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no-droids · 3 years

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Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice. “Din?!”

��I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

A Failed Betrothal (4)

Am I doing this right? I mostly do write this when I am between the state of sleep and awareness. Hope you enjoy this.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1) (Part 3)

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PART 4

Marinette came to a dungeon cell with two other prisoners. One of them was awake and he looked vaguely familiar. The other had an ugly red helmet that didn’t help with the headache she had.

“Do you know where we are?” She asked the handsome stranger with beautiful green eyes, her throat a little dry.

Wait. Handsome?

No bad Marinette. Don’t fall for fellow prisoners, no matter how cute he looks. Oh Kwamis, she was already screwed.

He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he didn’t understand French. She tried to ask again in another language before her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of footsteps. She faked unconsciousness. Later, she heard the iron door open. She looked through the tiniest slits of her eyes she could muster while the two held a staring/glaring match. Oh shit, that’s the fame Talia Al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s, head of the League of Shadows, and the boy she was glaring at had some resemblance to her, so he must be her son, Dennis? Daniel? Damon?

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

Ohh..Damian. Where had she heard that name before?

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Ouch, that hurts. Well, Damian, just because I forgot your name does not mean you can call me a little girl. I can also kill you very easily and painfully.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Red Helmet, Jason, is officially not going on her hit list for his atrocious fashion choices. But that red monstrosity still needs to go.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Marinette felt her hair being yanked. A little pain was expected but the really sharp claws digging into her scalp was not. Making her cry and tear up.

”I am so sorry, kit.” Plagg whispered in the kwami language, loosening his claws.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Damian growled out.

Geez, thanks for the compliment, it’s not like you ever had a tiny cat dig its claws into your scalp out of surprise. (Damian once had a kitten thrown at his head and if he knew about Plagg, he would have been sympathetic.) Marinette started begging for mercy, hoping they would buy the helpless girl out of the suit that is ill-suited for the job she had been chosen for and had no idea on how to escape.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.”

Oh kwamis, what did she ever do to have such a picky groom? The more he insults her, the less she wants to be married to him.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection."

Great, another reason to stop her mother from killing a senile old man.

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

So that’s where she heard it from. The boy was the son of the daughter of a guy who leads a secret order of assassins and a man that owns a multi-million business. How even did a billionaire meet an assassin, ends up in bed with her and lives? Something to think about for later. She quieted down her sobs, (beat that acting, Rossi) kept her voice low to hatch out a plan with Plagg in the kwami language while the mother-son duo bickered.

“Hey, Plagg before you go, you think I can do that thing, the one which your one of your past holders from Japan can do.”

“You have a lot of potential for destruction but you have not used the ring for a long time yet so I am not sure.”

“I will give it a go anyways. Nothing to lose after all. See you later, Plagg.” Marinette smiled, one that drove fear into the hearts of even the bravest of people. Plagg returned it, already loving the new Guardian before zipping out of the cell to do some scouting. Using the enhanced strength the French superheroine got from prolonged use of the Miraculous, she yanked the chains of the walls and wrapped them around Talia’s neck, cutting off her air supply.

The League of Assassins thought that they could kidnap her and get away with it. But they were no match for the daughter of Sabine Cheng, the deadly Blue Reaper. A high ranking member from the group of assassins and mercenaries called the Guild of Night, who had semi-retired. Kidnapping her was a bad move to make as it meant they had declared war on the Guild, despite the reason behind her abduction having a completely different intention.

She whispered as such to the older woman in her tight grip, making sure the League would know how much they had fucked up. After dropping the limp body, she took a deep breath and tried channeling some of her energy for what she was about to do.

Well, here goes nothing.

She breathed out on the shackles, turning it to rust.

Success!

She introduced herself as Lady and concentrated the energy from before into her hand, forming inky black orbs of destruction in order to free her fellow captives. She felt a little drained from doing magic out of the suit and tried not to show it. Plagg returned, informing her of where the Ra’s and the Pits were. She grinned at the thought of showing old Ra’s who the boss is and made sure he regretted ever messing with her. She explained about Plagg as vaguely as she can, no need to let anyone know about the miraculous than necessary. Sure her plan sounds insane but the boys don’t know who they were with.

She would worry about that curse after she got out of Nanda Parbat. Although she could probably find something in the grimoire to reverse it, she was still an amateur at magic so it was best to have a professional to take care of it. Marinette didn’t want to be with such an asshole, no matter how striking he looks in those regal robes.

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Picking off the League assassins, one by one was easy especially in her transformed state. She hadn’t appraised her suit properly but from what she had seen, it wasn’t like Chat Noir’s leather get-up. She was armoured in vital areas and her colour scheme was mainly black with green accents. There were vials that were probably poisons and pouches which she decided to look at later. She still had a long braid as a tail from her brief stint as Lady Noire and she wondered why her suit was different. While hiding in a niche she found, she called the bakery via the comm in one of her various pouches.

“Hello?”

“Papa, it’s me, Marinette. Do you know where Maman is?”

“She went out of Paris, talking about how this League must pay. I think she is meeting up with several of her old friends. Are you alright, my little blossom? I know you can take care of yourself but I worry.” The relief in Tom’s voice was palpable. However, she was right and the Guild was going to war against the League. Marinette was adored by nearly everyone in the Guild due to her strangely bubbly and cheery personality in the harsh and brutal lifestyle.

“I am fine, Papa. Did Maman use the Horse to leave? And how are my friends?” She knew they might be in a panic after her disappearance.

“I think she did. I didn’t see Kalki when I went to feed the kwamis. Your friends panicked when they found out you were kidnapped. But they are fine now, mostly worried about you. Took care of some akumas and senti monsters by themselves. I think your fencer friend, Kagami, knows more about the League than she lets on.” Of course, she does. Her mother was a member of the Guild before being blinded due to a mission. Kagami and her actually first met during a reunion party of sorts.

“Thank you, Papa. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up and dialed the personal phone number her mother uses that only Marinette and her father knows about. She waited for the call to connect, trying to think of ways to stop her mother from storming into the League’s base of operation.

“Maman, it’s me. I know you want to attack the League right this minute. But I have a better plan. Can you get Tikki’s earrings from Alix? We can use them and the ring to destroy the Lazarus Pits. Make them really angry.” She peeked out of the niche she was hiding in. She had been there for a while and needed to move to gain some grounds.

“Where are you? And are you okay?” Panic and worry filled her usually composed mother’s voice.

“I am somewhere in Nanda Parbat and I am fine. I was nearly married off to Talia’s son but I am not now. I think.” Marinette replied. Better to rip that band-aid off before she showed up with her would-have-been-husband. She jumped out of the niche and looked

“Kalki, Full Gallop. Okay, we will talk about the ‘nearly married’ part later. What was this plan to destroy the Lazarus Pits?” Sabine thought she was already used to Marinette’s brand of craziness that was her normal but apparently, not.

“I am currently on my way there. Plagg said we need Tikki to get rid of them. Since the League pissed me off and by extension you and the rest of the Guild, I thought our first move against them is to destroy the Pits and a trail of bodies. By the way, can you get some cheese for Plagg?” Marinette ran through the halls, knocking out some poor sod with a whack on the head.

Silence. She thought Sabine had hung up when-

“Voyage. Alix, where are you? We need Tikki for one of Marinette’s insane plans. And Marinette, stay safe, sweety, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“Bye, Maman. See you there.”

Marinette turned another corner, the last one before the path that leads to the entrance where the Lazarus Pits were. She only managed to find it with Plagg’s voice in her head, whispering directions and Tikki’s luck. Unfortunately, the luck ran out because the entrance had a lot of guards who had spotted her.

Crap.

She hoped her mother would get here soon. Thankfully, being transformed gave her a boost and would help her to hold her ground for a while.

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Damian and Red Hood followed the trail of unconscious bodies and sounds of fights, trying to find Lady. Damian was impressed at the level of her skills to defeat many of the League’s assassins although he could probably do better. They relied on his memory to find the Lazarus Pits which was their best bet to finding her as she claimed to be able to destroy them. If Lady possessed such powers, they must find out whether she is a threat to the world or not. And also break the infernal curse they have.

Red Hood was silent mostly. He made a few jabs about how kick ass his ‘bride’ was and how the current Robin should not let her get away. Damian tried really hard not to just maim his adopted brother and also ignore that little fluttering in his chest that happened every time they saw an unconscious assassin left behind by Lady. The sounds of fighting got louder as they got nearer to the entrance. They turned the final corner to see Lady fighting against the guards who outnumbered her. But she seemed to be doing fine against them. Mostly.

One had slipped through her defenses and nearly stabbed her in the back if it weren’t for Damian grabbing one of Red Hood’s guns and shooting a rubber bullet to the neck. He jumped into the fight, grabbing the fallen assassin’s sword and taking out the knife he got from his mother. Jason joined in too, not going to let the two teens have all the fun.

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“Thanks for the save, Al Ghul but I don’t know why you bothered when me being dead would solve your curse problem.” Lady said as the guards laid around them and they tried to catch their breath.

“It’s Wayne. I go by Wayne these days. Being an Al Ghul is not something I learned to be proud of. And as much as I don’t want this curse, your death is not worth that price.” he replied, “Although, I have to wonder why you would choose to die rather than live.”

She chuckled, “Okay, Wayne, to answer your question. Petty teenage drama makes death much more preferable. On top of that, I have responsibilities that I was practically forced into for doing one little act of kindness.” Her tone was joking but there was a touch of bitterness in it. It made Damian want to find out what caused it. Red Hood looked at her in concern. Lady went down the stairs, ignoring their reactions to her words. They followed her, not wanting to lose sight of her again.

The Lazarus Pits emitted a green glow that lit up the cave and cast strange shadows on the walls. At the edge of the glowing toxic green waters was a woman in dark blue clothing and strangely enough wearing sunglasses. Strapped to her sides were two Dao, ancient Chinese swords. She wore a vindictive expression on her face as she stood staring at the green lake, likely to kill anyone who gets in her way. Damian didn’t recognize the woman as part of the League but taking no chances, he got into a fighting stance and Hood did the same. Lady calmly approached the woman. He reached out to grab her to stop her suicidal nature when she shocked him by speaking to the blue-clad assassin in French,

“Hey, Maman, sorry I am late. I had a little trouble with the guards upstairs. You have Tikki?”

Lady’s mother rushed to hug her, “灵儿 (líng er), I am just glad you are alright. I knew you could handle yourself.”

How the hell did Lady’s mother get to the Lazarus Pits faster than them and snuck past several vigilant guards? Before Damian could question further, a red blur appeared and went to Lady’s face, hugging her cheek. It appeared to be the same size as Plagg but was red, looked like a bug and had a black dot on its forehead.

“Oh, Marinette, you are alright. I was so worried when your mother showed up, saying you were kidnapped and needed my earrings to escape.” Unlike Plagg’s nasally voice, her voice was sweet and shrill.

So, my bride’s name is Marinette. Such a unique name for an intriguing girl.

Wait what?

Wayne, stop thinking such ridiculous notions. That is probably the curse working. Resist against it. He will not be ensnared in the traps of such magic. He hoped that the curse will be reversed before he turns and act like those fools in Grayson’s idiotic shows or Todd’s ‘secret’ romance novels.

“I am fine now. See,” reassured Lady, “We actually need you and Plagg to reverse the Lazarus Pits to what it was before someone made the wish that resulted in them in the first place. Oh, I almost forgot. Plagg, claws in.”

Green light flashed, leaving Lady in her wedding robes (which actually flatter her body. Shit. Think of something else. Drake with a smug superior smile that needs to be wiped off his face. Grayson and his plans for ‘family bonding’) and Plagg to reappear.

“Cheese.” whined the cat-like kwami(?) to which the older woman held out a brown bag that smelled and made Plagg perk up in delight. He proceeded to open the bag, taking out a slice of stinky cheese, muttering about the greatness of camembert.

Todd cleared his throat and asked in English, “Umm...Pixie as much as your reunion is touching. Who’s the new lady?”

“Oh Right, sorry. Well, Red Hood, this is my mother, the Blue Reaper of the Guild of Night. Maman, this is Red Hood and the one next to him is my husband-to-be and Talia’s Spawn, Damian Wayne.”

Lady introduced them, also in English. Damian stilled in fear, recognizing the name. The Blue Reaper nearly became his mother-in-law. She was famous for her efficiency and ruthlessness. And gained her nickname from the blue clothing she often wore as she killed her targets. His eyes also widened at how his grandfather had gone a little too far now by kidnapping the Reaper’s daughter. There were other organizations that could possibly take down the League if it weren’t for the somewhat truce between Ra’s and the other leaders. The Guild was one of them and having the Lazarus Pits to revive their soldiers made the League a little more powerful. But if what the mother-daughter duo were planning succeeded, then the League was going to have one of its most deadly wars in its history and would probably never recover from.

“Tikki, Plagg, you guys ready?” asked Lady.

“Yes, Guardian.” They both replied and emitted a blinding red and green light which Damian shielded his eyes from. When it died down, the Lazarus Pits no longer glowed a toxic green and looked… like normal hot spring water.

“Oh. I wished I could see Ra’s face when he finds out.” Lady laughed. Plagg and Todd joined in.

“Pixie, I am beginning to like you.”

“Voyage. That being said, it’s time to go home, Marinette. Your father must be worried sick about us by now. I hope you boys can find your own way back.” A portal opened up, showing a cozy living room. Damian grabbed Lady’s wrist as she moved towards it.

“Wait, let us come with you. We need to contact someone to get rid of the curse on both of us. And we can also call our father to send us tickets for a ride home wherever you live.”

“Curse? Marinette, you never mentioned a curse in your call.” Blue Reaper said, raising her eyebrow.

“I will explain later. They can come with us and I am pretty sure Ra’s knows that we have escaped by now.” Lady grabbed the two brothers and dragged them through the portal.

She then threw herself onto the couch after releasing her hold on them and the two pocket gods went to comfort her after her ordeal. The Blue Reaper stood where the other portal was and fed a floating tiny gray horse, that must be the same species as Tikki or Plagg, some sugarcubes.

“You boys must be tired but the showers are upstairs and we might have some clothes your size. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You can stay the night if you want. Welcome to Paris.”

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(Part 5)

#damian x marinette #mlb x dc #daminette #maribat #Betrothal AU: take 2 #A Failed Betrothal #assassin marinette #sort of #assassin sabine cheng #definitely #Jason is just here for a ride #marinette is a little petty

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Note

Ok hi again, I may be over doing it......idgaf I like ur shit! Good shit grade A writing. Aha

Aftercare, does it happen? What do they do?

Also....are these guys aware of their s/o limit if so do they stop😈

Pressing X for doubt

yandere ! BNHA thirsty headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncom/dubcon, abuse, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He’ll at least ask. He’s always careful to ask. The actual response isn’t too important. Protest that are drowned out in a moan can’t be seen as an actual protest anyway, and he always makes sure that her words are chocked in her throat. Bakugo knows his worth, he knows that each and every thing he does to her in that bed, it’s guarantied she likes it. Her pride makes her a liar, she can’t be trusted with her own pleasure, not when he knows and has proven time and time again that he knows her body and her limits better than what she does. When he has her bent over his lap, that cute little ass that he knows belongs to him, aiming to make sure that she knows it too, each time his hand comes in harsh contact with the soft flesh, feeling it up like putty in his hand as she winces and cries for him to stop. Her protests can’t be taken seriously, not when two fingers gliding up her pussy tells him all he needs to know, feeling how soaked she already is for him, all warm and velvety and ready. That’s all the answer he needs to keep going.

As far as aftercare goes… it can vary. Sometimes he’ll draw a bath with bubbles and lavender oil and light scented candles. Other times he’ll make food, where he’ll bake desserts more than anything. But there are days he won’t do much more than keep a painfully suffocating grip on her as he drifts rather quickly off to sleep. Exchanging no words except for those growls of good night and I love you. Leaving the rest for after they wake up, having an early morning where he’ll never let her sleep in, dragging her with him to shower before he has to leave, where afterwards he’ll treat her to more tender care on the bed with his face buried between her thighs in a way of apologizing for having to leave her alone all day.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

She shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about anything. Dabi might look like your worst nightmare, but you’d be surprised how soft the darkness really is. He can be persuasive and disarming if and when he wants to be, or he can be foul… He likes finding a mix between the two though, they work better together anyway. Make her feel safe, but only if she obeys, and make her feel fear if she doesn’t. He won’t bite… at least not for any longer than to make her cry for him, for those precious little water-works to bubble up to the surface. Making a chew toy out of that pretty swan-neck of hers, paint it with purple, resembling what hue of mulberry-wine found on his marred skin. Nibbling on that cute button between her legs, feel her tremble in his hold and hear her gasp out his name. Or grinding those perfect little nipples between the rows of his teeth, watching her blubber out her pleas when the pressure he applies threatens to bite the flimsy nib off, feel her pussy clench around his shaft upon the anticipation and fear. Fear does such peculiar things to people, especially in the form of threats, especially when walking hand in hand with pleasure. His darling doesn’t know what to make of herself, left completely like putty in his hands, all for him to toy with and tamper and tease. Where she doesn’t dare try and make him stop, she doesn’t dare allow herself to enjoy what he’s doing either, because only mad people run into things they already know to be a trap.

He’ll hush and coo at her to stop crying afterwards, her little mind on the verge of breaking and her pitter patter heart standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump with nothing but Dabi to hold onto, the knot in her lower abdomen already having exploded time and time again because of him. She’s such a mess, such a cross-eyed wet hot mess, his little mess and that always manages to bring a smile to his face.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

If Tomura’s in a mood, as in a childish fit, she can expect no rest, because the wicked as we know get no rest, and the unfortunate sweet thing kidnapped by the wicked get no rest either. Tomura’s mood, quite like his morals, change like tidewater. Sometimes he’ll behold her precious beautiful body as though she’s made up of fine porcelain, meant to be touched and worshipped softly, where the fact of her wanting the worship or not is irrelevant. He’ll still touch and touch and let himself get carried away by how insanely soft her skin is as opposed to him. He’ll fuck her slowly, each hump meaningful and hauled out to the max as so to feel every single inch of him filling her up… Then there’s his other mood… The feeling of opposition is no less there, how unfairly gorgeous she is in contrast to how appalling he is, however… instead of it evoking worship… it evokes humorous triumph. Gut-wrenching nasty despicable satisfaction, where it brings him such inane pleasure to think that someone as disgusting as him has the power and the will to corrupt something so pure, something so pretty, and how there is quite literally nothing she can do to stop him, nothing at all… it gets his blood rushing in sadistic glee when he pushes her down on her stomach, fisting her hair while jutting into her from behind, every little salacious depraved thought growled into her ear, with no regard to her choked screams except for a wild grin, spiked to go even faster.

Not much tender aftercare here I’m afraid, he thinks it’s best to leave her alone, getting in his chair to game, taking one long last look at his cum seeping from her hole, his handprint red across her ass, still looking so pretty even with all those bruises… maybe even inspired to go for another round.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Aww. Little kitty is at her breaking point? The collar is too tight for Master’s precious pretty pet? Pussy-cat wants a break? But good kittens deserve good toe-curling eye-crossing world-shattering rewards, and bad kittens will be punished however Master chooses, won’t they? If she screams no, he’ll hear yes. If she screams stop, he’ll hear more. If she screams please, well… he’ll still hear please… It’s so unbearably cute to see her stutter and frustrate over how her words come out all wrong, as if someone’s picked her brain, pulled on her strings as though she were a puppet, changed what she wants to say, to what he wants to hear. What’s even cuter is when those large eyes of hers go all ditzy, crossing paths, that crinkle between her brows furrowing, with her tongue falling over her lips. But, the cutest thing is when her tail wraps around his thigh and leg, holding onto him in such a soft embrace when her bliss strides over her body, reaching all the way to the tip of her plushy soft tail, when her wrists and ankles are too busy being kept tied snug and firm together, as he continues to slam himself fast-forwardly into her.

He’ll erase his mind-tricks afterwards, careful to restore anything he might have disturbed or broken during their playtime. Her fluffy tail still slithered around his thigh as he pets her over her soft ears, telling her what a good little kitten she is and how proud she’s made him, feeling her shiver and jolt against him, small little spasms followed by short acute hiccups, proof of how bendable those so-called limits are when Hitoshi takes control. Proof of how good he can make her feel, so good she loses track of where she is, so good she loses contact with her mind, so good the only thing she’s still able to do is purr.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Oh… She can’t blame him when his rut rolls around the corner. He can’t control those urges. Not when she’s there, so plain and defenseless and a perfect fit for him to take all that cooped up frustration out on. He just needs to fill her each and every crevice up with his seed, make sure she’s well bred, pump her full of his cum until his balls no longer have anything left to give. He’ll hump like a frenzied pup, hands gripping her hips so tight her feet don’t even touch the ground. He’ll pound until he’s exhausted, until she’s left a swollen sweat-slicked mess, no longer able to stand straight without her weak and wobbly knees giving out beneath her. She wishes his rut and her heat could line up, so she doesn’t have to go through the same thing twice, but she isn’t that lucky, and Keigo is. He’ll be counting down the days until finally picking up those sweet tones in the air, that aroma that makes him go feral. She does him a favor by acting so shy, so ashamed, it makes it that much more fun when she’s struggling against both him and herself. All it takes is for him to put his thumb in her mouth… how she’ll begin to drool at the very first taste, her eyes losing that feral fight and falling prey to the feeling of her nerves being set on fire. He gladly indulges her needs, his heart fluttering at how clingy she becomes, how sweet, blubbering out gibberish, shapeless words that are such a good replacement for what vile things she’ll yell at him most other times.

He’ll be so hungry in the mornings after, disappointed for the lack of food in the house, but he can’t blame his darling for not cooking, not when he’s rendered her lame, she can’t very well cook if she can’t stand. He’ll order so much take-out the smell of sweat and juices soon gets coated and overwhelmed by the smell of spice and broth. Eating, regaining all his strength… that was only day one of two weeks… the rut is only just beginning.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Don’t worry, Izuku knows how much to give and how much to take, just as he knows when to give it and when to take it, and how to give and how to take. He knows what punishment is due for what crime as well as he knows when rewards are in order. And if he so happens to need to punish her… he’ll make sure she does something in need of punishment. It’s not often he needs to act on those sadistic carnal vulgar yearnings, but a bad day gets a whole lot better if he can come home and take it out on someone, especially when he gets to play with her beforehand, poke and prod until she slips up, allowing him to pounce on her the second she fucks up like a fox finally done playing with his food, his little bunny. The ends justify the means after all. He knows that it’s unfair to take his frustration out on his little darling… but… it being wrong… somehow makes it feel better. Having her blubbering on choked sobs and quaking beneath him, under his blood-soaked scarred hands, her little hole serving as such a snug and no doubt painful fit for his cock to abuse. Hearing her apologize for doing absolutely nothing at all, just to satiate his craze, all because he decided he wanted to exercise his dominance.

One thing that’s good about Izuku is that once is enough, and though that one time might feel like a million times stretching over a million days, where she’s left unable to walk properly… once he’s done, she can be sure he’s done… at least until the next day. If she hasn’t passed-out, he’ll let her cry it off when he’s done, offering no words but still comforting her by stroking her back or fiddling with her hair, twirling it about his fingers as she rests on his chest, her tears making his bicep itch with irritation, but he’ll allow her that much.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He tries being sweet, he tries being gentle, he tries mimicking the same type of softness as his darling bestows upon him, yet… although she’s sweet, she’s also so aggravatingly reluctant, and Kai doesn’t have the time nor the patience to second-guess every single little thing he wants to do. It’s impractical, it’s wasteful, it’s stupid, and stupidity as we know is a disease he can’t risk being infected with. No, better then, for him to just take the lead, for him to make the decisions for her, for him to decide her limits, up to him to decide when she’s ready to take his cock, how fast and hard he can thrust into her, how tight he can grip her wrists when she starts pushing at him, how many bruises are too many, how many times she can cum. Besides, if things go too far… he knows how to piece her together again. He hasn’t studied every single detail of her just to let all that valuable information go to waste. He’ll see to it that she’s as good as new once their done, if not, maybe even better, maybe even less reluctant to give into what he wants next time, maybe a bit more respectful of the rules, maybe a bit more understanding of who there is the boss and who there is the brittle brainless little toy.

Pain is a good cleanser anyway, despite it being bloody and gory and mixed in with tears and drool and snot and whatever else may occur once the need for his quirk arrives after his aggression causes something to bruise or break. She might think that it’s cruel that healing her has to hurt more than the wound itself, but what she needs to learn is that prosperity always comes at a price, a price that he’s all too willing to pay when she fails to live up to her potential.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Limits are made to be broken, to be conquered, in order for us to prosper. She should be grateful she at least gets the liberty to be with the one she loves, the one who loves her. She should at least be grateful that it’s not just anyone who’s breaking her limits, but him. Him and his hands and his tongue and his cock and his frostbite and his flames and his smile and his biting laughter. She knows by now that there is no stopping him when he starts, she knows that her only hope is to wait for herself to achieve that opium-blown ecstasy and ride that insanity where her skin feels like fire and her insides like ice and every touch, no matter how feather-light or how brutish and bruising, is god’s touch.

Shoto is unprecedentedly thorough and dreadfully talented at aftercare. While his darling is lying all limp and numbed-down, holding onto the prickling feeling dancing like fire-ants on her skin, she can barely even capture the feeling of Shoto wrapping her up in a fuzzy robe. His cold lips pressing onto her forehead and by the time she comes to, when she finally and woefully breaches the surface and gets reeled back into reality, right when she’s at the verge of collapsing from having all her hormones crash, her adrenaline fizzing out into nothing and she’s left feeling all cold and so dreadfully sad, Shoto’s right there, making her feel warm and appreciated and safe. He’ll light candles, scented with rosehip, he’ll already have picked out a movie, he’ll have the chocolate ready, the tea brewing in their matching cups, swiftly braiding her hair into a neat loose setup to keep it from falling into her face as he knows she’s much too drained to lift her hand, resting between his legs, her head using his chest as a headrest. If he’s being honest, he isn’t quite sure what he loves more, the play-session or the aftercare, all he knows is that one is impossible without the other… yet again proving the importance of balance.

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

A meeting with a Luthor.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Lillian Luthor x Granddaughter!Reader

Word count: 1650.

It’s becoming a thing. Seeing Lillian, you mean. It shouldn’t. It’s insane and weird and completely out of line, but still, a thing.

Like she knows exactly what you do, when you do it, and how you do it, the day when you don’t have anything planned -no dates, no L Corp, no training- she shows up at your school. This time she didn’t even leave the black car she was in, she just lowered the car window, and nodded at you. It didn’t even take convincing this time, just a nod, and you were in the car on the way to a restaurant.

“Grandmother.” You open the door and slide in.

“Granddaughter.” She tilts her head, and a little-tiny-really-small smile comes to her lips. “I was hoping you were having a free day so we could go have dinner together.”

“Dinner sounds great.” You agree, putting your backpack between your feet, and fasting your seatbelt. “I’m always down for food.”

“Of course you are.” She gives the driver directions, and out you go.

It’s a different restaurant this time. Fancier. You almost feel bad for being in your school T-shirt -like you had any other option- but Lillian waltzes in without a care for your appearance, and you follow, starting not to care too. If the Lillian Luthor doesn’t care about you walking in a fancy restaurant in your sneakers, it’s not you who are going to.

“I thought we could try some Greek food today.” She says, showing you the table, and you agree with your head.

It’s not like you never tried Greek food before. One of Lena’s favorite food is Moussaka, and somehow you think Lillian knows this, and somehow you think she brought you here, because she can’t exactly have Lena here with her without ending in a fight.

“Cool.” You sit on the table across from her. You let her order the food, she knows she has to order more food than if you were a normal teenager, so you don’t interfere. She is the one paying for it, anyway.

“Created something interesting lately?” Lillian asks, and as far as small talk goes, you rather she had started off with a lighter topic, but you shrug, sipping on your water.

“Haven’t been in the lab in a while.” You feel it in your bones when you say that. You haven’t been to L Corp in more than a month, which feels completely out of character for you.

“Oh, I hope you haven’t lost interest in science. You’re very good at that.” She says, and you look down, blushing in embarrassment. God, why do you always feel so flustered whenever Lillian throws a random compliment at you? “But I guess for a kid the superhero part is more exciting.”

“Um, no. I mean-” You think about it for a second. You’ve always wanted to go out and go supering with your momma, saving National City and feeling like you’re doing something good for the world. And honestly, when the world was at stake -not your world, but still- you went supering and it was fun. It was great, actually. But you’ve always liked science, robotics, and experiments a little more. Science was always there for you, even when you were terrible at controlling your powers, and even when your powers weren’t there at all. “I’m still interested, I just-I-Um-Have other stuff to focus now.”

And ‘other stuff’ herself, just walked into the restaurant with her parents right behind her. Maya looks at you, and you two lock eyes, while their parents talk to the host. Somehow your cheeks get even more flushed at the sight of her, and your heart skips a tiny beat. What are the odds?

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Actually, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. The whole idea was to never ever in your life have Lillian Luthor, your girlfriend and -worst of all- your girlfriend-Luthor-hater’s parents in the same space. But somehow, here you are.

“Of course.” Lillian agrees, after following your eyes, and landing in the same place. “I see you’re still seeing the Rose girl.”

“Mhm.” You agree, looking back at the table. You sip on your water, just to have something to do.

“Should we invite them to dine with us?” She asks politely and you snap your head at her, at the sound of that.

“We should not. No. Rao, please, don’t.” You beg, shuffling in your chair uncomfortable. Lillian was never once the sociable type. Why the hell is she suggesting asking them to join you? It’s like… She knows. Oh. There’s a little tinkle in her eyes. A little too murdery for your liking. “Do you know them?”

“We have crossed paths before, yes.” She admits, with a little nod. “Mr. Rose is a very unsophisticated man, if I must say. A lawyer who fights only for himself. But I guess most of them do.”

“I don’t wanna hear this. It’s not my problem.” You say, a little too aggressive for your own liking, but apparently Lillian doesn’t care. She’s used to much worse.

“I would think it was, given they were so ungrateful after you saved their daughter’s life.”

“Well, they only know me as a Luthor, so-” You shrug. “Can’t really blame them for not liking me, can we?”

“I suppose not. The Luthor name has seen better days.” She sighs, and drops the subject as soon as the waiter comes in with the food. Lillian points at the Moussaka, with her head. “Lena used to like that.”

“She still does.” It’s the first thing you pick up, and her smile comes this time.

You finish eating, and while Lillian pays for dinner you make your way to the bathroom, before leaving the restaurant. You are not trying to listen to them, you really aren’t, but when you pick up Lillian’s voice saying ‘Mister Rose’, you can’t hear anything else anymore.

“Lillian Luthor.” It’s Mr. Rose’s voice. Oh no. This is bad. Too bad.

“Just thought I would introduce myself to your daughter.” Lillian says. “She is dating my granddaughter, after all.”

“Oh, I’m-Well-I-” Maya chokes on her words, and you feel bad you’re not there to protect her. Although you think if you were, it would probably be worse for her. “I’m Maya.”

“Yes, you are, dear.” Lillian says again, and you pray to Rao she’s going to walk out of there and leave all of them alone. “Mr. and Mrs. Rose, I hope the next time you meet my granddaughter you can be more respectful towards her, provided she didn’t exactly choose to be born a Luthor.”

“We know Luthors very well, they are born evil.” It’s Mrs. Rose’s voice that you hear now.

“I would’ve believed so. But that girl doesn’t exactly meet these criteria. So, I would appreciate you having a little bit more care about what you say to her and how you treat her.”

“Is that-Is that a threat, Mrs. Luthor?” Mr. Rose tries to pretend he is unaffected, but you hear his heart almost beating out of his chest.

“Please, don’t be ridiculous Roger.” Lillian adds a little scoff to his name. “We both know that if I was threatening you, you wouldn’t have to ask me that.”

Oh Rao, no. That was a threat.

“Please, enjoy your dinner.” She adds a little later. “It was nice meeting you, Maya.”

Nothing more is said, and you suspect she has finally stepped away from their table. That’s when you leave the bathroom, though you have finished your business long ago. You make your way out of the restaurant, to meet Lilian there, waiting for you. You both slide back in the car in silence.

“Should I add Greek food to your list of favorite foods?” Lillian asks, like she actually has a list of your favorite foods. You know what? She might as well have a whole list of your favorite things.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You look at her. She initially looks confused, but then it sinks in. “Did you forget I have super hearing?”

“I have to admit, yes.” Lillian confesses, pressing her lips together.

“You threatened them.”

“I did no such thing.” She defends herself and you roll your eyes. Both to the lie, and to the phrase you have heard Lena saying so many times. How annoying it is finding resemblance between them.

“Saying that you are not threatening someone is the definition of a threat. You of all people should know that. I would’ve thought you have threatened several people in your life.”

“Well, my threats never sound like that. So you have nothing to worry about.” She looks to the front, like she doesn’t want to talk about that anymore, but still adds. “Should anything happen to them, I guarantee you, it was not my doing.”

“So, you promise?” You ask and she turns her face to you again. You lift your little finger in front of your face, and she sighs.

“This is a childish pact.”

“It’s an oath, nonetheless.” You don’t move. She stares at your little finger and breathes heavily. It takes her a few seconds, and reluctantly she intertwines her little finger with yours.

“Then, I promise.”

You smile looking at Lillian’s finger intertwined with yours. What are the odds, right? You feel the car stopping, and you unattach your fingers, looking at your house behind you. You unfasten your seatbelt, pick up your backpack, and leave the car. Before closing the door, you look at her, still inside.

“You can add Japanese food to my list of favorites.”

“I know a fine Japanese restaurant.” She says, almost to herself, like something she should remember, a plan.

“We should go there next time.” You smile and salute her off. “Grandmother.”

Lillian smiles a little, and tilts her head at you. “Granddaughter.”

Notes:

Thanks @adeledewittj for this prompt, I love writing Lillian.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #lillian luthor #reader insert

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD Official Visual Fanbook Short Story: Sakamaki Ayato VS Mukami Azusa

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Official Visual Fanbook

Release date: 2013

Disclaimer: Both sides portray the same story, but from a different perspective. The first story is written from Ayato’s POV, while the second portrays the events from Azusa’s POV.

AYATO’S SIDE

ーー I have gone crazy. However, there is simply no going back at this point. I can only continue down this path of insanity, and make up my resolve.

“Oi, Chichinashi...Where do you think you’re lookin’? ...Haah...I’ve already made clear who this body belongs to many times, yet you still don’t get the message?”

I grab hold of her hair as she lies there slumped down, forcing her to look up.

When I purposely drag out my words to remind her, she furrowed her brows in pain.

“No...It hurts...”

“It hurts, my ass! You meant to say it feels good, right? You’re one of those kinda chicks, aren’t you? ...You get off from being treated hard-handedly, no?”

While sneering at her, I tear open the collar of her shirt.

With a popping sound, her chest is exposed. I take in the sight of her fair, smooth skin.

Yet, almost as if she has some sort of disease, countless crimson bite marks decorate her cleavage.

Those are proof that she is my prey, one who has been sucked dry and toyed around with plenty of times.

“Ayato-kun, stop...”

“Shut up...!”

Even though she no longer has any chance at escape, Chichinashi still insists on defying me.

Fueled by anger, I pin her body down from behind and thrust my fangs inside the back of her nape. Her skin is soft, gladly inviting my fangs inside.

For some reason, this only makes me even more irritated.

“Fuck...”

I curse under my breath, before digging my fangs in even deeper. When I do so, the man crouched down by Chichinashi’s feet...Mukami Azusa, lifts his face while chuckling creepily.

“Haah...Nn...Your blood...Haah...really is sweet...”

That enraptured expression on his face sends a shiver up my spine.

It’s almost as if he doesn’t even notice I’m here.

He only has eyes for Chichinashi.

I repeatedly ask myself how things turned out the way they did.

“Oi! Don’t just be suckin’ her blood...without permission! Fuck off!”

“Fufu...Ayato-san...I’m sorry...But I also...”

“Shut up!”

Latching out, I kick Azusa.

Yet, he keeps clinging to Chichinashi’s foot, refusing to let go.

If anything, he seems happy to get kicked by me.

Disgusting.

“Fufu...Haah...It hurts, doesn’t it? Do you...like the pain too? Of course you do...That’s why you’re...being hurt by both me and Ayato-san like this...and enjoying it.”

“You bastard...”

I instinctively answered in Chichinashi’s place.

In response, Azusa smirked at me once more.

I flinch, feeling as if I had been caught in his trap.

“Somehow...I kind of enjoy seeing you like that, Ayato-san...Fufu.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

In an attempt to steal her exhausted body away from him, I reel her in close by her hand. At that exact time, Azusa sunk his fangs inside the heel of her foot.

“Uu...!”

She groans.

I once again shiver at his attitude, which resembles that of a predator refusing to let go of its prey.

Azusa seems unbothered and continues to lap up the blood flowing from her foot.

"Fuck this shit...!”

While clicking my tongue, I hold Chichinashi’s body close and pierce her shoulder with my fangs.

If I have no other choice but to give it to Azusa, then I might as well suck her body dry down to the very last drop.

ーー END.

AZUSA’S SIDE

ーー My body moved instinctively as I wondered what I could do to make Ayato-san reveal his true feelings.

I grab hold of Eve’s small, dainty foot, sliding off her sock before wrapping my lips around one toe.

“Nn...Nn...Haah...Delicious...It’s your taste...Haah...”

“...!”

Eve frowns in return, attempting to pull her foot away from me, but I firmly keep it in place to prevent her from doing so.

“Oi, Chichinashi...Where do you think you’re lookin’? ...Haah...I’ve already made clear who this body belongs to many times, yet you still don’t get the message?”

I sneak a peek at her face as Ayato-san tells her that.

While listening to his words, I can’t help but let a chuckle slip.

It seemed as if Ayato-san was alarmed I would take Eve away from him after all.

I don’t care about stealing or having someone stolen away.

Right now, equally sharing the pain amongst everyone is most important to me.

So Ayato-san should just straight-up accept that ‘pain’ and enjoy it.

While thinking that, I plunge my fangs inside her little toe.

Her feet twitches with pain in return.

As a result, her blood comes gushing out.

“Haah...Nn...Your blood...Haah...really is sweet...”

I lock eyes with Ayato-san while swirling my tongue around to lap up all the blood flowing inside my mouth.

I wonder what it feels like to share something which belongs to you?

I’m sure it must hurt a lot.

To proof my point, Ayato-seen seems horribly shaken up.

In that case, I want him to suffer even more.

Pain equals pleasure after all...

“Oi! Don’t just be suckin’ her blood...without permission! Fuck off!”

Those words laced with anger are music to my ears.

“Fufu...Ayato-san...I’m sorry...But I also...”

Ayato-san falls for my taunt.

“Shut up!”

While shouting that, he kicks me.

Aah, it hurts...I’m so happy...I wish he would kick me more and more.

Therefore, I won’t let go of her foot.

“Fufu...Haah...It hurts, doesn’t it? Do you...like the pain too? Of course you do...That’s why you’re...being hurt by both me and Ayato-san like this...and enjoying it.”

And then, Ayato-san gets a taste of heartache as well.

To me, this relationship is ideal.

“You bastard...”

When Ayato-san says that to me with pain in his eyes, I truly cannot get enough of it.

My actions are making him suffer.

Overcome by happiness, I speak up while chuckling.

“Somehow...I kind of enjoy seeing you like that, Ayato-san...Fufu.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

After spitting out those words, he tries to forcefully steal her away.

I won’t let him. I hold onto her foot, forbidding him from doing so.

And as if to glue her in place, I dig my fangs inside her heel.

“Uu...!”

Fueled by Eve’s cries of pleasure, I thrust my fangs even deeper inside.

Deeper, I want to make her quiver in pain...from the very core.

The more I do so, the more pain Ayato-san experiences as well.

Aah, how lovely.

While I felt happy from the bottom of my heart, I decided I would keep going and cover her foot in my bite marks.

If I do so, then Ayato-san will surely play along with me.

ーー END.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #azusa mukami #diabolik lovers more blood official visual fanbook #diabolik lovers short story #diabolik lovers versus story #diabolik lovers translation

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angstsfordays · 3 years

Text

Beautiful Pain (6)

Chapter Six- Growing Pains

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Arriving in Latvia, you find your group closing into Karli’s group. You found yourself unexpectedly in upsetting exchanges with Bucky, making you take two steps back from the progress you two had since Madripoor.

Warnings: Angst as I like it! Bucky being a dense block of wood.

Word count: 4k

Notes: It’s insane the number of followers I have gained after starting this series. I am very humbled to know that you guys take interest in my work! Appreciate all the likes and reblogs! 🙏🏼

Hope y’all would enjoy this chapter! Things cannot be forever smooth sailing and we see a roadblock to Bucky and reader’s progress. I would love to know your feedback on the story so leave a comment if you can! 🥰

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join with a message or comment in the chapters!

Next: Chapter Seven

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Six years ago

The embers from the fire glowed warmly in front of you, a finger daringly reached out to touch the flames. The energy flames emitted from the tip of your finger and blended into the fire.

Turning your head back to Bucky and Ayo, you saw how Bucky was anxious and had a doubtful expression on his face. It had been a week since the programming has been removed from his system.

While he was still reassured that the worst was over, he had a lot of reservations. Having you by his side was the only source of comfort that he could through these hard times.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone,” Ayo spoke to relieved Bucky of his concerns. You flashed an encouraging smile back to him and Bucky nodded at Ayo for her to start.

As Ayo started saying the code words, you could see Bucky’s entire body tensing up as if he wanted to resist the possibility of being turned. Holding in your breath at the entire situation, you clasped your hands together in prayer, wishing that things would turn out well.

Every time each word was said, it built up hope and anxiety at the same time. You could see the dread, regret and guilt all from his eyes alone as Bucky stared intensely at the burning fire. It seemed his mind was heavy on a lot of memories and recollections that seemed to eat him away.

You wanted to take a step forward but Ayo shook her head, silently asking you to stay put.

As the number of codewords was closing into zero, your anticipation grew at how Bucky was doing well. However, your heart started breaking when you saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

Once the last code word was spoken, Bucky was sobbing. Seeing this sight, your own tears started to fall down your cheeks as you brought your clasped hands over your heart.

“You are free,” Ayo stated with a pleased smile and she looked over to you to give you a nod. Grinning a full wide smile at her, you looked down to Bucky shaking by the fire. You wondered what was wrong until he removed his clenched fist from his face. It was when he turned to face you that you both mirrored the full-blown smiles on your faces.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Stretching your limbs on the plush couch, your eyes closed wearily from the flight to Latvia. You still couldn’t process the entire series of events that had happened in the past 72 hours and your mind was mentally drained.

Hearing the door open, you lifted your head to finally see Bucky joining everyone in Zemo’s fancy place. Bucky’s eyes turned to yours and the two of you stared at each other silently for what felt like an eternity.

You first broke the stare by blinking and bit your lips in nervousness. Your mind immediately went back to what happened in Sharon’s club and you turned your back to avoid looking at him for the time being.

Bucky was thinking of the same thing and tried his best to maintain a cool façade. Seeing how you turned your back on the sofa, he felt it was best to move on to business with the others first.

“Well, the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo.” Bucky spoke to Sam before looking at an unbothered Zemo who was fresh out of the shower in his robes.

Bucky’s words managed to get you to turn back and sit up at attention.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” You see Zemo looking grateful at Bucky but the super-soldier just rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you shut it. No one’s defending you.” Sam shut Zemo down as he couldn’t believe how thick-skinned the Sokovian man was. “You killed Nagel.”

Zemo tried to defend his stance while Sam definitely wasn’t buying it. You couldn’t say it out loud lest you get a look from Sam but you were glad Zemo did it. Who knows if there would be a day where you would be handed off to Nagel and he got his hands on you to do whatever he wanted?

You shuddered at the thought and as if Zemo knew what was on your mind, you see the Baron turning back to give you a wink and mouthing a ‘welcome’. Your nose scrunched in distaste, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of him being right.

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot,” Bucky spoke up again after looking up from his phone. Sam asked for the amount of damage to which Bucky answered that eleven were injured and three were dead.

This was getting serious. Especially when you heard Bucky saying that the Flag Smashers were promising more attacks if their demands were not met. You suddenly felt a renewed sense of responsibility and purpose to help the world once more after the last battle.

Even though you were tired of fighting, you knew that bearing the powers that you had gave you the responsibility to take action for the greater good.

Zemo then remarked that he had the will to follow through with this mission but questioned you and your friends.

“She’s just a kid,” Sam emphasized, showing his empathetic and kind heart who chose to see the good in others first. It reminded you so much of Steve and you smiled at the resemblance.

Zemo didn’t agree with Sam’s opinion and explained how Karli was a supremacist. The very idea of super-soldiers was troubling, how they viewed themselves as invincible and above others. Zemo compared it to the Nazi ideology, how it led to Ultron and the Avengers.

His last point rubbed you the wrong way because you knew your friends were never focused on themselves but rather dedicated time, effort and their lives for the world.

Sam understood that Karli had indeed been radicalised but still argued for a better way to manage the situation, one that he hoped would be peaceful and led to lesser bloodshed.

“I agree with Sam.” You spoke up for the first time. All three men focused on you as you lifted yourself from the sofa and walked towards them. “She’s not doing this for power or money, she’s doing this to help her community and the vulnerable. The least we could do is to try to talk to her first.”

Zemo tilted his head with an annoyed look, seeing how you backed Sam up in this debate.

“Y/N. The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She would not stop, in fact, she will escalate unless you kill her.”

You knew that there were part truths in Zemo’s words. You kept quiet and he looked at you pleased that he probably has gotten through you in some sense.

“Or you can kill her first.” With this, Zemo stared straight at you as if he decided to give you this responsibility, knowing that you were the likeliest to overpower Karli when the time comes.

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.” Speaking from behind you, Bucky refuted Zemo’s claims but Zemo seemed unaffected. He even added on that there was no other Steve Rogers. Who were you guys to presume not everyone could get corrupted once they had a taste of power?

Having enough of Zemo, Bucky suggested handing Zemo over to the Wakandans right at this moment and you wanted to agree. You were indebted to them and with their late king’s murderer right in front of you, a sense of guilt washed over you as you must have realized how livid they must be that he was walking free.

Sam then explained how Donya was an influential member of the community and related it to his own story of his TT aka his aunt. When someone who was a pillar in a close-knitted community had passed, people would gather to hold a long ceremony in memory of that person. He presumed that the same would be done for Donya and that’s where you all should lead with.

-------------------------//---------------------------

The four of you decided to venture to the streets to ask for information on Donya. As Zemo and Sam went their own ways, Bucky looked over you as if to ask if you wanted to join him.

“Uh, I-uh-I” You started stuttering without realising. Bucky knitted his brows in confusion at your sudden display and he immediately thought of your almost moment. Did you not want it? Did he overstep?

Inwardly groaning, he couldn’t believe he did something so stupid in the heat of the moment. Deciding to do something about it, he spoke up.

“Hey. About earlier-” Glancing up at Bucky, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to find the words to say.

“Earlier?” You weren’t sure what he was referring to and returned a quizzical look. Taking a deep breath before exhaling, Bucky tried to continue the conversation.

“I mean back in Madripoor. You know that uh-” Your eyes widened realised at the particular event that he chose to bring up. Your heart quickened at how he was choosing to address it now and you stared at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

“It was stupid, all right? I didn’t think and it was all at the moment, I didn’t mean to went in like that-” Blinking your eyes as if you couldn’t process what Bucky had just said, your heart dropped at the realisation that everything turned out to be one-sided wishful thinking of yours.

In his attempt to piece his words together and play it down, Bucky didn’t realise the disappointment painted on your face and how you stopped the tears that welled up in your eyes from falling.

You felt so stupid. There was no way that Bucky would have taken interest in you. All this time, you were nothing more than friends. You didn’t doubt that that moment in Madripoor with its atmosphere could have clouded both of your senses.

“It’s okay, Buck. I totally understand.” You spoke up to prevent him from continuing to dishearten you.

“I’m cool. We were swept up in the music and the dancing- it’s natural to uh-do that.” You were starting to choke up at your words but forced yourself to swallow down the knot in your throat.

Pulling your lips into a tight grin and forcing yourself to meet Bucky’s eyes, you saw him puzzled and expectant of your next response.

“I am going to go that way.” Mustering up a cheerful voice to make it sound like you were fine, you pointed over to a random street. “We should split up and cover more ground. Bye!” Giving a quick wave to him, you hurriedly turn your back and almost broke into a sprint to get as far away from him as possible.

Bucky knew that from your reaction he must have done something wrong. He just wasn’t sure what he did. Scolding himself for being such an idiot, he looked back to where he last saw you before you turned the corner.

Bucky’s hands and jaw both clenched with tension at how things had been with you just moments ago before allowing himself to be distracted with the mission. He made a mental note that he had to catch you later and have another talk.

-------------------------//---------------------------

You were a woman with a purpose and that was to find out more about Donya Madani. You realised after the first few queries, people here were wary once you mentioned the woman’s name.

Cracking your brain to think of a strategy, your eyes roamed around the neighbourhood for some sort of idea. A familiar back caught your attention and your eyes widened in shock at who you had spotted.

The man back from the fight on the truck was here. That means Karli and her group were here too! You didn’t have the chance to see the man’s face as he had a mask on back then but you recognised him instantly.

He was alone and that gave you a good chance to corner him. You blended in with the crowd while closing in on him with every step. As he turned the corner to an alley, you quickened your steps in fear that you might be losing him.

Once you stepped foot into the alley, you were shocked to see there it was clear and empty. Running your fingers through your hair in a stressful moment, you wondered how he could have disappeared without a trace. Venturing further down the alley, you hoped that you might be able to catch sight of him once more.

Your body reacted a second later than your intuition when you felt someone grabbed you from behind, the hands covering your mouth to prevent you from screaming.

The person switched hands and used their strength to push you against the brick walls. Feeling the wind knocked out of your chest, you took quick hurried breaths to regain yourself and that’s when your eyes looked up to meet the dark eyes of the man that you had been following.

His eyes mirrored yours as they widened at the recognition of who you were and he then spoke. “How did you follow us? Where are the rest of your friends?”

Clawing at his hands to free your face, your hands started glowing a bright orange to get him to release you. The man was taken aback at the display of your powers and decided to make a run for it, knowing that you would have the upper hand eventually.

“No wait, please!” You cried for him to stop. The man’s steps slowed down at your plea and he turned back slightly to face you. You raised your hands up in surrender to show you meant no harm.

You willingly put your hands behind you, clasping them together and showing them to him.

“I just want to talk.” You continued saying. Sensing the man’s hesitation, you then emphasized please desperately. Taking a few steps closer, you still left a gap between the two of you.

“I am Y/N.” Hoping that introducing yourself showed that you were interested to get to know him, you looked on anxiously for his response.

“Dovich.” The man replied curtly before staring back at you. Repeating his name once more in your mouth, you showed off a friendly smile before resuming.

“I know what you must be thinking, but please I do not mean any harm.” You hoped that the sincerity in your voice would get his guard down but seeing Dovich squaring his shoulders to look more intimidating, you knew that he couldn’t trust you yet.

“Lies!” Dovich refuted your claims.

“What happened back there was self-defence!” He must have thought about how you were about to use your powers just moments ago. “Trust me, if I wanted to do any damage, I would be able to but I didn’t.”

Seeing how you were still standing there with your arms behind your back, Dovich’s stance seemed to ease up a little. “What do you want?”

“We- my friends and I want to talk to Karli.” You knew your words only served to upset him once more as his face distorted into a frown.

“We really want things to work out! We don’t ever want things to escalate, it is never in my interest to kill anyone.” Dovich glanced over you to see an earnest expression on your face and he couldn’t help but be a little swayed.

He knew who you were. You were less well-known but still regarded as part of the Avengers team. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t intimidated. He recalled how you fought his group back then and knew that given your powers, there was a chance to be bested even if he had taken the serum.

Dovich still clearly remembered how you pulled him up when he was about to fall off the moving truck from before. Your actions at that moment had changed his impression of you, regarding you in a better light. It matched what you had just said earlier, you weren’t interested to kill anyone.

“Karli wouldn’t listen. She is determined and resolute in our vision.” Dovich hoped you understood his perspective and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“I know but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to try settling this peacefully. We don’t want more lives gone than it already had.” You added on to your own perspective in the matter. Dovich believed you but he still wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be so easy to trust especially of all of the experiences that he and his group went through.

You were still considered a threat to the existence of the group.

“I don’t trust your group. Especially that Zemo guy. We know he hates super soldiers.” Dovich reiterated his mistrust before continuing. “Plus you guys are the Avengers, you wouldn’t know what it is like to be us. You get to live comfortable lives and do as you please.”

Hearing his assumption, you shook your head in disagreement. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply before speaking.

“The Avengers aren’t really there anymore. Most of our group are gone. We are only what’s left but it doesn’t feel like there’s a team anymore.” Your mind to your current situation. Yes, you were with Sam and Bucky but they were just tolerating each other for the moment. You didn’t exactly feel like you were a team at all but just a group put together because you were all that’s left.

The sense of camaraderie from your previous team was gone and you were at a loss. You did what you had to do to support your two friends but you felt empty on the inside. You titled your head up to see Dovich peering at you with an almost concerned look on his face.

“Besides, that’s a bit of a generalisation you have there. We don’t live fancy lives, that’s a misconception because of uh-Tony. We all are still normal human beings dealing with struggles in our personal lives too. We gave up most of ourselves to defend this world….” Reeling from the exchange that you two had, you knew Dovich was someone that could be reasoned with.

“Of course, I am not trying to brag or anything!” You hurriedly explain before he had the thought that you were trying to make yourself look better in his eyes. “It’s just that I hope you could understand where we are coming from too.”

Dovich didn’t expect the conversation to progress in this manner. He had spotted you in the reflection of a glass window of a shop and initially wanted to get you off his tail. Despite the initial scepticism, he was starting to warm up to you. He figured you weren’t like the rest of your group and seemed down to earth despite being an Avenger.

He couldn’t lie to himself and claimed he thought of you several times ever since the first encounter. How can one not forget someone who stepped in to save their life once?

Dovich gazed at you now standing civilly with an awaiting look. He wanted to trust you, he really did. But he knew Karli was especially alert and distrustful of anyone outside her circle. Your affiliation wouldn’t help in this case either. He couldn’t make a promise that he can’t keep.

“I can’t promise you anything.” A grin formed on your face for the first time and you nodded your head in understanding.

“Of course, I just need a chance to talk. That’s all.” Dovich nodded back before he started walking back to the other end of the alleyway. He told you that he would speak with Karli after Donya’s ceremony and asked you to wait for his contact. He made you promise to not speak to your friends about this meeting and that he only trusted you.

You gave your agreement and maintained a friendly smile before he turned back to go onto another street.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Walking with lighter steps, you were glad to be able to do something right. You re-entered Zemo’s place and was greeted with the men gathering around to discuss their lack of result. You had to control yourself from revealing about your meeting with Dovich and kept quiet.

You agreed with Sam’s remarks on understanding Karli’s perspective and how she and her group were not motivated by malicious intentions.

Bucky then gave his own input that Karli would not be any different from Zemo. Recalling your last exchange with him, you suddenly felt upset with the super-soldier. You didn’t agree with his words either as you believed you understood better after talking with Dovich.

“I agree with Sam on this. Karli’s group is different and we need to give them a chance.” Bucky looked at you in disbelief. This was the first time you were ever not on the same page with him. He couldn’t agree with your views of giving the Flag Smashers a chance when they were such obvious threats.

Bucky believed that your soft-hearted nature was clouding your judgement and he thought better of you given your experience of dealing with such people.

“Can’t believe you are actually siding with terrorists Y/N.” His words came out harsher than expected and his heart twisted when he saw the tinge of sadness at how you received his words. A brief moment later, he saw your brows frowning and now looked at him with an offended stare.

“Not everything is black and white, James.” You scoffed before walking off to use the bathroom.

Sam and Zemo were surprised to hear the condescending tone in your voice towards Bucky. Knowing how you and Bucky were close-knitted, witnessing the suddenly tensed exchange between the two of you would have been baffled at what just transpired.

Hearing you calling him James was clear as day to Bucky that you were definitely not happy with him. Rubbing his temples in dismay, he wondered what have gotten over you suddenly. Sure, he was at fault for saying such a harsh comment but he still didn’t expect you to be like this.

Bucky lost his cool when Zemo stated he wanted to keep his leverage by not revealing any more information he had gotten from the little girl on the streets about Donya.

“You wanna see what someone can do we leverage?” Bucky too the glass in Zemo’s hand and threw it to the wall behind the Sokovian baron. He was silently seething at Zemo’s play on top of the unpleasant exchange that he had with you.

Sam came around to calm Bucky down before he indicated that he would make a call.

You stepped back into the common room when you heard the smashing of glass. You looked to see Bucky and Zemo in an intense standoff, well more so Bucky than Zemo.

Sam walked away first. Zemo asked Bucky if he would like some cherry blossom tea but the super-soldier refuted the offer with disdain in his tone.

“Y/N?” Zemo gestured to the lovely glass tea set on the coffee table. Glancing up to meet Bucky’s eyes, you could tell he was still bearing an annoyed look on his face.

You weren’t sure if it was his emotions from his exchange with Zemo or yours. Walking up to Zemo, you gave a polite smile before speaking.

“I would love to.” It was the second time that you acted out of character in a row. He knew that you didn’t like Zemo at all, only because of what Zemo had done to him. You were his girl (well sort of) and seeing you accepting Zemo’s offer even if it was just tea hit him differently.

Hearing how you graciously accepted the glass from Zemo and commenting on the fragrance of the brew, Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. He immediately stomped away from the scene before he felt like he would implode.

This was not right at all. Why would you suddenly act like this?

-------------------------//---------------------------

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#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel fanfiction #angstsfordays #beautiful pain #tfatws #thefalconandthewintersoldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

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unsaidmar · 3 years

Text

Call.

a/n: hello peeps! this is a request! thank you for liking what i write, it means the world to me. love y'all. requests still open.

wc: 1.5k hehe

warning: mentions of death, curse words, sad stuff.

pairing: spencer x bau! reader.

plot: For the first time, you’re not where he is. It drives you crazy.

--------------

You considered yourself quite the resilient person. Emotions got to you but never incapacitated you. Danger was a given in the career path you had chosen and the prospect of it was something you were used to, but never like this. It was always your own life you were worried about, but the BAU had taken the grasp you had on your job and your reality and completely redifined it.

Being guarded with your emotions and affections was a defense mechanism you had developed thanks to your experience in law enforcement. People always got hurt and you had to move on from it, that’s just how it was. But the BAU was the one to break the mold.

Those people had been through a lot together, the good, the bad and the ugly. They had seen it all and done it all, and now you were a part of it. They took you in and accepted you like you hadn’t just joined the team and you let them. Soon enough, Rossi was walling you “kid” and kissing both your cheeks when he greeted you, Morgan was fist bumping you when you made stupid jokes and you were going out to dinner with Emily, JJ and Penelope. Not one of them hesitated to put their life on the line with or for you, and it shook your world.

All of a sudden it wasn’t just yourself you had to worry about, because every person walking into burning buildings and hostage situations with you was your family. You loved every one of them and losing them scared you a lot, enough to feel like your heart was beating out of your chest whenever they were in danger.

And still, you had to go and fall in love.

Spencer had woven himself into your life, your routine, your work life and eventually your heart. It felt like he was marking his territory before he knew he was doing it, something resembling a person moving into your home, but the things he left behind were more than a toothbrush or a book. He left his mark in little things you incorporated into your life and it slowly transformed the both of you into a collage of each other.

He started drinking soy milk when you convinced him it was not bad and that subjecting himself to the pain of being lactose intolerant and still consuming milk, wasn’t worth it. You stopped leaving your windows open at night when he freaked you out about stray cats taking residence in your couch and potential burglars getting in. And those absolutely inconsequential things were forever going to be a gift you had given each other, no matter what came out of your relationship, even if you went your separate ways. Which, you never did.

Three years into working at the BAU, and two into your relationship with Spencer, you got married. The both of you figured that the wait was not necessary because you knew very early on that that was it, you were it. Next thing you knew, your fourth wedding anniversary was coming up, and so were many other things.

After getting kidnapped and shot, you were never the same. You had come to terms with dying, you wanted it to happen so you didn’t have to deal with the inevitable trauma that came with surviving, but you weren’t that lucky. Everyone had been worried about you and the living ghost look you were sporting. It looked like you were re living the situation in your head every moment you were awake, and that was indeed the case. It haunted you when you were sleeping and it consumed you when you were awake, so Hotch made you take a break.

Stubbornness was your thing, so he took away your badge any other form of ID that could get you into the building, he didn’t answer your calls and only texted your work cellphone to ask you to stop asking him to reinstate you. Being alone with your thoughts was hell. Having your family out there risking their lives without you was even worse.

“Hey Spence, it’s me again… um... could you let me know if you’ve been getting my texts? It’s just that… you never not text me back and I’m getting worried. Is that too much? I’m probably being ridiculous. Anyways, call me back. Or text. Just let me know you’re okay. I love you.” You sighed and put your phone down for what felt like the twentieth time in the last half hour.

This had never been the case. You were never the worried spouse that had to rely on phone calls or texts to communicate or to even know your husband was alive. It made you empathize with Will, with Haley. It made you want to ask them for advice on not going crazy. Your mind was already going rouge.

I can’t be a widow. I can’t mourn the love of my life, how does anyone? What happens if I lose him? How foolish of me to have dismissed this when we got married. We’re FBI agents, for the love of God. We point guns and have them pointed back at us for a living. I’ll have to take my ring off. Do I keep it? I can’t look at it if he’s gone. Who picks out the dress for the funeral? If I have to do it, I’ll go insane. I can’t bury him; I can’t go watch them lower him to the ground. I will just cremate him and split his ashes so his mom has him too. His mom. That woman won’t be able to bear outliving her baby. God, please pick up the fucking phone.

You: Honey, please text me back!!! Have someone text me for you, idc.

You: Spence, charge your phone.

You: Why is Derek not texting me back either?

You: Are you angry at me?

You: I’d rather you tell me if you’re angry. Don’t ghost me when you’re on a case.

You: Spencer.

You: I’m calling Penny.

Three rings it took for Penelope to answer.

“Hi my sweet, beautiful, ____. How can I be of assistance to you at this indecent hour of the morning/night?” She chirped, her tone already relaxing you. She would be the first to know if something had gone wrong.

“Hi Penny, do you have any word on the team? I keep calling and texting Spencer and he hasn’t gotten back to me. It’s been like three hours.” You said, holding back the tears.

“Oh, sweet stuff. Last I heard, they were delivering the profile. They’re in Kansas and there was a tornado warning. The power is out. Maybe all of their phones ran out of battery.” She tried to reassure you, like always, already knowing what was happening in your head. “Is everything okay? Have you slept?”

“Not really. Spence stopped replying and I got anxious.”

“Don’t worry hun, bad news travel fast.”

“Yeah, yeah… you’re right. I should…”

Before you could finish your sentence, the door creaked open and you saw a defeated looking Spencer hang his jacket and take his shoes off trying to be quiet, assuming you were asleep. You felt the color come back to your face and you dropped the phone on the couch without even making sure you had ended the call.

“Oh, thank God.” You ran to him and aggressively hugged him. Much to your embarrassment, the tears you were trying so hard to hold back were now streaming down your face.

“Hey, hey…” He took in your appearance and instantly worried about you. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“What the fuck happened to your phone? And everyone else’s for that matter!” You said, letting go of him and raising your voice without meaning to. Spencer knew you never yelled, so he was taken aback by your words.

“It died, ___, four hours ago, the power went out and the generator wasn’t working. Why are you screaming?” He rushed out.

“Because you never texted me back and I thought you were dead!” Your voice was a lot calmer now, much more frustrated and tired.

“Honey, I’m so sorry, everything happened so fast, I didn’t even think about my phone. I didn’t mean to make you angry; I promise.”

“I’m not angry, baby. At least not at you. I hate being here and not out there with you. I can’t sit around and wait for you to give me proof of life. it’s driving me insane and it has only happened once.” You groaned, choking back quiet sobs now. “I can’t lose you. I can’t be the last to find out.” You fell to the couch like your legs had stopped working.

Your husband was looking at you like he didn’t even think about that, like the realization had just hit him. You couldn’t blame him, neither of you were used to that dynamic of checking your phones because the one person you would want to update was always along for the ride.

“Baby, you’re not going to lose me. I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll care more about my phone. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He said, crouching to be eye to eye with you and taking your hands.

“No, no..I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous, I went crazy. You shouldn’t have to do that…” You kissed his knuckles and slid down the couch to sit on the floor with him. All you wanted was to be near him. You put your arms around his neck and whispered. “I love you, I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was losing it. I’m not used to this feeling of not knowing where you are or if you’re okay, I felt helpless.”

“It’s okay hun, I get it, I love you too. We’re both new to this whole being-a part thing. If I’m honest, I don’t like it.” He pulled you to his lap so you were tangled up like a koala.

“I hate it. It 's the worst. I’m done with this break”

“Hotch is just looking out for you, he wanted to give you your space after the accident. You can talk to him and see how he feels about you coming back.” His reassuring words were already lightening the mood, and you were grateful he was fine. Once the adrenaline died down, the sleep you had been missing hit you like a ton of bricks. You stifled a yawn and planted a kiss on Spencer’s forehead.

“You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.” He took notice of your droopy eyelids and went to stand up. “Have you been awake all this time?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t just go to bed.” You replied, removing yourself from his lap and taking his hand.

“Come on, let’s crash. I’m off tomorrow, we don’t have to wake up early.”

Oh, thank the lord.

“I’ll go to sleep, but I have one condition.” You said with your best attempt at a mischievous grin.

“What is it?” Spencer asked, knowing that tone and that face all too well.

“Get a stupid portable charger.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid blurb #cm

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years

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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