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hyperpsychomaniac · 4 years ago

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Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 4

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

Chapter 1

***

“Are we there yet? I thought you said this was supposed to be fun?”

Launchpad shook his head and grinned. “Nearly there, kiddo.” The whining should have been bugging him. But he was surprised she’d actually come. This one was much more of a troublemaker than his Gosalyn had been. Not that she hadn’t upset her adoptive father on more than one occasion, but that had always been innocently. She’d been such an odd child.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No.”

“Launchpad doesn’t ignore me.”

“I’m not your Launchpad.” The Negaverse Launchpad took one last drag on his cigarette, then stomped it out under his boot and carefully kicked dirt over it. “Look, we’re here.”

They’d come upon a derelict little shack. Behind it ran an old creek bed, all but dry in the arid weather.

Gosalyn frowned. “I’m still not impressed.”

“Man, you’re a tough little nut, aren’t you?” Launchpad booted open the rusty door, and the whole hovel rattled and shook. A single, not-quite-upright support column propped up a support beam that ran across the centre of the roof. The column visibly swayed, dust rained down from the rotting ceiling and the old kerosene lamp he’d hung up bounced around, but the shack stood firm. One day he was going to send the whole thing crashing down, and that was exactly the reason Launchpad kept booting the door in so hard. Inside was littered with fuel cans, butane canisters, a couple lengths of PVC pipe, crates of bottles and cans, some old course rope, and, of course, potatoes.

Gosalyn raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the gun? This is just a pile of trash.”

Launchpad winced. The terrible thing was she was right. He really missed his rocket launcher. He scooped up the PVC pipe and tossed it to her. “Well, you’re going to learn how to make a gun from a pile of trash. Grab the other half. I’ll get the potatoes.”

Gosalyn looked at him like he’d grown another head. But he definitely had her hooked. She grabbed the other length of pipe, and carried them both outside.

Launchpad gulped at the lump in his throat. Oh man. He was getting attached way too fast. Hanging out with Gosalyn had roused that faint feeling of guilt down inside. He’d have liked to have thought he’d gotten between his Gosalyn and Negaduck once or twice, that he’d protected her. But the truth was, despite all his faults, Negaduck would never dream of physically hurting his daughter. He had other ways of keeping her in line. Launchpad had never stood between them; he’d never had the guts. He’d just been the guy who was usually around when Negaduck got so fed up with his daughter he felt like hurting someone. At least now his Gosalyn was being looked after way better then he’d ever been capable of in Negaduck’s house. She was better off without him.

Launchpad huffed and hefted up the crate of potatoes. “Bastard.” He booted one of the butane canisters and sent it spinning out the door.

“Hey!”

“Pick it up. We need it.”

Outside, Gosalyn was trying to assemble the bits of PVC pipe, her tongue stuck out in concentration.

“Here.” Launchpad set up the pipe to form the canon, resting it on its makeshift tripod so it pointed out and over the dry creek bed. Across the other side he’d previously set up crates, bottles and cans. And, most importantly, nothing that he’d get in trouble for hurling a potato clean through.

Gosalyn was picking up on the general idea. She rifled through the crate of potatoes, picked a good sized one, and rolled it down the tube. Then she scowled. “How’s a bit of plastic supposed to fire a potato?”

Launchpad picked up the tin of butane and spun it around so Gosalyn could see the ‘caution: flammable’ warning on its side. “We’re going to set this. On fire.”

“You’ve really got a theme, don’t you?”

Launchpad filled the tube with gas, and sat himself behind the pipe to line her up and make sure the recoil didn’t send the whole thing spinning off. That had been pretty funny the first time he’d fired it, and Gosalyn probably would get a kick out of the whole contraption knocking him on his ass. But he wasn’t going to risk it with the child of the superhero who probably still didn’t trust him around. Satisfied everything was set up as safe as a potato gun could be, her lit her up.

The potato shot out of the tube with a pop, sailed through the air and splattered some hundred yards across the other side of the creek.

Gosalyn’s jaw dropped. “Keen gear.”

Launchpad loaded and fired off a half dozen more. Truth was the thing was impossible to aim, and he rarely had to go out to set up new targets. Still, he somehow managed to send a potato splintering through an old crate he’d set up. He broke down laughing, which really confused Gosalyn. He’d spent far too long scratching a likeness of Negaduck into that crate, but you couldn’t actually see it from this distance.

“Okay, you weirdo. If you’re going to sit there and giggle, I think that means its my turn.”

“Alright, alright. Let me get you set up. This things got a fair bit of kick. Wait…” The sound of an engine cut into the desert air. It sounded like a motorbike. Launchpad’s eyes narrowed and his fists tensed at his sides.

“Is that a motorbike? What, what is it?”

“Probably that damn kid.” Launchpad drew in a breath, and fought down the part of himself that still wanted to deal with any annoyance with as much force as possible. He’d kept it at bay last time, even if Mrs McQuack hadn’t been entirely happy when he’d told her what happened. “I caught him riding on the McQuack’s property a few weeks ago. When I told him to clear off, he back-chatted me. So I fired a potato in his general direction. I think he got the message.”

Now, he was going to have to find some other way to deal with the situation. Mrs McQuack had told him off, despite the fact he’d made it clear he hadn’t actually fired the potato straight at the brat. She hadn’t made him do anything dumb like go apologise, but she’d told him not to fire projectiles at or near people again. Especially kids. “At least, I thought he got the message.” Launchpad shielded his eyes as he searched for the machine. It was familiar, but now he wasn’t sure it was that same kid’s bike.

“Fill her up. Check. Aim. Light her up!”

Launchpad didn’t realise what Gosalyn was doing until the PVC pipe let out a decidedly louder than normal pop. The slam of an impact and splintering wood followed a split second later.

Launchpad spun around. “Shit!”

The PVC pipe bounced and rattled along the ground then rolled to rest. Gosalyn slumped against the side of the shack where she’d been thrown, one of the brittle boards cracked and splintered behind her head.

“No, no, no…” Launchpad skidded to his knees beside her and gently shook her shoulders. “Kiddo?”

The motorbike rattled up behind him and the engine shuddered off. Even a bratty kid would help. And if he didn’t, he could donate his bike to getting Gosalyn back to the house as quick as possible.

“Oh. Wow. Nice job. She’s been here, what, three hours? I can’t believe I used to let you babysit. In fact, I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

Launchpad’s chest tightened; he couldn’t breathe. His vision grew fuzzy around the edges. All he could focus on was his trembling hands and how they engulfed Gosalyn’s tiny shoulders. Gosalyn. Launchpad finally managed to suck in a gasp of air, and the oxygen cleared his head. He couldn’t let him hurt this Gosalyn. Launchpad gathered every ounce of his strength and turned to face the voice from his past.

“You ran away from me too, didn’t you?” Negaduck. He was right. There. His yellow and black motorcycle behind him, and Launchpad wondered how he’d ever mistaken its sound for a dirt bike. “So much for loyalty.”

“What are you doing here?” Launchpad’s voice grated and caught in his throat.

“I tailed that idiot Darkwing Duck. Figured I could have a little fun out here.” Negaduck’s beak split into a wide grin. “But this is a surprise. Where’ve you been, buddy?”

“I was never your buddy. You have to leave. Now.” His voice sounded weak, pathetic. Even to his own ears.

Negaduck laughed. “Oh, someone definitely ran away, didn’t they?” The cackle cut off just as quickly, then Negaduck was right on top of him, grabbing him by the collar, pressing his beak against his. “You don’t tell me what to do!”

Launchpad stumbled back under the unexpected weight and his heart-rate rocketed. He shoved Negaduck off and threw up his guard. “Don’t touch me!”

Negaduck raised his hands and took a step back, chuckling. “Someone’s developed a backbone.”

“You can’t. Be here. You’re whole deal is Saint Canard, and Darkwing Duck, and… you can’t mess with the McQuacks. They’re good people. They don’t live in a place like Saint Canard. They can’t deal with all this superhero and villain stuff.”

“The McQuacks, huh?” Negaduck stroked his beak, completely ignoring the fact Launchpad was squared up like he wanted to fight. “Oh, you idiot, what have you been doing? Playing happy little families? This isn’t your world, you know.”

“Never stopped you from trying to take it over.”

Negaduck flung his arms wide. “That’s because I’m ambitious. But now, there’s an idea. Messing with a cute innocent country family whilst Darkwing Duck tries to protect them? Could be fun.”

“Negaduck, don’t.”

“Come on, Launchpad. You know it will be. I know I usually left you in charge of the home front. But, seeing as you’re here, why don’t we both have a little fun?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Negaduck waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll let you fly my aeroplane.”

The faintest hint of a thrill rose in Launchpad’s chest. He was actually letting him… And then, slowly, he lowered his fists. “I… I can’t believe I let you take that away from me. I’ve got plenty of aeroplanes I can fly now. And the people who own them don’t tease me with them, and make me feel like I have to earn every last little shred of respect!”

“Been behaving yourself, have you? Got them fooled? Please. What do you think they’ll think about this?” He pointed a finger at Gosalyn. “Or this?” And jabbed his thumb back into his own chest. “As soon as they see who you really are they won’t be so forgiving.”

“Darkwing’s here.”

“Yeah, and you just knocked out his daughter. Listen up, Launchpad. I’m giving you a choice. As soon as your little surrogate family realises I’m here, they’re going to start asking questions. They’re going to think you called me, or at least that taking you in was what brought this tragedy down upon them…”

“You leave them alone.”

“Maybe I will. I’d rather cause my havoc at night anyway, so I’ll give you until sunset. Then, you’re going to come back to this sad little shack and you’re going to tell me you’re ready to help me take down Darkwing Duck. In return, I’ll let these good, kind people get away with simply the scare of me slaughtering a superhero in their back garden. Or, you oppose me, or tell Darkwing I’m here, and if that happens…” Negaduck cackled. “I’ll burn this whole place to the ground, along with any soul unfortunate enough to get in my way!”

Launchpad’s fists shook at his sides. Grab him now. Tie him up. Beat him to a pulp. He’s half your size! All those thoughts bounced around in his head. But he didn’t move. “Negaduck, please don’t.”

Negaduck threw a leg over his motorcycle and started her up. “Think about it, old pal. It really would be fun causing chaos with you again.” Then he gunned the engine, skidded around so the bike threw up a wave of dirt, and tore away.

As soon as the motorcycle disappeared over the nearest rise, Launchpad’s knees buckled. His back slammed into the old shack besides Gosalyn and he put his face in his hands. “Aw, kid. What am I supposed to do?” He fished the packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, and fumbled to push out a single one so he could grab hold of it. The simple task was almost impossible.

Gosalyn shot to her feet. “I knew I needed to keep an eye on you!”

“Shit!” The packet jumped from Launchpad’s hands and cigarettes scattered everywhere. “Damn it, kid. I thought you’d really hurt yourself.”

Gosalyn put her hands on her hips. “Don’t play games with me. I saw you talking to Negaduck! You’re still working for him, aren’t you?”

Launchpad’s heart plummeted. “No! I didn’t even know he was here, I swear.”

“A likely… story…” Gosalyn blinked a couple of times, then sat down heavily.

“Aw, man, you’re not okay, are you?�� Launchpad reached out for her.

Gosalyn swiped a hand in front of her face. “Back off, buster.”

He could’ve scooped her up and there would be nothing she could do about it, but Launchpad paused in his advance. “You hit you’re head. I just want to check you’re okay.” He reached out for her again, slowly, and she lowered her hand. He felt her head. There was no blood, but he thought he could feel a decent sized bump.

Gosalyn tolerated it for a second, then slapped at his hand. “Ow, stop.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.” She frowned up at him. “Your hands are shaking.”

Launchpad swallowed hard. “I’m not working for Negaduck. Please believe me. He was just… there. He said if I didn’t help him he’d hurt the McQuacks. What am I supposed to do?” Suddenly, nothing seemed as important as this kid believing him. He didn’t know what else to say to convince her.

“I must’ve really hit my head… okay. He must’ve followed us from Saint Canard. Maybe we should tell Dad.”

“No! We can’t. If I tell Darkwing, Negaduck’s going to hurt the McQuacks. I have to deal with this myself. And if the McQuacks find out…” If he lost their trust, he didn’t know he could take it. No wonder this world’s Launchpad had been so angry with him when he arrived. It didn’t matter that he’d changed. He’d dragged trouble right along with him. Launchpad hung his head. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Gosalyn leaned over and swiped her knuckles into his arm. It was a terrible punch, and he was sure she could’ve done better had she not been semi out of it. “Come on. Where would you be if you hadn’t crashed in their front yard?”

Not causing trouble for innocent families for sure. Launchpad stood to his feet and held out a hand. “Can you get up?”

Gosalyn pushed herself to shaky feet and grabbed onto his arm.

“Right, I’d better carry you.”

“You are not carrying me like a baby.”

“I’m not letting you walk.”

“Hang on. Crouch down.”

Launchpad did as she instructed. Gosalyn managed to make a little jump, and hook her arms around his neck. Launchpad hefted her up in a piggy back, making sure he had his arms under her in case she passed out again and lost her grip. He started heading back to the house. “You’re not going to tell your Dad about Negaduck, right?”

“Okay fine. But you have to do something for me first.”

Despite his apprehension, Launchpad rolled his eyes. This kid was something else. “I’m not letting you play with the potato gun again. But, go on, anything else. What do you want?”

“I know Negaduck’s not a nice guy. But you’re terrified of him. What did he do to you? Launchpad told me about him making you burn your planes, but, you know, what else?”

Launchpad’s guts tightened. “Aw, man, kid. You don’t pull any punches do you?”

“If someone scared my Launchpad that bad… well, that’s why I was so mad at you.”

“Okay, okay…” There was plenty to choose from. Some he certainly wouldn’t share with a kid. But neither did Launchpad want to downplay her question by choosing something like Negaduck getting way too competitive about playing punchies, which had never really bothered him at all. And then he thought about his own Gosalyn. “It wasn’t just me he was a jerk to…”

***

“Come on, Negaduck. Are you sure you’re not going a bit overboard?”

“Stop whining,” Negaduck grumbled as he balanced on Launchpad’s shoulders so he could tie his minion’s wrists to the branch above. The dying tree in Negaduck’s backyard couldn’t take his weight, so they’d just settled for stringing him up to it with his feet still on the ground. “You’re the idiot who let her keep talking about getting a pink pinata for her birthday. Honestly, I leave you two alone for five minutes…”

“You beat a pinata with a stick! I thought you wanted her to find something violent to enjoy? Sounds like violence to me.”

“She wants a pink pony pinata because its supposed to have candy inside. Urgh. I don’t want any daughter of mine getting candy for her birthday. By this age, I expect her to ask me for a butterfly knife or something.” Negaduck finished his knot, then leapt back to the ground. “If she wants to hit something with a stick the only thing she should enjoy getting out of it is blood and teeth.” He scooped up the rolled up bit of cardboard that had come with the pinata Gosalyn thought she was getting, and thumped Launchpad heavily on the chest with it.

Launchpad grinned. “Heh. Yeah. That’s always fun. I’m glad she won’t be knocking anything out with that flimsy piece of trash though. But we’ve got to start her somewhere, right?”

“Oh, yeah of course.” Negaduck dug amongst the smashed paper mache they’d already destroyed in the corner of the yard, and came up with a handful of colourful candy, and a pink ribbon. “Now, hold still.”

“I don’t want that thing in my hair… wha…”

Negaduck rammed the candy, wrappers and all, into Launchpad’s beak, then trussed it up with the pink ribbon. “That’s much better.” He grinned, patted Launchpad on his bulging check, then screamed: “Gosalyn! Get your butt out here. It’s pinata time!”

Gosalyn stumbled out of the house in her pink party dress, blindfolded. She grinned madly as she swayed across the yard like a drunk man. “Dad! Can I at least see the pinata first?”

“What? And break the pinata rules?” Negaduck winked at Launchpad. Then he hurled the rolled up piece of cardboard over the Muddlefoot’s fence. “Won’t be needing this!” He reached into the pile of paper mache and pulled out an aluminium baseball bat.

Launchpad shuffled back. “Nefadufck…” he mumbled around the plastic mixed with sickly sweet goop in his mouth.

“Stay where you are, Launchpad!” Negaduck barked.

Launchpad jerked to a halt at the order.

“What?” said Gosalyn. “What’s he doing?”

“Being pushy. You know how he likes smashing thing. But you’re the party girl; so you get to go first.” Negaduck shoved the bat into Gosalyn’s hands and adjusted her grip. He pointed her to face Launchpad.

Gosalyn tapped the bat on Launchpad’s hip.

“Higher, sweetheart. If you want it to spill, you need to hit it right in the guts.” Negaduck leaned forward, hand on his daughter’s shoulder, a wicked grin splitting his beak.

Gosalyn adjusted her grip. All the practice Launchpad had with her in the back yard was paying off; her swing was perfect. The bat slammed up under his ribs. Launchpad dropped. The flimsy bough broke under his weight and snapped in half on impact across his back. Launchpad doubled over as bile leapt up his throat and mixed with the gunk in his mouth. He spluttered and gagged and couldn’t get air, and then the flimsy pink ribbon popped and the whole mess spilled out on the browning lawn.

Gosalyn ripped her blindfold off. No way she could’ve been fooled that impact had been with paper mache. The bat clattered to the ground at her side.

“Gosalyn… I’m… kay…” Launchpad said, then sagged back down with a wheeze.

Gosalyn’s eyes filled with tears. “Launchpad, I’m sorry.” She bolted back into the house.

Negaduck cackled. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!”

Launchpad spat, then pushed himself to his knees, a hand still to his belly.

Negaduck grabbed him by the collar. “Next time, I expect you to talk her out of this kind of garbage before I have to get involved. I can find someone much bigger than a little girl to take a swing at you.” He hauled him to his feet and flung him towards the house. “Now go ask her if she wants cake!”

***

He’d carried Gosalyn almost all the way back to the house now. Launchpad gulped and adjusted his grip underneath her. Between Darkwing Duck and the McQuacks, he really didn’t know how this would pan out.

“You can put me down now.”

Launchpad let her slip off his back. She grabbed him around the waist and hugged him tight.

“Hey… what?”

“I’m sorry, Launchpad. I knew Negaduck was a jerkface, but… I won’t tell my Dad. And I’ll help you take care of Negaduck.”

“Heh.” Launchpad prised her off him. “Let’s just make sure you’re okay first.”

***

Drake had paced the porch for the last half hour. His only consolation, despite Birdie’s assurances that the Negaverse Launchpad was harmless, was that it was highly unlikely he had kidnapped his daughter. Gosalyn would have taken off with him simply because she knew her father wouldn’t like it.

Finally, he saw her coming down the front path, Launchpad’s double trailing almost right behind her. Drake cleared the front steps and rushed to meet his daughter. “Gosalyn, don’t go running off like that!”

He knew something was wrong when Gosalyn looked up at him, not ready for an argument, but with relief. And then she slumped into his arms. Drake clamped her tight to her chest. His gaze snapped up to the Negaverse Launchpad, and the only thing that stopped him from slamming a fist into his face was supporting his daughter. “What did you do?” he hissed.

“Dad, it’s okay,” said Gosalyn, though she still clung to him. “It’s not his fault. I was being stupid and I fell over.”

Launchpad shuffled a boot through the dirt. “She hit her head. I’m sorry. I thought I was watching her.” The subdued moment was just so… Launchpad, that it gave Drake pause. His buddy’s double actually felt bad about this. So he should, but still.

Leaning on the porch railing beside his wife, Ripcord went rigid. “Wait, she hit her head?” He paled several shades. “I’ll… doctor…” He bolted back inside so quickly the door slammed into the wall and the front windows rattled.

Birdie winced. “Rip! It’s okay, she’s conscious…” She hung her head in resignation. “Great. We’re going to have the entirety of the town’s medical staff here in ten minutes. I thought we were past this.”

Drake scooped Gosalyn up, despite her half-hearted protestations, threw a glare at Launchpad’s double, and followed Birdie inside. His heart still thudded in his chest, but it was steadily slowing. He wasn’t sure how mad he was supposed to be at the Negaverse Launchpad. I mean, he’d be mad at Launchpad if he’d let something like this happen, but he wouldn’t hold it against him. He wasn’t surprised Gosalyn had gone and down something dumb. It wasn’t the first time.

“Yes, send them now!” Ripcord growled into the phone.

Birdie, put a hand on his arm. “Ripcord, calm down. Here…” She took the phone off him. “Yes, she’s conscious. But if you could send one of the doctors over that’d be great.” She hung up, then turned back to her husband and grasped his hands. “Are you alright?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Ripcord grumbled.

Launchpad pushed past them, not making eye contact with anyone, and went into the kitchen.

Drake took Gosalyn into the living room, put her down onto the sofa and rearranged the cushions around her.

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you are. Although, its not the first time you’ve given yourself a concussion.” He squeezed her shoulder. “That head of yours is nearly as hard as Launchpad’s. You’ll be fine.”

“My son does not have a hard head,” said Ripcord. “And neither does your daughter! You don’t know what happened to her; it could be serious. How can you be so blase about your own child…”

Drake saw red. He whirled and stabbed a finger into Ripcord’s chest. “I think I know whether my daughter needs medical attention or not, thank you very much!”

Although Drake had intended to give him a good prod in the chest, he found himself pointing just above the man’s belly button. Ripcord glared down at him, and then his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

Drake lowered his hand. “I… yeah, I know. Thanks for, you know, being so on the ball and calling the doctor. Sorry, I overreacted.”

Ripcord smiled tightly. “Hey, its fine, I get it. I have kids too, remember?” He turned to Birdie. “How long ago did we call?”

“Speaking of kids,” said Birdie. “I heard one of our planes come back over. Launchpad might be back in the hanger. You should go talk to him. He’ll be in a better mood after taking a plane out.”

“Yeah, but…”

Birdie patted his arm.“Not your kid. We’ll handle it. You know you’ll just get underfoot.”

“Probably,” Ripcord huffed. He glanced one last time at Gosalyn, then headed out the front door.

Launchpad came back from the kitchen with a glass of water and took it to Gosalyn. Drake snatched it off him, then handed it over to her.

“Dad, really?”

“I don’t know what you two were up to,” he said, voice low. “But you are not going out together unsupervised again!”

***

Chapter 5

#darkwing duck #darkwing #darkwing fanfiction #darkwing duck fanfiction #dwd #dwd91 #darkwing duck 1991 #nega launchpad #negalaunchpad #gosalyn mallard #drake mallard #ripcord mcquack #birdie mcquack #negaduck #disney ducks

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winfredkipling · 3 years ago

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crybabytoy59 · 5 years ago

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The Meeting (reworking)

The Meeting, pt.2

After I swallowed down his “Gift” they put Mistress mummy's wet pissy pants back in my mouth putting the ball gag face harness over that, Mistress Mummy patted my head “Let’s Get her cleaned up Master Daddy” I was then moved? as the box lifted slightly I found it had wheels. Master Daddy pulled the face mask over as again I breathed in my mess from the box !

As I was wheeled along a corridor I watched Mistress Mummy in front of me I could make out her figure past the Tears as she strode along, she turned to open a door then spoke “Right Crybaby in we go let’s get you nice and clean ready for the evening's entertainment.. You sweetheart!” I was pushed into a wet room. It had a hoist from the ceiling with cuffs dangling from it, there was a large stand with two hot water bottles hanging upside down a clear tube from each led to an enema nozzle, they looked very full ! one was red the other black, on the stand was all manner of tubes and attachments. As I looked at them I felt the box open as Master Daddy removed the two top pieces, after that my arms were undone, as were my ankles from the wee saddle straps. Master Daddy then spoke to me “ Ok Crybaby Up you get and step out the “punishment box” as I did he started unstrapping the arm binder, as it came off Mistress Mummy came over after setting the shower temperature, she spoke to me “Now Crybaby let’s get You undressed stinky girlie Crybaby!” As I Was stripped to just my Tena and pads Master Daddy came over with a bucket setting it down beside me.

Mistress mummy pulled the disposable off throwing it into the bucket as Master Daddy put a wet towel over it, remarking “Clever girlie Crybaby That’s quite a good effort for a potty virgin ! Handies up in the air!”He then put my wrists in the cuffs, I slowly was hoisted to the balls of my feet by Mistress Mummy. They pushed me under the spray it felt lovely as Mistress Mummy lifted a pump spay then started at my neck spraying pink foam on me it smelled of strawberries. Once my whole body from the neck down was covered they lifted a shower head washing all the mess from me, I could no longer smell my own mess only the strawberries 🍓I started too relax my crying ebbing to light sobbing which they ignored.

Next I was pulled out the water as Mistress Mummy was spraying more pink foam on me, Master Daddy winched me off my feet by three inches I now hung by My arms whimpering.

Mistress Mummy put on rubber gloves then she started massaging the pink foam on me, my crotch got her attention as did my rear this made me Very excited, this too Was simply ignored by them. Master Daddy pushed me back under the water as it fell over me I now felt different much more sensitive to the water as I noticed Mistress Mummy at the controller the water was getting much hotter as my skin stared to turn red.

Master Daddy was wheeling over the stand with the two hot water bottles hanging from it!! Mistress mummy took the tube from him put an arm around me then spoke “Open your leggies Wide Crybaby! “ as I did she pushed the lubricated plug inside me, I now felt the hot flow inside me filling me “Clever girlie Crybaby close your leggies ankles together feeties facing outwards then Do Not Move !!!”.....they spoke quietly together then Mistress mummy left the room. This was the first time I had been alone with Master Daddy he rubbed my filling tummy then spoke “Clever girlie Crybaby filling up nicely, Ok lets you and I have a wee talk...Mistress Mummy and I are going to do some Very WKD things to you next! none of which You Crybaby will find enjoyable, but as I want You to please Mistress mummy Every time she asks you “would her Crybaby like a rest” You Will Say No Thank You Mistress Mummy I am a Naughty Crybaby please continue!....Do I Make Myself Clear?? (I nodded) If Crybaby You disobey Me on this I will take you to “the quiet room” and punish You untill You pass out Is That Clear!!!” (I nodded) Clever girlie Crybaby then we will get on fine You and I , Now lets give this a wee hand “ Master Daddy took the bag pushed the last into me rapidly as he did Mistress Mummy came back in with my dress and various items of bondage gear....Master Daddy patted my rear then slowly removed the nozzle from my rear “leggies tight together feeties outwards you have permission to empty Crybaby!” I did not need a second telling ! it flowed down the rear of my legs as it did Master Daddy sprayed the pink foam over me, then Mistress Mummy pushed the second tube up inside me this one felt strange cooler than the first as it went in I felt strange like everything was slowing down, I was very aware of everything I could hear my own breath every sound they made?

Mistress Mummy loved this part a good friend who was a nurse made up the enema mix a thick gel full of drugs, First was a mental stimulus that made the Slave very aware, next was a powerful diuretic & a laxative that would bring constant liquid movement for 8 hours, a salt & minerals mix would keep the Slave hydrated and able to cry tears for prolonged periods, lastly was a nerve drug that made the nerve endings Very sensitive.

She smiled to hubby as the last of the gel made its way into her New Toys intestines, she was now soaking wet & feeling flush holding Still for a moment to let the urge to climax pass !! The look in his eyes telling her the drugs were in his system!!

As the last drained into him she removed the plug hanging it up on the stand,Mistress Mummy Spoke “Ok Sweetheart I want you to hold that in for five more minutes (she looked at the clock talking to her hubby as five mins passed) Ok now you have permission to go....Do it slowly for us ....that’s the way good Crybaby Slowly! that’s a Clever girlie are you done ?” (I nodded) Well Done Crybaby lets get you dressed”

What happened next confused me ? They dried me very gently being ever so kind as Mistress mummy lifted the white silk petticoat on me. It was then I realised I had no hair what so ever from my neck down ! she told me how cute I was teasing me over my nipples playfully, the pvc pink maids dress followed then a black under bust corset this she put on not too tightly next came a pink leather garter this looked like a climbing harness? A wide waist band with thigh cuffs connected via hip straps. Then came pink tights with frilly tops followed by cuffs at my ankles and knees in pink. Master Daddy came over and took the ball gag out as he did Mistress mummy lifted my chin up putting a posture collar on me tightly this made me Look upwards it was a severe item with a metal rod that was adjustable to force the head backwards ....they both seemed pleased with me...I was still feeling strange as I heard there voices so loud in my head Mistress Mummy Spoke first “Clever girlie Crybaby you look lovely so let’s get you to the playroom as You sweetheart have an appointment with the Naughty chair!” They both laughed..Master Daddy spanked me firmly making me gasp as I felt he had spanked me with a paddle but it was only his hand ? He spoke to me “Remember what I Told You Crybaby!....or Fucking Else ...Move Crybaby Pain Toy..follow Mistress Mummy!!” I was led back to the dungeon....tearing up.....as I entered the dungeon there was a frame that loosely resembled a chair it had a single leg too it’s center from this was a 360deg swivel that could also be tilted, the seat base had two leather covered pads on two curved outward runners at the center it had a shaft this had an oval pad just off the base ten inches, master daddy patted the chair “Up you get Crybaby kneel on these pads & bend over the big pad Crybaby.....clever girlie hurry up we don’t have all night!” As I straddled the chair my tummy rested on the pad, they set about strapping me to the chair by my calf’s then my upper thighs, once done Mistress Mummy spoke “Take a deep breath Crybaby & hold it in, then when I Tell You exhale Fully !” As I did I felt the corset tightening around my waist! She barked at me “Exhale Crybaby! More let it All out !.... Clever girlie!... again!...Deep Breath... Clever girlie exhale Now !... clever girlie that’s it pant through it ! As You are taking this Crybaby!” I was now taking short breaths due to the restrictions of the corset narrowing my waist!....Master Daddy spoke to me “Handies behind your back Crybaby..clever girlie that’s the way!” I had a spreader bar fitted then I felt my arms being pulled upwards, I started whimpering then spoke “please I can’t go any further.. please Master Daddy!” He stopped,as I did he spanked me firmly “Open You’re Mouth Wide!!” Mistress Mummy had a gag it was shaped like a cock 4” long Down turned the end looked to be full of holes.

It was part of a lower jaw mask made from pink rubber, it went over my nose she pulled the two half’s tightly behind my head inserting the nostril ovals!

Looking at me with a WKD grin she spoke “Now Crybaby tell me have You ever been force Fed?...(I shook my head) Aaawww Clever girlie Crybaby...Hear that Master Daddy Crybaby is a feeder virgin...Don’t fret Crybaby we’re going to change that Now sweetheart!!”

Mistress mummy pulled over a small cart it had a blender on it, beside that was what looked like a water gun with a clear tube from it? Next too that was a plate it had a chocolate cake a bowl of Raw sprouts a can of dog food & four eggs, she cut the cake in half putting it in the blender followed by half of the rest of the ingredients! A flick of the blender and it all turned to a mushy brown/green liquid, .this was poured into the gun..She spoke to Master Daddy “”Ok Master Daddy Hold Her headie Still!” I felt my head held firm from behind as Mistress mummy attached the tube from the gun she then pushed the handle hard ! The goo flowed up the clear pipe then enter my mouth,I swallowed the first mouth full ! It was Not very pleasant as my taste buds picked out the variety of foods...she spoke to me “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s it sweetheart swallowing your feed for us...Ok here we Go!!” She pushed the plunger with all her might! I Suddenly had to swallow at an alarming rate with no time for breath over and over I swallowed as I fought the urge for air as the last of it filled my stomach! Mistress Mummy seemed Very pleased as she returned to the blender filling the second batch, I was whimpering as I felt very full, Master Daddy still held my head, Mistress Mummy looked over at me then spoke “Clever girlie Crybaby eating All your Num’Nums.....would our Crybaby like a wee rest ?” I felt Master Daddy grip tighter..I knew what he wanted...I muffed past the feeder gag “No Mistress Mummy I have been a naughty Baby please can I have More ”.....she looked at me again “what Crybaby...Don’t You want a wee rest? Do You Want Mistress Mummy to feed you more? ( I nodded) Very well!... Clever girlie Crybaby..Master Daddy can you hand me the flask please!” I felt my head being let go as Master Daddy went to her with a steel flask she poured it in the blender putting the top on, Mistress Mummy hit the switch as she did she kissed Master Daddy then spoke to him “Put Crybaby in the head harness with her headie fully back!” Master Daddy came over as my face suddenly changed tears running down my face he spoke to her...”Mistress mummy I think Crybaby has worked out what flask I gave you” as Master Daddy strapped my head back tightly, Mistress Mummy came over with the gun.....she spoke “Crying won’t stop us sweetheart..Now I want this kept Down Don’t Dare Bring this Back Up Or You Will Be Punished Severely Crybaby!....in we go Sweetheart Swallow..Clever girlie that’s a good toilet girlie!!”......(Mistress Mummy nodded over my shoulder) Clever girlie Crybaby..Master Daddy has something for you Sweetheart!” I felt something at my rear slowly pushing into me ! As Master Daddy started to lift me slightly in the bonds, Suddenly he started thrusting slow long thrusts ..”Clever girlie Crybaby you swallow for Mistress Mummy as Master Daddy fills this end toilet girlie Crybaby that’s it Cry for us..Come on Crybaby CRY LOUDER!” Suddenly he started thrusting so hard the frame shook....Mistress Mummy pushed hard on the plunger.....as I swallowed hard to keep up, Master Daddy started spanking me!....as he did the door opened & a much younger girl walked in she was Asian around 5’4” slim built with jet black hair she was dressed in a red rubber uniform, she was carrying a black leather draw string bag, Mistress Mummy spoke to her “Hi D you just timed that perfect Crybaby is just on her second feeding..as you can see Master Daddy is giving her a hard time !” They all giggled as Master Daddy stopped briefly to kiss this new girl, then simply resumed fucking me...Mistress Mummy emptying the last of the gun in me spoke “Well Done Crybaby...Now this is Mistress D But you will call her Mistress Nanny, we have invited her over to help us tonight as Crybaby we are going to take shifts punishing You as sleeping will not be an option for You this weekend, I want every ounce of emotional destruction from You Crybaby! Mistress Nanny is going to help me with your first punishment (she was tucking my huge dress into the belt on the corset front) we are going to put Some nice large needles in those cute Baby’balls of Yours !” Just as she spoke Master Daddy tensed Up! Climaxed inside me....I Did Cry much harder....as Master Daddy wiped my rear with a small cloth catching his deposit! Then putting on a robe he spoke “Clever girlie Crybaby that was fun..Now Remember What I Told You..” he kissed them both and left to shower....”Mistress Nanny put a leather roll on the trolley slowly opening it..inside were rows of needles some up too 6” in length ! Mistress Mummy sprayed my balls with alcohol it felt very cold.......Both of them put on rubber gloves...as Mistress Mummy undid the feeder gag she spoke “Let’s Get You gagged so you don’t disturb Us as we punish You Crybaby..Open Wide....I Said Wide Crybaby!!” She pushed some kind of wax soaked cloth into each cheek then forced the cloth Master Daddy had wiped me with between them over my tongue so I could taste him!! Then she put a strap too the head harnessing over the wad gagging,

Next she wound a steel ring around the base of my cock pulling a strap to separate my balls in two, she nodded to Mistress Nanny who spoke to me “Now Crybaby Sweetheart Take a big Deep Breath and hold it in please Clever girlie Crybaby In we go!” I screamed into the gagging such was the pain from the needle passing through my right ball !!

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cosplayinamerica · 6 years ago

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Always be kind, especially if you see some that have spent time putting a costume together. We are all still humans and we should put more encouraging words out there and build each other up and not tear them down. Everyone is at different skill levels but we are all just making art of the characters we hold dear. Keep making beautiful things. The world needs more of that!

Something awesome also happened while I was there after the cosplay contest. Our whole group was able to meet Tom Cook who was an animator for the entire He-man Masters of the Universe cartoon! We got photos and free autographs from him and he even said he liked my version better than the show which made so happy and made it all worth it.

So for the Sorceress, I used to watch He-man when I was very young and a group of my friends who are all at least a decade older than I am, they came up with a huge group cosplay for a con a year in advance. The Sorceress was a little out of my comfort zone since I hadn't made anything with wings but I was determined to make it.

My friends in the group kept calling me chicken girl since her color scheme on the original show is white, orange and royal blue which is just so harsh and in your face. The white feathers definitely resembled a chicken so I decided to keep the look similar but change the colors to something more regal and also nice on the eyes. (thank you college color theory class) I ended up choosing gold instead of orange and teal instead of royal blue and that made a huge difference. But I still wanted to get even farther away from the chicken look so I chose peacock feathers because there is no mistaking those for any other type of bird. It's really when I first realized how much I loved redesigning characters that I already loved!

For the bodice, I need bleached white ones so I ended up buying around 300 feathers. For the rest of the wings, I ran into a bit of luck if you can call it that. My friend happened to be garage sale hunting that day. She called me and said there were hundreds of peacock feathers at this house that was about 5 minutes away from where I lived. I drive there and bought 2,000 peacock feathers for 40 dollars! That's a deal!

How I got the color was spray painting them with gold and teal. Each one front and back. The wings are actually double layered with a gold piece of fabric so I could glue each individual feather on. The whole process took about 2 months. For the mask, I made the inside structure out of crayola modeling magic and wrapped it in worbla. The staff is pvc pipe with eva/craft foam for the details. Overall it took me around 3 months.

Cosplay has honestly changed my life in so many ways. I'm busier that is for sure. With a full-time job and now with guest appearances at cons that include workshops and panels. I do photo shoots which take up my days off and now I just launched my Patreon so that is something that makes me need to keep motivated to produce work. I still do commissions for people which take up a lot of time and but I still manage to work on my own cosplays. The friends that I have made doing this and the places I travel, I just feel very lucky to be able to do what I do. I love taking a character that I grew up looking up to and becoming that! To me cosplay is more than just putting on a Halloween costume, I am making wearable art. That's the best part to me is creating something from nothing. I've learned so many things from cosplaying, new techniques and materials every time I start a new project. I love learning and even more, I love sharing what I have learned with others!

---- Nightingale Vixen Cosplay

Support Cosplay in America by shopping on Amazon : https://amzn.to/2Ek5y3M

#He-Man #Masters of the Universe #cosplay

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quagmireisadora · 5 years ago

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[Jinki / Jonghyun] The Writing on His Face

Rating: R Warning: none Genre: face blindness au Length: ~9300 A/N: this is for @jjongyyu who was looking for an old and popular fic that disappeared. While I never read the story myself, I got a rough summary and have tried to recreate it to the best of my abilities. I don’t mean any copyright infringement to the original author, and hope they are doing well, wherever they are now.

Title based on the poem 얼굴에 쓴 글씨 by Kim Hyesoon

—–-

Long arms rose above the patrons and waved in wide arcs. Only Minho would, Jonghyun smirked to himself.

He walked among the tables and when he reached the other, he mumbled a low greeting. Usually they would come in here at lunch, after a few matches of badminton at the university sports ground. It was a Saturday afternoon tradition between them. But this morning, he woke up to a message telling him to come straight to breakfast.

He sat down with a sigh and picked up a menu. Almost immediately, fingers rapped on the other side of the laminated page.

“I already ordered for us. The usual, right?”

“What’s the usual?”

Minho sighed. “Yah… is your memory failing you now, too?”

“What if I wanted to try something new for once? Eh?”

“Ah, then show up early next week!”

Jonghyun would’ve continued their farcical argument had he not given into the other’s ridiculous expression – eyes wide, brows raised, lips pouting angrily. It always managed to make him laugh. “This joker…” he chuckled.

Minho’s own countenance melted into a sheepish smile. “Anyway, what do you want to do today? The courts are closed for a month.”

“Maintenance again?”

The other shrugged. “Could be. News is, they had a burst pipe from the storm last week. Flooded the street downstream. All the old people in the big houses near the campus were complaining about it.”

“See?” Jonghyun pointed. “This wouldn’t have happened if they’d taken our advice earlier this year. I told them they should take advantage of the annual upgrade and change the clay pipes in for PVCs. I told them!” he insisted, then waved his arms. “But no~ it’s too excessive~”

Minho giggled, flicking some complimentary peanuts into his mouth. “Still doesn’t change my question—what are we going to do? It’s even nice outside for a change…”

“You could go see the flowers at Everland this year,” a voice suggested to them from a distance. “I hear they’ve come in really pretty.”

“Hyung!” Minho looked excited enough to clap. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” a man with a pot of coffee and a striped apron casually walked up to their table, smiling at Minho with affection. “And man, is it good to see you two after all the weird people who’ve come in here this week. College students, ah…” He poured the steaming drink into their cups and placed a couple of paper napkins next to each one. “But? I see you two boys are stuck indoors again—look at the weather! What are you doing here?”

“Uh, hyung, you’re not supposed to drive business away?” Minho joked and they both chuckled with each other.

The man turned. “Jong ah,” he nodded amicably. It was the expression most people used with him, no matter how close they may be. Unsure, faltering, tentative. It was natural for them to be that way – after all, they were never sure if he’d recognize them. Several times, they would have to explain their identity and show him photos of themselves with him. It tended to get embarrassing for all parties involved. “How have you been? Everything good at home?” the man tried to smooth over some of his hesitance.

Jonghyun concentrated on the pronunciations. He concentrated on the texture of the speech. Silk, his brain conjured the word. Every time he identified someone correctly, he flooded with a deep warmth; a self-confidence rivaling nothing else. This time too, a radiance grew in the center of his chest, piercing its way out of his rib-cage like it was trying to give away all his secrets. “Jinki hyung,” he greeted, much to the man’s surprise. “It’s nice to see you again, this one was starting to miss you,” he jerked his chin in his friend’s direction.

“Hul…” the server gasped.

“I told you he was getting better at the voice thing!” Minho said in an oddly boastful tone, then realized he’d just admitted to talking about his best friend behind his back.

“You were right,” Jinki grinned.

“How was your trip?” Jonghyun inquired.

“It was good. I got to talk to a lot of universities. They offer a lot of options these days, unlike when I got out of school so… I’m hopeful about it. Yeah,” he ended the statement with some indecision.

“That’s good. I’m glad you got to go.”

They exchanged a friendly smile, and then Jinki jumped like he’d just remembered something. “Oh right! Are we still going to that exhibition this weekend?” he asked.

“The built history one?” Jonghyun felt excited just discussing the meeting. He’d seen the post on his SNS and immediately thought of Jinki, the aspiring architect who sketched in a dog-eared little notebook in his free time. Jinki, who was trying with all his might to get a degree so he could register as a professional and find better work. When Jonghyun forwarded the post to his friends in the industry, he knew it would make its way to its target. “Yeah, of course!”

“I’m… not invited?” Minho inquired with a frown, then his expression lightened before turning impish. “Are you two going on a daaaate?” he teased, then waved his arms and made silly wooo~ sounds.

Jonghyun threw a napkin at the guy’s face. “Be quiet. It’s an educational visit.”

“I can be educational!” the other garbled. “I do… I do education!”

“Shh!”

“Haha, well that’s great,” Jinki chuckled. “So, I’ll see you here tomorrow, after my shift? We can take the subway there. Cool?”

“Cool,” Jonghyun agreed.

Minho rested his face in his hands and leaned his elbows on the table, looking dreamy. “Ahh… a date. How cute~”

“Yah, what’re you saying?!” he was given a not-so-serious scolding.

——

Jonghyun woke up with a start.

He staggered out of the blankets to look for his wallet. “Where is it…. where is it…” he mumbled under frustrated breaths. His heart pounded with fright as he combed through a pile of laundry. When he finally found it, he flicked the wallet open to look for the photo he had put in it many years ago. It was a picture of him in his high school graduation robes, two well-dressed women standing on either side of him, looking on with adoration. Hands shaking, he took the photo out of its clear pocket and held it up in front of his bleary eyes. He blinked hard, once twice thrice. He meant to blink away the sleep. Instead, tears flooded off his lashes and rolled onto his face, fell on his arms, dripped to his shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut while his lungs sobbed, but he tried again. It was expected, it was what happened every time he looked at the picture—at any picture. It was expected and he knew what would happen when he did it. But it still hurt. A twist of pain spread from his heart to his torso to the rest of his body.

He dropped everything and went to his phone. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number and waited for the ringing to stop.

“Jong ah,” the elderly woman greeted in a groggy voice. “What’s wrong? It’s so early in the morning.”

“Ma…” he rasped in the silence of his room. “Ma.”

“Jong ah, what’s happened? Are you hurt?”

“Eomma, I don’t remember your face.”

——

“You look… unwell,” Jinki stated as politely as it seemed he could.

“I’m fine,” Jonghyun tried to brush the attention away. “Just had a rough morning.”

“Is that what the sunglasses are for?” a hint of playfulness sprayed from the other. “Or are they your way of blocking out the unnecessary overload of faces?”

“Both,” Jonghyun joked in return.

They strolled through the park for a few meters until the other spoke up again. “Listen, we… really don’t have to do this today.” He looked concerned. “We can come back another time. I mean, I’d rather you go home and get some rest.”

“It’s the last day of the exhibition, hyung.”

Jinki scoffed. “An exhibition isn’t as important as your health, man,” he muttered.

Worry like this was common, regardless of who he met. It secretly irritated him, but he’d honed the skills to avoid a confrontation whenever it happened. “I tell you what,” he started to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you buy me an ice-cream when we’re done. That way you can pay me back for being here and being miserable.”

The other looked on, uncertain at first, then picked up his usual joviality. “OK!”

They walked some more until they arrived at the artificial hanok village. Houses on low wooden plinths circled a paved courtyard. The organizers had placed a row of old-fashioned shoes outside each house. Colourful paper art hung from lines overhead. Clay tiles gleamed and slate shimmered. Red square-spirals adorned the walls at mid-height. The smell of seaweed soup and pork dumplings was in the air. Tables had been set out for anyone interested in a game or two of baduk. In the distance, two women in traditional clothes played the zither and the flute, while a bunch of young boys in hanboks competed in hacky sack.

It was as if they had been transported to another time. “Just like a sageuk drama,” Jinki sounded a little breathless, running his hands over pillars and walls. The tips of his fingers were stubby, and sometimes came away with plaster or paint. But he still touched everything he could, still tried to feel every surface within his reach. “It’s like a… a dream!” he turned around, eyes sparkling with excitement. Jonghyun grinned at him.

They explored their way through the fair, picked a few things to eat and a few others to drink. At one point, they stopped to watch a dance and drumming performance. They clapped in time with the beat and shared a look before laughing at the MC’s jokes.

When it came time to leave, Jonghyun requested they take a selca. Jinki consented and proceeded to make silly faces at the camera. Later on, out of the other’s sight, Jonghyun chose one of the photos as his lock screen, happily running a thumb over it.

“How about that ice cream?” one called as he walked ahead. The other nodded.

They ambled as they left the exhibition grounds, taking in the sights of the riverside. Streamers and lanterns hung between light poles, announcing the event. Some more girls walked past in full traditional clothes, giggling about something.

“… and I thought they were very clever in the way they negotiated with the locals, tried to get their input to feed back to the planners, cause it’s so important to understand the user grou—you’re not listening,” Jonghyun stopped talking when he saw the other simply watching him.

“No I am!” Jinki assured cheerily as he veered to one side of the walkway. He propped himself against the railing. “I like listening to you talk. You’re very passionate about your job.”

He pursed his lips. “I guess… it pays really well, and I get to work by myself, away from people. So that’s nice.”

“Hmm… you get your own space to think.”

“Exactly.”

The other’s smile was a hint rueful. “How nice.”

“Hey. Hyung,” Jonghyun closed the distance between them. “You’ll get there too, soon,” he encouraged. “I mean… you’re saving up for the education you want, you’re talking to universities so you can make the best choice. You’re clearly driven.”

“I’m also really old,” Jinki sighed. “My mother says I’m being too unrealistic with all this and sometimes… sometimes I think she might be right. You know?“ he shook his head. "A degree in architecture is difficult. And after I’ve done all that, I don’t even know if I’ll ever get a job. In this economy?” He scoffed, scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Ah… I’m thirty and I still haven’t done anything with my life… I’ve wasted so much time.”

“You were in the army, it’s not a waste of time.”

The other offered a grateful smile, but his eyes were suddenly tired. Jonghyun leaned against the railing next to Jinki and said no more. They shared that little island of silence, watching the fair and the mountains in the distance. The sun grazed against their necks and shoulders, hugged their arms as they stood motionless, listening to the sounds of chirping birds. Because of the way Jonghyun’s visual memory worked, he needed constant speech to prompt his brain with information—I’m with this person, we know each other though such and such place, we’re here today on such and such errand. He liked when he could use people’s voices to give them a name because it made him feel safe, feel like he belonged where he was just then. But Jinki’s soft exhales allowed him to be alone for a short while, and he used that time on his own breath.

The spell was broken by a, “Oh, right, I heard you moved to a new apartment?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Some weeks ago, now.”

“And you haven’t had a housewarming party yet, have you?”

Jonghyun tilted his head at the other, stating the obvious. “Minho?”

Jinki laughed. “Who else but the one and only?”

He shook his head. “That boy and his big mouth… No, I haven’t had a party yet,” he admitted. “I… honestly, I don’t like parties. They’re really. Disorienting.”

“Hmm,” the other hummed sympathetically.

“Plus, I have way too many people I’ll need to invite, and it’s going to be stupidly difficult to call them all up, confirm with each one, then order all their favorite stuff. Clean up the mess when they’re gone. It’s… ah, it’ll be a hassle.”

“You…” Jinki nodded with admiration. “Sound like you have a lot of friends. I’m actually jealous.”

“Yeah well,” Jonghyun started with some bitterness. “Still doesn’t stop me being lonely.”

The other chuckled. “How can you be lonely? This world is so insanely full of people, it’d be impossible.”

“See, that’s what I hate?” he pointed out, frowning and gesturing with his hands. “That in my life, lonely and alone have never met. They’re miles apart.”

Jinki studied him at that, eyes narrowed, lip worried. His hair fluttered in a zephyr and one of his cheeks shone gold against the setting sun. There was a sadness in that stare. It reached out with its arms as if waiting for someone to come pick it up, to come take it away because it didn’t belong there. The sadness seemed to weigh enough that its owner’s vision sagged to the ground, tired of holding itself up to face the rest of the world. If Jonghyun could, he’d have reached out and wiped it clean off the man’s face. But he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” Jinki said lowly, nearly whispering. His gaze moved to the ground, to his own shoes. “I know what you mean.”

——

“What’s up?” Minho answered the phone immediately.

“OK, let’s do it.”

“You mean let’s start a band? Yesssss!”

“Ye—what?” Jonghyun barked into his phone. “No! I’m talking about the thing you’ve been bugging me to do for weeks.”

“Yeah! Start a band!” Minho reiterated.

“Idiot, I mean a house-warming party.”

There was silence for a few seconds. “Ohhhhh… so I take it the date went well huh?”

“It wasn’t a date, we aren’t dating, I was only accompanying him to the fair,” he patiently listed, but bit his lip because he couldn’t really lie. Not to Minho. “And yeah, he did bring up my move and all that but—”

“A-ha!”

“What’s a-ha?” Jonghyun panicked.

“A-ha is you finally deciding to throw a party so you can get Jinki hyung to visit your hooome~ oooh~”

“Yah, yah, yah…!” he warned over Minho’s stupid noises. “It’s nothing like that, don’t go around spreading rumors OK?”

“You’re in loooove~”

“Hang up, right now!” he yelled.

——

He nearly didn’t hear the doorbell over the din. As he balanced a bowl of chips and dip in one hand, used his hip to push a trolley of glasses, and tried to twist the door knob with the other, someone walked past him giving instructions to bring out the drinks. He frowned after them but couldn’t pinpoint with any certainty who it was. When he gave up, the newcomer at his threshold waved.

Jonghyun frowned. The guest had short hair, a hooked nose, wore a loose sleeveless shirt and jeans, and carried a small bouquet of red roses. Nothing in their appearance could give away what or who they were. “He-hello…” he tried.

The other person tried to ease off the awkwardness. “Uh, thanks for inviting me,” he said with an appreciative nod. “Sorry I’m late, I wanted to pick these up for you–”

“Oh! It’s you, hyung,” Jonghyun sighed with relief. “Come, come on in!” he waved.

“Wow!” Jinki immediately let out. “This place is…”

“Big?” Jonghyun raised his eyebrows in suggestion. “Huge!” the other’s eyes were wide. “So… so Miesian too, like all the glass is really. Fresh and modern and—”

“Tell me what you think later, here take this off me and feed yourself,” he offered the bowl and started walking back to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back, just try to find Minho, he’ll show you around.”

When Jonghyun wheeled the trolley to the kitchen, a woman was standing there, leaning against the island. He offered her a bottle of beer. “Can I help you?” he asked her.

“Yah, you know I only drink beer when there’s fried chicken,” the woman responded, then suddenly perked up at an idea. "Did you order any fried chicken?”

“Noona,” Jonghyun whined with a sudden rush of tiredness, walking over for a hug. “This is so difficult,” he muttered into her shoulder.

Sodam patted the back of his head. “You’re doing fine. And I’m right here. Just call out, if you need me, OK?”

He hummed reluctantly before he was sent back into the crowd. Jonghyun trudged to the living room, a case of beers in one hand. A circle of guests waved to him with congratulatory words, and although he recognized no one, he did his best to behave amicably. As soon as he could excuse himself, he set the bottles safely onto a table. On cue, someone climbed onto his back with a loud proclamation of “Jonggie hyung!”

With the affectionate term, and the bounce in the other’s voice, the connection to face and name was instant. “Oh! Taeminnie!”

The boy got off and hugged him tightly. “Ahhhh, have I missed you,“ Jonghyun was swayed to and fro. "We don’t even meet like we used to every morning, now that you’ve moved. You’re so far away… I had to take two trains to get here.” Taemin pouted cutely.

“You’re here now,” Jonghyun said with love, grasping the other’s shoulders. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“This party’s great! Everyone’s here!” Taemin skipped a little in place. “I even ran into Jongin and Hyoyeon noona in the balcony. I haven’t seen any of you in so long, ah~! Remember when we used to go on a drive in the hills?”

Jonghyun nodded happily. “And how is Naeun doing?” he inquired.

“What, she hasn’t filed for divorce yet?” Minho’s warm voice slid into the conversation. “I’m shocked, considering what a headache you can be on your best da—ack!” Taemin tackled him playfully and Jonghyun decided to leave the two of them alone to their stupid wrestling.

“Just don’t break anything!” he called out after them with a grin. More unknown faces and more good wishes ambushed him. And they would’ve continued to do so for the good part of the evening, had he not bowed out of conversations before they turned unpleasant for him.

At a moment of leisure, Jonghyun’s eyes looked through the crowd for any sign of red roses. When he found it, he started to swim through the throng to get to it. All along the way there, people commended him on the new apartment and gave him all sorts of compliments. He thanked them as best as he could without seeming too rude. With Jinki’s familiar back within earshot, he called out.

“Hyung, I—”

“Oh, there you are,” the other turned around with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” Jonghyun wondered if he’d ever been privy to it before, because there was nothing but sunshine in that smile. It glowed like gold and warmed his cheeks as if summer had landed on his face, resting against his skin after a long flight. He wondered if Jinki had ever shown him an expression like that before, and wondered if it would’ve made Jonghyun’s cold nights more bearable–had he been able to remember such a smile. He almost blushed, almost shied a little at the thought but the other pulled him over by his arm.

“We were just talking about you,” Jinki held the roses out for his host to take, and motioned a third man standing next to him; a scar on his eyebrow and a piercing in his lip. The newcomer looked from one to the other and gave a soft smile.

“Hi.”

Jonghyun squinted. “Hello, I’m so glad you could come,” he attempted, in a manoeuvre to identify who the other person was.

“It’s me,” the man said, as if it should’ve been obvious who he was by now. “Kim Kibum?”

“Oh,” Jonghyun’s nervousness cooled down. He shot the other a sheepish purse of the lips. “Hey. I meant it, Bummie. I’m glad you’re here.”

Kibum’s momentary coldness disappeared. “How have you been, Jjong?”

“Good,” he nodded. “Very good. So…” he took a deep breath. “I see you two have already met.”

“He’s been singing your praises for a while now,” Jinki assured. “And giving me some very interesting dirt on you in the process,” he teased.

“Dirt?” Jonghyun shot a worried look at Kibum. “Wh-what dirt?”

Jinki stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “I’m joking!” he laughed.

“Don’t mind him,” Kibum said. “He’s always like this. Always makes a mountain out of a molehill.”

“No, I don’t,” Jonghyun challenged, willing to argue over the fact.

“See?” and the other two giggled. “Anyway. This is a great house, Jjong. And a great party too,” Kibum placated. “I only wish there were some music, you know?”

“Yah, he’s already confused as it is, you want to add to the confusion?!” Minho appeared behind them on cue, carrying a tray heavy with refreshments for other guests. “Use your brain!”

“At least I have a brain to use!” Kibum retorted and Minho squealed with laughter, nearly spilling all his food. They all chuckled along.

“OK, you two have fun, I need to say hello to some more people,” Jonghyun bid them farewell, not wanting to to leave but also not wanting to stay. On his way, Minho took him aside and described a few visitors to him: told him their names and what they were wearing, just so he could avoid the discomfiture of meeting the same group of guests more than once. He nodded and tried to remember everything, tried to smile at everyone he passed, tried to give everyone his hellos and offer a drink to whoever asked about his health. He tried to enjoy himself, take pride in his new home and his old friends all gathering to celebrate it with him. He honestly tried.

Through it all, he made sure not to turn around and look back at the other two again. But when he was at the sliding door to the balcony, and the setting sun caught in his eyes, his gaze naturally strayed back to the place he’d last seen Kibum and Jinki. Kibum with Jinki. The sight made him feel bitter. One leaned on the other’s shoulder, guffawing. The other blushed and grinned, looked somewhat pleased with himself. Both seemed like they were in a world of their own, neither appeared to remember what brought them together.

And that’s when Jonghyun knew this party was long over.

——

But he didn’t give up.

The next chance he could find, he went out to their usual café on his lunch hour. He’d had to take a train and walk in the sun for fifteen minutes. By the time he’d arrived, his shirt was soaked in all the uncomfortable places. He loosened his tie and fanned himself with the menu. A few minutes later, a familiar frame walked over to him with a pot of coffee.

“Oh, hyung, how have you been? Sorry I meant to call after the party but there was so much to do an—”

“Ah… excuse me?” the server said in an odd, unfamiliar voice. A gravelly, discordant voice. “Do… we know each other?”

Jonghyun watched the man in growing shock. He blinked gawkily. “I—I’m sorry,” he bowed in his seat. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Ah, really?” the man said with clear skepticism. “Do they work here?”

“Y-yeah, I’m actually here to meet Jinki hyung?”

“Oh, no,” the server shook his head. “He doesn’t work the afternoon shift on Tuesdays. He’ll only be here after five. If you like, I could take a message to pass on to him,” the man offered, but not with any sincerity. The look on his face seemed to accuse Jonghyun of something. Something like insanity.

“No…” he declined, mortified and crestfallen. “That’s OK. Thank you.”

He didn’t return to work after the ordeal. He called in sick and went straight home, answering none of his co-worker’s perturbed questions. He didn’t bother picking up his bag from the office, didn’t even bother picking up his dinner from the usual dumpling house near the apartment block. On the subway, his phone buzzed but he ignored it. In the lift, someone greeted him pleasantly, but he paid them no heed. As soon as he was indoors, he locked himself up, drew all the curtains, took a hot shower, put on his softest pyjamas, lit a candle on his bed side table, and went to sleep.

——

“I’m sorry, I should’ve given you my number so you could contact me before you came over,” Jinki spoke in hushed tones. Between them sat a basket of fruits and a card that read get well soon! in English. Obviously, Minho had put him up to this.

“No, it’s my fault,” Jonghyun shook his head. “I wasn’t sure what I was thinking, dropping in like that.”

The other tilted his head but said nothing, as if waiting for him to elaborate. But there was nothing much to add. Jonghyun had tried to reach for something that was far out of his grasp. When his fingertips had made contact with it, he’d tried to swing his arm like the motion would help him find some purchase. But just like the time he tried to show off at the pull-up bars in high school, his grip grew sweaty and he slipped. The fall was hard, and the humiliation amplified the pain.

Jonghyun had made a fool of himself.

“I… just came to ask how the party was,” he shook his head. “Yeah,” he let out a chagrin-filled laugh when he saw the confusion on the other’s face. “It was stupid. Coming all the way to the other side of town for something stupid like that.” But he still looked at Jinki expectantly.

The man shook his head. “It… it was good. I—we all had fun, yeah—” he assured in a jumble. “I could tell you were meeting a lot of those people after a very long time, so they were happy to be here.”

“Yeah… that’s true.”

“Jong ah, what is…” the other slid off his stool. “What is this actually about?”

“Nothing,” Jonghyun chuckled it away, clapping his hands, rubbing them together in a habit from his disgraceful high school days. “But I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. And I could tell you liked meeting my friends, too,“ he nodded. "You’ve always been close to Minho, but you and Kibum seemed to really hit it off with each other that day,” he said in a tone that insinuated things he wasn’t willing to say.

“Jong,” Jinki nudged again, his tone constantly and unbearably calm. “What’s going on?”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling like he’d find courage hidden there. His visitor walked around the kitchen island to close the distance between them, but Jonghyun stood and took a step back, motioning for Jinki to stay where he was. “Don’t,” he requested. “Please.”

Jinki’s expression took on a hint of helplessness. “Jong ah—”

“I want something,” he was cut off. “From you,” Jonghyun emphasized to put his point forward, gulping. “I want you to give me something that is unreasonable to ask for, and that’s why I act like an idiot.” He let out an exhale that came with the reprieve of confession. “I want you to give me this thing, and I want you to give it to me unconditionally—no, hyung! Hyung,” he cautioned. “Don’t come any closer, let me finish.”

The other sighed heavily. Jonghyun’s own breath had sped up by a large measure.

“I can’t say, that… that I can give you anything in return for that something,” he shook his head. “I can’t say I can make you happy, because,” his eyes burned at the sound of his words. “Because I have never made anyone happy. Least of all, myself,” he let out a mirthless laugh. “I can’t say that I can give you everything I have, because I have nothing.”

Jinki carefully walked forward at that, regardless of all warnings. “What do you want?” he whispered when they were an arm’s length away. It was getting late in the day, and the kitchen was slowly being flooded by darkness. Deep shadows played on the man’s face. “Tell me what you want.”

“You couldn’t give it to me, even if you wanted to,” Jonghyun looked away. “I mean, Kibum tried and look what happened—”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?” the other scolded.

Jonghyun turned back to him with incredulity. “Do you really not get it?” he looked from one amber eye to the other and found no trace of cruelty in them. Jinki wasn’t playing games with him, he was genuinely clueless.

“Hyung, Kibum and I were together for a long time.”

“I gathered.”

“Then do you know why we went our separate ways?” Jonghyun straightened up to his full height. “Do you know what fucked us up?”

“No, and I don’t really care—”

“It was me,” Jonghyun told him anyway, anger finding its way to the edges of his words. “I constantly mistook other men for Kibum and it ruined our relationship and… and once I kissed someone else. And I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Jinki said nothing.

“Do you understand what that means?”

“… Jong ah,”

“It means that no matter how faithful I want to be to someone, no matter how much I love someone, no matter what I do to try and not fuck it up?” his voice broke against his tears. “I fail. I fail all the time. And everyone knows that,” he defined angrily. “Every single person who has ever met me, knows that. And I have to look at their faces when they realize it, over and over. I have to see them think it when they find out what I am, and that—” he sobbed. “And that is why I can’t ask you.”

Jinki pulled him into a hug then but was immediately rejected. “Hey,” he tried again, slower, softer. But when Jonghyun violently fought him off a second and third time, he gripped the man’s arms hard and trapped him against the kitchen counter. “Sto—stop it!” he yelled.

Jonghyun sagged against him then, quaking like a child.

——

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Jinki agreed.

They’d ended up lying on the carpet of the living room, feet pointing in opposite directions and temples nearly touching each other. Jonghyun was calmer now, arms crossed over his chest as it moved with his breathing. But his nose still sniffled and a stray tear or two still dripped to his ears. He’d wipe each of them away, just so Jinki wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“I’ll be with you, Jong ah, but you need to make some changes in your life,” the man said.

He nodded wordlessly. He approved of that sentiment. “Yeah.”

“First, I want you to see a therapist—no, hear me out,” Jinki tamped out the protest Jonghyun started to make. “I want to help you, I really do. But I can’t help you with everything. Some of this stuff… Jong, some of the things you feel are really powerful, and they’re eating you up from the inside. There is a way to deal with them, but I don’t know it. You need professional advice to face those feelings. Do you think that’s reasonable?”

He didn’t want to admit defeat, because that’s what it felt like he was doing. Therapy was always seen as a last resort, a shameful alternative to being fine. Being whole and perfect and happy. He wanted to stop thinking of it with the narrow-mindedness of society. It was difficult. It was tough to accept. But he would certainly try, on Jinki’s insistence. “OK.”

“Good,” the other turned his head, their faces close enough to lean in for a kiss. But Jinki didn’t attempt, and Jonghyun didn’t seek. “Second, I want you to remember that you are not alone,” he felt around for Jonghyun’s phone and saved himself as a contact. “Now you can reach me whenever you like. Even if you’re bored and want someone to talk to. Call me anytime, alright?”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you to just remember that I’m here for you.”

Jonghyun turned too, this time. Their eyes met and stayed met for a long series of moments. “Thank you,” he whispered again, between them.

——

With several months behind them, their lives—and schedules—plateaued into each other.

Saturday morning was still dedicated to badminton and lunch at the café. Jinki still served them but lingered to chat with Jonghyun, sometimes playing with his hand, other times giving him a complimentary slice of cheesecake. Minho would whine things like unfair and I want to date someone too, and they’d giggle about it later.

After a lot of scheduling, cancelling, and rescheduling, Jonghyun settled for therapy sessions every Monday straight after work. He stuck to the routine no matter how shameful it felt to admit the fact to his family and close friends.

Wednesday nights, they would meet at the apartment where one watched TV and another worked on his portfolio for university applications. Sometimes, when the weather was pleasant, they went for walks along Cheonggyecheon. Sometimes, they invited Taemin and Naeun out on double dates. Sometimes, they just sat on the floor and played board games.

Most of the time, Jinki was close and listening attentively.

Jonghyun was happier. He could honestly say that, with no embellishment and no stretching of the truth. He felt lighter than he had in months. His mind was clearer, and he was able to make more of an effort at recognizing faces – putting names against voices, hair, mannerisms. His self-confidence would rocket every time he guessed correctly, and the few mistakes he made never weighed him down. He’d actively made an attempt to forgive himself, to move on from his slip-ups and not carry them around with himself. He was happier.

But he didn’t want to stop here. He wanted to keep moving forward. He wanted to keep climbing. And he decided to bring it up at dinner one Wednesday.

“So, the voice thing,” Jinki said as he polished all the food off his plate. “Tell me how it works. I’m curious,” he questioned while munching through a mouthful of side-dishes.

“It’s easy,” Jonghyun shrugged, hissing at something spicy. “I just connect peoples voices with images that remind me of them. For example, Taemin,” he explained. “We lived in the same neighborhood as children, and he used to own this… huge colorful beach ball,” he motioned with his hands. “Everyone wanted to be friends with him because everyone loved that ball. So, when I hear a voice, and it sounds lively and fun, I’m immediately reminded of that ridiculous beach ball. And that’s how I know it’s Taemin.”

Jinki smiled, nodding his comprehension as he settled back into his chair. “What about the others?”

“Minho sounds lazy. Warm and lazy, like wool and hot chocolate.”

“Well, he does like his scarves.”

They shared a laugh at that. “Yeah, he does.”

"I’m sure his wardrobe is filled with them and nothing else.”

“Kibum is like… well, his breath always smelled of cigarettes when we were dating, and he used to wear a lot of silver rings. So I know when I hear something cutting or sharp, it’s him.”

“You do him so much justice,” Jinki chortled.

“Hey, you only met him for a couple of hours. Get to know him a little, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Heh,” the other was amused. “What about me, then?” he asked, leaning forward on an elbow, looking sleepy and tired after all the time he’d put into his applications that night. “What do I remind you of?”

“I…” Jonghyun blushed. “I don’t want to say, because you might think I’m silly.”

“This is reverse psychology. Now I want to know!”

They giggled. “You’re like…” he pursed his lips. “You’re like a silk worm.”

“Wow, harsh.”

“No, no, hear me out:” Jonghyun rushed to clarify, chuckling and holding the other’s wrist. “You know how silkworms work really really hard so they can produce little pieces of string? String that we then collect and make into something beautiful? Yeah… you’re like that. You work hard on whatever you do. And it ultimately gives people happiness.”

Jinki watched him with an adoring smile. “You really know how to impress me, don’t you?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Jonghyun said, trying to act charming but immediately breaking into a fit of laughter at himself. The other watched him for a while, matching his mirth. And suddenly the urge to lean across the island for a kiss intensified. But in the six months they’d been together, they hadn’t tried to get too attached. There was a mutual unspoken pact that they didn’t want to rush into anything. Things needed to move slowly, not on impulse. And although Jonghyun’s last relationship had been long and deeply intimate, this contrast in pace was pleasant. Beyond holding hands, he decided to respect the distance as best as he could. “Hyung,” he said in place of it.

“Hmm.”

“Let’s go on a trip together.”

“Sure, where?”

“I…” Jonghyun hesitated, trying hard not to sound too forward. “I really want to go to a nice resort somewhere. Maybe Fiji?”

“Ah…” Jinki looked unnerved. “Jong ah, hyung doesn’t have that kind of money…”

“It’ll be a gift,” the offer gushed out. “From me to you. I-I mean—” he faltered. “You’re going to start university next year, and we may not see each other as often anymore. This could be a… going away present?”

Jinki licked his lips, seeming a little worried. “Jong, the university is right here. In Seoul.”

“Yeah, I know but—”

“And it’s a generous offer, really, it is. Thank you, I’m… I’m flattered that you would want to go away on an island vacation with me. Really, thank you.”

Jonghyun blinked. “But?”

“But…“ Jinki blinked. "I need to think about it. It’s a lot to consider, I hope you understand?”

“Hmm…”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t want to go with you. Trust me, if I could drop everything right now and leave, I would.”

“I’m sorry. I… seem to have burdened you with something unnecessary again,” Jonghyun said sheepishly.

But Jinki didn’t reply. He shook his head with a muttered this person, walked around the table and embraced the other’s forehead to his stomach.

—–

Jinki did say yes in the end, acquiescing on the condition that he be loaned his half of the expenses. Jonghyun had wasted no time in booking flights and accommodation, then.

To be quite honest, he had wasted some time jumping around the apartment like an excited child. He’d skipped through the kitchen, slid down the railing of the stairs, done a little jig in the living room–tripped and nearly hurt himself on the corner of the centre table, too. But the holiday was to happen, that much was certain, and now he felt like he was filled with air: light, warm, soothed like the sighs of an admirer.

He kept the expenses low, out of consideration for the other. But he also didn’t stinge on where they stayed, and how long they stayed for. On their first day in Fiji, a private ferry picked them up at the port and an hour later dropped them off outside a quiet little cottage, concealed on all sides by large bursts of vegetation. Jinki looked undeniably amazed when he stepped out onto the sand, and Jonghyun simply ran up to what would be their home for the next two weeks, flailing his arms and rolling on tufts of dry grass — willing to appear childish now that no eyes could see him.

They spent their mornings gorging on the breakfast buffet, spent their afternoons snorkeling or kayaking in the ocean. And at night, when the crickets were singing outside, Jinki would bring out his laptop so they could watch a movie under shared blankets.

On his part, Jinki never left Jonghyun by himself for longer than necessary. He would have friendly conversations with the people they met on the trip, and he would make additional bookings or requests on their behalf. Jonghyun didn’t mind being a passenger in those situations. There was no loss of autonomy in it, he realized. It was the other’s way of protecting him. And he was grateful. He felt an odd sense of safety.

——

On the last evening of their trip, they sat down by the shore. Waves lapped on the sand and turned to froth against their toes. Jonghyun hugged his knees and Jinki brought out a pair of beer cans, their fourth… or no. Maybe their fifth of the night. In the distance, the last ferry ride of the day drifted out to the mainland, only visible by the lights on its front and the din of its engine.

“I could live in a place like this.” It didn’t matter who breathed those words out into the cool air. They both felt it: in different ways, in varying degrees. Where one envied the isolation of an island, the other loved the way silence reigned over it. One enjoyed the feeling of sand against his naked heels, the other missed the sun baking his bare shoulders. One could float on the undulating ocean forever, another could fall sleep in the shade of mango trees. Jonghyun could’ve stayed and if Jinki had the courage to, he would’ve also forgone leaving here. But the renouncement of something would never come without the sacrifice of something else. They knew this, and they spoke it to each other. Silently. Between sips of cold beer and grips around condensation.

“Thank you,” Jinki suddenly hushed. “For bringing me here. For showing me things I would’ve probably never seen.”

Jonghyun shook his head. “If you’d never said yes, I wouldn’t be here, either. So I should be thanking you,” he turned and smiled, leaning his chin on his arm. When the other returned the smile, he dipped his face shyly, hiding it behind the inside of his elbow. And the thought that he may be drunk occurred to him. The buzz in his cheeks flushed down his neck and into his chest. His skin fizzed with excitement, his lungs coursed with anticipation

“Let’s go for a swim,” he said. The disbelieving pause between him slipping off his shirt and Jinki’s startled eh?! was long, and a little funny. Jonghyun chuckled, dizzy with the emotion, high off of more than alcohol. “Come, hyung,” he beckoned, tilting his head to the water.

“You know there’s going to be all sorts of stuff in the water now, right?”

“That’s OK,” Jonghyun had been really worried about stepping on fish when they went snorkeling in the daytime. He’d even yelled out when he accidentally squished a sea cucumber. But now. No fear resided in his gut anymore, just a heavy pulse. To keep going. To keep stripping.

If Jinki felt any shame from seeing his host unclothed, he didn’t show it. He followed Jonghyun’s face with his sight, first in confusion and then in curiosity. “Wait…” he tried when the other began to walk in. “Wait, you’re drunk.” But he threw off his clothes as well, following close behind.

The water was cold, the tide gentle as it lapped their ankles their thighs their waists. The moon shone over them, its light folding them in cool blankets. Jonghyun stared up at it as he walked then swam. He turned to connect his eyes with Jinki once: not to check if he was still there, just to assure him that he wanted this. Wanted to be followed. Wanted to be chased. Wanted to be caught.

Jinki’s gaze seemed to understand.

They swam for a while, first in a line and then at a point. One stopped and the other continued, cutting the water in a diminishing spiral. One looked and the other looked back. One thought he was drowning and the other knew they were soaring. One stalled, swirled, kept himself afloat. Waiting. The other moved, dived, approached as if from all sides. Wanting.

They waded deep enough that their feet stopped touching the sand. Jinki’s circling stopped, too. He swum to a halt in front of a sobbing Jonghyun. It was only them riding those waves, then. Only Jinki, only Jonghyun, and only the moonlight wavering between them on the water.

“Why are you sad?” Jinki asked. His voice was tender, the words seeming to cradle Jonghyun in their arms.

“Because,” he said, laughing and weeping all at the same time. “Because I can see you. Clearly. And I know you. I know in my gut, to give you a name. To give you your identity. I…” Jonghyun shook his head, bringing his hand out the water to wipe his face and drenching it further. “I know exactly who you are. Right now. In this second. And–” he cried. “And I’m sad because this second won’t stay. It will go away it will never come back and I don’t want that, I don’t want to leave this time I just–”

“Then let’s stop time,” Jinki said before he swallowed Jonghyun into a gasping kiss and the water swallowed their bodies whole.

——

It had been written on the sand of Jinki’s island. It had been scrawled on the beach, scratched on the rocks that fell towards Jonghyun’s sea.

It had been written that they would meet like this, when one eroded and the other abated.

It had been written a long time ago that they would meet when Jonghyun washed to the shore, flung to land by the waves. Jinki had been waiting ready, with his arms open to catch him.

It had been written that their lives would be pulled together like sticks bound in rope. That they would float and drown together, as driftwood, every morning. And when dusk finally came they would swim. Home. To the place they built. Dug into the ground and poured in like cement that dries even when the monsoon comes. Even when showers flood and lighting crashes it was written they would be held. As one. As together. As Jinki and Jonghyun.

And when the sun set. When the moon danced into view it was written that they would spin. They would roll their memories together like dough between their hands, flatten them into the circle of time before throwing them up into the sky. At the stars. At the universe. Into Jonghyun’s sea where they dissolved and disappeared. Absorbed into his tongue where he could always reach them but never bring them to his lips. It was written that Jinki would step aside when Jonghyun fell back into the water. When he swum out with the determination of getting away from the island. From his survival. From Jinki. It was written he would be given way. Despite the fear of his never returning. Despite the fear that time would start turning again and twist in their chests with pain.

It was written that life would draw messages on the beach, reminding them of the second their chests pressed together and their breath danced in the middle of folding lips. Even as the waves washed everything away, over and over. The memory was drawn until life broke its stick. And left them to maneuver through their splashing night and their blushing morning.

——

A year passed.

It was time for Jinki to go to university. They’d moved in together some months prior. Jinki had fought the suggestion hard but when he noticed how expensive rent could get in the university area, he was defeated. Jonghyun had reasoned it would still give them time together, even with work and studies. "It’ll be good for us, hyung,” he’d insisted.

And it was the truth.

Every day Jinki slowly brought in more of his things and every night Jonghyun made more and more room for him in the previously bare apartment until it felt full. Full of things, full of memories, full of happiness. And with every addition Jonghyun felt fuller too. Even if Jinki complained his things were a little scruffy or a little tattered, he didn’t mind. He bought new sheets and new quilts. He bought a second pair of pillows. He bought a set of drawers for the other’s clothes. He bought more cutlery to share. He bought everything they would need to go from being more than one. More than just him.

Every morning Jonghyun spoke a soft, “hyung?” to confirm if it really was Jinki lying next to him. Some days the other joked and said something silly like, “No, it’s your conscience.” Some days a soft kiss would be answer enough. Some other, rare days, Jonghyun would cry and hide his face in his pillow, feeling frustrated that he couldn’t even identify the man he lived with. The man he loved and was obviously loved by in return. Jinki stayed by his side for a long time on those mornings, hushing and comforting him, never tiring of him, never complaining or walking away.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked one afternoon as they lazed on the sofa.

Jonghyun said nothing, snuggling up to the other. He wasn’t sure about it at all. He felt no certainty in letting another person into his space. The space he had guarded fervently up until Jinki had knocked on the door and held out a bunch of red roses. He wasn’t sure. But he would remain unsure until they tried. And that was all this was. Trying. To be happy, to be whole, to start again. That was all this was. He said nothing as Jinki put an arm around him and kissed the back of his head. He gave and gave and Jinki received and accepted until at some point in their cohabitation. On some mundane morning as he sat in the train to work, Jonghyun wondered if he was a little Jinki, now. If the man he shared his apartment with was in actuality, half-Jonghyun.

He thought about it all day, all through work, even all through the night when they met and hugged and kissed and ate dinner. He thought about it when the other held him close in bed, gripped him hard, pressed a pair of soft lips to his ear and showered him with compliments as he moved deep inside him. He thought about it in his breaking voice and his scratching fingers and his peaking moans–maybe he wasn’t himself. Maybe the other wasn’t himself, either. Maybe they became each other’s, on a dark and sandy beach in the middle of an ocean. Maybe they melded, became an alloy. A Jinki-Jonghyun that couldn’t be separated with ease. He wondered even after they came back down from their high, the sheets as sweaty as their foreheads, the bed as creaky as their thighs, the air as balmy as their breath.

“You’re sure about this?” Jinki asked again, several times. And Jonghyun never answered. But the response slowly blossomed in his chest as the days became months.

His life had less uncertainties in their time together. Even when work became hectic and university took up all the time they could’ve spent in each other’s arms. Even then, Jonghyun grew less unsure. Less negative. Less unstable on his feet when looking at faces and listening to voices. He knew that the clatter of plates in the kitchen was Jinki. Or the sound of music in the late afternoon was Jinki. The jangle of keys at the door was Jinki and even the hushed sigh behind him in bed was Jinki. Even if he didn’t always recognize the things he should’ve–the picture of his mother, the friends on his phone, the sound of his own heart. Even if all that fell to unfamiliarity, Jinki never did. Not his summery grins, not his happy clap, not his hot kisses or his rippling muscles.

A year passed.

But Minho continued his complaints. “How come no one will date me?” he stamped his feet as they finished their run in he park. “I’m cute! Hyung, am I not cute?” he demanded of Jinki.

“Adorable,” the other panted, bending over and supporting himself on his knees. “How is he not tired…?!” he said incredulously.

Jonghyun cringed and wiped his brow, but glared at the tall man, the stitch in his side making him unable to answer back.

A year passed.

But Taemin and his wife still met them, often. They would eat and go for walks and sometimes. Sometimes Jonghyun would listen to the sounds of the baby in Naeun’s belly, closing his eyes and giggling. Imagining who the child would take after, even if their faces never registered in his mind. And then he imagined what Jinki would look like holding it. Holding any child, cradling it and humming it to sleep. He would feel warm at the image of sturdy arms around a delicate bundle of blankets.

A year passed.

Sometimes the thought of Kibum would still interfere with his mind. Make him remember the things he was ashamed of, things that embarrassed him still. Things he wished he could forget as easily as the faces surrounding him, but was slapped by on his worst days. And he fought Jinki over it. Birthed arguments from stupid things like forgetting to switch off lights or leaving a dirty spoon on the counter. He yelled and screamed and cried his eyes out while Jinki waited quietly for him to finish. Then he sobbed against the man’s chest, being soothed and being led to bed, being comforted to sleep it all off.

A year passed.

And it wasn’t a perfect year. It wasn’t always happy. It wasn’t always a bed of roses. But it passed regardless. And while Jonghyun still couldn’t tell people apart, still had to listen closely in important meetings and critical situations. Even if that was still as it had always been, he was different. He was no longer just Jonghyun. He was more.

#jongyu #long fic #au #shinee

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kurly-quill · 6 years ago

Text

Hiya, hon! Ask, and you shall recieve <3 (when I get off my ass anyway)

Robin’s Nest Cafe Part 2

Pairings: DickTim, JayDick, JayTim, future JayDickTim

Rating: Mature for Language

Coffee Shop AU (sort of), Civilian!Tim (mostly?) Part 1 - Part 2

(2) The Nest

In the past four years or so, it became a well-kept secret in East End, that if you ever needed a safe place to shut your eyes, you might find it at The Nest. They don’t take names. They don’t ask any questions, and will take in anyone of any age. You’ll get a clean room, with a clean bed, and a square meal. Rumor even has it that folks sometimes leave The Nest with things like new job prospects or that last refill of medication you couldn’t afford in your pocket.

It’s not a long-term arrangement, but it helps when the winter rolls in and you don’t want to freeze to death.

The shop is quiet. But then, it’s never particularly busy either. Like, ever. She spends more time practicing her latte art than taking orders (“You’ll never get paid to doodle cats, young lady!” they used to tell her in high school. Well joke’s on you, Ms. Maximoff)

Tim is standing beside her at the counter, carefully wiping down the espresso machine like it’s his baby -- kind of accurate, since the only thing he loves more than that machine is her, obviously. Maybe. He better, anyway, if he knows what’s good for him.

It’s midway through her shift. Idly, she stacks the little espresso cups into a pyramid, knowing that Tim is silently judging her for it (“You realise we can’t use the cups now that you’ve touched all of them, right?” “So narrow-minded, Timmy. We can definitely use them for shots later!”).

Like Tim can’t afford the cups or something. But, appearances are still important for a place like this, she supposes. Barely getting by, but passed the health inspection! - that’s the look they’re apparently going for to the public eye. She gets it. Robin’s Nest cafe isn’t supposed to be high profile, or else The Nest loses its purpose. She flicks at her tower of espresso cups, leaning over the counter with her chin propped up on her hand, musing.

She thinks of a few years ago, remembers being at the end of her rope. How she had been ignoring the rumors about The Nest, passing them off as bullshit, until a cold front hit Gotham so hard it even had the Gotham-grade criminals running for cover. She remembers finally caving to the rumors, looking across the street at Robin’s Nest, brightly lit compared to the sorry excuses for street lamps that lined the sidewalk. Shivering, blue-lipped. All of the closest shelters were full, and the last time she’d slept in one, she’d woken up to a man reaching under her sheets, so like hell was she going back to one if she had other options.

She remembers her vow to herself-- that whatever happened, she wasn’t going back home. She would have frozen in an alleyway somewhere before that happened.

She remembers jaywalking across the icy street to the sidewalk just outside the shop window. But, as soon as she had gotten there, had taken a better look at the interior, she’d hesitated. A sort of hipster-industrial look with some hodge-podge, DIY-esque decor that’s not too shiny and clean and just worn enough to seem lived-in and welcoming-- It was that last part, of all things, that had made her clam up inside. Made her turn around to find some alleyway to go lose some toes in.

She probably would have, she muses, wiggling her toes around in her Adidas, if Tim hadn’t caught her just as she went to turn around the corner of the block. He’d ran out of the shop in nothing but a long-sleeve “World’s Okayest Barista” shirt, skinny jeans, and converse, all messy dark hair and pale blue eyes, and he had looked about three seconds from turning into an icicle. But in his hand, had been a drink.

“What d’you want,” she demands, defenses up on autopilot.

The barista fairly skids to a stop on the icy sidewalk, breath coming in visible plumes. The drink is shoved in her face-- she can see that it’s piping hot, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of how her nose and lips ache with cold.

“Take it. It’s hot chocolate.”

“Wow,” she deadpans, quirking a brow, “this is, like, a classic case of stranger danger.”

She notes how hard the barista is beginning to shiver, and wondered if he’s just an idiot for running after a homeless person on the wrong side of Gotham in ass-degree-and-dropping temperatures. (And in that getup, too, that screams: “please, oh please, ma’am, rob me, I’m a little nerdboy!” She could do it, probably, if she really wanted to.)

The barista grins sheepishly at her, shrugging.

“Okay, fair. I can make you another one back at the shop and you can watch me to make sure it’s safe to drink, if it makes you feel better.” She blinks at him. An idiot, definitely.

“Hate to break it to you, dude, but I’m broke.”

The barista holds up one finger. He fishes around in his pocket, pulls out his wallet (an open invitation to snatch it, that), and tugs out a little card. He holds it out to her, and she watches him carefully before taking it and reading-- she frowns. Flips the card over. The little card is small and sleek-- heavier than paper, PVC?-- and has a single bird-like symbol on the front. The back only reads:

For One - Redeemable at The Nest

“It’s a coupon.”

She swallows. No way.

“For a drink?”

The barista tucks his hands into his pockets. She wonders if he’s doing it because he thinks it looks cool or if it’s because he’s lost feeling in his hands. When she meets his eyes again, though, she’s distracted by how they sharpen with focus, flashing with a secret.

“Sure,” he concedes, shrugging again, “Or a room, if you want it. On the house.”

She blinks at him once. Twice. “You’re fucking nuts, aren’t you?”

The barista lets out a startled laugh, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. It shouldn’t be cute, and she really shouldn’t go there, but there it is. She’s officially the type to be charmed by dorky, early 2000s, sk8er boi aesthetic.

“Jury’s still out.”, then holds out a hand that’s white with cold, “I’m Tim.”

She notices that he doesn’t ask for her name, and she thinks over whether she should even tell him. After all, she’s only about 85% sure the guy’s not batshit crazy. But then, she’s probably in good company.

Oh, what the hell, she thinks, letting herself smile back at him. She takes his hand, and can’t even feel it with how numb her fingers are.

“Well, it’s Gotham, so crazy’s just the status quo around here. Also, name’s Stephanie,” she pauses and adds, more quietly, “And I think I’ll take you up on that room”

Tim shakes their hands minutely, and the movement has pinpricks of pain shooting up to her elbow, but already she somehow feels warmer.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, relieved, already turning to walk back towards the cafe, “I can officially no longer feel my ass. I barely had one to begin with. Please, let’s go inside.”

And, despite how cold she is, and how she aches, and how absolutely, completely shitty her life is right now, she bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t fall over, considering she can’t feel her legs.

“I feel that. Not so much the last part though. My ass is great,” she snickers, trying to regain her composure. She sidles up just behind Tim’s shoulder to follow him back down the block.

“But, hey, you know, I’ll still take you up on that hot chocolate if you’re still offering.”

“I think I can manage that.”

She’s jarred from her reminiscing by the bell above the shop door. In an instant, she’s baring her teeth in the default hello, I work in food service, so please don’t be a prick!! smile.

“Hello!” she sings, upbeat, “Welcome to Robin’s Nest!”

Behind her, Tim’s got his back turned towards the entrance, wiping down the back counter and pointedly leaving her to do the customer servicing. She hopes he can feel her glare. Asshole.

She then turns her head and wind up locking eyes with a man in uniform. She balks.

Oh damn, says one part of her brain, because wow that’s a nicely-fit uniform.

Oh shit, says the another part of her brain, because that’s a police uniform.

Oh fuck, says the rest of her brain, because that’s Richard Grayson in a police uniform.

No, like, the fucking Richard Grayson™ .

Richard-fucking-Grayson gives her a smile that’s whiter than bleached tile floors, brighter than the goddamn sun in Metropolis. Stephanie’s missing all of her customer service cues and she will blame it entirely on that smile in the future if Robin’s Nest gets a bad review.

“Uh,” she says dumbly, standing up straight so fast she manages to knock all of her espresso cup pyramid over. She makes an aborted movement to try and stop them, realizes it’s a lost cause, so instead just stares Richard-fucking-Grayson in the face and lets them all fall in a tragic, drawn-out cacophony of noise as they clatter, one-by-one to the floor. Total power move.

The noise has Tim whirling around towards the front -- “Steph, what the-” -- but then he falls mute as he gets an eyeful of Gotham royalty in a police uniform. Yeah, same here, dude.

The silence goes on for so long that it’s become decidedly uncomfortable, so Steph tears her eyes away from glances in Tim’s direction --

And yep, that’s the creepy Tim.exe has stopped working stare of death that happens when his brain goes full-on computer mode and he forgets how to emote (It’s either because he’s worried there’s a cop in The Nest, or because Officer Grayson is just that hot. Actually, it’s probably both). Christ, he’s not even blinking-- they’ve had a talk about this, Timmy, get your shit together. “Hello! Hi!” she says, too loudly, diverting the officer’s (increasingly growing) concerned gaze back to her, “Can I take your order?”

The last cup makes a final, agonizing descent to the floor in the beat of silence that follows, while Richard Grayson blinks, a little amused but not overly surprised by the fact that he’s apparently been recognized.

“Hi,” he replies, too-bright smile back in place, “Sorry if I surprised you?” “No worries, Mr. Grayson. Just don’t usually get celebrities on this side of town,” Steph leans against the counter, falling back into her default teasing, “Just tell me you’re here cause of a good Yelp review or something, cause I plead the fifth if it’s for anything else.”

“Just call me Dick, please,” Dick chuckles, “And I just happened to be passing through. A friend told me that this place serves the best hot chocolate this side of Gotham.”

Tim twitches. “Bullshit,” Steph quips, “We serve the best hot chocolate in all of Gotham. Total, unbiased truth!”

Dick grins, “Then I guess that’s what I’m having.”

Steph smiles wide, making a show of punching the buttons on the register system, “I’ll be gentle with you, since it’s your first time -- Tim, one classic chocolate, for the man in blue!”

. . .

She looks again to her left when there’s no movement. Oh for the love of Wonder Woman--

“Tim.”

Tim snaps out of it with a visible jerk, blinking wide eyes as the past five minutes seem to play at hyperspeed through that ridiculous brain of his, and he opens his mouth.

“Right, yes. Okay. I can, that. Chocolate, sure. Hot. ” is what comes out, even as Tim’s eyes widen in horror at himself, the skin of his neck and ears beginning to flush red with embarrassment.

Steph’s jaw drops, because she’s never seen Timothy Jackson Drake lose composure like this in all three years she’s known him (not even counting that one time sex turned into a trip to the hospital that they both agreed to never speak of again). And well, she had never pegged Tim for a fanboy of all things, let alone of Dick Grayson, but there he is, moving through the motions of making his signature hot chocolate with the grace and poise of a robot chicken.

Dick, for his part, is looking at Tim in the bemused way one tends to look at a toddler that’s doing something a little bit weird but otherwise harmless. Steph is the best wing-woman ever, because she clears her throat to try and get his attention again instead of the other barista.

“Sooooo that’ll be 4.89,” Steph declares, “Will that be cash or card?”

Her tactic is thwarted -- Dick continues to look at Tim in mildly amused fascination as he digs around in his pocket before pulling out a few rumpled bills and, like, six Jolly Rancher wrappers. She tries not to judge too hard when the whole wad is pressed into her hand, even though they’re a little sticky.

She hands him his change before turning to see that Tim has finished the hot chocolate, complete with the snowflake-covered cup sleeves that Steph spent nearly three hours doodling that morning with a silver Sharpie (“Starbucks makes festive cup sleeves, Tim! We can’t be beaten by the competition!” “Why do I even pay you?”). However, Tim is just staring at the cup like it holds the solution to world peace and also this painful interaction. Steph clears her throat, and he flinches again. He slides the cup to the edge of the counter, way too slowly, like he’s thinking about it too hard, and Dick reaches for the cup in the way someone might approach a skittish animal. His hand closes around the cup and he lifts it, watching Tim’s face as he lifts it to his mouth. “Thanks,” he says with a gentle smile, but Tim steadfastly refuses to look the police officer in the eye. Arguably, this is worse, because instead he’s staring at the guy’s pecs. The barista then retreats from the counter, takes a full step back, mumbles something that was probably a “You’re welcome”.

“Well come on,” Steph interrupts, “I reserve the right to see you take the first sip.” Dick raises an eyebrow at her, teasing, “I’ll have you know that the Wayne butler makes some really great hot chocolate. It’ll be tough to beat.”

“Quit stalling and drink the liquid diabetes, Grayson.”

Without breaking eye contact with Steph, he does just that. Steph’s smirk grows when the man’s eyes grow wide.

He swallows, the flavor washing over his tongue, and looks down at his cup in amazement. Takes another drink, and groans. It’s a sound that Steph’s sure she’s heard on one of the more trashy pornos on her laptop, and knows it’s not just her mind going straight to the gutter when she sees Tim’s ears go bright red. “Wow.”

Stephanie grins, smug, “Like I said -- best hot chocolate in all of Gotham”

“I’m a believer now,” Dick says solemnly, taking another long sip. “God. Tell your management to open a store in Bludhaven -- I could single-handedly keep the business afloat if I could drink this every day.”

Steph snorts, jerking her thumb at Tim, who’s staring resolutely at the far wall.

“Tell him yourself, maybe then he’ll listen. I keep saying we should expand! If you ask me, every shithole town with a Robin running around the streets deserves Robin’s Nest to go with it.” Tim breaks his stupor to glance at Steph in a way that she’s come to learn is a warning, which she resists the urge to roll her eyes at.

Dick outright laughs. “Heh, well these days I’d say Bludhaven sees just as much of Robin as Gotham” Dick chuckles, “Might need to relocate entirely with criteria like that.”

He slides his gaze to Tim.

“Not that it’d be a bad idea to move shop. Seriously, Bludhaven has a lot of up and coming neighborhoods -- You would get more customers than you probably get in this area, and if the rest of your menu is as good as this hot chocolate, you’d be pretty popular.”

At this, Tim freezes, then turns, his face twisting into a slight frown, “Robin’s Nest belongs in Gotham,” he says, clipped, “Besides, we do just fine here.” The officer blinks, suddenly looking into sharp, ice-blue eyes that until this moment had refused to look at him.

“I’m sure you have some faithful regulars, around here,” Dick says slowly, a bit placating, “but I know Gotham pretty well, and a bit about business,” he pauses and says, not unkindly, but it nonetheless has Tim’s spine going rigid, “You’d get more revenue if you relocated down to somewhere in Midtown, even the residential areas. Why don’t you?”

Tim’s eyes flash, but nothing else gives away his irritation. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture. “Well,” there’s a calm lilt to his voice as he asks, “Gotham pays its officers a higher average salary than Bludhaven. Why don’t you move?”

Dick’s jaw drops for a second at the barb, blinking. Then, his brilliant blue eyes light up with humor, and he laughs, long and loud. Even that sounds attractive, which is so unfair that Steph glares at the dangerous tilt of his take-away cup, willing it to spill on his uniform. The officer regains his composure, chuckles dying down as he regains his composure. “Woah, okay, touché then!” he acquiesces with a shrug, “But on that point -- It’s not really about the salary, the job. I work in Bludhaven because I’m needed there.”

At that, Tim’s blank face slips into a smirk. Steph sighs as he unties his apron and slips off his ball cap, clearly deciding that he’s done playing Customer Service for the time being. That means Steph is going to be manning the counter alone for the next few hours. Thanks a lot, Grayson. Steph doesn’t miss the way Dick’s gaze flicks interestedly to Tim’s fingers sliding through his too-long hair, brushing back and it away from his face. Steph feels the need to nod in solidarity. She found that move kinda hot too, once.

For a second, it’s not Tim the Barista standing there. Instead, it’s Timothy Drake, and Dick seems to stand straighter in attention. “Then maybe, Officer Grayson,” he surmised, in that slightly condescending way that Steph reckoned only those bred in high society could recreate, “Robin’s Nest is exactly where it needs to be.”

At that, Dick hums in what is more a surrender than an agreement. Wise, Steph thinks, to keep his mouth shut and spare himself the verbal lashing. Dick doesn’t seem to look very cowed, though, she notes, so much as intrigued.

Satisfied, Tim carefully lays his apron and hat on the far end of the counter, and passes through the front counter’s the swing-gate. He gets to the door at the far wall that Steph knows leads up into the stairwell that connects the rest of the building’s floors, Tim’s attached apartment included. Dicks eyes follow him all the way there.

“Hey Steph, can you hold down the fort for awhile while I go up? I need to do the ordering for next week.”

Steph sighs dramatically, gesturing to Dick. “What, and leave me alone with all these customers?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Just pick up all the cups off the floor -- and no more building towers with the espresso cups!” Steph sticks her tongue out at him before he closes and locks the door. “Spoil sport.”

Dick is quiet for a few seconds, before he sighs, “I feel like I should apologize for pushing.” Steph stands up from where she’s crouching on the floor, her arms full of fallen espresso cups. Dumping them into the recycling bin under the counter, she huffs her hair out of her face, humming thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t take it too personally -- Tim just gets pretty touchy about the shop,” she hesitates, before continuing a bit more quietly “It was important to him, growing up. He bought the place after his parents died.”

At this, Dick’s expression falls, and suddenly she’s being hit with the most beseeching blue eyes she’s ever seen. Jesus H. Christ, those have to be against the Geneva Conventions.

“Would you tell him I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to offend him. . .” Steph physically resists the urge to wince at the intensity of the look, waving him off, “Yeah, sure, fine, I’ll tell him. Just jeez, quit it with the eyes.”

The eyes are still in the realm of small kicked animal, but less Sarah McLachlan, so Steph manages to survive as Dick’s expression turns thoughtful.

“Thank you.” A beat, then, “I think I’ll order another hot chocolate, actually, if you don’t mind.”

At that Steph raises an eyebrow, “For the road?” Dick clicks his tongue. "No,” he says, blue eyes twinkling with something like mischief, his grin suddenly sharp. His eyes, however, turn to the door that Tim had disappeared behind.

“It’s for a friend.”

To be fair, Steph lasts a whole 23 minutes.

“Hey, I mean, Timmy didn’t say anything about building towers with any of the other cups.”

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pirouettesandpastels · 6 years ago

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Not Quite a Return to Normalcy

Okay, so this is my first-ever fic! I just felt ready to share it. :) I wrote it a few months ago in the angsty, confused state that I found myself in post-Syzygy. This was my way to reconcile the strangeness of the Mulder/Scully dynamic in the episode and make some guesses about their road back to “normalcy.” I hope it’s coherent enough, and that the formatting makes sense! I tried not to over-edit so I could sort of preserve its tone. And yes, the title is based on Warren Harding’s 1920 presidential campaign. It made a bit more sense to me at the time. Also, APUSH has a remarkably enduring affect on the teenaged brain. Anyway, let me know what you think!

Scully half expected to wait hours and hours for a flight, to have to drive to New York and then connect through Florida, but there was space for them, miraculously, on the first direct flight back to Washington. Through taxi, take-off, and landing, neither of them said a word. Neither seemed to move a muscle, They had no need for coffee, water, newspapers, or books. Scully couldn’t take anything new in now, anyway. Her hip ached from where her gun had discharged and her head seemed to throb.

Though the intensity of their strange trip to New Hampshire had faded, something between them had been forever changed. They had chased Satanists in a small New Hampshire town a year earlier, but that had been altogether different. Circumstance had tried to keep them apart, but there Mulder had been, arcing to shield her, as they lay handcuffed together in a high-school shower, from the gunfire of the crazed school board members.

This time, they couldn’t stand to be together. That had never happened before. She had needed to smoke just to calm herself down, and he had drank himself to the point of ending up straddled by Detective White with the door to his hotel room left so carelessly ajar––what on earth had that been about?

Still, though, they seemed to fall into stride again when the clock struck midnight on January 13th, effectively beginning a new day. “Put that gun down!” they had yelled at the frenzied villagers. It was as if they were one again––MulderandScully. And weren’t they back to their usual antics? She had told him to shut up as he berated her for ignoring a stop sign, and sure, that did seem more like something for which she would rib him, but this was hardly the end of the world––was it?

It couldn’t be, he told himself. Nothing had changed, had it? Scully had to know that he wasn’t going to sleep with Detective White, didn’t she? She had asked him what was happening and he had assured her that it was cosmic. That was before midnight even arrived, before the shaking stopped, before the fog pulsating through their brains had begun to clear.

And besides, she reminded herself, he had then tried to protect her from that falling pipe. Scully had survived so much that was so far worse than a PVC pipe. He had burst into stop Tooms from eating her liver, he had risked everything to chase after Duane Barry when she was abducted, he had risked losing Samantha just to get her back. He had defended her from the predatory Kindred in Massachusetts, clung desperately to her after finding her inches from death by Donnie Pfaster’s hand in Minnesota, and saved her from the townsfolk of Dudley, Arkansas just seconds before they would have beheaded her. She remembered it so vividly, the gentle feel of his hands on her face as he peeled back her gag, tucked her hair behind her ears. She remembered the safe smell of his jacket as she held him, even more battered after her horrifying fight with Pfaster than she was now. She had felt so secure all of those times. Why now did she lack that trust that she had felt so intimately even on their first case together in Oregon?

She was confused, and so she sat there in silence, not looking out of the window or even bothering to close it. Her hands remained folded in her lap.

They were so small, he noted, just like the rest of her––little feet included.

Had he hurt her? Had he changed things permanently between them? He had been drunk, and irate, and confused, and––

frustrated. She was still frustrated, though mostly just with herself. She was a stick in the mud. She was blindly skeptical. She was a prude.

He was sloppy. He was ungentlemanly. He was unrefined.

She was too bossy. She was too assertive. She was––sad.

The plane arrived at the gate, and they disembarked wordlessly. It was after eight in the morning, but Scully was more in the mood for a cup of tea than for a coffee. As they left baggage claim, walking in step with one another but remaining silent, she looked up, met his eyes.

“I should hail a cab.”

“No, I––I’ll drive you.” It was the least he could do. In weekday traffic, the trek from Reagan to Scully’s apartment in Georgetown would be painful, but he owed her so much more than a ride home. God, he owed her his life.

And she owed him hers. This time, she had no objection to him driving. She silently accepted his help with her bag and settled into the passenger seat. Settled in the soft leather of his seats, she was comfortable. Comfortable enough to enough to defy their usual routine and be the one to break the silence.

“Do you know that feeling when everything suddenly seems to have changed?”

She hoped her voice didn’t betray her insecurity. She hoped he knew that she was talking about more than the repercussions of seeing him with Detective White.

He knew. He knew exactly what she meant. “A shift in the world, like your own life is transitioning into a new era.”

She nodded, and they both felt their hearts skip a beat at their gladness to be on the same page. Neither felt a need to say anything more for several minutes.

“Hey, Scully––I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I wasn’t going to sleep with her.”

“Mulder, you can sleep with whoever you want.”

“That would just make me an asshole. We’re partners. We’re friends.” A pause. Then: “You’ll always have me, Scully.”

Scully felt a warm feeling of relief at his reassurance, at his insistence that it wasn’t just his business who he slept with.

“And you’ll always have me, Mulder.”

They drove another ten minutes in a very comfortable silence. Wordlessly, they brought her suitcase and carry-on bag up into her apartment.

“If you feel anything like I do right now, you want to sleep for about a week and may not come back to work until February.”

She did. She was as emotionally drained as he. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “I’m sure Skinner will have us back in tomorrow.”

“If this really is a new era, at least it still has the X files in it.”

She could read between the lines: at least we still have each other.

They drew closer to each other, and Mulder brought his hand to her face with the kind of affection that she had feared never again receiving. In this moment they could kiss, Scully knew, and she had hoped for this moment for a long time. Still, she felt no need to kiss him now, because she felt the sweetness of certainty in his touch. His thumb on her cheekbone let her know that she would have a thousand more opportunities to kiss him. And so she didn’t take advantage of this one.

“I don’t know if I should say good night or good morning,” she quipped softly, not breaking their gaze.

“It’s a good thing I don’t make a habit of taking you out of the country, Scully. We haven’t even left the time zone.”

“Think Skinner would ever let us take a vacation?”

“I don’t know––where would we go?”

“A city––that way, you couldn’t go chasing any lights in the sky. But we have a pretty nice city right here,” she whispered.

“We do, don’t we?”

He pulled her slowly into a hug, gently stroking her hair, happy to feel her in his arms, happy to keep her there.

“Good night, Mulder.”

“Good morning, Scully,” he murmured against her.

Scully watched him return to his car, waved as he set off in the direction of his own apartment. She was so glad to have this man in her life. Showering, toweling off, and donning a comfortable pair of pajamas, she settled languidly into bed, her shades filtering out enough of the morning light to let her drift off, but leaving the room as softly illuminated as she felt inside. Soon, he would fall asleep in his own bed across the city, but that was okay. She didn’t need to have him in her bed in this very moment to know that she had him. Though they were each comfortable settled amongst their own mounds of pillows, they were still together. They were synchronized again.

This wasn’t exactly a return to normalcy. Scully closed her eyes, melted into the softness of comfort and home. No, this was something altogether better.

#the x files #txf #x files #x files fanfic #msr #msr fanfic #mulder and scully #dana scully #fox mulder #sculder #syzygy #syzygy post ep #post ep #txf fanfic

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goddamnitaisha · 6 years ago

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Hey dear @asreoninfusion,

remember a time before you were a popular blog Sefikura BDSM Kink Queen?

When you were too afraid to make a blog? And were too afraid to message me because you worried you would annoy me? Before we met in real life.

Hahaha you sent me anon messages in a time I received multiple anons a day. I had to give you a nickname because I wanted you to sign your posts. I gave you name options, you chose the name anon-sundown. I wanted you to continue talking to me, because you were cute enough to be adopted. You suggested writing about your funny life experiences.

Now, I kept all these messages for years. READ THEM BOTTOM TO TOP. You might want to copy them and put them on your own blog.

Love,

your friend Aisha

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago You couldn't actually see the driver; all that was visible were two hands sticking out through this massive bunch of bananas, clutching the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip, and a little face peering round the edge.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago But the favourite two-wheeler incident was the banana man. People would often cart around huge amounts of food or stock for the local shops they owned; this man was transporting bananas. A /lot/ of bananas. To this day I have no idea how he managed to balance them all on there, but it is safe to say there was significantly more banana than man.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago We used to see all sorts of insane things on two-wheelers. Across the road from the Croc Bank there lived a man who would regularly drive a fully grown goat around on his bike, with the animal casually draped over the back. One time we saw two men driving along with an eight foot length of PVC pipe... lengthways. They were holding it /across/ the bike, taking up almost the entire road and forcing everyone to swerve all over the place to avoid them! (Fairly standard driving for India, then.)

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago Let's have a non-animal related story for a change. In India they were big on their motorbikes - or two-wheelers, as they call them. They tend to be a lot cheaper and more accessible for most people, so they made up about 40% of the traffic. And the amount of stuff people would cram onto those things! It wasn't at all uncommon to see a family of four or five squashed onto the one bike.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago One other thing the macaques used to do - and I have no idea where they learnt to do this, if it was instictive or they had learnt it from someone - was floss their teeth. The zookeeper would pull out a strand of their hair and hand it to the monkeys, and they'd start flossing! That soon became an integral part of the feeding show, getting them to clean their teeth afterwards for the visitors to see. We were often the ones doing that, so it's a good thing both my mum and I have very thick hair!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Even if they weren't playing with the hose, most of the monkeys would still stop and stare while you cleaned, then try to imitate what you were doing. My mum once brought in a little toy broom to give to them while she was sweeping, see if she could get them to copy her and do some of the work! (They weren't buying it.)

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago In the complete opposite of the spider monkeys, the macaques loved water. The cleaning always took twice as long as it should have, as the monkeys would come and play in the spray when you were trying to hose down the floor and rocks. On more than one occasion a zookeeper (usually my mum) was caught playing skipping rope with the monkeys and a stream of water.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Cleaning their enclosure was always a two person job; one to do the cleaning, and the other would stand there with a hose, keeping the monkeys at bay. Fortunately, the macaques monkeys were much friendlier. You had to make sure not to get too near to any of the babies - the mothers were very protective of their young - but other than that they were quite happy to have company in their enclosure.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Most of the time the spider monkeys would grudgingly accept an intrusion at feeding time. They weren't pleased that someone was in their space, but they knew that they got food out of it. Even so, they could be vicious buggers, so the zookeeper would always carry a water pistol in with them. If the spider monkeys got too close or too aggressive, you just squirted them with the water pistol and they would back off!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago At the Hunter Valley Zoo in Australia there were also monkeys, although these were part of the zoo rather than the local wildlife! We had two species; macaques and spider monkeys. The macaques were a big friendly group, playful and generally very nice. The spider monkeys, on the other hand, were not. Their enclosure was /their/ territory, and hoo boy, they did not like their territory invaded. Oddly enough, the only thing they liked less than having someone in their territory was... water.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago Fortunately, he missed the food. But he did knock over a bottle of milk belonging my little sister (who was very little then). Somehow he managed to set it spinning right around, squirting milk out in every direction at everyone while we dove for cover. Having very successfully got our attention, the goat then hopped back down and made for his balcony, only to run straight into the closed glass door. We let him out there just to get some peace!

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago He's obviously gone for my apple cores, sticking his head into the bin to get at them... but then his horns had got caught, and he couldn't get himself back out past the swing lid. So he just pulled the whole thing off. and then, flailing around like a mad thing trying to dislodge the lid, charged upstairs and jumped right up onto the dinner table.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One final piece of background information; I like eating apples. I used to sit at the computer in the front room downstairs, happily munching away, and throw the cores into a little bin with a swing lid just by the desk. This is relevant. So, the goat sneaks into the house. The family is all sat down for dinner, minding our own business, and the first we know of it is hearing a huge ka-clop, ka-clop, ka-clop as the goat comes absolutely flying up the stairs with a bin lid stuck around his neck.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago As it turned out, we needn't have worried. The goat's reaction to the big scary dogs was to headbutt them, full in the face. The German Shepherd was the one scared of the goat! After the goat had grown a bit and become too big for the balcony, he was relocated to a nice little shed outside. But he still believed the balcony was /his/ balcony and his home, and thus would regularly sneak into the house and charge upstairs to try to get back there.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago When the goat was just a little thing, it used to live out on the balcony on the second floor of our house. This was because we also had two dogs, an Australian Cattle dog and a fully grown German Shepherd. The former was about twice the size of the goat, and the latter three or four times bigger. We introduced them regularly, but didn't want them to share the same living space until the goat was a bit more grown up and less likely to be intimidated by the big scary dogs.

anon-sundown answered you: a day ago rp-sephiroth asked:

Hahahahaha, I loved the story of the goat. It made me really happy on a less than happy day! xD You're so full of good things, I can't imagine why you still hide. Over the past few weeks you've come across as a pretty rad friend. xD <3 Yes, you make me happy!

Ahhh, thank you! I’m so happy I can make you happy. ^_^ I have another tale of the goat for today’s silly story.

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago Oh! And just out of curiosity, how are you making the keyblade? I cosplayed Aqua one time and made Stormfall for her. It came out... okay, I guess, but a bit fragile. Someone leant on it and snapped it. orz So anyway, I'm interested to see what method/materials you're going to use. :)

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago I know what you mean about the self-acceptance thing. v_v And for me it never seemed reasonable or fair to expect anyone else to like you when you don't even like yourself. (This thinking is a significant part of why I'm always so terrified to talk to anyone new; it just seems so rude to impose my shitty self on them. orz) But I like you, and I'm sure the other people you mentioned who send you messages like and accept you too! It's probably not worth much, but there's that at least. ^^'

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Then the goat came trotting along, looking pleased as punch with himself, with three or four cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Ah, of course. The builder took off after the goat to try and get them back, but alas, it was too late for the cigarettes. They were chewed to pieces and covered in goat slobber. And the poor builder never did get to have a smoke that day.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago The goat was also around. And goats, as you may know, will eat just about anything. On this particular day, 'anything' was the builder's entire packet of cigarettes that he had left out. He came asking us if we knew where his cigarettes had gone, and for a good while we were all searching around the area he'd misplaced them, scratching our heads.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Originally, Avoca Drive was bought as a plot of land, and my mum and stepdad had a house built on it. We moved in as soon as we could, with just a few finishing touches like carpets to go down and a concrete path to lay outside the front door (the latter of which meant we had to climb out a ground floor window to get out the house for a day or two while the concrete set, that was fun). So there were a few builders around, just finishing up whatever they needed to do.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago While we were in the same house as the wombat incident (henceforth to be known as Avoca Drive, if I need to reference it again) we also owned a goat. And this goat-- oh Goddess, this goat. It was a donation from another family; they had won the goat in a charity auction, raising money for African villages and 'Give a Goat' sort of projects (hence why they were auctioning a goat, I suppose). But they discovered after the fact they didn't have the time/space to look after a goat, so it came to us.

I perched on the back of the sofa (up out of reach of marauding wombats; I wasn't taking on that thing either) and laughed at everyone. Eventually my brother joined me up on the sofa, and the wombat was led away to its overnight bunk in the cupboard under the house, where it the proceeded to keep everyone up all night trying to dig through the foundations.

anon-sundown asked you: 2 minutes ago He tried to shake the wombat off, changing direction and speeding up. The wombat only sped up after him. They ended up running round the room in panicked circles with my brother shouting for mummy. Mum swept in for a rescue attempt, but was not very successful. They /both/ ended up running round the room being chased by the wombat.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 minutes ago Now, this wombat had been trained at Taronga Zoo to follow people around, so the zoo keepers could easily get it to go where they wanted. So when we let it out to have a wander in the front room it began to follow around my brother. He was only ten at the time, and not terribly pleased by the large hairy creature tailing him at a distance far to close for comfort.

anon-sundown asked you: 5 minutes ago Okay, so back when we lived in Australia (as my stepdad is Australian; everything is always his fault), he and my mum owned a zoo in the Hunter Valley, several hours drive north of Sydney. We had acquired a wombat, a transfer from Taronga Zoo. Since our house was directly along and right in the middle of the route between Taronga in Sydney and the Hunter Valley, it was decided the wombat would stay a night at home to break up the journey.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago We eventually got the noodles back after my mum went and yelled at the monkeys, though it wasn't terribly effective until the monkeys hissed back and scared my little sister. Then my mum actually got angry with them, and she is rather scary when angry. The monkeys dropped the jar and ran off, and thus victory was ours.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One time the door to the house was left open and two monkeys broke in. One stood guard at the door while other darted into the kitchen, jumped up on to the counter and proceeded to raid the cupboard. They made off with a jar of pot noodles and took to a nearby tree to try and prise the thing open (without much succes).

#hahahahaha #asreoninfusion

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