#and i lost my mind drawing that bike. so you have to see it.

[im-still-a-robot]

The drift king and sailor asteroid

[jobean12-blog]

That's the Way Love Grows

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Beefy!Plant dad!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,687

Summary: You and Bucky have your first official date this weekend but he can't wait to see you so he shows up at your apartment on his bike...a dream come true.

Author's Note: Missed him so I wanted to write a little something with plant!dad Bucky again! Hope you all enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰 You can see the shirt he is wearing HERE.

This is part of my plant!dad Bucky AU. It can be read alone but here are the first two stories for him:

Rooted in Love

Love in Bloom

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff and plant talk

‘Hey doll face. What are you doin’ right now?’

The moment you see his name your whole face lights up just like the screen of your phone.

‘Just being lazy.’  You reply and send him silly emoji’s to go along with your text.

‘Well….’

The next message comes through and you wait, staring at the text bubbles for what feels like an eternity.

‘I’m outside your building.’

You drop your phone and run to the window, pushing the curtain aside and looking through the glass.

He’s leaning against his motorcycle, long legs crossed over the ankle and his leather jacket pulled tightly around his biceps.

His fingers twinkle with a wave.

You open the window.

“You wanna go for a ride?” he yells up.

You stare at him for a beat, trying to sear the image into your brain and then answer back with, “yeah I do!”

You don’t even have to think twice about it.  

He whoops and throws a fist in the air.

“Make sure you wear jeans and a jacket doll.”

A few minutes later you appear at the double doors of your apartment building. Bucky rushes over and pulls one open, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you.

“You look gorgeous.”

Your thank you is lost when he steps into your space and drags you into his chest, kissing you hard and fast.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he pulls away.

“For what,” you whisper, leaning into him.

You toy with the zipper of his leather jacket and then slowly pull it down, spreading the sides open to look at his shirt.

“I had to see if you had another funny plant shirt on,” you giggle.

You smooth your hands over his chest, mostly just so you can feel the hard muscle beneath, but also so you can read the print on the fabric better.

“Things I do in my spare time…” you start. “Water plants,” and you press your finger to the first picture of a potted plant on his shirt. “Repot plants, propagate plants, buy plants, rearrange plants…” Each time you read it’s with a press of your finger and as you get closer to his abs he starts to laugh.

“I’m kinda ticklish,” he admits.

You pay him no mind and take extra care to wiggle your finger over the last picture and it’s text.  

“Talk with plants,” you finish with a smile. “That one is my favorite.”

He smirks and slides his arm across your shoulders, walking you toward his bike.

“Speaking of plants…” he hums. “There’s something I…”

As you get closer to the motorcycle you press a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Wait.”

Your words make him swallow hard.

“Our date isn’t until Saturday,” you say quietly. “Are we still on…or?”

His brows draw together and he crushes you against him. “Doll…”

He kisses you again, slow and sweet this time but it steals your breath just the same.

“I know we have our date this weekend, but the moment I left your apartment the other day, all I wanted was to see you again. I couldn’t wait any more. So I thought we could go for a ride.”

His confession makes you melt further into him.

“Ok,” you breathe out. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He takes your hand and pulls you the rest of the way to his bike, holding up a finger as he turns to his saddle bag and opens it.

“I have something for you,” he says.

He takes out a small bag and reaches inside it. When his hand reemerges he’s holding a small potted plant.

Your smile grows as he begins to explain what it is.

“It’s from my jasmine plant. I repotted this piece in one of the cat planters I got from Etsy…thought you would like it.”

He starts to look slightly shy, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as his eyes fall to the plant.

“Bucky,” you squeal. “It’s amazing! And so cute! I love him!”

“Phew,” he laughs. “And don’t worry I can help you take care of him.”

“Ok good, because I know jasmine smells beautiful and I’d love to have one in my apartment.”

With one more quick kiss he places the plant back in the secure bag.

“Should I bring him up?” you ask. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I always carry my smaller plants on my bike. As long as you position and secure them right, it’s fine.”

With a lopsided grin he kisses your cheek then grabs his helmet.

Lifting it up he carefully places it on your head and buckles the chin strap.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he answers. “I won’t go too fast.”

With that he grabs the zipper of your jacket and pulls it up to your chin then throws one leg over his bike with an easy swing.

He holds his hand out to help you on the back and you immediately wrap your arms around his chest and press yourself into his back.

“Hang on,” he says, “and if anything is wrong just give me two squeezes.”

You nod into the soft leather of his jacket and hang on tight.

He revs the engine and pulls away from the curb, being mindful about his speed and remembering that you’re putting full trust in him to keep you safe.

He’s in complete control and the ride is smooth as he traverses the curves of the streets until the Brooklyn Bridge lights up the night sky as it comes into view.

The smell of salty air hits your face as you get nearer to the ocean and when he slows down and rolls into a darkened spot under the bridge you can hear the water break against the rocks.

He shuts the engine and plants his feet on either side of the bike and then reaches down to tap your leg, signaling you to get off.

With careful movements you put one foot on the ground and do an awkward hop to get your other leg up and over the seat without hitting him in the back.

You manage not to hit him but your legs are slightly wobbly, still vibrating from the ride and your knee buckles.

“Eeeek,” you screech, the sound echoing under the bridge and causing some hidden pigeons to squawk and flap away to a safer spot.

Your fists grab handfuls of air but Bucky somehow manages to dive and catch you around the waist with his metal arm.

“You okay?” he asks, his grip tight.

He waits, staring at you with concern in his eyes.

“I’m good,” you say on an exhale.

He relaxes slightly and releases you to adjust the handlebars and put down the kickstand. Once the bike is secured he gets off gracefully and helps you out of his helmet.

You look around and smile. “This is an amazing spot.”

“Isn’t it,” he echoes. “Just lemme get a blanket.”

He opens the saddle bag and sifts through it.

“Can you please check if my plant is ok?” you ask, smiling sweetly when he winks at you.

“Just fine doll,” he tells you after he shines his phone light into the bag. “Now come ‘ere.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to a clearing closer to edge of the water.

“Careful here, watch your step.”

He assures your footing with a firm hand at your back and once you’re settled on the blanket he follows and makes himself comfortable.

“Thank you for comin’ with me tonight doll.”

“Thank you for asking me. It’s beautiful here.”

You look out over the water, the city lights shining like diamonds across the vast blackness and dancing along the small waves.

“Yeah it really is,” he murmurs.

You can feel his eyes on you and realize that he’s complimenting you instead of the stellar view.

A small laugh bubbles up in your chest. “Have you used that move before?”

He drops his chin to his chest and chuckles. “Aw man. I haven’t but it’s that bad huh?”

You run your fingers along a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of his face before tucking it behind his ear.

“Not bad at all. In fact I think you’re really sweet.”

His eyes bore into yours. “I think you’re perfect.”

His hand reaches out to trace your lips, the pad of his thumb rough against their softness and once he’s relished in their flawlessness he slides his hand along your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

The small space between you disappears and you press your lips to his. Your hands weave into his hair and you gasp out his name, the sound igniting him. His tongue slips past your lips but he takes his time, teasing and nipping even as he tastes you.

He pulls you closer, sliding you into his lap and smoothing his free hand up your back.

The shock of bright lights shines through your closed eyelids and you jump in surprise, breaking the kiss. You lay your hand over your squinting eyes as Bucky looks over his shoulder, hissing at the brightness.

The car stops for a moment, the headlights boring into your small hidden space, and then thankfully it turns back to the street and drives off, returning you once again to the quiet of the night and the sounds of the ocean.

Bucky turns back to you, your eyes meeting.

“Hey,” he whispers as he traces the curve of your jaw.

“Hi,” you answer before peppering his scruffy cheek with kisses.

When your gaze finds his again he asks, “will you watch the sunrise with me?”

You nod and then wrap your arms around his neck, snuggling against his shoulder and breathing him in. A breeze blows over the water, carrying the chill of night and you shiver in his arms. He tucks you closer and grabs the blanket to wrap it around you both.

“I promise I’ll keep you warm,” he whispers as his head dips and he brushes his lips to yours.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989 @lizette50 @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814

[batsplat]

Your post about sete/vale rivalry is literally so informative it's like a pivotal post to fully understand the way valentino's mind works. You're his friend just up to the point you are not (mainly after perceived crimes not backed up by any real proof apparently). Valentino literally turbodivorced every guy he was friendly with in the paddock (and the irony of two of those turbodivorces happening in the same place isn't lost on me)

I did do my best to keep marc out of that post and let the parallels speak for themselves but like. yes

what's interesting to me about this rivalry is that it's... kind of his first rodeo. I mean he'd obviously had rivals before and a feud and all that and him and biaggi were constantly *gestures* - but one of the most common complaints about valentino is that he switches up towards you when you actually become a serious threat. which!! I still fully believe to some extent is natural, this is sports, they're competing, and I take more seriously with some of valentino's victims than with others. (melandri is always the one where I'm a bit? valentino no offence but why would you bother, in 2005 there wasn't a title fight and in 2006 valentino actually got on really well with two of the four other main contenders and at the very least didn't actively have a problem with dani. so maybe just a melandri problem question mark.) but I do feel like sete was... maybe not the first, but the first that was this extreme. and, very much topic for another post, but he really does learn a lot from the sete rivalry. a lot of the tactics and performance art and all of that, how he uses all of it to demoralise his enemies - this rivalry was kinda the blueprint

but, at the same time, of course it was a different valentino that marc ended up fighting, and not just in terms of how fast and competitive valentino was at that stage of his career. this is something that's quite hard to get across sometimes, because the natural inclination is to just... look at all the past instances in which valentino was a dick and conclude that he has, in fact, always been a dick. but he wasn't just statically malevolent for a twenty plus year career, and it's important to... reinsert context to assess how he developed as a rider and as a character during that time. it's not twenty non-stop years of valentino feuding. and marc is facing a valentino who had inevitably changed as a result of years of injury and poor results on a poor bike. valentino was pretty open in 2012 that he was returning to yamaha after two years on a donkey of a bike to, y'know, see if he was still fast, if he still had it in him - because he genuinely did not know (stop me if this reminds you of anyone more recently). he was so frustrated in 2013 with constantly finishing in fourth place that he took the truly radical step of firing his crew chief jb. one more try, one more change up to see if he could still be fast

it was only in 2014, where, okay he was losing to marc, but he could feel that he was competitive again, he could semi-regularly beat jorge and dani at the very least... then comes misano and he beats marc in a direct fight, draws an error out of him, gets him to crash, and marc shows up at his ranch and manages to strongly signal that he does actually really want to beat valentino. and that, in a way, shows that he was beginning to take valentino seriously as a competitor again (which I would suggest he wasn't doing at the end of 2013). that's something that's easy to miss about the ranch episode: yes, it's notable how much they were treating each other like hardened rivals, but it was also notable they were doing so in 2014, given the kind of season marc was having. maybe it truly was the worst possible timing. maybe it truly was the race in misano that made both of them go. hey. this really could be happening

but it's still a humbled version of valentino, it's still a version of valentino who has already kind of had to make his peace with the fact his time might very much be over. to me, in a way it's more dramatically satisfying if he did make peace with it, if he was more or less all right with marc making the sport his own. okay, there's always going to be a little bit of bitterness, a little bit of envy... because he wished he could still do what marc was doing, of course he did. but by the end of 2013, he knew it was more likely than not he would never be involved in another title fight. he thought his career might be ending after the 2014 season. he told the world if he wasn't competitive in the early races in 2014 then that would be that, and I think he meant it

there was no guarantee he'd have a season like 2015 - sure, he was working harder than ever and making radical personnel choices, all in the hope he still had something more to give... but he didn't know it would happen. it was really really unlikely!! there's a giddiness to him in early 2015, almost like he couldn't quite believe himself he'd get that chance. and then, yes, he does withdraw from marc, he does go back into title fight mode... but relatively speaking, this is still a more agreeable version of valentino. this is still a version of valentino who is determined to not start shit with jorge - it's odd to watch, but in those 2015 pressers valentino is constantly engaging him in conversation, at a time in which the marc chatter was already dropping off pretty sharpish

(incidentally, I think vale was proper pissed off at how jorge reacted to the whole sepang thing and how jorge was angry with valentino, which is very funny to me. like at catalunya 2016 vale's going!! I actually made an effort with this bitch!! I was nice to him for three years, does that count for nothing??)

valentino also doesn't blow shit up over assen, even though by his standards marc should be giving him plenty of reason to. he's definitely cooled off towards marc, but he's still giving him the benefit of the doubt where he wouldn't have done so with past rivals - which, yes, I do think partly reflects how he felt about marc, but also reflects how he was approaching that year and that phase of his career as a whole. he didn't really want drama; he wasn't really looking for any distractions from the actual title fight. which doesn't mean that he wasn't already changing his behaviour towards his competitors in response to the demands of the season - it's just a question of the extent. here from a write-up of assen 2015 (I don't entirely agree on the point of the effectiveness of valentino's mind games, though I do agree - like valentino himself does - with the general idea that most of the work needs to be done on-track):

in the end, he cracked. I guess that's what generally happens when you put someone under that kind of pressure - you make them revert to type. valentino wasn't arrogant or entitled or over-confident in that season, he was desperate. he'd been given this unexpected chance and he was throwing everything he had into making it work. body, mind, soul, all of it, wringing himself out in pursuit of this dream. he could feel it slipping away at several points that season... that four race jorge win streak where he led every single lap and it was kind of like? okay, you just can't do anything about that. valentino can't match that, not at this stage of his career. or brno, after which they were level on points and jorge led on countback and it just felt like valentino so obviously had a consistent pace deficit that surely this could only go one way. all these moments where it felt like it might actually be over, in the least dramatic way imaginable. in many ways, this wasn't really a title fight that should ever have been so close - and it's to valentino's credit as a rider, his versatility and willpower, that he was even able to push things as far as he did. but he did know he was hanging on by a thread, and he ended up playing the last hand he felt he had available

obviously, it wasn't really rational calculation that made him do what he did in sepang - though there probably was an element of, y'know, might as well. but he believed he detected a pattern of behaviour in marc - not entirely incorrectly, because it did feel like marc approached his battles with valentino differently - and fashioned himself a conspiracy on the basis of it. he hoped it could change the momentum one last time; he decided to make one final roll of the dice. and then, of course, marc reacted in a way that has ensured valentino will never stop believing in his conspiracy theory. because of course marc did, because of course he never would have taken it lying down. because valentino knew from the moment marc engaged him in that battle at sepang that it was almost certainly all over, because he lost his temper - which usually helps him, except when it doesn't. because they both lost their tempers and ended up just wanting to hurt each other, to prove a point. because that's who they both are

the main point I'm trying to make here is kind of.... it's just how I personally read the sete stuff - yes, these are the same patterns of behaviour, yes, a lot of parallels do obviously present themselves. I've long felt that sete is the single most significant valentino feud to understanding what happened with marc. he's the only other one who valentino was friends with, the only other one valentino felt hurt by on a personal level, the only other one who valentino changed his behaviour towards from one day to the next. and I think under the right circumstances, if you give valentino enough of an excuse and enough of a prize to aim for and have planted enough seeds of suspicion in advance... you can get this situation where the competitive paranoia takes control and he buys into this whole betrayal narrative and he decides he needs to go nuclear. and it also gave him a script to follow - one he knew could work because it had. except of course it could have gone very wrong in 2004 too. what happens if he's so desperately determined to ruin sete that he bins it in phillip island and finds himself only barely ahead in the points going into the title decider? compare that race to phillip island 2009 - obviously, there's a sizeable difference between the level of opposition (especially at that circuit) and the '09 race probably wasn't winnable, but he still ends up eventually deciding to settle for second behind casey because he doesn't want to risk losing the championship to jorge. he's not casey's biggest fan either, but he never came close to losing his head fighting him. it's different. he might do some of his finest riding when he's angry, but where there's anger there's also volatility. and, on occasion, there's also some really bad choices

if 2004 is the moment where he's properly learning to play these games, then 2015 is him falling back on these tools when he really had basically discarded them. it'd been five years since he'd engaged in mind games in earnest (I know him and casey were constantly at it in 2011-12, but whatever the hell that was about, whatever part of their psyches they were appeasing there, it obviously had fuck all to do with on-track competition). that's a long time! there's a 2014 interview where he's asked about his work on the 'mental side' against his rivals:

the first thing he immediately stresses is that there's zero point in doing any of this if you're not fast enough on-track to back it up. if you are fast, sure, you can do some off-track 'work', especially if you know it makes your rivals suffer :) but it won't have the same effect without the on-track performance. so even if we want to say valentino hadn't mellowed post-2012, even if he hadn't grown one jot humbler in his heart of hearts, even if he wasn't swayed by any genuine fondness for marc, he still knew the maths just didn't work out in his favour with his current opponents. he couldn't deploy his favourite tactics against jorge because jorge insisted on spending the entire season either two spots ahead or three spots behind valentino, and the off-track stuff just can't work if you're never sharing space on-track. it could and did work against marc, but he wasn't trying to score psychological victories against marc! certainly not by the time they reached assen and marc was basically out of that title fight. so there wouldn't have been any point in trying to fuck with either of them in that way off-track and, well, it could easily backfire. which is something valentino understood perfectly well until they were 88.9% of the way through the season, and then he changed his mind at what was almost the very last possible moment. which I think speaks to how desperate valentino was to make a mistake like he did at sepang: he felt it was all he had left to try

the other way in which marc comes into this whole thing is that.... I mean, he knew about all this stuff! this is the thing right, maybe he wasn't watching the sepang 2004 press conference as an eleven year old and later going 'huh' but broadly speaking, he will obviously have been aware of how this went down, qatar controversy and all of it. he's sitting right there in that jerez 2015 presser when valentino is asked about sete and in response valentino says sete played 'dirty games'. he's obviously aware of the whole jerez 2005 situation, not least because he copied valentino's overtake in his third ever premier class race. which in turn sete was watching unfold, and is still having thoughts about in 2023:

so it's kind of... y'know, you've got marc, you've got someone who's still very much the heir apparent despite all the drama between him and valentino. if you're sete, do you look at marc and see somebody who valentino hurt in similar ways to what he did to you, or do you look at marc and see another version of valentino? do you see both? it's again that thing of, if you have a problem with some of valentino's more aggressive riding then you will definitely have a problem with marc. because of course marc is the escalation, because valentino generally picked his moments a bit more and adjusted his levels of aggression more to the situation, whereas marc is mostly just Like That. so sure, if you're sete gibernau you can look at marc and see another one of valentino's victims, but at the end of the day you're also going to see his legacy

and this from 2017:

not an original thing to say obviously, half of motogp has said it at one point or another. but. still. meaningful to me!

that tension between 'fellow valentino rival' and 'valentino's successor' is imo inherent to the jerez pass situation, because (along with laguna seca) it's an example of marc actively inserting himself into valentino's legacy. and the thing is, right, these aren't just neutral fun passes that everyone remembers because they looked cool: they're the biggest flashpoints of their respective feuds. marc did to jorge what valentino did to sete - and then he did the most valentino thing imaginable and went to jorge when he must have known jorge would still be furious, making him publicly reject his handshake and starting up a whole lot of discourse™ that would take forever to die down. marc knew immediately how controversial what he did would be and was completely at home in the chaos. it's not just the pass that does valentino proud, it's the shamelessness

while that race might not have had the same repercussions as '05, at the end of the day you do have to remember that those passes have a lot of baggage and controversy attached that marc is also making himself a part of. in the case of laguna, it's valentino addressing livio suppo in the presser because of all the grief suppo and casey had given valentino over the '08 overtake. in the case of the jerez pass, it's sete talking about how alienated he is by this whole approach to riding that marc so completely embodies. and the whole thing has come up quite a few times since 2013, because everyone loves bringing up last corner passes at least once a year when they show up again at jerez

so for instance we have this clip from 2016 (fourth race of the season, vibes still in hell), where the riders are asked whether they'd prefer to be in first, second or third position heading into that final corner. not all too much to say about this one, really. jorge, who it seems has at long last learned his lesson about what to do when you've got a lunatic sitting on your rear wheel headed into the final corner of a race, stresses that he'd protect the inside line - not least because these two fuckers would dive on the inside through the grass if you give them half a chance. also, decent gag from marc! good on him. not always easy for those who have decided they hate him so much so that they refuse to laugh at anything he says

then we have this from 2017 - where sete is in the room - asking four riders who they'd want to arrive at jerez's final corner with. three guys give pretty boring answers, though you'll note in 2017 valentino does actually mention his battle with sete (*gestures with his head in sete's direction*) in the same breath as the one between "marc and jorge". those three boring answers are followed by a great response courtesy of jorge. the question doesn't actually specify, but obviously jorge immediately zeroes in on valentino and marc since they are. you know. the two guys with a history of doing last corner jerez crimes. and they're also two confirmed lunatics, though jorge believes that valentino at least might be a little less reckless now that he's a little older. hey, maybe even marc has become 3% more sensible at the advanced age of 24 (funnily enough, vale when making that overtake in '05 was two years older than marc is in this clip). it's a sweet moment - but, without wanting to belabour the obvious, it's also another way of showing how irrevocably linked both the passes and the blokes executing them are. both valentino and marc are 'hard brakers', to put it lightly. two peas in a pod, from a man who would know

we do also of course get sete reacting to valentino's answer. idk what this facial expression is but I sure am compelled by it (thank u to dani pedrosa for working with sete in 2017 so that we'd get live sete reaction shots. I am very grateful)

okay so those two I included because. well it's just kind of neat and fun that this is a parallel they won't ever escape. linked legacies and all that. but I am actually building up to a point here, and it's to do with how even post-2015, it's not like marc is always overflowing with sympathy and compassion for valentino's other victims. he knows his lore! he will know at least the general details of the sete relationship and how it deteriorated and what valentino did to him afterwards! so let's bring in austria 2017, a time at which the vibes between the two of them aren't actually. catastrophic. exhibit a:

so in this presser, valentino is asked if his overtake on jorge at catalunya '09 is the favourite of his career, and he says it was special because it was the last corner - he can't remember any other examples of him making a last corner overtake in the premier class. at which point marc taps valentino to point out sete:

the expression marc makes in the thumbnail - that's how he looks when he's eagerly waiting for valentino to put two and two together. the thing is, right, this whole feuding business, the way valentino treated his rivals, how he was pretty awful to them... all of it will have been stuff that marc actively enjoyed as a fan. and even post-2015, when marc has experienced some of the very worst valentino has to offer, marc still finds the whole jerez thing pretty funny, not just the overtake but what it meant for the relationship between valentino and sete. he makes valentino aware of sete in the room, because of course he would never forget valentino's greatest hits. like, remember why this exchange is funny: everybody knows this overtake was a super controversial thing and a big source of tension between the two of them and valentino's forgotten about it. and marc's laughing at this!! in 2017!! "after we have a bit problems" and marc thinks it's hilarious!! buddy

one more presser moment, from 2019. just a bit of context here - earlier in the presser they were asked about dani getting a corner named after him at jerez and valentino went 'yeah good for him but I wouldn't want a corner named after me !!' and marc talked about how he'd gotten a corner at aragon named after him the year before. so now, the riders are asked what their favourite bit of the jerez circuit is. the joke here goes a) marc says 'last corner' the way he does because everyone knows he did a terrorism there, b) jack miller says 'you mean jorge lorenzo corner' because everyone knows it's funny marc did a terrorism on jorge there like a day after jorge got the corner named after him, and c) marc says 'it's valentino corner' because everyone knows his move was copying the move valentino did on sete. and... 'valentino corner'... first of all why would you do this to your literal teammate jorge lorenzo... but again the whole reason this exchange is funny is because the premise is that they did the same thing, valentino to sete and marc to jorge. implicitly, it's making the link between the pair of them and how they terrorised their rivals in the same way. still. in 2019

speaking of legacies, there's a moment in the 2016 catalunya presser where valentino is asked how that duel compares to his past duels in 2007 and 2009 at that circuit (notice the blatant and unchallenged sete erasure - 2004 and 2005 were really great but okay). and valentino says he counts it on the same level as the jorge fight - "was three great battles with three great opponents". which, y'know, I really love 2016, I think it's fantastic, but marc makes a mistake on the penultimate lap and denies us the most dramatic of finales. like I think it's completely reasonable and nice for valentino to count it in that same camp as the 2009 duel, but I also think it wouldn't have been crazy or disrespectful or anything if he'd gone 'yeah that was great but not quite the same thing'. this definitely might be reading too much into it (surely not) but given how valentino has since occasionally left marc out of the rivalries list, said he wasn't his toughest rival etc etc, I do think it's kinda notable that during that moment of 'reconciliation', valentino allowed marc to be part of his legacy - even if it's just in a small way. 'great valentino catalunya battles' is a pretty cool group of races to be a part of, y'know? the infamous overtakes, the duels, these are the things people remember. these are the things marc remembered, as valentino's fan - inevitably, it'll mean something to him. it's a legacy he wants to be a part of, by fighting valentino, by emulating valentino, and sometimes valentino lets him and sometimes he'd rather leave marc out in the cold. you'll note that in 2019 he doesn't really engage with the "valentino corner" gag from marc and instead goes with the far more neutral turn 5 as his own pick

in the very very immediate aftermath of sepang (aka december 2015), marc did openly make the comparison between himself and valentino's other rivals:

and it's informed his whole approach since then - it's a big part of why he's tried to be quiet about the drama with valentino over the years. he knows how valentino behaves towards his rivals, he always has. he knows he can't beat valentino off-track... but (beyond his undeniable mental resilience) he's just fortunate enough that with his talent and the way their career windows have overlapped, more often than not he's been able to out-perform valentino on the track. and y'know, it's an interesting element to the whole thing I feel... marc was a fan of valentino's for a lot of reasons - he was very much a fan of the complete package, if you will. including what valentino did to his enemies! it's not like that aspect of vale was some kind of closely guarded secret; it was like a top three valentino rossi talking point for years and years. (part of the subtext of assen 2015 is marc not really enjoying being on the receiving end of one of those classic valentino scam wins, when marc had been intending to do that to valentino.) again, those overtakes of valentino's weren't just famous because they were cool, they were famous because they helped valentino fuck with his rivals. it's not just about emulating his on-track aggression, it's about emulating how valentino did his best to get in his rivals' heads. when we talk about marc 'being a fan' of valentino, then it shouldn't be ignored that this involved marc being a fan of what an absolute and utter asshole valentino was. and like with all things relating to valentino, I'd wager marc has pretty complicated feelings about this. at the end of the day that's also part of his make up as a rider... but it also really burnt him personally...

it's almost like an identification thing, isn't it. if you're marc and you're thinking about valentino's past rivalries, whose shoes are you placing yourself in? in many ways it should be valentino's rivals, because of course some of their experiences mirror marc's. and there's a rare moment in the winter of 2015, when he's still in the process of trying to make sense of everything that's happened, where he does make the connection. but apart from that, he's shied away from it - even when he's criticising valentino, he's generally not framing what valentino did to marc as indicative of some broader character flaw. it's casey and jorge who explicitly make that link, not marc. he's still kind of... idk, separating that out. obviously, marc would far rather be valentino's successor than another one of valentino's victims, even if he hasn't really been given a choice in the matter and has ended up being both. I don't really have any evidence to back this up, but my guess is that deep down he feels like what valentino did to him was different from what he did to those other guys. and in some ways he's right and in some ways he's wrong

unfortunate, isn't it. you're a fan of somebody with a reputation for fucking with his enemies, which is fun and neat and you kinda want to copy how he does it - maybe put your own spin on the whole thing but you're still into the general vibe. you enter the sport at a time when you can still fight your hero, but he's kinda washed and he's too old to be starting new feuds (*bzzzzt!!* incorrect! you are never too old to start feuds) so there's no real danger. and you share a bond you think on some level is different from whatever those other guys had going on, even sete gibernau, whoever tf that is. and then you become real rivals and realise how extremely not enjoyable it is to be losing to him yourself and you really want to show him and maybe you do push it a little far along the way. but it'll be okay. it's all fine... until he decides it's time to destroy you. and on one level you do obviously see the parallels because you're not an idiot... but on the other hand, none of that stuff, none of what he did to those other guys - it wasn't ever going to stop you from being a fan of his. it's the bits he did to you that are the problem. and at the end of the day, you'll never quite be able to let go of the twelve year old boy inside of you who found jerez 2005 really, really cool

anyway

[strawberryscribblesandwrites]

Vampires vs Bath time

Marko x reader x Paul

Summary: your two blond vampire boyfriends visit you and things get a little steamy ;)

Author's note: I might do full smut part two we shall see

A cool breeze ruffled my hair, the smell of the sea being carried by it. That was one of the few perks of living right near the boardwalk, the fresh smell of the salty ocean.

Another perk was that I was close to my boys.

Ah, my boys. How could I begin to describe my undead delinquents? Well you have David, the ring leader, charming sinister energy to him at first but once you get to know him he had a soft spot for his lost boys. Dwayne is the silent brooding type, he loves reading and riding his bike with the others. Marko and Paul, the messy mischief makers filled with a childish hyperactiveness to them.

When I first met my boys they were well they were kind of a mess, only washing in the ocean, living then with frizzy matted hair- they would occasionally use the public showers near the boardwalks, but after meeting them I was adamant that they should keep good hygiene, especially if we were to all be in a relationship. David and Dwayne followed my rule and would pop in to have a proper hot shower or bath.

Now, Paul and Marko.... would try their best to remember but they would often get caught up in their shenanigans.

My radio was playing a loud rock song that reminded me of a thrilling night in the cave. I danced around my room without a care until the sound of a shrill wolf whistle and catcalling made me jump out of my skin. Spinning around to face my open window, I saw none other than the pair of blonde vamps. Their faces and clothes smeared with thick blood.

"What the hell" I whisper shouted at them.

"Aww baby don't be like that, it was a good show" Paul said with a smirk while Marko was giggling like a mad man. "Hurry in before anyone sees you" I said, shaking my head trying to suppress a smile at their antics.

"Do not touch anything" I said sternly as they came through my window. I walked to my set of draws and got the pair some comfy clothes to chuck on while I put their blood-drenched clothes in the wash. "Let me guess you were playing with your food and got too messy?" I asked them over my shoulder. "You could say that” David said “We were starting to stink up the place" Marko mumbled, like a child being told off. "I think we could have gone a few more days before we needed a good wash" Paul said in a joking manner.

"Gross" I stated.

Putting the boy's respective comfy clothes on my bed, I turned to the pair to inspect which of them needed a more thorough approach. Looking at Paul, he didn't seem too bad. His hair was stiff, as were his clothes- covered in deep, sticky blood. But other than that he didn't seem too bad. Marko, on the other hand, had his shirt half ripped and his soaked jacket looked particularly crusty. His chaps had seen better days, not to even mention how his hair was stuck together, all matted with blood clots.

"Paul you're up first, Marko baby you need extra care. I swear if you boys continue this I'll start treating you like actual dogs and just put you in the paddling pool and hose you down" I threatened

"Woof" Marko said smirking causing Paul to explode with laughter

"Sugar, we aren't that bad" he said breathlessly between laughs. I just hummed in response, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bathroom. "Baby, you just stay there. You can read some comics on my desk, I don't mind you getting a mess on my desk chair" I told him over my shoulder.

Turning on the taps of my bath, I added some soap and set some shampoo, conditioner and body wash on the side of the tub.

"Strip" I said pointing to the bath.

"Oooh, no need to be so snappy. If you wanted me naked you should just ask nicely" he said in a seductive tone.

"Not tonight casanova" I told him, causing him to pout.

I walked out of the bathroom giving him his privacy to get in the tub. Waiting, till I heard him shout through the door he was ready. I opened the door to collect his clothes.

"Hey baby, do you think you can wash my hair?" he asked softly. "Of course I can sweetie" I smiled.

Popping my head back into my room after I had put Paul's clothes into the washing machine, I was met with the sight of Marko, with his feet kicked up on my desk engrossed in one of my many comics. I made my way back to the bathroom, knocking on the door and waiting for a response before making my way in.

Paul lay in the bath, his wet hair pooling around his broad shoulders, his face and chest absent of the blood that was there earlier that night. "Hey Paulie" I said softly as I kneeled by the bath. He gave me a sweet smile as he sat up giving me better access to his head.

I truly loved nights like these with my boys. Sure they were killers, but they were also the boys that always treated me with love and care.

Kissing Paul's shoulder, I leaned for the shampoo, squirting some on my hand and massaging it into his scalp, causing Paul to let out a soft groan, my nails raking across his head."Have I told you how much I love you?" Paul breathlessly groaned as I started pouring water gently over his hair. “I'm always happy to hear it baby” I said, kissing his shoulder again.

I continued rinsing his hair until it was free of soap, repeating the process with the conditioner. “I could get used to this” Paul sighed, as the water sloshed round the tub as he started to stand up. “Well, I'm glad to hear that because I would prefer it if my boyfriend didn't smell like a corpse when I see him” I chuckled, wrapping a towel around his waist before he stepped out of the bath. “Aww, don't you find the smell of rotting sexy babe” he teased, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his bare chest. “Hmmm. Nope. I don’t think it is” I joked into his chest.

“Come on pretty boy, Marko needs a bath and a good scrub” I said, kissing his chest, causing a deep rumble to spread through him.

“Your clothes are on the bed and the hair dryer is in my desk drawer” I said, opening the door of the bathroom for him.

I leaned down putting my hand in the now lukewarm water to pull out the plug and let it drain .

Leaning my shoulder against the doorframe of my room, I watched as Paul moved over to my desk where Marko was sat. Paul leaned over him to get to the draw, allowing Marko to quickly lean up and kiss his jaw. “You smell nice” he told him. “Thanks bud” he said with a soft smile, retrieving the hair dryer.

Moving back to the bathroom as the last of the bath water emptied out, I replugged it, filling it with hot water and more soap, waiting until the bath was full until I called on Marko.

After a few minutes, he hadn't come. I decided to see why he was taking so long, walking over to my desk and leaning down over his shoulder. “Marko baby, why aren't you coming to the bathroom?” I asked softly.

“Babe, this comic is bitchin’. Look!” he said, excitedly showing me the panels of two characters fighting. Chuckling, I kissed his temple. “That's pretty cool, but ya gotta get a wash baby”. He groaned as he put the comic down.

We both moved to the bathroom where the bath was almost full of hot water and soap. “Pass me your jacket” I told the blond vampire. He shrugged off his jacket with a sigh. Giving a quick thank you, I moved his jacket to the kitchen where I could hand wash it.

I knocked on the door of the bathroom and waited for the okay from Marko to come in.

“Hey” he said, as I entered the steamy bathroom. “Hi” I smiled.

Marko was sat up straight in the water. Unlike Paul, he hadn’t bothered to rid his face and chest of congealed and dried blood .

Kneeling by the bathtub, I soaked the washcloth in the water, bringing it up to Marko’s face and gently scrubbed his chin. “You're both such messy eaters, you know that?” I asked with a chuckle. “We can’t help it babe, we just get a lil excited is all” he stated with a smile. I chuckled slightly at his response.

Gently, I grabbed his chin and tilted his head back so that I could wipe the blood from his neck. Occasionally, I would re-wet the cloth until his neck was clear of blood. I placed a set of soft kisses on his neck, up to his jawline. Pulling away from Marko, I dipped the cloth back in the water.

“Why are you so gentle with us?” he questioned.

“What do you mean?” I asked, while tilting my head and smiling softly.

“Well, I mean, you’re so soft with us. You make sure we are clean, and I mean- well look at you. You’re cleaning a bloodthirsty creature of the night” he stated. “I mean, you wash Pauls hair, you give David massages when he gets worked up, you sit and read with Dwayne, and don’t even get me started on how soft you are with Laddie. You buy him allsorts. You treat us so well and I don’t understand why” he said bewildered

“Hmm. Well, the answer is simple” I said as I brought my soapy hand up to his cheek. “It’s because I love you all, so very dearly” I smiled sweetly.

Marko broke out into a wide smile. “Awww, babe. You love us? Ewww” He joked as he pulled me into a kiss.

Pulling away, I gave him a soft look.“Alright lover boy, I should really wash your hair now. It’s all matted” I said. Sternly grabbing the bottle of shampoo, I started to lather his hair. “It smells like you” he mumbled to himself as I continued the process of lathering and rinsing until there were no more suds in his hair.

Grabbing the conditioner, I gently raked it through his hair before grabbing a comb to get the knots out of his curly hair, being careful not to pull and hurt him. Once I was done running the conditioner through his hair, I rinsed it all out.

“Alright, I'm gonna give your jacket a wash. I’m sure you can handle the rest from here” I said. Standing from the bathroom floor, I moved to the door.

Before I stepped down the stairs I went to check on Paul, he was on my bed, towel still low on his hips as he read one of the comics Marko had earlier. He’d turned the rock music on my radio higher, seeming comfortable

I carefully made my way down the stairs with the rest of Markos clothes in my arms. I walked into the kitchen, putting his jeans and shirt in the washing machine and setting it away along with Paul's clothes. The sloshing sound of the washer filling with water engulfed the silent kitchen. Grabbing Marko’s jacket, I filled the sink with cold water and detergent then began gently scrubbing at the blood stains, carefully, so as to not ruin it. I hummed a random song I had heard from the radio earlier as I worked away to rid the jacket of all the blood soaking it.

I stiffened as a pair of cold hands made their way round my waist.

“What you doing down here all by yourself?” Paul hummed huskily in my ear as his hand made its way under my shirt.

“Ah! Paul baby, your hands are freezing” I squealed, trying to squirm away from him.

“Well, you can help me warm them up” He mumbled against my skin. Paul started to drag his lips slowly down my neck until he reached the junction where my neck met my shoulders. I hummed at the feeling of his soft lips on the crook of my neck, the sensation sending shockwaves through my body.

“I heard you and Marko in the bathroom” He whispered as he began kissing and nibbling back up my neck to my ear, causing me to let out a low huffy breath. “We love you too” he said as he pulled away, causing my hairs to stand on end.

Groaning at the loss of one of my vampire boyfriends body on mine, I turned to see his face lit up with a devilish smirk.

“Come on, Marks waiting” He informed, deciding I could finish washing markos jacket later. I dried my hands on a dish towel before following Paul up the stairs to my room.

As I entered the room I was met with the sight of Marko drying his hair with the spare towel I had given him earlier.

“Hey baby” He said joyfully with a smile. I chuckled at his joy. Paul had once again wrapped himself around me as he swayed to the rock music on the radio. He would occasionally place kisses along my neck.

Marko soon made his way over to us both. He placed one of his hands on my hips as he brought the other to my cheek to pull me into a passionate kiss.

The feeling of Marko’s lips on mine mixed with the feeling of Paul’s nibbling kisses and occasionally licking my neck made my head spin.

“Boys” I groaned at there attack as I pulled away from Marko for air, leaning my head back.

This only allowed the pair to continue their attack. Marko dove in, attaching his lips to the underside of my jaw.

Paul pulled away giggling. “Aww, look Marko, we have them melting” Paul teased, causing the other boy to pull away with a smile.

“You boys are the worst”. I groaned at the loss of their touch.

“You sure about that sugar?” Paul said as he tilted my chin to pull me into a passionate kiss. Marko trailed his cold hands from my hips up my stomach, the feeling of his cold fingertips trailing up my chest sent shivers down my spine, causing me to let out a moan into the kiss with paul.

Marko continued his path, his cold hand grabbed my chest with a dark chuckle. “Your heart is beating so fast baby. Do we really get you going that bad?” He said as he lifted my shirt and kissed my hip before he made his way up my stomach. The feeling of his soft breathing on my skin made my stomach muscles tense. It felt like the most heavenly torture.

He pulled away, making me internally groan. “You made them all whiney” Paul cooed in mock sympathy, causing Marko to giggle as he pulled my shirt off.

His nails gently dragged my hips closer to his face the cold tip of his nose hitting just above my hip made my body shiver in anticipation, Markos eye flitted up to mine then to pauls.

Paul's hand trailed up my chest his hand trailed up my chest to my his hands were soft as he moved my head slightly to the side and slowly licked up my neck before I felt the nipping feeling of his teeth dragging along the tender skin below my ear. Marko had pulled away from my hip his fingers digging under the hem of my jeans with a smirk “mmm hey paul do you think they are desperate enough” he rasped to the other vampire “nope” paul replied Marko breathily My room once filled with loud rock music was replaced by my own breathy wines and moans mixed with the raspy teasing giggles of Marko and paul they really did love teasing.

[narcolini]

ending the night

angel reyes x gn!reader, comfort/fluff, 1982 words

warnings for descriptions of vomiting

for day 12 of whumpril, using the alternate prompt: foodpoisoning 

a/n: honestly, this is whump in the same way dessert pizza is pizza... sweet but not really deserving of the name LMAO anyway. when in doubt write angel having a hard time, am i right ? 

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas​ 

You’re sitting on the edge of Angel’s tub, finishing up a final text to his brother, from his phone, not yours, while Angel empties his stomach into the toilet again. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s puked now, but it’s enough times to know that your evening is well and truly over. He had barely made it from the taxi to the house when you got here, and has said almost nothing since you’d found him in the bathroom, knees to the linoleum.

Not that you mind. Not that you expect anything from him at all, in this state. If anything, you feel bad for being so helpless. And for not being sick yourself, weirdly, but that’s just how the straws were pulled. Beyond the water you’ve left for him on the counter, and the company, there’s nothing else you can do. You’ve already opened the window behind, invited cool air to draw in and, more importantly, the sharp smell of vomit to draw out. Texting EZ as if you were him, had been your most recent idea; a last ditch attempt to be productive and to improve the already dire circumstances.

‘Well,’ you announce, clicking Angel’s phone shut, ‘EZ says he can swing by the restaurant and get your bike.’ You watch him nod, head bouncing between in the hole of the toilet seat. ‘And I told him it was me that got sick, so he can’t clown you about it later.’

He laughs, all breath, and it echoes around the porcelain. ‘Thanks.’

You smile. He can’t say that you don’t look out for him, even this early into things. Five, six, dates down—formal ones, anyway—and you’ve skipped right to the in sickness part. Which you’re doing pretty well at, all things considered.

‘I can,’ he starts, pausing to swallow in-between, ‘pay you back. For the Uber.’

You shake your head. ‘Forget it. You got the bill.’ And he’s paying twice for that too, with money and stomach lining. ‘You think it was the chicken?’

He sighs, daring to look back at you briefly, forearms on the seat. ‘No idea. Shit tastes like battery acid now.’

You wince. ‘I wish I could make it stop for you.’ You wish you could go back in time and make him choose the beef dish that you had, avoid all of this mess, and finish the drinks you’d had to abandon at the bar. ‘You want me to pass you the water?’

He shakes his head before spitting into the bowl, clearing his mouth of the last bout of sickness. You’re both waiting, really, to see if it will come again. Angel breathing slowly, audibly, catching his breath over the edge of the seat. You, staring at his shoulders like they might give you any warning of it.

The time between is getting longer, you think. A sign that the worst is done with. If he can make it twenty minutes, fifteen even, and keep down the water he drinks, then you can both relax.

‘Fuck,’ he pants, wiping his nose and mouth with the back of his hand. He slumps away from the toilet, to sit on the floor instead with his back to the tub. Arm side by side with your shin. ‘I never looked this good, right?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ you nod, ‘big time. I’m practically tearing my clothes off right now.’

He groans, dropping his head to put it against your knee. ‘Can’t believe you stuck around to watch me hurl, dulce.’

‘I stuck around,’ you emphasise, ‘to help.’ You smile, glad he can’t see from where he is, because he’s too vulnerable right now, and he might think that you’re laughing at him. ‘I’m actively trying not to watch.’

He exhales, pushing it through his lips. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. Was supposed to a good fucking night, y’know, fancy restaurant and shit, drinks.’  

‘It’s not your fault.’ You pat his head, smoothing your thumb over the shell of his ear. ‘We should probably tell the restaurant, though, because it’s definitely their fault.’

And we deserve a refund, you think, but you don’t say it, because he’ll take that to mean that you didn’t enjoy yourself at all. Right now, he would probably take you standing up to stretch as a cue that you’re gonna leave, sick of him already.

‘You think you’re done?’ you ask, bending over your lap to find his gaze.

He sits upright to help you, then nods, and his eyes flick to your lips momentarily. It’s rare that you’d be so close to one another, and able to resist a kiss, but right now’s an exception. You smile, knowing that he’s thinking it too, seeing the yeah, I get it, in his returning look.

‘Give me a minute,’ he says. ‘Gotta, y’know, make myself smell less like puke.’

‘Course.’ You opt for a kiss to his damp forehead before standing, as close to his mouth as you’ll chance for now.

You decide to wait for him in his room, legs hanging over the end of his bed as the shower cranks to life. It’s the first time you’ve been in here, which isn’t the introduction you had expected, a temporary waiting room while he washed the sick from his beard, but it’s a welcome expansion to your understanding of his home. You’ve been to his place before, but never made it past the couch. He has a preference for it, you think, at least in his own place. He’s had the pleasure of becoming well acquainted with your bedroom, ending the night there the last few times that you’ve met up.

It’s not awkward, being in here, but it is new. Foreign like a hotel room. Granted, a hotel room that someone’s already living in, from the full laundry basket, the used glasses on the side table. The unmade bed you’re perched on.  

It doesn’t seem like he was expecting you to be in here today, either. You should ask him about that. Is your place nicer, or is he just too lazy to clean, and simultaneously too proud to let you see his room as it is? You don’t think you’d mind either answer. It’s nice, really. Clean enough, and comfortable in a way that stops you from feeling shy. If you weren’t waiting for the tell-tale signs of more illness, you’d probably lie back, uninvited, and crawl under the covers like it was your bed already.

After a few minutes, the bathroom door cracks open, steam pouring out of it. He must’ve had the quickest shower he could manage, only long enough to douse the sweat and stench off him, and then out again, dressed in just the jeans from before.

He looks exhausted, so tired and disposed of energy, that you can’t even enjoy the sight of him. His bare chest, the tattoos striking across it. You just about fight the urge to throw your arms out and beckon him forward with grabbing, baby hands, because, oh, he looks so helpless, it hurts.

‘Don’t think I got any shit left in me to throw up,’ he grumbles, dragging himself forward.

‘That’s good.’ You throw him a sympathetic smile. ‘Means you’re over the worst of it.’

He makes a sour face, hand lifting to rub over his stomach. ‘Doesn’t feel like it.’

‘You should probably rest then.’

You didn’t think he could look any more sorry for himself, but that does it, that tugs it out of him. His brows sink even further as he nods, unable to argue that he doesn’t need it, but unable to seem keen on it either.

‘Sorry,’ he says, for the tenth time, ‘I ruined our night.’

You roll your eyes quickly. ‘Who says it’s ruined? We’ve got…’ You find the alarm clock, red numbers glowing in the dim room. ‘At least, what, twelve hours before I gotta leave for work?’

And that’s what the extra sulking was for; he really thought you were gonna dip and leave him here to recover alone. He doesn’t realise that if he wasn’t worth looking after, you would’ve left him at the bar, blowing chunks in the stall.

‘You’re staying?’ he asks

‘You’re sick as a dog, Angel. It’d be actual, like, neglect if I left you right now.’

He sighs, finally letting himself collapse on the bed behind you. When you turn, he’s got his eyes squeezed shut, suffering from the bouncing mattress beneath—a misjudgement on his part. ‘If I wasn’t dying right now,’ he says, ‘I’d kiss you so damn hard.’

You laugh, crawling up the length to be beside him and slouch against the headboard. ‘And give me whatever you have? No thanks.’ You pull the cover free from under you, holding it open as you invite him in. ‘Come on,’ you say, ‘get comfy, chulo.’

He steals a look, opening just one of his eyes to see what you’re offering, before rolling into you, his head on your stomach, his arm threading beneath you and the mattress. You set the quilt down again, pulling it up until it’s covering your legs and his shoulders. Then your hand goes to his hair, natural like you do it nightly, rubbing circles around the crown of his head.

‘Hopefully that’s the last of it,’ you tell him.

He hums, speaking into the cotton of your shirt. ‘If I puke on you right now, I’ll kill myself.’

You laugh, bouncing his head with the force and surprise of it.

‘I’m dead serious, dulce, there’s no coming back from that shit. You’ll dump me before I’m even your boyfriend.’

You scoff, grinning still. ‘Not true,’ you argue. ‘But I would use it against you for the rest of time. Hey Angel,’ you tease, ‘remember when you spewed chicken teriyaki all over me?’

He laughs, but it weans off into a groan, his fingers tightening over your hip. ‘Stop talking,’ he pleads, ‘I can still taste that shit.’

And as funny as it is, you really don’t want to smell, or see, or feel, any more fucking vomit, so you oblige. It falls silent and you let it, fingers twirling in his hair still, disrupting the hold of his gel. He breaths evenly over your stomach, pooling warmth on the parts of your skin that the shirt fails to cover.

After a moment, you remember what he’d said afterwards, about breaking it off with him before you’ve officially gotten together. You smile into the question before you’ve even asked, ‘Do you want to be my boyfriend, Angel?’

He takes a moment to answer, and when he does, he’s mumbling it, talking around the ends of a yawn. 'We really gonna do this now?’

‘Yeah, sorry. Bad timing.’ But you’re smiling still, smirking even. Confident of the answer despite his protest. ‘I wouldn’t mind it, though. Just while we’re on the topic.’

The reply you expect doesn’t come, he doesn’t say anything at all. You try to look at him, but can’t bend far enough, not with his head resting as it is. You can just about see the thick black of his lashes, flicking out from closed eyes.

‘Angel?’

He groans, readjusting until he’s lay on your chest, with his arms wrapped tight around your middle. ‘Your boyfriend is very sleepy,’ he says, waking up just long enough to engage and send your heart-rate soaring. ‘Keep doing that shit with my hair,’ he mutters, adding a, ‘please,’ after a moments reflection.

You laugh, light and soft over the top of his head. ‘Yes, boss.’ You thread your fingers in again, as he asked you to, and trail them across his scalp. ‘I think I like you when you’re sick,’ you muse, basically whispering it now. ‘You’re way cuter.’

‘Mhmm,’ he hums, and that’s the last you get from him. He’s asleep before he can deny it.

[kissorkill16]

Standoff: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Aaron witnesses a standoff staring contest between his father and his best friend.

I was just drawing in my room.

I didn't know what I was drawing. Maybe I wasn't drawing, maybe I was just scribbling onto some paper out of boredom,...or to escape again.

Dad had been distant all day. No one really knew why, nor did anyone ask why. We all knew if we tried to ask him, he'd burst out of anger.

So we all just kept our distance.

While Mom went out to smoke or something, and Mya was playing with her dolls, I was sitting in my room, trying to avoid boredom and Dad by drawing.

I was lost in my thoughts, when I saw a silhouette across the street. A skinny person on a bicycle, just arriving home. I pulled my curtains open, and I saw Nicky on his red bike.

Nicky was my best friend, pretty much my only friend. We hung out together almost all the time, and we have so much in common.

We were perfect for each other.

I loved being with Nicky, and I could tell he loved being with me. He didn't even mind how weird my family was. The only person he really seemed to be afraid of was my Dad, which was reasonable. My dad isn't really the friendly type of guy.

I could talk about him, think about him, and look at him all night, but I was pulled out of my thoughts when I saw him creeping over to my window. My eyes widened in shock, and I unlocked my window and threw it open.

"Nicky!", I said.

"Hey, dude.", he said. "How've you been?"

I smiled down at him. Then I put on a serious face, "What're you doing here?"

"Well, I could see you staring at me from your window, so I came over here. I thought maybe you wanted to see me."

See, Nicky was always so thoughtful. This was another reason why I liked him so much.

Then, from somewhere in the back, we heard a door swing open.

I gasped in panic, "Run!", I whispered to him.

Nicky didn't need to be told twice to do so. He immediately ran across the street, but he didn't even get there fast enough to ride away on his bicycle before he froze in fear.

Because there, standing in front of our house was my dad.

I ran to the living room, turning the light on and staring out the window.

Dad didn't look happy. He looked almost angry.

Nicky was petrified. He sat there on his bike, not daring to move, because he knew if he moved even an inch, Dad would probably kill him dead.

But then I saw Dad shaking, I thought for a minute that he was probably cold or in pain. But then, he let out a booming, earthquaking laugh.

Why the hell was he laughing?

This time, Nicky fell sideways on his bike, and scooted away from it. I could tell that Nicky was scared whenever Dad laughed. Even though he tried to hide or deny it, I could always tell he hated his laugh. He ran to his backyard, and that was when Dad stopped laughing.

He stepped back into the house, and walked upstairs.

That night, I couldn't sleep. All I could think about was Dad scaring Nicky away from me, how frightened Nicky looked when he let out that monstrous laugh. I was worried he'd never want to hang out with me ever again.

But then I saw a flicker of light from across the street. I looked out my window, and I saw Nicky. He was holding a sheet of notebook paper, and a flashlight.

"We'll see each other tomorrow.", the note said.

I smiled and nodded, he smiled back and closed his blinds.

I jumped back into my bed, and drifted off to sleep, happy to have a friend like Nicky.

[bakageta]

The first of many WIPs to be posted! This one does get explicit later on, but I haven't included that part here. I'll reblog with a link to the whole fic on AO3. It's also a gift fic for @vexbatch for @fandomtrumpshate I hope you enjoy it! Questions Explicit 5.8k words

Starting over sucked. And yeah, technically, Eddie wasn’t starting completely over—their reputation had recovered somewhat after they’d been proven right—but the transfer from spoken word to written word wasn’t without problems. They’d written much of the scripts for The Brock Report, but articles were different. Articles varied by type, by scope, by publication. Editing wasn’t just done for quality or length but also for page layout in a paper or for ad breaks on a website; things Eddie wasn’t used to accounting for.

It was an intimidating shift, not helped by the fact that they’d somehow managed to secure a job with CIR, the Center for Investigative Reporting. They’d been popular with their show on MNBN, but with CIR Eddie would have the opportunity to cover things on a much larger stage. Only— they had to not fuck everything up.

You will not fuck everything up. Venom rolled over into awareness in Eddie’s mind as they made their way out of CIR’s glass and brick offices and towards the parking deck they’d left their motorcycle in. Their symbiote had done a good job of letting them focus on the meeting with CIR’s editors.

They flushed. It must’ve been the temperature change from the air conditioned building to outside summer heat. “Thought I was a loser, huh?”

In most things, yes, Venom agreed matter-of-factly, drawing an offended squawk from Eddie. But this you are good at.

“Ah— thanks? Thanks.” Eddie ran a hand through their hair awkwardly, but they couldn’t help their pleased grin. “Means a lot coming from the alien slime who lives in my stomach.”

They expected Venom to posture or at least grumble about the alien slime comment, instead their symbiote hummed against their spine in a content sigh. Better.

“Better?” Eddie wondered. They’d finally reached their motorcycle, and when Venom made no immediate response, they slipped on the helmet Venom disliked, revved the engine, and kicked the bike into gear.

They’d tried to time their meeting to miss out on the worst of the Bay Area traffic on their way home from Emeryville and hadn’t been entirely successful. Ahead of them, the cars slowed to a crawl, forcing Eddie to weave the bike's front tire back and forth in an effort to keep momentum as they slowed. It was a lost cause; eventually Eddie had to plant their feet on the interstate.

Times like this they almost regretted the motorcycle. A car would have at least had air conditioning.

We could swim, Venom pointed out, focusing Eddie’s eyes off to the side of the Bay Bridge ahead.

“We’d have to come back for the bike,” Eddie pointed out instead of flatly refusing. They’d quickly learned that Venom usually accepted reasoning, so long as the reasoning made sense.

That is not a no.

"Also not a yes." They crept closer to the base of the bridge. It would be better once they got on it. There would be a breeze.

Venom grumbled in Eddie’s head, but not in any sort of verbal way. It felt more like poking an old bruise to see if it was still there. At least let me be our helmet. We will be cooler.

"Sure." They pulled their helmet off and tucked it into the cargo netting on the tail of their motorcycle. Compromise was good, and anyone who caught sight of them as their symbiote formed over their head probably wouldn't believe their eyes.

Venom swept out from the base of Eddie’s skull in a cool wave over their scalp, face, and around their jaw. For a moment they were blinded, then the span of their symbiote’s glossy, white eyespots opened on the front of their false helmet and they could see. Their field of view was wider like this, and Venom helped compensate for the difference, soothing away the contradictions irritating their neurons. The perpetual toothy grin of their masked head unfurled along their jaw. Immediately, they felt cooler.

[samuraisharkie]

due to Life Shit I kind of stopped drawing much about a year or two after I graduated high school bc I just kind of didn’t have the time or mental/emotional/physical capacity to fit it in, despite art being something I really want to be a part of my career. It kind of makes me sick to realize how much muscle memory I lost just from that time (I had only about a year and a half total of absolutely no art but that was enough. doesn’t help that during that time I seriously injured my hands) considering I’ve been drawing my entire life. I really wish things had not gone that way and that I could have kept going, but expectations were on me to do something else and any time I sat down to draw was treated as wasting time. There’s also something weird about recovering from severe trauma that kind of adjusts how you engage with a hobby you used as a coping mechanism, which Art very much was. I almost never drew vent art, but I used it to focus on something and make myself happy and proud of work I actually could do, and once I was out of the environments that funneled me into drawing (being forced to go to church, school, anything involving sitting down for a long period of time) I found less time to actually have an excuse. Someone bought me a single college course of art classes right out of high school, and I think that was where I COULD have had the opportunity to really get started if I had actually had the money to continue and the college hadn’t been so far away. After that course ended I didn’t have that excuse anymore. I used to draw in DeviantArt and Discord art groups, but those began to fall apart and soon I didn’t have that option either. After that I doodled but didn’t really create Full Pieces unless some friend asked it of me, and it was never a commission bc I’d never trained myself to get that sort of shit done without taking too long, so I’d always do it for free. So even that wasn’t a big motivator eventually. Now that I’m struggling for work after becoming more physically disabled after COVID, all that time I could have spent honing my art skills so I could do SOMETHING with my art really is weighting down on me. I have the option to do freelance work, illustrations, pet commissions, even things like cards and cookies. I’ve seen these avenues open up for me gradually, but I’ve lost the skills I built up that I need to actually make something I’m proud of. I’ve taken to tracing old art to try and remember my thought process and my “style”… but my memory was bad BEFORE the covid, and it’s worse now, and my brain fog makes it hard to focus even if I could get back on the train of thought. I don’t remember the construction that would be in my mind’s eye. I barely can keep a clear vision in my mind’s eye anymore, worryingly. I never had a crystal clear imagination, it was always sort of abstract, but I could see the lines, I could construct a scene. Now I have to focus hard to get any sort of detail clear in my head. It’s like if you tried to look directly into someone’s face in a dream, or put in a prompt in neural blender. So I have to adjust to performing the entire thought process physically, slowly and tediously trying to figure out what I’m imagining before I can really get started. Those old art tutorials for constructing shapes and bodies and such just aren’t coming naturally anymore so I have to dredge deep into my mind to remember which advice helped “click” the best and knowing it might not do it this second time around. It’s like if you forgot how to ride a bike. It was something natural to you, you could even get started haphazardly and distracted and still be able to tell where you were going and not fall over or trip on yourself, but now it’s like you have to focus on each step and it constantly feels like it’s taking everything you have to not crash. I’m glad I can start drawing again, but it hurts that something so huge in my life has been turned into this. I’ve ranted about it before it’s just easier to notice when you’re not sketching out people’s pets or doing super stylized doodles.

[spellbcok]

𝐇𝐖𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝟏𝟓 : plot call ( for my sanity i'll make a separate post related to starters ). i won't be dropping any on-going threads, nor will i begin anything new or post any non-headcanon memes until after the event. but feel free to do so on your end. hit the heart and i'll message you for event related plots. under the cut are basic ideas of where my muses minds are at and whether or not they will be involved in any way.

for all muses: i'm up for any or all of my muses getting injured or injuring others (purposefully or not).

anya jenkins: self-preservation will kick in almost immediately. they will be hiding or seeking out someone she has gotten close to who are more fit for combat. most likely, though, they'll be trying to find a way to get the hell out of dodge as it's very much their mo.

ji euntak: she will be out there, jumping in front of swords (metaphorical or literal) aimed at friends, family, strangers. basically willing to save anyone, the self-sacrificial type that she is.

lorelai gilmore: being an extremely privileged upper middle class woman whose biggest hardship was being a single, teen mom (which, granted, was difficult), this will be her first experience with such violence outside of watching it. but mama bear instincts will kick in and she'll be doing whatever it takes to search for/protect rory.

lydia martin: her banshee abilities are really going to go haywire. she'll be drawing strange pictures, finding dead bodies, and maybe have her first scream / wail ? outside of trying to deal with that, she is also part of the fbi so she'll be working out who the killer(s) is/are. definitely would love for her to find bodies as it's kind of her thing, but obviously would not be something we'd know at this very moment. soo feel free to just say 'if my muse dies lydia can find them' and if it happens then i'll include it in her threads and what have you.

nam onjo: she's pretty unfazed by everything and just trying to get through each day. anyone sus will be tased and/or pepper sprayed first and asked questions later. ** new addition: she sees an opportunity to make a quite a bit of money by basically being a errand person for those in hiding. so hit her up on the taskrabbit-esque app if you need some takeout delivered or more alcohol or whatever. there's an injury/death tax so it'll be pricey but at least your muse won't have to take the risk themselves!

sabrina spellman: another self-sacrificial one, but she's going to actively fight people who mess with her loved ones as well as try to figure out who the culprit(s) are. she's been practicing her magic so she'll use that for defense. and, just like riding a bike, she might spout out some more powerful and dangerous spells that could cause injury.

tatia: no stranger to death and chaos, tatia knows how to protect herself. she'll likely stay in her studio or apartment and avoid everything. maybe she'll go to some trusted people/friends because safety in numbers and all. but she is definitely not going out of her way to help anyone or solve anything.

tinker bell: tink is still learning how to use a cellphone and now she has to avoid murderers? how annoying. the fairy is not about that and will fly away from threats. possibly goad and be a little brat about it tbh. she's also learned a bit about capitalism and the whole supply and demand thing, so she'd be willing to sell a bit of pixie dust so your muse can also fly (limited, so far 1/3 taken).

**** new muses

brenda bates: she is enjoying the chaos but feigning disgust and sympathy for the victims. she is likely having a house party or attending one because she's from the 90s and that is what they do in the face of a crazy serial killer being on the loose.

one specific plot idea i have for 1 unlucky muse is for her to injure them while in her hooded mask (image). with all the chaos, her crime will just get lost in the sea of others. however, her crimes emulate urban legends so i can give you a small list or if you have one in mind feel free to send it to me.

chloe decker: she will be investigating. she is not only trying to figure out who the culprit(s) is/are but why this was happening. she's from la so she is familiar with serial murders and strange happenings. but these sudden bursts scream otherworldly doing. she would know since she has spent time with the devil, a demon, and an angel.

[inked-out-trees]

wake up, wake up, little sparrow

(a coda to the fixed point theory, in which sparrow and cola finally get their closure)

I finally did it! it's been a long time coming (and by long time I mean I wanted to write this scene into the full fic, couldn't find a spot for it, and so pieces of this have been vibing at the back of my mind for like a year). pls enjoy :')

wordcount: 3373. title from the folksong of the same name by ella jenkins, secondary shoutout to the leyla mccalla version as well.

// mention of fic-typical death, reference to something that feels like incest but is not because they're not related - sandra just likes to call the cohort her siblings

October 2009.

The variation of front doors throughout time is surprisingly thin. At least, the look of them. Approximately person-sized, with a bit extra to account for comfort and human differences, a perfect delineation that says: you can enter this closed place through this area that is sometimes not closed. And occasionally they are painted red.

This is something Sandra thinks about on and off as she stands on the doorstep.

This squat little house lives in a threadbare neighbourhood somewhere in the shitty outskirts of a desperately small prairie town, the kind with one school and two churches and porches laden with old bikes and dirty plastic chairs. She’s seen no one in the half hour she’s been here, psyching herself up first on the gravel road and then on the front step of the house. It has a red front door. The floorboards are weathered green-grey beneath her feet.

She checks the time and date again. Correct, all around. The address. Also correct. It’s all written down, anyway, on this sticky note in her pocket that’s been crumpled and flattened so much its edges are soft and the ink has run and faded. The loopy, unencumbered handwriting of a forty-two-year-old Dodger, whom Sandra had run into at a farmer’s market in 2633.

That had been weird, too. Not just because it was the first time she’d been called Sparrow in fifteen years. They’d traded pleasantries, caught each other up on the lost years of their lives like they were casual old friends rather than estranged sisters who grew up learning how to kill people. It was awkward and then they fell into it, tripping suddenly into this metaphorical hole of easy reminiscence and falling, falling, falling.

Dodger hadn’t given her much of the cohort’s history, but she did give Sandra the currents: that she’d started writing her weird books, that Ghoul had found a ‘hot divorcée MILF’–Ghoul’s words–to settle down with, that Nicky was still gallivanting around picking up his odds and ends, to the consternation of the Bureau. Most crucially, at least to Sandra – that Cola was waiting.

The date’s passed, based on our chats, Dodger had said, something wistful playing at the edges of her lips. Cola still hasn’t told us what came of it.

How is he now? Sandra had asked.

And Dodger had shrugged, easily, like it wasn’t a concern that they’d scattered, leaving Cola in particular to whatever fate he cursed himself into. Like he wasn’t struggling to draw breath the last time Sandra had seen him, like things just – went on.

Which, maybe they did. She doesn’t know the details.

He messages us every once in a while so we know he’s still alive, Dodger had said.

Sandra wonders how necessary that was, at the start. If his state of being was that much of a question.

Dodger didn’t know what she’d be walking into, and so–even though it’s been a long time since she’s needed a debrief before jumping into things–her nerves slice sharp. The porch is so unassuming it feels, for a moment, that she’s on a regular adventure, or perhaps doorknocking or flyering or something else she lost shame about a long time ago. The door is the colour of fresh blood. Sandra’s not a ditherer – but this is Cola.

Cola, whose dream she picked up and ran with, never once looked back to see if she was trailing his intestines along with it.

The blinds at the front window are shut tight, but there’s a shift in one of them–a slit widening, and then shutting again, the brief space of an eyeball between them–and then the door lock clicks. Her throat hurts as she swallows.

Empty, cold space, this airlock of a front hallway, and then Cola says, “Sparrow.”

Sandra lifts her eyes. “Hi,” she says.

Cola’s older, here, same as the Dodger she met in the market several days ago and several hundred years to come. Or maybe he just looks it – reasonably, he shouldn’t be past forty yet, somewhere close in age to Sandra herself despite the jumps in time. But there are crevasses in his face that seem too deep to be real, a heaviness to the way he holds himself, steel-grey eyes she could drown in.

“You came,” Cola says.

Sandra thinks she might understand the way it feels to be a butterfly pinned into a shadow box. “I met Dodger,” she says. “She gave me the address.”

“I figured one of them would. If you found them.”

“I wouldn’t say I was looking for them,” says Sandra. “Not that she was looking for me, either, it was more of a coincidence, right-place-right-time sort of thing. Which, given the whole, you know. Time. I guess it could be construed as suspicious? But then again, even the smallest of probabilities must be true in some form, in some universe, again, given time. So maybe it was just that.” That’s a lot of words all at once. Sandra clamps her jaw shut.

Cola just gives her the smallest upturn of a smile. “I really want to get to know you,” he says finally, stepping aside to let her through the cramped entryway. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He shuts the door and locks it, and as she’s pulling off her boots, Cola skirts past her, deliberately not touching her – a lack of touch that hurts nonetheless, because she knows in her bones that in a past life he would have given her a gentle knock on the shoulder, or even a hip-check, something easy and kind. There is so much between them, and it is nothing and everything, all at once.

She tucks her boots in the corner by the doorstop, toes nudging against a faded dirt stain along the baseboard. A little whiff of warm air brushes past her knuckles from the vent. Something click-clicks deep within the ducts. The house feels, incredulously, alive.

“I also have biscuits,” Cola says, from further inside. “They’re from the store. Probably stale. But I have them.”

Around the corner, the kitchen has the same wilted feel as the rest of the interior: beige wood cabinets and grey lino on the counters, the handle of the refrigerator yellowed with use, a pile of used dishes in the sink, all of it emanating a sort of stasis. The walls and fridge are bare of pictures. A single banana sits, browning, on the windowsill.

And Cola, half inside the pantry, holding a box of biscuits tentatively in one hand.

“Sounds perfect,” Sandra says, and she almost believes it. The water picks up in the kettle. She’s visiting a friend, that’s all; never mind that it’s not her current home time or place, never mind that this friend is her long-estranged brother.

Cola shifts another not-quite-smile her way, slides the biscuits across the island.

She’s not sure what’s meant to happen now. If the onus is on her to start whatever this is, or on Cola – he invited her here, sure, but she came. She slips her nails into the groove of the cardboard and rips open the biscuit box, and Cola pulls two mugs from his cupboards and drops unremarkable teabags into them, and neither of them speak.

They stand in relative silence until the kettle boils, and Cola hands her a mug, picking up his own and leading her back into the living room. She’d passed it earlier but made no note of it; the furniture is mismatched but comfortable, and–most memorably–a guitar is propped upright next to the tv, without a stand but surrounded by piles of books and sheet music. It’s so new it shakes her. So much has changed.

“So,” she says, and the word is so violently awkward it catapults her personality fully into the opposite direction – back into the ease and detachment of Sandra, the great and powerful, better-than-you actress who first debuted whenever she finally joined the drama club. Thirteen years ago and three years to come. “What made you choose two thousand and nine?”

Cola raises an eyebrow at her code switch but thankfully doesn’t push it. “Hadn’t been here yet,” he says, “and it seemed far enough away from all my other shit that it just... sounded okay.” He swipes a hand across his forehead, pulling trailing hair from his face. “And, I don’t know. I knew you were somewhere around here, too. Maybe I’d run into you. Long shot, but. You know.”

All at once Sandra deflates. So much for great and powerful. “Time loves its coincidences,” she agrees. “You look well.”

Cola’s answering snort is derisive. “I would love to see through whatever lenses you’ve got right on right now, Sparr.”

And, okay, yes, in truth Cola has a haggardness about him, deep under-eye circles and this energy fuzzing at the surface of his skin, like he’s been holding onto a coiled spring for so long even letting it go would no longer hold absolution. It’s been a long, long time, but somewhere in the core parts of Sandra’s memories she holds a picture of Cola full of life and glowing with it. This is – not that.

“You, however,” he continues, circling his mug in her direction. “Obviously whatever you did... worked well for you.”

“It did,” Sandra confirms. She doesn’t want to say too much, because, again – a dream she stole is a dream barely hers at all.

But Cola leans forward, with the least amount of guard she’s seen since she’s stepped foot in this house that breathes. “Tell me,” he demands, and she never could deny him, anyway, not when it counted.

She talks for a long time, and Cola never once stops looking interested. He rises a couple times: first to refill their tea, and then to start dinner, something small and frozen that Sandra doesn’t quite catch before it’s out of the box and into the oven. “Hope you’re okay without living in splendor for a bit,” he says, somewhat sardonically, and Sandra says, “I was in prison, I can handle it,” fully knowing she hasn’t gotten to that part yet in her story, excited to tell more. They sit on Cola’s kitchen counter and eat when it’s done – two plastic plates full of crudely sliced Shepard’s pie, heels knocking against the bottom set of kitchen cabinets.

Sandra finishes her abbreviated life story–as much as she’s telling, anyway–as they’re drying and returning Cola’s dishes to their spots. The grass flats stretching beyond the kitchen window sprout twisted, gnarled shadows, like scarecrows in the drying field. The sun is on the other side of the house, so low in the sky it’s almost disappeared. It’s been hours.

In the living room, Cola flicks on the lamp and dumps himself back into the chair. Sandra cradles her fourth cup of tea. “Your turn,” she says.

Cola shoves his face into both hands, stays like that for a while, and then moves them up, brushing back his hair as he goes. “It’s not as exciting.”

“I don’t care. It’s you. It’ll be exciting.”

This is the wrong thing to say, apparently, because all of the looseness Cola has begun to exhibit coils right back up, hard lines re-imprinting into the corners of his eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, Sparr, I promise it’s not–that’s not even your fucking name, I shouldn’t be calling you that.”

“You can,” Sandra says. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Fuck,” Cola sighs, deflating much like a balloon. “Look, it’s not. I’m not.” He sits in silence for a while, clawing his fingers and then relaxing them on his knee, nails scraping against his jeans. “Dodger didn’t tell you anything, huh.”

“Not really.” and she hadn’t, not of their past; just of their present, or what they’d built into their own pocket of ‘present’, this shortened version of their past ten years or so. Sandra makes a small, nonsensical gesture at the house. “But you’re here. Instead of, you know.”

Cola stares at the floor, visibly steeling himself. “So you left,” he says. “We know that part. The Ring was not happy, as you can expect. They said they’d handle it. The rest of us kind of expected them to bring back your body as a warning.”

“Jesus,” Sandra says, before she can stop herself.

“But they grounded me anyway,” Cola continues. “Thought I’d helped you, or some shit. When they asked if I had I said no, but if she’d let me I would have, and I don’t know if that killed my future or not but it certainly didn’t help. Didn’t really care at that point, though. Since you, you know. Made it all possible, even when it wasn’t.”

Sandra remembers the crack in his voice that very first night, when he’d said I’m too chickenshit to do anything about it. Remembers how hard she’d hoped, afterwards, that he’d managed anyway.

Cola drains his tea. “Didn’t matter, anyway. The program got shut down five, seven years later. Yeah,” he adds, at Sandra’s raised eyebrow, “we were the first and the last ones, big fuckin’ whoop. Guess it wasn’t sustainable the way they thought it was, raising cycles of children to do their dirty work. Anyway, we were still classified as dangerous as hell, didn’t even exist legally and all that shit, so they couldn’t just let us wander. So we just, kind of... stayed at the compound. They kept everything running–everything except, y’know, the regular trips–and it was the most boring three years in my whole goddamn life. Hell, Mono and Prime started shagging somewhere in there, and it was–yeah, I know–until I figured, hey, we’ve been controlled enough, they don’t need any judgement from me. So. You know.”

He shrugs, like it’s the end of the story, dismissive in a way that makes Sandra want to lean in, unravel the stuck pieces and pull them out like thread.

“They let us out a couple years ago,” he says. “Personal escort to whenever and wherever we wanted to go, no time tech allowed beyond that. We collective-bargained for this stupid groupchat. I think they got the code from the future. But it measures sends and receives based on how long we’ve each been alive, so, like – I could text ‘em four hours after I get here and they’ll each get it four hours after they’ve landed in their final times. But that’s. That’s it, really.” He leans back in his chair, eyes still tight, face still shuttered. “And now I’m here, I guess. Living out the rest of my life in a fuckin’ farm town.”

Sandra wants to ask about the farm town decision, but the impression she’s getting of Cola–this ghost of a man living inside a house that feels, for all intents and purposes, larger than the person occupying it–is twigging something unpleasant in her gut. “All the things you wanted to do,” she ends up saying. “Concerts. Coworkers. Love.”

Cola laughs, a single, sharp bark that could shatter ice. “Fuck, Sparrow, that was always just going to be a dream. The program took too much away from me when they grounded me - hell, when they fucking adopted me. There’s not enough left in here to build whatever life I wanted.” He flops a hand around in a gesture at himself. “I’m glad you got your happy ending. Really, I’m fucking elated for you. But all you are is lucky. Most folks just go until they don’t anymore.”

Sandra notes, dimly, that whatever was rattling in the vents has now stopped; somewhere down the hall a clock seems to be repeating the tock without an accompanying tick, an unsettling undertone to the silence. She might be numb all over. Or maybe it just hurts, in some unexplainable way, this version of Cola she’s just met – the one she’s known all along. Bitter and carved from stone.

It’s fully nighttime now. It might just be the lamp casting odd shadows onto his face, but she’s not quite sure that’s it.

“Cola,” she says.

“I picked Ronan,” he says. “Not that anyone knows me by that. But the woman at the grocery store asked, once. Town this small, it’s hard to miss when new people show up.”

Sandra wets her lips and resets. “Ronan.”

And Cola looks her in the eyes. “Sandra.”

Good god, how did they get here? Her fingers itch for her watch; she wants to hurl them both back in time and fix whatever’s gone wrong here, fix it all – mold them both better childhoods, give them love rather than the fucked-up upbringing they got stuck with.

“You still have time,” she says, finally, sort of like she’s begging. Absolutely like she’s begging. “Find a major city. Pull out all the stops.”

“Jesus, always with the idealism.” Cola runs his hand through his hair, again, and tugs at it. “I’m a fucking coward, didn’t you hear the first time? This is what I have. I’m not stupid enough to let it get taken away from me, too.”

“But it doesn’t have to go.” Sandra’s stubborn, she can credit herself that. “You’re making Ronan up as you go. I know you are, I had to do the same with Sandra. He doesn’t have to hold onto the things Cola holds onto. He can do more. He can.”

Cola looks cynical, and for a flash of a second Sandra wants to haul him to his feet by the collar and throttle him. She doesn’t. She bites at the edge of her thumb and thinks for a while.

“Hey, we all knew this was going to be how it turned out,” Cola says, in a weird, gentle way, like he’s trying to reassure Sandra of his own miserable circumstances.

Sandra finds purchase on a piece of tough skin and yanks, tearing a strip that starts fine and turns tender the further it pulls. The loose thread of skin tickles. She flicks it back and forth with her pointer finger.

“Fine,” she declares. “You’re a coward. Cool. You know what you can still do?”

Cola raises an eyebrow as Sandra stands, rounding the coffee table and picking past a small pile of DVDs.

She thrusts a hand out, fingers open, as though offering him a boost up. “Take my hand.”

“Sparrow,” says Cola.

“The great news,” she says, “is that we’re all cowards. Every single one of us, about different things. We just find people who can do the things we can’t and let them drag us along, because we’re scared as hell but we do it anyway. Take my fucking hand, Cola.”

Cola spares a glace to his DVD player, which has a digital clock glowing green on its right side. “It’s nine thirty. Where are you planning on taking me, the high school bonfire?”

“It’s a bloody metaphor,” Sandra says, exasperated. “Do I have to pick you up? You look like you stopped exercising. I could take you.”

“Uh, no,” Cola retorts. “It’s always been a fair fight, it’ll always be a fair fight.”

He’s slipping back into banter mode, shedding some of that armor disguised as a hatred for life. Sandra keeps her hand out and tries to smother the smug feeling in her stomach.

Cola looks at her hand, then looks at her, back and forth a couple times. “You’re fucking serious,” he says.

“I’m fucking serious,” says Sandra.

“You–”

Sandra waves her open hand very close to Cola’s nose.

“Don’t slap me, Jesus Christ.” Cola smacks her hand away, and that’s the end of it – except it’s not, because instead of just letting her go, he wraps his fingers around hers. It’s a little unorthodox, as far as hauling handshakes go, but Sandra plants her feet and pulls him to stand anyway.

Nine thirty, in the bleeding dark of the smallest farm town Sandra’s ever seen, surrounded by life – a peeling coffee table with ringstains, piles of DVDs, the goddamn guitar. Cola opens himself, just a little bit, to match.

Sandra grips her brother’s hand. “The two thousands can be great, if you let them,” she says. “You’re going to make this work.”

[ohgoddard]

Forced Reset

Concrete was never the best material to wake up on. Hard and sharp, digging into the bare skin and tearing it open with little effort. Too many children can attest to how much concrete hurts and point to their scraped knees and elbows like well-worn battle scars. No, concrete is perhaps the bottom tier of things to wake up on. I would have much liked to wake up instead on my apartment’s carpeted floor. Or my bed in said apartment next to my lovely partner. Or even the patch of grass that my right hand is currently getting to know as feeling begins slowly and agonizingly making its way back into my body. 

I don’t know how I got here. My memories are hazy, like trying to picture a billboard you saw once on a car-ride years ago. Fractions make their way into my mind but thinking about them hurts too much for me to focus. I don’t know where I was the day before, what I was doing an hour before, or even where I was now. Or how I came to be lying on my back in the center of a broken basketball court, bleeding everywhere. And the pain. Jesus the pain. I try to lift my head off the ground, straining my neck. I see a large gash across my chest, my uniform in tatters.

Sleeveless was a terrible idea, I now realize, as a glance reveals the tiger stripes of blood across my arms. I lean on my right arm to sit up, my body rewarding me with the feeling of my lower half. The blood rushes to my head and I almost fall again, catching myself before doing so.

It has been a while since I was this hurt. Not since... I can’t remember but it hurt a lot. The tattered remains of my clothes fell off my body to the floor, making me look down in relief as my sports bra was not one of the many scraps. Would not want to wake up naked and lost. One too many university adventures ended that way. I eye up the white and blue scraps and wonder why I was wearing such..tight clothes. Was I going out clubbing or something? My shorts (Christ, why was I wearing shorts?) looked like they would hold up too, and at least they were more like bike shorts than clubbing shorts. When I looked at my shoes I was surprised to see that they were rollerblades of all things. Why am I wearing rollerblades? 

Then it all hit me. Truly the only logical conclusion that someone with numerous bodily injuries and possible brain injuries could come up with.

I’m a superhero! I help people with my power of... Something. I groan. What kind of hero can’t remember their own power? Oh man I hope I’m not one of those weirdos that fights crimes without a superpower, those losers are so annoying. Oh man, am I annoying? My heartbeat picks up as my mind thinks about all the things I’ve ever done which could be considered annoying. This does nothing as I draw perpetual blanks on my memory, only coming back with anxiety anyways.

Oh god, do I have anxiety? What kind of superhero has social anxiety?! No wonder I’m torn up, I was probably afraid those bank robbers were gonna bully me like I was-

Wait! Bank Robbers!

I was in Massachusetts. It was a normal call, a smash-and-grab from a local bank. I was the only hero in the area because of…something. I can’t remember what, but I didn’t like it. I wasn’t thinking straight and just needed to distract myself. I wasn’t even on the clock, but whatever. It's what heroes do. I suited up in seconds before dashing down the freeway. Then it gets..hazy.

I remember running past the police cars, up to the back of the van they were in. I was planning on taking out their tires with the knife I keep on my belt when the back doors of the van flew open. I had faced this before, so it was nothing new. But they had something that made me stop in my tracks. A masked man leaned out of the van with a strange gun in his arms and fired. I tried to move out of the way but overcorrected myself, tripping over my own feet. A car rammed into me from behind, running over me just as this strange green bolt hit my body and it all went dark.

Yes, yes those memories are real things that occurred and happened. My brain is not just crafting narratives to better fit earlier misconceptions! I’m not making shit up! Look at me, using big words! I must be telling the truth. What kind of brain-injured person uses big words as goodest as I?

But that doesn't explain... This.

I roll over to my side and start to push up.  I hear a disheartening *snap* as I fall back to the concrete, pain shooting up my left arm. I grit my teeth and swallow the scream building in my throat. OK. Left arm is broken, feel like I should have felt that earlier but whatever. Could be worse. Rolling to the other side I pull myself off the embrace of the ground and finally get a survey of my area. It was night I realize, but you could hardly tell because of the intensely bright lamplights around the basketball court I had arrived in. I seem to be in the middle of a large city park, as I can see tons of buildings around the horizon. Thank Christ, It would have sucked to not have a city. At least here I can find the local agency building and get medical treatment. I just gotta give them my hero name and… and...

Fuck what's my hero name?

Shit, forget that. What the hell is my name name. 

“Oh goddamnit, this just gets better.” I spit out blood. Ugh. Better get walking then. They should have photos right? Maybe that will be enough. 

I begin my shambling walk back to the city, leaving my comfortable bed on the basketball court behind me. Walking feels like coming back from an intense workout and every muscle is mad you decided to notice them. Or like a really bad hangover you get from drinking out of a random jug titled “Ronald Borgan” at a music festival. I  don’t get very far until I have to sit on a bench in the park and take off those goddamn skates. I don’t know if you ever tried to walk normally in skates, but it is near impossible.

As I unlace them, I notice a tag poking up from the lip of the shoe.

“If lost return to Riley Wing.” 

“What if Mrs.Wing herself is lost?”

My blood turns cold. I snap my head to my left to see a man walking towards me. He is dressed head to toe in a grey overcoat, topped off with a grey fedora. His face is obscured by the shadows of the night, the only thing poking out is the bright red of a cigarette. His hands leave his pockets to grab his cigarette, an almost impossible white.

Wasting no time I immediately grab my skates and throw them at his head. I have no clue whether this guy is a villain or just a real pale creep, but I wasn’t going to take the chance. My skates smack him straight in the face, making him swear in pain. I grin as he drops his cigarette. Not wasting a second, I stand from the bench and… leg it as far as I could from him.

Which was not very far. What little blood I had left in my body rushed to my head the minute I stood up, casting me into a realm of vertigo not yet seen by mortal men. Godlike disorientation aside, my fucking knees decide to give out at this exact moment. I curse my low iron diet as I stumbled to the ground, barely catching myself with my good arm. I manage to scrape together enough strength to stand up but stopped mid-rise. A heavy hand clasped my hurt shoulder, pain shooting up my back. I turn my head to look up, seeing a face just as pale as the hand that grasps me. Looking back is an utterly unremarkable face, one that seems to change to an equally mediocre look every time I blink.

“Mrs.Wing,” his gritty baritone shook me through his hand, “you look like you suffered a terrible accident. Allow me to help.”  He lets go of my shoulder and walks in front of me, extending his other stark white palm. I look over him, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. I can’t tell if he has a weapon on him, but it's not like he would need one to take care of me right now. He was more than larger than I am, easily holding 90 pounds on me. His face, sporting a red mark on his forehead where my skates hit him, betrayed no intention of ill will. And frankly, I more than likely could not stand back up without his help.

I reach out with my non-broken arm, and the man effortlessly lifts me without even a sign of strain on his end.  He guides me back to the bench, setting me down with a surprising amount of grace. I let out a pained breath, looking over at him. He stays standing in front of me, another cigarette appearing in his mouth where I smacked it out last. His smoke trails upwards, blending into the soft navy blue of night.

“Alright mister, what is it you want? Were you hoping for a thank you? An autograph? If you haven’t noticed,” I gesture to my tattered remains of what someone might have recently called clothes, “I haven’t any functioning pockets.” Come to think of it, I probably didn’t have any pockets beforehand either. Damn the women’s clothing industry.

The man chuckles, taking one more drag on his cigarette before dropping it on the floor and grinding it out with his grey dress shoes.

“No, Mrs.Wing, I did not come asking for autographs. I’m something of a helper. And frankly, you looked like you needed quite a bit of help.” He gestures to the entirety of me. Which, while a true statement, was rude. I scowl at him.

“How the hell do you know my name? Aren’t I a hero, don’t I need to keep that a secret?”

His eyebrows raise in alarm. 

“You mean to tell me that you don’t remember that you’re a hero? My, this is quite a bad case you got going on Mrs.Wing, quite a bad case indeed. You’ve got a classic superhero malady afflicting you right now. Near cliche for my tastes, but common enough in your line of work to create the necessary drama I suppose.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I shake my head in confusion. Perhaps this guy is nothing more than a really bad hallucination. I mean, it happened in Fight Club. It could happen to me, right? That was a valid thing that could occur, right?  Also, why is he talking like that?

“Hey, why are you talking like that?”

He cocks his head. “Like what?”

“God, never mind. What malady am I afflicted with?”

He cracks a smile, the bastard. 

“I’m afraid it's a case of occupational amnesia. Hits all the heroes at least once in their careers. But I do have to say it hit you at a very hard time. Jade is going insane looking for you. Problem is, not sure she’ll find you.”

Jade.

Jade. Jade. Why does that name mean something to me? It means... Happy. It means safe. It means joy, it means love, it means… anger. It means upset. It means disappointment. It means betrayal. Why? Who is Jade?

And why won’t she find me?

“Ah well, I suppose it's not my place to get involved in those issues. Merely to get the ball rolling.”

I shake the thoughts out of my head.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘get the ball rolling’? Did you start this?! Did you put me here?!”

I move to stand up, readying my good arm to slug him across that greek chiseled jaw of his. One push from him sent me back onto the bench, the air leaving my lungs.

“Now, now. No need to go hurt yourself more. No, Mrs.Wing, I did not put you here. However, I see a great opportunity for character development right now. You have quite a bit of flaws, I think this will serve as a great opportunity for you to iron those out.”

“Fuck you too, asshole. You stand there, talking like you know so much about me and then tell me it's a good thing I caught goddamn amnesia and a broken arm? Because it builds character? Do you coach youth football after school too?” I scoff at the almighty jerkwad in front of me.

“Your growth won’t be as good if I just give you all the answers now. No, I think you forgot who you were long before you forgot who you were if you get my meaning.” He reaches up to his mouth, lighting another cigarette.

“What the hell do you mean?! Just tell me who I am, you jackass!” I stand up and grab his lapels. For the first time, I notice a wedding ring on my left hand. 

I am married. He knows I am married and doesn’t tell me to who.

My rage grows. He knows. He knows so much and chooses not to tell me because of goddamn ‘character growth’? I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him right here, right now. I’d do it right here if I didn’t need him to tell me who I am.

He laughs in my face, blowing smoke into my eyes. My hands release as they go to my nose to block the smell. The smoke grows larger and larger until all I see is murky grey haze.

“All in due time, Mrs.Wing. However, right now I need to do my job and ‘get this ball rolling’. Pardon me, but this will be the only time I will do something this violent.”

“What?!” I scream out, looking all around me. I barely catch the movement of his fist in the corner of my eye before it all goes black again.

In my dreams, I hear the sound of fluttering fabric, the unlocking of deadbolt, and the arguing of strangers.

In my dreams, all I see is fiery orange. And all I want to do is feel its warmth, one more time.

[pbandjesse]

Today was a pretty good day. Me and James got to spend a good amount of time together but I also ended up in a weird waiting mode. But it was not a bad day at all.

James's alarm went off at 6 and of course they were on the bathroom so I was trying to find the phone lost in the bed and it was a whole moment. But we found it and I went back to sleep.

I had asked to be woken up at 830. But then I was like. No. And didn't wake up until after 9.

I felt pretty good when I got up though. I went to get dressed and James made the bed. I felt cozy and good honestly. My head was itchy and I would wash my hair tonight. But I was in a good mood.

James made me half a bagel. And we chilled for a little while. But soon we were going out on our little drive.

We went to Towson to go look at the Valentine's day stuff. But it was mostly. Gnomes?? I do not like gnomes. I think they are ugly and I don't understand why they are like the mascot for every holiday now. We even saw kwanza gnomes?? It was very bizarre. I did see a few things I liked but nothing I loved.

I msitly just had fun walking around with James and looking at stuff.

We did TJ Maxx, then Burlington (whose lighting was weird and hurt my eyes) and then bed bath and beyond. Which didn't have valentines stuff but did have Easter?? Super weird. I did have fun looking though.

We walked to the other side of the shopping center to go to Marshalls. And they mostly had gnomes. Lots of leftover Christmas stuff. I found a lotion that made me think of a frog eye pillow my mom had when I was a kid. And maybe James got me a Valentine's present that I have chosen to put out of my mind until then.

We moved the car and went to the Red Robin for lunch. It was pretty empty when we got there. And our food was very good. I had half of my burger because my stomach started hitting again. I hate how often that has been happening lately. But I tried my best to be okay. So I wrapped up my sandwich to bring home. I would have the other half for dinner.

I brought the fortune telling cards James got me for Christmas and we read the rules and did our fortune. The man and woman cards represent you when you hand out the deck and weirdly they showed up right next to each other. Spooky!!

The restaurant had a line out the door by the time we were leaving. That's happened a lot lately too. Coming to place at the right time I guess.

We went to the craft store next so I could try to get a dowel rod for an idea I had. They only had short ones in a bag. So I got it and a piece of wood to make a base for a ring stand I had an idea about. It wouldn't work that way I had pictured but it was fun to try.

James was getting worn out. And so we went home. I talked to Charlie for a bit about hanging out but the day got away from him. Maybe tomorrow. But because I wasn't sure what was happening I got stuck in waiting mode.

I tried to fight it. I cut the dowel rods and screwed everything together. But it did not work the way I pictured. So back to the drawing board with that one. At least it was fun.

And I poked around the apartment. James got ready to bike in the living room. And I lit a candle. We realized that the candle was one of those surprise ring ones. And it was red wax and we made a huge mess trying to get it out. I even thought the ring had a red stone but it turned out it was blue??? Just covered in wax and stained. It's a nice little ring though so that was a fun surprise.

I spent a lot of time in bed. Watching tiktoks. Just resting. I had some cereal. I had astronaut ice cream. I'm gonna be so sad when that's all gone cause I love it. I told Charlie we could just go get dinner tomorrow. I hope he follows through because he's leaving this weekend and I'm sad about that!! I mean I think it will actually make us closer. Like it did for me and Jess. But only time will tell.

James went for a walk. And while they were gone I just chilled.

When they got home they had dinner. And I took a shower. Washed my hair really good. And hung out with James in the kitchen while my hair dried a little and they made got chocolate.

Drying my hair continued to be annoying but I'm getting way better at it. Faster. My arms still hurt but I seem to have a better system where I can keep my arms low.

And nowe and James are in bed. They are asleep holding the Squirtle I got them. And I am a little to awake. Sweetp is being so stinking cute. I might have a little snack to try to sleep easier. But we will see.

I work at the museum tomorrow. Just for tours but who knows if anyone will want them. I have sewing stuff I can work on. I just hope it's a nice day.

Take care of each other out there. Be safe. Be kind. Goodnight!!

[jdgo51]

September 8, 2024

New Life

Margaret Martin (Australian Capital Territory, Australia)

"If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" - 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)

"Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny spring day, and I took the opportunity to ride my bike around a lake. One of my favorite parts of such rides is looking at the trees, plants, and lovely views. This time I particularly noticed all the new spring leaves and the blossoms on the trees. As I marveled at this abundant new life, my mind turned to the new life offered to us by our Savior Jesus Christ.

Zacchaeus experienced this new life in a dramatic way after climbing a tree to see Jesus and having Jesus invite himself to his home. Zacchaeus’ experience with Jesus changed his life, leading him to repay his debts to the people he had cheated in the past.

If we follow Jesus’ teachings and get to know him as a personal friend and Savior we, too, can find ourselves transformed and able to live in a new way. Through reading the Bible, prayer, and joining in fellowship with other Christians, we also can be equipped to serve God in new ways and to make a difference in our world." Let Christ be your daily guide to do things that will change the world. Just little things can have impact, Get your facts straight before espousing ridiculous and untrue information. Know that others need kindness and support on every turn. Be the catalyst that turns things around for people in your life orbit.

Today's Prayer

"Loving God, draw us closer to you as we seek to follow Jesus. Help us to share with others the new life you offer us all." Amen.

Luke 19:1-10

"1 Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through town. 2 A man there named Zacchaeus, a ruler among tax collectors, was rich. 3 He was trying to see who Jesus was, but, being a short man, he couldn’t because of the crowd. 4 So he ran ahead and climbed up a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus, who was about to pass that way. 5 When Jesus came to that spot, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, come down at once. I must stay in your home today.” 6 So Zacchaeus came down at once, happy to welcome Jesus. 7 Everyone who saw this grumbled, saying, “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.” 8 Zacchaeus stopped and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord, I give half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times as much.” 9 Jesus said to him, “Today, salvation has come to this household because he too is a son of Abraham. 10 The Human One came to seek and save the lost.” When we wrong someone , just do your part to make it right. Stay honest and respectable in all that you say or do. The Lord expects you to be responsible at all costs. Be a blessing and share God's love! Joe

[epfcmoberlyfieldhouse]

EPFC NORTH AUGUST 2023 EVENTS

Moberly Filedhouse is located at 7646 Prince Albert St, Vancouver, BC V5X 3Z4. All events are free, all-ages with materials provided.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | AWAKENINGS: AN ECO-ART GATHERING | Friday, August 4: 8 – 10 PM; Saturday, August 5 and Sunday, August 6: 12 – 4 PM Join EPFC North for a weekend of screenings and workshops celebrating ways we can create in collaboration with local fruit, flowers, trees, and herbs. Friday night features a screening of eco-friendly films; Saturday we’ll connect with plants to create magical images on cloth, paper, and celluloid; Sunday we’ll explore dyes and inks made from mindfully foraged local organics. Free event! Materials provided. Everyone welcome.

Workshop at EPFC North Moberly Fieldhouse | SKETCHING THE GARDEN | Tuesday, August 8: 11 AM – 1 PM Art Club is on summer hiatus so instead we’ll have tea at the Fieldhouse Cinema Garden and do a little sketching inspired by the fabulous flowers of August. Free event! Materials & refreshments provided. Everyone welcome.

Event with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | GARY’S BIRTHDAY PARTY | Friday, August 11: 1 – 3 PM Our annual celebration of the unofficial mayor of South Vancouver with all the things he loves: Painting, Drawing, Indian Pizza, The Village People, and of course CAKE! Free event! Everyone welcome.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | HOME MOVIES HOOTENANY: A HOME MOVIE TRANSFER PARTY Saturday, August 19: 1 - 4 PM Bring us your tired, your old, your funky old HOME movies on Super 8mm, 8mm, 16mm and we will help you transfer them to a Digital file. And if you have old video formats (i.e VHS, Video 8, Hi-8, VHS-C, Mini-DV) email us at epfccollective@gmail.combefore coming and let’s see if we can make the magic happen with some cables, connectors and LOVE! Everyone welcome.

Screening with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | HOME MOVIES HOOTENANY: A HOME MOVIE VIEWING PARTY Saturday, August 19: 8 - 10 PM Watch your old movies and those of friends, neighbours and peers under the stars!! FREE!! FUN for the whole FAMILY!! Bring FOOD and FRIENDSHIP to share!!! Everyone welcome.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | WOOD YOU BUILD WITH ME? WOODWORKING FOR BEGINNERS Sunday, August 20: 1 - 4 PM We got hammers, saws, screws, nails, glue, twin, love, laughter and the will to experiment. Come spend an afternoon at EPFC North and tinker to build that beautiful birdhouse, nightstand, or Pez dispenser holder you have always dreamed of! Feel free to bring additional supplies to add to the mix. Everyone welcome.

Filmcycle Screening with EPFC North | “BUILDING AND CONSTRUCTION” - A FILMCYCLE SCREENING | Sunday, August 20: 8 - 10 PM | Meet up 8 PM at Victoria Park It is hot! You want to get outside! We have a bicycle that is built to be a traveling cinema! Let’s hang out together! Continuing with our weekend woodworking theme, we will screen a series of short films with those topics in mind!!! Meet at Victoria Park and we will bike through the streets of the city screening films. Stops will be made in parks along the way for those who prefer stationary viewing. Victoria Park is located at1425 Victoria Dr, Vancouver, BC V5L 4G9

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | BESPOKE MY BROKEN SPOKE | Saturday, August 26: 1 - 4 PM Our first and certainly joyful art making afternoon with discarded materials. Bike parts, detritus, lost and forgotten household items and dreams!! We will gather! We will play! We will build beauty out of things that have lost their meaning. Everyone welcome.

Screening with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | I HEART MY BIKE: AN EVENING OF FILMS ABOUT BICYCLES Saturday, August 26: 8 - 10 PM We will get out the projectors and screen a series of BICYCLE films under the stars!!! Some nights we ride around screen films from our FilmCYCLE but tonight we’ll stay stationary and screen films about bicycles!!! Free event. Everyone welcome.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | PINHOLE IN MY SOUL: BUILD YOUR OWN TINY CAMERA Sunday, August 27: 1 - 4 PM We have a box that is overflowing with old 35mm still film containers and they make WONDERFUL pinhole cameras!!! So come join us and make your very own camera to keep and bring home with you! And since we are at it, let’s make some images and try and process them in coffee, vitamin c and LOVE! Materials provided. Free event. Everyone welcome.

Filmcycle Screening with EPFC North | PINHOLES: A NIGHT OF TINY FILMS | Sunday, August 27: 8 - 10 PM | Meet up 8 PM at Victoria Park The 2023 FilmCYCLE Summer Film Series continues…“Get on your bikes and ride”!! Let’s watch movies under the stars together! Continuing with the weekend workshop theme of “pinholes” we will screen a series of short films with this topic in mind!!! Meet at Victoria Park and we will bike through the streets of the city screening films. Stops will be made in parks along the way for stationary viewing. Victoria Park is located at 1425 Victoria Dr, Vancouver, BC V5L 4G9

Online Workshop | HAIKU YOU Wednesday, August 30: 4 - 5 PM “A Japanese verse form most often composed, in English versions, of three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. A haiku often features an image, or a pair of images, meant to depict the essence of a specific moment in time.”—Poetry Foundation In this workshop for poets and filmmakers, we’ll use the natural wonders of the season as our inspiration to write and share haikus and then turn them into experimental short films. Free event! To sign up and receive the Zoom link send an email with HAIKU in the subject line to epfccollective@gmail.com

[taurusdaylight]

heart is lost and lonely, but with you there’s forever only

summary. fumbling between racing tracks and loving kisses, the hopeless romantic in jeong jaehyun still remains hopeful in the promise that forever brings to him, and to you.

pairing. street racer boyfriend! jaehyun x implied fem college student! reader

genre. street racer! au, second chance love, fluff, angst with happy ending

word count. 5,394

warnings/tags. somewhat toxic relationship, suggestive content (making out, no smut), separation/breakup, haechan makes a cameo, and the story is mostly jaehyun-centric

a/n. hi i'm back! this idea came to me after i watched the forever only mv and i knew i had to write it so here it is :) i literally dropped everything, including my current wip lol. anyway, please give lots of love to jaehyun’s first solo song, forever only, and i hope you enjoy reading this too!

­–

It’s another sleepless night without you, and all that plagues Jaehyun’s mind is the scent of your warmth on his blanket, but the cold and empty side of the bed that you used to occupy is a glaring and painful reminder that you’re no longer here with him.

He turns over to his side, and with soulless eyes, he stares at the clock on his bedside table, wondering how it is possible for time to move so slowly. He’d been trying to fall asleep since eleven, and even though only two hours went by, it somehow feels much longer than that, hours passing by in a minute. He’s tired, but he’s unable to shut down his mind that’s filled with thoughts of you.

He yearns to feel your soft touch against his skin, holding you close in his arms as the both of you sleep the night away until daylight comes. He’ll always be the first to wake up, quietly getting out of bed to draw the curtains so that the white rays of the morning sun won’t disrupt your slumber. Then, he’ll return to his spot next to you, tracing his fingers along your delicate features that he already knows like the back of his hand, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. Jaehyun could never get enough of waking up to you, but if back then he knew that it was something that came with an expiry date, perhaps he would have cherished those moments more.

Still wide awake, Jaehyun gives up trying to fall asleep. He pulls his blanket aside, getting up to grab his keys, slinging his black leather jacket over his shoulder.

In the past, you used to tell him off for going out late at night to ride his motorcycle whenever he couldn’t sleep. You’ve made it clear that you respect how he has to take part in competitions, but that aside, you weren’t really fond of him riding his bike at other times simply because you couldn’t bear the anxiety of waiting for him to come home without any injuries. He’s not much of a reckless driver, but sometimes the adrenaline gets to him and that’s when it becomes dangerous. It’s a bad habit that he’d promised to get rid of after you voiced out your worries, but it’s not something that he can change overnight, notwithstanding that it is also an escape from reality for him.

At the very least, Jaehyun doesn’t have to come home today with the fear of letting you down. Again.

­–

You didn’t exactly want to be here tonight, but Haechan insisted that you come along because according to him, you spend way too much time cooped up in your room and you ought to be out and about meeting more people.

And he’s arguably right about that. You see, the two of you have been housemates for almost two years, renting a shared apartment close to your college. And in the time that you’ve known him, it is always Haechan who informs you that he’ll be out till late, or that he’ll be inviting a few friends over to drink. It isn’t like those large-scale frat parties, but it still doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a huge social butterfly, considering how it’s always a new friend group that comes over each time.

Compared to Haechan, however, you’re more reserved and value the time that you have to yourself. Awkwardly greeting his friends and excusing yourself to your room whenever they come over, most of your nights are spent reading a book or watching old films. Even if you have nothing particularly special to do, you don’t mind at all.

But it is apparent that he has other plans for you tonight, practically dragging you to a secluded race track that’s outside of the city.

“Is it like… illegal?” you ask, keeping your voice low and looking around to make sure that no one heard you even though they probably know more about this than you do.

Haechan isn’t in the mood to race, so he joins you as a spectator tonight. You’ve often heard stories from him but never pried too much, partly because you’re not all that interested, and also because it didn’t seem like something he would openly share about. There’s hardly any lighting except the street lamps lined up along the road, and not to be stereotypical, but the eccentrically colourful outfits that the racers had on made everything seem more dubious.

Haechan throws his head back in laughter at your question. “Stop being so serious!” he says, landing a smack on your shoulder, and it makes you relax a little. “It’s kind of complicated but I promise it’s safe. It’s been going on for decades.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “And if you win, the money is seriously no joke.”

Your eyes go wide at his words, turning silent immediately. Kind of complicated, so it is illegal after all. You won’t admit it out loud, but it piques a sudden interest in you, and you’re somewhat grateful that Haechan brought you along. After all, it’s not every day you get to be a part of something like this, right?

Another question comes to your mind and because you can’t hold back your curiosity, you ask Haechan again, “So who's the best racer?”

“Jeong Jaehyun,” Haechan answers at once, jerking his head in the direction of the race track, and you do the same, but it’s difficult to see because of the dim lighting, or lack thereof. You can vaguely see the outline of his figure, sitting in an upright position on his motorcycle. “He came over before, not sure if you remember?”

Before you get to answer Haechan, a thunderous sound reverberates around the area, drowning out everyone’s voices. Their attention turned towards where the sound was coming from, whiffs of exhaust blast out from Jaehyun’s motorcycle as he starts the engine. Night light flashing, it allows you to get a better view of him.

Unlike the other racers, he’s dressed in full black. Long hair slicked back, the ash brown shade looks incredibly flattering on him, creating a sleek and chic look that really brings out his chiselled features. It’s also hard to ignore the immaculate fit of the leather jacket that he has on, accentuating his already broad shoulders. Completing his outfit with silver accessories, Jaehyun looks undeniably… hot. Everything about him screams heart-throb love interest that came straight out of a romcom movie set in the 90s. And now, even something as simple as watching him put his helmet on, you think that he may be the most attractive person you’ve seen in your entire life.

Thinking back to Haechan’s question, you more or less recall seeing Jaehyun over at your shared apartment before, but it’s almost a blur. He’d invited a few of his racer friends, and they were gathered in a circle playing truth or dare. And because you were so focused on escaping into your room that you mumbled a quick hi to all of them, barely getting a glance of Jaehyun for five seconds maximum, which probably explains why you never noticed how good-looking he is until now.

“Let’s go, Jaehyun!” Haechan shouts from next to you, and for a split moment, you instinctively put a hand up to cover your ear, startled. He’d always been an outspoken individual, but you still get shocked at how loud he gets.

Jaehyun looks towards Haechan’s direction, gesturing a thumbs-up before putting his hand back on the handle. Then, ever so slightly, he turns, gaze landing on you. It suddenly makes you feel small, the way he’s just looking at you, and you’re slightly thankful that he has his helmet on because you don’t think you’d know how to act if you were to directly look him in the eye.

Giving Jaehyun a polite smile, he nods back at you in return. The first to break eye contact, he turns his head back to the front, aligning his body to the centre of his bike.

Blazing trails of the sparklers light up the night sky, signalling the start of the race. The place is filled with cheers and screams from the audience, but all is blocked out because you can only focus on a particular someone. Eyes boring into his back, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in until he was completely out of your sight, speeding through the darkened tunnel.

True to Haechan’s words, Jaehyun is the first to make it past the finishing line that night, effortlessly defending his champion title with his opponents far behind – they didn’t stand a chance at all, if you had to be completely honest. He was also not lying about the money, and you couldn’t even hide your shocked expression as you watch Jaehyun stash stacks and stacks of cold, hard, cash into his bag.

What you don’t expect, however, is Jeong Jaehyun pulling up to the side of the road where you and Haechan were standing.

He removes his helmet, raking his fingers through his hair, your heart rate increasing by the second at the sight of it. Looking at you with a smug grin on his face, he asks, “Need a ride home, sweetheart?”

–

Needless to say, you took up Jaehyun’s offer. To be specific, you said yes in a heartbeat, and you’re not ashamed of it at all. Haechan, on the other hand, stood there with his mouth agape, whining about how you stole his ride home (you didn’t, but complaining happens to be his favourite pastime). Jaehyun gives Haechan a dismissive wave of his hand to shoo him away, and he takes it as his cue to leave.

Jaehyun gets up from his bike, takes his spare helmet, and carefully puts it on your head. Tall frame towering over you, he bends down to meet your eye level so that it’s easier for him to adjust the strap of the helmet. Between feeling the ghost of his touch over your chin and being so physically close to him that you get a clear view of his long and pretty lashes, you’re not sure which one is more lethal, but it surely is making you feel things and you can hardly calm down your beating heart.

“There we go,” Jaehyun buckles the strap, emitting a click sound. He goes back to standing up straight, smiling in satisfaction once he sees that it’s secure.

“Thank you,” you say with a shy smile, looking everywhere but at Jaehyun when you feel his gaze on you. He pats your head, motioning for you to hop on after he’d settled down on the front seat of his bike.

Trying your hardest not to make any sort of physical contact with Jaehyun, you lean back as much as possible after you’re seated, arms remaining at your side as you’re uncertain about where you should place them. You consider holding on to the side of the seat, but you’re also afraid that you will somehow fly off his bike since it isn’t a very safe and viable option.

Your predicament is interrupted by Jaehyun’s touch, his hands grabbing your forearms to bring them in front, circling them around his waist. Your chest pressed against his firm back, your protest is silenced by the sound of the running engine, Jaehyun not giving you a chance to even pull back.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

–

Contrary to the cold exterior that he puts up, Jaehyun has a warm and romantic side to him that only comes out whenever he’s with you. Sweet with his words and actions, he never misses any opportunity that he has to shower you with compliments, often sneaking in a kiss or two while he’s at it too. Your heart never stops fluttering because of him, and honestly, you don’t want it to stop either. Every day you spend with him is a different adventure, and you fall in love with him more and more.

Above all, you love watching Jaehyun race. Fire in his eyes, his confident demeanour transforms him into an entirely different person. Jaehyun knows the sport inside out, and he never fails to let that part of him shine through, never fails to make you feel proud of him. Heart swelling with pride whenever he makes it back to the finishing line first, Jaehyun is always rewarded by your warm kisses at the end of races.

Because of him, you also know the most random facts about street racing, like how it’s only safe to ride his bike when the temperature is above fifteen degrees. And that even at a suitable temperature, he’d still have to warm up the tyre with some kind of special tool. He once brought you to the workshop to demonstrate it, and even though you don’t really know what he’s talking about, you still find yourself getting lost in him, the way he’d blabber on so passionately. This is just one of the many sides of Jaehyun that you hold near and dear to you.

Other days that you spend with him are mostly captured on film. Carrying his point-and-shoot 35mm Leica Minilux wherever he goes, your racer boyfriend happens to have a knack for photography too. The recurring image of Jaehyun taking pictures is something that you’ve grown to adore, and it is almost endearing to you. It is even more exciting when he goes to develop his film rolls, because you’ll be the first person that he runs to, showing you how well they turned out. And it’s always pictures of you that he claims to be his favourite shots.

On the topic of film cameras, he also mentioned before that this is one of his most treasured items, and how he doesn’t ever plan on switching it for another one – that’s just how precious it is to him. More than that, however, what surprised you more was Jaehyun comparing you to his film camera.

“You’re my first and last,” he said, throwing his dark blue denim jacket around you because it had turned chilly. A small part of you wanted to gag at his words, purposefully showing how cringe it was, but you decided against it. Because Jaehyun’s hazel brown eyes carry a sense of softness to them, showing you how serious he was about it. So you settle for a kiss against his cheek instead, making it known to him that you shared the same sentiment.

–

Hand intertwined with yours, you and Jaehyun sit side by side to admire the soft waves crashing against the shore, evening breeze passing by.

He turned up at your house earlier this afternoon and said that he really wanted to take you somewhere. He kept the location a secret and refused to reveal any details. Even during the ride here, he didn’t give in and merely told you that it was near.

Turns out, it’s a beach that he visits whenever he wants to be alone. Something like a secret spot, he said, and now he wants to share it with you.

“But if you want to be alone, then why did you bring me here?” you tilt your head in confusion.

“People say that being alone and being lonely are two different things,” Jaehyun says, solemn eyes musing on the water. “But for me, I feel lonely when I’m alone and I don’t like it.” You frown at his sudden revelation. Jaehyun rarely opens up about his emotions to you, so you never knew that he felt this way.

“There’s no reason for me to be alone now that I have you,” he continues, tightening his grip around your hand, and you offer him a reassuring smile. “And maybe with you here, this lonely feeling will start to disappear too.”

At his words, you put your head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, leaning closer to his side. The both of you turn to look at the beautiful view of the sunset, golden hues of the beams painting the sea, coastline and sky merging into one.

“This is our place now,” you say.

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

–

For a period of time, Jaehyun truly believed that he could spend forever with you. Not that he didn’t believe it now, but he was definitely starting to lose hope. Maybe it’s just how life works, but like the ocean waves that come and go, it seems like the good times that the both of you shared with each other are starting to waver. And he wonders if the calm after the storm will ever return again.

Over the past few weeks, you and Jaehyun have continuously fought with each other, and it’s to the extent that the both of you could not stand being in the same room for more than five minutes without starting another argument, even though the previous one hadn’t been solved yet.

Most of these fights ended with Jaehyun pressing your bodies together against the wall, his tongue slipping into your parted lips. One hand cupping your cheek and the other playing with the hem of your shirt, he kisses you with fervent need from not being able to touch you whenever he wants to. And you let him, your body reacting to his touches, kissing him back just as much. Because no matter how unhealthy this vicious cycle of fighting and patching things up was, it is undeniable that the both of you can’t live without each other.

But how far is too far?

For some reason, Jaehyun still feels you slipping away from him. Half-hearted replies, not seeing each other for days, you stopped coming for his matches too. The distance between the both of you getting bigger and bigger, he doesn’t know how to pull you back into him.

It’s true that both parties need to put in the effort to make the relationship work, but it feels even worse on his part because he knows that he’s the reason you two are growing apart.

As a racer, ordinary days are out of the question for him. And even though you seemed to like the thrill of that at the beginning, it is obvious that it is starting to take a toll on your relationship instead.

Jaehyun loves you. Truly, madly, deeply. He’s not the type of person to randomly date around in order to fill up an empty void in his life, but the second he saw you, his friend’s cute housemate who’d just returned home from a full day of classes, he immediately knew that there was something different about you, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Yet, he couldn’t just give up on racing because for years, it was the only thing that brought him solace and comfort, until you came along, of course. Still, he didn’t want to have to choose between you or racing. Because as selfish as it sounded, he wanted both.

Which is why Jaehyun constantly reassured you that he would not drive recklessly, that he would safely come home to you every night. But even that wasn’t enough to alleviate your worries. Because one way or another, the fight would gradually escalate into something else, like how it wasn’t a sustainable job and he’d had to eventually give up racing.

Jaehyun was tired. He thought that you’d understand him, but he also knew that it wouldn’t be easy dating someone like him, and that it wasn’t fair to you too. So the day you finally gave up and packed your things, he didn’t stop you from leaving him and only asked to kiss you one last time.

Even till this day, he can’t stop the memories of you from haunting him, and when they do, he wishes for another chance to try again.

–

“What is he doing here?” you shriek, and it seems like you’ve asked the wrong person because haechan looks just as confused as you are. He shrugs his shoulders, not doing anything to help your panicked self.

Jeong Jaehyun is standing a few tables away from you and getting himself a drink. Adorning the same silver accessories that he puts on daily, he’s wearing a white tank top that exposes his toned arms, along with a pair of black slacks that he really loves. Seeing your boyfriend, no, ex-boyfriend of two years after eight months, you don’t know how you’re supposed to feel. It may be the alcohol, but you want to shout at him to get out even though it’s neither your party nor your house, but you also really want to kiss him. God, he’s such a good kisser, nobody could ever compare, not that you kissed anyone else when the both of you weren’t talking to each other.

But you still don’t know why Jaehyun is here. This was a college mixer party, meaning, you could only get in if you had an invitation, or if you knew someone via connections. He wasn’t even a student. And the only two people that Jaehyun knew from your college were you and Haechan.

… And Haechan.

Of course it was him, that would make the most sense. Directing your attention back to your housemate, you didn’t even notice him wandering off to somewhere else, blending in with the rest of the crowd while you were getting distracted by Jaehyun’s appearance. You’ll get him later at home, for sure.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and it stirs up all sorts of unexplainable feelings within you, you feel like you're about to explode. How did he get here so fast? Turning to the voice, you greet Jaehyun back, a stoic look on your face.

He clears his throat, voice faltering upon seeing your expression. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You stand up, wanting to get far away from him because you know that your walls would come crumbling down if you stayed around him any longer.

Jaehyun holds out a hand to your wrist, but swiftly retreats when he feels your body stiffen. He mutters a quick apology. “It won’t take long, please?”

Sighing, you nod in defeat, following him out of the house. All those weeks of trying to convince yourself that you’ll get over Jeong Jaehyun, your efforts have been rendered useless after seeing him in the flesh, his existence reminding you once again that you’ll always feel something for him, whatever that may be.

–

You should not be sitting on Jaehyun’s bike, your chest positioned close to his torso. But the porch is dirtied with someone’s puke all over it, so you don’t exactly have a choice.

“How have you been?” you’re the first to speak.

Jaehyun hesitates a little before answering, “I’m okay.”

He clearly isn’t.

Tired eyes and dark eyebags, it doesn’t take a genius to see that Jaehyun hasn’t been sleeping well, and your heart breaks a little at that. It could be because of the late night races, it could be because of you. Either way, it hurts to see him in this state. But because you’re no longer in a position to be caring so much about him, you feign ignorance and take his word for it.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“Us.”

“I think I’ve made myself clear the last time, Jae.” The nickname accidentally slips out, but you try not to think much about it and hope Jaehyun doesn’t as well. “It’s not going to work out.”

“I missed you,” he confesses, bringing his large hand up to caress your cheek, completely ignoring what you said. “Tell me you missed me too.”

“I–” you take in a sharp breath, tears forming in your eyes as it suddenly hits you how long it’s been since you were this close to him, his gentle touch on your skin. “I missed you too,” you give in. Placing your hand atop his, a tingling sensation washes over your body.

Has it always felt this way, or is it because the two of you have been in separation for such a long time? When you tried to forget about him, moving on proved to be a difficult task because you always ended up reminiscing about Jaehyun and the memories you had with him. You fear that you’ll forget the crinkles by his eyes that form whenever he smiles widely, the earthy scent of his candle that reminds him of childhood home, and the way his hand fits perfectly into yours. And seeing him in person again, you want nothing more than to memorise each and every part of him until it is burned into your memory.

“Sweetheart,” Jaehyun calls out to you, voice still filled with so much love just like how you remember it. He pulls your hand towards him, pressing a chaste kiss against your knuckle before bringing it down to his lap, interlocking your fingers together. “Listen to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, preparing yourself for what’s to come.

“I need you to stay,” Jaehyun begs, not even bothering to hide the desperation in his tone. “I thought I’d be fine without you, but I’m not. I can’t sleep without you next to me, and you’re always appearing in my dreams. The traces of you that are left behind, I still cherish them, but it’s you I long to have.” He exhales, breath shaky, dark orbs revealing everything else that’s left unspoken. You’ve never seen Jaehyun so vulnerable before.

“Jaehyun…” You don’t know what to say, but you could see how painful it was, how long he’s been bottling it up. Your heart still carries so much love for him, because deep down, you know that he’s still the same Jaehyun that you first fell in love with. The same Jaehyun who would have a playful glint in his eyes, a knowing smile appearing on his face just before he’s about to crack another one of his jokes, patiently waiting for the right moment to say it.

Read: doing a word play on Harley-Davidson, the brand of his motorcycle, and Halli Galli, a traditional Korean board game that he regularly plays with his grandma. Echoes of his laughter surface in your mind, and you have to suppress a smile from forming on your face at the memory.

Despite the arguments, both big and small, you often find yourself only remembering the good parts of your relationship, because that’s when you’re the happiest, with him. Looking back, you don’t even remember what most of your arguments were about, save for the ones related to his racing, but even then, you can’t bear to take that away from him, especially not when you know how much joy he gets from doing what he loves.

“I don’t want you to give up what you love for me. It’s not fair and I don’t expect you to do that, so I think it’s better if we just went our separate ways.”

“No,” Jaehyun says firmly. “You know that’s not true, and I didn’t say I was going to give up racing.”

“Then you would know that it’s going to be a problem that will come up over and over again.” Your lips curl downwards as it reminds you of your past arguments. You hated going round in circles like this, always reaching a dead end each time.

“But we can work through it together, I know we can.” His thumb rubbing soft circles onto the palm of your hand, Jaehyun is determined to talk things out this time, instead of choosing to leave it unresolved like he did the past few times.

“How?”

“We’ll figure it out, eventually.”

A resigned sigh leaves your lips, and you find yourself stuck in a dilemma again. You want to be with Jaehyun, that’s for sure. And you know that there’s some level of truth to his words. If the both of you try to make things right, maybe, just maybe, everything will turn out well this time. But it’s also hard to ignore the unsettling feeling that bubbles in your chest, the possibility of things turning sour and resulting in a break-up again.

“So?” Jaehyun looks at you expectantly, awaiting your answer.

“Okay,” you say with a smile, and it brings a glimmer to Jaehyun’s eyes. For better or for worse, nothing is going to change the fact that Jaehyun will always be the love of your life.

“Okay? Okay as in you’re willing to try again?” he lets go of your hand, causing you to jut out your lower lip not only because of the loss of contact, but also because of how he was squishing your cheeks with his palms.

“Yes,” you try to say, but it comes out incoherent because his tight grip makes it difficult for you to talk properly. Nonetheless, he understood what you said. And upon hearing your response, Jaehyun immediately leans in to give you a peck on the lips, endlessly repeating i love you as he continues peppering you with kisses, hands moving down to your hips. He lifts you up seamlessly, bringing you closer such that you’re now straddling him.

“Jae, stop!” you protest in between giggles, hands shifting in an attempt to pull back because of how ticklish it was, but to no avail because Jaehyun’s hold on you is way too strong.

“Not here,” you didn’t intend for it, but your words come out more as a plea when you feel Jaehyun’s mouth travel down to your jaw, kissing a sensitive spot on your neck, treading dangerously close to your collarbone.

Jaehyun’s kisses stop, and he pulls back momentarily, looking at you with hazy eyes. “Why not, baby? Already forgot the night we went to the drive-in?”

Memories of said night come flooding back.

You’d suggested going to one of those drive-in theatres because it’s on your bucket list, and being the loving boyfriend that he is, Jaehyun agreed. Although the majority of the vehicles there were cars, it didn’t make you feel any less special. In fact, you appreciated that the both of you could easily hide in a corner, it’s as if it was just the two of you in this big and vast world.

It was also the same night that the both of you made out for the first time ever on his motorcycle, not that you’d ever imagined doing that. Movie long forgotten; you kissed each other like there was no tomorrow. That night still remains vivid in your mind, but you don’t know why Jaehyun has to bring it up, because if anything, it makes you crave him even more now.

Unable to hold back any longer, you inch closer to Jaehyun, wrapping your arms around his neck, connecting your lips together. Feeling him smile against your lips, Jaehyun wastes no time in diving back to the kiss, letting out a soft groan when your teeth tugs on his lower lip. “Will never forget it,” you murmur, and Jaehyun takes it as a chance to place the tip of his tongue into your mouth, tilting his head for better access.

“Won’t let you forget even if you wanted to.”

Jaehyun can taste the bitterness of the alcohol in your mouth, but there is nothing sweeter than the feeling of your soft lips working against his, and he’s absolutely sure that he can kiss you for a lifetime. His kisses become deeper, and he pulls you in closer, never ever wanting to let you go again. It is at this very moment that everything feels complete. It doesn’t only feel familiar, it’s also perfect, the way you two fit just right, like the last two pieces of a puzzle that are meant to be next to each other.

Finally pulling away, Jaehyun’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, and you try to catch your breath too. A coy smile on his face, he admires how beautiful you look, heart overflowing with warmth when he thinks about how lucky he is to have you by his side.

“Be my forever only?” Jaehyun asks.

Arms still around him, you move closer to rest your chin on his shoulder, taking in the scent of his musky cologne that you missed so much.

“Only if you promise to be mine too."

[thevoidspeakz]

List of things Mike Wheeler has gone through canonically. Focused on Mike, though he went through some of these with others.

Might be updated with things I missed, and feel free to add anything!

Also please keep in mind that this is all just canon information we're 100% sure we have, so I'm not gonna get into his sexuality or anything, mainly because there's many different approaches to it and everyone has a different idea of it in their heads, so I'm sticking to canon for this

PS. I'm actually really fucking shit at articulating my thoughts into words. Like I am dog water at it so please bare with me.

Season 1 (12 years old);

Will went missing. His best friend who he's known since kindergarten suddenly goes missing while biking home from his house. Suddenly, one morning, Will's just.. gone.

Searching for Will himself. Going out into the dark woods at night in the pouring rain, against cop's and parent's orders to go look for Will himself because he just couldn't take losing him.

Will's body being pulled out of the quarry. At that point, Mike really lost all hope. There was no question now, his best friend was dead. Gone. Forever. No more Will the Wise, no more sleepovers, no more of his amazing drawings to put up on the walls. He was gone.

Meeting El. Hiding another kid from his parents in his own house while also providing food and shelter is a lot of responsibility, and I feel like people don't talk about it that much. Not to mention Mike, Dustin and Lucas had to teach El just about everything. What a friend is, what a promise is, she was totally clueless, and they had to take care of her. They were all the same age at the time. (I'm not saying that them having helped El was a bad thing, god no, but you have to admit it was a lot to take on for a group of kids.)

Losing El. They had just barely met El, and she was already being taken away by the same thing that took Will. They had to watch her be disintegrated right after they ran from Brenner and the Lab People, also watching them be killed by El (she wasn't wrong for killing them but it is a pretty brutal thing to deal with as a kid), and then from a fucking monster from another dimension. I don't think I have to explain this.

Jumping off the quarry. I can't handle this shit. Mike didn't almost jump, he jumped. That 12 year old kid actually jumped off of a fucking cliff. I really, really wonder what exactly he was thinking. There was obviously the part about saving Dustin, but I imagine Will being "dead" also had something to do with it. It was the same quarry his body was found in, after all. But just think about this for one second; Mike jumped off a cliff when he was 12. He was going to die there if El hadn't saved him. Why do people not talk about this. HE JUMPED OFF A CLIFF. WHAT THE FUCK.

Being bullied. Mike's been bullied his entire life. Pushed around and kicked around by Troy and the others, we see him mainly being called "frog face" and being a victim of homophobia, but who knows what else he's gone through.

Season 2 (13 years old);

Being forced to throw away his toys. He was forced to grow up by throwing out toys that not only had emotional connections and brought back memories, but also that Mike just didn't want to give up. He still liked playing with toys, and he was fully in the right to, there was nothing wrong with that. While we're talking about this scene, there's also the fact he had been acting up a lot after season 1. Plagiarizing essays, graffitiing the bathroom stalls, stealing money from Nancy, you name it.

Almost getting ran over by Billy. (thank you @lucybell52 for pointing this out!) No cuz what the fuck. What do I even say about this? Pretty minor in comparison to everything else he's gone through but jesus fucking christ that's still a thing.

Getting Will back only for him to be possessed. Mike was with Will the entire time he was possessed. He never left his side. Mike saw Will hurting, and had to hear him screaming, and crying and had to watch him suffer over and over and over. Just think about tiny Mike covering his ears, terrified, watching as Will screams for his life. Back in the shed, trying desperately to find his best friend, to get him back, talking to him and reminding him of when they met. The best thing he's ever done. That's what asking Will to be his friend was. And there was a risk of losing him again.

Watching Bob die. (thank you @/synthgay) Mike had to watch as a man got brutally mauled to death by demodogs, all while holding a passed out, limp Will in his arms. I can't even begin to imagine how much that would fuck up a kid's brain.

Billy when he came looking for Max.(thank you @runninguplenorahills for mentioning this <3) He nearly beat up Lucas, he did beat the fuck out of Steve (which the kids tried to help by putting little colorful band-aids on his wounds can you hear me sobbing?)

Season 3 (14 years old);

The Mind Flayer. Do I need to explain this? Having to see that fucking thing, let alone almost be killed by it????? It's a horror movie type creature made of melted people. MELTED PEOPLE. I have trouble looking at it even knowing it's fake. IMAGINE KNOWING IT'S REAL.

The Sauna Test. Flayed Billy screaming his guts out, breaking the window, almost choking El to death, almost getting beat up too when trying to save her.

Getting beat up by flayed Billy. Grown, very menacing and intimidating man who is way stronger than him, and who he's seen beat the fuck out of someone way stronger than he is also beat the fuck out of him.

The Byers moving away. At first this might not seem all that big of a deal, but he's losing El, and Will again, and that does take a toll on him (paired up with everything that happened in Starcourt), which we see in Lucas on the Line (following up with that).

Clear signs of depression in Lucas on the Line. Self isolating, spending all of his time in his room or basement playing nintendo, like, he literally does not leave his room, he's irritable and annoyed all the time... yeah.

Season 4 (14/15 years old);

The shootout at the Byers house. They were being shot at. He could've died. Will and Jonathan could've died. Unknown Hero Agent Man did die.

Trying to save UHAM/burying him. Yeah i don't need to explain this. Everyone trying desperately to save this bleeding, dying man, ultimately failing and having to bury his body. They were so damn casual about it too, Mike, Will and Jonathan. This is just the bullshit they've been forced to live with for the past 4 years at this point, and that is fucking terrifying.

El getting taken. Back with the losing someone you love and not knowing if they're dead or not. (even with Mike not loving El romantically, he still loves her and cares about her, remember that) Especially since they didn't leave off in very friendly terms.

Getting El back. (thanks again @/runninguplenorahills <33)Full of dead people everywhere, El crashing down a helicopter, everything destroyed. Good Lord.

Conclusion;

So, Mike has seen several people die and be murdered, has seen countless of monsters that come from different dimensions, has lost people time and time again, has gone through several near death experiences and more.

I'm pretty sure I missed stuff so please feel free to add on to this if you want, and i can add it to the post itself!

I mainly went through situations he's been in and not his feelings in this. I could make a post going into his internalized homophobia and all, but I feel like many people have already gotten a good look at that.

(@hey-its-bucky helo :])