful disregard for him on the street, making a point to gun the car past him. the matter of factness of the gag is solid. the cartoon’s main priority is breaking the fourth wall rather than telling a story, yet in this case, that’s a good thing. it’s done well and with awareness.

mr. wolf approaches the doorstep of grandma’s abode, knocking on the door many more times than necessary with a hilariously inflated level of sophistication. he breaks his smooth, cool façade to guffaw a radio catchphrase (this time from the al pearce show): “i hope ol’ grandma’s home, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope...” this catchphrase would be found in more short than one, bubbling up in a number of bob clampett porky cartoons as well.

an elderly “who’s there?” answers the wolf’s knocks from behind the door. the wolf puts on his best falsetto, cooing “it’s me! little red riding habit!”

we get a glimpse of granny from behind the door, who opens the little door window to see her guest. realizing that she’s met face to face with the wolf, who jabs his mug through the window, granny is quick to slam the door shut, bursting out into an impromptu rendition of “river, stay ‘way from the door” (sung as “wolf, stay ‘way from my door”.) the random song intervention clues us in that granny is in on the fourth wall-breaking as well--the delivery of the gag is quite similar to the mama parrot from i wanna be a sailor bursting into a rendition of “old black joe”.

irv spence takes over as the wolf struggles to pry the door open. suddenly, he freezes in his tracks at the sound of the telltale, offscreen whistling--elmer has arrived. the befuddled stare from the wolf as he watches elmer nonchalantly strut into granny’s house, opening the door without any hint of struggle, is priceless, as is his face-gripping agony. irv spence is tex’s best animator for a reason!

as a last resort, the wolf body slams himself into the door. little red riding hood has now turned into a tale of the three little pigs. he overestimates his own strength, and ends up darting inside, yet he stumbles backwards from the impact and trips backwards throughout the entire layout of the house. the gag is reminiscent of a similar gag from i only have eyes for you, an early 1937 avery entry--another elvia allman voiced elderly woman chases a hapless victim through the house, both of them gliding along a vertical pan set up exactly like this one. this is funny already here, but imagine the speed and lengths this gag would have been inflated to had tex completed this cartoon at MGM!

granny is on the offense. the wolf barrels through the kitchen, where she’s standing on guard with the kitchen door. she opens the door, allows the wolf to barrel on out, and locks it shut. granny: 1, wolf: 0.

cue a tired gag that’s been around since the bosko days (and beyond): wolf rams into a tree, shrinking up into his bowler hat. bowler hat runs around aimlessly with big ol’ shoes sticking out until he finally manages to free himself. the animation of the wolf being freed from the bowler hat IS rather nice--the accordion style wrinkles and folds serve as a precursor to some wild animation later on. it reminds me particularly of rod scribner’s animation in bob clampett’s cartoons.

on the topic of gags old and new, the wolf engages in a gag that would be reused in a number of cartoons, including avery’s thugs with dirty mugs just two years later. the wolf grabs the doorknob, physically pulling it back and letting it shoot up against the door. the window panes thusly light up in a flurry of changing, rapid light squares: four yellow diagonal squares align, and the wolf is granted entrance into the house, triumphant fanfare and all. seems the wolf doesn’t need to cheat to win at pinball (doorknob-ball?) after all! if you look closely, you’ll see that the double exposures still linger as the wolf darts past the door and into the house.

cue the great fight: wolf v. granny. wolf aimlessly chases granny through the kitchen, both of them climbing on the furniture, granny whooping and hollering all the way. the phone rings, delaying their chase--granny hops on the chair to answer the phone, taunting the wolf: “ah-ah,” she chides, displaying her crossed fingers of immunity, “king’s x!” the deliberate time-out and show-stopping is great. this cartoon is filled to the brim with interruptions and halts, yet they don’t at all feel overused or banal. tex was a master of his craft.

granny takes the call while the wolf glowers on impatiently. more fourth-wall breaking as granny begs the audience for forgiveness: “will you people pardon me just a minute? let me see now, one dozen eggs... it’s the grocer, folks...” elvia allman’s vocals are excellent, conveying that comedic awkwardness with a great balance of authenticity and cheekiness. the head tilt indicating the phone as she talks to the audience is another plus.

tedd pierce’s vocals aren’t to be overlooked, either. his “AW, C’MON, GRANDMA!!!” is the perfect topper as granny rambles on the phone. she ends her call by sneering “and a case of gin!” to the grocer before hanging up and telling the audience the chase is back on (”heeeere we go again!”)

granny seeks refuge in the closet, the wolf greeted by elmer again as he opens the door. instead of fighting it, the wolf just heaves a dubious shrug towards the audience. irv spence animation once again--he draws the wolf’s eyes in a comparatively distinct manner. the irises are much smaller than the work of the other animators.

the wolf darts inside the closet, where he finds a conveniently placed nightgown hanging near the door. he looks under the skirt, prompting a disembodied hand to smack him in the face for such uncouth behavior. now confused, the wolf opts to peer into one of the sleeves, where granny’s hand pops out to squeeze and honk his nose daffy duck style.

their game of cat and mouse (or is it wolf and granny?) is interrupted by knocking on the front door, and the telltale, floaty voice of “it is i, red riding hood, grandmother!”

cue panic mode. the wolf hurriedly asks granny to give him “the stuff”, and she offers her bonnet, glasses, and shawl with a sense of camaraderie. this is entirely a performance, not a retelling of a story. these characters are hyper-aware actors who are not what they portray.

tex’s speed, from the wolf finding granny to her offering her clothes to him diving in granny’s bed, flows incredibly well. everything happens all at once! there’s hardly any time to breathe. the urgency of the situation is very much alive and real, but also playfully so. the whole cartoon feels like a game of hide and seek in a way.

thus, we’re treated to the old routine that everyone knows, with red inquiring about the wolf’s “large optics” and “large schnozzola”. even she understands the overplayed nature of her performance, halting midsentence to quip at the audience “rather childish and a bit silly, don’t you think?” while the scene does drag, it’s purposeful and successful at doing so. there’s a noticeable contrast between the pacing of this scene and the scenes prior.

yet, in no-time, we’re back to the adrenaline rush, with the wolf lunging out of the bed and chasing a shrieking red. tedd pierce’s vocal talents are not to go undermined--he’s genuinely fun to listen to. interestingly, he didn’t write this cartoon--cal howard did. who, i may add, dabbled in a little bit of voice acting himself, voicing gabby goat in get rich quick porky!

irv spence takes over for the remainder of the cartoon, and his animation is gorgeous all the way. the wolf corners red, who swings haymakers at him, stopping only to gloat towards the audience “silly way to make a living, don’t you think?” such a stark contrast at the drop of a hat! predictable, perhaps, but who can be mad at it? this is a very likable cartoon. while all of the warner bros. directors of this period are quite talented, it most certainly belongs under tex avery’s name--think of how different in demeanor and timing this would be as a frank tashlin cartoon (who DID rival tex in terms of speed), a friz freleng cartoon, and a bob clampett cartoon. with tex, it’s in good hands.

the brawl continues, only to be halted by another interruption. no, it’s not because of offscreen whistling! signaling for red to stop, the wolf casts a steely glower at the figure of two silhouettes moving across the screen, sneering snide remarks--late moviegoers who interrupt the flow of the cartoon. provided my memory serves me correctly, this is the first WB cartoon to integrate rotoscoping. it was a technique invented by max flesicher in 1915, where animators would trace over live action footage, frame by frame.

tex would use this countless times, both at WB and MGM. his efforts pay off even now, watching this on a laptop screen, but just IMAGINE the impact this would have in a packed, dark theater, where even the CARTOON CHARACTERS stop to ridicule the audience! imagine just how revolutionary that was the first time this was showed! what an absolute riot! tex was a genius. the characters truly feel alive and with us. this was a very real problem, too, and a timeless one--someone scooching past you in the all too narrow row, bumping your knees, spilling their popcorn on you in the process... the characters on screen connect with the audience, bonding over a universal occurrence. imagine just how much of an uproar this would cause back then in theaters. genius!

after the wolf is done guilt-tripping his latecomers, the fight continues for a few seconds more, halted once again by the fudd himself, strolling across the screen. finally, the wolf reaches his breaking point: “hey BUD! hey, just a minute, bud! now, who the HECK are you, anyway?”

mr. fudd guffaws his first words in a stereotypical dopey drawl: “who, me?” note how his eyes open for a change! he opens his guitar case, where a mallet is carefully stored inside. not a beat is wasted as he knocks the wolf over the head with the mallet, elmer remarking in his hayseed voice “huh huh huh huh, i’m the HERO in this picture!”

iris out...

or so we think.

what a game changing piece of animation. this isn’t the tex avery cartoon to beat all cartoons by any means, but it packs a lot of weight. it’s extremely formative in tex’s career. numerous gags--such as the rotoscoped silhouettes, the stretching limo hugging the curves on the street, the constant wall-breaking and interruptions--and even story structures (think of all of the countless fairy tale parodies that came after this!) would be used not just by tex, but by his friends and colleagues, whether at WB or elsewhere.

in the grand scheme of things, the plot is barebones. the wolf goes to grandma’s house. the wolf chases little red riding hood. that’s really all it is. yet it’s the details what give it substance, and the purposeful delivery of such. this isn’t a faithful retelling of a beloved story, that’s out the window. these characters are hyper-aware characters essentially massacring an old fairy tale. yet its the conviction of such that makes it so strong. it’s not really a “haha, look, i broke the fourth wall, i’m instantly funny! show’s over” deal--it’s just riding that momentum and expanding the picture on it. “oh, the story keeps getting interrupted. okay. let’s continue to interrupt it and make the characters increasingly aware of such, with the reasons for interruption growing more and more bizarre.”

while this isn’t nearly as bizarre as tex’s later pieces at MGM, it’s a great start. WB wasn’t completely free of its disney influence. pieces like these further remove the disney influence for sure, but 1937 is still very early on. this is such a game-changer in comparison to previous cartoons.

tex’s dry-spell is over, and cartoons are on the upswing from here. things are going to get real funny and real loony. i definitely urge you to go watch this cartoon--it’s not the most revolutionary piece of animation on the planet, but it’s a wonderfully funny cartoon that still holds up today, and it serves as an interesting comparison point for future cartoons.

you can go watch it on HBO max, or you can check it out right here! enjoy!

#lt #looney tunes #little red walking hood #reviews #avery #long post

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue ii.

the weekend

masterlist

Warnings: dub con sex (oral, intercourse)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader meets Steve again.

Note: Okay, I kept going and here is the next part. I’m sorry if the following one doesn’t post as soon but I dunno. I’m feeling it. You’re feeling it. I’m the fic daddy over here giving you what your need so here you go! I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply!

...

Steve drove you home. It was past midnight and you were exhausted. He offered for you to stay the night but that seemed too much. You were glad you lived alone in the cramped bachelor. Your summer of work paid off your rent in advance. It was meagre but affordable and close to campus.

He kissed you goodbye. Hungrily. You imagined that if you spent the night in his suite, he'd not have let you sleep long. His stamina was surprising. You thought older men were supposed to be tamer. You bid him a quick goodbye and he idled outside your building until the door closed behind you.

You laid awake for an hour. You could feel him still. When you finally closed your eyes, you saw him in your dreams. It felt almost as good as the real thing. You woke in a sweat and the autumn clouds set grey shadows across your apartment. The kitchen, bedroom, and living all shared the same open space. It looked so dreary in the dim chill and after your evening in Steve’s lux suite.

You dragged yourself to the shower. You let the hot water wash away the filth and shame. Steve was in your head again. You thought of the summer. The night he’d removed your bathing suit and touched you; the first time he’d tasted you; the last night when he’d taken it all. Your fingers were between your legs as you snapped back to reality and the steam blurred your vision.

You stepped out onto the tile and sat for a moment as you gathered yourself. You had a long day of studying ahead of you. The scent of old paper and stale coffee in the uni library would help you focus. A typical weekend bent over a table full of textbooks and notes as Kylie pestered you to come over.

You stopped by the campus cafe on your way to the library and headed to the top floor where the tables were often empty. You parked yourself at one in the furthest corner and strategically set out your laptop, phone, and books. You rubbed your eyes and sipped from your latte as you started your weekly readings.

An hour, maybe two before you drew your eyes from the cramped text. You yawned and grabbed your phone as your stomach growled. Your half-toasted bagel had barely been enough. Your screen showed the usual texts from Kylie and the school emails piled up in your inbox. Another name flashed across the screen; well, a single letter as his moniker: ‘S’. Keying in Steve’s full name had seemed more sinful than your little tryst.

‘Meet me at the Beer Garden. 6pm.’ As always, to the point and more than just a request.

‘I’m studying for midterms.’ You replied.

‘All day? I know you’re probably nose deep in those books already, sweetie.’

‘7’ You replied.

‘That works.’ He accepted and you replaced your phone on the desk.

You were hoping he’d forget about you for the rest of the week. He said he had business and a friend he wanted to see. For a moment, you’d wondered if this friend was another woman but the worry quickly faded. You didn’t care if he had another woman, this was just sex. Easier to keep it that way considering. With another to keep his attention, you’d not be the centre of it. Maybe this thing would die quick enough that you’d both forget and you’d have nothing to hide from Kylie.

You stepped off the subway and rushed through the tunnels. You hated the underground. It was eerie and claustrophobic. Above ground, you checked your phone and stared at the map as it pointed you in the opposite direction. You didn’t travel far from the university and catching the right train had been enough of a chore to have you overwhelmed.

The Beer Garden was upscale and above your pay rate, which at the moment consisted of scholarship money and inconsistent cheques for amateur online articles. You entered the tinted glass doors and looked around the bar with dread. You checked your phone, you were right on time.

Your heart froze as you spotted Steve across the bar. You smiled at him as he looked up and saw you. As you stood dumbly in place, another ambled into you as they emerged from the hallway marked ‘restrooms’. You looked over at the man and gasped. Your heart sank as you stared up at him.

“Hello,” He steadied you with a hand on your arm. “Funny to bump into your here. Quite literally it seems.”

“I, uh, yeah,” You stuttered like an idiot. “I was just...meeting a friend here.”

“Oh, me too,” He smiled. “What are the odds?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see my friend,” You said. “So I guess I’ll just wait outside.”

“Outside? Why don’t you join us for a drink while you wait?” He asked.

“Us?” You frowned. “Who are you--?”

“My friend,” He supplied, “Don’t worry, you’ll like him. And we don’t bite. We’re too old for that.”

“I dunno,” You wrung your hands and glanced over at Steve who watched you curiously. “Okay. One drink.”

“Great.” He turned and waved you along. “Just over here.” He led you across the bar and your nerves began to storm as you got closer and closer to Steve. When Professor Barnes stopped you at the same table, your head swelled in panic. “This is my friend, Steve. Steve this is Y/N. She’s one of my students.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Steve reached out cordially and offered his hand. You shook it and he smirked. “I can’t imagine having this know-it-all as my professor. You’re a brave one.”

“I couldn’t handle you as a student,” Barnes replied shortly.

“Heh, yeah,” You climbed up on a stool, “Professor Barnes isn’t too bad. I’ve had worse.”

“You can call me Bucky here,” He corrected you, “This isn’t a seminar.”

“Okay,” You smiled nervously as he waved over your head and a waiter appeared at the table.

“We’ll take a pitcher for the table. And another glass.” He ordered and the server went quickly to retrieve it.

“I...I’m not of age yet,” You said shyly.

“They won’t card you here, don’t worry.” Bucky flicked away your complaint. “You good for another round, Steve?”

“More than,” Steve assured him and his eyes peeked over at you. “So, are you failing or is he actually being reasonable these days?”

“She’s one of my best students,” Bucky retorted. “Don’t listen to him. He does this. He thinks he’s more successful than me because he lives out in the suburbs.”

“I know I’m better than you,” Steve returned and the waiter came back to set the pitcher and extra glass on the table. “Your stuffy little office and dozen degrees don’t mean anything.”

You laughed awkwardly as Bucky filled each glass and shook his head. “I don’t mind his class. Even if it is on Friday.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot the uni girls all love their weekends.” He pushed the third glass towards you. “And yet here you are with us geezers on your Saturday night.”

“There is wisdom in years,” You jibed, “As questionable as the source may be.”

Bucky chortled and took a drink. Steve chuckled under his breath and tilted his head as he considered you. You could see the thoughts behind his blue eyes as he glanced between the two of you. You stifled your nerves with a mouthful of beer. It was going to be a long night. If not disastrous.

You were done your drink. In fact, you were on your second. The night had worn on and you checked your phone. Two hours! You glanced over at Steve but he was distracted by whatever Bucky was saying. You found it hard to keep track as you tried to balance the two of them. Tried to keep boundaries with your professor and hide your secret crush from the man you were fucking.

“So what about that friend of yours?” You were startled by the question. You blinked and looked at your phone again.

“I...It looks like they’re not gonna make it,” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s happened before. It’s whatever.”

“Aw, damn,” He frowned. His laugh lines showed beneath his thick beard and you couldn’t help but admire the way his blue eyes sparkled. “Well, at least you got to waste your time with us.”

“Uh, yeah, well,” You tapped your half-empty glass with your fingernail. “I think maybe I should just call it a night. I’ll have it out with my flaky friend tomorrow.”

“Finish your drink first.” Bucky said. “Might as well. Oh, you need a ride?”

“Oh, it’s cool. I don’t live too far and pass is subsidized through tuition.” You shrugged. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Alright, just be safe.” He warned. “Oh and don’t forget about Monday.”

“I won’t.” You promised as you drain the last dregs of your beer. You stood and pulled your jacket on. “Looking forward to it actually.”

“Monday?” Steve wondered.

“Writing workshop,” He explained. “A little extra experience for the students and some useful knowledge on how publishing actually works.”

“Oh, that nerd stuff,” Steve kidded and turned to you. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Good luck with this one.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You gulped. “Have a good night.”

“You sure you don’t need a ride?” Bucky asked.

“You sure you don’t? You’ve had your fair share.” You returned.

“Cab fare then?”

“I’m good,” You assured him one last time. “See ya Monday.”

You skirted away before they could suck you back in. They both seemed all too eager to keep you out all night. Steve didn’t surprise you but Bucky did. Rather, Professor Barnes. Always a laidback professor but you didn’t think him that friendly. You wondered how the odds had stacked up against you. The two of them; friends. Fate surely favoured you.

As you stepped out into the brisk evening, your bag vibrated and you stopped to check it. ‘Hotel. Lobby. Twenty minutes.’ You glanced back at the bar doors and texted your acquiescence. It’d take at least that to get over there on the subway. You wondered if Steve could beat you there.

He did. When you arrived he was in the lobby on a long leather chaise. He sat patiently. His eyes found you as you walked in and he stood to greet you. He held his jacket over his arm and held out his other hand for you to take. He pulled you to him and kissed you. His arm wrapped around you and you struggled to part from him.

“Steve…” You looked around. “Not here.”

“How many people do you know in the city, hmm? No one even cares.” He lowered his arm and squeezed your ass. “Let’s go before I lose all my self-control.”

He guided you to the elevator. His hand never left your ass despite your wriggling. He was warm against you and the beer made him irresistible. You leaned into him and your bag hung heavily from your arm. He led you down the hall and swiped his card at his door. He nudged you ahead of him and the door shut with a snap behind him.

“That whole time we were sitting there, I couldn’t stop thinking about your ass. About everything I wanna do to you.” He snarled. “Sweetie, you’re driving me wild.” He rubbed the front of his pants. “I need you naked. Now.”

You complied almost instantaneously. You wanted him too. Wanted to feel the same electricity as before. You were tired of denying yourself. Of burying that urge that grew so overwhelming as you fingered yourself in your bed. Your jacket was thrown over a chair, your shirt, pants, and underwear followed. Your shoes and socks littered the floor beneath and you stood before him expectantly.

“Jesus,” He inhaled deeply and unbuckled his pants. “Will you treat me nice, sweetie?”

You neared him as he undid his fly and ran you hand over his crotch. He groaned and let his pants fall open. You rubbed him through his briefs and he shuddered. He played with your hair and caressed your arm as he watched you. You dragged you fingers tantalizingly along his cock and relished the noises it drew from him.

You pushed his briefs down past his cock and got to your knees. You had only done it that one time. You were almost intimidated as you knelt down before him and he gripped the base of his cock. He bent his knees as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft just above his own. He let go and you flicked his tip with your tongue.

“Do you remember what I taught you, sweetie?” He purred and tickled along your cheek. “Just relax. Take it slow.”

You swirled your tongue around his tip and he twitched. You repeated the motion and he hissed. You stretched your lips around him and tasted his salty precum. His hands went to the side of your head and rested there lightly. He groaned as you took him deeper and pressed your tongue along his length.

You did your best not to gag as you pushed past your reflex. You still couldn’t take all of him and pulled back slowly so that your saliva coated his cock. Your hand followed your mouth and you did it again; again; again. Faster each time; hungrier. You’d never expected to like it so much and each stroke had you wanting more.

His thick breaths floated in your ears and you looked up at him. He was watching you intently, his blue eyes intent; hot. His fingers spread along the back of your head and he pulled you off him. He smiled at the small pop as his cock fell out of your mouth.

“Sweetie, you keep that up and I’m gonna cum already,” He purred. “Stand up.”

He tugged on your hand until you were on your feet. You were almost dizzy; the mixture of lust and beer had you wild.

“On the bed.” He directed. “Tell me how you want it.”

You blinked at him and pouted. “I don’t...I don’t know.”

“Go on. Show me what you want.”

You clamped your lips shut and turned to look at the bed. As you edged away from him you heard the rustle of his clothing. You peeked back at him as he unbuttoned his shirt. He nodded for you to continue.

You stepped up to the bed and touched the mattress. The first night you were together, you’d mostly been on your back. He used his mouth more than his cock. There was so much left undone. Perhaps that was why you were here now.

You climbed up on all fours and glanced back over your shoulder. His eyes sparked as he freed himself from his pants. You wiggled your ass and he grinned. You turned back as he stepped towards you and the city winked at you through the tall windows. The distant traffic and street lights so far away.

His hands surprised you as they gripped your hips and crawled down the back of your thighs. His hot breath was even more surprising and you looked back again. He was on his knees as he grabbed your ass. He leaned in and his cool tongue dipped between your warm folds. You gasped and your head spun back around. You closed your eyes and pushed your head back.

You moaned, a long relieved moan as he licked you. He played with your clit and sucked at it. His teeth tenderly grazed you and he drank you in. You grasped at the blankets and arched your back.

“S-S-Steve,” You came with a sultry stammer and he carried you through it with his mouth. “Oh, oh, oh god.”

“Yea, sweetie,” He parted and stood. “You want me to fuck you like this?” He slapped your ass.

“Yes, yes,” You were surprised by your desperate plea. You needed it more than ever. “Please.”

His hands were on your hips again. He held you steady and his cock poked your folds as he lined himself up. He plunged into you in a single motion. You squeaked at the sudden intrusion. It sent an overwhelming wave through you. His fingers kneaded your flesh as he started to thrust.

“Mmm, you’re so good, sweetie.” He brought his pelvis flush against you and you whimpered. You were so full. “Can you feel that? How tight you are. How good you feel around me.”

“Yesss,” You said breathily and dropped down to your elbows. You hung your head as he pulled back and kept his pace steady. You could hear how your walls longed for him; how they tried to cling to him.

“Tell me what you want, sweetie? How do you want it?”

“Faster,” You said without thinking. “Harder.”

You leaned into him and he impaled you. He sped up and you let out a delighted cry. His cock hit all the right spots as it filled you over and over. Your muscles tensed as you were drawn to the edge and you plummeted down to your orgasm with a roar.

“Yes, sweetie, that’s it.” He kept his hips moving just as quick. “Tell me where to cum.”

“On my ass. It’s...fine.” You gulped as your breathing turned erratic. “Oh. oh, oh, oh…”

Your chant continued as another orgasm followed. You’d never cum so easily. He pulled out suddenly and a warmth spilled down your ass and thigh. Your thighs quivered as he stroked himself to his peak and you slowly pushed your legs out from beneath you to lay flat.

He fell down beside you as the cum dripped down the side of your leg. He stretched his arm across your back and nestled closed. You turned your head to face him and gave a dopey smile. He smiled back but it was more than the afterglow.

“You wanna fuck him, don’t you?” He asked.

You blinked and shook your head against the mattress. “What?”

“Bucky.” He ran his fingers up your spine. “I can tell you want to. You should. If that’s what you want.”

“He’s my professor.” You stiffened and turned onto your side. You grabbed his arm so that his hand stilled.

“And? He wants to fuck you too. I know him well enough.” He chuckled. “He doesn’t socialize with students. Not like tonight. And the way he perked up when he ran into you.” He tutted. “He’s a dirty professor. Not that blame him.”

“I’m not going to fuck him,” You insisted and sat up, the cum sticky on your leg.

“Alright,” He said coolly. “Just...if you change your mind, don’t worry about me. I want you to explore yourself. Even if it’s not with me.”

“Please,” You laughed off his suggestion and bent to kiss him, if only to shut him up. “I’ve got enough to worry and not enough time to worry about it.”

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the-a-word-2214 · 4 years ago

Text

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Raspberry Beret

Mars Blackmon x OC

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: I’m really excited for this series and I’m happy with how this first chapter turned out

Summary: Mars helps out a struggling artist

1,247 words

Chapter 1

The bustling streets of Brooklyn would have disturbed passerby tourists, but for one native, Scarlett Lewis, this was an everyday occurrence. The beret clad woman was currently speeding down the road on her bike to present her multi-medium pieces of art. She was stopped abruptly when one of her tires popped.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She cursed as she pulled over to the side of the road, conveniently next to a shop called Joey Chainz. It appeared to be a Coffee shop/Bike repair shop. She’d never stumbled upon a shop quite like it. “Well isn’t this fucking convenient.” She mumbled to herself as she looked up at the shop’s banner. She promptly took off her helmet and walked inside, bike in tow. She smoothed out her beret and walked towards the back of the shop where many bike parts were splayed out.

She noticed three workers in total, two men and one woman. The worker at the cash register immediately caught her eye. He had his hair pulled back into a messy bun while the sides were shaved. Extravagant glasses adorned his freckled face. An elaborate chain that read “Mars” hung from his neck. Scarlett was pulled from her thoughts when he spoke up. “What can I do for you, Mami?”

A faint blush has already made its way up Scarlett’s cheeks as he speaks and catches her staring. His wide smile reveals the gold grill on his bottom teeth. “Um, well I was riding on the road here when my tire popped.” She says as she motions to the pitiful tire that barely hung onto its frame. The man let out a chuckle as he inspected it. “A’ight, that'll be an easy fix.” He grabs her bike and props it up onto his workbench. He then takes off the popped tire and begins to put on a new one.

Scarlett looks around at her surroundings before settling her gaze back on the unique individual. “So um, what’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.” She carefully approached the new subject. He smirked up at her before holding up his nameplate. “The name’s Mars Blackmon, my mama called me that because she said I was outta this universe.” Scarlett lets out a chuckle as she leans against the bench. “That’s a pretty cool name, I like it.” Mars chuckles and wiggles his bottom jaw, showing off the gold plated teeth. This was a quirk of his that Scarlett later became accustomed to.

Once the tire is back on, Mars accompanies Scarlett up to the front of the shop. He sits down at a table while Scarlett sits across from him. This artsy little Caucasian beauty caught his eye. He didn’t want to let her go without getting her number.

“So, what’s a raspberry beret-wearing beauty like you doing on this side of Brooklyn?” He questions her as he leans in towards her. She smiles at him and instantly recognizes the reference. “Yes I bought this because I love the song ‘Raspberry Beret’, you’re like the only person who noticed that. I’m here because of an art show of mine that’s going to be taking place near here tomorrow. I was originally going to be going there to set up but I was held back because of this lovely thing.” She explains as she motions to her old bike.

“Oh, shit! You’re that artist who painted that Prince mural! I knew I saw that beret somewhere.” He exclaims as a sudden spark of passion appears in his eyes. Scarlett nods and smiles at his reaction. “Yes! That was me.”

She shifts her chin to rest on her hand and quirks an eyebrow at him. “So what about you, what’s your hobby?” He briefly laughs and leans back in his seat. “I collect Jordan’s, I practically invented the term ‘Sneaker Head’, baby.” The woman chuckled and wiped the fake tears from her eyes. “I don’t think anyone has ever made me laugh that hard before.”

Mars smirks and rests his head on his hands. “What’s your name, chica?” He asks her. “Scarlett Lewis at your service.” She replies as she tips her hat.

Mars checks his watch before standing up from the table. “I gotta get back to work but I’d like you to see you again. You can drop by any time, a’ight?” Scarlett stands and puts back on her helmet. “Alright then, Mars. You really are out of this world.” She presses a chaste kiss to his cheek before she speeds off on her bike. Mars watches her go, a dopey grin on his face with his eyes as big as saucers.

The next day Scarlett does as Mars predicted. She stops by to see him. She immediately walks to the back of the shop like she’d done the previous day. “Scarlett! You walked your fine ass back here. You’ve got a brother trippin’ with that dress on.” He says as he looks her up and down, admiring the floral garment that she had on. “Yeah, I did come back. I came to officially give you my number so that I can send you the address of the art gallery where I’m presenting tonight.” She says and hands him a piece of paper with her number written on it. “Oh shit, yeah. You’ve got that gallery art thing going on. I promise I’ll be there, just me. None of my crew or nothin’.” The woman looks up at him and bites her lip. “I’d love that.” Her gaze lingers on him for a moment before she begins to walk away. “It’s at 8:00, see you there!”

Scarlett anxiously waited as she watched various art critics and the general public analyze her art. She had paintings and drawings that were up for display, she never liked sticking to one medium. She attempted to greet anyone who would approach her but she was so nervous that she had to sit down for a breather. Her eye caught a familiar man, now in semi-formal attire, who was searching the crowd for her. A smile crept onto his face as he came to sit down next to her. “This stuff is straight fire, Mami. You didn’t tell me you were this fucking good!” He motions to some of her more tedious works. “You could make it for real, cross my heart and hope to die.” He swore as he pressed a hand to his heart. The rest of the evening consisted of them chatting the night away.

After their first official date, which consisted of a bike ride to a cafe and back to Scarlett’s house, sparks began to fly. Mars was an unusual person who wore mismatched garments and let his “freak flag fly.” He has dyslexia and lives with his older sister in the projects. He barely makes enough to pay his half of the rent at Joey Chainz, but money isn’t everything. He’d seen people from all walks of life come and go due to the rise in gentrification in and around his neighborhood. His personality was silly and comical but he still cared about the people close to him. He liked the fact that Scarlett was his girl and that she saw the best in him. How couldn’t you love someone who wants to give you the world? It always hurt her when people would look down on him or think that he was imbecilic in any way because he wasn’t. He’s smarter than most people think.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#mars blackmon x oc #mars blackmon #anthony ramos x oc #anthony ramos x reader #anthony ramos #she’s gotta have it

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mrsrcbinscn · 4 years ago

Text

That’s Probably Not Good

@professorofcrimeratigan

Date: April 10th, 2021

Ratigan meets the baby and accidentally gets capital “i” Involved

CW: blood, medical emergency, baby is 100% fine tho it’s Franny lmao dw no baby ouch allowed

FRANNY:

Pedram Ratigan could deny it all he wanted, but Franny was absolutely certain of three things. One, that they were best friends. Two, that he actually did like Behet Ghol Midam and pretended he didn’t. Three, that when he responded ‘why would I?’ to her ‘miss me yet?’ texts, he really meant ‘you nasty hoe why would you leave me here alone at this university with these clowns?’

It had been a month and a week since her daughter was born and just as long since Franny wasn’t in pain. But Dr. Brennan said she was fine and Franny was always inclined to trust doctors. Still, she thought after seeing him the second time would make him look further into...well, he said there was nothing to be concerned with, so she’d have to believe that.

She wanted to believe that.

Staying busy usually helped, but with a five week old baby that could prove challenging. She rarely left her daughter’s side mostly because she was breastfeeding and needed to be close by because this baby could eat, but it had just as much to do with being in pain more often than not in pain.

Now that Sovanna was a month old Franny felt comfortable inviting close friends over to meet the baby and hold her now that she was a month less delicate and breakable, and of course her “not” best pal Pedram was high up on the list!

“Are you ready to admit you miss me yet, Pedram?” Franny teased, sitting across from him in one of the first floor’s sitting areas with her glass of sweet tea in front of her and a pot of boring, British people, not sweet tea for him.

Sovanna rested in a baby wrap, content and quiet against her mother, only occasionally giving a little coo to let them know she was very much awake and there.

RATIGAN:

Ratigan had been waiting for Mrs. Robinson to contact him since her due date had come and gone. It had not been hard to find the evidence that her child had been born and that there had been little to no complications recorded by the hospital staff in her or the child’s records. (It was a small town hospital, their online security had never been hard to bypass.) He knew it would only be a matter of time before she would reach out to those within her secondary circle once she felt she was up to it.

The beginning of the semester had come and gone without her roaming the ground of the university and while he would not admit to missing her presence, he would say that it had been rather quiet around there without her— whether this was a good or bad thing would be left up to interpretation of whoever had asked the question.

He had made his way to the Robinson home upon her request and immediately he could tell that something was amiss. But, of course, after giving birth to a living being, it would do that to a person. She smelled different and the wolf (aside from its unbound excitement for seeing her and the baby) was concerned.

Ratigan ignored this. It was too temperamental. Nothing was wrong with her besides her body adapting to its new normal.

“I fail to see what you have to gain from my answer to the question. It isn’t as if you will be returning anytime soon.” He smiled at her from where he sat, teacup in hand. “How are her sleeping habits as of now? Bearable enough for you to sleep, I hope?”

FRANNY:

Franny would take that as a yes, for the record. See, you grumpy-ass man? They were totally best friends, just accept it!

“Mm, you’re right.” Franny said, patting Sovanna’s little head. “They tried to get me to stay on as an adjunct like Sarabi Lyons, and I considered it...until I found out by chance how much some of my more recently hired male colleagues in the music department were being paid. I’m not hurting for money, obviously-” she gestured to her house around her, which for full transparency, was purchased with her husband’s money before Franny Sor Robinsons was anyone or anything, because she knew Pedram was similarly beyond comfortably wealthy. “And in fact would have offered my pay to be cut if the department was hurting for funds. But it’s the fact my labor was consistently undervalued for nearly a decade.”

“Not to mention. Who is Andrew Gilliam? Benjamin Davis Braswell? Where are their Grammys, ASCAP and CMA awards, induction into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and Netflix productions based on their lives? Were they gifted citizenship to their mother’s home country because of their accomplishments?”

This was a sentiment Franny was careful not to express out loud often, only with Pedram, Petunia, and Tallulah who would feed her petty bone. It wasn’t that she thought she was better than Professor Gillam or Dr. Braswell, but a woman with her accolades should have been at the same rate of pay as them, considering her impressive career. And! All by age forty-one! That was all before her most recent birthday!

The fact of the matter was that Franny Sor Robinson was an asset to Pride U and attracted students to the music department. There are a number of students who passed up scholarships to Juilliard, NYU, or Berklee to come study under her at Pride U. Professor Gillam was a fine man, and as much as Franny hated Dr. Braswell she had to admit that music was the man’s life and his blood, but they weren’t the ones students came to Pride U for.

That was her.

After nearly a decade of putting up with the bruised egos of white men, Franny was relieved to be done with it. She’d miss teaching adults versus just doing music lessons for some local kids at her home, but it also meant she’d have time to focus on her actual career, which was making music.

She smiled down at Sovanna and said, “She isn’t too hard to get to sleep but the thing is she needs to be held until she’s asleep enough to lay down. If you try to lay her down too quickly she’ll wake up and cry -- isn’t that right, little lady? You love attention and cuddles, don’t you?”

“And when she’s awake,” Franny said, unwrapping the baby wrap so she could later pass her to Pedram to hold. “She really only cries if she’s hungry or wants a diaper change. If she’s sleepy she’ll make this sound that’s just a single long, continuous noise until you pick her up or she’s out of breath. Cornelius is wrapped around her finger-- he had to pop to Berlin for a one-day no night business thing.”

Cornelius meant it when he said he was taking six months of time off for the baby, but Franny insisted he go to Berlin.

It’s one day, darling. I know this day’s important and if your team who has handled everything this year wonderfully is saying they’d feel more confident if you were there, that’s okay. A one day business trip to Berlin is nothing. You’ll kiss her goodbye in the morning and be home just two hours after her bedtime.

But he’d be there when she woke up crying in the middle of the night because she got hungry. He’d crawl out of bed probably not fifteen minutes after he finally got comfortable, grab Sovanna from her room, bring her to Franny to feed, and then handle burping her and putting her back to bed so Franny would only barely be woken up.

She hoped his paternity leave would not be interrupted again of course, but if he was needed, say, once or twice more for just a day, she’d consider his paternity leave successful. Franny was not a selfish woman. She didn’t mind sharing her husband some.

“She’s a good baby once she got used to being born. Wilbur was too after he bonded with us. It’s always hard at first whether you had your baby or adopted them. 10/10 don’t recommend childbirth though; it’s much better when you get a free baby.”

Not really free. Adoption was expensive but it at least wasn’t physically painful.

RATIGAN:

One of the things he could admire Mrs. Robinson was her ability to speak so freely about whatever it was that popped into her mind. It had taken him this many years to be able to communicate as little as he did but he would never be able to do what she did. Everything that came out of his mouth (for the most part) was calculated and combed over because he was always wearing a disguise— in order for it to be believable the lies had to be fine tuned and consistent. If there was a slip, one single thread there to be pulled on, the whole life he had made for himself could be unraveled.

Ratigan sympathized with her and said nothing, only nodded. She was not looking for feedback, she rarely did when it came to these matters. Why would she from him? A man who had no qualms or problems within his department. (Nor should he, if they knew what was best for them.) Maybe he was swayed because being a university professor had less to do with his actual care for the job or the students and more to do with keeping a plausible identity. Ratigan did enjoy academics, it was why he had chosen the day job, but it bored him easily. It was why he relied on the challenge of his other job to keep it occupied.

So he remained silent and allowed her to say whatever she needed to on the matter. That was usually the role he played with her, an ear to listen.

Again, he had nothing to say in regards to her answer to his question. He had asked it out of politeness, knowing very well what he had come over for— to talk about and see the baby that everyone had been waiting on for months now. She was about as remarkable as he suspected. Which was to say, she was like any other child he had encountered, and that was more than a few considering he had played the role of nanny for the children of the Shrivani’s and other members of their circle when it was needed of him.

Babies were what they were, simple, fragile, and small. A fleeting stage in life since soon they would grow and the world would take its toll.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said in stride. “And I can assume everyone in the house is happy that she is finally here?”

FRANNY:

“Laszlo most of all,” Franny said, adjusting Sovanna in her arms. “I’m sure as soon as she’s got her vaccines I’m going to wake up to ‘hey I took the baby to school you can have her back at lunch’ texts.”

Now, most families would find that odd, but that was just such a Laszlo thing to do, of course it would happen eventually. Their family was tight-knit and trusted each other without question so Franny would probably just laugh and fall back asleep.

“And her father is absolutely in love with her. He’ll just lie down and lay her on his chest and they��ll nap together, it’s precious. He’s going to be a great girl dad.”

RATIGAN:

Bringing a baby to work, even if the man was only an art teacher (which, to Ratigan, was barely a job so much as it was more of a time occupier) was hardly a smart move. Then again he hadn’t known that particular family member of hers to be entirely competent. Also working in an environment filled with adolescents didn’t seem safe for a baby either. Especially in a town like this where anyone of those children could be in possession of magic that they were still working on controlling.

He did not care enough to say any of this to her aloud— but that would not stop him from judging silently.

“It sounds like everything is going well.” And yet the wolf still did not settle its worrying. It felt more frantic now despite hearing all of what Mrs. Robinson had to say, which was only good and positive things. Ratigan continued to ignore it. “And how are you feeling?”

FRANNY:

Franny’s smile faltered only slightly as Pedram asked how she was feeling. Really, she felt silly for even hesitating since her doctor had said she was just overreacting. Just the hormones blah blah, your body will feel normal soon blah blah.

Yeah? Then damn, would she love to feel like that was true.

There was no reason that she should be bleeding for three weeks straight, right? Right?

But Dr. Brennan said she was fine. So she was fine.

Franny was just being a woman, you know, overreacting like they do.

(but then, why would even Laszlo have pointed out how pale she looked last night, hm?)

“Uh, happy, of course!” Franny said, deciding to just answer with how she felt emotionally. “I’m just in love with her. It was like when I met Wilbur the first time, just this time I was high off my ass on pain meds.”

RATIGAN:

Raitgan caught the hesitation. Anyone may have been able to, but it stuck out to him as he was someone who over analyzed the body language and patterns of those around him. It was just how he had learned to operate. He had been around Mrs. Robinson for a lot longer than many of the people he’d have to pick up on within the span of a few minutes of meeting them, so the slight misgiving was odd. (And it only gave the wolf something to whine at.)

“Of course.” He smiled, but a wrinkle formed between his brows when she did not continue. “I know we’ve not spoken in person for a while, but I did not think that would change the nature of our relationship. I’ve never known you to hold back when asked a question.”

He paused to take a sip of tea. When he set it back down he continued. “Is there anything wrong?”

FRANNY:

I’ve never known you to hold back when asked a question.

Okay, get out of my literal brain? Franny thought, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. Pedram really did know her too well to pretend they weren’t friends, didn’t he?

“I mean...my doctor says I’m fine. It’s probably just general malaise or whatever. Like, I thought I’d feel better post-baby by now but my body is still like, ‘haha, that was wild.’ Probably just what happens when you wait until forty-one.”

She sighed and reached for her glass of sweet tea, only to find it empty. She pouted and set it down, then stood up. “Here, take her for a second, I need to commit more tea sin. She’ll fuss if nobody is holding her.”

RATIGAN:

Ratigan had been prepared to ask her more questions about the topic because she was right, the variable of her age did play a significant role to the rate at which her body healed. He felt as though that should have been more cause for concern than simply thinking it was something to be brushed under the rug. They were all there, ready to go on the tip of his tongue, but then she was standing and telling him he needed to hold her child.

Before she finished her sentence he was already shaking his head. “No. I— I don’t think that’s a very good idea. She doesn’t know who I am, she’ll fuss either way.”

He had not held a child since the detective’s and had no intention of holding Mrs. Robinson’s. His hands were blood stained. One wrong move and nails could turn to claws. He avoided touch with anyone, let alone the fragile body of a baby.

“Surely one of the many inhabitants of this place is home?”

FRANNY:

“Not that I wouldn’t have to call down from the third or fourth floor,” Franny said, though she didn’t argue further because a sharp pain in her pelvis made her lightly gasp and her grip on Sovanna tightened a hair. “On second thought. I’ve had too much sugar today already. I need to shed the rest of this baby weight sooner rather than later.”

That was what she was supposed to do anyway.

Sitting back down only made her wince, because every movement seemed to hurt. Hell, she was so weak at one point last night...but she was fine. This must be what having babies is like. She wanted this after all.

RATIGAN:

He was about to argue that he didn’t see anything wrong with that. It wasn’t as if whatever they were doing would be any more important than helping her when she asked for it.

Then Mrs. Robinson gasped and anything he would have said was pushed away by the sound if it. Inside him the wolf whined in response, scratching in an effort to get closer, the want to provide some sort of comfort or help all the more pressing now.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” This was said in the form of a question and yet he knew that they both were aware of what the answer was. He just wanted her to say it— to give some form of permission.

FRANNY:

“...yeah, I just-“ Franny said, then she chewed on her lip as she tried to think of a lie. “- realized I’m actually hungry! So.”

Before Pedram could protest this time, she hopped to her feet and practically shoved Sovanna into his arms.

“Be right back!”

Maybe if she shoved some cold leftovers in her face she’d gain some energy back. She was sure Pedram could tell she was unwell behind her smile and gushing over her baby. Even Lucille had commented on how pale Franny looked.

Now, her periods has always been incredibly light, but this heavy, prolonged one she was going through felt truly excessive. She shouldn’t feel this awful, right?

RATIGAN:

Mrs. Robinson had left her child alone with him, trusting that she was safe in his hold.

He stilled completely, his already stiff posture going completely rigid. His eyes were trained on the doorway that Mrs. Robinson had fled and disappeared through, as if his will alone would make her see reason and return to them before she could get another step farther— but she did not reappear.

Ratigan did not look at the baby until she made a noise of protest against his awkward hold on her. When she began to wiggle, trying to regain the comfort that she had just been in and that had been shifted into this for seemingly no reason, he was forced to look down to meet her eyes. Again, the child made a sound, this time louder and more aggravated than before. He knew that it would only get worse from there.

Carefully, he shifted her in his arms, his hold on her small body softening and allowing her to be settled closer to his chest rather than where he had been trying to keep a distance. The baby wiggled against him, but less in discomfort and more so that she was settling back down. She blinked up at the new face that filled her view, cooing softly before she relaxed.

It had been many years since he had held a baby and yet the mechanics of it had not changed. (She was bigger than Parisa had been.) Such soft innocence should not have been anywhere near him, so content, and yet there she stayed.

He continued their staring contest, both of them studying one another for some time. Ratigan was looking at the shared traits of her parents in her features, her mother’s— her mother.

It had been some time since the woman had left them. More time than he himself had been aware of.

“Bya, kuchak,” he said when the child wiggled when he stood. “We’re going to find your mother.”

FRANNY:

While Pedram was probably busy pretending Sovanna wasn’t the cutest baby ever to baby, Franny was in the kitchen pretending she was actually hungry. The truth was she needed to scurry away and down something to try and quell the pain in her abdomen and pelvic area.

She ran the tap to get it nice and cold and she rummaged through the drawer with bottles of aspirin, acetaminophen, and ibuprofen, and other over-the-counter basic medications and grabbed the first bottle of painkillers she found - aspirin. After taking three with a literal handful of tap water, she splashed cold water on her face like that would somehow help.

Dr. Brennan said she was fine. She was fine, she was fine...then why did she feel anything but fine?

Time didn’t feel real as she stood leaned over the kitchen sink, the water running and running, her hands gripping the counter no matter how many times she told her brain to reach over and turn off the tap. The sound of the sink so completely mesmerized her that she didn’t even feel herself fall to the kitchen floor. Nor did she remember managing to half-sit half-slump against the cupboard beneath the sink. She could vaguely remember thinking that this would pass soon.

The tap’s still running, she thought. Someone should turn that off.

RATIGAN:

Ratigan could hear the sound of the running water now that he was paying attention— but it was the smell of blood that had him quicken his pace down the hall.

“Franny?” he asked upon entering the kitchen, unable to see where she had slipped below the countertop. It took him only a few seconds to assess the scene before him, eyes flickering over the room. (A drawer had been left slightly ajar— probably in haste rather than carelessness. A bottle of pain killer left beside the sink— she had not come here for food. She had also not caused some sort of accident using a kitchen utensil as there was none to be found on any counter or near the sink, unless it had hit the floor but he hadn’t heard the clatter. The faucet was running but there was no glass— again, out of a lack of time rather than laziness.)

He rounded the other side of the counter and what he found there was to be expected. Mrs. Robinson lay limp in a pool of her own blood.

In his arms, the child stirred. In his chest, the wolf howled. Ratigan remained still.

If he had been someone else he may have gasped, out of surprise or perhaps fear, and his brain would have spiked in glutamate, sending him into a panic. But because he was who he was he remained calm as he bent down on his knees, beside her on the cold tile. He turned to lay the child down, away but not out of his immediate reach.

One hand reached for his phone, dialing the local emergency number as it would shave off time he did not know she had than simply calling 999, while his other reached around to press two fingers to her pulse point. Thankfully, it reached back out to him.

“Franny.” He slid his hand up to turn her head to face him, checking if she was still conscious. “Franny, can you open your eyes? Can you hear me?”

“Ambulance,” the dispatcher answered after a few rings, “is the patient breathing?”

“Yes.”

Next to them, the child began to cry.

FRANNY:

“This happened yesterday,” Franny muttered when Pedram asked if she could hear him. “Though not this bad.”

When her legs gave out on her yesterday like even standing was a terrible exertion of strength, it wasn’t as sudden. She’d had time to bend her knees and lower herself onto the edge of her bed and wait for it to pass. It didn’t pass so she fell asleep waiting and woke up with enough strength to take a shower.

She thought, as the water and blood swirled down the drain together, that surely a proper heavy period shouldn’t be almost three weeks long. Not even after giving birth. But Dr. Brennan said she was fine.

Sovanna started to cry and Franny’s mind cleared enough to reach in the direction the cry came from, and even that motion made her hiss in pain but she didn’t stop reaching for her.

RATIGAN:

Ratigan stopped mid-sentence of where he had been explaining the situation to the person on the other end of the phone. His stare sharpened as he looked at her.

“And you did not think to tell anyone? Or see your physician?” His words were not accusing, more so they were angry, frustrated with this woman for not thinking that an excessive amount of blood was not bad or a cause for any concern. His anger was pointed at her family for not noticing something was wrong— at himself, most of all.

He had made it this far in life due to being able to pick out the details of people to understand the situation he was in and move forward accordingly. This should not have gotten past him.

“I’m sorry, sir? What did you say?”

“Have you sent an ambulance?” He glanced away from Mrs. Robinson for one moment and it was when she had moved for her child. It should not have struck him as an odd reaction. Most mothers across all species would have done the same. And yet it had.

Though she was bleeding, perhaps to her death, she still reached out to comfort her baby.

Ratigan stopped her, pressing his shoulder up to hold the phone between his cheek and suit jacket so that he could take hold of her upper arms to keep her in place. “Do not move. Your baby will be fine, and if you care about her then you will ensure that she continues to have a mother by keeping still.”

“Sir, the baby crying, are they alright?”

“Where is the ambulance?”

“I’ve just been informed our dispatch is on a call, so we have been trying to contact—”

Ratigan hung up, that was all he needed to hear. He stood to scan the room until he located a set of keys. Though he did not wish to do so, he left Mrs. Robinson and her weeping child on the floor of the kitchen to locate the car the set belonged to. In the garage he ensured that the car’s backseat door was open and turned the car on. Before he left he also pressed the button for the garage door itself to begin to recline.

When he returned to the kitchen he kneeled back down beside her. “I’m going to pick you up now.”

It was not hard to do so as for the first time in a while he and the wolf were entirely in tune with one another, the strength it lended to him making it easy to stand with her. One arm was around her back while the other had gone under the bend of her knees. His sleeve and skin was now stained with her blood.

FRANNY:

“I did,” Franny almost whined at the accusation. “Doctor said I was...over-reacting.”

“He got real irritated when I questioned him.” Irritated was putting it kindly. Frankly, it felt like sexist treatment, but Franny so badly wanted to be told she was okay that she just accepted it. Franny wanted to explain further just how Dr. Brennan had treated her postpartum, but there wasn’t energy within her to make more words before Pedram went off somewhere.

When he lifted her off the floor, Franny hissed in pain as the motion jostled her. She tapped his shoulder with what strength she had to get his attention and pointed at her phone on the counter. He’d need it to call her husband at the hospital.

She let her head lean against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck with no strength behind the attempt to support some of her weight.

RATIGAN:

Ratigan wished his reaction to her telling him this was not to call his people and have her doctor loudly put on display for malpractice and other crimes. (Drugs were easy to plant, especially on a doctor who had them so close at hand.)

He did not regret these thoughts because it crossed some sort of moral or ethical boundary— but if his reaction to her being wronged by someone was to put his own hand on the man’s fate instead of allowing it to be left up to chance. It was that he felt as though he had been wronged as well, somehow, and that his emotions had been stirred at all in regard to this woman’s wellbeing.

Ignoring this for now, knowing he would have plenty of time later to go over this later, he managed to slide her phone across the counter with his elbow and use his fingers to pull it up into his grasp. It did not take long to lay her down in the back seat of the car and return for the weeping child on the ground.

The pool of blood was left behind for someone else to clean up.

He returned to the garage and placed the baby with her mother (as there was no carseat and there was no time to search for one or another vehicle) and got into the driver’s seat. Backing out of the driveway, the tires squealed against the concrete beneath them, Ratigan began the trip to the hospital.

FRANNY:

“Shh, don’t cry, baby. You’re okay. Mommy’s got you; see, isn’t that better?” Franny cuddled Sovanna to her chest and, after whining once in pain, pressed kisses to the top of her head.

Poor baby. She must feel something wasn’t right like babies do and her little body could only cry about it.

“Don’t worry about mama, sweetheart.”

Sovanna quieted down in her mother’s arms and Franny, through her pain, managed to keep her demeanor calm so as not to startle her. If Franny lost it, Sovanna would know something was wrong and cry again.

“Pedram.” She said quietly, suddenly turning her attention from Sovanna. “How bad did it look? As bad as I feel, or do you think my ob is right?”

Surely if he was driving her to the hospital, it was worse than her being hormonal and just spotting or having a heavy period after childbirth.

RATIGAN:

While he knew that talking to a baby was important to the development of their brain, he did not understand the point of telling the child that it need not worry. It lacked the cognitive ability to understand the situation outside of its own needs, why would she say to not worry about her when she was all there was to be worried about?

He said nothing, knowing it best he merely focused on the road.

Someone honked their horn as he paid no mind to the stop sign. (The chances of getting hit had been slim to none due to only one other car pulling up and at their rate of speed he could have dodged them should they have also not abided by the road sign. But it was also a small town, the patrons of it usually did.)

His grip on the steering wheel tightened at her question. “I think that you are in need of a new doctor.”

The trip across town was short— as any trip across Swynlake was, but in a car whose breaks had not been applied through the whole trip until they had reached the entrance of the hospital, it was shorter lived than usual.

Ratigan left Mrs. Robinson and her baby in the car to go inside. It took him little time to rally a group of workers and while they all scrambled (someone calling for a gerni, another for supplies, another to call the attending, and someone to get a room prepped) he returned to the car to open the backseat door.

“I will contact your family.” He glanced back over his shoulder as the group of medical staff came jogging out. “Is there anything else I can do?”

FRANNY:

Franny’s last few logical brain cells kept her calm and she wasn’t sure whose benefit it was for more, hers, or the baby’s. She handed Sovanna to Pedram as the hospital staff filed out of the building and said the most pragmatic, least full of jokes, lacking any sexual innuendo thing she’d ever said to Ratigan in the over a decade they’ve known each other:

“My phone password is capital-B Bitches-aint-shit with the I’s being exclamation points, no apostrophe in ain’t, and dashes between each word.” It was something other than a four-digit code to keep her from trying to unlock it at all while driving. “Call my middle brother first, Art. He’ll leave work early and take Sovanna. Tell him not to tell Wilbur, I don’t want him to worry, and tell him to call Lucille. She’ll handle my husband, I won’t put that on you.”

She nodded to her phone. “One of my bank cards is in the phone case. The PIN should be 5739 but if that doesn’t work, try my wedding anniversary...it’s on my Wikipedia page...give the card to Art to give to Dimitri to pay for cleaning my blood out of his car. Shit, that’s probably a lot to remember…”

RATIGAN:

It was— but for a brain like Ratigan’s the amount of information could easily be acquired and remembered. “I can manage.”

He was surprised to realize he would have done far more had she asked it of him, her saying that she would spare him the experience of telling her husband what had happened having made him want to protest against it. But why? While the words would not be hard to say nor the answering questions hard to hear, it would have been more time out of his day that could have been spent elsewhere. She had given him an out and yet his first instinct had been not to take it.

Before he could say anything else the hospital staff was nudging him out of the way of the door, pulling the stretcher closer in order to transfer her from one surface to the other. Ratigan watched, now off to the side, while the child lay restless in her bundle. The changing scenery and noises most likely disorientating enough to aggravate her.

The lost comfort of her mother also taking its toll— reflected both in the cries of the infant and the rigid posture of the man whose arms she had been entrusted to.

Ratigan watched as Mrs. Robinson disappeared into the hospital, the wolf clawing whining within in the want to follow. When his attention turned back to the baby so did the wolf’s, knowing that she was now in his care until her family could arrive. He only allowed himself another moment to reign in the wolf and the emotions that had begun to cloud his judgement.

Then, he pulled Mrs. Robinson’s phone from his pocket, and got to work.

#pedram

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lunarthedragon · 5 years ago

Text

Bards are Knives and Arrows, Not Sunshine and Daisies

Written mostly from excitable inspiration from a previous post of mine here. Wrote this mostly in my free time at school so bound to have mistakes.

Read on Ao3: here

Oxenfurt University was a school of prestige. Only the best of the best went there to study; which really just meant rich kids or the exceptionally, exceptionally talented. It was a haughty establishment, encouraging space-minded men to keep their minds in space, asking questions no one actually cared to ask in the real world.

That was its reputation, anyway. What the common man or woman might say when asked what they thought of the establishment.

To a degree… they weren’t wrong. The main classes did contain quite a few children of wealth, but that was only the surface. Every old, near ancient, organization is bound to have bones in its closet, and Jaskier was intimately associated with those very bones in Oxenfurt University.

He attends classes, studying the seven liberal arts, bettering his craft, but somewhere along the way he had been noticed. He isn’t sure what it was that drew the Chancellor’s eye to him. He likes to think it was his angelic voice, but he suspects it was his innate talent of talking himself out of trouble. It was a very impressive skill, and it had gotten him an invitation to the “Society of Foxes.”

Jaskier had no idea what a Society of Foxes was supposed to be, but he had assumed it was an elite club. Oxenfurt University had quite a few of them, but Jaskier had never been invited until then.

He’d gone without hesitation, meeting the head of the Society, Anatol, far after the sun had set.

This was when he had been introduced to the dangerous, but invigorating life, of a Bard, and he never looked back.

+++

Jaskier was a marvelous minstrel. He loved to sing and dance and keep people entertained, but he was also observant. He could tell when a room began to shift and the mood of his songs needed adjusting. He knew who to focus on in a tavern or party if he wanted to get the most coin out of them.

“Your honest enjoyment in this work will make you a better Bard,” Anatol had assured Jaskier when he’d first joined their Society. Anatol was an unremarkable man. Not short or tall, not strong or skinny, not dark or light. He wore nice clothes, sure, but he wasn’t much of anything. He had sharp eyes, though, like he’d seen far more than a regular minstrel should ever have seen.

“I thought Bards were just a myth to keep the nobility entertained,” Jaskier says, suspicious and not entirely sure if he’s being hazed or not. “You know… they hire a bunch of performers and try to figure out who the Bard must be? Like a game?”

“To them, it is a game,” Anatol nods, his eyes hardening even further. “Until the actual Bard that has been spying on them for months slits their throat without anyone being the wiser.”

He’d been told he would be hired for some of the most dangerous parties, where the nobility made a point of keeping an eye on their performers and drunkenly trying to declare who the hidden spy must be. A performer might even get executed right on the spot, if a noble was certain, or drunk, enough.

Jaskier would have to ensure that performer wasn’t himself.

But there was training for that.

Jaskier continued with his courses at Oxenfurt University, but in the evenings and sometimes late into the night, Jaskier was in the belly of the school, slipping into hidden corridors and rooms, learning how to twist his words in just the perfect way to get the results he wanted.

Learning every poison imaginable and how to concoct them.

Learning how to wield, sharpen, maintain, and hide a seemingly infinite variety of knives.

Learning how to shoot an arrow near perfect every time.

Memorizing important nobles all over the Continent.

It was grueling, exhausting work, but through it all Jaskier thrived. He complained, sure, but he always managed to find time to write songs, to play his lute for his fellow Bards, to crack a joke and make his peers laugh off their nerves.

They called him the Laughing Fox, most of them got silly nicknames like that, but he was still proud of it. He felt like he was part of something bigger. Not a bigger cause, no. The Society of Foxes, and likely most Bard schools, weren’t associated with anyone. They did as they pleased and their Bards could go off and do whatever they wanted and would always be welcomed back.

They were a family, in a way, looking out for their own kind. They were competitive, sure, and they were literally taught how to murder people without detection… but every family had its quirks, right?

Well, Jaskier loved his quirky, murderous family very, very much. He doubts his blood parents would have ever approved, if they’d been alive, but he never really cared about any of that anyway.

He had a family and he was happy.

+++

Until he wasn’t.

Jaskier was a fidgety man, and eventually the walls of Oxenfurt University felt more imposing than they felt welcoming. He was suffocating within the stone, the horizon a tempting siren’s call.

It came as no surprise to anyone when Jaskier announced he wanted to travel the world. “You could never sit still for long,” Anatol nods, before giving Jaskier a warm farewell hug.

“Aw, Anatol,” Jaskier coos, hugging his mentor back, “You were always like the strange, senile uncle I never wanted.”

“Off with you, heathen,” Anatol responds, swatting at Jaskier as he laughs and flees.

Wojciecha, one of Jaskier’s fellow Bards who had trained alongside him and garnered the title Sharpened Fox during her time perfecting her capabilities with bladed chains, accompanies him to the edge of Oxenfurt territory. Jaskier knew for a fact that those very lethal chains of hers were hidden under her flowing, flashy sleeves, but that was only because he knew her so well. No one else would be the wiser.

Wojciecha, or just Sharp for short, was a tall, dark-skinned woman with severe eyes, long dreads, and not a musical bone in her body. She was a spectacular dancer, however, and often slipped through parties, gaining information, with ease, her flashy clothes and movements distracting any man or woman that suspected her.

She was also significantly taller than Jaskier, which he once felt was a strike to his masculinity. Nowadays, though, he just felt lucky to count her among his family.

“Careful of monsters,” Sharp says as they walk.

“I’ll stick an arrow in their eye and run, if needed,” Jaskier assures, waving off the woman’s concerns.

“I still don’t understand what you hope to gain from this little adventure of yours,” Sharp grumbles, rolling her eyes.

“Hopefully something more substantial than ‘little’,” Jaskier huffs, looking forward along the path.

“Is that what the men and women you sleep with say before you take off your pants?” Sharp smirks, her smile as cutting as her name, and Jaskier shoots her a displeased glare.

“I wish to see the world,” Jaskier answers Sharp’s original consideration, “And, if I really must have a more specific, beneficial goal to everything… I wish to increase my reputation across the Continent. More and more people of power will invite me to perform, Jaskier the Greatest Minstrel, and then I can rob them of all their secrets.”

“And maybe a few hearts?”

“I am not THAT promiscuous, you know.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Yeah, I am…”

They share a laugh and continue walking. Eventually Sharp stops and wishes him a proper good-bye before heading back to Oxenfurt University, leaving Jaskier alone to continue on his grand journey.

+++

Jaskier had not lied when he told Sharp and the rest of the Society of Foxes that he wanted to better his reputation as a minstrel to increase his success as a Bard, but that had not been the entire truth. There was a selfish part of him, the fantastical part of him that lived in his music, that wanted to make just as much coin as a minstrel that he did as a Bard.

A paying job for a Bard usually came from nobles or those with a lot of money to their name. Information wasn’t cheap on any day, and the nobility were willing to pay out their asses if they could get even a little dirt on their rivals.

Thus, a Bard could make a hefty amount of coin if they were consistent enough. A Bard couldn’t be too present, though, for threat of being found out, but still it was a very prolific, if seedy, business.

Jaskier wanted that kind of financial security to come from just his music alone. He wanted people to speak as highly of the Greatest Minstrel, Jaskier, as they did the frightening Laughing Fox.

It was an optimistic dream. It was a foolish dream. But Jaskier didn’t care. He was a great Bard, but he had always been called to his lute and his lyrics more than his knives and his bow.

This was a selfish journey he was embarking on, and he didn’t have enough shame in his body to feel guilty about it.

+++

Bards know monsters. Maybe not the monsters in fairy tales or nightmares, but rather the most terrifying, destructive monster of them all: Man.

Wild monsters, without souls or a care for anything but themselves, were born that way. They had no choice in the matter. Still dangerous, and needing to be eradicated at times, but blameless for their nature.

Man, though? Humans? They had souls, but some actively chose to ignore theirs. They were born with the capacity for greatness and love and compassion, but chose a darker, colder path instead.

Bards knew these monsters. Bards fought these monsters with their own, twisted games. Bards toyed with the remnants of these monsters’ souls to get them to do what they wanted.

Bards knew a few basic facts about wild monsters, too. Just enough if they were travelling on the road and needed to get away, but they were hardly experts. No, that was more of a Witcher’s expertise, not a Bard’s.

So, Jaskier stuck to what he knew. He performed every chance he got, but he knew his situation was going to be bleak for quite some time until he got his feet firmly on the ground. Knowing that, he kept his eyes and ears peeled, collecting secrets, and selling any information or service he could.

He had a mask for in-person meetings, of course, he wasn’t a fool.

It still wasn’t much. Without the direct contracts through the Society of Foxes, he had to begin building his own contacts out in the world. He was tempted to invest in business cards, honestly. Or a nice pamphlet.

Still, he made a decent amount of coin with the information he gathered, along with one or two assassinations here or there. Jaskier was never a fan of blood or murder, but he knew how to work with both when it was required of him.

He even helped a tiny village struggling with a bandit problem. He was rightly proud of that one.

He was complete rubbish in a proper fight. He could bob and weave, but he could hardly throw a punch or square off against a child, much less a fully grown attacker. He wasn’t ashamed to admit his short comings, because he was fully aware of his capabilities in stealth.

No one ever saw him coming.

“I wonder if there is a song to be written here,” Jaskier had wondered aloud, standing alone in the middle of the bandit camp, the bandit leader face down in his cot, an arrow through the back of his skull. Scattered all over the camp were corpses, painstakingly dispatched without a single person ever being made aware, until every, single bandit was dead.

Jaskier looks around the bandit leader’s room, searching for inspiration, but nothing comes. He always had trouble writing songs about himself that weren’t mournful, after all.

“They didn’t seeeee,” Jaskier attempts anyway, under his breath, digging around for some of the villagers’ possessions. “Didn’t see the fox cominggggg. Didn’t seeeee… Didn’t see their death risingggg.”

Jaskier cringes at the words and shakes his head. No, likely nothing worthy of performance would be coming of this.

He drops the stolen possessions he finds off at the village center in the dead of night, mask in place, then slips away to sing at their tavern and get completely boo’ed into silence.

+++

At most taverns Jaskier performs at he is boo’ed and heckled out of the building, or at least into a corner. At a few he is ignored. At far, far less he is applauded.

He knows how to read a ballroom, he realizes with more and more clarity the more he travels. People come to a noble’s gathering expecting music and finery, and often don’t even applaud the performances anyway. The musicians and entertainers are, for the most part, background noise. It is what makes it so easy for a Bard to work in secret.

Taverns, though… taverns have opinions. Sometimes they don’t want music at all, but more often than not they are just going to lay it out, very clearly, exactly what they think of your performances.

Jaskier has always been less successful performing in taverns, but that point is hammered home when taverns are the only venue that will currently take him. Nonetheless, he perseveres on, learning what works and what doesn’t. He gets better, has a few more cheers, but still people boo.

He tries to think of what he can do better. What he can adjust and perfect to assure more success. He has made changes to how he performs, but perhaps it is his subject matter he should be updating.

He has… no idea how to even begin to do that. But, he figures, inspiration will hit at precisely the right time it must.

+++

Bards don’t much believe in Destiny. It isn’t like Destiny wronged Bards in some way, it is more like Destiny ignores them and none of them have time to worry over it.

There weren’t many “Destinies” that took place with a bunch of spies.

“Destiny is a powerful mistress,” Anatol had said once, momentarily distracted from his class lecture when he’d been distracted by questions. “But… she may only garner power if we give it to her. What happens, happens. Do not put weight to it and you will live well.”

Anatol had always been a very straightforward man. Not rough, but he didn’t mince words, either.

Still, despite most Bards not putting much thought in Destiny and what she wanted, Jaskier found he quite liked the romantic element of it all. He’d written a few poems and songs about fate and Destiny before, but even he didn’t think it had much sway over his very life.

And then Geralt of Rivia had entered his life and he wasn’t so sure anymore.

+++

Bards had no reason to gather information on Witchers. Witchers had no human enemies for Bards to sell that information to, and Witchers had no major affiliations with anyone that might make them a target.

Also, they never showed up at parties, which could make things difficult for most Bards.

But, with Jaskier struggling to find new material for his songs, and still with that incessant itch to go out into the world and experience as much of it as he could, he had decided Geralt of Rivia was an exception.

It wasn’t like Jaskier wanted information on Witchers or Geralt specifically to hurt them. He mostly wanted information on monsters and the hunts themselves. He thought that was very reasonable!

But, clearly, Geralt did not share the same idea. He clearly didn’t want Jaskier following him around, that much was obvious. Jaskier wasn’t blind or stupid, he knew when he wasn’t wanted. But, he was also a very, VERY stubborn man.

He offered to be Geralt’s barker, even, to hopefully sweeten the deal. Better his name and reputation through these new songs.

Still Geralt wanted nothing to do with him.

So, Jaskier being such a very, very stubborn man, had followed the Witcher anyway.

The man in the tavern had claimed they were being terrorized by a devil of sorts and Jaskier was frightened, but mostly intrigued to see what such a monstrous beast must look like. Except Geralt claimed devils didn’t exist and suddenly was getting nailed in the head by a tiny cannonball.

A sylvan, Jaskier will later find out. The people are being threatened by a sylvan with a slingshot. Talk about anticlimactic. How was Jaskier meant to write a glorious ballad from that?

The Bard just narrowly dodges a tiny cannonball aimed at his own head. He had been being a bit more boisterous and louder than was necessary, but he thinks that the projectile was completely unnecessary, and he swiftly answers in kind.

A throwing knife is removed from its hiding place and let loose in one swift move, knocking the slingshot out of the sylvan’s hands where he hides in the bushes. The muffled, angry cursing Jaskier hears only makes him smile. Served the bastard right.

It doesn’t look like Geralt noticed Jaskier’s incredibly helpful move, however, as he prowls around the plants, looking for the best place to pull the sylvan from his hiding spot. “Get back, minstrel,” Geralt orders sharply, not looking back at him, and Jaskier pouts but does as he’s told.

“Very well, very well, but if anything happens—”

The sylvan charges at that moment, running at Geralt with a furious cry, and Jaskier instinctively pulls out another throwing knife. He need not worry, however, as Geralt swiftly pins his attacker down with only a minor tussle.

Jaskier watches at a distance as Geralt angrily interrogates the goat-man, but not before some… interesting banter. He tries not to outwardly cringe at what Geralt must assume is witty insults.

A dick with balls? Really?

He, unfortunately, does not notice the shadowy figure moving off to the side before a sharp pain erupts on the back of his head and the world goes black.

+++

Jaskier wakes up before Geralt does, the both of them sitting on the ground, back-to-back, with their hands bound together. They appear to be in a room built out of stone. Either that or a cave, but it seems a bit more charming than just a cave.

Ah, the story was getting more interesting! Jaskier would have to be more excited about that once he stopped being terrified for his life.

What had even happened?

Jaskier tried to get a look around, eyes frantically searching out a clue as to the current predicament. He spots his lute sitting atop a table on the other side of the room, along with Geralt’s swords. Beside them is Geralt’s belt of… potions? Jaskier doesn’t know what he keeps on there. Along with… a lot of knives. Just, a pile of knives. All likely taken off Jaskier’s person.

Oops. Maybe shouldn’t have thrown that first one at the sylvan. Tipped them off to the rest…

There isn’t much else to notice in the room, unfortunately, so Jaskier begins shifting around, feeling out his bonds. They are too tight to wriggle out of, but he could always break his thumb if absolutely necessary and slip out. It was a last-ditch effort, but Bards were taught plenty of ways to escape captivity, along with plenty of healing techniques for afterwards.

The thumb trick is Jaskier’s least favorite, however, because it leaves him unable to play his lute for a few days of recovery.

It doesn’t look to be necessary, however, as he realizes their captors didn’t take all of his knives. His rings are still in place and he easily clicks the side of one to snap out a tiny blade and begin sawing at the ropes.

When Geralt stirs, then awakens, Jaskier is about halfway through the ropes.

“Ah, lovely, you’re awake,” Jaskier hums in fake pleasantness, leaning back to nudge Geralt’s head when it sways too much. He can feel the Witcher’s hair smack the back of his head when he shakes his head out, clearing it.

“Where…?” Geralt begins, but doesn’t finish, likely realizing Jaskier can’t surely know where they are.

“No clue,” Jaskier answers anyway, “I am working on getting these ropes off of us, however, but if you have some Witchering magic you could use to speed things up, this would be the time to do that.”

“This is the time that they kill us!” Geralt snaps viciously, yanking at the binds and growling furiously when nothing happens. “How are YOU supposed to get these off?” Geralt demands after a few more attempts, sounding furious.

“Ah, quite simple, really,” Jaskier chirps, masking his fear with cheer, and taps Geralt’s fingers carefully with the small blade on his ring. Geralt makes a noise that sounds like it could be surprise but is mostly confused. “My mother was always very invested in my safety, you see,” he shrugs, then goes back to sawing the ropes.

It wasn’t a lie… His mother had always been a worry wart, and technically the ring was from her. The modifications, however…

He doesn’t get much more time to work on their escape, unfortunately, because right then an elf, of all things, comes charging in. They both get kicked quite a few times, Jaskier being reminded of just how much he hated fights, and his precious lute is shattered.

Dreadful adventure. Really. Worst in the world…

Jaskier tries not to cry at the sight of his ruined instrument.

It certainly doesn’t get better when Filavandrel arrives and lays out, in no uncertain terms, the mistreatment that has been set upon his people. It makes Jaskier’s muscles go loose in shock, his eyes haunted as he listens.

He’d thought…

Well, he’d thought a lot of things, but he was here to learn truths of the world, wasn’t he? And what a way to start his journey.

Jaskier remains mostly quiet as Filavandrel and Geralt speak. He knows when it is crucial for him to stay quiet, and now is one of those times. It takes a lot not to say anything, however, when Geralt starts talking about his resolution in being killed. Thankfully, that doesn’t play out. But it’s a close call that leaves a pit in Jaskier’s stomach.

They’re freed, actually freed, by the elves, Filavandrel himself taking his knife to their binds. He releases the Witcher first, of course, then pauses as he sees Jaskier’s wrists. “It would appear we did not take all of your weapons,” the elven king says sardonically, then snaps off the remainder of the ropes on Jaskier’s wrists.

“My mother was always very invested in my safety,” he says to the room as a whole, rubbing his wrists as he stands and flicking the blade in his ring back into hiding. The elves all give him unimpressed glares while Geralt ignores him, going to fetch his gear instead.

Jaskier clears his throat and hops after the Witcher quickly, beginning to pick up knife after knife from the pile on the table, assessing them then slipping them back into their hiding places.

Geralt has long finished being ready to go, swords and gear back on his person, and he and the elves all stand in silence, watching as Jaskier keeps picking up blade after blade, the weapons disappearing swiftly on his person, and he only looks up after he’s almost done. He glances around at all of the stares, flushing in embarrassment.

“What? My mother—”

“Was very invested in your safety,” Geralt interrupts, arms crossed and irritable-looking. Jaskier only offers him a sheepish grin, then finishes hiding the last of his knives.

+++

With a new lute, gifted to him from the elves, Jaskier composes his greatest hit, “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher.” Geralt won’t stop glaring at him, but Jaskier doesn’t much care. It isn’t ready for a performance by the time they get back to the tavern and Geralt is paid his coin, but Jaskier knows it will be a hit when he is finished.

The morning after they return, just before the sun has fully risen, Jaskier finds Geralt saddling up Roach, clearly getting ready to leave.

“So!” Jaskier says cheerfully as he steps towards him, his lute on his back and a bag on his shoulder. He’d left the bag in the tavern before, too rushed to catch up with Geralt to go up and get it, but he has no intention of forgetting it again. “Where to next?”

He’s looking at Geralt’s back and he sees the man’s shoulder sag with a deep, unhappy sigh. The Witcher takes a few seconds to probably question his life choices before he says, without looking back, “There is no next. Not for you.”

“Oh, come now, Geralt! You can’t possibly expect me to just back down now? After just one adventure? I’ve only had a taste, a singular glimpse, at the greatness that is Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf!” Jaskier is grinning, not deterred at all, even when Geralt finally turns around and glares darkly at him.

“There is no greatness, minstrel,” Geralt gruffs and Jaskier thinks this is the most he’s heard him talk to the Bard before.

“I beg to differ,” Jaskier shrugs. In just one mission Jaskier had seen a side to Geralt of Rivia he doubted anyone else ever had. The man was gruff and intense, sure, but… “You are a good man, Geralt,” Jaskier says, his face and tone taking on a more serious feeling, and the other man watches him with a blank expression.

In all honesty, Jaskier is worried. In a way he probably shouldn’t be for a man he’s only just met.

Geralt is far too flippant about people’s general disdain towards Witchers. He acts like it doesn’t matter, doesn’t affect him, but there’s no way that can be true. No one can go through life completely unaffected by constant cruelty. No one. Not even a supposedly emotionless Witcher.

Especially a supposedly emotionless Witcher, who punches supposedly harmless minstrels when they so much as utter the word “Butcher.”

Geralt isn’t immune, and Jaskier knows it, but he hadn’t grown worried until their return trip from the elves.

He’d made a flippant comment, complimenting Geralt’s reverse psychology while dealing with the elves. Geralt’s “go ahead and kill me” schtick had seemed so convincing! Jaskier had been impressed by his acting capabilities and thought it necessary to let Geralt know that.

Except Geralt wasn’t responding to the compliments. He wasn’t looking at Jaskier at all.

Jaskier’s heart had very quickly jumped into his throat.

He still wanted information. He still wanted material for his songs. He still was in this for completely selfish reasons.

But now there was an extra layer. He’d offered to be the Witcher’s barker because he’d hoped it would win the man’s favor. He’d intended to write a song or two for him, it was no skin off his bones, and it would hopefully win him fame and fortune.

The boost to Geralt’s reputation would have just been a nice extra. Jaskier would have claimed it was all on purpose, then moved on to bigger and better things.

Now, though… Now Jaskier’s bleeding heart was demanding he do more. Demanding he not be only selfish.

Geralt really was a good man and he deserved more than the distrustful glares he got from everyone he ran across. He deserved to have people know all his good deeds, even if they had to be a tiny bit altered to be more thematically appropriate for a minstrel’s song.

“You won’t need to worry,” Jaskier continues, cheerfully, as he approaches Geralt when the man doesn’t respond. “I may be rubbish in a fight, but I can pull my weight on the road.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums and it sounds very suspicious.

“Yes, really,” Jaskier huffs then sets down his bag. It is filled with clothes and perfumes and oils, which he pushes aside as he pulls out a folded-up device. Geralt eyes it, still suspicious but edging on curious, and with a flick of Jaskier’s wrist the device snaps out and takes the rigged shape of a recurve bow.

Geralt’s brows have risen, watching as Jaskier next pulls out a modest, leather quiver with a few arrows rolling around in it. He holds up both – bow and quiver – and beams at Geralt proudly. “I can catch food, no problem,” he announces and Geralt’s brows lower, then one arches upwards.

“You? Preparing food?”

“Well… catch, definitely,” Jaskier mumbles, arms lowering and the quiver bumping against his leg. Geralt gives him a bland look. “What? Skinning them is disgusting!” He knew his limits. Was that so bad?

“Why do you have a bow in your bag, minstrel?” Geralt questions, sounding exhausted and resigned. He likely was beginning to realize he wouldn’t be losing Jaskier so easily.

“Because—”

“If you say it’s because of some protective mother I will drag you back into that tavern and leave you there,” Geralt snaps and Jaskier stiffens, eyes widening, before he clears his throat and glances down at the bow.

He couldn’t very well say he was a trained spy and assassin, now could he? He highly doubted the man who hardly trusted a minstrel would ever trust a Bard. Luckily, though, a good Bard always had plenty of stories at their disposal.

“I had to hunt for my family when I was younger,” Jaskier eventually sighs, glancing away like he’s wrapped up in a memory. “I caught, my father skinned, my mother cooked.”

“And the knives?”

Jaskier looks back at him, head tilting. “Now that one IS my mother,” he smiles, half-joking, and Geralt keeps staring at him. When the silence stretches on for too long Jaskier sighs dramatically. “Glare as much as you like. You aren’t getting rid of me. Your adventures are the best muse I’ve ever had!”

Geralt keeps staring for a long while, weighing his options, weighing Jaskier’s usefulness, weighing a lot in his head. Jaskier attempts to wait without squirming, but he still ends up tapping his fingers over his bow’s grip.

“You will do as I say,” Geralt suddenly says, making Jaskier straighten up. His voice is gruff with authority and warning. “If I say run, you run. If I say stay, you stay. If I say shut up, you shut up.”

Jaskier doesn’t think he’s going to be all that successful with those orders, but he can give it a shot. “Alright,” he nods, a smile pulling at his lips. Geralt narrows his golden eyes at him in disbelief, but Jaskier doesn’t let it deter him.

“Should we stop for breakfast first, though? You certainly got out of there quickly,” Jaskier continues, jabbing a finger back at the tavern and inn, but Geralt is already turning away and pulling himself up onto Roach.

The man grunts, noncommittal, and Jaskier pouts as he hefts his bag back onto his shoulder. He flicks the bow, clicking at a hidden button, and it folds back into itself so that Jaskier can hang it on his belt, the quiver hanging beside it.

Good fashioned Bard gadgets. It was amazing the doodads and contraptions the Society of Foxes had been able to get for Jaskier, and he treated his bow with such delicate care because of it. Even if it was dreadfully dull in design…

He follows after the Witcher as the man begins moving, chattering away about nothing, and giddily looking forward to his next adventure.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #bitcher #Dragon Age Bards #BAMF Jaskier #fanfic #my writing #hope you all enjoy!

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