Original prompts:
The prompt I am replying to,
There was a prompt similar to this before but I forgot where (part 3 i think? or maybe part 2) anyways, spinning off on that
Izaya gets sucked into the mirror world and is trapped. He is replaced by a copy, a fake. No one can tell the difference except for Shizuo (maybe fake izaya smells different? lol)
And shizuo goes into the weird twisted mirror world to try to save izaya
some thoughts to help out:
- everyone LIKES the new izaya and is glad he has changed for the better? no one believes that this izaya is fake except shizuo
- even if some start to think maybe this izaya is fake, they like this izaya more. only shizuo thinks it's unnatural, weird, creepy and WRONG
- maybe this fake izaya really is twisted and very creepy (yandere?)
- twisted mirror world is like inception lol
And the prompt which was referred to,
Izaya's mirror reflection took over his body and Izaya got trapped in the mirror. Shizuo realised that Izaya(the reflection)has changed and finally he found out the truth and tried to get the real Izaya back.
Bonus: Izaya's reflection tried to prevent Shizuo getting (real)Izaya back by telling him that he would never bothered by Izaya again if he let him trapped in the mirror forever.
Disclaimers:
Durarara! and its characters do not belong to me. I merely exploit them for my own fun.
Author's Note:
This piece of fanfiction will eventually include a homosexual relationship, so if that offends you I would highly suggest that you read something else. I really like to mess with people's heads, so consider this a warning ahead of time. There may be a lot of blasphemous megalomania because of Izaya, but that's the reason why we love him anyway.
The title is a reference to Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. Chapter titles are taken from both it and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, or are based on phrases and quotations from either children's novel.
ALL IN THE GOLDEN AFTERNOON
All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretense
Our wanderings to guide.
"Did you know," Izaya began conversationally, a benign smile gracing his thin lips, "that there is a lot of folklore associated with mirrors?" He gazed admiringly at his audience, satisfied when his look of complete adulation was returned. But he didn't miss the slight flash of bewilderment in the other's eyes, so he gasped, "No? You don't know? About the folklore associated with mirrors?"
The person he addressed stared at him mutely and shook his head, but remained rapt with attention all the same.
Izaya liked that look. So he explained. "Ah, well it probably started with the Bible, as many things seem wont to. You see, it says in there that humans are made in the image of God. So that begets the lovely question – when you look at yourself in the mirror, are you looking at yourself, or someone that looks like you? Or… are you looking at God Himself?"
Seeing the puzzled expression on the other man's face, Izaya laughed lightly in amusement. "Of course, the last idea is completely ludicrous. As if God – if He existed – would confine Himself to reflective surfaces, of all things. How debasing." He laughed again at the sheer absurdity of the silly notion his beloved humans had once conceived long ago, before continuing. "But then, if not God Himself, what could possibly be God's image? The next 'logical' –" he paused to wave fingers disdainfully in the air, " – conclusion would be…?"
Hearing no response, Izaya sighed. "Honestly, think for yourself a little, would you? I gave you so many hints already, being the kind and generous person I am." Still receiving no reply, Izaya proceeded to provide the correct answer, albeit with a slightly disgruntled delivery.
"The next closest thing is a soul," Izaya revealed impatiently. "Now things get interesting! Why, the soul is such a peculiar topic. There is a something that exists in humans that set them apart from other creatures, and that is this purported 'image of God'. And this vague notion seems to be the embodiment of the soul, or at least the concept of a soul, whatever it may be. Nobody has seen physical proof of its reality, yet everyone seems to accept that it exists in some way or form. And things without evidence but with acquiescence are the foundations of folklore."
"Do you see where I'm getting at?" Izaya asked, spreading his jacketed arms in a questioning gesture.
The other man merely tilted his head slightly, appearing to not quite understand fully, but more or less grasping Izaya's point.
"Yes, yes, good!" Izaya exclaimed, delighted that his spectator was following his train of thought. "Now, since the soul is such a touchy subject full of mystique and veiled in superstition, it was only natural that mirrors became rather mysterious themselves. Thus, many stories sprung up about mirrors. Like the fact that breaking one will curse you for seven years, that if you see a corpse's reflection you will see the devil, and other fascinating myths. You still with me?"
The man nodded, indicating that he was still listening and comprehending.
"There are plenty of mystique surrounding mirrors, so I won't bore you with the details. Of course, nobody now thinks anything strange of mirrors because they're everywhere. We know how they work… or at least, that's what we think."
A laugh escaped Izaya yet again as the man he was facing gave him a wide-eyed and startled look. The informant reached out and ran his hand lovingly down his observer's face, his fingers caressing the smooth and cold skin lightly. "Hey," he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in close. "Would you try and answer just one more question for me, please?" He paused, waiting expectantly.
The other hesitated, then nodded.
Izaya remained silent a bit longer before his face suddenly split into a wicked grin. Peals of laughter erupted from his mouth, his excessive mirth shaking his body violently and forcing him to slide ungracefully to the floor. "So," he finally said, his red eyes glittering, "who am I talking to right now – God, myself, or a piece of my soul?"
The reflection silently imitated its origin's gleeful paroxysms, unable to do anything else.