#no moth. no it is not. but alas i am too excited | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

witchersgoldenbard · 3 years

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Snow Angels and Battles

it was my dear friend @jaskie's birthday yesterday and i meant to have this done way sooner but alas, i just am Like That. so anyway, happy un-birthday to you my sweet, i hope you enjoy some un-betaed yennskier shenanigans i wrote in 2.5h on discord 💛

wc: 3k | tags: yennskier birthday fluff, modern au, found family, snowball fights

"Yen!"

Truly, Yennefer has seen Jaskier in many states of glee and euphoria before, because that man is the equivalent of an easily excitable golden retriever puppy. And how that man with the brightest eyes and the brightest smile and the brightest gods-damned mind came to fall in love with her, she doesn't know, but now that he did, she's not letting him go again. Especially not when he looks at her like that before spinning around and looking back out the window to watch giant snowflakes falling from the sky and painting the world in glittering white.

Yennefer doesn't even try to hide her smile even though he can't see it.

"Yen! Yen, it's snowing! Snow! On my birthday!"

He spins back around and grins at her, looking like a six-year-old on Christmas Day, not like a 27-year-old who keeps lamenting that getting old sucks. She grins back and already knows that her plans for the day are for naught now that it snows, because Jaskier will want to head out and—

"I wanna lie in it!" he declares, and Yennefer laughs. Of course he fucking does. That silly, silly, wonderful man with his beautiful eyes and his smile that fills her heart so endlessly.

"You're gonna catch a cold," she says, though it holds no power with the way she can't stop smiling at this infuriatingly cute man.

He inclines his head and thinks for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Worth it."

She snorts and walks over to where he is already shaking a bit by the window, though whether that is because he is still only wearing his ridiculous pyjamas or from excitement, she doesn't know. Possibly both.

He is drawn to her like a moth to the flame and his cold hands immediately reach for hers when she is close enough, like he always does, and Yennefer leans up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss to his nose.

"At least get dressed first, silly."

And with that she turns around and heads out of their bedroom, laughing when all he says is, "Only because you asked so nicely."

Infuriating man. Gods, how she loves him. She can hear him rummage about the room, bumping into the bed a few times and she pictures him trying to watch the snow, get dressed, and reply to his thousands of Happy Birthday! messages at once. It makes her smile as she sets about making coffee and tea – coffee for now, tea for later when they will be frozen down to their bones and in desperate need of something warm.

Coffee brewing and kettle boiling, she grabs her phone and finds a message from Geralt.

Gayralt: "birthday boy excited over the snow? :D"

yen: "you bet. it's adorable"

Then, a thought strikes her and she follows up with another message.

yen: "actually, i think i'm cancelling plans to enjoy as much snow as possible. wanna join? i am sensing a snow ball fight and we need an army against the ball of energy that is birthday jask"

Geralt's reply is immediate and leaves her with a chuckle.

Gayralt: "I'll let the boys know. And Ciri. He doesn't stand a chance!"

"And what's got you smiling so bright, huh?" Jaskier says as he bounds into the kitchen, still excited but not vibrating with it anymore. So, of course, the first thing he does is pour himself a cup of coffee with a splash of vanilla syrup because that man can never have too much caffeine or sugar.

"Am I not allowed to smile now?"

"No," Jaskier says, downing half the cup of way too hot coffee without a care in the world. "It's my birthday, I have singular smiling rights and nobody else."

She nods sagely and does her best to look contrite. "Understood, I apologise, Your Silliness. Wait, what about all the other birthday people?"

"Hmm," he says and leans against the counter beside her, impossibly warm in his entire presence so it's no wonder she begins to lean into him. "I'll allow it."

"You're so gracious," she sighs and there's a beat of silence before they both break out into chuckles. Jaskier wraps his arms around her and brushes a kiss to her forehead and another to her temple before he takes another sip of his coffee. It's quiet and warm and a moment only for them before Jaskier will remember why he was so excited only a minute ago.

"Happy birthday," she murmurs against him and closes her eyes briefly to breathe him in and exist in the moment. A smile on her lips that hasn't left since she woke up. A smile that hasn't really left since she first kissed Jaskier.

"Thank you, my love," he murmurs back and holds her closer. It makes her heart jump that he'll miss out on the snow only to hold her just a second longer.

Gods, but how she really, really loves him.

"Hey Yen?" he breaks the silence eventually.

"Hmm?"

"Hey, don't Geralt me, you ass," he laughs, and she pokes him into the side.

"What, then, you ass yourself?"

He chuckles and skips away from another vicious poke, dancing around the kitchen island with his cup of coffee still half full in one hand.

"Well, I was gonna ask you if we can go outside, but now I'm actually telling you that your face will have to kiss some snow when you're being mean to the birthday boy."

"Oh, will it now?" she challenges, raising her eyebrow in a way that has made many a man cave on the spot. But not Jaskier. All he does is raise his chin with a promising little smile on his lips.

"Oh, it absolutely will."

"Try me, birthday boy," is all she says.

And, boy, does he try.

The very second they step outside is once of peace and excitement where Jaskier just stands on their front step and looks around himself, marvelling at the world that got covered in a thick layer of white in mere minutes. The snow is still falling, catching in his hair, and with his blue eyes and rosy cheeks, this is the most beautiful version of him she has ever seen.

But then he moves in record speed, whirling around to gather a heap of snow from the ground before he hurls it at her. Luckily, he is nothing but predictable, so Yennefer is able to stop the motion of his hands halfway, which only results in them both being covered in white powdery snow that only falls from them because they are both laughing so hard.

"You absolute asshole, I knew it!" she calls and hurries to get away from him, but he is too busy laughing to catch up.

"I love how you made it worse," he wheezes and lets himself fall backward onto their lawn, sinking into the snow with a giggle.

She watches him as she catches her breath, waves of chuckles still running through her. Jaskier isn't faring better, lying there and staring up at the grey clouds before he has to close his eyes against the thick snowflakes.

He begins to flail his limbs and it takes her a moment to realise what he is doing, and it makes her want to laugh all over again.

"How does my snow angel look?" he asks once he has stopped moving, and Yennefer steps closer to inspect it.

She puts on a serious, judging face. "Hmm, I don't know. But mine looks pretty cute."

Jask blinks up at her and it takes him a moment or two before he understands – and if it were at all possible, Yennefer would swear his cheeks just became a slightly deeper shade of red.

They stay outside until midday before the need for something warm calls them inside, and Yen would love to travel back in time to pat herself on the back for making tea and putting it on a stove to keep it warm but not scalding hot.

"Oh, you are the best," Jaskier moans with his hands wrapped around a mug and his nose buried in the steam. "I am so smart for being in love with you, there is no better person on this planet than my wonderful Yennefer, and we should all sing your praises!"

She eyes him. "For making tea?"

"For making tea," he nods and downs the whole cup in one go.

It is not long until the doorbell rings and Yennefer goes to open it, brushing a kiss to Jaskier's forehead when she passes him where he has buried himself into the couch, his hands still wrapped around a warm mug. The door opens to reveal Geralt, Lambert, Eskel and Ciri all bundled up in hats and scarves that must have been at Ciri's insistence. She is a stubborn seven-year-old, and if anyone could talk Lambert into wearing a thick scarf, it would be her.

"I hear there's a birthday boy here who needs to get his ass k—"

"Lambert!" Geralt interrupts his brother, and he looks like he wants to say more when Ciri interrupts him with an excited voice.

"Yeah, let's kick the birthday boy's ace!"

Close, Yennefer thinks with a suppressed grin, and Geralt sighs while Eskel subtly smacks the back of Lambert's head.

"Hi, auntie Yen," Ciri calls and bounds into the house like she always does.

"Ciri, your shoes!" Geralt calls at the very last minute, and with an ever-suffering sigh the girl stops and bends down to get rid of her thick boots.

Yen turns back to the men and grins, holding the door open for them to come out of the cold and into the warmth. "Birthday boy is still warming up because he made one too many snow angels against my advice. Give him half an hour and then the battle shall commence."

Jaskier lights up once more when they enter the living room, and he immediately finds himself with a giggling armful of Ciri. "Hello, light of my life, darling daughter of my best friend, princess among pirates," he says, and she only giggles some more, wriggling and writhing in his lap as though she's trying to climb him and escape him at the same time. Like kids do.

"Nooo, not pirates!" she says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing to suggest.

"Not pirates? Pray tell, my dear, are you still a princess?"

She stops then and frowns at him, looking at him very seriously when she says, "Of course, uncle Jaskier."

He laughs. "Good, I thought I had to reorder the rules of the universe."

"No, the wools or the universe are fine where they are," Ciri says, and Yennefer leans against the doorframe to watch them with a fond smile.

"And what are your father and uncles, then, if not pirates?"

"We're wolves now," Geralt says with a grin, leaning down and ruffling through Jaskier's hair before pressing a kiss to Ciri's. Jaskier smiles up at him fondly, his blue eyes so big and happy.

"Wolves!" he gasps and Ciri giggles again.

"Big, bad, dangerous wolves! But not to me. I am the princess after all, and wolves don't hurt princessessess."

Jaskier nods very seriously. "That is very true, my dear."

While Jaskier is having these very serious talks with Ciri, Yennefer follows Eskel into the kitchen and is delighted to find that he brought cake and self-made mulled wine for later. Bless this man for having their collective brain cell and enough patience to wield it.

Together, they bring the cake into the living room along with coffee and more tea, and they all enjoy it in relative silence.

The battle follows immediately after, and it's Jask, Yen and Ciri against the wolves, with Ciri's reasoning that the wolves can't hurt the princess. Each party has five minutes to build a wall and prepare for battle with all means necessary, and Yen watches as Jask and Ciri giggle their way through building a wall, and it takes three attempts of the girl throwing snow at Jaskier before she remembers that they are in the same team.

And then, snow still falling and Jaskier vibrating beside her, in a state of constant chuckles bubbling out of him, Yen leans up for one last kiss before Lambert opens fire with a vicious battle cry.

It's brutal. It's loud. It's chaotic. It's fun. All Yen can hear are shouts and cries and calls for revenge, all immediately followed with laughter and promises to kiss more snow.

"You're all talk, Lambert," Jaskier calls over to him, just seconds before a snowball barely misses his face and thunks into the wall behind him. He sticks out his tongue like the adult he is before firing back, hitting Geralt straight in the chest who falls over with an exaggerated. "Oof!"

"Daddy!" Ciri giggles and runs over to him before Jaskier can catch her, only stopping once she stands right above Geralt with a grin. She raises her arms and drops the snowball she's been holding right onto his face before Eskel comes and sweeps her off her feet, holding her up in front of him like a shield. A whooping, squealing, giggling shield.

He comes closer and Yen shares one glance with Jaskier before they both duck behind the wall, heaping up snow in a last desperate attempt at defence.

"Surrender, you fools! I have a Ciri and I am not afraid to use her!" Eskel calls.

"Yeah, you fools!" Ciri giggles.

"Ciri, you're supposed to be on our side!" Jaskier calls then.

"Uncle Esky is cheating, Jaskier!" she calls back, her voice as urgent as his, and it's adorable. "But it's fun so it's okay!"

"Sound logic," Yen murmurs and earns a grin from Jaskier.

In the end, Jaskier runs out from behind their wall to attack Eskel from one side while Yen runs to the other, but their attempt is in vain. Jaskier can't get a clear shot without hitting Ciri, and before he can get over that moral dilemma, Eskel has already covered his face with snow before whirling around, Ciri nothing but a dangling, giggling lightweight. Yennefer knows a lost battle when she sees it, but that doesn't stop her from throwing that ball, knowing it'll miss Eskel just seconds before he heaves his handful of snow right onto her shoulders with a triumphant cry. He whirls Ciri around with a laugh before putting her on her feet once more.

"Hey, uncle Esky," Ciri calls when Eskel has turned his back to her to get cheered on by his brothers.

He whirls around and horror dawns on his face when Ciri, that vicious little princess who has learned so much from auntie Yen, throws a heap of snow at him. It doesn't nearly reach his chest, nor does it count as a proper snowball, but Eskel dramatically tips over and lands on his ass in this snow.

"Oh no! The princess turns on me!"

Ciri runs over, nearly tripping on her own feet, until she stands above Eskel the same way she did with Geralt. And she bends down to grab another heap of snow before unceremoniously dropping that right on Eskel's head with nothing but a laugh.

And that is how a seven-year-old beat them all in a vicious snowball battle. Yennefer has never in her life been prouder of anyone. She and Jaskier carry Ciri on their shoulders around the backyard, parading her in front of Geralt, Eskel and Lambert before sharing just once look and dropping her on a pile of snow.

It's not long before they're all helplessly drenched in melting snow and laughing through the fact that they can't feel their hands or feet anymore. The sun is already setting where it is still hidden by thick grey clouds that keep showering the Earth with snow, and it's getting dark rather quickly.

Jaskier herds them all inside to warm up with tea and dry clothes and all the blankets their house has to offer. Which, to the surprise of nobody, is a lot. And all of them fuzzy and comfy. Ciri wears hers like a cape, sniffling into her tea where she is cuddling into Geralt's side. They're sweet, these two.

Yennefer is about to say something when Jaskier approaches her from behind, wrapping his blanket-covered arms around her and rudely burying his ice-cold nose into her neck. It makes her flinch and want to move away, but his hold on her is too strong and the way he hums and chuckles against her makes her too weak to escape anyway.

"Hi," she murmurs then as she leans back into him.

"Hi," he whispers and presses a kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

Now it's her turn to hum and close her eyes. "I love you, too."

"Thank you for this."

"Of course."

"I know you had plans," he continues, and she detects a hint of apology in his voice that she wants to tramp down immediately.

"I did, yeah. But the main plan was to make you happy, and I can be flexible when it comes to that. Today was about you anyway. And I know how excited you get when it snows. You've not had a snowy birthday since... well, since I know you."

"Yeah," Jaskier says and lets out a small sigh. "I loved this so, so much. But still. Thank you."

She spins around in his arms at his sincere tone, and she needs him to know that she means it when she says, "Anytime." And that's a promise.

A promise sealed with a smile and a kiss, and another smile after that.

"I'm very lucky to have you," he whispers, his cold nose rubbing against hers.

"And I am lucky to have you," she says, and it sounds almost lame. But it makes him smile all the same before he leans in for another kiss.

"Eeeew! Uncle Jask and auntie Yen, that is so ew!" Ciri complains with a laugh, but it's enough to remind them they still have guests. They break apart with one last, fleeting kiss, before Jaskier runs and tackles Ciri into the couch with a roar.

Yennefer stands there and watches, her feet still frozen but her knees weak with how in love she is with this silly, happy, wonderful man.

#yennskier #yenskier #jaskier/yennefer #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskie my darling #look i can write fluff!#i just... cant keep things short and i apologise deeply #this will be posted to ao3 tomorrow or at some point when i have brain capacity to actually read this again #nat writes

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mooifyourecows · 3 years

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moo!!! you’re back!!! you have returned!!! hope your move was okay (those trees look pretty bangin. and the MOTH OH MAN THATS A COOL MOTH)!!! d’you have lots of new bugs now?(🪱)

lots of new bugs. lots of the same bugs too though

still got those big ass mosquitos, there are just MORE of them now

i caught two grass spiders in the house the other day and they were both gigantic so i dunno, maybe they get bigger over here? the wasps look meaner than in Idaho but when i looked them up, they're basically the same, just sleeker with more red on their bodies so 🤷‍♂️

i have an ANT problem that is very annoying but i'll get rid of them eventually, mark my words 😑

AND LAST NIGHT THERE WERE SO MANY FIREFLIES FLITTING ABOUT I WAS SO STOKED MAN THIS SHIT IS SO MAGICAL, PEOPLE WHO GET TO SEE FIREFLIES ALL THE TIME DON'T KNOW THE PRIVILEGE THEY POSSESS I AM JUST BAFFLED EVERY TIME I SEE ONE

there are quite a few orbweavers too! one was building a web right where my back door opened and i WAS gonna leave it alone but every night it was a little bigger and I almost walked directly into it so alas, it needed to be destroyed. it's like, bro, there are other places to make your web, why do you need to do it in one of the one places i can walk to get outside?

So far, the butterflies have been roughly the same. lots of cabbage whites and american ladies. though i THINK there was a black swallowtail floating around one day 👀👀 it might've just been something else with a lot of black though. 🤔

there are a lot of different spiders and then the really obnoxious tiny bugs that swarm my front stoop at night. ohhh and there was this one spider i was playing around with the other day. it was so HOPPY. like it would run around normally but then if you got to close to him, he would start BOUNCING AROUND LIKE A KANGAROO IT WAS SO CUTE

honestly quite a few of my oak trees have big ol galls on them so i'm kinda worried that we'll be getting an insane amount of wasps but so far it's been pretty chill. They fly around and mind their business and i mind mine too so we're buds 👌 they're building hives in my shed though and if i wanted to keep my future lawn mower in there then............. we gonna have a turf war. or maybe not. maybe they will be okay with sharing the space

And there are a lot of bumblebees 👀 so adorable. they, and the hummingbirds, love the chives growing in my front flowerbed. actually it was hilarious because on one of the first nights at the new house, my mom and i were sitting out on the front step, drinking coffee, and she was staring at the flower bed and was like,

"I think you have a whole herb garden right here. there's sage, that's lemon mint, and this... i think it's onion..." so she tore out one of the chives, wiped the dirt away, and took a bite. "Yep, see, taste"

i had the taste of onion in my mouth for hours. did not pair well with coffee

but oh well 🤷‍♂️

honestly i'm excited for autumn. there are soooo many green trees all around and I wanna see what colors they change 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

#i also saved a little worm from my cat #so ya know #i'm a hero

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

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Casual moths - chapter eight

Find the other parts on my masterlist here.

If you liked this part and wanna help me out, please consider a reblog. Thank you.

Chapter eight - secrets and labels

The heat is sweltering and Angel has to wipe the sweat off of his eyebrows every few minutes as he mounts yet another shelf on the walls of the flower shop.

He and Coco have been working on getting the shop back up for about 2 and a half weeks now. The windows are back in place, the shelves are almost all set up and most of the walls have received a fresh coat of paint. All that’s left to do is the big centre-wall, the one behind the counter that people see first thing as they enter the building.

Back before the incident, that wall was painted a light blue colour, nothing overly exciting or eye-catching. Angel thinks that needs to change. Callie is no ordinary women and this shop should reflect that. A girl who’s overcome so many adversities and so many hardships, she deserves a masterpiece. Even if it’s just a drawing on a wall. He’s already got an idea on what to put there, all he needs now is some paint — and some time.

“ We good for today? “ Coco grumbles as he places a cigarette between his teeth ad lights it which earns him a smack on the head from Angel. “ What? “

“ Don’t smoke in here. Place is supposed to smell like flowers, not tobacco. “

Angel knows by the look on Coco’s face, there’s something more he wants to say. It’s probably some teasing comment about Angel being whipped or something. Though Coco doesn’t say the words in the end. Just shakes his head with a smirk and puts the cigarette back out. “ Whatever you say, man. “

Callie probably wouldn’t mind him smoking but Angel does. For no other reason than the fact that the place really does smell like flowers. Even though Callie has them all stored in her garage and works from there right now, the store still smells of peonies and lilies and roses. Maybe, Angel thinks, it’s a scent so strong it’s soaked into the walls and taken over. Or maybe, maybe it’s just wishful thinking because the scent of flowers is also the scent that follows Callie around — and he loves that scent.

“ I’m gonna get some paint for the wall tomorrow. You free to — “

Though Angel doesn’t get to finish the sentence as the ringing of his phone interrupts him. He’s almost embarrassed to admit it to himself but when he catches Callie’s name on the display, his heart does a silly little jump. He’s never felt this way before and it’s both absolutely terrifying and incredibly exciting.

“ Hey, you. “

“ Angel “

She only says his name. She only says one single word but Angel immediately knows that something isn’t right. There’s no affection in her voice, no joy or warmth. There’s fear and he hates that.

“ What’s wrong? “

Coco’s head snaps towards Angel as those words tumble from his lips, eyes sending him a silent question.

“ I — I was on the way to drop Daisy off at my mother’s place, I was just about 2 blocks away from the house and EZ escorted me almost all the way here so don’t be mad at him. “

“ Callie I don’t give a shit about EZ right now, what’s going on? “

“ Travis car is following me around and I don’t know what to do. “

This guy is really pushing his luck. Just thinking about that ugly silver car slowly creeping along and following his girls, makes Angel’s blood boil to a dangerous degree.

“ Where are you? “

“ Um — on main street, almost by the ice cream shop. “

“ Okay. Listen, you’re just a few seconds from my dad’s shop. Go there, I’ll let him know you girls are coming and to meet you outside. Do not leave until I’m there. You hear me? “

Callie doesn’t say anything but he can hear her sniffle through the phone.

“ Babe? You’ll be safe there, I promise. “

“ I know. I know, I trust you. “

To hear that, it means everything. No one’s ever put a lot of trust in Angel. At least not until he found a family in the club and even then, he knows Bish isn’t 100% convinced of his loyalty.

“ Good. I’ll see you in a bit. Stay safe! “

It’s not something he tacks at the end of his sentence out of courtesy. Not this time.

“ Everything alright, man? “ Coco asks, eyebrows raised in question.

“ Nah. Nothing’s alright. You good to lock up here? I need to teach someone a lesson. “

“ Sure. “

“ Thanks man. For everything. “

He really means it. A friend like Coco, weird and ridiculous as he can be, is worth so much in a world like this.

Angel grabs his keys and rushes out the door towards his bike, while simultaneously dialling his dad’s number. For once in his life, he prays that time is on his side.

Callie’s car is parked in front of his dad’s butcher shop and Angel feels his heart expand in relieve. It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? How someone can become so important to you in such a short time that their happiness and their wellbeing directly impact your own.

As he steps into the shop, he hears giggling coming from the back. It’s a sound he will never get tired of. Daisy and Callie laughing in harmony, creating the most lovely melody.

Angel Reyes never spent a lot of time thinking about his own death. Living life like the one he does, it’s something that’s always kind of looming over you but if you focus on it for too long it becomes a heavy burden on your shoulder. So he tries to ignore it mostly. But listening to his girls laugh, he hopes that whenever it’s his time to go, this is what he gets to hear before the end. Because this is the most wonderful sound to him.

“ Hello? “

Angel doesn’t receive an answer though as he follows the laughter he is met with the sight of his girls sitting on the couch of his father’s living room. He never knew, never would’ve guessed, that a sight like this was something he wanted to see. And yet, this feels weirdly monumental. Angel is almost sure this is one of the moments that, in retrospect, will be one of the important ones.

“ Angel! “ Daisy’s little voice calls out to him. At least it seems like she’s unaware of the strange mood, of the fear and the frustrations washing through him and Callie.

“ Hey, princess. You girls are having a good time, huh ?”

Daisy nods her head enthusiastically, making her curls bounce “so much fun. “

“ Your dad told us some stories about you. “ Callie elaborates.

Felipe sits in the recliner, a content smile visible from underneath his moustache. If he didn’t know him so well, Angel wouldn’t have noticed, alas he does know him well and notices the glint in his father’s eyes right away. Felipe is not happy with the situation. In fact, Angel is sure he’s not happy with the fact that he’s still involved with Callie and in relation, with little Daisy. In his father’s eyes, he’s sure, he will never be good enough for these girls. And truth be told, he probably isn’t. Though for his own sanity, and for Callie, he needs to let himself believe in the fact that he can be enough. That he can be the man Callie thinks he is. The man Daisy thinks he is.

Maybe for once in his life, Angel Reyes can be the hero of his own story.

“ Whatever he told you, it’s not true.”

“ Only good things “ Felipe scoffs from his place on the recliner.

“ Ah, I’m sure about that, pop. “

He walks over to Callie, places a soft kiss on her head. Her hair smells like heat and flowers and summer. Just like the shop, Callie seems to carry around te perpetual smell of blooming flowers.

“ You good, mamí? “

“ I’m fine. “

“ Daisy?”

“ She’s fine too. Don’t think she really realised something was wrong. “

Sometimes Angel wishes he could be a kid again. Just to feel the lightness that comes with it. The feeling of being unbothered by life. The innocence.

“ Okay good. Did he follow you here? Did you see where he went? “

“ I don’t know, I — “

Though Callie doesn’t get to finish her sentence as the bell above the door signals a customer stepping into the store. Felipe gets up with a grunt and shuffles towards the front of the store. Whatever the customer says, it doesn’t sound all the way through to the back but just a moment later, Angel can hear his dad speak up loud and clear.

“ Well I am sorry, she’s not here. “

And it’s then, that Angel knows who just stepped in. Callie knows it too, he can see her eyes fill with a fear that he never wants to see ever again. It shakes him to his bones, it breaks his heart. Whoever puts it there, he needs to go.

Recognition flashes in the man’s face as Angel steps up next to his dad behind the counter. Travis looks rough. Black circles rim his bloodshot eyes. His shaggy hair hangs in greasy strands down his head and he looks like he hasn’t shaved his patchy beard in a while.

“ There a problem here? “

Felipe is just about to speak up when Travis interrupts him.

“ I um — I’m looking for my girlfriend, actually. We had a fight and she ran off. Saw her come in here. I wanna know where she is. “

Angel can feel red hot anger bubbling inside him, taking over. He feels his heart beating faster, wrath causing his ears to ring and his troath to grow a knot.

Though he knows he should keep calm and collected and face this obstacle with a clear mind, that’s not who he is.

In the blink of an eye, he’s got the guy pinned to the wall. Though Travis doesn’t look scared, he just looks — slightly inconvenienced. Like this is just a blip on his grand plan. A tiny hurdle he will have to overcome. Angel won’t let that happen though. If this dude thinks he can mess with Angel’s girlfriend he’s got a storm coming.

“ She’s not your girlfriend and she doesn’t wanna see you. I know it’s you who trashed her place and I know you’ve been stalking here for a while now. I’m only going to say this once. This shit stops now! You don’t follow her anymore, don’t look at her, don’t even think about her or Daisy anymore. If I find out you’re still bothering her, I won’t be so nice. I’ll put a goddamn bullet straight between your beady little weasel eyes. You understand that? “

Travis stays silent.

“ I said, do you understand that? “

At that, he nods. Though Angel is anything but convinced. His eyes are empty, there’s neither fear nor understanding. Nothing.

“ Now get the fuck outta here. I don’t give second chances, just so you know. “

The door fasl closed behind Travis and Angel lets out a big sigh. Not one of relief, one of frustration. As he glances up at his dad, he can see judgement. He should be used to it, it’s always there. But something about it irks him. He’s not wrong. Not this time!

“ What? “

“ I didn’t say anything! “

“ Nah but you want to. So come on, say it. “

“ Angel —”

“ You still don’t think I am good enough, right? That’s what this is, isn’t it? You think I’m gonna mess things up for her and Daisy. “

“ I didn’t say that.”

“ Nah, but you thought it. You don’t have to say it to mean it. “

“ Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“ I’m not doing shit. You just can’t hide it from me. I know how it is.”

Angel Reyes is prone to breaking his own heart. Sometimes his head is so loud and it tells him all the wrong things. Like how his dad will never be as proud of him as he is of EZ. How that is mostly his own fault. Like how his mom would be utterly devastated by the person he’s become. Sometimes the things that are not said, those that play in your own head, are far more heartbreaking and terrifying than the truth. Sometimes the demons you create yourself are the one that gonna eat you whole.

Pushing past his dad he steps back into the room, seeing Daisy cuddle up to her mother. It’s a sight he’ll never grow tired of, he’s sure of that. His own little piece of heaven. Something soft and warm and happy. Not tainted by his part nor the demons of his present. Just the girls. Just home. A family that chose him. That stands beside him.

“ Everything alright? “ Callie asks. There’s still fear lingering in her eyes where love should be but for Daisy’s sake, she’s trying to stay calm and not show it. Angel sees though, he always does.

“ Yeah. Everything’s good. Let me take you girls home. “

“ Will you stay? “

A family that chooses him. That wants him around.

“ Sure.”

“ It’s a nice day out, let me give you some steaks to grill. “ Felipe speaks up and Angel wonders if he feels even a spark of guilt. If this is him trying.

“ Oh that would be lovely, thank you Felipe. “

Callie follows his father back into the shop as Angel plops down on the couch besides Daisy who looks up at him with big beautiful eyes shining with a glimmer of michieve.

“Hey Princess, you good ?”

“ Yup. I missed you. “

He’s not going to admit it but that sends his heart soaring.

“ We just saw each other last night. I tucked you in, remember?“

“ That’s very long. I missed you a lot. “

“ Yeah? “

“ Mmh. “

“ I missed you too, kid. “

And he realises then, that that’s not even a lie.

“ Does your daddy still have some emenems? “

“ Some what?”

“ Emenems. The crispy ones. “

“ Oh, M&Ms. I dunno. You think I should check? “ Angel replies, a smirk on his lips and an eyebrow raised in question.

Daisy nods her head enthusiastically making her hair bounce.

“ Alright, you wait here and I’ll sneak into the shop to see if I can find some. “

By the smile gracing her face, Angel knows he’s doing something right. And maybe, if he can make her smile, he ain’t such a bad guy after all.

The door leading to the shop is opened slightly and just as Angel is about to step in, he catches a part of a conversation between his father and Callie.

“ Why are you apologizing? “ Felipe says and places a few steaks in a plastic bag.

“ Because I am getting you involved now too. I never meant for that to happen. I didn’t want Angel to have to deal with this either. I just — you are good people. You shouldn’t have to deal with my problems. They’re mine to fix. “

If Callie thinks, even for just a second, that Angel isn’t willing to fight her fights for her, she is absolutely mistaken.

“ What are you saying, Callie?”

“ Oh I just — Angel is such a wonderful guy and I don’t want him to have to deal with my shit. Sorry, my stuff. I don’t want you guys to be pulled into this and be inconvenienced or get in trouble. “

Angel hears his Father’s low chuckle at those words.

“ You know Angel is part of an MC right? You’re scared of getting him into trouble? “

“ I do. When I started — “ she sighs “ — things with Angel, I was very aware of who he is. Or at least of the club and what comes with the territory. I might not know the details but I am no fool and neither am I that naive. I knew what I was signing up for. I am afraid he just now realises what he got into when he chose to give me the time of day. I come with a lot of baggage. I’m scared of putting more weight onto him. “

Those words hit Angel at the core of his heart. The fact that she even as much as entertains that though is insane to him. There’s so much weight on him that pulls him down and threatens to drown him in this ocean of regret he’s forged himself. Callie though, she’s the one thing keeping him afloat. The one thing lifting his head from beneath the water.

“ You know, “ Felipe exclaims “ us Reyes men have big egos. We are hot-headed and stubborn, all three of us. Thing is, we pick our fights and we pick them well. Because those are fought for the people we love. And how could anyone ever regret that?”

“ You think so? “

“ I know so, Mija! I was not always a good father to my boys, especially to Angel. But I do hope that I raised him to be loving and brave and to protect the ones he loves. I know he thinks that I think less of him than of EZ. I know he thinks I am not proud. I love my sons, both of them. Equally. Angel was just — easier. EZ demanded attention and guidance. Angel was kind of independent from a young age so I failed to realise the moment when he did need help and guidance and me. That anger and resentment, that has kept him guarded and shut off from people. That is the fight I picked. It’s easier to let him resent me than to explain my own insecurities and shortcoming to him. I am proud of him though, he’s got a good heart, a soft one too. He thinks I don’t want him around you because I don’t think he deserves you. That’s ridiculous. I just know my son, and I know that my actions have turned him bitter and have put insecurities in his head that make him self sabotage. I’m not worried he’s gonna break your heart, I am worried my mistakes lead to him breaking his own heart. But to see you together, it gives me hope. So let him fight for it. For you. That’s what comes with being a part of this family. “

It’s like a punch straight into his guts. Though their relationship is strained, Angel feels a massive wave of guilt wash over him. He doesn’t want his dad to feel responsible for his issues. Though a lot probably doesn’t stem from the all-consuming, perpetual sense of being second best to EZ, many of Angel’s insecurities are lies and whispers his mind conjures when life gets chaotic. And that, for once, is not something he can blame on his dad.

“ He’s so amazing, Felipe. He’s warm and kind and goofy. He makes me smile like no other he — he steps up to be a guiding force in Daisy’s life. If nothing else, you and your wife showed him how to love someone. And that means a whole bunch in a world like this. “

It does. It really does.

“ Angel! Emenems, please. “

It’s like he’s stuck in a moment then, glued to the floor and yet he feels this magnetic force dragging him away. Pulled in both directions. Ultimately though, Daisy wins over. That conversation he’s heard, that was not meant for him. Secrets spilt out and hearts opened and none of it was meant for him to witness. Yet he did and Angel doesn’t think he’s able to forget that anytime soon.

“ Sorry corazon, no more m&ms “.

Daisy shrugs her shoulders casually. “ That’s okay. Can you sit with me? I don’t wanna be alone. “

And quite honestly, Angel doesn’t wanna be alone either.

The drive to Callie’s house is not exactly awkward but there’s a tension there, palpable in the air and yet neither of them can really put their finger on it. It’s like you know it’S there but you can’t name it or describe it and so you stay silent for a lack of anything to say. How to you talk about something you don’t even know ?

“ Do you — um “ Callie starts “ do you think he’s got the message? “

Angel glances towards her then lifts his hand from the stearing wheel and reaches for hers.

“ I don’t know, I’ll be there though. If the fucker decides to come back, I’ll be there. “

“ Language. “

“ Oh fuck, sorry. “

“ Angel! “

She giggles at his antics and, if anything, that is so worth it.

“ I heard you talking to my dad. “

Callie swallows audibly.

“ You did? “

“ Mh. Querida, I don’t want you to think that you’re a burden to me. I made a choice to let myself enjoy what we have and to uh — ah shit I am bad at this. “

“ Nah you’re good. Go on. “

“ I knew this thing we have was gonna be scary and unfamiliar and new. But I was willing to overcome that and to let myself — fall. I chose to let my guard down and that doesn’t change just because your own life ain’t all butterflies and rainbows. This is something now and your fights are my fights and my fights are yours. We’re in this shit together now. It’s what we choose. Willingly. “

“ So many quarters in the swear jar. “

“ Ah that’s what you take from this ? “ Angel laughs and tickles Callie’s side “ I’m pouring my black little heart out to you and this is what I get ? “

Callie leans over the middle, lips dangerously close to his ear. So close he can feel her hot breath on his skin. “ Oh I’ll repay you once Daisy is a asleep, don’t worry. “ And the hand previously locked with hers, softly squeezes her thigh at those words.

“ Hey uh — can I ask you something? “

“ Sure, “ Angel replies.

“ I know this is very high school and everything. But I uh — I would like to put a label on us. I just feel like the way we tiptoe around it is kinda annoying. “

“ You askin’ me to be your official boyfriend? “

“ Do you want to be? “

“ I dunno, Callie. The least you could do is make me a card. With glitter glue and all that stuff. “

“ Stop making fun of me! “ she demands between laughs.

“ Not making fun of you. NEVER! “

“ You are. “

“ Nah. Nah. Listen, I would love to be your boyfriend. If that means you are my girl. “ he says then glances towards Daisy in the backseat, patiently playing with her barbie doll “ my girls.”

“ Angel Reyes, “ Callie answers and places a kiss on his cheek “ we’ve been your girls from the moment we met. “

#angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #mayans mc imagine #mayans imagine #mayans fanfic #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #casualmothsstory

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ultrakeystotheheartblog · 6 years

Text

Not So Alone (Part 2) (Teen Titans x Reader)

Part 2 of 2

Request: Requested by multiple people.

“Uhm, your teen titans imagine was?? so great?? I would totally love a sequel omg (only if u want obv)”

“Omg please I just read the fic and want a sequel too so badddd you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I’d be super hype to see it and read and scream because the first parts great” - @laneygthememequeen

A/N: I’m back! I’m not dead! And I am definitely going to write an update some time soon to explain everything that’s happened, but for right now I’m just gonna go ahead and say thank you again for all the positive comments and support that the first part received. I wasn’t expecting so many people to enjoy it, so I was over the moon at the response. With that said, I hope you all enjoy this part too ♥♥♥

(PS: This was the imagine that got the most votes, so the final part for my Jason Todd fic will be coming next! And, uh, It’s already turning out like a novel guys, prepare yourselves).

Warning: Swearing. Little bit of angst, but mostly a whole lot of fluff.

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

You can’t help but feel that something is not quite right today.

Things are quiet.

Too quiet.

There’s no bouncing music or flashing video games, no arguing, no laughing, no daily echoes of training or disastrous calamities unfolding in the kitchen. No doting, friendly teammates to regale you with their presence (as what’s been the norm for the past few weeks while you’ve begrudgingly, slowly, began to heal from your injuries). No, the Tower is practically, for lack of a better or less ironic term, dead. And has been for most of the day—a husk of boredom and loneliness and one too many pieces of cold, leftover pizza.

Not to mention that looming cloud that’s followed over your head, a suspicious kind of quiet that’s been pressing in all around you like a swarm of invisible hands, seeping into the very foundation of the room. It’s been keeping you teetering on the edge of a pinpoint for literal hours—your fight or flight response practically grinding its teeth in preparation for an inevitable...something. And all the while you sink further into the entertainment room’s monstrous, curved couch and try to focus on ‘relaxing’.

Ha.

You’d be more relaxed if you knew where everyone disappeared to.

But alas, you do not—no matter how much the urge to snoop is (and you so want to snoop), because that’s not what friends do. At least, you think it’s not. You have to admit, it’s been a long time since you’ve considered anyone a friend, but you’re trying. Trying to let go of the past. Trying to be vulnerable. To be good. To be open. And you very much find yourself liking all the ensuing, chaotic changes in your life recently. But you’re rusty and unsure, and always, always, waiting for some other shoe to drop.

You don’t want it to.

You really don’t want it to.

But sometimes you wonder if it would give you some sort of relief from all the waiting—if that metaphorical shoe just got it over with already and put its ugly, metaphorical foot down. So you could breathe without all this pinchy, backwards kind of guilt you’ve been storing up inside for years, waiting to finally punch out into the world like a nest of angry wasps. Like you should feel bad for wanting to be a part of something....something more.

You’ve always hated just waiting for something to happen. But here you are now; alone, completely over-thinking the meaning of life, and left to stew in a concoction of sulky feelings that leaves you nauseous in a way you’ve worked so hard to forget.

So.

With your sore legs propped up onto the coffee table for comfort, you just continue to glare at the blank TV screen and watch your faded reflection in the shine of the glass, biting bitterly into the last of the pizza crust from the plate balanced in your lap.

ZuZu (as declared by Star the morning you’d first woken up—words tripping in a rush of excitement and a stream of breathless chatter about some sort of inspiration from an earth movie—while she gently sits the little creature into your lap with a ceremonious flourish of her arms) flops onto their belly to find a more comfortable position beside you.

Their front legs tuck underneath their bulk, long, spiked tail curling around their body in looping circles, before they come to rest their head on your hip, staring intensely at the leftover crust between your fingers.

They’re about the size of a small dog, heavy and wide, with the hybrid body structure of some sort of lizard and a...well, a bear. Their face is coated in silky auburn fur, snout ridged and twitchy, large heavy-lidded, expressive pink eyes set deep in their sockets. The majority of their torso and back legs are scaled and shiny, while three stripes of that autumn colored fur zigzag down their back, their front legs thick and capped with massive fuzzy paws and hooked dark claws. But the most distinctive features are the large, pleated creases of skin which usually lay folded back against their head and neck.

A frill, like you remember seeing once, adorning a lizard from some travelling petting zoo. It’s supported by long spines of cartilage connected to each side of their jaw bone, and when spread to encircle the entirety of their head, is lined in pink and filled with bright orange scales.

Beast Boy called it a ‘deimatic display’ that first day, a behavior or reaction of patterns and colors used like a defensive bluff—akin to beady eyes on the back of a moth’s wings or selective changes in the body pattern of a cuttlefish—manipulated to startle, display a warning, or distract predators. But it seems ZuZu is able to use it a bit differently—a slight alien twist to the reaction, which allows them to communicate solely through a language formed by varying flashes and multitudes of color.

You’ve all been scrambling to figure out the meanings behind each display lately, trading yes or no questions with the creature at any given point throughout the day, before documenting any noticeable details in the Tower’s staggering, inexhaustible database.

Red, you’ve found quickly, suggests that they’re annoyed, or angry, or generally, exceedingly, unhappy about something. Yellow, on the other hand, simply implies content in the most peaceful sense. And pink? That’s become their version of taunting—something smug and annoyingly self-assured, which seems to be their more….colourful version of resting bitch face.

You grunt at the heavy weight of ZuZu’s head as it presses more firmly against bruised muscles and skin, hidden away beneath the cozy, cotton sweatpants you’d wrestled from the bottom of your closet. It doesn’t keep you from slipping deeper though, into the clouded memories shrouding that first dreamlike morning after finally waking.

Robin—grinning, more relaxed then you’d ever seen him, and already lying back in his spot beside you on the bed—had leaned over when Star finally took a moment to find her breath, voice dipping low as he casually filled in the most obvious, glaring blanks in her story. He explained how they’d come upon ZuZu while rushing you back to the tower for medical attention—left behind by their master, defensive and shaking, and hidden away beneath the burning hot rubble from unlucky buildings crushed during the Jump City attack.

You can vaguely recall those creatures and their part in the invasion, as you hold the curious, unwavering stare of your new housemate. You pinpoint a fuzzy recollection of hundreds of similar alien hybrids, large percents of them being used as cannon fodder against the city’s responding defense—some sort of attack dogs or bloodhounds originally breed for what seemed to be an unparalleled sense of incoming danger. And a lethal aptitude for sniffing out and marking targets, even in the most extreme of circumstances. All to make the invading attack’s that much more…. precise.

Equally as shaken and heartbroken, both Starfire and Beast Boy insisted on giving little ZuZu a home, one without the need for cold masters and needless sacrifices.

Robin admitted that it took some convincing to get him to agree, but that he caved to them rather quickly, like the truly soft-hearted dork you know he is on the inside. The one, you’ve been noticing, that is no longer carefully tempered behind masks both metaphorical and literal (like those you’d learned to cultivate for yourself, to ensure your own survival among the flocks of good and evil in this world)—all veils of enigmatic charm and cool leadership, strategy and logic.

(While for just as long, you had mused, you refined your wall of sarcasm and teasing, and strained, plastic smiles. Even as fate saw it fit to laugh and thrust you into the role of cosmic punching bag in both a figurative and literal sense).

Because Robin is never really one to deny a safe haven to someone, especially an orphan, in need.

And it’s not too hard to understand why.

It’s one quality you’ve only caught glimpses of, before the attempted invasion and one too many near-death experiences changed everything.

Your once positive opinion on lizards.

Your practical, humanly limitations regarding the ability to eat your weight in cold, cheese pizza.

Your mostly cynical take on all the possible wonders of this life.

Your team and their conduct—their outreach of friendship, their measure of trust and willing openness towards you.

Your place among them. Your.... the need for the permanence of those masks.

All while you’ve been learning to come to terms with this warm, slowly blossoming….strange feeling of finally belonging.

ZuZu shifts to find a different angle, and then they’re sliding their head further into your lap, situating themselves just underneath your hovering hand. Your sullen gaze darts down to examine them again in the cresting evening sunlight, their lithe body bathed in an orange light that softens the harsh lines and edges of bluish-green scales, until they’re all but glittering like some magnificent, stain-glass fish below rippling water.

Shit, they’re so wonderfully unique, maybe too much so, for a world that tears down all that’s different in the name of fear (and this you know all too well). They’re intelligent and hardheaded, and kind of an absolute dick if you’re being honest. But you can’t help but feel close to the little creature, and hope, however possibly (awfully) misguided, that it’s at least somewhat mutual. After all, for all their rough edges and guarded, worldly acceptance, they were learning to fit in here—just like you.

The flash of a long, forked tongue startles you from your thoughts, and you catch sight of it in your peripheral, snapping out towards the piece of half-eaten crust in your hand before you can even process where it’s suddenly emerged from. You jerk away clumsily on reflex, letting the crust plummet back to the plate in your lap as you lean to the side, trying to avoid the persistent little alien. You hoist the plate up and out of their reach at a safer distance—though not without a twinge of pain that bursts like fireworks in your shoulders.

You glare down at them in admonishment.

Well then.

Earlier sentiment revoked, actually.

ZuZu narrows their intensely bright eyes right back at you, their frill rising from their neck like the hackles of an angry dog. The trim pleats of skin folded there flutter in anticipation before finally sweeping open with the rippling, fluid grace of a hand-held folding fan. The pretty scales lining the exposed frill change colour almost instantly when they hit the open air, flaring a deep red when you stick your tongue out at ZuZu in an act of childish defiance.

Yeah, someone’s no longer a happy camper now, are they? Well, join the club, pal.

You can’t always get what you want. Because no matter what you do, life just likes to screw you in the—

It takes a total of three, distracted seconds.

The offending tongue snaps out at an impossible length to hit the surface of the plate. It’s like some cartoon frog catching a fly that’s far enough out of reach to be considered natural, the appendage wrapping around one end of the half-bitten crust, before proudly reeling it back down into a waiting mouth. Their jaw snaps shut again with an audible click of teeth, and they swallow their prize whole and much too slowly, flashing you a fanged smile that gives you the creeps.

Or you do, you find yourself bitterly amending in the wake of defeat, especially when you’re a terrifying space gremlin with freakish mouth biology. Why are you even awake again today?

You sag into the couch cushions with an unexpected wave of soul-weary tiredness, a full body and mind exhaustion creeping upon the fringes of your being, though you’d been fighting it off rather successfully for most of the month.

You lower the empty plate to sit on the surface of the coffee table—while grumbling under your breath about the reigning injustice of such snack-stealing gremlins in your midst—and lean even more precariously forward. Much farther than you normally would consider doing without others around, but you persist in you reach, getting a good grip on the propped up crutch you’ve left leaning against the table.

You struggle to your feet then, deciding to leave the main living room to find something more productive to do (rather than wallowing and getting your food pilfered from beneath your slowly healing, broken nose). ZuZu watches you silently from their cozy napping spot, gaze tracking you as you begin to hobble around the couch on your way from the room. You toss a half-hearted, parting wave to Starfire’s first adopted friend—a chunky, gooey, mutant moth larvae dubbed little Silkie, snoring away beneath an open side table near the couch.

It’s good going, until something unexpected flutters down from the ceiling with the grace of falling snow—just as you’re about to cross the threshold into the hallway. Your gaze follows the swirling path of the shiny, red and black length of foil as it lands near your feet. A candy wrapper.

Huh.

Strange.

You pause in your journey and peer down at it for a moment, bewildered enough to take a full step back before finally looking up to retrace its fallen path.

And okay, so in hind sight, you kind of wish you hadn’t left the couch.

A single, suspiciously green, bat drops like a stone from the ceiling once it’s seen, swooping down over your head with a panicked flutter of leathery wings. You shout and unashamedly curse like a drunken sailor, ducking in surprise to further avoid the little needle talons that brush across the top of your head. Beast Boy turns human once he clears your form and hits the floor, once again completely, frustratingly, naked when he hops up to his feet.

He tries to quickly console you, only to jump back in order to dodge the fear-driven swing of your crutch.

“Hey! It’s just me!!” He exclaims, hands held out towards you. You sling your cast over your eyes and wonder just how bad it would be if you bleached them clean of the searing, full-frontal image that lingers just behind them.

“WEAR PANTS.” You demand in alarm.

“They’re not comfortable!” He complains. Eyes still tightly shut, you shake your head and gesture wildly at him, throwing out your plaster covered arm to wave it around in loose, frantic circles. “PANTS!” You insist in a higher voice. “Fine!”

He mutters something else, low and displeased under his breath, and then goes to dig out a familiar non-descript bag you’re used to finding at random—usually full of extra clothes and stashed around the tower, or other frequent hangout places around the city—hidden away within the grassy, potted plant next to you both. You choose to ignore the obvious sass he’s exuding in protest, cracking open an eye just a bit to make sure he’s following through.

He smoothly tugs his purple and black uniform free from the depths of the shiny leaves, wrangling on the bottom half with a pout as quickly as he can, and before you know it, he’s already shrugging the fabric up over his narrow shoulders.

(Though to your satisfaction he’s careful of the stitches still lining his spine). You sigh in relief, “Just—oh my god, what were even you doing up there in the first place?!”

Beast Boy works his mouth in silence as though he can’t find the right words to explain at the moment, bottom canines glinting as he squints up through the fluorescent lights and tosses the empty bag to rest beside the plant. He seems to be thinking hard about his answer (you hope), his gaze dropping to you after a few seconds of awkward, disbelieving silence. He shrugs, apparently deciding it’s appropriate to simply respond with a pair of finger-guns and a strained grin. “....hanging around?”

…..

You think you’re starting to miss those dragon-tailed, sumo alien’s from space-hell.

Your shoulders slump as the pent up energy from your frustration and sudden scare seeps from your body all at once. You groan, lifting your crutch up to point at him, the tip barely brushing against his chest. “You’re dead to me.” You proclaim lightly. Beast Boy rolls his eyes, and after securing the clasp on the back of his suit with a small chuckle, reaches out to gently lower the makeshift weapon. “Oh, come on—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, moving to hobble around him and retreat to your room. You shouldn’t have gotten up today. Nope. Call it a bad feeling. Something is going on around here and you are getting the hell out while you can. He slides into your path immediately, cutting of your escape with a smooth glide across the hardwood flooring. You narrow your eyes, shuffling to move around him again. He meets you like before, lunging closer still with each attempt to counteract your movements. You huff and stare him down, feeling like a Spanish bull in the ring, ready to charge the moment you see an opening. “BB, move.” You warn lowly.

He throws out his arms to either side of him, blocking your way when you take a threatening step forward. “Can’t do that.” He chirps, puffing out his chest to seem more confident in his current position, while beginning to look as though he’s starting to regret his life’s choices, what with the way you’re gaze is cutting into his very soul. (Positively icy. You’d practiced that, rest in peace).

But he doesn’t move.

You frown and glare at him suspiciously, forcing your heavy limbs to cooperate with you for a moment. You take a step to the right, and as expected Beast Boy mirrors your movement, but your body isn’t as fast as you remember it. And he knows it. You careen to the left to try and complete your fake-out, but Beast Boy anticipates the slow sway of your body, following the uneven momentum like a puppet on strings to block your way yet again.

He reaches out to steady you when you wobble, legs shaking with the sudden quick strain on your knees, and you wince at the flair of pain. Crappy broken body. You shake him off angrily, more upset at yourself then at him, and strike your crutch against the floor with a wave of strength (propelled simply by the heated frustration you feel festering in your chest like icky, wriggling worms). “Beast Bo—Gar, I’m serious.” You hiss in annoyance, ignoring the ricocheting twinge of pain that shoots up into your shoulder at the action.

“Believe it or not, so am I!” He defends, hands flying to his hips.

“Debatable.” You snap back.

“Rude.”

“Twenty bucks on (Y/N).” A new, deeper voice declares with obvious amusement. You spin to face the living room again, Beast Boy peeking around you to get a better view. Cyborg and Starfire are standing before you, having appeared out of thin air and quiet as can be, the latter of the duo looking as though she could just burst with excitement. More than usual. Cyborg’s gaze cuts to you when he notices the way you’re staring at her in confusion, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently to sooth the absurd tremble of her body.

Okay. Double suspicious.

They’re dressed in casual clothes; Starfire in high-waisted, purple shorts and a stylish pink sweater that hangs off her shoulders, her wild red hair tied back into a ponytail and her feet bare, smile wide. Cyborg is donned in sweatpants and an old blue and yellow football jersey you think might have seen better days once, newly buffered limbs gleaming under the lights. Beast Boy pursues his lips and squints up at his friend when he catches sight of the teasing smirk Cyborg trains on him.

“Thanks, dude.” He responds as sarcastically as he can. Starfire spins to face Cyborg with glee, hands clasped in front of her.

“Friend Victor, I too wish to attribute money to the outcome of this argument.” She reveals enthusiastically, leaving you to trade an exhausted look with Beast Boy at the spiraling situation. Cyborg’s grin grows larger, and he winks at you both before giving Starfire his undivided attention.

“Okay.” He relents, staring down at her curiously. “Bettin’ on (Y/N) then?”

Starfire pauses, nose crinkling as she considers the question. “Can I not take part of the betting for both?”

“No, Star, it doesn’t really—” Cyborg begins, sighing with reluctance when she only continues to look up at him expectantly. “You know what? Sure.” He amends with a shrug, rubbing at the back of his head. Starfire claps her hands excitedly and laughs, her feet lifting from the floor in her in a rush of elation.

“Glorious!” She exclaims. You almost miss it when Cyborg turns away from her, but you’re able to barely catch the sly way she throws a wink at you too, the quick gesture leaving you reeling in amusement.

Oh shit, what a hero.

You can definitely appreciate a good swindle win you see one. And that was great.

You slump against your crutch and chuckle tiredly, massaging your forehead with the tips of the fingers peeking stiffly from your cast, before raising your arm up to draw their attention.

“Alright, seriously, what’s going on with you guys today? Where’ve you all been? Some secret club within our secret club?” You question fervently, on a new mission as you hobble closer towards them. “I have to admit, I’m kind of offended if that’s the case.”

“Oh, you know, out.” Cyborg says much too casually and unhelpfully for your liking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. Simultaneously, Starfire responds much too quickly.

“In my room!” She declares loudly, unable to stop herself from flinching at the sharp, wide-eyed look Cyborg cuts her. She mouths an apology at him and flashes you a sheepish smile, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

Oh, something is definitely going on. Not on my watch, secret keepers of the crypt.

You squint at them, “Sure. I’ll believe that. But why do I suddenly have a five-foot-furry shadow? One who doesn’t seem to know the concept of the word shame?”

Beast Boy gasps as though he’s never been so insulted in his young life (okay, so you may have possibly taken it a little too far that time. But in your defense, there’s a lot of stressful things going on right now, and the bat thing may have thrown you a little too far over the edge), scurrying around you to passionately wave a random, uh, peace sign in front of your face.

Wait, what?

“Five-foot-two.” He stresses firmly, wiggling both fingers for emphasis. You lean your weight on the single crutch keeping you gloriously upright, reaching out to tug his hand down with a groan.

“So not the point, batboy.”

“Hey! Bats are cool!”

“Ha! You know what else is cool?” You question sarcastically, nestling your casted arm against your chest as you lean forward to regard him with an arched eyebrow. “Not scaring the living shit of a person who’s already legally died twice from heart failure.”

Beast Boy concedes to your logic with a grimace, no doubt fighting off a burst of vivid memory on the subject.

“Point taken.” He agrees.

Cyborg pads over to you with a muffled laugh, giving your upper back a hearty, friendly slap that propels you forward a few steps. “Aw, B.B.’s just doing his job. Lighten up, (Y/N/N).”

You stumble with a strangled sound and work to regain your balance yourself through burning muscles, gripping the handle and uprights of the crutch as tightly as you can. You always forget how strong he is. And sometimes, though not often, so does he. Cyborg winces, flexing his fingers while he graces you with an apologetic smile. You raise an eyebrow at him; eyes locked intently on his face, as though you could simply reach into his mind and know all with a simple blink, and subtly tilt your head towards Beast Boy.

"And that means I can't leave one single room?"

"It was more to keep you busy." Cyborg admits with a grin that makes you all too nervous.

Okay, red flag. Were you sweating? You might be sweating. They weren’t the…vengeful type, right? It’s not really your fault you tend to stress eat. Though….

"What are you all planning?" You ask again, unconsciously scanning the corners of room behind them for your two missing team members. Why do you feel like you’re about to be ambushed? Starfire hops forward like she’s stepping on air, looping her arm through yours and shaking it gently as she leans into you. Then she begins to drag you forward the smallest bit.

"Something wonderful!” She responds in that giddy way of hers, green eyes simmering with something impassioned and restless when they focus on your dumbfounded expression—fire brimming from her touch and her very being. She leans in closer and continues in a secretive whisper, which you think was meant to be soothing at some point between her thought process and strange execution. “But you must come to the roof to see it, my friend."

The….roof?

What’s so special about the fucking—

Oh.

….

Sonuvabitch.

To be completely honest, you knew it would somehow end like this. Betrayed by a moment of weakness and reduced to seething shame and broken trust, only to be real-life ghosted and then unceremoniously Mufasa-ed by your own team. A dramatic, imminent doom of Disney proportions. Ugh, what an embarrassing way to go. You really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning like some normal, model citizen with an inane urge to contribute to society. What an idiot.

Still….maybe you’re just being a little over-dramatic here. Heroes usually have non-murdery morals, don’t they? Which is a big step up from your last group of…yeah….they weren’t even close to friends. Still, you can never be too careful these days. Right? Right.

You pull back from Starfire, trying to sound teasing as you respond, while barreling through your baseless internal panic and sprinkle of sugar-riddled guilt. How do you always get yourself into these messes?

"Is this the part where you throw me from the top? For finishing off the leftover cake without telling anyone?"

Beast Boy’s jaw drops.

"That was you?!"

Of course it was.

You laugh nervously and much too awkwardly to be convincing while you scramble to backtrack, "What?! Of course not!"

It was so good.

Starfire looks kind of horrified at your earlier insinuation about the roof, and she pulls away from you completely, eyes wide and unbelieving. She gasps, "We would never!"

Cyborg’s eyebrow shoots up as he studies your reaction. He frowns, lifting a hand to rub at his chin with an exaggerated sweep of his arm—as though he’s taking a moment to think more deeply about the matter—his metal fingers clunk-ing in the blanketing silence when they meet the thick, metal plate covering it. He sounds playful when he speaks up, and you know he’s not taking the news as hard as Gar currently is.

"Well, now you've given me a lot to think about." He says slowly, amusement thick in his voice and vibrantly pulsing beneath his already crumbling, disappointed façade.

You wonder when it was exactly—when you’d unconsciously began to find his eagerly outspoken and protective spirit, his overly intense and personal pride (in all manners of technological tinkering and projects), and awful, awful acting, somewhat endearing. Maybe it was around the same time you’d grown rather fond of Beast Boy’s organic simplicity with life or perfectly-timed wit, his endearing, steadfast spirit and dorky, down-to-earth charm (though you would deny any accusation that says otherwise, pretending to find his endless stream of puns nothing but annoying).

Or Starfire’s unfathomable warmth and, mostly smothering, overzealous passion in all things, no matter how small—a burning, extraterrestrial sun with a warrior’s soul and an open heart. Or Raven’s sarcastic calm and quiet disposition, a hopeful kind of darkness—as encompassing as it mystifying—which brings peace in ways one wouldn’t expect or think they needed.

Or Robin. Noble and kind, brooding, insufferably stubborn, Robin—with an annoying competitive streak that rivals even you. Your outwardly, fearless friend and leader, a little birdie who keeps you from slipping back into your cold, old ways while still wanting to be a part of something better. To be a Titan. Time and time again. And—

Ah, fuck. You’ve gotten so sappy lately.

Near death experiences are the worst.

You roll your eyes at Cyborg, regardless of that grating, growing itch of sentimentality crawling up from your chest and into your throat like a rock, all the while fighting down the upwards twitch your lips.

"Oh, shut up.” You mutter, ducking your head so he won’t see as you move to hobble past the group back into the centre of the living room. “Even though I'm at my weakest right now, it doesn't mean I won't fight you."

Cyborg drops his arm and laughs, "I don't doubt it."

Beast Boy ducks around him; sparing no time as he shrinks down to the form of a chattering, green squirrel. Without breaking stride, he dashes towards your slowing figure, leaping forward to scale the rungs of your crutch.

You jump at the sudden weight and list sideways, the vibration of his hurried ascent and the clattering of his nails against metal throwing you out of your concentrated state. You lean back too fast in surprise, catching the back of the couch with the underside of your cast to keep yourself somewhat upright, and wait with a raised brow as he moves to pull himself up onto the crutch pad at the top.

"Besides, you proved you’re anything but weak when you kicked Death’s ass! Multiple times.” He chirps proudly, settling back onto his little hind legs to stare up at you, bushy tail twitching and dark eyes round and glinting when they catch the light. “You're a survivor. Always have been.”

You grin, feeling satisfied that he finally seems to be more…relaxed about your injuries now (as opposed to the annoying, but much appreciated, panicked mother-henning you’d experienced throughout the first few weeks back on your feet). You have a sneaking suspicion Cyborg had a hand in this recent development—bless his beautiful, understanding soul—and you make a mental note to treat him to a pizza night soon. Or just hug him really, really tight in relief.

You heft your cast from the couch to hold out two fingers towards Beast Boy.

"And always will be." You agree. He reaches out with a shrill, happy squeak, tapping a front paw against them in a painfully adorable semblance of a high-five. Starfire joins you by the couch and lays her hand against your upper back, right between your shoulder blades, the swelling heat of it soothing the ache and strain of your poor muscles. Her gentle touch slides up, mindful of the bruises still splattered like patchwork across your skin, until you feel her lightly squeeze your shoulder.

"Very much like the warriors of old from my planet." She tells you softly, a smile pulling at her lips when your eyes dart up to look at her. It’s then you realize that all three of them are now looking at you rather expectantly, attention solely trained on your face as the room falls into an eager kind of silence. One that is quick to twist your abdomen into fluttering, nervous knots.

Right, you think with a start, there was something about the roof—something they wanted me to see. You hesitate (is it getting hot in here, or is that just you self-combusting?), gaze jumping to each of your friends in turn. They continue to stare you down with purpose, waiting for your consent to be dazzled and thoroughly surprised, before you catch the barest hint of movement in your peripheral vision. You glance down at the back of the couch, wanting to scream your frustration to the sky, when you take in the wide, furry face peering back up at you.

Oh, not you too, ZuZu. You traitor.

She locks those intelligent eyes on you. He glowing pink gaze is intent and reprimanding, and god, you’re actually—silently, awkwardly—getting told off by an adorable lizard-themed care bear, who hails from the far reaches of infinity and beyond the known galaxy. What has your life come too? And the worst part is you don’t think you’re strong enough to—oh, goddamit. Peer pressure is a bitch.

"Alright.” You relent with a groan, throwing ZuZu a pointed, disgruntled look (which she simply counters with a glowing pink frill and mischievous wink, a move that has you breathing deeply to avoid just chucking your crutch across the room in defiance of it all). You turn to gesture at the others, “Fine. Let's get this show on the road then."

Beast Boy leaps down from the top of the crutch before you’ve even finished talking, his tiny shape shifting into the much larger form of a tiger once he touches down (more gracefully than you’d expected him to). He gives a little throaty growl in excitement, circling in place to get his bearings. And then with a sudden focus that makes you laugh, he’s bounding in a rush to slink between Cyborg and Starfire—his gaze already intensely trained down the hallway that leads towards the elevator.

"Sweet! Now you’re talking!" He exclaims with a swish of his tail, pausing only for a moment to throw a look back at Cyborg, the familiar imitation of a fanged grin even more terrifying with larger, sharper teeth on display. "Dibs on the donuts!"

Uh, donuts??

Cyborg groans and scrubs a hand over his face, stepping forward with his other hand outstretched, as if he could keep his excited friend from moving with just sheer force of will. "No! You don't get to just—Gar!"

Starfire tilts her head and watches until Beast Boy disappears around the curve of the hallway, "You have to admire his will power up until this moment." She points out, reaching out to brush a soothing touch to Cyborg’s shoulder.

He gives her a solemn nod in agreement. "...true." "Hi, yeah, still confused." You slowly iterate, when it’s clear they’re going to say nothing more on the manner, and looking hilariously haunted, just stare out into the middle distance like some kind of dramatic dork-asses. You can’t help it though—you want answers. You’ve been officially intrigued (donuts are always a good sign and nothing will convince you otherwise) and that cat-damning curiosity in you can never be quieted for long, so help you.

“Are we still going to the roof?”

Cyborg is the first to shake himself to attention, and he swings around to look at you with a knowing grin that tells you’re probably about to regret opening your mouth again. Probably. You guess?

…..

Okay, so you might be already exhausted enough now, with all this moving about and floundering, moral turmoil, to deal with any mysterious roof meetings and their possible consequences—and there’s no truly hiding it, or just burying it away for future you to worry about come morning (damn, why is past you always such a dick?).

Which leaves you decidedly awash in a ‘My mind is an emotional dumpster fire and all I want is to hibernate for forty years’ kind of way, unable to completely distinguish the nuances of your feelings on anything happening within a 10 foot radius.

Especially since you’d….broken that quiet morning after the attack, finally reconciling with a screeching realization you’d been pushing back for years—even with all that damaged purpose, all that strength and determination and precious time you’d flooded into looking after yourself and only you, instead of worrying about others and how they might screw with you this time, you’d left yourself open anyway. Unwillingly, accidently, raw—like an exposed nerve adrift in the cosmos and crying out for relief.

Someone in power must have had mercy on you at last though, because you have friends. Good friends who are good people. And you love them in your own rough-around-the-edges way (is that the right word here? Love? You hope that’s the right word—it feels like the right word); but there’s no chance you’re ever going to tell any of them that. It’s become too embarrassing to even think about in your own mind, let alone out loud where they could actually...hear you.

But you’re not going to let all your personal baggage stop you now. Not while there’s the promise of donuts anyway.

Yeah, your priorities might need a little sorting out.

"Come on." Cyborg says, already treading backwards in the direction Beast Boy had gone. Starfire zips past you with ease, cutting around the corner like a fish would dart through deep water.

Her laugh echoes through the hall as she vanishes from sight, "Oh, this is going to be such a joyous occasion!"

Cyborg takes his time to snicker at the nervous grimace on your face. But you valiantly choose to be the bigger person here (no matter how much you want to knock your head against the nearest wall and see if your middle finger still works within the stiffness of a cast), simply rolling your eyes as you hobble to catch up to him around the bend in the hallway. He slows his pace without a word until you’re following closely at his side.

“So why aren’t we taking the elevator?” You inquire, watching as the thick metal doors slide past in your peripheral. It’s then you spot the other two loitering around by the door to the stairs.

The plot thickens.

Cyborg struggles to squash his playful grin, “Occupied.”

“By...”

“A second surprise. Now come on.” He diverts smoothly, waving his hand over the sensor for the door once Beast Boy and Starfire step away to make room for you both. It slides open from left to right with a mechanical hiss, and you peer in to the brightly lit stairwell with a raised brow. The glaring, white fluorescent lights are already giving you a headache.

“How do you expect me to get up the stairs?”

“Easy.”

“Oh, really? Easy? What are you even—”

The world shifts like a seesaw in your vision and you can barely comprehend the next few seconds: the way Cyborg stoops low enough to knock out the backs of your knees, the simultaneous rush of weightlessness—a fluttering, dizzying drop in your stomach that stalls the very breath in your chest—or even the jumbled burst of restrained laughter and disapproving click of a tongue which dissipates almost as soon as it starts.

And you tip backwards into his arms with flailing limbs and a startled yelp as you’re gently scooped up, hanging shocked and boneless until he swings you up to cling onto his back like some sort of panicked koala. Cyborg laughs more boisterously as you lose your crutch in the commotion, grip loosening in your surprise until it slips entirely from your hold and vanishes from reach, the telltale clattering of metal against ground echoing from somewhere off to the side.

“—goddammit, Vic!” You gasp when the world stands still again, sucking in air for your breathless lungs. “A little warning!”

He simply cups the back of your knees and holds your legs tightly over the ridged, triangular slab of metal casing his hips, slowly straightening to his full, giant height again. It gives you a moment to throw your arms around his neck for safety and squeeze with all your reprimanding might. Cyborg turns to look at you with a teasing smirk you’re all too familiar with, before stepping further into the doorway.

“Comfortable there, Grumpy?”

“You’re the worst.” You announce without any real bite, leaning back to scan the floor for your missing crutch. It doesn’t take you long to realize that Starfire has already rescued it, hugging the dented metal pole to her chest with a look of determination. She catches your relieved gaze over Cyborg’s shoulder and nods as if reassuring you that she’s got everything handled now, gently patting the cushioned padding at the top of the crutch.

And then her eyes eagerly snap to Cyborg.

You can’t see his face from your vantage point, but you think he’s relaying permission with the way he tilts his head towards the stairs. Both Starfire and Beast Boy rocket forward in any case, barely sidestepping around you in their race up the first flight of stairs. Cyborg follows them without hesitation, and you can hardly wait another moment once your little group hurriedly passes the third floor, before the mystery of the roof becomes too intriguing to avoid any longer.

“So...are Rob and Raven in on this too?” You carefully begin, speaking to no one in particular but hoping someone might answer you anyway. “Cause they've been more mysterious than usual.”

"Grumpy and observant. You know…you'd make a pretty awesome detective too—give Dick some healthy competition around here." Cyborg returns in an innocent manner, which you know for a fact is bullshit. So you lamely thump a fist against the point between the heavy, metal plating circling his neck before it tapers down into his chest, and grumble your displeasure.

"Annnd you're dodging my questions, big guy. Again."

Cyborg says nothing this time and simply uses the firm hold he has under your knees to toss you up a few inches, jostling you free from your comfortable koala cling as though he`s trying to readjust your position. Only you know that’s not what he intended at all—evidenced by the irritating way he starts to laugh while you groan at him and shimmy urgently at his back, trying to right yourself from the haphazard tilt you’d landed in.

"Ugh! I miss being able to walk up a flight of stairs like a normal person!" You whine, bonking your forehead against the smooth, climate-controlled casing covering the back of his head, the vibrations of his full-body laughter rattling straight through you.

Beast Boy goes still ahead of the group, front paw hovering above the next step up. That unsettling tiger grin as he turns to regard you is the only warning you get before the inevitable.

"Eh, I wouldn’t trust these stairs though,” Beast Boy drawls with terrifying purpose, “They always seem like they're…up to something."

Starfire pipes up from her place hovering beside you and Cyborg in perfect comedic timing, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"Well yes, up to the roof—oh...that was..."

Yeah, Kori. Damn.

He waits in the ensuing, hollow silence of the stairwell for a reaction, gaze expectantly darting from person to person until you don’t know whether to laugh or just get mad.

....both?

Alright, okay, here’s the thing.

Though you may have...secretly....begun to appreciate Garfield’s endless arsenal of jokes and puns as much as that next person (you’ve got a reputation to uphold after all), that....was not so good.

You’d face palm if you had complete confidence in your upper body strength as of late, but you definitely do not—especially after that embarrassingly sad attempt to escape to your room earlier (feat. the interference of your awkwardly unexpected, five foot-two bodyguard). And you’d very much like to keep securely clinging for your life atop mount ‘Victory’ Stone instead, rather than somehow (ridiculously) finding some way to slip from his back and fall to a more permanent death down the tower’s two-hundred stairway to hell.

So, you’ll just lock away this existential breakdown for another day and move on. Be the bigger person here, again.

....

Or.

"I think I'm starting to miss the coma." You deadpan with unabashed pettiness (because you’d actually had to listen to that with your own two ears), refusing to give him even the slightest satisfaction of a job well done.

Step up your game, Gar.

You can pinpoint the exact moment Cyborg winces with regret for his friend—his chin dipping down, the glowing blue machinery encasing half his skull whirring with a soft, discomforting humming like he’s finally reduced to just screaming on the inside.

"Oof,” He eventually adds through a long exhale. “I've heard better stuff from you, man."

Beast Boy sniffs in displeasure at your less than positive reactions, "Yo, give me a break; I'm still getting over the pizza thing."

You heft your body up straight to stare him dead in the eyes and lift your unbroken arm, wiggling your fingers over Cyborg’s head in a teasing way. "Let it haunt you for the rest of your daaaays~"

You don’t think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a hulking, green, murder cat roll its eyes so hard before. But there it is—in all its uncanny, cartoon-like glory. Beast Boy shakes his heavy head and resumes slinking up the stairs, leaving the rest of you to catch up while he throws another line over his shoulder, in a way you know is meant to be a playful declaration of war.

"Which reminds me...” He purrs slyly, “….what did the ghost say when it arrived at the party?"

Starfire taps at her chin in thought, "Ummm hello?”

Beast Boy’s enthusiasm swells with her genuine attempt, and he turns to coax his best friend into answering as well.

"Not quite. Come on, Cy, this is all you dude."

"Can I get a—"

"Victor don't you dare!"

Cyborg merely hums at your desperate interjection, "Uh-oh full name. That's never a good sign."

"Oh!” Starfire’s expression lights up in a way you’re entirely used to by now, and she leaves your side on the flutter of a giddy laugh, hovering quick up the next few steps. She smiles down at Beast Boy once she reaches him, titling her head as he looks up at her with an animated flick of his tail.

“I believe I know this one. May I?" She quietly gushes, twirling to lounge back gracefully in the air beside him. His head bobs once, long and slow, still flashing that sharp grin.

"Dazzle me, Star."

"Can I get the Boo-ya!!?"

"HA! Yeah, that’s wassup!"

You thunk your head against Cyborg’s shoulder this time, wincing at the brief pulse of pain from pounding metal against skull. "Oh my god, are we there yet?"

"As a matter of fact..." Cyborg mysteriously trails off, hopping up the last step to the top landing of the stairway. You peek up in interest and immediately want a better look when you see that the access to the roof is propped open the slightest bit, squishing your cheek against Cyborg’s as you lean forwards with the anticipation of it all. It’s easy to spot the flickering movement from just beyond the door—shadows moving fast from one end to the other. Is someone already there?

You suck in an anxious breath when Cyborg lowers himself to one knee and releases his hold on you, carefully helping you dismount from your cling, and Starfire is all too eager to return your crutch, pushing it into your arms and waving you forwards. Your friends let you nudge open the door then without another word, following you out as you bravely take your first few steps and—

…..

You think you might’ve blacked out for a moment in shock.

Beast Boy circles your legs as you silently take in the state of the roof, rubbing against them with a gentle brush of his body before he exclaims, "Surprise! Did we getcha??"

You blink a few times to get your bewildered mind working again. Because out of any possible scenario you could have—and did—invent within your imagination….it was nothing like…well, this.

The smell of hot food wafting through the summer-like air reaches you first, and you’re drawn to admire what is definitely Starfire's touch in your unexpected surprise.

There are two tables set up across the roof directly ahead, side by side and pushed flush against the lip of rectangular ledge boxing in the space. Each wooden surface is filled with cutlery, food and drinks in jade colored bowls and glasses, and adorned with fun, rainbow coloured table cloths—the cheap, plastic kind you’d find from a dollar store—and regal centre pieces among the clutter. These consist of wreaths with beaded jewel strings and alien metal shapes, forms that remind you of branded symbols you’d once glimpsed from the hilts of her homeworld weapons.

There’s a fancy new boom box sitting on the ledge, just to the left of the food tables. It’s silvery and shiny in the late evening light, akin to the small heap of patterned presents sitting below it, or the bouquets of metallic balloons weighed down by sandbags in each corner of the roof.

Cyborg’s own creative touch is more quiet, but still obvious in your racing mind, reflected in the large blue and white fairy lights the size of your fist, strings of them hooked beneath the ledge and spaced along the entire perimeter of the roof. They remind you of mini lava lamps—slowly swinging, each casing filled with swirling, pulsing energy, casting loops of light and shadow which dance across the sleek stone of the rooftop ground.

Your gaze finds four, dark green bean bag chairs next, moved from the game room to sit in a circle further down the left side of the roof. A neat, tent-like canopy, reminiscent of Raven’s more gothic looking style, is set up over them and affixed with steel piping, made of sheer dark sheets in purple, blue, and black—a cozy, magical lounging spot that makes you long for the calmness and dark that only sleep can bring.

You slowly turn to your right, noting that access to the elevator on the other side of the roof is surprisingly clear for once, the usual pile of rickety telescope gear stored away to make room for dancing. And through an odd urge to cast a look behind you, you easily catch sight of the cute, homemade banner dangling above the door you’ve just stepped through, green and bubblegum pink letters scrawled across a white strip of poster board: Party Like It’s Your Birthday!!

You recognize Beast Boy’s handwriting the moment your eyes trace the first few letters.

It takes you a moment, still staring out at the culmination of your surprise, to realize that it all clashes terribly, although you don't find yourself caring in the slightest. It’s beautiful and endearing and makes sense to you in every way that matters—and you wouldn't have it look any other way.

Huh…look at that.

You're actually getting a hang of this sappy feelings thing. "Uh, wh—I…what's all this for?" You finally manage to sputter out, once your friends go back to watching you with those barely contained grins and expectant gazes. Even Raven, already in the midst of final preparations, standing by that glorious canopy as she methodically smoothes out wrinkles in the overlapping fabric—both manually and magically—is smiling shyly at you over her shoulder. Her dark, purple-colored eyes are carefully mapping out every hitch in your expression.

Like the others, she’s dressed more casually than you’re used to seeing around the tower; ripped dark-washed skinny jeans with a cropped tee to match and clunky, black combat boots, a leather choker that looks uncomfortably tight around her neck. But the most unexpected difference has to be when you realize what she’s missing. Her signature, purple-blue cloak has been swapped for a hooded, bomber jacket—black with gold zippers and detailing, and one size too big. It’s so strange a sight that it’s actually….kind of weirding you out a little.

Starfire grasps the wrist of your cast and gently tugs you forward, guiding you further into the organized mayhem that was once the tower’s roof. "The happiest day of birth to you my friend!"

Oh. Oh.

Now this is awkward.

"It's my…birthday?" You ask dumbly. Beast boy’s tiny head, that of an adorably, fluffed up squirrel monkey this time, pops up from the depths of a bowl sitting on the first food table—like some knock-off whack-o-mole game (and wait a goddamn minute, when the hell did he even get there?). His little hands grip the lip of the bowl as he chatters through crunching pretzels.

"Duh! At least yeah, I think so…uh, right?"

You clasp a hand to your forehead when you remember the date and groan, "No, no, you’re right, I think it is. Crap, I feel like I lost an entire year."

Starfire’s whole body slumps at your reaction, floating down until her feet touch ground.

"You are unhappy." She concludes sadly.

Aw, cripes, why are you like this?

"NO! No, Kori, I'm happy!” You hurriedly reassure her, “I just....I haven't really celebrated it in a long time. I never had anyone to..."

They hear your unspoken implication clear enough and offer you sad, little smiles—varying degrees of empathy seeping through into their expressions. Empathy. And not pity. Not judgment. Just compassion from people who understand it all.

An alien princess far from home who embraces difference and is learning to choose a life for herself, a half-cybernetic football star who had to learn when to let go and walk a new path in life, a troubled half-demon not wanting to be defined by the past or her heritage, a metahuman menagerie of animals fighting the pull of loneliness while still finding strength in his friends, and an orphan circus boy turned vigilante—given not only a second chance to make a difference for others, but unwavering hope as well.

Your own Breakfast Club of heroes.

"Well now ‘ya have us." Beast Boy says with serious resolve you haven’t often seen when it comes to your loyal jokester, the others agreeing simultaneously as he bounds closer in small leaps from across the table. There’s a painful clenching in your chest at their sentiments, and although it feels like you’re on the verge of a heart attack, it’s a good kind of hurt that brings relief to your entire being.

Because thinking it is one thing, but hearing it out loud dregs more emotion to the surface than you ever thought you had—makes it all the more real. You swallow thickly and try to keep composed through another monumental shift in your perceptions.

"I know." You return softly. Starfire takes your hand and holds it firmly in hers, mindful of the strength in her grip.

"And you are indeed truly....happy?"

Well, that’s a heavy question.

You never truly belonged anywhere, in the past. Too unnatural for everyday civilians, too angry for heroes, too kind for villains. You never understood why no one could just let you be....something in the middle.

But now, you think you’re finally learning that happy is something you can be, even while half-existing in that kind of grey area. So you squeeze her hand in reassurance and take a page from Beast Boy’s book—you attempt to lighten the mood.

"I will be once we get this party started." You tease, pulling away to turn on the boom box and click through stations in search of something party worthy. With that, the others move to disperse; Starfire and the boys already picking through the food tables with interest, while Raven briefly ducks beneath one to retrieve an opaque, plastic storage tote.

It’s blue and more than decently sized in her arms, but she carries it easily and without a word to the bean bag canopy, sitting (legs crossed and back perfectly straight) to methodically sift through its contents.

Starfire waves you towards the food tables once you settle on a popular radio station known for their mix of genres and artists—a little something for everyone hopefully.

"Come then, you must partake in some of this delicious food. I tried earth recipes." She proudly tells you, scooping up some sort of rice dish to wave under your nose as though hoping to entice you further. It smells pleasant, of grilled vegetables and egg, but all your attention has latched onto a single word that equally intrigues as it concerns you.

“Tried.” You echo, leaning to balance on your crutch and free up your unbroken arm. You press a single finger against the rim of the dish in her hands, lowering it down and away from your face. Starfire looks a little sheepish as she curls an arm around the ceramic, rounded dish and fits it into the crook of her elbow to rest, lifting her own newly freed arm to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear. A nervous tick.

She hugs the dish even closer, “There were…the incidents.”

“Nothing you couldn’t handle.” Raven adds from afar. Starfire leans around you to beam at her welcome encouragement; seeming as though she’s already seconds away from just fly-tackling her into a vice-like hug—a very Starfire act of affection.

Which you should probably redirect now, if you want to keep that beautiful canopy standing.

"Everything smells great, Star. Thank you. In fact..." You select a spoon from the first table and a tiny serving plate, before gesturing in silent question to the dish still in her arms. She’s ecstatic at your offer, extending it to you at once with bright, shining eyes. You carefully ladle out a few spoonfuls of the rice mixture, and with a playful cheers and raise of your spoon, you taste your first dish of the evening.

"Oh shit, that's good." You groan in surprise.

"Oh wonderful, I knew you would enjoy it!"

Beast Boy whoops eagerly from the centre of the second table, crouching among a spread of simple desserts. "Wicked! I call the donuts next!"

Cyborg anticipates his movement before you can, firmly squashing a hand against Beast Boy’s monkey head to keep him from leaping towards an open tray. Beast Boy whines openly at the injustice.

"Dude, come on, be cool!"

Ah, now that makes sense.

Starfire sighs and returns the tasty rice dish to its rightful place, hesitating only to shoot you an apologetic look as she steps towards the commotion. But you just smile in understanding, gesturing for her to go on and deal with the boys before they decimate all of her hard work.

And now it’s probably a good idea to clear the blast zone.

You make a rather slow beeline for the front entrance of the canopy, lowering your body down to sit in the place Raven silently offers you by shifting pointedly to the side—content to be off your feet for a moment. Raven picks up on your underlying curiosity though, the second you glance at the box still under her scrutiny, her gaze cutting up to regard you with the slightest touch of amusement.

You observe the way she tips her head, a pulse of darkened magic lighting up around the mysterious container, and it slides in a short burst to rest in front of you.

Well, well, what do we have here?

You peer down into the depths and react too late to stifle your gasp.

It’s filled with boxes of classic party games and entertainment, stacked upon each other in neat little towers along the inside: video game cartridges and two portable games devices, a deck of cards, Connect Four, Cluedo, and yep….that's definitely Twister, oh my fuck (you may be a little over excited for this. Which is strange for you...considering you can't even remember the last time you've ever so passionately, deeply, viscerally, wanted to roll out a stupid, colorful tarp and contort your body into unhealthy positions), a wooden board and an accompanying game-piece tin for Checkers, Pictionary, Monopoly, Jenga, Uno, the Game of Life (aaaannd too real with this one actually, might be avoiding that), Guess Who?, Snakes and Ladders, as well as games you hadn't seen since your earlier days of childhood—Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots and Hungry Hungry Hippos (meaning your small child self is living right now).

Only one person knew about this, knew about your stupid birthday-candle wishes from the short, hopeful part of your childhood that's since been eradicated by harsh realities; the longing desperation to make any kind of worthwhile connection, to know love or be wanted outside of a means to a quick pay-day.

To swing with others at a crowded park, to play games and join clubs, or have a sleepover with greasy food and late night truths—to be free (and you blame this emotional vomit entirely on exhausted, blabbermouth you, spilling your guts in a tired stupor while sharing stove-top hot chocolate in the kitchen at 3 a.m. Feeling vulnerable when he'd quietly shared his own frustrations with the role of leader and recent disconnect with his father, letting you lament in return about never getting the chance to just…be a normal kid. Something he understood. Something he remembered).

Oh, Dick Grayson.

You are the best of us.

You shake your head clear of any vivid memories, reaching in to unearth the Twister box and hold it up to admire its magnificence in the rapidly fading light. "So.” You start in what you hope is a casual enough tone, exchanging the box for another to seem busy. “You put all of this together, huh?"

She shrugs, "We figured you could use some...fun. After everything that's happened."

You grin and fish out an exceptionally old classic next, pointing the vibrant box of colourful, caricature hippos at her. "I didn't think this was your kind of fun, Rae."

"It's not.” Raven admits bluntly, floating the game from your hands despite your protest and back into the storage container with a challenging raise of her brow. “But I can enjoy the value in it. And in spending time with my friends."

(You don’t do enough of that. Why don’t you do enough of that?)

"Pfft are you going soft on us?" You say, weakly avoiding eye contact while wrestling away the any more intrusive thoughts and stabs of related guilt.

You watch her fight the beginnings of a smirk, "I could ask you the same question."

"Oh man, that's disgusting even for you B.B!" Cyborg grouses suddenly in the distance, and you’ve never felt so relieved for a distraction in your young life. Your friend is standing in front of the farthest food table when you look over, his hands on his hips and a frown of disapproval trained on something among the mass of dishes and delicious smelling cuisine.

You find out why when you follow his line of sight, your body and gaze lifting a tad to seek out what’s happened—and you can’t say you’re all too surprised with this inevitable development.

Beast Boy is laying, dramatically draped, across the tray of donuts he’d been denied earlier, monkey toes wriggling to dispel powdered sugar from between them.

"Let me live my life, man." He jokes between fistfuls of sweet pastry. Cyborg makes a grab for him in retaliation and he jerks back out of reach as if fully expecting this outcome, throwing himself to the side in a graceful dodge.

"Halt! Oh please do watch out for the—"

In his flurry of movement—kicking out his legs for momentum and rolling head over feet to a neat stop a few feet further down the table—Beast Boy accidently whacks the side of another bowl near the edge, the dish teetering dangerously on the precipice of destruction.

But Starfire is always quick on her feet. She lunges for the bowl and makes the catch before it can fall victim to the laws of gravity (those you’re already painfully aware of), cradling it safely in her arms and sighing in relief as she cordially lifts it in your direction.

"Do not fear! I have saved the mac of the cheese!"

"Though it has its moments." Raven deadpans, flipping up her hood with a shake of her head.

"Speaking of moments…is this a good time for a dramatic entrance?"

Starfire whirls around unearthly fast at the familiar voice, the echo spiking through the low, near constant beat and rhythm drifting from the speakers of the boom box—none of you having heard a door open or close, or even a single footfall drop onto the roof.

"Robin! You have made it!"

Alright.

You know he’s practically a ninja (because it’s what he’s been dutifully trained to do), but you still think this deserves a hearty what the hell anyway.

How long has he even been standing there?

Though before you can reflect too deeply on the matter, you find yourself bearing witness to Robin’s handling of the fly-tackle hug. To his credit, he takes the sudden, colliding weight like a champ; a short laugh ripped from him at the initial breath-stealing thump, and he stumbles back to restore his balance without falling on his ass.

You can tell that he’s definitely a pro at this by now.

He gives her a generous, friendly squeeze before they part, turning his attention back to the rest of his team. It’s then you fully take in how he’s dressed; slim-fitting jeans, a dark blue tee, a solid, gray flannel shirt over top—unbuttoned and left hanging open, long sleeves rolled up at to his elbows—and red converse.

His knee is still in a brace, a black watch with a stiff Kevlar strap fastened around his left wrist, its face square and rimmed with silver. And from your place you can even study the state of his dark hair—soft and without gel, but noticeably mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

"There's our fearless leader!” You warmly call out, letting Raven ease you helpfully to your feet so that you can welcome your newly arrived team member. You lightly bump your cast against his shoulder once you reach him, and then again just to be annoying when he nudges your arm away the first time (but not without a fond roll of his eyes).

With less distance your gaze finds thin, pink marks left like badges on his skin, the stitches having already healed and dissolved from under his chin and across his collarbone, his blue eyes a little hazy in their focus.

All in all, he looks tired up this close, in small ways you might overlook in passing—his grin beginning to wilt just at the upper corners of his lips, dropping eyelids and subtle bruising under his eyes, and the barest smudges of oil left neglected on his person; freckle-like specks across his jaw, staining the toes of his converse and the collar of his t-shirt (that particular one looking especially dark and ingrained into the fabric, like he’d hastily blotted at the spot in a rush and then gave up half-way through)—though you wouldn’t guess it from his posture.

He’s all squared shoulders, a confident lift of his head and a soft, delighted glint in his eyes despite the heaviness you’d noticed before. He’s proud even in the face of exhaustion, so you elect not to bring any attention to it.

“I was beginning to think Batman whisked you off back home for some clown-punching and father-son bonding." You continue impishly, mimicking his mentor’s cowl by placing an index finger on either side of your head. You bounce them up and down in a tease.

"No, that was last month.” Robin reminds you dryly, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the open elevator door he’d obviously emerged from. “I was actually just finishing up some final touches on an old friend of yours."

Huh. O…kay?

"Ominous." Cyborg offers before you can voice your own confusion, settling back against a food table with a deviously knowing smile.

Best Boy huffs with palpable disappointment instead, climbing swiftly onto the ledge behind his friend. He scuttles around a portion of the roof to sit beside the thumping boom box, while still taking time to throw out his own affirmation on the matter, before shifting back into his human form and swinging his dangling legs to the beat of the current song.

"Yeah, way creepy, dude."

Robin frowns, “I was being mysterious!”

Cyborg seems to be enjoying this immensely for some reason, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, don’t.”

“Damn. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Do not worry, Robin.” Starfire remarks with a pat to his shoulder, “I still find you the mysterious.”

You try to stifle your sputtering laughter as Robin sighs in defeat, reaching up to touch her hand in wordless thanks. He motions for you to stay where you are then, swiping his finger across the face of his watch. It lights up blue like a touch screen, and something large and humming (a machine?) darts from the inside of the elevator.

The futuristic motorcycle that slides to a near-silent stop in front of you is like something right out of Tron. There’s a high leather seat and bullet-proof windshield among sleek, rounded black metal and glowing, magnetic green lights. They detail the length of the body like racing stripes, circling around the headlights and up into the shape of a triangle above them, as well as lining the inside rims of its large, treaded wheels (two in front and one in the back). The padded, silver handles poke through the front casing like devil horns.

It’s a familiar, wrenching image—one you could only dream of seeing again after the brutal attack on Jump City.

"Lucy!” You burst out instantly, and much to the Robin’s immense enjoyment, hopping forward in your excitement to reach your beloved cycle. You trace your fingers over the glowing triangle, pressing your palm to the leather seat with stinging, blurry eyes. It feels warm. Alive. “Oh my crap, you resurrected my bike!"

Cyborg gently pats the cycle with pride, "Rob and I spent weeks trying to fix her up. Finally got all the parts working again."

"You—this is—holy shit."

"Glad you like it."

Robin throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, pretending not notice your muffled sniffling like a super-star best friend. "Happy birthday, (Y/N)." He mutters, loosening the fancy watch so he can clasp it around your unbroken wrist in a nimble flourish.

Cyborg pumps his fist in the air when you choke out a disbelieving laugh, victoriously striding to the centre of the roof to proclaim:

"Well, what are we standing around here for? Let's get this thing started!"

“Oh yes, let us start the celebration my friends!”

“Eh, sure.”

"Party people!" Beast Boy cries out in agreement, finally leaping down from the ledge.

"Alright, Alright. You don't have to tell me twice." Robin chuckles, gesturing for the others to go ahead with the festivities. He stays to hover around you though, and is suspiciously quiet at first, simply stepping around you and your newly built cycle to pluck a can of soda from a food table. He idly brushes away condensation with a broad swipe of his thumb, waiting for the others to further disband around you both.

When the coast is clear, evident by the way he glances from side to side, he turns towards you with his head down, popping the tab on the can and taking a heavy gulp. You raise a brow and wait, more than aware of his tendency by now to try and constantly torture you with the value of patience. He purses his lips in thought, before he finally meets your gaze with a playful twist to his usual smirk.

“So, hey.” He begins somewhat offhandedly, drumming his fingers across the surface of the table, “We should take a team picture at some point. All of us. Like a…memory of tonight’s occasion—if you want.”

You shouldn’t make it this easy for him—because he’ll never stop teasing you about how quickly you caved—but you find that you truly do like the idea. He just doesn’t need to know how much at the moment. So you settle on feigning tired reluctance, hoping (fooslishly) that he doesn’t see right through you.

“It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

“You guess?”

….

It’s really annoying when he does that.

You pout at the light amusement in his tone and follow his earlier path to the table, seizing a donut in a moment of pure impulse from the tray Beast Boy had previously vacated. You feel satisfied when you notice that it’s one of the unfortunate monkey feet ones, and then thrust it into Robin’s free hand.

He must have been around long enough to see the offense for himself, because his nose crinkles in distaste when he registers what you’ve given him, letting the tainted pastry dangle from two fingers.

Sweet revenge.

You dole out smirk of your own.

“Eat your donut, dick.”

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

It’s well into the evening, sunset colours already fading calmly from the sky, when Robin parks himself next to you on the ledge of the roof, smoothly swinging his legs over and dropping to sit with a long sigh of relief. Huh…it seems like someone definitely had a longer day today than they let on.

And honestly? Mood.

You tap him with the rounded bottom of the crutch lying across your lap, throwing him a cursory glance and a smile in greeting. But he doesn’t respond the way you expect him to, no. Instead, you’re surprised to see that rare, relaxed grin of his already peeking through all of the obvious exhaustion.

"What are you smiling about, Grayson? You're creeping me out." You muse gently, brow arching at the amusement that grows all the more in the curl of his smile. It’s like he’s proudly uncovered some great secret in the time it took you to voice your thoughts, and is now going to make you work for a satisfying answer. Which, you have to admit, isn’t a very unusual outcome when it comes to your friend and his bat-crazy mentor.

Heh.

Gar would love that one.

"Oh, you know…nothing too important.” Robin counters with a non-committal shrug of his shoulder.

Uhhh, yeah, that’s not comforting in the slightest, you decide.

You narrow your eyes at him and poke at his upper arm accusingly, “You’re never really this terrible of a liar usually.”

“Well, usually isn’t now.”

You pause to let his utter nonsense sink in.

“Are all detectives this uselessly cryptic or is this just a you thing?”

“I think it’s a family thing actually.”

“That I believe.” You laugh, gripping tight to the edge of the concrete ledge with one hand as you lean forward to admire the twinkling darkness of the water far below—a beautiful, convoluted gloom in the beginnings of silver moonlight. You catch his lingering stare in your peripheral when you shift, an odd amount of softness there you’re not exactly used to seeing directed your way.

“What?” You ask again in exasperation (and maybe a tad more overly sharp than you wanted). He only winks when you turn to get a better read on him, and looking much too smug and unconcerned, tips his head back to study the distant, firefly-like pinpricks of light just now glittering through the encroaching dark above you.

There’s a blissful beat of silence between the continuously wafting smells (of heavy spices and cheese and the lingering sweetness of fancy chocolate) and the nearby ambient sounds of your friends locked in an intense game of Jenga (their laughter and conversation—Raven is definitely on a roll by the sounds of it—the clinking of cutlery and plates, and the low, near-constant pop music blanketed beneath it all), and then—

“Welcome home.” He says quietly.

You stare at him a moment longer; hesitant, flustered, warm—like some kind of utter punch-drunk goober—until your gaze slips mercifully back to the sky, drawn in by the trembling might of the stars far out of reach.

And you let the moment sit within the unexpected, peaceful calm his voice brings, unbroken without a sarcastic quip or cynical remark, just this once. A moment to find value in.

Because this is your family, or….what you’d always imagined one to be.

So, even though you’d never truly been privy to a lot of happiness before this—this tiny, momentous moment right where you need to be; sitting on the roof ledge of your home—you find your own sense of peace in thinking that here and now, if there ever was a happy place in this life for you—

This is it.

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lifviakaza · 6 years

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ME & THE WHITE JACKET (December 6th, 2018, St. Petersburg, Russia)

Hari itu, kira2 8 tahun lalu. Kulihat kakakku (seterusnya uni) membawa jaket ini pulang. Iya, oleh2 dari Hong Kong, dari seseorg yg sudah kami anggap seperti Kakek karena perhatian dan kebaikannya. Lalu, di kota itu, kota pertama yang kudatangi saat kecil, kota pertama yang membuatku meninggalkan kampung halaman, kota yang ku’rindukan’ sedari masih memakai seragam merah putih. Lagi-lagi iya, kudapati KFC, Coklat dan beragam hadiah ulang tahun dan oleh-oleh dari uniku yang lain yang terlebih dahulu kuliah disana. Kota itu, Padang, bagi anak kampung sepertiku, itu adalah kota impian, surga yang dirindukan. #ngikkkkngelanturkejauhanwkwk

Kembali pada kisah itu, jaket putih ini kami simpan rapat-rapat di lemari setelah dicoba sekali dan mikir “ini kapan makainya?” Padang kepanasan pakai ini, Kincay gak dingin2 amat untuk jaket pake bulu di kepala. Lalu setiap tahun pulang kampung setelah tahun itu, aku yang punya kebiasaan bongkar lemari padahal gak berantakan, selalu iseng bereksperimen dan nyoba-nyoba baju lama ataupun apapunlah yang kami tinggalkan di lemari dan kamar yang--ah, bisa dibilang tak berpenghuni, paling lama sebulan ditiduri dalam setahun, 11 bulan ditinggalkan karena anak Mak dan Apa sudah pada besar-besar dan merantau. Dan yes, kamarnya paling dibersihin sedikit sama Mak kalau aku atau kakakku bilang “ndok baloik Kincay”.

Okeh, ngelantur lagi, udah lama gak nulis buatku tak berjiwa lagi--WHAAAAAT?!

Setiap tahun kulihat diriku dicermin memakai jaket itu, tersenyum lebar, kubayangkan aku sedang menikmati salju entah dimana, sepertinya di Canada, atau Australia atau New Zealand, mungkin America, aku tak peduli, begitu banyak negara yang ingin kudatangi hingga aku tak ingat yang mana yang benar-benar aku ingin datangi. Intinya aku ingin segera bisa memakai jaket itu! (mak eee obsesi den, ampuni-___-)

Tahun terakhir di universitas, kubawa jaket itu ke Pekanbaru, tempatku kuliah, kuimajinasikan sungguh-sungguh kalo aku lulus pertukaran pelajar atau project apalah2 yang aku apply dimana-mana sesuka hati jadi aku bisa pakai jaket itu. Tapi sayang, yang benar-benar aku impikan, yang kuimajinasikan sungguh2, satu hal kecil ini--memakai jaket putih ini saat salju datang--hanya satu hal “kecil” ini,... pun, tak kunjung Tuhan perkenankan. Aku sudah punya passport dan keinginan, tapi tetap mereka dengan organisasi berjibun dan universitas berkelas yang kebanyakan lulus. Aku tidak minder, pun tidak putus asa, aku tahu, aku tak begitu sungguh-sungguh menulis essay, mengisi formulir dan segala tetek bengek itu, karena aku pemalas, gak suka ribet, dan aku bukan tipe orang yang memaksa diri buat ikut organisasi ini-itu hanya untuk memperpanjang CV. I do what I want to do. And I don’t force myself to do what I am supposed to do to achieve something--dan ini salah sih, karena terkadang, malah most of the time, we have to, kalo kita bener-bener pingin sesuatu, kita gak punya pilihan lain selain jungkir balik masuk kubangan teguling-guling masuk jurang eh ternyata banyak emas di dalam jurang uwouwouwoooooo. #lagi2gwngelanturzzzZ

Waktu itu, aku hanya tinggal menunggu wisuda, 2016 akhir, kubawalah 2 bule Ukraina pulang ke kampungku untuk berlibur. Itulah kesempatanku, saat kami ke Bukit Khayangan Kerinci, sebenarnya gak dingin2 amat, tapi bodo amat, mumpung bawa bule jadi caknya aku juga bule kan ya pake begituan haha. Sebelum kami berangkat kutanya teman2 buleku ini apakah alay kupakai jaket ini? Dan mereka bilang biasa aja. Terus aku excited muter-muter ruang tamu sambil nge-record diri sendiri ala-ala di Korea gitu. wkwk. Aku inget, waktu itu, 2 bule temanku ini bilang, “ini cocoknya untuk autumn.”

Setelah kupakai jaket putih itu tahun itu, 2016, setelah itu hidup seperti kelabu, apalagi setelah wisuda, aku gak tau apa yang bener-bener aku inginkan--well, who knows? Do you know?! Aku rasa orang-orang “random” sepertiku dan Putroi--konco arekku adalah orang2 yang gak bener2 punya tujuan dalam hidup. Kadang punya kadang gak. Kadang iman naik turun, itu aja alasan dari jaman baholak untuk bermalas-malasan. Haha Intinya, setelah wisuda, hidup malah jadi makin kelabu. Aku gak ingin kerja di Jakarta, kota itu terlalu berisik dan terlalu sibuk menurutku. Bukan hidup yang aku mau pergi Subuh pulang tengah malam dan diantara itu macet-macet-macet-himpit-himpitan-macet-macet-macet-macet. Aku juga gak mau balik ke Jambi, Padang, atau Pekanbaru atau kota-kota yang pernah kukunjungi--bosan.

Kuputuskan--pulang kampung saja, berwirausaha, dijodohkan, menikah, punya anak banyak, rezeki setelah itu lancar jaya, rumah tangga aman sejahtera, tinggal nunggu mati lalu masuk surga. Wew, what a plan MAN!!!!!!!! HAHAHA

Aku bahagia, mengajar adalah passionku, The OLF’s adalah vitamin dan obat yang tanpa pernah aku minta, menyembuhkan luka-luka lama dan membasahkan bagian-bagian hatiku yang kering. Tak pernah rasanya sebahagia itu dalam hidup. Bangun sesuka hati, makan masakan enak Mak tiap hari, JJS, JJM pake motor tiap hari, jajan jajanan jalanan yang tidak sehat tiap hari. Tidur sesuka hati jam berapa tanpa harus mikir besok mau ngajar apa (karena gw maks butuh 1-2 jam sebelum kelas untuk mendapat inspirasi lalu prepare) kdg malah 5 menit sebelum kelas gw dapet ide yg turun dari langit. WKWKWK

Tapi lagi-lagi, mimpi itu, mimpi memakai jaket putih berbulu ini di negara bersalju, masih ada disitu. Ada satu lubang keciiiiiiiiiil banget dihatiku, dan itulah dia--jaket putih berbulu yang menunggu salju.

Lalu aku berpikir, Are those really your plans? “Berwirausaha, dijodohkan, menikah, punya anak banyak, rezeki setelah itu lancar jaya, rumah tangga aman sejahtera, tinggal nunggu mati lalu masuk surga???” IYA, itu tetap hidup yang kuimpikan di masa tua kelak, gak tua-tua amatlah, 30 tahun udah punya 4 anak oke tuh ckck Tapi sebelum masa itu, aku masih ingin punya masa untuk “menyendiri” karena hidup selama ini begitu ramai, dan begitu sepi. Aku butuh sedikit waktu lagi untuk menyaksikan dunia, untuk memberi satu harapan terakhir pada jaket putih berbulu, membawa ia menikmati salju, membawa ia terbang puluhan jam melintasi samudera, melawan ketakutan, menjemput asa dan ribuan mimpi yang pernah ingin kulewatkan saja. Desis itu “aku menyerah”, mana mungkin aku lupa. Tangis itu “aku lelah, ingin pergi jauh saja” mana mungkin kuelakkan.

Satu hal kecil yang membuatku lupa untuk menyerah hari itu adalah sebuah pertanyaan, “apa kau yakin ini benar-benar waktu yang tepat untukmu memasuki fase ‘terakhir’ dalam hidup?”--berwirausaha, dijodohkan, menikah, punya anak banyak, rezeki setelah itu lancar jaya, rumah tangga aman sejahtera, tinggal nunggu mati lalu masuk surga. Dalam dua kata, kupersingkat--menua bersamamu.

Sepertinya belum, karena pun setelah jatuh bangun dalam dunia percintaan alay itu, kurasa aku belum menemukanmu. Jadi kuputuskan, 2018--berjuang ‘cukup’ sungguh-sungguh untuk ‘melarikan diri’, karena ternyata, berada dirumah, di kampung halaman, tak semerdeka itu, sekali 3 bulan kurasakan kebosanan tingkat akut dan wajib lari dari kenyataan minimal ke Padang untuk ke bioskop dan PH LOL. Karena merantau sedari usia 14tahun sudah membuat jiwa dan ragaku terbiasa dengan nomaden. Daaaaan ya, ternyata beasiswa UK, USA, AUS, dll itu, masih tak menerima seseorang dengan essay “cukup sungguh-sungguh”. Dam#it, siapa sih yang butuh seseorang yang setengah sungguh-sungguh di dunia ini? wkwk

Jadilah pada detik-detik terakhir keputusasaanku terhadap beasiswa bergengsi itu, kucoba melamar kerja saja diluar sana, intinya kan ke luar negeri, gak harus dapet beasiswa, iya bener juga sih--gitu kira-kira gw membela diri dalam hati. And there I was, numpang di jemuran another uniku untuk wawancara Skype karena cuma itu keknya tempat di Kincay dg sinyal internet stabil dan gak keganggu kebisingan manusia. Haha. Interview keempat aku inget banget, waktu itu hujan, untung ada pohon disebelah jemuran yang ranting-ranting dan daunnya nutupin gw yang dibawah lagi diwawancara. Gw coba sungguh-sungguh waktu itu, inget banget deh, waktu itu lagi sakit, sumpeh, kalau diturutin biasanya gw mesti tidur seharian karena sakit kepala, flu, dll, tapi kuseret Linda untuk ke cafe dan numpang WiFi terus belajar. Aku, beberapa hari itu, belajar untuk belajar sungguh-sungguh demi apa yang aku mau. God, what a life!

Btw Januari, 5 bulan sebelum gw dinyatakan lulus, gw minta dibikinin video sama bule Ukraina yang gw bawa pulkam. Gw bilang gw pengen bgt liat salju ‘live’ concert gitu wkwk. Kita video call, dia liatin salju dari jendela flat dia. Masih terekam jelas di memori otak gua yg males mikir ini-- pohon-pohon hitam tak berdaun dan semua jalanan yang bernuansa putih dengan beberapa orang lalu lalang berbentuk kol karena jaket tebal, syal, dll itu. Gua masih inget dengan sgt jelas, si cewek Ukraina ini, dia waktu itu bilang, “You will come to Ukraine and witness the snow. You will soon, I can feel it, Monica.”

And yes, here I am, not in Ukraine, but Mum! I am with that white jacket, enjoying the snow--EIGHT years after my sister brought it home and my eyes loved it, sent the message to my brain that we got another dream to accomplish, but just this year, 2018, June, the last minute, my heart accepted it too--that I need to be sungguh-sungguh and pasrahkan pada-Nya... 3 moths to arrange everything then I could fly, left all the stories back there.

P.S: I ate it (the snow) too cz that’s one of my crazy dreams and yeah, I did itttttt!!! @ROCK (!)

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talesofealdancynedom · 4 years

Photo

Tiberius Blacstorm, in fairy robes. don’t you love when you accidentally flatten all the layers of a half finished drawing in photoshop?

Tale 19: Meriam Craweleoth: Mage Queen of The Grand West (chapter 1 - One Day 2/10) part 4. Stories of Old

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maps

One day, a woman of the Far North of Algonquia, came into the royal halls of the Grand West. She came baring kingly gifts. The King was presented with a sword that could cut anything, and a bow that shot any arrows of any material or spell. They were perfectly polished silver, with fine etching, and set with amethysts. But these gifts weren’t from the far land of Algonquia; They were from a hermit who lives by the mountain boarders between that land and Celticia. They were likely forged in the Hafokheofen volcanic fields, that are rumored to be between the north kingdoms. The peasant lady lay the gifts before Meriam and her king husband; not as gestures of peace, but as a wedding gift. Yet neither of them knew anyone who would send such magic craft their way, as only a friendly gesture without political meaning. But Meriam knew; she knew magic objects came from one source. A Warlock.

“Mage Helrem Monafyra, and his family, sends you fine tools from his forge, with good wishes towards your union. He said he had made these radiant magical arms, and thought no better use for them then to be gifts of magic comradery.” The woman said, curtsying and leaving the palace. Helrem’s messenger spoke good Old Anglian, and knew good etiquette. It caught Meriam off guard.

“My dear, I do not know how to use tools of magic, nor need them.” The King said. “As I vowed, I will not attend another battle; Even if I trained to use a bow and blade.”

“That isn’t the part that confounds me. It’s rather nice of him; this Warlock Helrem, of whom we’ve never met. I knew a warlock when I was young; He taught me much of magic. They’re a passionate lot; but in an odd way, not a normal way. Like seers are with their area of magic study. Instead of going on wondrous enthusiastic rants, however, they methodically brood and are most saucy…” Meriam mused. All the while, admiring the fine work. “For example, my friend’s uncle in Francia, made a stone pedestal with short pillars he called a gate; that summoned the shadow veil, allowing fey and mages to wonder between the layers of our world. He could use it to sneak to other lands through the shadow veil. He said all lands have a gate to a fey kingdom. Didn’t say much else about his work….”

“That’s terrifying.” The King said. The courts began to gasp. A structure that allowed men to enter magic. Even more, other lands wielded such magical devices, and Anglia did not. The courts began to beg Meriam to make a gate. One to the Raven Kingdom of the shadow veil. The people of magic in Anglia are housed by the Raven King; thus, it made sense.

“I would love a gate to easily transverse time and space, to ease my peace missions. But alas, I do not know how.” Meriam confessed, sheathing the sword and adorning it.

“Warlocks make magic things, and magic is taught, correct? Why not visit this kind Helrem fellow, and ask him for instructions? Check the people of the mainland while your about; There is a new trading post on the east banks, that would love word from their King.” the King said. “Unfortunately, it might have merchants…I don’t like merchants; or the idea of you being around merchants. They carry all sorts of sickness.” He confessed. Meriam shrugged, and immediately gathered her men. It was very sudden.

The new mainland trading post, was a half day on horseback, and a day’s sail to the inlet. The trading post was small, and unguarded. The streets were half cobbled, and the houses made of poorly bound wood, perfectly nestled beside each other. There was all of one stone bridge, which separated the small market form the residents. Anything that was stone, was a black marble; including the entirety of the new town hall. Above the town hall, was a wooden banner saying: “Pepperidge.”

In her black velvet fairy robes, gothic makeup, and her uniformed knights in toe, Meriam walked right down the main street; and no one blinked an eye. The peasants and merchants were oblivious to the world. Too busy with daily life to care. It made Meriam uncomfortable. Then she heard a scream from a shack with a poorly drawn cow on it. Having nothing better to do, she went to see what was the problem.

On the floor at the feet of some milk maids, lay a filthy boy with hazel hair, laying face down in the dirt and used straw. Meriam considered asking what is the meaning of this, with queenly authority, and then decided against that approach.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked.

“This town’s orphan…” the lady began. Then she gasped. “Mage Queen Meriam! Oh, your highness, we are so very sorry-”

“You were saying?” she asked bluntly.

“Oh yes, my lady; this is Tiberius Blacstorm. He’s a mage. He glowed with a bronze and black aura, then just flopped like a sack of flour.”

“He may have gone dark and needs medicine.”

“That would require money; the merchants are unkind, but they pay well for our favours. But we do not want to share with this peeping tom. Poor thing, though; no one to miss him.”

“I’ll take him.” Meriam shrugged. She gestured for on of her confused knights to get the boy off the floor. Then she gestured again when he didn’t move. He looked at Meriam with surprise to make sure it was him, then he picked up the boy, put him on his horse. He was a lot like a diminutive bag of sand… Meriam jumped on her familiar Nihten, and led her men, and the orphan, off on the northern trail.

“My Queen, I am questioning my loyalty. Why are we taking this orphan?”

“He’s a mage. He needs a teacher. We are going to a mage who is not me and can teach him.” She called back. “Give him some water. He will need to recover from the bleeding and fever. I can make a potion when we next make camp.”

“What about the Eldorman of…Pepperidge, my Queen?”

“What Eldorman? Did you see an Eldorman? Because all I saw was an anarchy of disorganized burghers, and a milkmaid brothel. Not to judge peoples tastes; they were well endowed and unlikely to carry smallpox.”

“Ah, yes; and what of this here orphan my lady.” The squire said gesturing to Tiberius laying limp over the mare like limp spinach. Meriam looked down in distaste and consideration, then back to the trail. Tiberius was leaving a trail of blood on the path behind them; then a sign of life! He murmured a quiet word of indecency towards his life.

It was a long journey, but Meriam’s time magic made quick work of that. There was sense of urgency, as Tiberius was not recovering from going dark. He spoke a little, and when he did it was small jokes. Life without parents had made him malnourished, dirty, and weak; He must have forgotten what it was like to be cared for. Meriam’s potions of warm thistle, and healing charms she sung to him to help him sleep, did nothing but stall Tiberius’ poor condition. Meriam was disheartened; she had help heal many people ,who have felt the deaths flush after being consumed by emotion and magic. She almost forgot she was going to Helrem to learn to make a gate for the Grand West, not help a homeless ill boy. Tiberius had a charismatic way to him, that made everyone quickly invest in his wellbeing. Meriam asked what magic job he would want as a mage, and Tiberius shrugged. The knights asked what happened to his family, and Tiberius said he didn’t remember. He only said that he loved Pepperidge, and was excited to meet Helrem in another land.

While tending Tiberius, the travel party needed a safe route. They traveled silently through the north of their kingdom, through the Celticain borderlands to avoid Francia, and up the mountains marking the beginning of the Far North. The air became cold, and the earth warm; a coating of snow hiding the geothermal activity to the north west. But they were not given any information aside form this, as to where Helrem lived. In need of further guidance, Meriam wandered around aimlessly; those that are lost in Ealden Cynedom, will attract a specific type of fey. As a red sun set and an aurora painted the incoming blackness of night, a midnight blue mothkin appeared; large fairies that sleep as giant moth’s, but turn into a soft robed ethereal human form, that guild any lost humans, to their destinations. They lust for it. With a piece of emergency shortbread, Meriam easily got the fairy to take them to Helrem’s cabin. It was less than fifteen minutes from their current location; which they were also uncertain of. The mothkin was so happy to have helped, and she enthusiastically offered to take them back home; everyone thanked her. She hadn’t met many travelers, and adored human company.

Helrem’s cabin sat hidden in alpine trees, upon the border mountain slopes. As Meriam and her men approached in the early winter night, they saw the glow of it’s fire, and heard the howling of wolves. Thought her men were weary, Meriam noticed the calls were not that of real wolves; they were human. As they came closer, more stars came out, making the sky glitter brighter then the ground. The subtle flashes of aurora dancing by the peaks above. The light of the northern sky caused, the ankle-deep snow to glow on an untread trail. Nearing the cabin, snow blew off the cliffs, followed by a louder howl that echoed with a mythic chime; and the kicked-up snow burst into the lights of stars which you could touch. As the group stopped to awe at this dazzling magic, they heard the giggle of a child. Upon the ridge, they found the source of this spell; a rough Algonqian man with his son, sat in wolf fairy robes peering over the edge. Their black hair emphasizing their lilac and violet eyes, as their skin gleamed in the moon light.

“Hello.” The man said. “To what do I owe the honour of having the Queen of Anglia travel so far to see me?”

“You must be Master Helrem Monafyra. I need your assistance to learn some spells, and I have a young mage who is need of a family. Though I see you already have one.” Meriam said waving to the Helram’s son, who waved back with a big smile. He reminded her of Eatheltwein. For someone who didn’t want children, she found herself charmed by them; it’s nice when they’re not yours, she thought.

“Right this way. I was just teaching my son, Murdoc, night magic! He wants to be a seer like you. Turned out he was a mage, and now I get to teach him all I know!” Helrem laughed. He had a deep a jolly laugh, that was both intimidating and contagious.

In the cabin, Helrem’s wife, and Murdoc, provided food, and took Tiberius into the bedroom to sleep. Helrem had the proper potions to heal Tiberius, and gave them to him. His wife was eager to tend to Tiberius, unable to stand seeing someone in need. She brought innumerable furs and blankets for the lot of them.

“We are kind, loyal and giving here. If my fine wife is not an excellent example. You may stay until you are ready to leave, if you help around.” Helrem said. Meriam’s five knights quickly feel asleep after some meat, wool blankets, and hot water.

“Master Monafyra, would you mind taking in the boy? He is of my kingdom of Anglia, but he has no home or parents. I found him as you see him. My charms and potions were not enough to heal him, and the palace has no place for him. He deserves love. He is silly, adamant, and sweet.” Meriam said, watching Murdoc crouch near Tiberius’s bed side in curiosity. The boys looked so different.

“Sure! Murdocs’ been wanting a brother for years; but as you can see by his age, and my wife’s generosity, that wish was never granted. We have the space, food, and education for the boy. You are kind for saving him and bringing him here.”

“Really? You’ll take him? Without question? You keep complimenting me, and sending gifts; I do not know you, and yet you are so kind.” Meriam rambled. Helrem leant in and hugged her, with a warm smile. Even though she was queen, and a stranger. It was a kindness that inspires more kindness; a compassion which expects nothing in return. Meriam slowly hugged back. Everyone needs and could give that sort of compassion.

It would take a few days for Meriam to record Helrem’s notes on making a gate. She had nearly filled a journal full of potion recopies, and gate instructions, poorly drawn maps, by the third day. Her men enjoyed hunting, teaching the boys swordsmanship, sledding, and eating. The travel had worn them thin and in need of comfort. A winter vacation was much more palatable than battlefronts. Meriam’s knights were not sure if they should feel lucky or not. While the boys enjoyed life, Meriam stayed in the cabin. Helrem’s home was saturated with magic tools and objects; like one massive workshop. Though, he admitted his main forge was indeed in Hefokheofen flats, where he could access the fires of dragons, fairies, and other fey. He was passionate about sharing his work, and picking the brains of Meriam’s knights. Meriam recording everything. She is primarily a seer after all.

“Why do you talk to them about their opinions of magic? Common folk either fear or ignore fey and spell.” She said watching them lounge around a bonfire.

“I disagree. Magic is wonderful, and capable of bringing out the youth in all of us. Magic is neutral, peaceful, and wonderous. The sparkle in the eyes of your men was more proof that even a common man can appreciate and adore the mystical and enchanted; without a single desire to abuse it, or use it for violence, status and wealth.” Helrem gleamed, “Here, let me show you something.” He said, leading Meriam to his work bench. He gently picked up and handed her a glass wand of twisted white and violet glass.

“This is a wand. It helps control the flow of magic threw men, from the shadow veil. I want to make ones that can be used by people in magic houses, so they can enjoy magic like us mages. Like they wish they could. People could make their own metal and clean water, use potion recipes to heal each other and fey. Even use spells that allow them to summon what they need. The weapons I make for commission are but side projects; I dream that all people can have the sparkle of summoned stars in their eyes and steps everyday. Think what good the sweetness of people could achieve with such power. Though not as powerful as our magic; I can only do so much.” Helrem explained. His dream made Meriam jitter with excitement, as she remembered how Felin wanted to wield magic like that; her rosy smile and big heart. Then Meriam heard the last sentence; a subtle panic filled her mind. She had seen murder, unlike Helrem. Meriam knew what corrupt people would do with magic in a time of war, and what fear can drive people to do. She could not decide whether Helrem’s good intentions were right, or would bring the downfall of the balance between the magic veils.

When Meriam arrived back home, she greeted her comforts with a deep sigh. The road had given gratitude for her soft bedding, good soap, wine and vegetables. She warmly embraced her husband, and retired her men to their families. The following week, Meriam received the black marble she had bought at Pepperidge. The local miners and merchants who sought it, said the black marble was only found in mainland Anglia. Both beautiful and authentically Grand West. Meriam pulled out her journals, and walked into the square, just down the main street from the palace; and then she began her work. With that same goodness Helrem inspired her with, Meriam worked in tranquility to make the Raven Gate. It was smooth and perfect in its completion; radiant but useless. Only fey and mages could use it. Meriam even put security on it to prevent common folk from wondering near it. The court men wondered why they gave in to peer pressure, and wanted a gate so badly, as it looked like it did nothing but look pretty and supposedly be magical. In two weeks, the Raven Gate became a pretty art installation in the square. Yet, with the creation and opening of the Raven Gate in the Capitol of the Grand West, Meriam made a magic forest hidden within a city, that would even outlive her.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

#art #tales of ealdan cynedom #story 19 #meriam #tiberius #murdoc #helrem #short stories #fantasy #nihten

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ikonislife · 7 years

Text

By Chance 02.

-Junhoe x Donghyuk

-Donghyuk has no complaint about his life that although might a bit dull, he still counts as a blessing for not everyone could have a stable life. But perhaps there is one minor thing, nothing unpredictable ever happens. What will happen when an angel from above graces him with his present, took all his breath away then become his neighbor too?

<- Previous

Needless to say for the rest of that day, his every sense was infused with the memory of the dashing stranger. Donghyuk wonders about his interest and hobbies, what kind of music does he listen to on a peaceful Sunday afternoon while scrolling away his time through the many online feeds. Perhaps he’s an old soul internally and still get his daily dosage of sadness around the world from good old fashion prints while sipping a cup of pipping hot black coffee because if his taste in coffee reflects anything of himself, stranger doesn’t needs neither cream nor sugar. He seems already rich of life and sweet in his own awkward way even fate had yet granting Donghyuk a chance to meet him. Such strange things to be thinking of about a person he neither know the name of nor if he’s even single. Maybe he doesn’t even swing Donghyuk’s way but nevertheless he’s enthrall.

Like a puzzle waiting to be solve, Donghyuk suddenly finds himself at attention as he wanders the meandering street back to the station awaiting his trip back to the place where it all started. Would he be lucky enough to once again catch those raven locks and the intense gaze he didn’t know but the anticipation of a serendipitous meeting leaves him at the edge of his seat.

Stepping off the train now, Donghyuk glancing left then right at people coming from whichever way, frustration mixing with the relief of another day done taut on their forehead. His footfalls hasten yet his mind screaming for them to slow down for any sign but alas Donghyuk decided it was time to leave the emptying station, hoping tomorrow morn will offer better fruit.

Briefcase swinging along with the upbeat tune humming along the path of fallen leaves, Donghyuk basks in the golden hue of the sun bowing out for the day, finding the glittering gleaming colors of everything so delicious and calming. He thinks of the days spending alone in his apartment with the TV rambling on about the world events and contemplate on the future. How long more will he wait before his soulmate presents in front of him on a silver platter with light shining from the heaven above, choir singing that he finally will have a piece of it in his own home. Or will it be a long treacherous road of heartbreak and tears, he will be bruised and beat up before having someone to soothe his wounds away at night in a warm embrace.

Having his resolve to focus on his career after a series of fail relationships didn’t seemed like such a terrible idea then, still in many sense isn’t, but part of the lonely man wishes there would be someone to come home to aside from his trusted dog. His first love had been with a boy named Jin, childhood best friend and the person that helped Donghyuk realized his calling in life. Jin was much like himself, delightful in his own quirky ways, great cooks, terrible puns, looks known across town, and best of all, he was never scare to live life the way he wanted. He dated girls and boys alike all through out high school and college, no one was spare from the heartbreaking good look and soul crushing personality to match but there was just something about Donghyuk that drawn Jin in like moth to flame.

His mind travels far and wide before it was reminded of just how harsh reality is when an unexpected thud startling Donghyuk to the depth of hell. He had all but scream off the top of his lungs before voice like angel reeling him back to Earth, like the sound of tickling ivories to his ears.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone around. The box was kinda heavy so I just kind of let it fall.” The voice comes from somewhere deep within the maze of things and commodities of a U-Haul truck, echoing about like the call of an Eagle through a silent tree covered canyon.

“It’s alright really. I just get startle easily, no worries at all.” Not even really sure who’s he’s calling out for but there was one thing certain, he needs to know to whom that delightful voice belongs to. Donghyuk had met quite a few people from his work, meetings and on official business mostly but that didn’t stop him from having a small personal side quest of it all. Whenever he sits down on another boring old office chair that quite honestly more for look than comfort, he’d open up his ears and just listen. Who in the room has the most soothing voice and would it beats the last vocal champion, all just to distract himself from how dull everything else is. This mysterious voice, by far, the best he had ever heard with just how clear it could be yet underlying there’s a bit of a growl, so delightful and smooth... Much like the aged exorbitantly priced whiskey his father had once treated him to.

The sound of shuffle and a few cusses later, a tall man back out from a pile of boxes, his hands bracing in front of his body with a few whispering for the inanimate entities to stay put, a very familiar figures and tousles of raven hair.

There he is... better than any dreams Donghyuk had conjured up to make his long day at work less tedious. The handsome stranger across the train track, his sharp jawline and fair skin remains as seraphic as ever despite the crisp suit being traded in for simple white v-neck t-shirt and a pair of grey sweat that honestly still make Donghyuk just as uncomfortable as his skin tight slack this morning. He spins around briskly, bumping into a wooden black dresser nearly as tall as he is, with another annoying grunt, the stranger is finally there in front of his eyes.

“Hey... it’s you. Sandwich dude from this morning, what are the chances.”

“Oh haha, yea, it’s me... Uhm, sorry if I seemed rude this morning. I usually don’t stare... just, it was early. I had a rough yesterday and late night.” Feet shuffling like a shy school boy chatting up his crush for the first time, Donghyuk suffers from the most intense blush he has ever felt before in his life, mortified and a bit shock even. He dreamt up a friendship with the stranger but never before did he think of just how embarrassing it is having to explain staring shamelessly before the first meeting.

“Hey, we all have those days right. I’m Junhoe, you live here?” Jutting his head toward the familiar old building that had watched Donghyuk’s never ending changing self and just as often if not more frequent shifting of hair colors come and goes for the past three years, Junhoe extends a handshake of friendliness that Donghyuk isn’t too sure if he wants to take. What if he spontaneously combusts on the spot or worse, shit himself, what then.

“Uhm yea, almost three years now. It’s pretty great, actually. I’m Donghyuk, I live in 30A.”

“No fucking way, I live in 30B. So right beside yours then?”

No way, no way in heaven, he could die of happiness right now but he must control his excitement if there’s any hope of that this won’t be the first and last meeting ever. The formerly stranger was right, what really is the chance. Not only are they living in the same apartment but fate had taken it a step further in aiding Donghyuk’s lonely love life by having him not just on the same wing of the large apartment, not even just the same complex. He’s living right. freaking. next. door. What luck.

“I guess so. What are the odds right.” Chuckling nervously to hide the almost choking in happiness guttural noises that sounded too much like a moan, Donghyuk hopes to God he didn’t just ruin the chance before even taking it. “Did you need any help? I’m not really doing anything else for the rest of the night.”

“Oh I’m alright. The movers are upstair already and I’m waiting on a few friends to help out. Thank you though, I appreciate it.”

Never before had Donghyuk feel disappointment as a response to not getting ropes into hard labor of moving houses. With one last bow, he continues his trip upstair and even as dissatisfying as it is not to have more time with Junhoe, Donghyuk already feels lucky enough to know he’ll get to see him every morning, and maybe sometimes in the future, they’ll be taking on the dark road at dawn together.

Next (coming soon)

#ikon #ikon scenarios #ikon donghyuk #ikon junhoe #donghyuk #junhoe #donghyuk scenarios #junhoe scenarios

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kingcullywully · 7 years

Text

Always the Hero

You were always the hero.

Doing adventurous and dangerous quests to the most simplest and menial tasks. From traveling to a realm filled with spirits in different shapes and beings alike to finding an amulet for a citizen’s one love.

Always acting for others, always wanting to please and to calm. Never relaxing, never sleeping, always tired and wanting to act the sloth and just lay in your bed all day.

Yet always filled with energy, wanting to find new ruins or quests to do. Always fighting, adrenaline singing in your veins, eyes wide and lips curved in a rare grin when you find something new and unknown, thinking in your mind on why you would want to rest when there is so much more to explore.

You were Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.

The Honoured Thane of all Skyrim, Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, Listener and Leader of the Dark Brotherhood, Guild-Master of the Thieves Guild, Member of the Bards College, Beloved Apprentice of the Greybeards, Vampire Lord of the Volkihar Clan, Savior of Solstheim, The Victorious Conqueror of Solitude, Peacemaker, Stormblade, Champion of the Nine Divines and Champion of some Daedric Princes, Dragon Priest Slayer, Honorary Member of the Moth Priests, Dwemer Expert, Bounty and Treasure Hunter, Master of the Thu'um, and Vanquisher of the World-Eater Alduin.

So many titles, so many burdens upon your shoulders. Everyone looks to you with hope or fear in their gazes, because of how much power you bear and the many ways you can use it. The responsibilities were endless, always stressed, always tense, always trying to stay two steps ahead of the enemy;whether real or in your mind.

Always rescuing. Yet always killing. Always giving. Yet always stealing. Always finding friends. Yet always being betrayed. A constant cycle, a cycle that has long been in the spectrum of different shades of grey. No longer are actions and choices black and white. Some days you find yourself choosing a light grey, always soothing for your heart that is always being cracked. Always warm.

Other days your choices are too dark, too dirty. Your silence was the strongest those days, for you were screaming in your mind at this madness. Surely you will become mad! The thought of joining Sheogorath in his realm scared you those days. But then you calmed yourself, remembering how the Daedric Prince was, and how you couldn’t help but smile when you were temporarily in his realm for that quest. The Prince was odd and certainly mad, but he was fun and interesting. With this, the darkness soon washes away, but it never gets rid of the stain in your mind and heart.

All these actions, all these choices, all these titles and groups that were yours for you were their trusted and valuable leader.

And yet, at the end of the day, you were just (Y/N). Friends with your once superiors now followers. Even friends with at least two Daedric Princes and friends of dragons. That’s all you wished to be, yet you were so much more.

So much more then you wanted. You never wanted this, never wanted to be the fated hero and savior of the world like something out of a story or legend.

But you were. You’re a hero. A legend.

The day you defeated Alduin you knew Sovngarde would be where you would rest once you die, if not Alduin, then surely all the other tasks you have accomplished. Regardless of race, you knew this.

You’re so much. Yet you did not want to be such.

The day came where you had enough of Skyrim. Where you already explored every ruin, every cave, every rune for a new Shout, every village, every city, every island, every possible realm you can enter, and even every crevice no matter how small.

You were here for so long, surely you would miss your now and only home? The place that held so many comrades, young and old, from Khajit to Nord, mortal or immortal, would you leave them?

Your answer that was before just long and hesistant consideration is now a strong yes in your mind.

You wish to see something new. Not the same land filled with so much sadness and pain, yet happy times and victory. You seek new adventures that would make your blood sing, for it has been long since a quest made you feel such. For menial tasks always made your eyes dead, gait sluggish for you were bored. The gratitude though from the person who asked, made you feel better. The reward of money was now just a plus, a plus that you are growing to believe is unneeded for there is not much of anything you wish to buy in this land. Not anymore.

So you went to the best port of Skyrim, which is in the coast of Solitude. Thankfully the Dainty Sload was still there, for it was the ship you have chosen to carry you in this unique adventure. You climbed aboard, familiarizing yourself once more about the vessel that used to be home of the Corsairs. You knew how to control a ship, and you are sure you will be able to handle it by yourself. Once you were ready, you gazed at Skyrim for one final time. As well as Tamriel.

You do not want to be in this country, believing the other provinces would just be filled with nothing but the same like Skyrim. You want something completely new, completely strange.

You want something unknown.

For even though you deny it, you are an adventurer, therefore a hero. Always excited at new lands, new people, and new quests. It’s just you did not enjoy how others looked at you afterwords. Their awefilled gazes, with hope shining in their pupils as they asked for more favors always expecting for you to succeed because you are the legend, the Dragonborn.

Your gaze was sad as you looked at Solitude, the only city that will see you off. If you had a choice, you would rather see off Whiterun. But alas, Whiterun is near no ocean nor rivers that will eventually lead to one. You gazed at the architecture, your well trained and farseeing eyes taking everything in. You turned, quickly.

Not wanting your mind to think of the prisoners of the Civil War under the Blue Palace, nor of Viarmo the Headmaster of the Bard’s College, or the children who enjoyed playing tag and hide and seek with you.

You prepared the sails to distract yourself from your memories, when your ear twitched.

“Wait!”

Your eyes widened, recognizing the voice, and turned. There was your friend, Serana staring at you with those yellow orange eyes of hers with confused betrayal underneath her pulled up hood to protect her from the sun as she stood at the wooden pier. You stared, not expecting her to be here. You told her to go back home and stay at her castle. Why is she here? That is what you asked, and it caused her fists to clench.

“Why am I here?! You’re leaving! You were going to leave and just leave me here alone. How could you do that?!” The vampire’s voice cracked, eyes filled with tears refused to fall. It made your cracked heart break a little more.

“You weren’t going to be alone, Garen is there as well as the others even though their company can be rather sour—“

She interrupted with a fierce glare and snarl.

“You know that is not what I meant! And at this point, I know you more then I know them. You are my only family left (Y/N). The only one I can fully trust and not use me, who truly cares for me.” You knew she was talking about her mother, Valerica who put Serana to sleep for thousands of years without explaining. The statement only made your brows furrow with emotion. “But then you left me. I know you, how you are. Just like you know me and how I hate being alone. You…” the woman looked down to the ground, pausing, there was a pained silence between the two of you. When she looked up, you tried to not jump off the ship and hug her tight.

“You…you were going to leave me. And never come back.”

She was crying. And your will of leaving this land wavered for a moment.

Only for the littlest of moments.

“You know there is nothing left for me to do here. You say you know me, then you know why I’m doing this.”

‘To escape. To learn. For freedom. For adventure. To forget.’

You continued.

“Skyrim…I have done what I could here. And with what I did with Alduin, I have done enough for Tamriel as well. There’s more to this world then this country, I know there is.” You turned your eyes to the sea, (e/c) eyes distant. Mind in a whirl on just how much different other places are from Tamriel. “I wish to leave this place.” You turned your head back, noticing that Serana was quickly climbing up to the ship. You rose your brow with a disapproving frown.

“What are you doing?” She looked at you with blazing orange eyes, pausing on her movement up the rope ladder on the side of the ship.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. You are not. It’s too dangerous—“

“And it isn’t dangerous for you?!” She was now on the ship, getting close to your body with her finger waving at your chest. “You think just cause you’ve done all these things that you cannot die? You don’t even know much about the other continents of this world. Of Akavir, Thras, Pyandonea, and Atmora. As well as the destroyed Yokuda and Aldmeris. I can take care of myself, and we have plenty of Bloodcursed Elven Arrows if things become too much. Do you not have faith in my capabilities?”

You do. She’s quite a fighter. It’s just what you seek is something even more outrageous then Serana believes.

“Don’t misunderstand Serana. I know how strong you are, it’s just…I wish for the unknown, my friend. This world, it’s grand isn’t it?” You began walking around, motioning your hands to your sides, your voice slowly getting more animated. “So much mystery, so many places lost as well as races like the Dwemer and Snow Elves who sadly became Falmer. The majority of races came to Tamriel from somewhere else, somewhere beyond. And we don’t even know where some of these lands are! Or if there’s more areas then we think with their own inhabitants!” You looked at her, eyes sparkling with an excited grin. Serana was gazing at you oddly, for seeing you so cheerful about subjects or other these days did not happen often. Her eyes then slowly widened in realization.

“You want to discover a new continent…go to Aldmeris or Yokuda?!” At your silence, lips staying in a smile, she grabbed your shoulders. “That is madness, who knows how long we will be out in the sea with no food and constantly in the sun with no water? Or if we even land somewhere? The inhabitants might be dangerous or more bloodthirsty then my father.” You held back your tongue that you are just as dangerous or even more so with how much you’ve accomplished. As well as say that you may have a touch of madness. “There’s so much risk in this, you really think you cannot die?”

You paused, tilting your head as you gazed at your close female friend that was once the daughter of Harkon. You thought on her words.

Can you die? You’ve been so close numerous times, but that was during your early days of your arrival to Skyrim. You remember the fear, the confusion of this new region and the number of dragons and people wanting your head. It’s been a long time though, you’ve matured and very much experienced with all sorts of enemies.

So, can you die?

“…I don’t know. I do know that this is possible and there’s more to this world then three continents. And,” you grinned slightly, “risks make things fun.”

You stunned Serana into silence, whether from how you aren’t sure if you can die or how you seem to want to find out if you can with this adventure. You thought the danger would make her walk away and leave this ship. And she did walk away. Only towards the main sail and prepare it. You sighed, seeing that she’s determined to follow although you disapprove and are positive you will only worry for her.

But a part of your shattered heart grew warm that you will have someone here with you in this journey. Even though you are positive the woman will complain about the environment till your ears will fall off. What can you say? People who were stubborn and determined always captured your respect and interest, especially if they look at you sadly and ask for favors.

You were always the hero. Always wanting to please and to soothe.

When you made sure there were enough supplies for the both of you, whether food that was salted or items to help purify water as well as good and your precious weapons, the both of you were off.

You did not look back, even when Serana made a comment as she looked at the now faraway city of Solitude.

“Skyrim always was beautiful and had amazing weather…I’m going to miss it.”

‘Me too.’

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awesimz · 7 years

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Episode 1: New Beginnings and Bitter Disapointments

Welcome to my brand new Sims 3 Challenge: The Amazon Challenge. Some of you might recognize my username or maybe just my style of legacy storytelling from the Iridescence Legacy, which unfortunately now has so many damn problems (corrupt save file, deleted photos from both online and off) that there’s really no salvaging it anymore. And on my last generation too - I was so convinced I was going to finally finish one, but alas, lol. Anyway, I decided to move from LJ to here because of the BS anti-LGBT TOS they’re implementing, but it was probably a good idea anyway as tumblr seems a bit more popular with the simming community nowadays :)

Anyway, let’s dive right in, shall we?

Meet our Founder, Xena. Yes, I know Xena was not an Amazon but listen, I am obsessed anyway and besides, she was fucking tall enough to be one, lol. Regardless, our tribe leader Xena has a much different personality anyway, and is a brave and flirty diva who is both a perfectionist and athletic. Her LTW is Perfect Mind, Perfect Body.

Oh yes, and she is also a werewolf, and the tattoo on her back is representative of her royal bloodline and position as the head of the pack tribe. As such, a heiress must also be a werewolf that has the most ‘approved’ traits listed on the challenge. That means someone who might become heiress can also be knocked from their rank by a younger sibling that is more worthy than the previous.

But moving on, no tribe would be complete without at least one male slave to do all of the dirty work so our Warrior Princess Queen never has to lift a finger to do literally anything, lol.

Xena: Hello, I am interested in speaking to your owner. Is she around?

Thornton: I’m sorry... my what? Xena: Oh, nevermind. I don’t know why I bother to speak to the help anyway, you all end up having a lower IQ than a bloody moth.

Xena: Hello, I am interested in procuring your male servant for the purposes of furthering the betterment of my Amazonian Tribe. Morgana: You... mean my husband? Xena: If that’s what you kids call slaves now a days, sure.

Morgana: Wait, so you mean to tell me that you would take my annoying husband off my hands and leave me with his immense fortune? Yeah, yeah... I can picture that happening.

Morgana: Yup, actually that sounds absolutely perfect. Have at it, and tell him to not bother saying goodbye because he was nothing more than a sugar daddy anyway. Xena: Lovely. Pleasure doing business with you.

Xena: Alright, Daor, now that I’ve shaved those awful sideburns off your face and put you in an outfit more fit for a slave, I now require you to build me an abode. Get to it! Daor: Wait, what? Daor? My name is-- Xena: I’m sorry, did I stutter? I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, now do what I say before I decide you’re not worth my effort and procure a different slave!

Don’t get too attached to this shit - I end up moving them to a different town eventually since originally I wanted them in isla paradiso but my game was acting weird. I eventually fixed the issue though, but we’ll get to that later.

Since I don’t allow my Tribe Leader to work because honestly, a Queen should never have to work a day in their lives lmao, and since slaves can’t work either, they’re pretty effing poor and I make Daor collect shit on the regular just so they can make a little bit of money, haha.

He seems to enjoy it though. Ah, the simple pleasures in life.

Xena found a friend as well! I decided he is now the tribe’s mascot and named him Guapo, lol.

Daor is working on his gardening skills as well because, again, they are poor as fucking dirt.

He also fishes, but he kinda sucks at it. I mean honestly, how is that tiny thing supposed to feed anyone? Ugh. Men.

Anyway, an Amazonian Tribe isn’t complete without more women, so I sent Xena out to scour the town for their first recruit, who ended up being easily impressed, a natural cook, ambitious, and a daredevil who had commitment issues.

Xena: Hello there, you look utterly helpless and in need of a direction in life. May I interest you in joining my Amazonian tribe? Lesbianism is not required but heavily encouraged - just not with me because let’s face it, I’m way out of your league right now it’s not even funny.

Random Woman: Oh wow, I’m super flattered; I’ve never been a lesbian before! By the way, my name is– Xena: Why do people keep trying to tell me their names? No, I don’t care. Your name is Euryleia now. Learn to love it, because I don’t have time to listen to incessant whining over tribal names.

Xena: By the way, you’re going to have fix... all of that if you ever plan to move up in rank. We are vain by nature, or maybe I’m just a superficial bitch by nature, but either way. You’re going to have to go get yourself a job though, because we can’t afford your damn gym membership right now.

Euryleia: I will go get a job right away then, Mistress! Xena: Good. I like people who can take direction. Also people who call me mistress. That will be allowed to continue, by the way.

So Euryleia went out and got herself a part time job, as that is all that is allowed at her rank. The money is still shit, but at least it’s better than nothing.

He is literally the worst slave ever, lol.

As punishment for burning the food, I made a starving Daor stand way in the back and watch everyone else eat the food that he finally managed to make halfway decent.

Xena: You know what would be better than this place? An island. Euryleia: I agr-- Xena: I’m sorry, did I say I was asking for opinions? I’m just musing right now, so eat your food and stay silent.

I took pity on Daor and let him eat a mushroom, even though he looks like he’s trying to smoke it, haha.

The next day the two Amazons hit the gym so Xena could work on her LTW and Euryleia could attempt to lose a little bit of weight so she could move up in rank at some point.

Xena: Oh stop whining, it’s not that difficult! Euryleia: But Mistress, my legs are not cooperating!

Who the fuck just leaves their newborn baby on the floor of the gym?

Xena: Actually, that’s not a bad id--

No, that is not how you’re going to get rid of your male children. Hush.

GUYS GUYS IT LOOKS LIKE ARGO! (people who have never seen xena are probably like wtf are you on about but trust me this is awesome, lol)

Xena: So I’ve been thinking about moving somewhere with some sun 24/7. Thoughts?

Euryleia: Oh yes, Mistress, I adore sun!

Xena: Good, cause honestly the thought of having to buy you all outerwear so you can survive the winter didn’t sound like a fun idea to me. We leave in the morning.

Yeah, I put a lot more effort into this lot. I won’t show you the insides of the houses though, as I totally prioritized the outside over the inside right now, lol. Everything is pretty bare and minimal.

Guapo finally got a cage though!

And Daor gets... a tent. Lmao.

Xena: I have to say, Euryleia, I commend you on your progress. You have lost a significant amount of weight and as I am a vain asshole, this is something I care greatly about because I only give a shit about people’s appearances and not who they are on the inside.

Euryleia: Oh thank you, Mistress, I am flattered! Does that mean you might consider me as a potential mate or, better yet, an occasional fuck buddy because commitment is for old people and religious folk? Xena: ...Don’t push it.

DAOR HOW ARE YOU THIS FUCKING USELESS JFC

At least Xena’s brave enough to put it out.

Xena: That’s right, I’m just your everyday hero. With fantastic guns.

Xena: I am so sick of you! One more misstep and I will drown you in the sacrificial well! Daor: But... we don’t have a sacrificial well. Xena: I. Will. Build. One. Daor: *gulps*

If we could ever afford it, anyway.

Moving on though, another thing that a tribe needs is heirs, and for that we need a disposable piece of man meat.

Xena: You look like you have decent enough genes, how would you feel about a one night stand to get me pregnant with a female heiress for my Amazon tribe that you would have zero commitment in raising?

Harley: No strings attached sex? I’m in!

Xena: Good, I like men that are compliant. Meet me at your house in an hour.

Lol this house screams dude bro.

After their rough and tumble in bed, I sent Xena off to hunt as a werewolf because honestly, they’re still poor as hell and need stuff to sell, lol.

She didn’t find anything though, so I decided maybe the scuba skill might help. However somethings weird with my game and I realized that even with a high enough skill she can’t go actual scuba diving as all my community lots just say ‘community lots’ without names for some reason? If anyone knows how to fix it, help would be appreciated. Also some of the unoccupied houses say community lots too. Idk wtf is up but I’m sure its some kind of mod conflict *sigh*

...Appetizing. On the plus side though, a baby is on the horizon!

Euryleia: Oh Mistress, our first tribe daughter, I’m so excited! I’ll start preparing right away for her birth!

Euryleia desperately needs to move up in rank, so I sent her to the library to learn some skills so she could end up being a Provider instead.

Euryleia: Mistress! Since you and I are now friendly and I have enough skills and the personality to become a Provider for this noble tribe, I was wondering if you could promote me? If you do, I’ll be sure to get a career ASAP so we can start making some real money in preparation for the baby!

Xena: ‘Money’ is the magic word, Euryleia. You have my permission.

So Euryleia went downtown and got herself a job in the Culinary Career, since Daor sucks at making food anyway so it’d be good they got someone else to do that chore, lmao.

Xena: Good lord, it feels like my insides are being torn to shreds!

Xena: Wtf? This isn’t what I ordered!

How disappointing, lol. This is Aeolus though, and his traits are easily impressed and excitable. Don’t get too attached.

Xena: Harley? Get the fuck down here, we have a problem. Also bring some tools; I’m going to need you to help my slave build a sacrificial well.

Euryleia: Mistress, I know you aren’t fond of boys, but maybe we shouldn’t... you know, kill it? It’s still a baby, after all. And Harley still has decent genes, so maybe you should give him another chance? You could still get a beautiful girl out of him and if you don’t...

Xena: If I don’t, then I kill them! Euryleia: I meant maybe you could just banish all of them from the tribe, but I of course will not argue with your judgement, oh divine one.

Xena: That’s right, I am your God. Worship me.

Xena: Alright look, you fucked up. You fucked up royally. BUT you still have decent genes, so I’m going to give you another chance to give me a baby girl.

Xena: Because if you do not, I will drown you in the sacrificial well I will soon have built and all your sons go into slavery. Understood?

Harley: But... what happened to no strings attached? Xena: That was if you managed to give me a girl, which you did not. Now, you are in charge of that disgusting thing inside and will live here as a slave until I bear my next child. If it’s a girl, you and your son go free. If not... well, I already covered that.

Xena: Now, get the fuck inside and impregnate me the proper way before my patience runs out.

Will their next child be a girl, or will Harley’s lifespan be shorter than expected? Stay tuned to find out!

#the sims 3 #ts3 #legacy challenge #amazon challenge #simblr #legacy: soturi

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ntrending · 7 years

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This terrifyingly tentacled moth reminds us that nature is freakier than any nightmare

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/this-terrifyingly-tentacled-moth-reminds-us-that-nature-is-freakier-than-any-nightmare/

This terrifyingly tentacled moth reminds us that nature is freakier than any nightmare

As I attempted to enjoy some homemade tomato soup on Sunday evening, Popular Science Editor in Chief Joe Brown derailed my chill by sending me a video on Facebook. This video:

My friends, I am generally fascinated by the range of strangeness that mother nature puts on display. But I have to admit that I kind of hoped this clip would turn out to be some kind of hoax. It was just too freaky. The way that caterpillar-y butt looks too bulbous and heavy for the delicate moth body it sits atop. The sheer length of the four (count them, four) tentacles affixed at the end. The way those tentacles wiggled and writhed. The fact that they were hairy. It was simply too much.

Alas, a quick Google search identified this very real animal as Creatonotos gangis, a moth found in Southeast Asia and Australia. Those furiously freaky tendrils are actually scent organs. The so-called coremata (also known as hair-pencils, which, ew) excrete pheromones, those scented hormones that many animals use to trigger certain behaviors in their fellow critters. The male, guided by the smell of a female’s own hormones, will unleash his hair-pencils (they’re usually stuffed inside the abdomen, which is somehow worse?) and flood the air with his own smelly signals. So, so romantic.

For those of us who aren’t from Australia, also known as the island-of-horrible-things-that-evolved-to-scare-and-kill-you, Creatonotos gangis seems so strange as to be impossible. But just as these moths are unfortunately real, many other seemingly absurd creatures prove that evolution can go to some dark, dark places. Here are a few other examples:

Goblin sharks, ghost sharks, etc.

You know how the alien in Alien has a jaw-within-a-jaw that pops out to attack its prey? Well, the goblin shark does that, too.

The goblin shark is in the realm of animals that are periodically rediscovered by Twitter. And every time these swimmers make the rounds, the uninitiated gape in disbelief. Because, I mean, yeah. What the hell?

See also: the ghost shark, which honestly looks like the result of an extremely amateur puppet-maker being told to whip up a shark that could appear in a Tim Burton film.

Deep sea sharks: they’re usually too fake looking to be fake.

The so-called blue dragon is oft shared as an example of a “real life Pokemon,” and we can’t argue with that assessment. This nudibranch (side note: we highly recommend checking out nudibranchs in general) floats on its back at the surface, held aloft by an internal air bubble. Also, it’s incredibly dangerous! According to PBS, Glaucus atlanticus loves to snack on the Portuguese Man O’ War. The Man O’ War looks like a jellyfish, but it’s actually a siphonophore. Which makes this kind of a two-for-one deal, because siphonophores are also way too weird to be believed. These creatures exist as a kind of floating colony; born as single embryos, they grow not by elongating their limbs but by budding entirely new beings called zooids, each with its own purpose. It’s as if a baby grew bigger by sprouting new heads and feet and butts as needed. Anyway, some of those zooids contain powerful stingers, and Glaucus atlanticus apparently finds them delicious. It can store the venomous power of those buds inside its own appendages, allowing it to sting any threatening parties it encounters.

Penis snake

Atretochoana eiselti is a limbless amphibian that looks a lot like a penis. A lot of animals look a lot like penises. You might think it would be impossible for so many living creatures to go about life looking so very much like human genitalia, but you’d be wrong!

Is it a bird or a bug? Sphingidae are commonly known as hawk moths, because, well, duh. They look like lil baby birbs. The hummingbird hawk-moth is especially uncanny, especially when it hovers in place before flowers all hummingbird-like. But this is actually a case of convergent evolution; that method of hover-flight was so nice, evolution did it twice (or four times, actually—hoverflies and some bats do it, too).

Pacu

Okay, so, this is a fish with human teeth. This fish looks photoshopped AF. But I assure you, the pacu is perfectly real. They’re related to piranha, but come sporting a set of straight, square chompers (and a slight overbite to boot). Pacu frequently make the news with rumors that they enjoy biting human testicles, which is actually just the result of a bad joke someone once made about their preferential diet of floating fruits and nuts. Keep this story in your heart the next time you feel tempted to make a bad pun about genitals. But while the testicle eating part is totally false, the weirdly human-like teeth are unfortunately real.

When photos of the “world’s cutest rodent” circulated, many were quick to determine that the animal was actually made of felt. Which makes sense, because how could anything actually be that cute? Plot twist: the photo showed a fake critter, but the Baluchistan pygmy jerboa is totally real. It is, in fact, the world’s cutest rodent, and we disagree vehemently with anyone who says otherwise. Smol. So, so smol.

Narwhal

The unicorns of the sea are weird looking because of how they are unicorns, in the sea. But they also really exist! For real. What a wonderful world we live in.

These Arctic-dwelling animals can sport spiraled tusks—which are in fact sensitive, enlarged teeth—up to 10 feet long.

Whenever something unusual washes up dead on a beach, the internet likes to buzz about how “mysterious” this “sea monster” is. But they’re usually just your run-of-the-mill dead things. Read more here.

Yes, you know the platypus is real. But 18th-century scientists weren’t so sure. “It naturally excites the idea of some deceptive preparation by artificial means,” English zoologist George Shaw wrote in 1799. Shaw eventually determined that the strange specimen before him was indeed an actual animal, and went on to describe the species for the first time. But you can’t blame him for being unsure: the noble platypus looks like someone sewed a duckbill onto a beaver. It doesn’t even look like a fake animal that anyone put any thought into. It looks like a bad attempt at a mythical creature. Scientists also spent decades debating whether or not the mammals truly laid eggs (though Australian Aboriginals knew this because of how they routinely saw the darn things laying their darn eggs) and the veracity of reports that males packed potent venom.

In short, don’t feel too bad when you find yourself skeptical of an animal that turns out to be a real-life organism just trying to mind its own business. It happens to the best of us.

Written By Rachel Feltman

#Animals

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landofdysforia · 7 years

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meet the admins.

hi there, we are moth & micky, your dutiful admins here to welcome you to our land of dysforia.

meet moth.

i’m moth.

there isn’t really a lot more to say about it. i started creating characters for the worlds in my head ages ago, and in the past have used other websites in order to bring them to life. after a lot of heartbreak over role play groups falling apart (as well as my own personal struggle with keeping up at times) my friend micky has dragged me into the world of tumblr in order to solidify and show you guys what character’s live in our land of dysforia. a lot of our children’s initial concepts and design will come from what we have already created. things will be tweaked here and there, in order to fit with the world that we are building from the ground up, which is something that we have never really done before. some concepts and idea will be taken from animes/mangas/books that micky and i are both fond of, and hopefully you guys are too! i pray that you enjoy this journey with us. just make sure to buckle up, because it’s going to be one hell of a bumpy ride.

meet micky.

hey there, i’m micky.

so alas, it is me that has dragged moth into this mess. greetings. it sounds like moth covered all the bases earlier so i’ll just tell you some stuff about me. i also enjoy making characters to avoid a stressful reality. at the moment, i do not have that many characters but i am positive that as time goes on i will make some more for this detailed world that is in the making. i am so excited to share this world we have made and this side of us with all of you (whoever you are). be prepared for a lot of screw ups as we have no idea what we are doing but i hope you stick around to see what this will turn into. welcome friends!

#the admins #welcome ladies and lads #land of dysforia

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 4 years

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Buying The Truth

a Sermon delivered by Charles H. Spurgeon

“Buy the truth, and sell it not.” – Proverbs 23:23

John Bunyan pictures the pilgrims as passing at one time through Vanity Fair, and in Vanity Fair there were to be found all kinds of merchandise, consisting of the pomps and vanities, the lusts and pleasures of this present life and of the flesh. Now all the dealers, when they saw these strange pilgrims come into the fair began to cry, as shopmen will do, “Buy, buy, buy–buy this, and buy that.” There were the priests in the Italian row with their crucifixes and their beads. There were those in the German row with their philosophies and their metaphysics. There were those in the French row with their fashions and with their prettinesses. But the one answer that the pilgrims gave to all the dealers was this–they looked up and they said, “We buy the truth; we buy the truth,” and they would have gone on their way if the men of the Fair had not laid them by the heels in the cage, and kept them there, one to go to heaven in a chariot of fire, and the other afterwards to pursue his journey alone. This is very much the description of the genuine Christian at all times. He is surrounded by vendors of all sorts of things, beautifully got up and looking exceedingly like the true article, and the only way in which he will be able to pass through Vanity Fair safely is to keep to this, that he buys the truth, and if he adds to that the second advice of the text, and never sells it, he will, under divine guidance, find his way rightly to the skies. “Buy the truth, and sell it not.”

Is not the parable we have just read a sort of enlargement of our text? When the merchantman all over the world had travelled to find out some pearl that should have no flaw, some diamond of the purest water fit to glisten in the crown of royalty, at last in his researches, he met with a gem the like of which he had never seen before, and, knowing that here was wealth for him, in the joy of his discovery, he sold all that he had that he might buy that pearl. Even so, the text seems to tell us, that truth is the one pearl beneath the skies that is worth having, and whatever else we buy not, we must buy the truth, and whatever else we may have to sell, yet we must never sell the truth, but hold it fast as a treasure that will last us when gold has cankered, and silver has rusted, and the moth has eaten up all goodly garments, and when all the riches of men have gone like a puff of smoke, or melted in the heat of the judgment day like the dew in the beams of the morning sun. Buy the truth. Here is the treasure. Cost it what it may, buy you it. Here is the piece of merchandise which you must buy, but must not sell. You may give all for it, but you may take nothing in exchange for it, since there is nothing that can be likened unto it.

With this as a preface, let us now come straight up to the text, and we shall notice:–

I. THE COMMODITY THAT IS SPOKEN OF.

“Buy the truth.” I shall not speak tonight of those common forms of truth that relate to politics, to history, to science, or to ordinary life, yet would I say of all these–buy the truth. Never be afraid of the truth. Never be afraid in anything of having your prejudices knocked on the head. Always be determined, come what may, even though truth should prove you to be a fool, yet to accept the truth, and though it should cost you dear, yet still to pursue it, for in the long run they who build mere speculations, fancies, and errors, though they may seem to build suitable structures for the time, shall find that they are wood, hay, and stubble, and shall be consumed; but he that keeps to what he knows, to matters of fact, and matters of truth, builds gold, silver, and precious stones, which the trying fire of the coming ages shall not be able to destroy. I would sooner discover one fact, and lay down one certain truth, than be the author of ten thousand theories, even though these theories should for a while rule all the thought of mankind.

But I speak now of religious truth. Buy that truth; buy that truth above all others. And here we must have three heads. First, in the matter of doctrinal truth, buy the truth. Holy Scripture is the standard of truth. To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no truth in them. “Thy word is truth.” Here is silver tried in the furnace and purified seven times. Speak of Infallibility? It is not at Rome, but it is here in this Book. Here is an infallible witness to the truth of God, and he that is taught of the Holy Spirit to understand it gets at the truth. Now, dear brethren, do aim to get the right truth, the real truth, as to matters of doctrine. Count it not a trifle to be sound in the faith. Think no error to be harmless, for truth is very precious, and error, even when we do not see it to be so, may lead to the most solemn consequences of mischief. In this world we see too much of salvation without Christ–I mean we meet with many who believe that they are saved because they have been baptized, or confirmed, or passed through the ceremonies of the church to which they belong. They have not looked to the precious blood; they are not depending simply upon the finished work of the Redeemer, but something else than Christ has become their confidence. Now, avoid that, and buy the truth, which lies here, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” We hear too much nowadays of regeneration without faith–the supposed regeneration of unconscious babes, the new birth of people through drops of water, when they are not able to understand what is performed upon them. I beseech you believe that there is no new birth where there is not a confidence in Christ, and that the regeneration which does not lead to repentance and faith, which is not, indeed, immediately attended therewith, is no regeneration whatever. Buy the truth in this matter. Stand to it that it is the work of the Holy Spirit in rational and intelligent beings, leading them to hate sin, and to lay hold of eternal life. Alas! we have in some quarters too much of faith is trusted in, which is not practical. Men say they believe, but they do not prove it by their lives. They remain in sin, and yet wrap themselves up in the belief that they are God’s chosen ones. From such turn away, and remember that a faith without works is dead, and only the faith that changes the character, sanctifies the life, and leads the man to God, is the faith which will save the soul. We must see to it that in our doctrine we bow our judgment to the teachings of Scripture, and try to be conformed to all the revelation of God, and especially to all the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ. May we not fall into one error or another. Scylla is there and Charybdis is there, and he is a happy helmsman who can steer between the two. You shall fall into this ism or into that, unless you keep to the truth. Never mind whether you can make the truth always consistent to your own judgment or not. If it is the truth, believe it; and though it should seem to contradict another truth, yet hold to it, if it is in the Word, waiting till clearer light shall reveal to you that all these truths stood in a wonderful harmony and consistency which, at first, you could not perceive. In doctrine, buy the truth.

But, secondly, buy experimental truth. I know not another word to use; I mean truth within, the truth experienced. See that this be real truth. How easy it is to be deceived with the notion that we are converted when we still need to be converted; to fancy that, because we have the approbation of our minister and of our Christian friends, we must, therefore, necessarily be the people of God. There is only one true new birth, but there are fifty counterfeits of it. In this respect, then, buy the truth. Let me have you beware of an experience which has a faith in it that was never attended with repentance. I am afraid of a dry-eyed faith. That faith seems to me to be the faith of God’s elect, whose eyes are full of tears. If thou hast never felt thyself a sinner, never trembled under the law of God, never felt that thou hast deserved to be cast into hell, I am afraid thy faith is a mere presumption, and not the faith that looks to Christ. Beware of an experience that lies in talk, and not in feeling. Mr. Talkative, in Bunyan’s Pilgrim could speak very glibly about religion; no man more so than he; he was fit to take the chair in an assembly of divines; but it was not heart-work; it was all surface-work. Plough deep, my brethren. Feel what you believe. Let it be with you real homework, soul-work, the work of God the Holy Ghost–not a temporary excitement, not head-knowledge, not theory. May the truth be burned into your souls by the operation of the Holy Ghost. In this respect, buy the truth. Alas! we see nowadays in many professors a great deal of life without struggle, and I think I have learned that all spiritual life that is not attended with struggles in a mistake, for Isaac, the child of the promise, is sure to be mocked by Ishmael. No sooner does the seed of the woman come into the world than the seed of the serpent tries to destroy it. You must, and will, find a battle going on within you if you are a believer. Sin will contest it with grace, and grace will seek to reign over sinful corruptions. Be afraid of too easy an experience. “Moab is at ease from his youth; he hath not been emptied from vessel to vessel; for the time cometh when the Lord will search Jerusalem with candles, and punish the men that are settled upon their lees.” There must be strivings within, or we may well beware of such an experience. And I think I have noticed a growing feeling abroad of confidence without self-examination. I would have you hold to believe God’s Word, but do not take your own state at haphazard. Do not conclude that you are a Christian because you thought you were ten years ago. Day by day bring yourself to the touchstone. He that cannot bear examination will have to bear condemnation. He that dare not search himself will find that God will search him. He that is afraid to look himself in the face has need to be afraid to look the Judge in the face when the great white throne shall be placed, and all the world summoned to judgment. Confidence is quite consistent with self-examination, and I pray you in this thing buy the truth, and seek to have a religion that will bear the test–a true faith, a living faith, a faith that moves your soul, a deep-rooted faith, a faith which is the supernatural work of the Holy Ghost, for the time cometh when, as the Lord liveth, nothing short of this will stand you in good stead.

Again, I spoke of three sorts of truth–doctrinal truth, experimental truth, and now practical truth. By practical truth I mean our actions being consistent, and those of a right and straightforward course. In this matter, buy the truth. You profess to be a Christian: be a Christian. You say that you are a follower of Christ: follow him, then. You know it is right to be a man of integrity and uprightness: be so. Let no dirty tricks of trade, let no meannesses, let none of those white lies which degrade commerce nowadays, ever come across your path, except to be reprobated and abhorred. Walk straight forward. Learn not to tack. Do not wish to understand policy, and craft, and cunning. Buy the truth. It will shame the world yet. He that speaks out his mind, says what he means, and means what he says, does the just thing, does the right thing, fears no man, and lifts his head boldly in the face of all creation if it dares to whisper that it will enrich him by his doing wrong–that is the man that buys the truth practically. You know how it can be carried out in commerce readily enough, in the parlour, in the drawing-room, and in the kitchen. There is a truthful way for a shoe-black to black shoes in the street, and there is a lying way of doing it. There is a truthful way of doing the commonest actions, and there is a false method of doing the very self-same thing. In this respect, then, buy the truth, as to the straightforwardness, the clean, sharp transparency of your moral character and of your Christian conduct. Never seem to be what you are not, or if you must for a while be in that position, count that you are unfortunate, and escape from it as soon as you can. Never do what you are ashamed of; it matters not who sees. Think always that God sees, and with God for a witness you have enough of observers. Only do that which you would have done if all eyes were fixed on you, and you were observed even of your most cruel critics. Never stifle conscience. Carry out your convictions. If the skies fall, stand upright. What God’s Holy Spirit tells you, that do. What you find in this Book, carry out. If you bring any mischief to other people through it, that is their business. If I keep on the right side of the road, and run over anybody–that is his fault; he should have kept out of the way. I would not run over him if I could help it, but I cannot turn aside from the right road. Stand in your place. Let malignant eyes look at you, but, like the sun, shine on, and if others envy you, yet fret not because of them, neither be you grieved to act the truth, but in this respect again fulfil the text and “buy the truth.”

So have I shown you what the commodity is–doctrinally, experimentally, and practically. “Buy the truth.” Now let us come and think specially to the first part of the text.

II. HOW THIS COMMODITY IS OBTAINED.

“Buy the truth.” Let us correct an error here. Some might suppose that Christ, and the gospel, and salvation–all of which are included in the truth–can be bought. They can, but they cannot. They can in the sense of the text; they cannot in any other sense. You cannot purchase salvation; merit cannot win it. Christ’s price is, “Without money and without price.” Has not the prophet so worded it? “Yea, come, buy wine and milk, without money and without price.” Salvation is of free grace, and is from the very necessity of its nature, gratis. You cannot merit it; you cannot earn it. It is not of the will of man, nor of blood, nor of birth, but “he will have mercy on whom he will have mercy, and he will have compassion on whom he will have compassion.”

What, then, does the text mean? I will try to expound the Word. It means, first, to be saved, give up everything that must be given up, in order to your receiving the free salvation. Every sin must be given up. No man shall go to heaven while he lives in, and favours any one, sin. A man may sin and be saved, but he cannot love sin and be saved. Give up, then, thy drunkenness, if that be thy sin. Give up, then, thine unchaste living, if that be thy sin. Conquer that angry temper, that love of greed–whatever it is that keeps thee back from Christ. Buy the truth, and give up these. Thou wilt not merit salvation then; but if this must be given up, let it not stand in thy way. Give it up, man! Since thou canst not have thy sin and have Christ too, get a divorce from thy sin and take holiness, and take the Saviour. Thou must also give up all thy self-righteousness. Some are trusting in their prayers, some are trusting in their tears, their repentances, their feelings, their church-goings, their chapel-goings, and I know not what men will not trust in. Give them all up. They are all lies together. There is no reliance to be placed on anything you can do. Come and trust what Christ has done, and if it be, as it certainly is, needful for you to give up your own righteousness to win Christ and be found in him, then do it, and in this sense part with all you have that you may buy Christ. Yourself, your sinful self, and your righteous self–oh! that you might be willing to part with both, that you might buy the true salvation!

And the text means this, again, that if, in order to be saved, it should cost you a deep experience and much pain, yet never mind it. It is better that you should bear all that and get the truth, than that you should escape without this heart-searching work, and be deceived at the last. If the price at which you shall have a true experience is that of sorrow, buy the truth at that price. Be willing to let the doctor’s lancet wound you, if thereby he shall heal you. Be willing to lose the right eye or the right hand, if thereby you shall enter into life eternal.

It also means this–buy the truth; that is, be willing at all risks to hold to the truth. Buy it as the martyrs did when they gave their bodies to be burned for it. Buy it as many have done when they have gone to prison for it. Buy it if you should lose your situation for it. Lose your situation sooner than tell a lie. Like the three holy children, be rather willing to go into the fiery furnace, than to worship the image which Nebuchadnezzar has set up. Run the risk of being poor. Do not believe, as all the world says, that you must live. There is no absolute necessity for it. Sometimes it is a grander thing to die. Let the necessity be, “We must be honest; we must do the right; we must serve God,” for that is a far greater necessity than that of merely living. Count all things but dross that you may be a true man, a godly man, a holy man, a Christly man, and in this sense make sacrifice of all, and thus “buy the truth.”

I think that is what the word means. I expound it to mean this–give anything and everything, sooner than part with Christ, part with the living work of grace in your heart, or part with the integrity of your conduct. And now let me:–

III. PARAPHRASE THESE WORDS.

“Buy the truth.” Then I say, buy only the truth. Do not be throwing away your life, and your abilities, and your zeal, and your earnestness, for a lie. Some are doing it. Thousands of pounds are given to erect edifices for doing mischief. Multitudes of sermons are preached, very zealously, to propagate falsehoods, and sea and land are compassed to make proselytes, who shall be ten times more children of hell than they were before. Buy only the truth. Do not buy the glittering stuff they call truth. Never mind the label; look to see if it be truth. Bring everything that is propounded as truth to the test, to the trial. If it will not stand the fire of God’s Word, then do not buy it; nay, do not have it as a gift; nay, do not keep it in the house. Run away from it. It doth eat as doth a canker; let it not come near you. Buy only the truth.

“Buy the truth” at any price, and sell it at no price. Buy it at any price. If you lose your body for it, if you lose not your soul, you have made a good bargain. If you lose your estate for it, yet if you have heaven in return, how blessed the exchange! You certainly will not need for it to lose your peace of mind, but you may lose everything else, and you shall make a good bargain. Come to no terms with Christ. Throw all into the soul-bargain. Let all go, as long as you may but have truth in the doctrine, truth in the heart, and truth in the life, and Christ, who is the Truth, to be your treasure for ever.

Buy all the truth. When you come to the Bible, do not pick and choose. Do not try to believe half of it, and leave out the other half. Buy the truth–that is, not a section of it that suits your particular idiosyncrasy, but buy the whole. Why need you break up pearls and dissolve them? Buy all that is true. One doctrine of God’s Word balances another. He who is altogether and only a Calvinist probably only knows half the truth, but he who is willing to take the other side, as far as it is true, and to believe all he finds in the Word, will get the whole pearl.

Buy now the truth–buy tonight the truth. It may not be for you to buy tomorrow. You may be in that land where God hath cast for ever the lost soul away from all access to the truth, where truth’s shadow, cold and chill, shall fall upon you, and you, in outer darkness, shall weep and wail, and gnash your teeth, because you shut out truth from you, and now truth has shut you out, and all your knockings at her door shall be answered with the dolorous cry, “Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!”

Thus I have paraphrased the text. Buy only the truth; buy all the truth; buy at any price the truth; and buy now the truth. Briefly let me give you:–

IV. THE REASONS FOR THIS PURCHASE.

You want the truth, and you will never be received by God at last unless you bring the truth in your right hand. Only the truthful can enter those gates of pearl. You want the truth now. You are not fit to live any more than to die without an interest in the truth as it is in Jesus. Accept Christ to be truly yours, so truly yours as to make you true. You know not how to fight the battle of life at all without the truth. Your life will be a blunder, and the close of it will be a disaster, except you buy the truth. God grant that you may buy the truth now. You need it. You need it now, and you will for ever need it. Oh! I would to God that that hymn we sang should not merely be heard by you, but felt by you:–

“Hasten, sinner, to be wise, And stay not for the morrow’s sun.”

Oh! that fatal “tomorrow”! Over the cliffs of “tomorrow” millions have fallen to their ruin. Tomorrow, ay, tomorrow! Here are these put-offs, and these delays, and yet God has never given you a promise of mercy tomorrow. His word is “Today, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” A better day shall never come than this day. Oh! that you would accept it now.

“If you tarry till you’re better, You will never come at all.”

And till times are more propitious, if you wait, you will wait on for ever and for aye. God grant you may buy the truth now, for the text is in the present tense, for now you need it. Let me direct you to:–

V. THE MARKET WHERE YOU CAN BUY IT.

These are the words of Jesus Christ when he appeared to his servant John, “I counsel thee, buy of me,” said he. There is no place where truth can be found in its power and life, except in Jesus Christ. Truth is in his blood; it will wash away what is false in you. Truth is in his Spirit; it will eradicate what is dark and vile in you. His love will make you true by conforming you to himself. Come to Christ. Bring nothing with you. Come as you are, empty-handed, penniless, and poor. The rills of milk and wells of wine are all with him. He is the banquet-giver, and the banquet too. To trust him is to live. To look to him alone for salvation is to find salvation in that look. Oh! that these simple words might point someone to the place where he shall buy the truth! And now let me repeat my text again, “Buy the truth.”

Do not misread it. It does not say hear about the truth. That is a good thing, but hearing is not buying, as many of you tradesmen know to your cost. You may tell people where to go, but you do not want them merely to hear; you are not content with that; you want them to buy. Oh! that some of you, my hearers, would become buyers of the truth! I know some of you. I happen to look about, and find out here and there one–some of you, whom I know, and respect, and esteem, and pray for I had thought that you would have bought the truth long ago, and it often staggers me why you have not. Oh! that you were decided for God! I am afraid I am preaching some of you into a hardened state. If the gospel does not save you, it will certainly be a curse to you, and I am afraid it is being so to some of you. Do think of this, I pray you! Why should you and I have the misery of doing each other hurt when our intention is on both sides, I am sure, to do that which is kind and good? Oh! yield you to my Master. The Light of the World is with his hand at your door knocking tonight softly. Do you not hear the knock of the hand that was pierced? Admit him! He comes not in wrath; he comes in mercy. Admit him! He has tarried long, even these many years, but no frown is yet upon his brow. Rise now and let him in. Be not ashamed. Though ashamed, be not afraid, but let him in, and blushing, with tears in your face, say to him, “My Lord, I will trust thee; worthless worm as I am, I will depend upon thee.” Oh! that you would do it now, this moment! The Lord give you grace to do it! Do not hear about it only, but buy the truth.

Do not merely commend the truth by saying, “The preacher spoke well, and he spoke earnestly, and I love what he said.” The preacher had almost rather that you said nothing than that, if you do not buy the truth. How it provokes the salesman when a customer says, “Yes, it is a beautiful article, and very cheap, and just what I want,” and then walks out of the shop. Nay, buy the truth, and you shall commend it better afterwards, and your commendation shall be worth the hearing.

And, I pray you, do not stand content with merely knowing about the truth. Oh! how much some of you know. How much more you know than even some of God’s people. You could correct many of my blunders. But ah! he that knows is nowhere unless he also has. To know about bread will not stay my hunger; to know that there are riches at the bank will not fill my pocket. Buy the truth, as well as know it; that is, make it your own.

And do not, I pray you, intend to buy it. Oh! intentions, intentions, intentions! The road to hell–not hell–that is a mistake of the proverb–the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Oh! ye laggards, pull up the paving-stones and hurl them at the devil’s head. He is ruining you; he is decoying you to your destruction. Turn your intentions into actions, and no longer intend to buy, but buy the truth.

And do not tonight wish that the truth were yours, but buy it. You say the cost is too great. Too great? It is nothing. It is “without money and without price.” Do you mean, however, to say, that it is too great a cost to give up a sin? What, will you burn in hell rather than give up a lust? Will you dwell in everlasting burnings for ever, sooner than give up those cups that intoxicate you? Must you have your silly wantonness, and lascivious mirth, or any kind of sin? Must you have it? Will you sooner have it than heaven? Then, sirs, your blood be on your own heads. You have been warned. I hope you are sober, and have not yet gone to madness, and if you be, you will see that no pleasures of an hour can ever recompense for casting yourselves under the anger of God for ever and for ever. Buy the truth. Do not merely talk about it, and wish for it, but buy, buy the truth. And then, lastly:

VI. A WARNING AS TO LOSING THE PURCHASE.

“Sell it not.” My time has gone, and therefore, as I never like to exceed it, there shall be but these few words. When you have once got the truth, I know you will not sell it. You will not, I am sure, at any price; but the exhortation, nevertheless, is a most proper one. There have been some who have sold the truth to be respectable. They used to hear the gospel, but now they have got on in the world, and keep a carriage, and they do not like to go where there are so many poor people, so away they go where they can hear anything or nothing, so that they may be respectable. Ah! I have the uttermost contempt for this affectation of gentility and respectability that leads men to be so mean as to forsake their Christian friends. Let them go; they are best gone. Such chaff had better not be with the wheat, and those that can be actuated by such motives are too base to be worth retaining.

Some sell the truth for a livelihood. I pity these far more. “I must have a situation; therefore, I must do what I am told there; I must break this law of God and that, for I must keep my family.” Ah! poor soul, I pity thine unfortunate position, but I pray that thou mayest have grace even now to play the man, and never sell the truth, even for bread.

Some sell the truth for the pleasures of the world. They must have enjoyment, they say, and so they will mingle with the multitude that do evil, and give up their Christian profession.

Others seem to sell the truth for nothing at all. They merely go away from Christ because religion has grown stale with them. They are weary of it, and they go away. I shall put the question painfully to all, Will ye also go away? Will ye to be respectable, will ye to have a livelihood, will ye to have the pleasures of sin for a season, will ye out of sheer weariness–will ye go away? Nay, we can add:–

“What anguish has that question stirred, If I will also go! Yet, Lord, relying on thy Word, I humbly answer, No.”

Sell it not; sell it not; it cost Christ too dear. Sell it not; you made a good bargain when you bought it. Sell it not. Sell it not; it has not disappointed you; it has satisfied you, and made you blessed. Sell it not; you want it. Sell it not; you will want it. The hour of death is coming on, and the day of judgment is close upon its heels. Sell it not; you cannot buy its like again; you can never find a better. Sell it not; you are a lost man if you part with it. Remember Esau, and the morsel of meat, and how he would again have found his birthright if he could. Remember Demas; remember Judas, the son of perdition. You are lost without it. It is your life. Skin for skin, yea all that you possess, part with for it, and be resolved, come fair or come foul, come storm or come calm, come sickness or come health, come poverty or come wealth, come death itself in the grimmest form, yet none shall separate you from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus your Lord, and none shall make you part from the truths you have learned and received from his Word, the truths you have felt and have had wrought into your soul by his Spirit, and the truths which in action you desire should tone and colour all your life.

God bless you, dear friends, and keep you, and when the Great Shepherd shall appear may you have the mark of truth upon you, and appear with him in glory.

#Charles Haddon Spurgeon #Buying the Truth #Proverbs 23:23

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