#august nights always make me feel nostalgic

[imaginespazzi]

Part 7: Home

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

These hands had to let it go free and this love came back to (us)

(In which with bittersweet feelings, a nostalgic writer, finally writes the end of the story)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst and Fluff

Words: 7.1K

TW: Swearing, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Hello my loves! I can't believe we've actually reached the end, who would have thought huh? I'm not sure if there will be an epilogue, mainly cause I don't know what I'd write but never say never. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter and if I've done the end I pictured justice but I really hope y'all like it anyways. There's a fair amount of creative liberty taken with WNBA logistics but please just accept it for the plot. Per usual, did I edit? Yes. Are there grammar mistakes and typos anyways? Yes. As always, let me know what you liked and disliked. And finally, to all my lovelies who have liked, reblogged, commented, sent in an ask, dm-ed me or simply just silently read this fic, I just wanna say thank you guys so, so, much, y'all have made writing every word worth it and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much I enjoyed writing it <3

August 2018

Paige swears, tonight, there are stars in the Minnesota night sky she’s never seen before in her life. The summer sky has darkened with nightfall, yet the shine of the moon and its companions make it still seem ever so bright. Or maybe, it’s just the girl lying next to Paige that makes tonight feel luminescent, sparkling with the promises of something not quite like friendship that Paige has never felt before. She’d spent the whole day with Azzi at the Minnesota State fair, trying to suppress these new butterflies in her stomach that seemed to have taken birth over their time in Latvia. Or well, maybe they’d been there from the start, but they’d really only started this dance of theirs, the one that makes Paige feel all tingly when Azzi smiles, over the course of this summer. 

“Paige it’s cold, stop hogging the blanket,” Azzi chastises, breaking Paige from a trance, as she tugs on the pink and purple blanket covering the two of them, “I knew we should have brought two of them.”

“It’s barely on me” Paige argues for the sake of arguing but she shifts anyway to allow the younger girl to pull the blanket, so clearly meant for one person, a little more towards her, “besides, it’s about sharing body heat.”

“You’re not even warm enough to share body heat,” Azzi mocks as she makes a show of tracing a finger down Paige’s arm and everything in the blonde feels like it’s been lit on fire at the touch. And she wonders if Azzi feels it too, the electricity, the sparks of this could ruin me that scatter through her veins before finding themselves setting her heart ablaze. It’s too much and Paige shakes Azzi’s hand off with a little more force than she means too. 

When Azzi sends her questioning look, she splutters through an excuse, “your hands are cold too. Can we just do the boring shit we’re here to do.”

"Stargazing is not boring,” Azzi says indignantly, opening the little stargazing booklet she’d brought with her, flicking through the pages looking for something specific. 

To be honest, sitting still in an open field and squinting at the sky trying to figure out a distant constellation isn’t really Paige’s brand of entertainment. She’s a fidgety person by nature, constantly embroiled in the urge to be moving. But Azzi had brought it up the other day, with pleading eyes and a hopeful grin and well, sometimes it felt sinful to deny Azzi of anything she wants. And that’s how they’d ended up at a campsite, not too far from the State fair, lying on the grass, heads tilted towards each other, with a single blanket shielding them from the summer breeze. 

“Okay,” Azzi says after a while, using her fingers to point out a pattern in the sky, “I think that one’s Cassiopeia.”

“If you say so,” Paige nods, not really sure what she’s supposed to be looking at. 

“Paaaaige,” Azzi whines, “focus.”

“Dude I can barely see anything, the fuck am I supposed to focus o-”

Before Paige can finish her sentence, she feels herself being pulled by the younger girl, the side of her body fitting into the crook’s of Azzi’s like a perfect puzzle piece. She looks over at the brunette, and the protest dies on the tip of her tongue, as she realises just how close Azzi is to her now, all semblance of air leaving her lungs. Paige gulps, eyes tracing every inch of her best friend’s face, stopping of their own accord at Azzi’s lips, before guiltily flashing back to meet the younger girl’s eyes which are just as focused on Paige. And it feels like there’s no force in this world right now that could make either of them look away. Except maybe the force of friends don’t do this. 

“Just focus,” Azzi breaks contact first, turning her face back at the stars, before gently grabbing hold of Paige’s hand so she can guide it in the pattern of the constellation. And Paige still doesn’t really see it, doesn’t even particularly care about seeing it, but if it gets Azzi to hold her hand, soft skin putting light pressure against her palm, she thinks she’ll try to see some random lines in the sky forever. 

“It’s pretty.”

“You don’t see it do you?”

“Nope,” Paige’s grin widens when Azzi chuckles, shaking her head fondly. Something in her blooms, delighted at being the reason for that. And she’s always prided herself in being funny, she thinks of herself as a little bit of a comedian really, but she’s never wanted to make anyone laugh quite as much as she wants to make Azzi laugh. 

“Well that’s enough stargazing for us then,” Azzi rolls her eyes, closing her little booklet and making a move to sit up but Paige is quicker, pulling the younger girl back down and interlocking their fingers. Her own overeagerness causes a tinge of embarrassment to race up her cheeks, and she hopes it’s dark enough that Azzi won’t see the pale pink blush taking over her face. 

“It’s peaceful out here,” she says quietly, sounding shy even to her own ears and she can’t help but wonder when the hell that happened, “you wanna stay a little longer?”

“Yeah okay let’s stay longer,,” Azzi agrees  and sometimes when Azzi speaks like that, her voice lyrically soft with a secret smile hidden in it, Paige wonders if maybe it would be okay to hope for, to feel something more because maybe, just maybe, Azzi feels it too. 

“You know you should come to the state championship,” Paige says after a second of silence, trying to keep her voice nonchalant but she can hear the wishfulness bleeding into it anyways. 

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “isn’t that in March? That’s like months and months away.”

“Yeah but- well-” Paige shrugs, cheeks burning just a little bit, “you probably wanna book in advance cause like tickets and stuff you know?”

“You don’t even know if you’ll be in the state championship. There’s still a whole season to go.”

“Oh I know. I know we’re definitely gonna be there.” Paige smirks, cockiness back in full-fledged form. 

“Then I’ll be there,” Azzi says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, “you better win though Bueckers.”

“Watch me,” and she’s jutting her chest out in arrogance sure, but really everything inside her is swelling with something else, a feeling she’s starting to understand a little too well, a feeling that terrifies her, a feeling she doesn’t think she’s quite ready to let herself feel yet, “it would be nice you know, to win a championship together at some point.”

“I don’t think my parents would be on board with moving to Minnesota.”

“I’m sure I could convince them,” Paige feels a little giddy at the thought, “but I meant more like college, like UConn.”

It’s a topic they’ve stumbled upon a couple of times, with each other, and with the other girls at Team USA. And as much as Paige would love for her other teammates to follow her to her dream school, she’s practical enough to know they might have other priorities. But the thing is that with the rest of the girls, it’s just something she’d like to happen but with Azzi, now that Paige has said it out loud, she’s beginning to realise how desperately she wants that, her and Azzi, on the same team, fighting the same battles and winning the same wars, together. 

“Don’t think you can win a national championship without me Bueckers?” Azzi smirks, twisting her head towards Paige, eyebrows cocked in arrogance. 

“Of course I can,” Paige’s face softens, the vulnerability that only ever seems to come out around her best friend seeping on to her features, “but I think it would be fun to win one with you. Someday.”

“Someday, “ Azzi whispers back, giving Paige’s hand a light squeeze, and then her eyes widen at the sky, “holy shit is that a shooting star? Oh my god Paige look up, quick, it’s beautiful.”

In the dark of the night, a rare flicker of gold shoots across the obsidian Minnesota sky. Paige has never seen one before but it seems fitting really, that she’d see one tonight. 

“We have to make a wish,” she whispers and Azzi, never one to really believe, rolls her eyes but she follows Paige’s lead, closing her eyes. And the thing is Paige could wish for a lot of things really, but she finds herself thinking of only one word that sums up all she could ever want: someday.

***

August 2026 

They’ve been playing against each other for years now and yet the thrill of the face-off still hasn’t quite worn off. Back in the handful of games in high school, it had been quickfire friendly trash talk, two best friends going at it like the competitors they were. College had been drastically different, each game, each play, underlined with the tension of two people who still hadn’t quite figured it out. But Paige thinks her favourite version of them as opponents is definitely this one, the one where they might be on different teams in the WNBA, but off the court, they both know they’re on the same side, together. 

Their relationship isn’t quite a secret; it would have been impossible to hide if after the kiss at the 2025 national championship. But they’d kept as quiet about it as possible, skillfully dodging media questions, wanting to shelter it from the prying eyes of the public. It makes playing each other on national television, just that little bit more entertaining, trying to keep things as cordial as possible. If Paige’s hands end up just a little too close to Azzi’s waist, lingering a little longer than necessary against the patch of skin she’d marked with a hickey earlier this morning, and it makes the younger girl shiver, then that’s just a tactic to win. And if Azzi breathes seductive thoughts of what she’d like to do after the game when guarding Paige, and it makes the blonde want to turn around and kiss the smirk off of her girlfriend’s lips, well that’s just another innovative defensive strategy. 

“Be a good girl for me and move,” Paige whispers, the double entendre in her voice apparent, as she tries to dribble the ball past Azzi. There’s only a minute or so left in the last meeting of the regular season between Paige’s Lynx and Azzi’s Mystics -funny how that had worked out-  and the score is painfully close, with the Mystics closing in on the Lynx’s two point-lead. 

“Always a good girl for you P,” Azzi smirks, her voice the quietest it could possibly be, but Paige hears her next words like they’re on a loudspeaker in the area,  “it’s why I’m wearing your favourite purple panties.”

It takes a second, a second where Paige’s eyes gloss over with lust, as her mind rushes back to the last time she’d seen, the last time she’d touched the silky undergarment, for the ball to be stolen from her hands. She’s a step too slow to recover and by that time Azzi’s already scored the easy lay-up to tie up the game, a mischievous grin adorning her normally stoic game face. 

On the other end of the court, Napheesa draws a foul and Paige and Azzi end up next to each for free throws. Paige is seething, unsure if the heat curling up her spine is from the game or the girl standing next to her. 

“Sorry baby, all’s fair in love and war right?” Azzi teases, pinky brushing against the blonde’s, “I’ll make it up to you later if you want.”

“You’re such a fucking menace,” Paige practically growls. She does want, in fact she’d like it right now if it was possible. Two years they’ve been together, longer if you count the inbetween, and still, every time Azzi lights a match, Paige feels herself burn just as brightly as the first time she’d felt that magnetic pull. 

“Learnt from the best,” Azzi hums with a grin as Napheesa hits both free throws. 

The rest of the game passes in a blur of frenzied shots and hurried fouls but the Lynx pull out an eventual, much-needed win, to better their chances of clinching a higher seed in the playoffs. After missing the playoffs in 2024, the Lynx, despite having relatively low odds, had secured the no.1 pick and there had never really been a doubt that they would pick Paige. She’d helped the team get back to the playoffs last season but they hadn’t made it out of the first round. A championship doesn’t seem quite possible yet, but Paige has her fingers crossed that they’d at least make it to a semi-final this time. 

“The two of you are terrible at this,” Aaliyah’s the first person to hug Paige during the handshake line, “I thought you’d jump each other’s bones in the middle of the game today.”

“We’re not that bad,” Paige rolls her eyes at her former teammate. She high-fives a few more of the Mystics team until she gets to Azzi, who’s already smiling, despite the loss. The cameras are quick to crowd them, clearly wanting a more sensational picture than the one they’re likely to get. Still, despite the unwanted attention, Paige lets herself nestle into the crook of Azzi’s neck. 

“You owe me twice tonight,” she whispers into the younger girl’s ear, “one for the win and one for that bullshit you pulled on the court tonight.”

Azzi’s voice is breathless when she replies, “I can give you way more than two.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a promise.”

***

“With the new rules, after this season you’ll be a free agent, have you given any thought to that?”

Waiting for the Lynx’s turn in the media room, Paige hadn’t been paying much attention to the questions being asked to the Mystics players, her focus solely on how hot her girlfriend always looked post games. But the words ‘free agent’ pique her interest. The W had changed the rookie contract rules for first round draftees to two years and that meant both Paige and Azzi would be free agents after this year. But while it hadn’t reached the media quite yet, the Lynx were likely to use their core designation on Paige. Which meant the only one of them making any decision about next season would be Azzi. It was a subject the two of them were cautiously tip-toeing around, using the shield of distance to avoid talking about what it could mean for them. 

“I’m focused on the season, this team and the rest of our games. I’m not really thinking about the future,” Azzi answers diplomatically. 

“You’ve obviously got very strong ties to the DC area but you also went to UCLA, if the Sparks or maybe even the Valkyries, considering your connection to Steph Curry, were interested, and there have been rumours that they are, would you consider it?” the same reporter prods. 

“Again, I’m not currently thinking about any of that,” to anyone else Azzi probably sounds neutral but Paige has studied the sheet music of Azzi’s voice to the point where she knows what’s hidden behind every note, behind every little indent. The tinge of irritation is masked by a smile, but the line of questioning is clearly unappreciated. 

“And what about the Lynx?” the persistently oblivious reporter continues and this time Paige sucks in a breath, “you have some ties to that team don't you? Have you given some thought to maybe going there?”

Azzi’s eye twitches ever so slightly, “the Lynx just beat my team. The only thoughts I have right now are about how to beat them next time.”

That elicits a laugh from the media and finally the rather obtuse reporters seem to understand that he’s not going to be able to pry anything newsworthy from Azzi’s mouth. But even if he hasn’t achieved his desired effect, he’s succeeded in making Paige’s mind start running in circles. She hadn’t let herself think about it yet, the potential of Azzi joining the Lynx, the potential of playing with Azzi, the potential of finally just being with Azzi. Because facing the potential for all of that, facing all the things she wants means also facing the potential that maybe Azzi doesn’t want any of that. 

***

The air in Paige’s living room is thick with a suffocating tension as she and Azzi sit on opposite ends of the couch. It reminds Paige a little bit of the before, a dreaded version of them she’d foolishly thought they grown out of, until something reminiscent of their past problems had reared its ugly head, and suddenly it feels a bit like she’s playing a losing game. 

“Will you please stop that,” she bites out, referring to where Azzi’s foot is incessantly tapping on the wooden floors, “it’s giving me a headache.”

Azzi’s eyes narrow, flashing with irritation, “is it my tapping or the alcohol giving you a headache Paige?”

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Paige says through gritted teeth and Azzi scoffs. 

It’s a lie. After both teams were done with post game pressers, she, Azzi and a couple of the other girls had ended up at a local bar as they often did when the other team didn’t have to fly out til the next day. Paige had been tense the whole evening and trying to pretend not to be, especially when Azzi could see right through her façade, had only made the whole thing worse. She wasn’t one to drink too much, always happy just being sufficiently tipsy but then she’d gotten in her head too much. And when the first shot didn’t quite hit the way she needed it to, she’d kept on going, receiving worried looks from all the girls, until Azzi had finally stepped in. The ride back from the bar had been a sobering experience, one look at Azzi’s stoic face, giving away her irritation. 

“That’s why you still reek of tequila?” 

“How the fuck would you know? You haven’t come near me all night.” 

“Don’t you dare try and turn this on me Paige. I tried to talk to you all night til you decided you wanted to act like freshman frat boy,” Azzi spits out, hurt and anger colliding in her voice, “we barely get to spend time together during the season and the one night in forever that we do, you pull this shit?”

They haven’t had an argument like this since they’ve been officially together, the kind of argument that has them balancing on a delicate tight rope, too afraid to take a step backwards in their relationship, and too prideful to take a step forward towards each other. 

“I didn’t think you cared about spending time together during the season,” Paige accuses and there’s a sensible part of her, one that’s currently being held captive by the dangers of liquor, that knows it’s a ridiculous allegation. 

Azzi stares at her, lips opening and closing in disbelief, “excuse me?”

“It’s pretty simple really Azzi. If you wanna spend the whole season together, the option is right fucking there, but I- I can’t even tell if you’re interested in taking it,” Paige is pacing now, teeth gnawing at her lips like they always do when she’s nervous. 

“What- what are you even talking about?” Azzi asks, clearly confused. 

“Free fucking agency. They asked you about it and you said you hadn’t thought about it at all. That’s really great to hear Az, really great to know you haven’t thought about how that could literally change our whole fucking life,” and even as the words waterfall out of her mouth, Paige knows she’s being unreasonable, but the mix of stress and alcohol churning in her stomach is just enough to keep her from taking the words back. 

“I didn’t- that’s not even what I said. Jesus fucking christ Paige,” Azzi rubs her face, looking defeated.

“So you have thought about it then?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it, “ Azzi throws her hands up, “but I wasn’t gonna tell the media about all of that. But you- you seriously think I haven’t thought about what this means for us? You don’t- do you really think I’m not thinking about you- about us- while trying to make this decision?”

“Well you definitely didn’t think of me- of us- when you chose UCLA,” Paige’s eyes widen at her own words, knowing immediately that of all things she could have said, those were the worst ones, “I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

In front of her, Azzi has gone deathly still, face completely devoid of emotion, until the first tear drops and all of Paige’s anger dissipates, the guilt clawing back with full force. 

“I thought we were over that,” Azzi whispers, voice trembling, as she looks down at her hands, “but maybe we’ll never be over that.”

“We are,” Paige sinks to her knees in front of the younger girl, tugging Azzi’s hands into her own, “we are over it. I just- it just slipped out.”

Azzi’s quiet for a moment before she pulls her hands out of the blonde’s grip, sidestepping her as she stands up and Paige feels empty and cold and just a little bit broken. 

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, peering up at Azzi through tear soaked eyelashes. 

“I think I should, before anything else just slips out,” Paige flinches and Azzi’s expression softens, “I know- I know you didn’t mean it like that but I just- I need some space.”

Panic filters into Paige’s lungs, wrapping its dirty hands and squeezing so tight that she can barely breathe. She’s not sure when she’ll see Azzi again, now that there’s no more Lynx-Mystics games left in the regular season and it’s unlikely with their expected seedings that they’d meet at some point in the playoffs. It’s not like distance is new to them, but in the last two years, they’ve only ever said goodbye with an i love you attached to the end. 

“Are you-,” Paige gasps for air, “are you leaving me?”

And it must be written all over Paige's face, just how petrified she is of this moment, because that's all it takes for Azzi to rush back into Paige’s space, hands cupping her cheeks, “oh baby of course not. I just- you’re still drunk and I’m upset and I don’t want us to say anything we don’t mean. And I- need time to think about free agency and I think you- you need time to think about why that slipped out.”

Paige sighs, melting into Azzi’s touch as the knots in her stomach begin to untangle themselves, “you’re so logical.”

“Someone has to be,” a half-smile flitters across the younger girl’s face as she wipes at Paige’s tears, “we’ll figure this out okay? Just- just give me a little bit of time.”

Give me time. It’s a familiar line, so similar to what Azzi had asked for when she was making a decision about college and Paige would be lying if she said there isn’t a part of her that’s terrified fate is going to make them repeat the same mistakes. But part of growing up, Paige surmises, is letting time test you with the same trials and tribulations, and the next time, coming out of the other end on the right side. 

And so she squeezes Azzi’s hand, matching the younger girl's half smile, with a soothing one of her own, “okay.”

***

November 2027 

Paige doesn't know when she ended up in a love triangle with Azzi and the state of California but she wishes she was competing against an actual person. At least then she could throw a punch at the other guy. The W season is barely over and it seems like every front office has thrown themselves headfirst into convincing free agents to join their team. There’s a couple of teams interested in Azzi, but no one seems to be trying harder than the Los Angeles Sparks. Paige thinks whoever gave that city a name meaning “the angels” could not have been more wrong because really it’s a city full of devils constantly trying to steal her girl and no she’s not being dramatic. 

They’re supposed to be leaving for thanksgiving dinner when Azzi’s phone rings and Paige can’t help but roll her eyes when Cameron Brink’s name flashes on the CallerID. The Sparks seemed to have put her as head of their recruiting Azzi campaign and Cam had been diligently doing her part. 

“Azzi, Cam’s calling again,” Paige yells out to her girlfriend who’s still not quite finished getting ready.

“Can you pick it up?”

“Do I have to?”

“Paige,” Azzi whines and Paige sighs, hitting the green answering button. 

“The amount of times you’ve called my girlfriend this week, Brink, should I be concerned?”

“Jealous I’m replacing you as her favourite blonde?” Cam’s voice always sounds like she’s smiling and Paige can’t help her own smile. Goddamn Cameron Brink for always being the sweetest soul on this planet. 

“As if,” Paige scoffs, “it’s a holiday Cam, give the recruiting a rest.”

“Hey, I’m just calling to wish her a happy thanksgiving,” Cam defends. 

“Mmmhmm where’s my thanksgiving wish?”

“Oh please, the two of you are basically a unit. Wishing her is wishing you,” Cam is quiet for a second before speaking again, “the Sparks would be a good fit for her Paige.”

Paige sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m not the one you’re gonna have to convince.”

“I know but you know your opinion means a lot to her. I know you want her in Minnesota and she'd be good there too and I- I know it isn’t my place to say any of this but just- just don’t discourage her from doing what’s best for her,” there’s not a hint of malice in Cam’s words, there never is, but they pierce at Paige’s skin anyways. 

“Okay I’m ready, hand me the phone,” she’s saved from having to answer by Azzi waltzing into the living room and prying the phone from her hands. 

Paige watches silently as Azzi talks animatedly with Cam, noticing the way her girlfriend’s smile widens while talking about certain spots in L.A. They’d subconsciously decided not to breach the subject of free agency after that night. Paige hadn’t interfered in any of the Lynx’s conversations with Azzi, deciding that this time, she’d stay out of it. It hadn’t been easy, every little bit of her itching to pitch why the Lynx were the perfect fit, why Paige was the perfect fit, but she was determined to give Azzi the space -the time- she’d wanted. This time she’d leave the choice solely up to Azzi and whatever she decided, Paige would find her happiness in that. 

“Paige you ready to go,” Azzi waves a hand in front of Paige’s face, eyebrows raised in question when the older girl doesn’t make a move to get off the sofa, “hey, you good?”

“Cam says the Sparks would be a good fit,” Azzi stiffens at Paige’s words. 

“Paige-”

“She’s right,” Paige concedes, fingers fidgeting as she averts Azzi’s gaze. 

The younger girl blinks at her, clearly not having expected that, “she is?”

“Yeah. They need a shooting guard and you,” Paige smiles, reaching out to pull Azzi onto the couch with her, “you’re the best there is.”

“I wouldn’t go that far-”

“You are to me and it’s why I want you on the Lynx,” they both let out a breath with that. It’s not a secret of course but Paige hasn’t said it out loud before. 

“Paige-”

“But it’s okay if you don't wanna be on the Lynx, if you wanna be on the Sparks or stay here with the Mystics or on any other team, if you think it’s the right move for you and for your career then that’s fine. It’s okay and you don’t- you don’t need my permission or anything of course but I just- whatever you decide, I’ll support it okay? What I said that night about UCLA-  it wasn't- it wasn’t about you. I thought about it like you asked me to and it’s me. I was scared that I would fuck it up again and I’d lose you again-”

“You won’t,” Azzi grabs Paige’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze,  “I won’t let you.”

“I know. I know now that whatever happens, we’ll be okay. And so you can choose whatever team you want and it won’t- it won’t affect us, I promise. It won’t be like last time I swear. When you make your decision- I just- I don’t want you to make it for me or for us, cause you and me? Baby we’ll be just fine no matter what. Wherever you go and wherever I am, we’ll make it work, just as we have for the last two years,” Paige smirks, “besides I kinda enjoy kicking your ass.”

Azzi lets out a snort as she climbs onto Paige’s lap, thighs straddling her hips, “you really had to ruin it with that last part huh?”

“Was getting a little too sappy for me,” Paige mumbles and when she looks up, the emotions floating in Azzi’s eyes make Paige’s heart stutter. Because no one else gets this Azzi. This Azzi, who wears her heart on her sleeve, who lets her walls down, only for Paige’s eyes to see, only for Paige’s mind to memorise, only for Paige’s heart to keep. 

“You mean it?” Azzi whispers, brushing a strand of hair out of Paige’s face, touching lingering, “you’d be okay with anything?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Paige cups Azzi’s cheeks, brushing her lips against the younger girl’s, “whatever you choose, we’ll be fine. No matter what, I believe in us.”

***

January 2028

Paige groans when her phone rings at 2 a.m., fumbling around in the dark trying to answer it. 

“I swear you better be dying if you’re calling me this late,” she grumbles into the phone, voice scratchy with sleep. 

“Not quite,” Azzi says, and Paige’s eyebrows furrow at the amount of background noise she can hear behind her girlfriend. 

“Dude where the hell are you at 3 in the morning?” she asks, now a little more awake as she sits up. 

“I uh- I had a bit of a revelation,” and Paige can practically picture Azzi, wherever she might be, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lips. 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I know. I know. Shit, I was supposed to do this in person. I had a whole plan but apparently being with you has made me impatient,” Azzi rambles. 

“You’re still not making any sense,” but Paige’s heart is starting to beat erratically fast in anticipation. 

“I had this realisation while I was in the gym today, it was really quiet and peaceful and I was fine you know- all day I was fine- just doing daily routines and then I just- I missed you. I miss you all the time do you know that?”

Paige does know, knows it far too well. Sometimes she thinks missing Azzi comes as naturally as breathing, an innate part of her day to day, a constant ache that she’s felt since she was 15. 

“I miss you too,” she whispers. 

“And I’ve learned to survive with that feeling, with missing you constantly. I mean it’s been more than 10 years at this point, how could I not? But what I realised today is that just because I can- just because I can live missing you- doesn’t mean I want to.”

“What are you saying Azzi?”

“DC is my childhood. My family is close to there, it’s part of where I grew up. It’ll always be my first home. And LA is where I found myself, my identity, and for a while it felt like home too.”

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, hands gripping the phone as tight as possible, wrapping that one syllable in emblems of give me forever. 

“But my forever home isn’t in DC or LA and it’s not really in any other place either because-  Jesus this might be the clichést thing I’ve ever said but-,” Azzi lets out a chuckle, “my home is wherever you are Paige. Wherever we’re together, that’s home.”

It feels a little bit like the end of a drought, the wetness on Paige’s cheeks like the rain that comes after. In the pitch black of her room, phone clutched closely to her ear with Azzi’s words floating through it like a swan song, Paige swears she’s never felt the world glow quite like this before. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Beating your ass has been fun as hell but I think we’d make a pretty good team Bueckers.”

And it’s a good thing Paige’s walls are soundproof because the delighted whoop she lets out practically vibrates around the room, all previous wisps of tiredness completely gone from her body. Azzi lets out a tearful laugh and Paige wishes they were together right now so she could tattoo this happiness onto both of their skins. 

“The greatest team ever,” Paige affirms, “When are you com-”

“Attention passengers Delta Airlines Flight 1248 to Minneapolis will be boarding soon, please have your passport and ticket ready to check at the gate.”

“About that,” Azzi says shyly as Paige’s mouth drops open at the announcement, “I uh- I had a moment of spontaneity.”

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with my overthinking girlfriend?” Paige demands and Azzi giggles on the other end of line.

“I know it’s last minute, like really last minute and it was meant to be a surprise actually but I just- I really wanna see you. Is that okay?”

“Is that okay? Fuck Azzi, it’s all I want. Baby,” Paige breathes out softly, “come home.”

*** 

Time isn’t going nearly fast enough Paige thinks as she checks the arrivals board for the nth time. She’d tried for about four seconds to fall back asleep after hanging up the phone but her entire body had been buzzing with excitement. And so she’d gotten to the airport far earlier than necessary, and had maybe one too many cups of coffee if the jittery shake in her left hand is anything to go by.

She swears she feels her before she sees her. The air is electric as if the whole city, the whole state is waiting for Azzi too, for them to get their elusive forever. This moment feels like years in the making, and Paige is ready, ready to grasp it and make it hers. And then there’s Azzi, a clearly chosen-at-last minute wrinkled t-shirt, eyes drooping from the tiredness from not having slept all night, baby hairs in a frenzy across her forehead. To Paige, she’s still the prettiest girl in the entire universe. 

Azzi’s eyes scan through the airport until they land on Paige, a dazzling smile illuminating her exhausted features. It’s the exact same smile that Paige had first elicited from her on the flight back from Argentina when she’d told Azzi she had a feeling they'd make great friends. It’s her Paige smile. The world is still for a second, everything melting away except them and the whispers of the journey it had taken them to get to this point. Every delicately placed step towards each other feels like an ode to every year they’d spent apart. And then Paige is running, not caring about everyone else around her. She jumps into Azzi’s arm, all 6 feet of her, tangling her legs around the younger girl's waist while her arms fasten around the neck. It forces Azzi to let go of her small carry-on, not caring that it falls to the floor with a thud, as her hands wrap around Paige’s back, steadying her girlfriend’s weight on top of her. 

“You’re here,” Paige whispers, still a little in disbelief, “you’re really here.”

“I’ve been in Minny plenty of times before,” Azzi quips, adjusting her balance to properly hold the girl clinging to her like a koala. 

“Shut up you know what I mean. You’re here forever this time.”

“Well I don’t know about forever- OW,” Azzi shrieks, as Paige pinches her arm, “do you want me to drop you woman?”

“You’re never allowed to leave.”

“That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Good because it definitely is a threat,” Paige says before pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, “welcome home baby.”

***

October 2028 

There are moments in life you remember forever. Sometimes you know they’re going to happen, sometimes they take you off guard and sometimes, it’s a combination of both. The Minnesota Lynx’s journey to the WNBA finals this season had always felt inevitable but the journey there, for a team that had unexpectedly fallen to the 4-seed despite pre-season clamour of them being number one, had been filled with bitter losses and moments of pure uncertainty. In a way, it perfectly mirrors Paige and Azzi’s relationship. 

There’s 11 seconds separating the Lynx from their 5th championship trophy as they lead the Sky by two points. The crowd is up on their feet, ready for their cheering to turn into roars the minute the final buzzer rings. Paige has the ball in her hands on the inbound, Coach Reeves yelling at her from the bench what to do, as she makes eye contact with Azzi. There are no words, not even a gesture that the other team might be able to interpret, but they know exactly what play they’re about to run.

Truth be told it hadn’t been the seamless transition the two of them had expected when Azzi joined the Lynx. They’d been naive to think years of not playing together wouldn’t have affected the backcourt chemistry they’d had almost instantly once upon a time. The first few games, there had been an embarrassing disconnect between the two of them that had resulted in a nasty berating from Coach Reeves and a subsequent argument between the two of them that had lasted into the next morning. It had taken several more practices, and a couple more games of flailing around, for them to finally become the duo Paige had always known they would. 

The game buzzer beeps and Paige throws the ball to Azzi who immediately returns it back to her, and then she’s running off screen after screen to get herself open on the wing, her sweet spot. Paige dribble penetrates into the paint, dragging an extra defender with her as they try to prevent her from getting a layup, the other defender blocks her from stepping back into a pull-up. Azzi’s defender has a momentary lapse in judgement, falling for the age-old trick of thinking she should help on defence, and that’s all it takes. A second for Paige to see Azzi open on the corner and pass it to her. A second for Azzi to shoot it. 

The three-pointer falls through the next with a perfect swish. Dagger shot. 

A small smile flits across Azzi’s face, the only emotion she’s shown all game and Paige can’t help the much larger grin that starts to flash on her own face. She can almost taste victory on the tip of her tongue, the two seconds left in the game are the only thing separating her from finally getting her version of the things we live for. Behind her she can hear Coach Reeves yelling at them to not foul, the 5-point lead enough of a cushion for them to withstand a last minute shot. But the Sky barely make it over midcourt and when Marina Mabrey heaves up a last second prayer, Paige doesn’t bother to see if it goes in as the buzzer sounds throughout Target Arena. The Minnesota crowd explodes in noise and colour as confetti falls from the sky. 

Despite the chaos of everything, Paige has never seen Azzi clearer than in this moment. Since she’d met the girl, in all of Paige’s prayers about winning a championship, one thing had always been constant, that when they’d come true, they’d come true with Azzi by her side. And she had been. The high school state champion, the college national championship, Azzi had been there for both but on the bleachers, as a spectator and as Paige’s biggest fan. But this, winning a championship with Azzi as her teammate, as her ally, as her partner, means something more. This win is theirs. 

“Do you remember when we saw that shooting star?” Azzi says softly, as they find their way into each other’s arms, not caring that there’s a thousand cameras capturing their every move. Paige pulls Azzi closer to her, every inch of her body pressing into the other girls until she’s not sure where she begins and where Azzi ends. 

“That was years ago,” Paige remarks but she can see it clearly, two young girls underneath the stars, unaware of what their future would be but sure that the other would be in it. Those girls would probably laugh at how long it had taken Paige and Azzi to figure out what had seemed so simple back then. 

“Yeah, yeah it was. Do you remember what you wished for?” Azzi asks, smiling when Paige nods, “do you wanna know what I wished for?”

“What did you wish for Az?”

“Before we saw the star you- you said it’d be nice to win a championship together someday. And so I-,” Azzi looks down shyly, “so I wished for someday. I wished for today.”

Paige stares at Azzi, drinking in the sincerity on the shooting guard’s face, silently letting herself absorb the meaning of Azzi’s words. And then she lets out a laugh because of course of course. 

“I didn’t realise I’d said anything funny for you to be laughing at me,” Azzi scrunches her nose, looking slightly offended. 

“God baby no,” Paige cups Azzi’s face, and she thinks this smile on her face will last forever as long as this is her reality, “I’m not laughing at you. I just- do you know what I wished for?” 

Azzi shakes her head. 

“This. The same exact thing you did. For someday.”

It’s not quite the shade of blue Paige had imagined them in, the Lynx blue its own shade, something inbetween UConn’s navy one and UCLA’s sky one. But it’s perfect nonetheless. And when Azzi crashes her lips against Paige’s, someday feels a lot like forever and always.

[mncxbe]

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑eq

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: slice of life, age gap (a little bit unhealthy) relationship, smoking in bed, implied alcohol addiction, clichés, so so many clichés// reader is a singer

The flashing lights of the city beamed around you, specs of gold and shimmer that reflected off glassy windows and illuminated the navy night. Somewhere down on the crowded boulevard, cars honked and rushed, wheels squeaking against the pavement.

And yet the apartment felt cold an empty. Tossing around in your bed you reached for your phone, tapping the screen twice; it turned on without a sound. 2:25 a.m. No texts or missed calls.

You placed the phone back on the nightstand next to a crumpled pack of cigarettes and your paperback copy of Seichō Matsumoto's "Tokyo express". He hated when you smoked inside, but then again you also hated when he drank. With each their own vice.

Restless, mind fogged with nagging thoughts you went back to laying on your back; gaze unfocused. You took in a deep breath then exhaled.

How did you end up like this? you wondered for the nth time that week. You kept trying to place the exact moment your relationship started to come undone, when the two of you started to drift apart– was it after that fight you had four months ago? or maybe after you returned from vacation at the end of August? or it was all doomed from the beginning?

Perhaps this wasn't even caused by a mere moment, like a cord snapped in half. Maybe it was the result of your habits: his incessant absence due to work matters and your proneness to feeling lonely and nostalgic.

An ambulance rushed past your building, siren blaring, but the sound felt distant and muffled as if you were underwater. You remembered the first time you met him at that jazz club, a dim lit room filled with rich men and women dressed in lavish silk dresses and reeking of cigarette smoke where you used to sing on Friday nights.

He was celebrating one of his fellow coworkers' birthday or something... you didn't quite recall. But the moment your eyes met something snapped inside you. Cliché as it may sound you knew —and he knew too, that you were meant to be. Soft spoken and well mannered, you couldn't help but fall head over heels for him.

That night nothing mattered except the two of you. He felt so right, so safe. And it has been for a while. After a few dates at restaurants you never even dreamt of dining at, dramshops and sumptuous galas he attended and was kind enough to bring you as his plus one; you moved in, leaving your deadbeat one bedroom apartment in Kotobukicho for a penthouse in the heart of Yokohama.

And it was fun for a while. Fukuchi was kind and, although busy due to his position as the Hunting Dogs captain, he always made time for you. 'You make me feel young again' he confessed one night as the two of you lounged on the cushy couch, fingers lazily intertwined. 'You do too' you replied, earning a heartfelt chuckle from him. Ironic, considering that you were much younger than him, but he knew what you meant.

During those first eight months of your relationship you wrote song after song; you were inspired like never before in your life and at nights, when he came back from work, you'd sit on the bedroom floor and play the guitar for him until he fell asleep in your arms.

But then... something happened. He started coming home late and drunk, the sour taste of alcohol lingering on his lips as he kissed you goodnight. Your conversation resumed to only: "How was your day?" Good, and yours? "As usual."

The mere thought was sickening, like a punch to the stomach. Reaching for your cigarettes you took one out of the pack, lit it and inhaled, allowing the thick smoke to cloud your racing thoughts. Memories of times which seemed dim and distant, but were in fact mere months in the past.

Just then, you heard the front door opened and closed, followed by heavy steps around the apartment. A kitchen cabinet slammed shut, the sound of water dripping out of the faucet, silence... then the soft clink of the same glass placed on the marble counter.

You didn't even bother to put out your cigarette when you heard him walk towards your bedroom and quietly slid the door open.

"Hey, you still up?" he asked in a hushed voice, words slightly slurred.

Humming a mhm before taking a puff, you waved at him.

Without turning on the light he took off his uniform and climbed in bed next to you, arms wrapping around your waist as his head came to rest against your shoulders. Your fingers naturally slid through his messy hair, gently combing the light strands.

"How was your day?" you eventually asked; mechanically almost and you felt him shrug.

"As usual. Missions and meetings" he replied plainly but then added in a softer tone "But I missed you."

"You did?"

"Of course I did. I always do."

Taking a drag from your cigarette you tiled your head to the side to look at him. His expression conjured up an image of pure exhaustion: eyelids shut tight, eyebrows knitted, the corners of his lips turned slightly down.

"I miss you too, you know?" you stated quietly, almost like a whisper. But you both knew the true meaning of your words.

He shifted closer to you and placed a chaste kiss on your shoulder. "I know. I'll try to take next weekend off so we can go somewhere. Would you like that? Or we can just stay at home, just the two of us."

"Yea. That'd be nice"

"Good, great."

You rubbed the bud of your cigar on the edge of an overfilled ashtray on your nightstand and tossed it inside before turning to your side to face him. Your head felt clouded and heavy from the smoke, sleep threatening to lull you at any moment.

"I love you" you said softly, hand finding his as your fingers loosely intertwining and you closed your eyes.

Before falling into a deep slumber you heard his low voice, a hushed "I love you too, always will my darling" followed by sweet nonsense that somehow soothed your soul. And for the first time in a while there was hope, or maybe just empty delusions– but you fell asleep to the comforting feeling of his presence and the faded sounds of the night city.

[sunboki]

SUMMER SOLACE — Behind The Scenes

hi everybody! in case you were curious about how my recently posted fiction was created, i’m here to deliver some info about the writing/designing process. love ya’ll <3

( 1 ) — Designing the header.

The header wasn’t a huge issue (compared to other things..) but I had a few runner-ups along the way. In the end, I was left deciding between the two below.

As mentioned before, SKZ-FLIX was a HUGE source or inspiration for this fiction (and just overall inspiration). But I love the layout of a Netflix-inspired header considering “SKZ-FLIX” in a whole, so I chose the second option as a result. Also, the small note in the first header reading “Can I crash at your place for the night?” is from a scene in the fic! 🤍

( 2 ) — Deciding on the AU.

Probably the easiest step in creating Summer Solace. Immediately after watching the first upload of SKZ-FLIX the inspiration came to me, but maneuvering around applicable situations was a bit tough. Otherwise, scenes started dropping left and right. The real challenge was how to tie such different realities together in a way that would be satisfactory for everyone. Trust, my notes were a madhouse of bullet points. Some of which are listed below…

Of course, like any of my writing, everything was very much loose-ended. And as I work there was no doubt the plot and certain scenes would mold differently compared to the final piece.

( 3 ) — The Writing Process.

Likely the longest process (duh). I really wanted to incorporate themes of Stray Kids introduction as well, and I utilized the “Film Festival” in SKZ-FLIX as an opportunity to thread 3RACHA’s creation when creating their film’s sound track and establish the developing bonds there. In the case some of the people reading this have been STAY’s for awhile now, I wonder if you’ll catch onto some patterns from the past such as Hyunjin and Han’s rivalry, Han’s regards to his song ‘Alien’ when he describes himself, or how Hyunjin and Han were intended to have ran into each other at the supermarket Leeknow and Felix are seen at in the ‘SKZ-FLIX’ video. Plus, my personal favorite, Changbin’s love for his Snorlax plushie. Not to mention Felix’s brownies making an appearance in a scene too!

Summer Solace was intended to have a “nostalgic summer” feel, so I’m hoping I’m able to convey that between the cheesy lines.

( 4 ) — Aug’s Notes.

Overall, I want to thank everyone that has supported me thus far and helped me to get to this point. I know Summer Solace may not be for everybody whether it’s due to the lack of genuine romance between two characters, the stupidly sentimental nature of it or what, but my main focus was the healing aspect of it. I prioritized the slow and steady building of trust and friendship that occurs between each person, and I hope you can catch wind of that as you read. If you enjoyed this fic, I would love to hear your thoughts!! Thank you again everybody.

As always, this fiction is wholly fictional. No theme, plot, character, struggle, or member of Stray Kids are meant be taken seriously, along with their situations and backgrounds in this fic. If this isn’t for you, click off, you won’t hurt my feelings. P.S ( I also noticed Chan wrote on bubble about the members being his reason to ‘live on’ right after I posted Summer Solace, I thought that was a crazy coincidence (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) )

— Sincerely, August.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[daffodilsonaprettystring]

Can we all just agree that reading Red White and Royal Blue for the first time is a ROLLERCOASTER no matter your feelings on it?

Because like when I first read it, i haaaaaaated it. With a passion. I felt it played into stereotypes and was very cringe and was not going to continue reading it, was HEAVILY leaning for DNFing it.

But then?? I don’t even know what made me change my mind but like i still remember the EXACT moment I’d slammed the book shut fully ready to stop?? WAS THE FUCKING RED ROOM??? (Which in and of itself is so surprising to me now because the New Years kiss and the Red Room scene are now two of my favorites??) But I kept going and for some reason I just snap— switching sides??

I DONT REMEMBER WHAT MADE ME CHANGE MY MIND BUT LIKE VERY QUICKLY AFTER THAT I COULDNT STOP READING AND I READ THE WHOLE BOOK IN ONE FUCKING NIGHT

And then proceeded to read it three more times in a year because it gave me happiness and comfort

Plus my two most recent rereads one for annotating my special edition and one right now because I’m on Firstprince withdrawal from the movie refusing to come out sooner lmao

Like— i wish I could remember what exactly changed my mind and it kills me that I can’t HOWEVER i have a lasting theory that I truly believe is right:

I think it was Henry. I didn’t like Henry the first time I read the book because the first time, i didn’t KNOW Henry. So I saw this cold, aloof prince much like Alex had and I couldn’t get past that first impression. Of course once you’ve read the entire book you know Henry inside and out just as well as you know Alex, so any reread you do will play into that. But the first time? You don’t know Henry!! So it’s so easy to dislike him!! But like after the Red Room scene, you really do get to know Henry just every bit as much as Alex, and I think that’s what ultimately changed my mind. Because I LOVE Henry. He’s such a sweetheart and he’s so brave and he’s such a wonderfully complex written character and I just love everything about him, including his relationship with Alex, ESCPECIALLY his relationship with Alex. Once those two get going, they never stop and I devour every single minute we get with them in that book, because they were written SO WELL. Like—people always call them THE enemies to lovers and I do agree they are that but people always seem to forget that they were friends too!! Before they became a couple or even started hooking up, they were friends!! And Alex got to show Henry all his weird sides and manic humor and Alex got to see all Henry’s nerdy knowledge and insecurities and they both just KNEW one another and THATS what makes their relationship so special to me. Alex even says something like that!! He says (can’t remember exact wording) but something about Henry kissing him like he wanted him, even knowing everything about him, not just that he wanted the IDEA of him. And that’s why I love them so much. That’s why everything I see about this movie has me screaming and squealing at awful timings like at 2am or while I’m at work WHICH IS WHEN THE TRAILER DECIDED TO DROP MIND YOU SO I WAS WATCHING THAT LIKE TEN TIMES AT WORK WHENEVER I HAD A SPARE MINUTE LMAO

All this just to say I’m feeling incredibly nostalgic rn with the movie coming out, and looking back I’m so happy I decided to pick up this book. These characters mean everything to me and I’m BEYOND excited to see them finally come to life on the big screen (or at least my computer screen lmao)

August 11 plz come faster I need to cry my eyes out plz and thank you it’s a need

[xtruss]

The Plight of the Political Satirist

How Ruben Bolling, of “Tom the Dancing Bug,” Finds the Humor in a Volatile News Cycle.

— By Sarah Larson | August 29, 2024

Art Works Courtesy Ruben Bolling

Ruben Bolling, who has drawn and written his intricate, incisive, shape-shifting weekly cartoon “Tom the Dancing Bug” for more than three decades, works best under the pressure of a deadline. “Years ago, I decided to lean into it,” he told me recently. Monday is deadline day. On the Saturday just before the R.N.C., where Donald Trump accepted the Republican Party’s nomination for President, Bolling was working on that week’s cartoon: a riff on the Busytown illustrations by the great children’s-book author Richard Scarry, titled “A Busy, Busy Day at the Republican National Convention.” There, instead of townsfolk like Huckle Cat and the gang doing jobs labelled “carpenter,” “street cleaner,” and such, their doppelgängers were in a convention space doing other kinds of work: a fox pushing a wheelbarrow full of cash (“Supreme Court Justice briber”); a reporter (“normalizing media member”) interviewing a cat in a polo shirt and red hat (“actual Nazi”). Later that day, Bolling learned that Trump had been shot at during a rally in Pennsylvania. He took stock of the national mood for a few hours, then revised, adding an N.R.A. booth (“ask me how to get guns”), staffed by a smartly dressed pig with a friendly smile. He’s labelled “political violence preventer.”

Bolling, who has been a Pulitzer Prize finalist twice in the past five years, makes these characters “as cute as possible while they’re doing horrible things,” he said. He’s parodied Scarry before, and the results are reliably sweet and chilling—even as we catalogue the horrors of our times, via cartoon pig and rhino and cat, it’s hard not to feel buoyed by the pleasures of Scarry’s gentle world view. “It’s very typical of a lot of what I do, which is taking older, nostalgic, innocent pieces of art and defiling them by bringing them into the darkest parts of our world,” Bolling said. “I find it’s very effective. And it can be very upsetting to me.”

“Tom the Dancing Bug,” which Bolling began publishing widely in 1990, has always been free-form and vaudevillian from week to week—original characters, recurring parodies and satires, one-offs, a terrific long-running meta-funny-pages gag. His illustration style tends toward a tidy clean-line aesthetic, à la “Tintin,” but it morphs to suit whatever he’s up to: hatched and shaded portrait-style depictions of celebrities and politicians; imitations of other artists; fake ads, posters, and informational broadsides. Early on, Bolling had “Saturday Night Live,” Mad magazine, and “Mr. Show” in mind as inspirations. The strip has become more political over time, especially in recent years, though the past few weeks of U.S. election news—an assassination attempt in one party, the passing of the candidacy torch in the other—has been atypical in its intensity. Like all satirists of our era, Bolling has learned to adapt.

For a long time, he did “the old satirist’s trick of exaggerating what happens and what politicians say and what their policies are,” Bolling told me. “But that didn’t work with Trump, because he was better at it than I was. I couldn’t compete with him in creating his own satire.” Instead, Bolling tends to recontextualize Trump, putting his language into the mouths of comic-strip characters, on propaganda posters, and so on, providing the reader with a fresh jolt of amusement and alarm. In strips from 2020, Bolling, via black-and-white newsreel-style images, juxtaposes the Trumpian response to the pandemic with the bombing of Pearl Harbor, in 1941. “Why should I join up just because a few thousand Americans died in Hawaii?” a potential G.I. asks. “How many Americans die every day in ironing board accidents?” F.D.R., downplaying the crisis, responds to enemy invasions of New York and California with “This is only in two states! I like those numbers! In a couple of days it will be zero!”

Bolling has published several collections of his work; his latest, “ ‘It’s the Great Storm, Tom the Dancing Bug!,’ ” which includes strips published from 2020 to 2023, came out this month. The cover—the U.S. Capitol, a pumpkin patch, silhouettes of rioters under a night sky—references his series “Q-Nuts,” which plays on “Peanuts” and “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” Bolling tries to resist being cruel to beloved childhood characters, “but my favorite, Linus, I turned into a QAnon nut,” he said. “And that hurt.” In “Peanuts,” Linus faithfully waits each Halloween for the Great Pumpkin, a mythical, unseen figure who delivers candy to believers. “It never happens,” Bolling said. “And he always makes excuses. I realized that’s QAnon.” It was one of his most popular cartoons ever. So was the series “Donald and John: A Boy President and His Imaginary Publicist,” with boy Trump as Calvin and John Barron, the imaginary publicist, as Hobbes. Bill Watterson’s original characters—Calvin, enthusiastic young fantasist and joyful megalomaniac, and Hobbes, slightly more reasonable sidekick—fit beautifully into Bolling’s satirical framework. (In a recent entry, a giant Calvin, outfitted with toy crown, stomps around a ravaged D.C., exclaiming, “It’s good to have immunity!”) Coming up with ideas can be gruelling work, Bolling said, but when he did a daily “Donald and John” online, in 2016, it “was like walking down the path picking blueberries. Every day I was, like, ‘Oh, that’s like when he pretends he’s a dinosaur.’ Everything fell into place.”

Bolling’s Strip Began Publishing in newspapers in the nineties, growing in syndication during the heyday of alt-weekly comics, alongside strips by artists such as Matt Groening, Lynda Barry, Alison Bechdel, and Tony Millionaire. He still publishes in print, though his main readership is now online, and he maintains a robust Patreon community called the Inner Hive.

“Tom the Dancing Bug” originated, somewhat startlingly, in 1986, at Harvard Law School. Bolling had grown up in Short Hills, New Jersey, with his two brothers and his parents. “There was a lot of competing for attention,” he said. He was a stutterer, and wasn’t comfortable telling jokes, but he started drawing comics, filling spiral notebooks with them. He didn’t publish any until after college, when he was attending Harvard Law, and he saw a “cartoonist wanted” ad for the law-school paper. Without that, he said, “I don’t know if I’d be a cartoonist today. The first comic I did was basically exactly what I do now. It was ‘Tom the Dancing Bug.’ I somehow cracked the code immediately.” He collected the strips in a booklet, which he photocopied, stapled, and sold at the Harvard Coop. “They would sell out,” he said. “I kept on going to the copy store and making more. That was gratifying.” He sold his first comic to National Lampoon, whose cartoon editor was Sam Gross, the late and beloved longtime New Yorker cartoonist. (“Sam called me into his office, and he starts yelling at me: ‘What are you doing? There’s three ideas in this comic. Go home, make it three different comics, and I’ll buy all three.’ ”) While working as an attorney, Bolling began self-syndicating the comic, and a few years later, by then working in financial services, he signed a deal with Andrews McMeel, which has syndicated the strip ever since. For many years, he had a double life as a white-collar professional and a cartoonist. (He also has two names: his cartooning pen name and his real name, Ken Fisher.) He lives in Manhattan with his wife, they have three grown children, and, these days, he is just a cartoonist.

In the nineties, “Tom the Dancing Bug” felt like a quietly thrilling revelation, beloved by many but never a household name. Bolling seemed to tease all of pop culture, much of human nature, and comics history at once, always with sensitivity and an eye for the subtly absurd. (See Shluff, the giant, fuzzy alien who visits Earth to nap.) Alongside recurring characters like God-Man, the Superhero with Omnipotent Powers, and Louis Maltby, boy introvert, there was “The Adventures of Sam Roland, the Detective Who Dies,” in which our trenchcoated private eye would get an exciting assignment, like “The Case of the Fuchsia Parrot,” run into trouble, such as a scheming butler (“In one minute, water will come flowing into this chamber, drowning you like a rat!”), try to make a heroic escape (“If I can just loosen these ropes!”), fail, and die. (“Another case left unsolved by Sam Roland, the Detective Who Dies!”) The endlessly brilliant and enjoyable “Super Fun-Pak Comix,” then and now, parodies specific genres (“Marital Mirth,” “Beltway Banalities”), genre conventions (“Too Many Panels Comics”), and whatever else Bolling feels like laughing about (“Tom Cruise & Xenu,” “Percival Dunwoody, Idiot Time Traveler from 1909”).

Bolling says that 9/11 was a turning point for the strip. “It was almost, like, ‘Can anything ever be funny ever again? Is this real?’ ” He landed on the idea of a “Super Fun-Pak Comix” in which each punch line, no matter the jokey setup, was “Terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center, killing thousands.” “I was crying when I was drawing it,” Bolling said. In the long march of grim news that followed, Bolling’s work continued to reflect political reality, and found humor and pathos everywhere. Nate the Neoconservative came along, as did Lucky Ducky, “the Poor Little Duck Who’s Rich in Luck,” who enrages his wealthy nemesis by being poor and getting all the breaks, and Chagrin Falls, where life is getting a little worse each day for the average American. Bolling’s Scarry cartoons, though, in their perfect blend of innocence, humor, and pain—see “Richard Scarry’s Busy, Busy 21st Century Classroom”—may hit the hardest. “I still get very affected by this,” Bolling said. “My job is to appear cavalier and above it, but when I’m writing and I’m drawing, I’m definitely not. It’s very difficult.”

I asked Bolling why the comic is called “Tom the Dancing Bug.” One day in class at law school, he said, “my friend had gotten a bug on his pen, and he was swivelling the pen. The bug was moving its legs to stay on top, back and forth. And I said, ‘That’s Tom the Dancing Bug.’ ” That night, he submitted his first strip to the paper. A purist, he didn’t want it to have a title—it would be wholly different each week—but the paper insisted. “So I thought of the stupidest name I could think of, and I named it ‘Tom the Dancing Bug,’ in retaliation,” he said. “But I remember riding my bike home afterward thinking, I actually like that.”

“This is horrible, but I feel like we’re all kind of Tom the Dancing Bug, trying to stay on the pen when some unseen force is trying to shake us off,” I said.

“An existentialist way of looking at it,” he said. “I didn’t think that deeply.” He’d seen himself as the bug: “trying my hardest and sweating, dancing for your amusement.” ♦

[cryptidsurveys]

Thursday, August 29th, 2024.

Will you answer these questions as personally as you can? Yeah, sure, I'll give it a shot.

Why are you happy? I have so many reasons to be happy. All the way from the "big stuff" like having a safe place to live, enough food to eat and clean water to drink, people who love me, a job that gives me a sense of passion and purpose, etc; to things like the fact that it's cloudy today, I'm eating a yummy breakfast as I take this, I don't have a migraine, autumn is soon approaching, and so on and so forth. Sometimes I lose sight of the good because I'm too focused on things that are going wrong or stressing me out, but I try to routinely remind myself of everything that's going right or that does make me happy.

Who’s the last person you hugged? Nan. I mentioned her in a recent survey. She's a volunteer at the shelter who does heaps of our dirty laundry. I don't know where we would be without her…probably suffocating beneath a mountain of stinky blankets and towels. Anyway, I went out to greet her the other day and she was like, "You're always smiling!" and gave me a hug. :')

Would you pay someone to kill the person who hurt you a lot? I would never do something like that. I wouldn't even wish death on any of the people who have hurt me. However, if there was some magical way to guarantee that I would never encounter those people again…I might take it.

Do you like the song ‘Sick Little Games’ by All Time Low? I've never heard it before; lemme go take a listen… It's alright, but it probably wouldn't make it onto my nonexistent playlist.

Last night you felt? Grateful for the day. I went to the Mountain Park with my dad and it was such a relaxing and nostalgic time. You know when the weather has a certain quality to it and it brings up all kinds of memories? Well, it was like that. I was also relieved that I didn't have to go to the shelter the following morning. My last few "weekends" were busy and exhausting and I spent the last one with an on/off headache, so it's just been nice to have two full days of chillin' and feelin' good.

How are you feeling right now? Tired but relaxed. Introspective. Twinges of dread/nervousness about tomorrow, but for no real reason (everything should be fine). Loving this cool and cloudy weather with its promise of fall.

Are you drifting away from someone you were close with? No.

Is there someone you’d like to fix things with? Yeah.

Have you ever liked someone that treated you like crap? Ehhh.

What are you listening to? Esther purring. She's curled up behind me on the computer chair.

Have you ever stayed in a hotel? Plenty of times.

What is in your pocket? My pockets are empty.

Have a best friend? I do.

Does it bother you when your best friend does stuff without you? My best friend lives in California, so they're always doing things without me.

Do you keep any secrets from your best friend? They know most of my biggest secrets.

What were you doing 60 minutes ago? I had just arrived home from grocery shopping, made myself breakfast, and started browsing for a survey to take.

Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? My dad knows pretty much everything. There are a lot of things I haven't told my mom and probably never will.

What’s something that can always make you feel better? Aside from partaking in my favorite hobbies and doing things I enjoy, it's usually time that does the trick.

What do you want right now? Ugh. I just realized that one of my kitties might have another UTI. She gets them occasionally, so she's going to have to go to the vet later. :'(

What would you name your future son? I don't want children.

If you had to eat 1 thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? Oatmeal.

How’s your life lately? Busy.

Last person to send you a text? My dad. I texted him on Tuesday to let him know I was on my way home from the shelter and he sent me a brief reply.

What were you doing at 8:00 this morning? Eating breakfast while taking this survey.

Did you have a good birthday this year? Yeah. It was snowy, I spent the morning at the shelter, then went out to lunch with my parents.

Have you done anything embarrassing lately? I'm embarrassed by it, but was it actually embarrassing…? Idk. When I see other people get upset or vent about Diane, I don't think, "Oh my God, how embarrassing." I'm more like, "FVCKING SAMEEE!!!" Talking to Iris (manager) about it was excruciatingly awkward, but it's probably all in my head. As a manager, she's probably used to dealing with issues like that.

Do you trust easily? No. But like I've been saying - I don't know how much of that is a "me thing" versus the fact that I spend a lot of time around people I find to be untrustworthy. Maybe I would open up a lot more in a different environment.

Do you like cookies n’ cream ice cream? Yeah.

How often do you raise your hand in class and answer a question? I'm not in school anymore, but in the past, almost never.

Ever been mistaken for someone else, and took it as an insult? No.

Would you get a mega bag of skittles, or three regular ones? I'm not a big fan of Skittles.

What color shirt are you wearing? I've got on a black t-shirt, a sort of slate gray/blue long-sleeve shirt, and a pine green sweater.

Is there a boy that would do absolutely everything for you? Not in a romantic sense, but my dad is always there for me.

Did you ever think you had the Swine flu? Possibly.

Who was the last person to smoke a cigarette in your presence? I smoke, but aside from myself, I'm not sure.

Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night? My dad.

Are you a mean person? No. I can be mean (selfish, thoughtless, etc), but I don't think I exhibit those qualities to the extent that I would be considered a "mean person."

Does anyone hate you? Idk.

Do you usually tell people when you’re mad at them? I really only feel comfortable expressing anger with my dad and my therapist. When it comes to other people, I tend to stuff it down until I inevitably explode - which was what happened with the Diane situation. It probably took everyone by surprise, including me! It's not like I woke up that day planning to go all scorched earth.

This time last year, can you remember who you liked? No one.

Will this weekend be a good one? I hope so.

Have you ever liked someone older than you? Yeah.

Are you mad at someone right now? Ehhh.

[headfullofpresley]

Elvis Presley Tag Game

Hi babies! I know there's already a few of these floating around, but I decided to make one as well because I love doing and reading these (so definitely tag me in yours~). Also, ignore me naming 300 songs for each question, I couldn't pick one 💀.

Questions are under the cut. 💗

When was the first time you heard of Elvis?

He's always been in my life because his music has always been played in my family (especially during Christmas lol), so I guess I kinda grew up with him.

What's your favorite era?

I love him in all era's tbh, but the 60s have a special place in my heart.

Favorite song(s) from the '50s?

Harbor Lights, How Do You Think I Feel, Anyplace Is Paradise, Don't Be Cruel, Wear My Ring Around Your Neck, Ain't That Loving You Baby, I Was The One, One-Sided Love Affair.

Favorite song(s) from the '60s?

Dirty, Dirty Feeling, Make Me Know It, Such A Night, Surrender, Reconsider Baby, Starting Today, (Such An) Easy Question, Witchcraft, Little Sister, Kiss Me Quick, True Love Travels On a Gravel Road, Suspicious Minds, Summer Kisses, Winter Tears.

Favorite song(s) from the '70s?

The Wonder of You, Patch It Up, We Can Make the Morning, Always on My Mind, If You Talk in Your Sleep, Moody Blue, Make The World Go Away, Snowbird, Never Been to Spain, I'll Never Fall in Love Again, Are You Sincere, This is Our Dance, Walk A Mile in My Shoes. I CAN'T JUST PICK ONE LMAO

All time favorite song(s) that you simply cannot skip?

How Do You Think I Feel, Starting Today, Moody Blue, I'll Never Fall in Love Again and Make The World Go Away.

Least favorite song?

Tutti Frutti, Ready Teddy and Milkcow Blues Boogie. don't hate me 👀

Favorite gospel song(s)?

Swing Down Sweet Chariot, How Great Thou Art, Crying in The Chapel, Bosom of Abraham and Lead Me, Guide Me.

Favorite country song(s)?

Snowbird, Whole Lot-ta Shakin' Goin' On, Funny How Time Slips Away, The Fool, Flaming Star, U.S. Male.

Favorite non-English song?

We'll Be Together (most of it is english but it still counts bc i love this song ☻), Wooden Heart and Santa Lucia.

A song(s) that makes you feel nostalgic?

Jailhouse Rock, Can't Help Falling in Love, Heartbreak Hotel, A Little Less Conversation, Are You Lonesome Tonight and Return to Sender - they remind me of my childhood sm.

A song(s) that makes you cry?

There's Always Me, I Need Somebody to Lean On and Unchained Melody.

A song(s) that makes you wanna dance?

Polk Salad Annie, The Love Machine, Vino, Dinero Y Amor, Bossa Nova Baby, Rock-A-Hula Baby, Return to Sender, Slicin' Sand, Happy Ending, Blue River, A Little Less Conversation.

Favorite song Elvis has covered?

SWEEEEET CAROLINE! 💃🏼

What's a modern song you wish you could hear Elvis cover?

Paper Doll by John Mayer - i want it, i need it! *slams table*. also, Roller Coaster by Danny Vera.

Do you prefer vinyl or CD?

I love both and I love the nostalgic feel of a vinyl, but when it comes to sound, I prefer CDs.

Favorite album?

From Elvis in Memphis, Love Letters from Elvis, From Elvis Presley Boulevard, Memphis, Tennessee and Moody Blue.

Favorite movie soundtrack?

Blue Hawaii, King Creole, It Happened At The World's Fair and Fun in Acapulco.

Favorite live performance?

The Ed Sullivan performances, my god. But I'm also obsessed with the show from August 11, 1970 for That's The Way It Is.

A live performance you wish you were present at?

My ass would be front row at every show, idc.

Favorite jumpsuit(s)?

Adonis, Black Conquistador (IM OBSESSED I TELL YOU; OBSESSED!), Conchos, Royal Blue Fireworks, American Eagle, Pharao and Silver Phoenix. His two piece fits were also very *chef's kiss*.

LIKE HELLO????? TALENTED, BRILLIANT, INCREDIBLE, AMAZING, SHOW STOPPING, SPECTACULAR, NEVER THE SAME, TOTALLY UNIQUE, COMPLETELY NOT EVER BEEN DONE BEFORE!!!!

Favorite movie(s)?

Blue Hawaii, Fun in Acapulco, Flaming Star and It Happened at The World's Fair. Also Viva Las Vegas and King Creole and Loving You and I'm going to shut up now.

Least favorite movie(s)?

Harum Scarum, Stay Away Joe, Kissin' Cousins and The Trouble with Girls.

Favorite co-star?

Ann-Margret and Shelley Fabares.

Favorite documentary?

Elvis by the Presleys, That's The Way It Is, Elvis on Tour and Elvis: Return to Tupelo.

Favorite interview?

This one right here. I can listen to this man talk for hours and fell asleep to this many many times lol.

Favorite car?

The Purple Cadillac Eldorado is sexy af. And also the Stutz Blackhawk... loooord.. 🥵

Do you collect merch? If so, what's the one thing you hold most dear to your heart?

I spend too much money on this man (woops), but I'm obsessed with Elvis and the Birth of Rock and Roll which contains Alfred Wertheimer's amazing work. Andddd a collector's item of the Blue Hawaii soundtrack. 💙

Do you think you'll be a fan of Elvis for the rest of your life?

Yes yes yes. He's such a big and important part of my life, I can't imagine him not being in it anymore.

tagging some of my lovely mutuals: @woundmetender @eliseinmemphis @foreverdolly @septembersghost @mrpresley @marriedtopresley @elvispresleywife @ab4eva @elvisabutler @infatuatedharleys @steph-speaks @mooodyblue - if i missed anyone, sorry bbies!

[musingsofaperpetualdaydreamer]

The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology first listen 🎧🪻✨

More than 15 years later wow it still feels so magical to listen to a brand new album. The joy, the excitement, the nervousness. I mark chapters of my life with her albums, they always seem to arrive with perfect timing. Is it fate or delusion? Probably the later, obviously she has no idea who I am. Idk it feels nice to delude myself now and again that we’re all journeying through this time together in some connectedness (is that a word?). It feels sort of nostalgic in some ways, from being just a child to now an adult, it’s like Sesame Street that grows up with you. Not a great analogy but what I mean to say is it holds a special place to me.

This album, this anthology feels much like we’ve been handed her diary, filled with sticky notes bound together, it’s so raw but so expertly crafted, messy feelings but the penmanship is exquisite. From her debut album, it’s always been poetry. She transports you to her world. What a journey, what a joy, what a gift.

I like to capture my first thoughts of each song in my silly chicken scratching written notes. Most of it makes no sense. It feels like a nice silly tradition and it’s fun to look back on. So here goes:

Fortnight

- It’s giving moody 1989??? Excuse me miss?!!! Ohhh she knows. Preach bye time to cry

The tortured poets department

- Ooooh we’re in an 80s dreamscape. Yes yes yes. Who’s gonna love you but me? A fluffy dreamland Patty smith? Insert wait I understood the reference meme. Ooooh it’s lovely. I am sad

My boy only breaks his favourite toys

- excuse me?? I’m shattered byyyyyeee. I’ll tell you that he runs because he loves me?? You should’ve see him when he first saw me? Once I fix me he’s gonna miss me??? Ladies and gents welcome to afternoon tea on the menu SCALDING hot queen’s special. Maybe I’m a crumpled up paper on the floor. Maybe I am no more.

Down Bad

- well damn she’s said the quiet parts out loud again. Oh smokes time to dissapear into this galaxy smoky cloud of night. One of us. One of us. One of us.

So long London

- literally standing by the river in the rain. May as well cry my damn eyes out . Darn it blondie. Poetic destruction. Crying my eyes out by the water like I’m in made in Chelsea. Darn.

But daddy I love him

- a folklore ode? Little house on the prairie Princess revolution. Serve it up serve it up I’m ready to be stuffed like a winter pig. A grown up love story. It’s ridiculous and maybe wise eyes know too well it’s chockablock of red flags but darn I’m a cheesin’ this is so cute.

Fresh out the slammer

- oh it’s like August but dark. August dark afternoon blistering hot and the storm is about to come.

Florida!!! Ft Florence and the machine

-ExXUSE MEEEEEEEeE?????!?!!?teee heee heee heeee. Your home’s really only a town you’re a guest in??? Sorry can’t speak my jaw has shattered. Pls pls. Palm tree pls.

Guilty as sin?

- A false God dreamy haze confessional? With sprinkle of Gold Rush??? I am a melted.

Who’s afraid of little old me?

- The who’s who of who’s that is poised for the attack? But my bare hands paved their path, you don’t get to tell me what’s sad? - I AM CHOKED. Silenced mute. Ohhhh miss blondie is on BUSINESS. TELL THEM SWEETIE. Oh my heart 💔

I can fix him (No really I can).

- Oooh moody blues preaching with generous dash of delusion? Ah yes my routine favourite beverage. I am drinking this up like air. Drunk on false hope? One of us. One of us. One of us.

Loml

- You Holy Ghost you told me I’m the love of your life. Oh no I’m crying again. Back to crumpled paper rocking back and forth on the floor in a ball it is. It’s so pretty yet, shattering. Devastating. I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all. Dancing phantoms on the terrace, are they second hand embarrassed that I can’t get out of bed ‘cause something counterfit is dead? Yep that’ll do it.

I can do it with a broken heart?

- Oh damn. Honey nooooo. Oh myyyy. Oh I’m in this picture and I don’t like it. It’s so artfully done, so upbeat and Poppy yet so hauntingly sad. Yes that’s the point but it’s sooo well done. Oh sweetie. I can’t stop laughing it’s not funny, it’s just you too pumpkin. I wanna hug her and tell her it’ll be fine. Ok ok.

The smallest man who ever lived

- Oh I’m speechless. And I don’t even want you back, I just want to know, if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal. The bridge? Excuse me while I sink to the bottom of the darkest ocean.

The alchemy

- Oooh it’s so cute and dreamy. I’m beaming you can hear her smile when she sings.

Clara bow

- Oooh it’s the lucky one grown up. The bridge is a masterpiece. It’s hell on earth to be heavenly, thems the breaks it don’t come gently. She knows she’s a star, The never ending cyclical wheel of stardom, even the shiniest, ends with a new star born in its shadow.

The black dog

- Oh No no no I Am 1 billion percent destroyed. Byeeeee

Imgonnagetyouback

- Oooh blondie is on the prowl and what can I do but bop like the well stuffed clown I am. Insert meme of cat bopping their head.

The albatross

- Banjo? Haunting country cautionary tale? - scathing review of one’s reputation, worst traits but underneath it all is just vulnerability. Caged for ‘monstrosity’ but being so vulnerable and just wanting to be freed loved. The ‘monster’ trying to protect the one they love from the things that will come for them too? Do they even realise it? Do they care? Wow it’s poetically beautiful.

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

- Oh it’s sad. If you wanna break my cold cold heart, just say I loved you the way that you were? Oh myyy. Replaying old moments, looking for clues wondering if it can all have a new ending? Wow.

How did it end?

- Wow the invasiveness of empathy of the innate curiosity of wanting to know, so you can something comforting, learn from it but you forget how it can be the worst part, having to offer up a ‘post mortem’ to all when you’ve barely even processed its ended yourself. The cyclical nature of it happening every time like it’s just a formal process we’ve come to accept even though it haunts us all. Ironically as we listen to this. Wow so beautifully done.

So high school

- I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you, and in a blink of a crinkling eye, I’m sinking, our fingers entertwined. Awww the sort of bubblegum silly feels you roll your eyes but you have the biggest smile on your face. It’s soo cute. You know how to call, I know Aristotle.

I hate it here

- Oooooh tell me something awful like you’re a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy. One of us. One of us.

ThanK you aIMee

- Oh my goodness it’s grown up mean but she made it out. It’s so sad but I’m beaming. I say that’s my baby and I’m proud. Andrea? Oh thank you next. Not the kid. I’m cackling.

I look in people’s windows

- Oh it’s haunted death by a thousand cuts glimmering of desperate false hope. It’s lovely.

The prophecy

- Oh. Damn yep that’ll do it. Right in the ticker. Damn. It feels very much like am I doomed to always be the one before the one? Wow. Just yeah.

Cassandra

- I don’t know why but this makes think of safe and sound. Like the woman that was there when everything burned around them. She’s telling her side. Everyone’s there to watch you burn, screaming your guilt but silent when they’re wrong? If that ain’t the truth miss. Oh wow. Shes beautifully captured such a dark chapter.

Peter

- Oh wow it’s beautiful. It’s like post cardigan and she’s all grown up. 'Cause love's never lost when perspective is earned. But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light. Oh wow it’s wow.

The Bolter

- Oh we must stop meeting like this but it always ends with a town car speeding. Wowowow. It feels like the time she fell through the ice, then came out alive. Oh my a BEAUTY.

Robin

- Oh it’s so pretty. It’s like never grow up, safe and sound and seven swirled together. Wow. It’s like she’s talking to her child but then also herself in the past and present, like from an older perspective? Ohhh it’s beautiful. Why does this make me think of coraline’s real mother watching her sleep? I wanna cry.

The manuscript

- Wow god it’s beautiful. Another time travel song. You keep revisiting past in your mind and you gain perspective and then you realise you aren’t that version of you that lived it anymore. You can feel it still, not as deeply perhaps but you’re disconnected from thinking the way you did at that time or after. Is sobering and haunting. The healing. Wow wow wow.

@taylorswift thank you my love 💕

[thornsent]

I'M GETTING OUT WHILE I CAN: I adore the effects on this so much. So far the atmosphere is... extremely fucking nostalgic for me. This is the kind of music, the kind of hymns, I was raised around. I really like the way it sounds like a mangled cassette recording.

ALL MY FRIENDS ARE GOING TO HELL: easily a classic. I listened to this on loop when she dropped it back in August. Her voice sounds like Judgement itself here.

THERE IS POWER IN THE BLOOD: I LITERALLY KNOW THIS SONG!!!!!! the chorus here is excellent and the way it abruptly ends into the next track is intense.

IDUMEA: the build and energies here have left me speechless. This is a stunning track oh my god. apocalyptic. shaking. enargeiac.

I WILL BE WITH YOU ALWAYS: this song holds such a special place in my heart, for when she dropped it I really needed it, and the message of it. something about it shakes me to my core. "my tears soaked my bed, the blood of many wounds soaked my bed, the sweat of many fears soaked my bed" & "I cannot release you for you are already free" & "the night is not yours alone to carry" it's so solemn and yet it feels like being embraced, you know?

PRECIOUS LORD, TAKE MY HAND: oh my god YES YES YES YES YES. I cannot SCREAM enough about how lovely and cathartic this is to me???? I grew up with this type of music and. just. wow. WOW!!!!

MAY THIS COMFORT AND PROTECT YOU: her delivery here has rended me. this song has rended me. the reoccuring motif of blades of grass and bells shows here again!!!!! it harkens back to SINNER GET READY, but in a completely recontextualized way.

THE POOR WAYFARING STRANGER: this played at my papa's funeral. fuck, this is beautiful.

NOTHING BUT THE BLOOD OF JESUS: another song I know!!!!!! god, I love the guitar and stompiness of this.

I KNOW HIS BLOOD CAN MAKE ME WHOLE: the cascading piano, the desperation, the hope.... this is such an incredible piece

HOW CAN I KEEP FROM SINGING: the intermissions of people speaking in tongues throughout the album gets to me and here it's especially... I seriously don't have words for how this makes me feel.

[fyeahdprian]

DPR IAN SHARES HIS IDEA OF A PERFECT RELATIONSHIP, AND WHY BEING IN SINGAPORE IS SO NOSTALGIC FOR HIM

- Danisha Liang

For those unacquainted, DPR IAN is part of Dream Perfect Regime (DPR), the independent multi-genre music label hailing from South Korea. The Ballroom Extravaganza singer is known for his experimental music style that’s theatrical and distinctly moody. Of course, his tracks are catchy, something that might be in part influenced by his roots in the K-Pop industry as a former member of boy band C-Clown.

Upon our meeting, it was clear that DPR IAN was a man of charisma. His adoring fans will tell you all about his charming Australian accent and his tattoos—and yes, we get it—, but his down-to-earth nature is what got us. And don’t mind us but he smelt amazing. If you’re just as curious as we were, he wears Blue Vanille from Henry Jacques. The more you know.

Read on for GRAZIA Singapore’s full interview with DPR IAN.

How would you describe yourself? DPR IAN (DI): I would say, spontaneously responsible. I don’t even think those two things belong together, but there we go.

How do you think your fans would describe you? DI: I think my fans would describe me as passionate, very passionate, very bold and very vulnerable.

What qualities do you find attractive in people? DI: Confidence. It’s just the way someone carries himself, you know, I honestly like that so much about somebody. You could just be anybody, really, quite anybody, doing anything, as long as you’re confident about who you are. Think that’s what I really like about somebody.

How would you describe the perfect relationship? DI: It’s one word: empowerment. You guys have to be empowering to each other, you know, if you guys aren’t making yourselves a better version of yourself, then, I don’t know what it is. Honestly, that’s what I think a perfect relationship is.

What is your motto when you’re making music? DI: Just goes for everything but be yourself. So make sure, when you make music, when you make anything, for that manner, you do it for yourself, and you do it because you love doing it. I think you can’t forget that.

How would you describe your upcoming full-length album? DI: Oh, boy. I think this upcoming album is the most that I’ve ever been myself and for people that know, they’ll know.

What can you tell us about your upcoming movie project, Mito 3? DI: I think this upcoming project is going to be the most cinematic masterpiece that I think DPR has ever gone and created, and it hasn’t even been made yet, but I already know.

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How do you feel about being in Singapore? DI: Very nostalgic, actually, because I’ve been to Singapore a few times during middle school. I think the first time was with my mom, and we went to the Night Safari. Actually, I went to the Night Safari yesterday [too], so it was very nostalgic. Going back after almost over a decade, Singapore always brings good memories. I love the people, love the food, just love the culture. So, what’s more to say?

What can fans expect from your upcoming tour? DI: My upcoming tour? Just a very good memory, you know, just a very good time, good experiences, laughs, tears, a lot of shouting, [and] your voice being gone. Bring some cough drops, just for your throat.

What is the best way to have fun? DI: One of the best ways to have fun is obviously at the After Party, where you just can’t go and be normal and just sit around. It’s kind of boring. So you have to be a little bit Mischievous.

Side note: We challenged DPR IAN to incorporate some of his favourite shades from the NARS Explicit Lipstick into his answer for the last question.

Catch DPR IAN in action below:

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The NARS Cosmetics Maison Explicit 30th Anniversary pop-up is located at ION Orchard and is open to the public until 28 August.

[umichenginabroad]

Week 10: Impressions of China

Hello hello! For this week’s blog, I wanted to talk about my before and after impressions of China. I’ve been to China a couple of times over the past summer breaks and mostly stayed in my family's hometown in Fuzhou which is at the country's southeast corner. It's very nostalgic to think about the town where neighbors invite each other to their house and everyone seems to know each other. The locals would see my new face and instantly recognize I'm a stranger. If news hadn't spread to them that a family from one block had returned and brought their grand-daughters on summer vacation, then they could easily tell I'm a foreigner from my denim shorts and tennis shoes. Because of my familiarity with Fuzhou, I experienced less cultural shock this summer but I’ll try my best to be helpful and break down some observations and differences between life here and back in the US. 

People Everywhere

Whether it's the home I stayed in Tennessee or the home I moved to during middle school in Michigan, both have huge green lawns with a wide space separating the neighbors. China, however, is more compressed and densely populated. The local park where kids played badminton while older aunties blasted loud music and gathered for square dance (广场舞) as a form of exercise, the ice cream shop that had the most flavors, and the food market where my grandma searched for the freshest produce and seafood for the day's menu— they're all walkable distances within the town. When I'm too lazy to walk, I would beg my grandpa to take me on his motorcycle or wave over one of those cycle rickshaws on the street. Ironically, my first impression of Shanghai is how everywhere is most definitely not a friendly walkable distance from my dorm, especially with the summer heat. The locals warned, "it gets worse in July and August!" The suburban area of Shanghai where I live and study is more peaceful compared to the bustling downtown which always seems to be awake with fancy city lights.

Dorm vs. Downtown Shanghai

Regardless if it’s in the small corner of suburbs or in the less developed towns, there’s always people. This is one of China’s main qualities. In my grandparents' town, the people sleep early and get up early to start business and catch the early morning market. Here, the students are night owls and frequently pull off all-nighters to catch deadlines. SJTU is a top-notch university, so classes are intense and the students have to be very academically-driven to meet the expectations.

Spread of Tourism

Many places have been turned into developed cities adapted for tourism, and it’s become a great challenge to take pictures of sites without getting anyone in the frame. I had to angle my phone toward the sky to avoid the crowds at the bottom. To prove my point,

Most of these tourist places are clean and well-managed, but there are some night markets that are littered with empty takeout containers and napkins and I can smell the public restrooms before I see them. The restrooms in China are not comparable to those in the US, except the ones in expensive shopping malls. They usually have squat toilets and don’t provide toilet paper in the stall, so packing travel-size tissue packs is a must. Last touch on tourism, I feel like as China becomes fancier, it’s simultaneously losing its authenticity. Tourism helps speed up the city development and brings profit to the regional government that can be distributed to further renovation projects. It’s inevitable that things are going to look and feel different than the past. But because of city remodeling, there are more things to do and more fun to have :) I do think each city I've seen is unique with their special tourist attractions and city landscape.

I just realized I never really talked about my outings in Shanghai, so I'm going to drop some pictures here!

Above you can see Pearl Tower, which is basically proof you've been to Shanghai. I lowered the brightness to make the color contrast stand out.

More Shanghai's landmarks!

International Students' Perspective of China

I am taking a Chinese Cultural class along with other Umich wolverines and international students. It's very interesting to listen to the international students' impressions of China. Cultural shock hits most to them who came from other countries without a Chinese family background. They described the Chinese people as calm and emotionless, to which the teacher responded the locals will get full of emotions if the subject is on tests and GPA. Real. The calm part was emphasized with multiple examples of traffic accidents, where two bikers crashed and asked if each is okay and then parted in separate ways, like nothing had happened.

My observations:

Chinese people are generally more reserved and minded less on the polite thank you's and how are you's (how are you's are often replaced with "have you eaten")

People don't hold doors for others

People don't always follow the first-come-first-serve rule. My grandpa had laughed at me for trying to line up to buy pan fried meat-bun when people squeezed in and yelled their order

It's intimidating almost to step into the clothing stores at the shopping malls because the salespeople can be overly enthusiastic to sell their items

Prices are not always set, even when there is a price tag!! It's sometimes possible to negotiate for more discounts if you try hard enough! (not that I have the skill)

Sun protection is a big thing! People invest in sunscreen and sun protection jackets/umbrellas/hats.

Cigarette smell is pervasive

Foreigner Disadvantage

Despite English is being taught as a second language since first grade and being tested on the important standardized test (高考) that determines what universities students can get in, people don't use English in daily lives. Speaking English attracts attention and curiosity and can make foreigners an easy target for the greedy minds. Those people can tell you're unfamiliar with the market price and charge extra. There may be other sketchy deals that they will try to drag you into, so it's best to keep information confidential. When cab drivers and shop employees are curious and ask where I'm from, I just tell them I study in Shanghai. It's safer to reveal less when it's not necessary.

I realized that the more I see, the less I grow to appreciate the sites. Maybe it's the glaring sun combined with my failing vision that made me squint at the scenes or maybe there's another very likely possibility. Maybe I've seen too much of the same things that I've gotten tired of the repetitive content. Below is the Slender West Lake (瘦西湖) in Yangzhou that looks similar to the West Lake (西湖) I've seen in Hangzhou. I didn't find the views to be particularly striking until I sent them to friends and family and their comments reminded me of how pretty the scenes are. I won't be able to see them back in the US, but they will stay in my photo album forever.

This summer has been very productive in terms of exploring, and traveling to cities has helped expand my mental map of China. I hope my blogging has helped you see some parts of China and make you feel excited to explore it if you plan to come!

Until next time!

Vivien Lin

Computer Engineering

UM-Shanghai Jiaotong University Joint Institute

[lunalovecomics]

Jan 10, 2023

Mercury, she was one of the joys in my life. I loved her, I adored her. Sadly, on this day, she died. I will never forget, playing happily with my dogs at my mum's home. Giggling, about to get some snacks when my dad sent a message:

>She's sick

>taking her to the vet

I did worry, but I knew she would be fine, my dad was someone I could trust. Yet, five minutes later, my heart broke.

>She passed

-How?

>A tumor was crushing her stomach and heart. It rapidly grew, and she was gone.

It was true... but none of us had known, not even the doctors. My cat was more special than first believed. Leucemia and a tumor, both are rare in a cat or so I was told. That ball killed my cat within minutes, less than a day. She had been taken because a glutton who stops eating one night and one morning is not normal. Dad did the right thing in seeking medical aid, even though there could be nothing done. No, he didn't put her down, he had been as shocked as me and that had been the moment he gave me the message that made me wail and burst into tears of despair.

I called my love, unable to say much other than "She's dead! Mercury is dead" He did his best to help me. But I didn't need it. I just had to have a few minutes of this feeling and hugging my dear dogs. Once I was dry I felt at peace.

Dad came to get me, and I smiled, was it wrong to feel happy in this situation? I do not know. We went and ate my favorite food, and we talked, he worried I had maybe fallen into a crisis, relieved when I assured him, I didn't. I didn't lie, I had just been sad, but now, I felt calm. We talked and talked during lunch about how cute she was, and how lovable she was. Mercury had always adored cuddling to me, sitting on my chest during rainy stormy nights to calm me, interrupting my work a bit but then resting on my leg. Her favorite toy was string or things that dangled. A cat that also loved eating, complaining if we didn't give her our lunch. We always had to lock her out on the patio along with the girls, because the three didn't stop bothering us in their own ways when we ate. She had even scratched through plastic bags to get to the food that wasn't hers. Her favorite was chicken, being more desperate than usual each time we brought it home.

It's strange how close she became to us. Mercury used to be feral, and distrusting. Yet, she only scratched me once, two weeks it took for her to be close. Born in August, dead by September. I guess, "wake me up when September ends" now makes sense.

We were done, I was smiling, knowing that we had been happy. I had no need to harm myself, no attacks. No nothing. Why did her death only cause momentary misery and not a full-on reaction lasting months? I don't know. But I felt, and feel, happy-nostalgic. Mercury lives forever on TikTok, Twitter, Facebook, and youtube. All I need to do is search for those, and I will see her again.

Mum came back early, Dad had just dropped me off at her house. She was also worried I might be in crisis. She didn't know Mercury personally, she had only kept her for me for a few hours since I hadn't been able to pick her up the second she was rescued. I digress. She only knew through videos and all the shenanigans I told her about. I brewed us some tea, there was no chamomile, but Earl Grey that tastes like vanilla when hot and chocolate when cold. We did the same, talk, I did let out some tears, but not as bad as the first ones. I know I will always miss her. I know Mercury was happy. When I think about her or mention her I feel good. And I was happy she didn't suffer in any way.

I love Mercury, she will always have a place in my heart and nothing will replace her. I hope, someday, I may adopt another cat, and give her just as much happiness as I was able to give Mer.

[katyswrites]

'tis the damn season

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), angst (LOTS of angst), friends-with-benefits, parental neglect/abuse, smoking, alcohol use, two fools who can’t just say what they feel

Wordcount: 10.4k

Childhood friends-to-lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again, broken promises, and roads not taken, lots of angst, soft smut, illicit affairs, what-ifs, and it’s always been you. And it all leads to your hometown, during Christmas break.

PART 3 | call me 'babe' for the weekend

THEN, Autumn 1985

You hummed to yourself as you unzipped your suitcase - the bed was already set up and made, thanks to your mother. Your parents had insisted on coming to New York to help you move, despite your protests about how far it was to travel for them - don’t worry, sweetheart, your dad had said. We’ll get a hotel, and make a trip out of it - do all of the sightseeing.

I want to see Cats! your mother had added cheerfully. You had grimaced, but in hindsight, thanked your lucky stars that they had been there. The line for the elevator was unbelievably long, with frantic families and excitable students lugging their lives upstairs in the form of boxes and bags. The late August heat seeped through the walls, the air conditioning doing little to combat the crowding of bodies in the downstairs lobby. You had opted to try the stairs while your parents waited with the bigger luggage, until you realized what a feat climbing to the 14th floor actually was. Halfway through, you had given up and stood defeatedly in the common space of the 8th floor, awkwardly elbowing your way into the half-full elevator stopping on its ascent. In the end, you only beat your parents to your dorm by about 10 seconds, just far more exhausted and sticky with sweat.

Now, hours later, you were taking some time to set up the rest of your room while your parents checked into their hotel downtown. Freshman orientation was later in the evening, and you wanted at least some time to yourself before getting swept up in the madness of freshman weekend. You hauled your belongings out of the box - while your parents had fussed about things like making your bed, building a bookshelf, and unloading your clothes - these were the personal things, the stuff that would make the bland dorm feel like home. A few of your favorite books, your Polaroid camera, a tattered teddy bear (shut up), your journal… and your memory box. Small things - movie ticket stubs, handwritten notes and drawings from Robin, old birthday cards, and photos - so many photos. You and Robin in your pep band uniforms; your parents on vacation five years ago; a group trip to the county fair in middle school, back when you and Robin were closer with Nancy Wheeler and Barb Holland; and, Steve. Of course, pictures of Steve. 

One of you as kids, dressed as Dorothy and a scarecrow for Halloween, one when you and him “got the married” when you were 5, a white tutu on your head as a makeshift veil, with a pretzel stick bouquet. And, more recent ones. One that your parents made you take with him at graduation, still a bit distant, being only days before that fateful night at the party. Some of just Steve, taken by you over the summer - him in just his swim trunks, standing on the edge of a dock with the glittering lake behind him; him, asleep in his bed, hair mussed and bare-skinned beneath the sheets in the morning light; and, one of the both of you, your faces squished together, faces bright thanks to the flash against the dark night sky. He had insisted you take it with him, despite your protests, having just come out of his pool, soaked and slightly sunburnt from earlier that afternoon. It’s maybe your favorite picture of both of you - it’s a moment in time, and while only about a month ago, it’s  already fading, despite how desperately you try to hold onto the simplicity of the past summer. It was the kind of summer that made you wonder if it was possible to be nostalgic for the present. Taking pictures of Steve had become your favorite pastime - all just polaroids, no artistry to them, just snapshots in time. It’s what you had always loved to do - pictures from the last decade or so filled the box, like a piece of the town you were leaving behind.

You taking these with you? Steve had asked a few days ago, sifting through your pictures as you were packing. You had nodded, frantically searching through your closet for those sneakers that you knew had to be somewhere.

Good, he had said. Don’t want you to go forgetting about this pretty face over in New York.

That had earned him a pillow thrown at his head.

You sat up on your knees on your bed, carefully clipping the pictures to the clothespins hanging off of a string lining your wall. You were so occupied with your task, that you hardly heard the keys jingling in the lock of your door. When the door did open, you nearly jumped enough to fall off the bed.

You turned quickly, hand to your chest to see a girl in the doorway, presumably your roommate. 

“Oh! Jesus, sorry - you scared me!” you said shrilly, accompanied by nervous laughter. 

The girl grinned, and gave a small wave. “Sorry! I meant to be here hours ago, but… early hasn’t really ever been my thing.”

“Right,” you said, shifting to sit crisscrossed on the mattress.

The girl lugged a duffel bag and suitcase through the doorway, plopping them on the empty bed on the other side of the room.

“Looks like you beat me to the better view!” she said, glancing at the window near your bed. It was a beautiful view, Lower Manhattan sprawling before you, with its high rises and busy blocks, the skyline visible over the apartment building in the foreground.

“Yeah,” you said sheepishly. The last thing you needed was to piss off your roommate from the jump. “Sorry, I probably should’ve waited -”

“Nah,” she said, waving her hand. “All good. The city’s not going anywhere.”

She hopped up on her bed, unzipping her suitcase. “I’m Debbie, by the way,” she added. You told her your name, and she nodded, setting herself to unpacking her bags.

You took her in - she was a redhead, hair permed with volume for days, with freckles and a curvy frame. She was relatively short, but moved like someone with a six-foot stature. Her nails are painted with chipping black nail polish, her worn t-shirt adorning the name of a band you weren’t too familiar with. You glanced back at the door.

“So, uh, do you have more stuff? Are your parents coming up behind you?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Nah. My folks aren’t exactly the ‘hands-on’ type. Besides, I pack pretty light. But, first -”

She dug through her back pocket, and fished out a pack of cigarettes. She hopped off the bed and bounded towards the windowsill at the end of your bed. She hoisted herself to sit on it, settling near the open window, propped earlier by you to let some fresh air in.

“You mind if I smoke in here?” she asked, already pulling a cigarette from the pack. “Promise I won’t set off the alarm, I’m a pro.”

“Oh, yeah - I mean, if you’ve got a spare one, that is.”

She grinned. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along,” she declared, handing you a cigarette as you joined her on the sill. 

She passed you the lighter after lighting her own, leaning back against the beam. 

“So, where are ya from?” she asked, blowing smoke out the window. 

“Hawkins,” you said. She raised an eyebrow, prompting you to add, “It’s in Indiana, maybe like an hour outside of Indianapolis.”

“Oh, nice,” she said, feigning interest. It was boring, and you knew it, so you chose to just reciprocate.

“You?”

“Long Island,” Debbie replied. “If you had a nickel for every person who tells you that this semester, you’ll probably be able to pay the tuition.”

You found yourself fascinated with this girl, with the way she pronounced it a Lawn Guyland, her words stretching and curling like bubblegum wrapped around a finger. Nothing seemed to be a problem, nothing was a big deal to her. Maybe you could be like that, too, in time. 

You laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think there’s enough nickels in the world for that.”

She smirked, and took another drag. “You’re not wrong about that.”

“Well, I’ve never been to Long Island,” you said. “So, that sounds pretty cool to me.”

She scoffed. “Trust me, it’s not. Though, maybe if I was from Indiana I’d change my tune.”

You can’t even feel too offended, not when getting out of that godforsaken town was what you’d been working towards your whole life. So instead you chuckled dryly, staring out at the cityscape below you. It still didn’t feel real - the next part of your life, starting right then, in the city you’d dreamed about for as long as you could remember.

“What’re you majoring in?” she asked. “I’m in Gallatin, and yes, that’s the bullshit school, before you get a chance to say it.”

You held up your hands in defense. “Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything - besides, that sounds cool - I mean, Individualized Study, it means you can forge your own path, you know?”

She shrugged, which was enough for you. You flicked some ash out the window, as you added, “I’m Journalism, though I think I’m going to minor in Creative Writing, too.”

“Oh, nice, she’s a writer?” Debbie says with piqued curiosity. “I see you, Indiana.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call myself a writer, yet.”

She shrugged. “It’s the yet that’s important, Indiana. I mean, that’s why we’re here, right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, shutting your eyes. “Why we’re here.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the city drifting up from below.

“Who’s the guy?” Debbie asked after a while, lifting her head towards the pictures hanging on your wall. You turned, seeing how Steve’s face was scattered throughout the memories pinned above your bed.

“That’s my friend from home, Steve. We’ve known each other a long time.”

You looked wistfully out the window, towards the west, as if you could see him, back in Hawkins. Debbie raised her eyebrows.

“Just a friend?” she asked, her voice suggestive.

You felt your face heat, and stared down at your shoes. “I mean, kind of. He’s - it’s complicated, I guess.”

She shook her head incredulously. “Nah, I don’t do complicated.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I did, either.”

Then, Debbie got a mischievous glint in her eye. “But, to be clear, he’s not your boyfriend? It’s just, he’s kind of all over your pictures.”

You nodded cautiously. Then, she looked giddy. “Perfect. That means nothin’s stopping you from coming out with me to a party tonight? It’s at my friend Michelle’s place, but her older brother’s in Stern, invited all his friends too. I mean, I can’t be the only one flirtin’ with the upperclassmen.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then she was hopping off the windowsill and heading back to her bed. 

“Oh, I don’t know - I mean, it sounds fun, but it’s the first night -”

“And? C’mon, we can think of it as roommate bonding. What’s holding you back, Indiana?”

You thought for a moment, then felt a cheeky smile start to form.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

THEN, Winter 1985

“So, tell me all about it!” Robin said excitedly.

You sat with her and Steve in Gateway Diner, your go-to hangout spot in high school. You poured syrup over your pancakes, dousing them until they were drowning in the stuff. Steve smirked next to you, Robin rolling her eyes.

“You want some pancakes with that plate of syrup?” she asked sarcastically. You kicked her under the table, earning a scowl from her and a laugh from Steve.

“Fuck off,” you grumbled, sipping your coffee indignantly.

“Jesus, I really missed you around here,” Robin said, shoveling some of her veggie omelet into her mouth.

“What am I, wood?” Steve asked.

“I’m stuck with you everyday, dingus.”

You smiled, the familiarity of it all feeling so right. Being here, in this booth, the din of chattering customers and clinking dishes, the smell of eggs and coffee, the stickiness of the vinyl seat and linoleum table  as reminiscent of home as your childhood bedroom. You and Robin would always come here after late-night band rehearsals, or on lazy Sunday mornings. And, this past summer, the three of you would slide into this booth, with Robin and Steve becoming closer at Scoops Ahoy, while you and Steve…

If Robin knew about you two, she wasn’t giving any indication. You had only arrived back in Hawkins yesterday, and made the promise to meet up with her in the morning. Spending the night at Steve’s hadn’t been in your plan. But, when Steve went to pick Robin up, with you already in the passenger seat, she hadn’t questioned it. It didn’t matter that Robin’s house was technically on the way to yours from Steve’s, not the other way around. It didn’t matter that you were keeping your red wool scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, well-aware of the bruises Steve had left on your neck and collarbone the night before. And, it didn’t matter that you smelled like Steve’s shampoo. Because the three of you were here, and it was familiar, easy. Because, deep down, you had missed home these last 4 months more than you’d liked to admit.

“Well, tell us everything!” Robin exclaimed, leaning forward on her elbows on the table. 

You smiled as you took a bite of your pancakes. You felt Steve’s eyes boring into you, but you avoided looking at him - he had heard a lot of this yesterday, during your aimless drive around town, and last night, curled into his side, tangled in his sheets.

“Well, I mean - it’s amazing,” you said, trying to find the words to describe your life from the last semester. “At first, it was hard - I didn’t know anyone, and I kept getting lost - I made so many rookie mistakes, like taking the subway in the wrong direction - and, people can totally tell when you’re not from the city, I felt like an idiot. But, I at least got used to how to get to my classes pretty quickly, then I had my roommate show me around - Debbie, I told you about her, right? Anyway, she’s from Long Island, which is not the same as the city, I learned, but she at least showed me around.”

You took another gulp of your coffee to wash down the sticky pancakes. Under the table, Steve’s fingers brushed the side of your thigh, and your breath hitched. You did your best to keep looking at Robin and keep your face stoic as you continued.

“Debbie’s really cool - you guys should meet her. When that storm came in at Thanksgiving, I was so devastated that I couldn’t come home, so she was beyond kind and let me take the train home with her to her house - I mean, I think it was just to piss off her parents, but that’s neither here nor there.”

And you went on from there, to talk about your classes, and how even though they were mostly boring gen eds, you were excited to be enrolled in more actual writing classes next semester. You told stories of your best and worst professors, the best food spots in the city, how you were making friends with people in your classes and some theatre kids from the Tisch school. You went on and on, talking animatedly about how wonderful and scary it was, how different it all was.

“They mean it, when they say it’s the city that never sleeps,” you added. “I mean, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep until about two weeks in - you get used to the noise, eventually.”

As you spoke, only occasionally interrupted with a question from Robin, you were so aware of Steve - how his hand was traveling up your leg, his knee knocking into yours, the feeling of him by your side, becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. You realized it was a game to him - how soon until Robin connects the dots? But, two could play that game, you decided. 

“So, have you, like, met anybody?” Robin asked.

You hesitated for a moment, confused. “Well, I just told you - there’s Debbie, and Ann, and Jake from Tisch, and -”

“No,” Robin said, smirking. “I mean, did you meet anybody? Like, not exactly friends?”

You felt your face heat, well aware of Steve next to you. His hand, now on your knee, stilled, waiting for your answer.

“Oh! Uh, no - not really. I mean, Debbie’s always trying to get me to like, ‘get out there,’ or whatever. But, um -”

You stole a glance over at Steve, just half a second. He was looking at you intently, but his face rather neutral.

“- I just, didn’t meet anyone that interesting, I guess. I mean, c’mon Robin - I’m there to be a student,” you added, albeit facetiously.

“Right,” Robin said. “Remind me, which bars are the ones that don’t card?”

You crumpled up your napkin and threw it at her, causing the three of you to descend into a laughing fit so contagious that other diners turned to look at you, annoyed. And, for a few moments, it felt as if you had never left Hawkins.

******

Steve dropped Robin off first, later that afternoon. She had briefly asked why, knowing that it made more sense to stop by your house on the way back to his. Steve had made some excuse about going on auto-pilot, and missing the turn. You played along, playfully slapping his arm and calling him an idiot. Inwardly, your heart was doing somersaults. After Robin bid her goodbyes, and you promised to visit her at work, you and Steve were driving away, silence falling between you two.

“You know,” Steve finally said. “What Robin asked, back at Gateway - it’s okay.”

You shifted to face him, raising an eyebrow. 

“What’s okay?”

“You know - if you started seeing someone. Or, you just wanted to have some fun, or whatever. It’s all good.”

You felt your face grow hot, staring at him as he continued to look ahead at the road.

“Well, yeah - I mean, I know. Was I supposed to think it wasn’t?”

“No! No, definitely not. That’s part of this - this whole thing. As long as it’s fun, it’s all good. Just - if anything got more serious, with some other guy or something, you’d tell me, right?”

You paused for a second, taken aback. “Yes, of course. I told you that, last night - if there was someone else, really someone else, I’d tell you. I mean, same goes for you, right?”

He glanced over for a moment, nodding ferociously. 

“Yeah, of course I would.”

“Good!”

“Good.”

You stared out the window for a while after that, a million thoughts running through your mind. Steve didn’t own you, you knew that. And, you knew that there weren’t any promises between you two - why should there be? That was the whole deal. And, if you had wanted to seriously flirt with someone this past semester, you could’ve - you just chose not to. That was the easiest way to think about it, the most sensical. But, for a moment, you thought about Steve seeing other girls while you were gone, and you wanted to throw up. You did your best to shake the feeling, choosing to stare at the reflection in the rearview mirror. 

For a while, neither of you could think of anything to say. It was a somewhat comfortable silence, a familiar one. Still, this strangeness hung in the air, unanswered questions. You let your ears become attuned to the radio instead, hoping the music would drown out the noise in your mind. Crackly Christmas music filtered through the car’s speakers, occasionally cutting out when service got spotty. Soon enough, the familiar, synthy sound of Last Christmas started playing, and you started humming along. You leaned across the console and turned it up, earning a groan from Steve.

“No, not Wham!” he cried.

“C’mon Steve, you know you love it!”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. You leaned across the console towards him, mimicking holding a microphone as you sang:

Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special

You were being annoying about it, and you knew it - you were singing with a stupid grin, shoving the imaginary microphone in his face. He laughed, and eventually joined in with you, despite his faux-protests. He drove through the neighborhood streets, passing houses with white-picket fences and frosty, browning lawns, begging to be covered with a blanket of snow in the coming weeks. 

At a stop sign, Steve seized the opportunity to fully turn to face you, matching your energy to scream-sing in your face, both of you overpowering George Michael. As he did, he reached across the console and placed his hand on your thigh. Unlike the restaurant, it didn’t even seem intentional - no, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did.

Your voice trailed off, the sound of the song fading as your ears roared, the blood rushing to your face.

He stopped too, after a few moments, his smile falling, softening into something else.

“What is it?” he asked. You let your eyes flick down to his lips, just for a second, and you shook your head softly. You brought your hand up to cup his cheek, and leaned in closer.

“Pull over, Steve. Somewhere private.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

THEN, Autumn 1986

“That was -”

“Mm hm,” you said, breathing short. You pulled the sheets up around you, turning on your side to look at the man next to you.

Dave smiled, resting his arm behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“I mean, wow,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I convinced you to grab that drink.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, scoffing. 

“Yeah, well, only after like, the eighth time.”

“Worth the effort,” he joked. You giggled, nuzzling further into the sheets.

He cleared his throat after a moment, glancing over at you quickly.

“Um, you’re good, right? Like, do you need me to do, uh, anything else for you?”

It took you a moment to realize what he was getting at, and you felt our face heat.

“Oh! Uh, no! You’re good! It was - it was nice!”

The answer was actually yes, I got pretty close, and you really should go down on me for an hour to make up for it, but it feels like a moot point now. But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun, or enjoyable - it had felt pretty good. You had just been a bit spoiled up until now, you decided. That had to be it.

Besides, Dave was great - handsome, a bit mysterious, and a senior, who shouldn’t be interested in a sophomore like you, but he was. He was nice, and interesting, and bought you a few drinks - how could anything be bad about that? 

“Okay, just making sure,” he said, sitting up against the headboard. He reached for his bedside table, fishing through the drawer until he fished out a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth, then extending the carton to you.

You accepted it gratefully, taking one out for yourself and letting him light it for you.

After a few moments passed, he said, “So, uh, d’you live far from here?”

You glanced over, exhaling smoke before you answered.

“Oh, um, not really - I’m in Lafayette this year.”

He frowned, flicking some ash into the tray beside the bed. 

“I mean, that’s way over close to Chinatown, right? It’s kind of a hike this time of night.”

Oh. What he was really asking was how are you getting home?

“Oh, I mean, I can take the subway. Not a big deal.”

He cocked an eyebrow, then shook his head. 

“No need - I’ll call you a cab, yeah?”

You felt your heart sink a little, but then again, what were you supposed to expect? That he’d let you stay over, on a weeknight, in his apartment that looked like it cost more than your parents’ house? It had only been a first date, for Christ’s sake.  You suddenly felt so out of place there, so small, but you feigned a smile.

“Oh, sure - that’s really nice of you.”

He waved his hand, fishing through his discarded jeans for his wallet.

“Don’t mention it - you’ve gotta get home safe, you know?”

You nodded quietly, stubbing out your cigarette in the tray on the windowsill. He stared at you for a moment, expectantly. You got the hint, and nodded.

“Yeah, uh, just give me a minute to get dressed, yeah?”

He nodded, leaning back against the headboard as you searched around for your things. You excused yourself to the bathroom, hurriedly getting dressed. This was probably how the real world was, you decided. What you and Steve did - that wasn’t the norm. Nothing about your situation with Steve was exactly normal, you supposed. But, what did this make you now? Do you even tell Steve about Dave, next time you’re home? Wait, why the fuck are you thinking about Steve right now?

On your way out, after Dave handed you some cash for the cab, you stood with him in his doorway. 

“Well, uh, thanks for the cab,” you said, fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied. Then, after a moment, he added, “I - I had a good time tonight. And next time, maybe we’ll do an actual dinner? On me?”

Next time?

You nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! Yeah, totally! You know where to find me!”

He smiled endearingly, and when the taxi honked outside, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. And, when you got in that cab and gave the address, you felt… confused. But, you couldn’t think anymore, not right then, so you pressed your head against the glass, and traveled home in silence.

THEN, Winter 1986

You sipped your drink slowly, the crackle of the prosecco mixed with cranberry on your tongue tasting like just like Christmas. The Harringtons’ house was warm, full of chatter and laughter as guests clinked their drinks and snacked on appetizers. You had made a beeline for the bar, set up in the kitchen on the counter. Poinsettias seemed to be the drink of choice, and despite having only been there a few minutes, you were getting towards the end of your second.

You had been home nearly a week, avoiding Steve with various excuses - you had promised to visit your aunt in the city, you had to go shopping with your mom, you needed to spend a day baking to prepare for Christmas Eve. There were a few times he had called, too, and you had told your parents to lie and say you weren’t home, claiming you didn’t feel well and didn’t want to see friends at that moment. None of the above was true, not really.

You were being a coward, and you knew it - you just had to tell him. It wasn’t a big deal, you had known this would happen -you were just shocked, more than anything, that it had happened to you first -

“Hey! There you are!” you heard a familiar voice say. You turned, and felt your face break into a wide smile when you laid your eyes on Robin.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around her. 

“When did you get here?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Oh, just a few minutes ago -”

“No, I mean in Hawkins. You never called to say you were back!”

A pang of guilt hit you - you should’ve told her, but if you saw Robin, you’d have to see Steve too. You opened your mouth to answer, until you saw Robin wave over your shoulder to someone - you could’ve bet a million dollars who it was.

“There he is!” Robin said excitedly. You paused, and plastered a smile on your face as you turned, only to come face-to-face with Steve.

His eyes widened, just for a moment, his gaze roaming up and down your form.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey,” he echoed, face soft. “I, uh, tried calling - you never said when you came back to town, exactly.”

He sounded wary, like you might bolt if he wasn’t careful.

“Oh, yeah - I’ve been back for a few days, but it's been crazy busy. You know, with my family, and stuff.”

It was blanket-thin, and you knew he saw right through it. But, he just flashed a quick smile and nodded.

“Oh, cool - well, it’s great to see you. Seriously, really glad you could make it.”

Your heart ached a little - you hadn’t seen him in months, had hardly called him all semester. Had hardly called home at all, really. And, God, he looked great. Pretty, even, in the warmth of the Christmas lights.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Me too. I really missed you guys,” you added, glancing over between him and Robin. 

“Well, enough of the sentimental crap - let’s get drunk, and stuff our faces with a bunch of sugary junk?” Robin said, clapping Steve on the back as she headed towards the dining room. You moved to follow her, but stopped when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey - are you okay?” Steve asked. You stared ahead for a moment, before taking a step back to meet his eyes. “When I hadn’t managed to get ahold of you, I - I mean, are you pissed with me?”

You shook your head fervently. “No, no, Steve, I - I’m sorry. I should’ve called you, the day I came back. I just -”

You sighed, and gently shouldered his hand away. He frowned, but waited patiently for you to gather your thoughts.

“Steve - I really didn’t know how to tell you this, but… I’m seeing someone. Well, sort of. But, it’s been going on a couple of months now, and - you should’ve known about it sooner, and I’m sorry, it’s just -”

“Hey, hey -” he cut you off, placing his hands firmly on both of your shoulders. “It’s okay, seriously. I mean… we knew this might happen, one way or another. I mean, I think it’s great.”

You furrowed your brow - he sounded sincere, and looked it to.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I swear - I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I was looking forward to -” he glanced around, suddenly aware of the house full of friends, family, neighbors, “- well, you know. But - we’re still friends, right?”

He sounded small towards the end, the question coming out timidly in a way that was so uncharacteristically Steve. You suddenly felt guilty, and incredibly stupid for ever thinking that this conversation would have gone any differently.

“God, yes, of course, Steve,” you said gently. “We’ll always be friends. I think we shook on that, a long time ago.”

He smiled fondly at the memory. “Good to know you’re still gonna be a pain in my ass, then.”

You both laughed, and you sipped more of your drink, your head finally starting to feel a bit fuzzy.

“Well, let’s find Robs - I mean, she might start a rumor that we’re sleeping together, or something.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, before moving to follow you towards the dining room.

“Hey,” he started, “What’s his name?”

You stopped, turning to face Steve again.

“Who?”

“The guy, your boyfriend, or whatever.”

“Oh - Dave. He’s a senior, a film student.”

Steve nodded, swirling the beer in his glass.

“Well, I hope he’s a great guy - you deserve someone great.”

He was looking down as he said it, not quite meeting your gaze. You just nodded, face sympathetic.

“He is - I mean, he’s good to me.”

Steve smiled at that, genuine and warm, and a moment of understanding passed between you two. For you, it felt like this great weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, this thing that had been in the back of your mind for weeks suddenly not a big deal. And, it was Christmastime, and here he was, the same boy you’d always known. The drinks were flowing, the fire was warm, and you were home. And maybe, for the week, you could pretend you were 17 again, because it was easy to do that when you were with Steve. It was always easy with him - and in that moment, you were certain it always would be.

THEN, Summer 1987

That summer, when you came home to Hawkins, Dave had promised to visit. You had stayed behind in New York for a while after the semester ended, so you could cheer him on at graduation. Well, he didn’t have enough tickets for his section, so you sat up in the nosebleeds at Yankee Stadium. Nonetheless, you were able to go out drinking with him and his friends after, thanks to the fake ID he had acquired for you.

He said he’d come to Hawkins at the end of June, and properly see where you grew up, and the people who had been there with you through it. Part of you had been terrified, embarrassed by the rundown, small town, by your overbearing but loving parents, by your goddamn childhood bedroom that still had dolls standing on the dresser. Still, as much as you had been trying to distance yourself from Hawkins, to leave it behind and never look back, it was where you had come from, the place that molded you - if he loved you, then he should love Hawkins, right?

But, all of the worries you had were pointless - Dave would never get on that train, would never set foot in Hawkins, or your childhood home. He would never meet Robin, or Steve, or anyone else who mattered. Because, after weeks of hardly hearing from him, you tried to call him directly. And, some woman named Lisa picked up. You knew damn well where his phone was, right on his bedside table. You also knew how early in the morning it was when you called, hoping to catch him before he left for work.

When you showed up on Steve’s doorstep that night, with tear-stained cheeks and red, tired eyes, he didn’t question it. And, when you asked to stay over, he didn’t give the slightest indication that he minded. And, when you finally told him what happened, he held you while you cried.

You deserve better than that asshole he had said soothingly. One day, you’re going to find someone who thinks the world revolves around you, who can’t breathe when they’re not with you. I swear.

And, when you started kissing him, he had protested at first - c’mon, you’re crying, you need some time to deal with this.

And, Steve was probably right. But, you had taken his face in your hands, and whispered, Please, Steve - I need you, I missed you - make me forget all about him.

And he did. One, two, three times that night. And the next morning. And, nearly that entire summer - twisted in Steve’s bedsheets, driving around in Steve’s car, and everything was Steve. Throughout that summer, you spent your days in his passenger seat, taking late-night drives to Lover’s Lake, eating sweet, sticky breakfasts at Gateway, singing along to Tears For Fears until you can’t hear your own thoughts. That summer was sunscreen and cheap beer, chlorine and Steve’s cologne, sweet strawberries and the soft morning light that filtered through his bedroom window. Just like before, no promises were made - you couldn’t do that, couldn’t cross that line. But, it was fun, and it was easy, and for just a passing moment, you almost didn’t want to go back to New York in August. Almost.

THEN, Winter 1987

“So,” Steve said, blowing smoke out the window, “How serious are you about this guy, exactly?”

You were sitting in Steve’s living room, the fireplace crackling as Christmas music played from the radio in the kitchen. His parents were gone, attending his dad’s annual office Christmas party. According to Steve, it was really just for everyone to receive their holiday bonuses, but it was also an excuse for them to get drunk and stupid. Once again, you had to break it to Steve that you had started seeing someone new - it had only been a few dates, but the guy was kind, and treated you like a gentleman, and Steve may as well know now, so it isn’t a surprise down the line if it ever became something official.

You raised your eyebrow, flicking some ash off of your cigarette. 

“Who, Paul?”

He nodded, taking another drag while keeping his eyes on you. You shrugged, taking another swig of beer as you considered your answer. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘serious’ is part of the conversation right now,” you said, measuring your words carefully. “I mean, we’ve gone out a few times, and - he’s really great. Like, a really  nice -”

“I’m sure he is,” Steve replies, flicking some ash into the tray on the windowsill.

You sighed. “...but?”

Steve shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just - I don’t want to see you get hurt again, that’s all.”

You bristled, folding your arms. “Don’t worry, Steve - I’m a big girl, I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I know - but, that shit that Dave pulled? I don’t want to see that happen again, you know?”

“This is different - Paul is great -”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

His words were short, voice sharp. Silence fell between you two for a few moments, tenuous and awkward. You stared down at your feet, avoiding the way Steve’s eyes burned into your skull. You heard him huff, and even though you were avoiding looking over at him, you could imagine the way he was running his hand through his hair, thinking.

“Look,” he said, more softly this time. “I just - I’m looking out for a friend - I mean, you just deserve someone who treats you right, that’s all.”

“He does treat me right,” you shot back, meeting his eyes again.

“Good.”

“Great.”

Neither of you spoke again for a while, just letting the quiet night and hum of the television fill the air. You took another drink, quietly debating how to move on from this topic. You remembered that you hadn’t called Paul yet since you’d arrived home, and a pang of guilt hit you - knowing him, he was waiting by the phone, hoping that you had a nice flight and that you were already missing him.

“I really do like him,” you added, feeling stupid and small as soon as you said it.

“You know,” Steve murmured, “you shouldn’t just be going out with someone nice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t you literally just say you don’t want me to get hurt, and be with someone who treats me right, all that shit?”

“Yeah, I did - but, nice isn’t enough. Not for you.”

He shifts, scooting closer until he’s right next to you.

“I mean, nice… that’s a given. But - you deserve more than that. I know you - you need excitement, and fun, and someone who thinks the sun shines out of your ass even when they’re unbelievably pissed off with you - the real stuff. It should just, like, feel like you’ve been struck by fucking lightning, when you’re with someone. Not nice.”

The last part came out forcefully, perhaps more than he had meant. Your breath caught in your throat, and you whipped around to look right at him. His eyes were wide, pleading. 

You placed down your bottle, slowly, not breaking eye contact with the boy.

“Is that so?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. His knees were brushing yours, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder. Your heart was pounding, threatening to break through your ribcage and fly away at any moment. Before you could think, or say anything at all, he closed the distance by  pressing his lips to yours.

There was nothing slow or gentle about it - he was kissing you fast, desperately, fervently. And, you let him. He immediately brought his hands to the sides of your head to pull you impossibly closer. You were breathing him in, it’s all gnashing teeth and tangling tongues, quiet moans and shaky breaths. 

The last few months of distance, of toeing the line of something-like-friendship, were dissolving in an instant. As you breathed him in, tasted him, you were telling him I missed this, I wanted this.

You shifted until you were swinging your leg over his, straddling him without breaking the kiss. It was when his tongue entered your mouth that you moaned - he tasted like cigarettes and cheap beer, smelled like mint and cologne, and it was so Steve.

It was when you brushed against his clothed bulge that he groaned, earning a deep fuck from him.

You pulled back, both taking a moment to come up for air, and maybe to your senses. You looked into Steve’s eyes, a question hanging between you both - we shouldn’t do this, not again - right?

But his eyes were like chocolate and honey, his lips tasted like home, and god dammit, he just looked so pretty right then. So you were kissing him again, practically devouring him, doing everything short of melding your body into his. It set him off, and before you knew what was happening, he was taking charge.

He wrapped his arms around you and gathered you into him, picking you up off his lap and moving until you were on your back on the floor. He held himself over you, kissing you with everything he had. There wasn’t time to move up to the couch, let alone his bedroom upstairs - there wasn’t enough time, you needed each other now. 

He reached down for the button of your jeans, fumbling with it until it popped, and you shimmied them down your legs as he sat up, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift movement. 

It was a whirlwind, a dizzying haze - you weren’t sure when the rest of your clothes came off, or his - all you knew was that you were needy, enough that you whispered touch me, Steve, please into his mouth. And he did - oh, he did.

He brought his hand downwards, fingers brushing along your slit as he swore.

“Fuck, you’re so wet baby - so wet for me -”

You nodded eagerly, bucking your hips up into his hand. He got the message, not even bothering to make fun of you for being desperate. Instead, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing slow circles there. You gasped, canting upwards until your forehead was buried in his shoulder.

“Feel good, baby?” he asked.

Baby. He only ever called you that in moments like this, and you had missed it more than you wanted to admit. So you just bit your lip and nodded, whispering. “Yes, my God, feels fucking amazing.”

Nobody could make you feel like Steve did, not without being told. But he knew your body, knew you, better than anyone. So when he sped up his ministrations on your clit and started kissing you lazily, you let him. When he slid in a finger, two, three, you let him. And when he hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars, you let him. 

He moved his lips down as he touched you, sucking a bruise to your collarbone. You cried out, and he smiled into your skin.

“You close? Yeah, are you gonna come on my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathed, eyes screwed shut as you arched up into his hand. “Right there, don’t stop - fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck - oh my God -”

Then you were coming undone, his name a strangled scream on your lips as you came.

“There you go, Jesus, just like that -” he whispered in your ear, sucking on the soft skin behind it as you came down from your high. 

You had forgotten what it was like, for it to be like this - nothing compared to losing yourself in Steve Harrington. That was why, while your heart was still racing, chest still heaving, you were kissing him again, already wanting more.

“Inside me - please, Steve,  I need you -”

“Fuck, yeah, I know. I do too, hang on -”

He frantically pulled down his boxers, the only piece of clothing left between you two. The carpet was itchy against your back, the floor hard beneath it, but you didn’t care - not with Steve above you, ready to give you what you wanted.

He leaned back on his knees for a moment, looking down at you, his expression so soft that you thought you might melt under it.

“What is it?” you asked quietly.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. He started to bring himself down over you again, then froze.

“Shit,” he said under his breath.

“What?” you asked, aware of how whiny you probably sounded.

“I don’t think I’ve got any condoms,” he grumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead. Your heart sank for a moment, because God, you were certain that you’d die if you didn’t have him that very moment.

“Steve, hey -” you whispered. “I mean… I’m on the pill. I have been, for a while, I just never… I mean, I know you, so - if you wanted…”

His eyes widened, and he lowered himself, propping himself up on his elbows as he brought his face inches from yours.

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded slowly. “I trust you, Steve.”

And you did - you really did. He looked like all of his Christmases had come together at once, and he kissed you again, with ferocity.

“Thank God,” he rasped, “because I think I’d die on the spot if I couldn’t fuck you right now.”

Your stomach flipped at that, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it, because he entered you in one swift movement. You groaned, the sudden intrusion a welcome one - you were so full, Steve fitting you so perfectly, so completely. You had forgotten just how good he felt. He dropped his forehead to yours, breaths ragged.

“Fuck - you feel fuckin’ perfect -” he breathed. “Please tell me I can move,” he pleaded.

“Please do, Steve.”

That set him off, and he started rolling his hips into yours slowly. You just sighed into his mouth, his nose nuzzling yours as he set a slow pace. He pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in. Without being told, his hand traveled down to where your bodies met, his forefinger rubbing your clit in agonizingly slow circles.

You gasped, fingernails grazing down his back for purchase. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan that nearly killed you.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, picking up the pace a bit as he thrust into you. “You’re takin’ me so well, you always do - fuck, nobody takes me like you -”

“It’s not - ah, shit - it’s not like this with other people,” you whined, pressing your lips to his shoulder. “You just feel so good, Steve, ohmygod -”

You were both messes, babbling dirty words and sweet declarations into each other’s ears. And semblances of rational thought had vanished, because all you could feel was each other. All you felt was his cock, stretching and filling you so perfectly; his hands, touching you in all the right places; and his voice, saying all the right things, like you’re so fuckin’ amazing and I needed you so bad.

You were saying things too, crazy things, desperate things - it was hard not to, Steve was like a drug, one you’d never get enough of. Maybe that’s why what happened next did, you told yourself later. You would later try to rationalize it in so many ways, beyond the most obvious one. Because, when one moment changes everything, isn’t that what you do?

It was when you had shifted positions, both of you upright. He held you to him as he sat up, pulling to onto his lap as he continued to fuck up into you. His hand found your clit again as you started to bounce on his cock, the new angle hitting you just right. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” you cried, meeting his thrusts. He buried his head into your shoulder, sloppily pressing his lips there as he groaned.

“Thank God - I’ve been close ever since you started kissing me, baby.”

You laughed, moving faster as you chased your high.

“Where can I finish?” he asked, suddenly aware of the lack of the usual barrier between you two.

“I told you,” you breathed, the sounds of your slapping skin growing louder. “I trust you - come inside me, Steve.”

He sounded like he actually died right then, pulling you impossibly closer. Your breasts brushed the hair on his chest, and it was driving you crazy, being that close to him. He started babbling nonsense towards the end, like he often did.

“Oh my god, baby, fuck, it’s like this pussy was made for me - ya know I mean that, fuck - just like that, yesyesyes -”

You were so focused on yourself, and the tightening coil in your belly that was threatening to snap at any moment, that you almost missed what he said next - almost.

“I’m almost there - fuck, I missed this, missed you - God, I love you, you know that? Ohgodohgodohgod -”

Before you could say anything, the coil snapped, and you were coming, so hard you nearly went blind. You screamed, throwing your head back as he continued to thrust into you, his cock twitching inside you. He followed a moment later with your name on his lips, and there it was again - fuck, I love you.

You felt him come inside you, a new sensation, warm as he filled you up. You shuddered at the feeling, his cum seeping into you as you continued to clench around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm coursing through you.

Both of your chests were heaving, breathing almost in unison. You still sat in his lap, arms wrapped around each other. You felt his heartbeat against yours, hard and rapid as he peppered gentle kisses along your shoulder.

But, as you came down from your highs, you were frozen - did you hear that right? No, you couldn’t have - there was no way that he  really said -

“Wow,” he whispered. “That was -”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “It was.”

You felt him start to soften inside you, and you moved to clamber off of him. He gripped your back for a moment, as if to say not yet, stay here for a minute, but it was too late - you extracted yourself from his embrace, seating yourself on the living room carpet. You still felt him inside of you, threatening to trickle out of you. He must’ve realized too.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Let me, uh, get you a towel or something - I didn’t even think of that, sorry - I’ve just gotta run upstairs, I’ll be right back -”

Before you could say anything, he was pulling on his boxers and standing up. Before he left the room, he stopped and left a quick, chaste kiss on your lips - something he hardly ever did after sex. Something new. He did it without second thought, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, he was running up the stairs, taking them two at a time to the bathroom.

You sat there for a moment, alone, and held your head in your hands. Shit.

I love you - that’s what he said, twice, loud and clear. And, he doesn’t even seem to know. You’re not sure if that fact made it better or worse. There was only one thing you knew for sure - that feeling, settling deep in your chest, so big and overwhelming that it threatened to split you in two - it was fear. This wasn’t supposed to happen - that was the whole point. Here you were, naked in Steve Harrington’s house, after having sex on his living room floor - what were you even doing? Then, you thought of Paul, who you hadn’t even bothered to call since you got home - and it set you over the edge. Your head felt light, the room spinning as a dull ring filled your ears. Before you knew it, tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, and then they were falling, hot and fast. 

You didn’t even hear Steve come back into the room, wearing pajama pants and holding a towel in one hand and a blanket in the other, presumably for both of you. Not until he dropped on his knees next to you, hands brought to your shoulder. 

“Hey, hey - what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I do -”

But you shouldered him off, reaching to grab your clothes. You pulled on your panties and clasped your bra, avoiding eye contact with the boy, despite his desperate pleas.

“Wait, what’s going on? What happened? Hey -”

He gently grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop and look at him as you were pulling your jeans back on.

“Talk to me - whatever it is, it’s okay.”

His eyes were panicked, concerned. You sobbed, fresh tears rolling down your face. 

“Hey - Chicago,” he said firmly. Well, fuck.

You just stopped, and took a deep breath. “Did you mean it?”

He furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Mean what?”

Your breath hitched, and you shook your head.

“Forget it,” you conceded, pulling your sweater back on over your head.

“Forget what? Seriously, what the fuck?”

You straightened up, and looked him in the eye. You let your face become stoic, at least to the best of your ability, before saying, “We can’t do this anymore. Sex, I mean, you and me. It’s a bad idea.”

His face fell. “What? What are you even talking about? Was it like, not good for you? I thought -”

“No! Jesus, it was fucking great - that’s the problem?” 

He only looked more confused, and you pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead as you shut your eyes, frustrated. 

“Okay, shit - I mean, I’m seeing Paul, okay?”

He looked taken aback at that. “Wait, that’s what this is about? I thought you guys weren’t that serious, not actually dating or anything -”

“Well, it’s not fair to him. Or you, or anyone involved, really.”

“And that’s for you to decide?”

You crossed your arms indignantly. “I didn’t say that. But, I’ve got a life back at school, and I just don’t think -”

“Oh, I see,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “That’s what this is about.”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “What?”

“Look - it’s no secret that you hate Hawkins, and you want to get the Hell out. And, I don’t blame you. And, you’re doing it. But, let’s not pretend like you haven’t always thought you were better than this town, and the people in it.”

You straightened up and took a few steps towards him. “That’s not true -”

“C’mon, I’ve always known that you’ve looked down your nose at me, Miss NYU,” he spat out. “I mean, you’re talking about what’s fair? Have you ever thought about how much this has been killing me?”

His stare had hardened, his voice heavier. 

“How much what is killing you?”

“Us! This!” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “I mean, what? You go have fun out in the city, in college, have this whole new big life, and come home only to use me for a quick fuck for the holidays?”

Your blood was boiling - his words were biting, neither of you bothering with niceties. 

“How dare you -”

“You’ve never actually cared about this, us,” he stated. “Admit it.”

“Steve, that’s not -”

“Tell me this - if your parents didn’t insist you came home for breaks - would we have ever even seen each other at all after you left for New York?”

You stopped, thinking of how to answer that, but the moment of silence was enough for him.

“Yeah - that’s what I thought.”

You rolled your eyes. “Steve, don’t act all high and mighty - you could’ve always taken a trip out to see me, I told you that you could -”

“Yeah, as if you actually wanted me there.”

Your heart sank at that, despite being unbelievably pissed with how this conversation was spiraling.

“Of course I did - why would you ever think I didn’t?”

“Well, it’s not like I could just up and leave Hawkins! What, did you think I’d just uproot my life and hop on a plane to come and like, watch you study?”

Tears were making your eyes burn again, your throat sore and heavy. You were tired, and frustrated, and maybe that's why you said what came next - still, no excuses could ever overcome the regret that would follow.

“Uproot your life? Be serious Steve - you couldn’t take a week off from your minimum wage job, chauffeuring a bunch of teenagers, and maybe being Daddy’s punching bag?”

The words tumbled out of your mouth, spat at him like venom, and you gasped as soon as you said it. You could feel the regret, immediate and heavy, filling your mouth and mind like the metallic taste of blood, threatening to drown you.

Steve’s eyes widened, and you could’ve sworn they were glistening, in a way that could only mean one thing. You immediately wanted to apologize, to take it back, but you knew that was impossible.

“Fuck you,” he said, voice icy.

“Steve, I -”

“Please get out of my house.”

His words were short and sharp, and he wasn’t even looking you in the eye anymore. He laughed, mirthlessly, as he ran a hand through his hair. You couldn’t help but notice that it was shaking.

“Yeah, okay,” you said quietly. You turned, and made a beeline for the door, slipping on your shoes as you shouldered on your coat. It was maybe the fastest you had ever done anything, desperate to remove yourself as soon as possible.

Steve still wasn’t looking at you, staring at the crackling fire, back slumped.

You stopped in the doorway, and after a moment, he turned to look at you. He was trying his hardest not to cry, to crumble, and an indescribable shame hit you. It was so visceral, it threatened to suffocate you.

“Steve,” you murmured. “I -”

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “I can’t - and to think that I -”

He shook his head, chuckling dryly as he stopped himself. “It doesn’t matter anymore, I guess. Have a nice Christmas.”

And that was it. You nodded, head hung in defeat as you headed out the door, slamming it behind you. And, that was the last time you saw Steve Harrington for over a year.

NOW, Winter 1988

A few hours after the incidental run-in at Family Video, you’re still curled up on your bed, nuzzled under the covers. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and there is so much to be done - Christmas is only a week away, and you have hardly prepared anything - no shopping, no decorating, no baking, nothing. Still, nothing stirs you from your sulking until you hear a gentle rap against your door.

“Mom, I told you -”

“It’s me,” Robin’s voice says from the other side. You just sigh, followed by a loud groan.

“Yeah, okay, I’m taking that as come in,” she says, swinging the door open and moving right in until she’s standing at the end of your bed, hands on her hips.

“Okay - what the fuck?”

You groan again, pulling the covers over your head and attempting to burrow down as far as you’re physically capable.

“Nope, uh-uh, none of that,” she says. You feel the mattress dip next to you, and the comforter is pulled back off of you.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say, sitting up and crossing your arms. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve got to - because my two best friends aren’t speaking, and can’t be in the same room as each other, apparently.”

You roll your eyes, then decide to meet Robin’s stare.

“Well, what do you want to know?” you ask, aware of how pouty and pathetic you probably sound. 

“Well, what the fuck happened with you two? You guys were so close, and then Steve suddenly wouldn’t even bring up your name anymore - I mean, he was a mess all afternoon, after you left, and he won’t even talk to me about it -”

“We were sleeping together,” you say bluntly. Robin stops mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh - I, uh - wow.”

“Yep,” you say, starting to pick at the threads in your comforter.

“Um, when? How long? And why the hell didn’t you tell me? Sorry, shit, that’s making this about me, which it totally isn’t, but I’m just saying -”

“Okay, look - Robin, I promise, I’ll explain everything. But, promise me you’ll just listen, and - at least try to understand, okay?”

Robin nods, and crosses her legs on the bed, settling in for a while. You take a deep breath, and begin.

You tell her everything - that night at the party, the rekindling of your friendship, and something more; Steve taking your virginity, and the agreement that was forged between you two; your ongoing illicit affair, the break you took when you dated Dave; then, that fateful night last December, and the things said in that horrible argument, the words neither of you would ever be able to take back. You only leave out one part - when Steve had said he loved you. It doesn’t feel fair to tell anyone that, not even Robin - Steve himself doesn’t even remember saying it, after all. And, you explain how this is all part of why you didn’t come back to Hawkins this past summer, and extended your internship in New York - and why, once you graduate in May, you’ll probably stay there.

After all is said and done, Robin sits there for a moment, her face contemplative. You let her process it, think about it for a few minutes.

Then, she only says one thing.

“If you let that boy go over all of this, you’re a fucking idiot.”

You stare at her for a moment, then sag.

“I know.”

Taglist: @cityofidek @decadentwastelandtrash @fallingwithoutcaution @selfdeprecatingnerd @scream-still-screaming @le-who-zer-her @freezaz123 @andrewgarfieldsupremecy @shireentapestry @divinelovers @thatstoomuchman @buckleysbitch @evansflowers @untoldshortsofthefandoms @godcreatoreli @hotelfohn @thesillynonsense @itsfloorcry @dullsocietyy @draynmelol @the-winter-spider @suniloli @livid-euphoria @iknowrocknroll @tsundere-exe @palmtreesx3 @boxofsmittens @bradleysgirl @etherealforever234

Reply if you want to be added to the series’ taglist :)

Note: The final part of this series is coming soon. Thank you to everyone who's been enjoying it! Your comments are always appreciated.

[agentmmayy]

august rotation

sorry for the little delay in posting this! school started up and it’s been hectic, but here’s some of the top songs i had on repeat during the month of august and boy was it a hot month for music 

hold the girl- rina sawayama: this song makes my ears orgasm!!!!!!!!!!! the vocals!!!! the BEAT!!!!! the lyrics!!!!! teach me the words i used to know, reach inside and hold you close, i won’t leave you on your own it’s about healing now and healing your younger self and trying not just to hold onto to who you were but to comfort them and hold them close. the entire song is a love letter to your inner child. everything about it sends me through the roof but especially the absolute magical moment between 3:17-3:30 HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!??!!?!?!?!! INSANE. BITING AND RIPPING THINGS AND CRYING!!!!!!!  

it gets dark - sigrid: this song is so punchy i LOVE it. it’s about finding your own path and self and making a life and reaching those little pitfalls and stumbles but still having hope and learning lessons through them!! it’s about it getting dark so you can see the stars!!!! definitely a montage-worthy song. could definitely picture myself walking down a street or in a moving vehicle/train/bus at night listening to this 

the boys of summer - first aid kit: i love first aid kit so much and honestly? this is how this song was supposed to be sung. no i don’t take criticism. it’s achingly sweet and soft and nostalgic for that last breath of summer august chased away. 

out of my head - first aid kit: imo this is their best song to date. they just keep getting better and better. i couldn’t group it with the previous one because of that. it deserves to have its own little paragraph for me to talk about it. the instruments, the vocals, the lyrics. they know just when to pull back and push harder and it makes for suuuuuch a good listening experience. also the harmonies are *pinches earbud wire like pacha* so good. sometimes you DO have to get out of your head to truly see yourself and wonder who you are and where you’re going. stuck inside my dreaming, falling behind shook me. unrelated but i feel like this is a song i’ve heard in the background of my dreams before

shadows - bears den: @preux-chevalier put me onto this song and i haven’t stopped listening to it since. first of all the strings throughout are gorgeous. i’m always a sucker for a violin. second of all- the devotion woven into every line of this is breathtaking. it’s so earnest and loving and yeah i DO want someone who wants me and all my shadows

if it’s not god - maddie zahm: listen. i was attacked. wig? snatched. it captures that wrestling with religion and beliefs you grew up with and finding your own identity and what/how you want to believe. the line in particular what father picks a few just to leave the rest? SCALPED me. holding onto blorbo-ing this for the tags. but the cover art??????????? HELLO???

lucid dreaming - alice kristiansen: this was just rude. still haven’t recovered. never will. it has the rawness very few songs have that just guts me to the core and scrapes everything out without remorse. i had to sit quietly for a bit and just stare at the wall after my first listen. every lyric hits so fucking hard. the entire song is a repeated sucker punch to the stomach. it leaves me winded and aching. i can’t pin point a favorite lyric or else i’d be putting the entire song on this post but this one in particular made me lose my mind: are you tired? are you sleeping? cause i woke up with your ghost again. but the lyrics aren’t the only part doing the heavy lifting in the song because alice kristiansen’s voice is so delicate and the way she sings every line... literally no one else could perform this song as well as she does and that’s that. 

the watching silence - michael & michelle: this duo has the most delicious harmonies and songs that simultaneously hurt me and comfort me. the chorus is pure perfection and i’ve caught myself singing it multiple times when it’s stuck in my head

canyon moon - andrew mcmahon in the wilderness: talk about songs that make me get up and dance!!!!!!! i literally can’t help myself whenever i listen to this song and for that reason i simply cannot play it whenever i’m working or in the studio. andrew mcmahon delivers banger after banger and this is one of the best ones. i crank that shit up!!!!!!!!!!!!!

dance away the pain - number one popstar: got read to filth by this. i enjoy how hopeful it is and ofc it’s an absolute bop but a very specific one. as @whatdoyoumeanif said, it has sad twerking and disco ball vibes. the type of song you hear for the last call in an empty karaoke bar 

[serenityseventeen]

♪ The Last Day of Summer With You

Vernon Chwe/Choi Hansol : Stargazing

“Is this where you wanted to come?” Vernon asked, staring at the empty fields of seemingly endless green grass through the car window.

Night was approaching and you two arrived at this strange yet peaceful location right after sunset. On the way here, you insisted on driving, allowing Vernon to watch the passing sunset.

“What's with that tone? Do you not like it? Is it too basic for a last day of summer hangout?” You asked jokingly, getting out of the car.

Vernon quickly followed out while shaking his head. “No, I like that it's basic. The breeze is nice up here too.”

You looked over at Vernon with a smile, putting the car keys in your pocket. You knew that Vernon was quite simple, he preferred comfort over fancy and quiet over loud, so for the last day of August, you decided to take him to this place. It was a plains area with semi-tall grass and you were able to get a beautiful view of the mountains from here.

“This place is usually packed during the summer,” You said, walking to stand next to Vernon who was busy having his jaw dropped from the stunning scenery. “That's why I wanted to take you here at the end of summer so that it wouldn't be so crowded.”

“It sure is beautiful here,” Vernon said, turning to you with a thankful smile and his arms wide open. “Thank you so much for taking me here. You surely know me best, Y/N.”

You smiled shyly. Whenever your boyfriend said things like that, your heart would go crazy, jumping from joy. You didn't hesitate to walk into his arms and press the side of your face against his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as his large hands patted your back.

“It's not just the valley that I want you to see. Wait until night falls, that's when the beauty of this place truly comes to life.”

“Oh really?” He replied, his nose sniffing the beautiful fragrance of your hair.

In his head, he was thinking that maybe this large field of grass had fireflies. However, he wanted it to be like a surprise, so he decided not to think about it anymore and instead, laid down against the grass with you. You took out your phone and began playing some music; a mix of sentimental and nostalgic songs you picked, along with some of Vernon's favorites.

“You really know how to set the mood,” Vernon said, chuckling at how perfectly the song fit the atmosphere. “But are we just going to lay here though?”

“My main purpose for taking you here was to talk with you. You know, like how we always talk before bed, or when we're watching a movie but get distracted by our conversations that begin in the middle.”

Vernon smiled. His arm was under your neck and you had your arms wrapped around his waist as you two cuddled in the grass field.

“I always appreciated that you listened to me. Even if I don't say anything, you always know how I feel,” Vernon giggled softly for a reason that you didn't know. “Is this what you call soulmates?”

You smiled. “I guess so. I have to thank you too, Vernon, for always being by my side. You proved to me that there is hope for me even in the darkness where I can't see anything. There were so many times where it seems like I fell in a pit and couldn't climb back out, yet, each time, it's like your hand reaches for me and pulls me up.”

Vernon nodded with an embarrassed smile. He caressed your hair and wanted to just close his eyes.

You both didn't know how much time went by. Whenever you two talked like this, you guys would always lose track of time. Your eyes were closed, your arms were holding each other, and your bodies were pressed comfortably together, against the grass that swayed in the passing wind.

The conversation went on for who knows how long, you and Vernon were just thanking each other for the dumbest things, tossing back and forth the words “no, I am more thankful for you”. Finally, you both decided to end that little battle with giggles.

“I love you,” You said softly, holding him a little tighter. “I love you so much, Vernon.”

“Me too.”

You laughed a little. “Can't you say ‘I love you, Y/N’ instead of saying ‘me too’?”

Vernon giggled and said, “Okay, I love you, Y/N.”

Satisfied, you gently opened your eyes.

The surprise was ready. You didn't expect Vernon to have his eyes closed like this, but in the end, it worked out well in your favor regarding the surprise. You had only closed your eyes in the first place because you saw Vernon doing it.

You sat up from the floor and patted his knee. “Look...”

Vernon opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a long strand of grass stuck to your hair, so the first thing he did was pluck that piece of grass out.

You turned to him and did the same, ruffling his hair, allowing the particles of green to dust off. You smiled, cupping his face. “Now, look up.”

“Up?”

Vernon, with your hands still on his face, lifted his head to face the sky, being met with a starry night. Stars were glistening, twinkling, beautiful and white, spread out amongst the black sky, almost like a painting. The moon was round and beautiful as well. It looked like he was viewing the galaxy through pictures on Google, but instead, the galaxy was shining right down on him. Mixed with black, blue, and purple, the sky was art on its own.

Vernon's jaw dropped as your hands slipped away from his face. “Wow.”

You brought your knees to your chest and placed your palms together, in a praying motion. “Quick, make a wish!”

Vernon turned to you and smiled, copying your pose. Silence passed through as you both made a quiet wish, with only the crickets chirping.

“What did you wish for?” You asked, turning to Vernon who already had his eyes open, breaking the silence between you two.

“Simple things, just to be with you forever, have you stay healthy and happy... you know, just that kind of stuff,” Vernon said, scratching the back of his neck shyly. “What about you?”

You buried your face in your knees shyly. You two were definitely soulmates.

Vernon whined, scooting a bit closer to you. “Come on, tell me.”

“The same thing you wished for,” You replied, your voice muffled. “Instead, I wished to stay with YOU forever, and have YOU be healthy and happy.”

Vernon laughed. “Oh, seriously??”

You both laughed as you lifted your head. Vernon wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him again.

You both stared up at the sky with smiles.

“The moon is beautiful, isn't it?” You said softly, staring at the moon. It was so round and bright, with the stars surrounding it, making it shine even more.

“Wonwoo told me that that phrase indirectly means ‘I love you’.”

“Well, I do love you,” You replied, pecking him on the cheek. Your hands were wrapped around your knees.

Vernon smiled. “I love you too.”

Vernon planted a kiss on your forehead and then turned to the sky again, gazing at the beautiful night sky. His hand rubbed your shoulder softly as your head laid gently on his shoulder.

There was a comfortable silence.

Under the galaxy-like sky, holding each other, you and Vernon beautifully ended this last summer night.

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

© serenityseventeen

a/n: The Dino fic I'm working on might surpass 16k words at this rate; I've tried to lower it a little but currently, it's as 11k words. + In the soop tomorrow! I'm so excited for it! I also plan to binge the new short kdrama D.P. + After I finish this tldoswy series, I'll close my requests because I want to work on them, plus, school is coming soon. My younger siblings already started.

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good