#Go see my version of Jeff over here! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

studioeisa · 2 months ago

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we both 🐚 joshua x reader.

you're stuck in a car with a beautiful boy, your glorious history, and eight hours of road. what else is there to do but talk about the deepest of truths?

🐚 pairing. exes!joshua x reader. 🐚 word count. 12.9k. 🐚 genres. romance, friendship, light angst. 🐚 includes. mentions of food, death; cussing/swearing. alternate universe: non-idol; joshua is a marine biologist. bad-at-being-exes/exes to ???, breakup dynamics, road trip shenanigans, dialogue heavy. loosely based on a musical (title lifted from there, too), synopsis references richard siken's you are jeff. one scene parallels tlfy's goodbye until tomorrow / i could never rescue you. 🐚 footnotes. when i joined caratblr, @chugging-antiseptic-dye was the very first friend i made. i would not have it any other way. a: i will adore you for as long as there are waves pulling to the shore. shubho jonmodin ‹𝟹 much gratitude to my beta readers: @heartepub for her eye, @chanranghaeys for her wit, and @lovetaroandtaemin for her kindness. my masterlist 🎵 when i am with you (i am real)

You find him in his element—knee-deep in saltwater, sleeves rolled up, clipboard tucked precariously under one arm as he gestures toward a tank brimming with juvenile stingrays.

You wait behind the glass where the public is meant to stay. Leaning against the railing, you watch him without meaning to. It used to be that this was your favorite version of him: ocean-brained and utterly focused, calm in a way most people aren’t allowed to be in their everyday lives. It still is, you suppose, though now there’s a knot of something bittersweet twisted through the feeling.

It’s been five months since the breakup.

Two months since you moved most of your things out of the apartment. And four days since you both agreed that, yes, you still needed to drive down the coast and meet with the landlady to finalize the lease termination in person.

She doesn’t do email. She barely does phones. You’d considered cancelling, asking a friend to go in your place, but the truth is: the car is his, the rent is in both your names, and the landlady likes you best.

So here you are.

Joshua’s hair is darker than you remember, still damp from a rinse or maybe the ocean itself, curling slightly where it clings to his neck. His voice carries over the burble of pumps and the low hum of fluorescent lights.

He’s explaining something to a group of interns. Something about migration patterns and how the moon affects spawning cycles. You can’t hear the details, but you recognize the rhythm of his teaching voice, the way he softens facts with metaphors, how his hands move like punctuation marks.

When Joshua finally steps out from behind the staff door, he looks surprised to see you already waiting. He does that thing. That thing, with his eyes and brows—an upward arch, a spark of recognition beneath the doe-like brown.

“Hey,” he says, wiping his hands on his khaki pants. He doesn't hug you, doesn't reach out, but his smile is familiar. A little tired. A little sad. “You came early.”

You shrug. “Was in the area. Figured I'd save you a text.”

He nods, like that makes sense, like there’s no undercurrent tugging beneath the ease of it. Like this isn’t the first time you're seeing each other outside of grocery store collisions or terse text threads about forwarding addresses.

“Car’s in the back lot,” he says. “I just need to clean up. Shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

You follow him down a hallway that smells like seawater and bleach. He walks ahead, and you let your eyes fall to the way his shoulders move, broad and careful. You still know the shape of them beneath your palms. You wonder if he still sleeps on the right side of the bed, if he still keeps his entire body under the covers because he’s scared something will pull at his feet while he’s asleep.

It’s going to be a long drive.

You both know it. Neither of you says a word about it.

Joshua’s office is tucked just off the wet lab, behind a sliding glass door smudged with fingerprints and the unmistakable trail of saltwater. You slip inside while he ducks into the locker room to change, the lingering scent of ocean and coffee grounds curling in the air.

It’s a cluttered little box of a room—papers stacked like tiny towers, annotated marine maps tacked to the walls, a few photos of past dives and coral surveys pinned up like trophies. There’s even a Polaroid of the two of you on the shelf beside his monitor, buried halfway behind a half-drunk bottle of electrolyte water.

You don’t move it. But you don’t look away either.

“Hey, stranger.”

You blink, turning toward the voice. Seokmin’s already grinning at you, his damp curls flattened beneath a backward cap, a towel slung around his neck. Behind him, Jeonghan lounges in the doorway with all the idle elegance of someone who’s been doing absolutely nothing for the past hour.

“Hi, Seokmin,” you say, mustering a polite smile. “Jeonghan.”

Seokmin bounds in with too much energy for someone who’s allegedly been tagging sea turtles since 4 a.m. “Wow, it’s been a while. You look great. Seriously. Like, breakup glow-up levels of great.”

You blink, startled. “Thanks?”

Jeonghan’s mouth twitches like he’s holding back a laugh. He doesn’t say anything right away—just folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head, like he’s studying you. You don’t like it. That look. Like he knows something you don’t. Like maybe he knows everything.

You’d been friends with them once, although it was probably more out of association than anything. They were Joshua’s co-workers. You were the girl he brought to company events; the wallpaper of his phone once you got past the lockscreen of Dolphy the dolphin leaping into the air.

When you and Joshua broke up, you figured you might never see the duo again. Until now, that is.

“Are you two really going to drive all the way to the coast together?” Jeonghan asks, voice light. “Sounds... cozy.”

“We’re saving gas,” you say. Too quickly. “And rent affairs don’t settle themselves.”

Seokmin nods far too earnestly, eyes wide with some strange sympathy. “Right, totally. Very environmentally conscious. That’s great,” he babbles. “And practical. And—wow, honestly, I just think it’s so mature of you both.”

You glance at Jeonghan, but he’s looking at you like he can read between every word. Your mouth goes dry.

“It’s not like we’re sharing a hotel room or anything,” you add, heat prickling your neck.

“Of course,” Jeonghan says, a little too smoothly. “Of course not.”

You open your mouth to say something—what exactly, you’re not sure—but the locker room door swings open, and Joshua steps out, shrugging a hoodie over his shoulders. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s wearing that faded t-shirt you used to sleep in on cold nights. It’s the smallest detail, and it punches the air from your lungs.

“Guys,” he calls, eyes flicking to his friends, then to you. “Are you hounding her already?”

“Never,” Seokmin says, scandalized.

“We were just saying she looks great,” Jeonghan adds innocently. “Glowing, really.”

Joshua rolls his eyes and crosses the room, not bothering to hide the way his hand brushes the small of your back as he stops beside you. It’s not quite possessive, not quite apologetic. It’s almost like a habit, even, and that somehow makes it infinitely worse.

“You ready?” he asks.

You nod, stepping away from Seokmin’s saccharine smile and Jeonghan’s knowing smirk. “Ready.”

Joshua gives his workmates one last look. “Try not to make it weird next time.”

“No promises,” Jeonghan calls.

You don’t look back. You can still feel their stares long after the office door swings shut behind you.

The walk to the parking lot isn’t awkward, not really, but it sits heavy on your shoulders like a coat you forgot you were wearing. Joshua doesn’t fill the silence with small talk the way he used to. You’re grateful and uneasy about that in equal measure.

When you reach the car, it’s like stepping into a memory. The same beat-up Hyundai with the faded blue paint and the bumper sticker that says, Protect Our Oceans— slightly peeling at the edges now, with the art faded. The salt air and the sun hasn’t been kind to it, but it runs fine. Always has. You remember that stupid sticker because you bought it at an aquarium gift shop on a whim, and Joshua had kissed you breathless when you slapped it onto his car without asking.

He unlocks the doors and, like always, walks around to open the passenger side for you.

You blink at him. “Still doing that, huh?”

Joshua glances up at you, a wry little smile playing on his lips. “Muscle memory.”

“Chivalry,” you correct, sliding into the seat. “Or remorse. One of those.”

He huffs a soft laugh and closes the door behind you.

Inside, the car smells the same—like lemon air freshener and something slightly sulfury. His dashboard is still cluttered with receipts and paper coffee cups. There’s a pair of sunglasses perched haphazardly on the dash. One of the little rubber sea creature figurines you used to collect is still wedged in the air vent.

You reach out and flick the tiny plastic octopus. “Wow. Can’t believe you still have this. I figured you’d Marie Kondo everything I left behind.”

Joshua settles into the driver’s seat, buckling in. “It didn’t spark rage, so I kept it.”

You snort. “I think you’re misusing the philosophy.”

The GPS clicks on, a familiar robotic voice announcing the route. Estimated time to destination: eight hours and seventeen minutes.

You glance at Joshua. “Still time to turn back. We can Venmo the landlady and call it a day.”

He shakes his head, pulling out of the lot. “You know she refuses to use the app,” he grumbles. “Thinks it’s a government tracking device.”

You lean back in your seat and sigh. “Perfect. Just what this trip needed: more analog bureaucracy.”

Joshua laughs again, softer this time. You both stare straight ahead, the road stretching long and wide before you. Somewhere in that space, the heaviness begins to lift.

You think the first hour will be easy.

Of course you do. You’ve done long drives before, with less than eight hours of fuel between you. And besides, this is Joshua.

You’ve survived all sorts of terrain together—coastal roads with the windows down, long drives through the mountains while his hand rested on your thigh, that one disastrous trip to Jeju where it rained so hard he missed a turn and the GPS rerouted you onto a cliffside road you’re still convinced was cursed. That one ended in tears. And a kiss. And a long night spent in a guesthouse where the power went out twice.

But this is different.

Now, you’re in the passenger seat of the same car, the leather warmed by the late morning sun, and Joshua isn’t even humming. You keep your eyes on the road or your phone or the shifting landscape outside the window. Anywhere but on him.

He drives the way he always does—left hand on the wheel, right hand fiddling with the AUX cable when the Bluetooth fails (as it often does). You’d always liked that about him. That he never filled silence just for the sake of it, that he gave it space to stretch out, to become something sacred.

Now, it just feels like distance.

“You okay?” he asks in an even voice.

You glance at him. The highway curves, and so does his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

He nods, then looks like he regrets it. “Yeah,” he echoes, but you know he’s lying, too. His nose scrunches up for a half-second. It only ever does that when he’s faking.

Another few minutes pass. The GPS chimes a reminder about your next turn in 112 kilometers. You both pretend like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

You used to talk about everything in the car. Plans, dreams, where you’d want to settle down when Joshua got a more permanent assignment. You’d nap on the longer drives, and he’d let you sleep, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t catch him.

Sometimes, he’d narrate the scenery just to hear you groan about how sentimental he was. There’d be music, sometimes arguments over the playlist. But even the fights were better than this new, tentative silence that makes your lungs feel tight.

You wish the GPS had a button for: Take me back to when it was easy.

“Want some music?” you ask finally, reaching for the console.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s all.

You put on a playlist and settle back, biting the inside of your cheek when the first few notes of a familiar song play. One he used to sing absentmindedly while driving. One that used to make you smile.

He doesn’t sing now.

The song ends.

The road stretches on.

Joshua doesn’t say much for the next half hour, and neither do you.

You try not to count how many times you look towards him. You lose count anyway. The GPS announces that there are six hours and thirty-nine minutes left in the trip. That’s plenty of time, you think, for things to get worse.

When Joshua speaks again, it’s so civil that you contemplate getting off at the next stop and walking the rest of the way instead. “There’s a diner up ahead. You wanna stop for lunch?”

You know the place—he’s taken you there before. Vinyl booths, terrible coffee, and pancakes that somehow taste like grilled cheese. It had always been charming in a very Joshua kind of way.

But a sit-down meal feels intimate. Too intimate. Like pretending nothing ever ended. You don’t have the energy to put on a show, to act like a couple, or friends, or strangers who were forced to be there together for the sake of a meal.

“Can we just get takeout?” you ask. “Eat in the car?”

Joshua glances at you, brows lifting. “You don’t wanna sit down? Stretch your legs?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Your neck does that thing when you’re annoyed.”

“It’s not annoyance. I just don’t think lunch should feel like a date.”

That lands a little too sharply. Joshua blinks at the road ahead, exhales slowly through his nose. “Wasn’t trying to make it one,” he murmurs, the edge of his petulance in his voice reminding you of days where you might’ve willed his upset away with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Silence stretches between you, taut and cold. You rub your hands together in your lap.

“I just think,” you say more carefully, “eating in your car is a good compromise. Halfway point.”

Joshua doesn’t respond at first, but then his lips twitch. “Halfway point. Like everything else with us.”

You laugh despite yourself. “You make it sound poetic.”

“It kind of is.”

The tension eases just a little. Enough that when he pulls into the diner lot, you go in together, order your usuals with barely a glance at the menu. When the cashier asks if it’s for here or to-go, Joshua looks at you before answering.

“To-go, please,” he says, smiling faintly.

Back in the car, you pass him the paper bag and slide the drinks into the cupholders like you’ve done it a hundred times before. Maybe you have. He gives you your fries without asking, and you split the last onion ring exactly like you used to—right down the middle, no more, no less.

“We’re ridiculous,” you say through a mouthful of burger.

Joshua leans back in his seat, chewing. “Speak for yourself. I’m extremely dignified.”

“Right,” you say with an eye roll. “That’s why you ordered a chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream.”

He lifts it like a trophy. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of diabetes?”

Joshua laughs, full and bright, and for a second, you forget that you’re not supposed to still be in love with him.

For a second, it feels like that chapter never ended.

Joshua wipes the last of his fries against the inside of his sauce carton before tossing it back into the paper bag, eyeing your half-eaten sandwich like he’s tempted to finish that, too. You don’t point it out. He’s always been the type to clean plates, especially yours, when you left food untouched for too long.

The silence feels less sharp than the last one, but not yet comfortable. It’s the kind that sits in the middle seat like an awkward chaperone.

He slurps down the rest of his milkshake, the straw giving an annoying little gurgle. Then, just as you’re debating how soon you can ask to queue up a podcast without it sounding like a lifeline, he speaks.

“We can’t spend the rest of the trip like this.”

You blink. “Like what?”

Joshua lifts his gaze to meet yours, pointed and unflinching. “Like we’re walking on eggshells. Like we didn’t share an apartment, a bed, a life for two years.”

He’s right, of course, but who were you if you weren’t arguing for the sake of it? “I’ve told you everything that’s happened to me since the breakup,” you shoot back. “If you want the weather report from last Tuesday, I can give that too.”

“I don’t want the weather report.” He levels you with a stare, then softens. “I want more than just a status update.”

You open your mouth, but before you can speak, he leans back with a little sigh and an even smaller smile. “Do you remember our first date?”

You do.

Too well, in fact.

An indie cafe with too many hanging plants and not enough tables. You’d sat across from each other with your knees knocking and your drinks forgotten. He’d suggested the list, half-sincere, half as a joke. You had humored him because his eyes crinkled so sweetly when he grinned, and you liked how he said your name like a song he already knew the melody to.

“Pull it up,” he says now. “Let’s revisit it.”

Your mouth curls into a grimace. "Joshua—"

“Pull it up,” he repeats, firmer. He’s already gathering up your trash along with his, crumpling napkins and squashing cartons, as if taking away your excuses along with the waste.

“This is stupid,” you huff, not bothering to hide your exasperation.

“Probably,” he shrugs, stepping out of the car. “But so are we.”

As the door shuts and he heads toward the garbage bin, you pick up your phone with reluctant fingers. It takes only a few taps to find it again. A New York Times article, a psychologist’s experiment, a curated path to intimacy in less than 40 questions.

The title glares up at you, both a threat and a promise.

The 36 Questions to Fall in Love.

Joshua merges back onto the highway, one hand steady on the wheel, the other fiddling with the A/C knob until the air turns from too cold to just bearable. You hold your phone in your lap, glaring at the list he told you to pull up.

“You’re impossible,” you say flatly.

“Come on,” he grins, eyes now on the road. “It’s been four years. Think of it as a science experiment. Research question: Have we changed? Independent variables: us, circa year one.”

You exhale slowly, scrolling down to the first question. “Fine. But if I cry, I’m blaming you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You read: “Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

He hums. “Still Adam Levine.”

“You said that last time.”

“Yeah, and I still want him to serenade me over dumplings. What about you?”

You pause. “I said Robin Williams.”

“You did.” He glances at you briefly. “You still would?”

Your voice softens. “Yeah. More than ever.”

Joshua nods, not saying more. The next question: “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“God, no,” he answers. “The idea of people knowing my grocery list terrifies me.”

“You said that exact sentence before.”

“Then I’m nothing if not consistent.”

You consider. “I think... maybe a little. Not movie-star famous, but like, niche-famous. Someone kids cite in their thesis papers.”

“I always said you’d be a terrifying cult classic.”

“And you’d be the first of my followers.”

He just laughs.

You ask the next question. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

Glancing over at Joshua, you sound almost accusatory. “You said no.”

“Still true.”

“Still sociopathic,” you mutter. “I rehearse everything. Even pizza orders.”

“You did. And you still turn red when they ask if you want extra cheese.”

You try to glare, but he looks too pleased with himself. That’d been his role, way back when. Designated orderer, designated caller, designated voice at the counter saying We asked for no pickles. ‘We’, because he never threw you under the bus when it mattered—every time else was fair game.

You read on. “What would constitute a 'perfect' day for you?”

Joshua’s voice mellows out. “That one I might change. Used to be pools, no tourists, good weather. Now... I think it’s waking up late, coffee with someone I like, doing nothing important.”

You stare out the window. “You said hiking and tide pools,” you recall, tone just a little too wistful.

“Yeah. That was when I thought I had something to prove.”

“Mine’s the same. French toast. Blankets. A book.”

His smile is small. ��Still easy to please.”

You persevere. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

“I sang to the clownfish this morning. They’re judgmental bastards.”

“That counts. And to yourself?”

He falters. A beat. Another. “I don’t remember,” he says, like singing was now something he could only give to others and not to himself. You try not to overthink it. He goes on to accuse you, “You used to sing in the shower. Loudly.”

“Still do. But I sang to my niece last week. She made me do six rounds of Baby Shark.”

“A timeless classic.”

You grin despite yourself, heart ticking a little faster. You knew this would be strange. You didn’t expect it to feel so oddly comforting.

He breaks the quiet. “Told you it wouldn’t kill us.”

“We’re only five questions in,” you warn. “Plenty of time to implode.”

He just smiles, knuckles brushing the gearshift.

“Onward, then.”

Questions six and seven are easy. Your answers to those haven’t changed much. You would rather live to the age of 90 and retain the mind of a 30-year-old; Joshua’s secret hunch about how he might die would always be something about the water, knowing how he could never stay away from it. There’s a pang of something in your chest. This sinking feeling caught between disappointment and relief, over the fact that there were still some things that stayed the same.

You stall a little at question eight.

“Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”

Your phone screen lights up with the prompt, and you roll it over in your palm like it might yield an easier answer if you look at it long enough. Next to you, Joshua keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel slackens.

He must remember, too.

The first time you answered this question, you were strangers seated across from each other. A mutual friend had sworn you'd get along. There had been no pressure—just coffee and curiosity, laughter over things neither of you really understood yet.

“We both like documentaries,” you had said then, too quickly, a little flustered.

“We’re both good listeners,” he had added.

The third one had taken a while. You remember biting into your food, chewing slowly, the hum of the café’s playlist blending with the chatter around you.

“I think,” Joshua had said, after a beat, “we both really want to be understood.”

You remember the way your gaze had lifted then, meeting his across the table. You hadn’t said it, but you’d thought it: That’s not a guess. That’s a direct hit.

Now, four years later, a breakup and a road trip between you, the question lands differently.

“We both like silence,” you say eventually, to break it.

Joshua lets out a small huff of a laugh. “You used to say that was a bad thing.”

“It was. When we didn’t know what the silence meant.”

A nod from him. “But now?”

You glance sideways, catch the way his profile is lit by the late afternoon sun. “Now, I think we know.”

You don’t have to expound. He knows. You know. Silence is not your enemy, the same way you are not each other’s enemy.

“We both overthink everything,” he adds next. “Especially what the other person is thinking.”

That makes you grin, despite yourself. You always thought of yourself to be a bit of a people pleaser, while Joshua just so happened to lack a proper brain-to-mouth filter. You tap your finger against the phone, as if tallying it up. “Documentaries still count?”

“You tell me.”

You think about the way you’d fall asleep to David Attenborough narrating sea creatures. How Joshua would shake his head, but stay up beside you anyway. The way your conversations would spiral into philosophical debates over conservation, ethics, humanity.

You had learned to love the things he loved, learned to love him by seeing the world through his eyes. And he had loved you back. Loved the intent, loved the work, loved the way you overstayed your welcome every single time.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Guess so.”

Silence laps at the car again, but it’s softer now. Not a chasm, just space.

Then Joshua speaks again, voice low and steady.

“If it doesn’t count,” he says slowly, as if each word is a minefield to navigate. “We could just say we both still care for each other.”

You don’t protest. You don’t need to.

You both go through the next four questions with twin wavering resolves.

You ask, For what in your life do you feel most grateful?, and you do your best not to flinch when he squeezes your name between mentions of waterproof dry bags and mechanical pencils.

When you read out If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?, you tell him about wishing you had better examples for love—but you don’t quip that maybe it would’ve saved your relationship.

The two of you sidestep and navigate like your lives depend on it. Joshua’s tapping the steering wheel like he’s in rhythm with a song only he knows. A comfortable lapse hovers for the next few minutes as the miles disappear into the road behind you. You think you’re in the clear. That the minefield is behind you.

Then, the GPS voice gently announces a turn. A new fork, a new direction.

The second set of questions.

You scroll down the list, phone warm in your hand. “Thirteen,” you say. “If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away.

You look towards him. He’s biting at the inside of his cheek, eyes still trained on the road. He exhales slowly, the sound more tired than thoughtful.

“If I made the right call,” he says. “About us.”

It twinges like a pinched nerve.

You wish you had something eloquent to say, some wry comment about him never trusting the scientific method, but all you manage is a short, “Oh.”

Oh, because the breakup is an unwelcome third guest chaperoning you in the car. Oh, because you had both told your friends it was mutual—but if you were to get technical about it, Joshua was the one who brought it up. Oh, because that would have been your answer to the question, too.

Instead, you choose to say, “I think I’d want to know if I’ll ever feel like I’m doing enough.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything to that.

“Fourteen,” you try again. “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“You already know mine,” he says. “Marine biology, living near the coast, helping with coastal restoration programs. I did it.”

You nod, expecting the conversation to move on, but he doesn’t let it.

“What about you?”

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “Same answer as before, I guess. I always thought I’d do something with my psychology degree. Make something that helps. You know. But money talks.”

Joshua snorts, but this isn’t like the small, amused sounds of earlier. No, this is preemptive of the Joshua you’d always loathed a little bit. The one who could be derisive, the one buried underneath the gentleman.

“You said the exact same thing two years ago,” he points out, and the tone of his voice grates.

You bristle. “And your point is?”

“My point is,” he says, voice sharpening, “you keep talking like you’re stuck, but you’re the one who won’t move."

The air tightens between you. He takes one hand off the wheel, gesturing vaguely.

“I’m not judging. I just don’t get it. You said you wanted more.”

“And you wanted me to upend my entire life for an ideal,” you shoot back.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Your voice is louder than you intended. The words are more pointed than they needed to be. This is too familiar—this twisting spiral of disappointment and miscommunication, the way your arguments always started from a flicker and turned into a full blaze.

Joshua exhales. “I just want you to be happy. You used to talk about doing something meaningful with your life.”

“Well, maybe I changed my mind.”

He looks like he wants to challenge that—but just as he opens his mouth, the car jolts.

Hard.

Something thumps beneath you, loud and jarring. Your body lurches forward with the sudden stop, but before you can react, Joshua’s arm darts across your chest, steady and instinctive.

The car groans. You both freeze.

“What the hell,” Joshua breathes, flicking the hazards on as he pulls over.

You’re stunned, held in place by his outstretched arm. It’s only when he turns to look at you, concern overriding the tension in his expression, that you realize he’s still bracing you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.

You nod, lips parted but unable to speak.

Because even now, after all this time, his first instinct is to protect you.

Five hours away. That’s how far you are from your destination.

It’s nothing major. Something about the floor of the car, something that will need repairs so Joshua can drive safe. But the nearest repair shop isn’t going to open until seven in the morning, and Joshua bitches about sleeping in the car for 15 minutes before you finally agree to a motel. Which, of course, has only one room available.

The door creaks open with a wheeze of rusted hinges, revealing a room that looks like it time-traveled straight out of a 70s crime thriller. You both pause on the threshold, blinking at the single bed in the center of the room. The comforter is a paisley fever dream, the walls painted a suspicious shade of beige. A ceiling fan wobbles threateningly above.

And then, as if on cue, you both burst out laughing.

You lean against the chipped door frame, wiping tears from your eyes. “Jeonghan cursed us,” you proclaim. “I knew it. He saw us in that hallway and whispered some old-timey hex under his breath. Probably used sea salt and seashells.”

Joshua drops his bags with a thud and grins, running a hand through his hair. “You’re giving him way too much credit. If anything, this is God. This is Him writing fan fiction. You know—slow burn, exes to lovers, only-one-bed trope.”

“Ah, right,” you say, nodding solemnly. “God’s on AO3 now. What’s next? Coffee shop AU?”

“Don’t tempt Him,” Joshua laughs, flopping onto the bed with a bounce that makes the entire frame groan. “He might give us matching aprons tomorrow morning.”

You look around and spot the world's saddest mini fridge and a TV that probably doesn’t work. There’s a vending machine outside humming like a chainsaw. The neon sign of the motel glows red through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a faint hellish light.

If this was hell, it wasn’t all that bad.

“Well,” you say, toeing off your shoes and sitting at the edge of the bed. “At least it’s clean.”

“That is a bold assumption,” Joshua mutters, inspecting a mysterious stain on the carpet.

Another beat passes. You're both still chuckling softly, disbelief softening into something warmer. Something easier.

You lie back beside him, careful to leave a healthy, polite distance between your bodies. “You know, for all the fights, I missed this part. The chaos. The way the universe used to screw with us.”

Joshua turns his head, gazing at you with a tenderness that nearly knocks the air from your lungs. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a while, you both just lie there, listening to the ceiling fan squeal and the cars woosh pasts on the highway. Laughing quietly at the impossible, fanfictional mess you’ve found yourselves in yet again.

Loving Joshua had felt a bit like that. A fairytale. A song. And so the ending of it all—the last chapter, the final notes—had left you feeling cheated. There was a time where you believed the love might have lasted; it sucks to be proven otherwise.

Joshua pulls himself up, socked feet nudging yours underneath the yellowing duvet. He looks up at you with something reverent in his eyes, the kind of look that used to come just before he said something dumb and sincere all at once.

“You know we can’t stop now,” he says. “It’s not every day we get to be stranded in a town with population thirty and a single bed between us.”

You shake your head, still smiling from earlier. “You’re really pushing the limits of what counts as a romantic setting.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues. “We made it this far. Might as well keep going. Question fifteen.”

What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

You settle into the other side of the bed, cross-legged, careful not to brush against his knee. “Finishing grad school while holding down a full-time job. That, or not screaming at that one VP during our quarterly meeting.”

Joshua laughs. “Oh, I remember that guy. You hated him with the passion of a million suns.”

“That hasn’t changed. You?”

He thinks for a moment. “Publishing my research paper last year. The one on coral regeneration. That felt big. Like it could actually change something.”

It’s a good answer. You nod. “Alright. Question sixteen. What do you value most in a friendship?”

Joshua leans back, hands behind his head. “Loyalty. The kind that doesn’t flinch when things get hard.”

You hum. “I get that. And maybe the ability to sit in silence without it being weird. Just… coexisting.”

You both fall quiet. That used to be the two of you. Afternoons of independent hobbies, evenings of parallel play. You were both perfectly fine, fully functional people outside of your relationship. You were not two halves of a whole.

A part of you wonders if that’s where you went wrong. If completion was precedent to a proper romance. But you also know that’d been your strongest suit—letting the love guide, not consume. Letting it linger, not fester.

“Question seventeen,” you say, scrolling down your phone. “Most treasured memory.” You steal a glance. “Back then, yours was that beach day with your mom, right?”

Joshua nods slowly. “Still important. But… I think it’s changed.”

He looks out the small motel window, takes a deep breath like he’s getting ready to plunge into the deep end of something. “Remember the time we got caught in that summer storm in Jeju?” he muses. “We were soaked, freezing, and the only place open was that sad diner with the flickering lights. You looked miserable. But you laughed anyway. God, you laughed so hard. I think I knew I loved you then.”

Your throat tightens. You hated that night. Everything went wrong, and you thought it was a sign this new boyfriend of yours wasn’t meant for you. But Joshua had been an even bigger diva than you—enough to make you forget your misery, to have you giggling despite the fact you were borderline pneumonic, showering in ice-cold water.

“That was a good night,” you say.

He offers you a half-smile, one that communicates just how aware he is of your indulgence. He knows you complained to your friends, that you logged the entry into your diary with notes of Never again!!! and The Jeju curse is real. But he also knows you loved him, even then, even with your shoes full of water and your lips too chapped to press against his.

“Your turn,” he urges.

You shrug, suddenly aware of your hands in your lap. “There’s a lot. But… that one birthday you surprised me with the rooftop dinner. I had the worst week, and you just… knew.”

Neither of you have to expound. Not on the work week that had wrung you dry, not on the chocolate chip cookies he had learned to bake especially for that evening. You had burst into tears when you saw the candlelit dinner and the monstrous bouquet of mismatched flowers; Joshua had cooed reassurances into the top of your hair, whispering sweet nothings like Pretty girls shouldn’t cry on their birthday. Come on, love, smile.

“Question eighteen,” you continue, because dwelling on the way he looked then is almost enough to have you relapsing. “Most terrible memory.”

You don’t answer right away.

“Back then,” you say slowly, “it was something stupid. Failing my first stats exam. But now…”

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you.

“It was the night we decided to end it,” you admit. “The part where I packed up and left. Closing the door. That part hurt the most.”

Joshua exhales. “Ditto,” he says, and you don’t call him a cop out. You don’t accuse him of not being as hurt as you. You just—you let him have that, too.

It’s a terrible memory.

The room is quiet again. Outside, the neon motel sign flickers. Inside, two people who once knew each other like the back of their hands try to find their way back through questions that are starting to feel like maps.

Joshua doesn’t hesitate to read out question nineteen.

“If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

You shift slightly on the edge of the bed, knees curled toward you like you could fold yourself into a simpler version of this night. “I’d probably quit my job,” you say slowly. “Travel. See my parents more often. Start writing again. Not wait for the perfect time to do everything.”

He hums. “I’d probably take a few sabbaticals. Go diving in the Galápagos,” he says. “Set my mom up with a good house. Maybe... I don't know. Make a documentary. Something that puts all the little things I love in one place.”

You glance at him, watching the way he fidgets with a corner of the blanket between his fingers. He’s leaning against the headboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent. A familiar pose, from when he used to read in bed. The memory tugs, and you almost say something—almost add what neither of you have said.

You’d want to call him. One last road trip, maybe. One last laugh over something ridiculous.

A kiss, if he were feeling particularly generous. Not to see if it could salvage, but just to remember the way it’d made you feel alive.

But you don’t say it. And neither does he.

Instead, he offers you a smile that doesn’t look real at all. “You tired?”

You nod. You lie. “A bit.”

Joshua pushes himself up from the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright. You get the bed. I’ll take the cockroach-infested couch chair.”

You glance at the lumpy thing in the corner and raise an eyebrow. “You’ll get scoliosis.”

“I’m a marine biologist, not a chiropractor,” he quips. “I’ll survive.”

You roll your eyes, already pulling the blanket over you. “Fine. But if you wake up tomorrow and can’t feel your back, I’m not driving.”

He chuckles. “Forever a passenger princess.”

As he dims the lights, he adds, “The experiment continues tomorrow.”

You don’t answer. You let your eyes fall shut, the room quieting into the rustle of sheets and soft motel noises. Since the breakup, you’ve been having trouble with sleep. The melatonin gummies have helped somewhat; you don’t have any on hand, though, after expecting the two of you would make the trip a one-and-done.

Now, though, your breathing slows quicker than it has in weeks. You have a fleeting thought that it has something to do with Joshua being in the same room—as if your body is fine-tuned to relax and uncoil in his presence, so used to the notion that he would always keep you safe.

In your dream, you are somewhere coastal.

The salt air clings to your skin. Joshua is there, too.

Older and sunburned, wrinkled and still yours. He’s smiling at you like nothing ever hurt between you, his eyes curled in those crescents you were always so weak for.

Knee-deep in the water, he reaches out a hand.

You take it without thinking.

The mechanic gives Joshua the all-clear just before nine in the morning. The two of you make do with a gas station breakfast—powdered donuts and hot coffee that taste vaguely of cardboard—and then you’re back on the road.

The sky is clear, and the early morning light softens the world around you in a way that makes it feel like yesterday’s sharp edges never happened.

You think, maybe, that Joshua’s forgotten about the questions. Maybe last night was a fluke. A relic of nostalgia mixed with insomnia. Maybe the two of you can ride the rest of the way in companionable silence, listening to acoustic playlists and the occasional podcast.

Except Joshua is a bitch who never forgets.

“Okay,” he says, fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. “Where were we?”

You sigh dramatically. “We’re still on that?”

“Of course,” he replies cheekily. “We’re in too deep to give up.”

You scroll back on your phone, eyes scanning the familiar list. You breeze through questions 20 and 21—both of you agreeing that you value honesty in relationships and sharing that you talk to your family almost every week. It’s easy. Almost comfortable.

Then comes question 22.

“Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.”

You remember how this went the first time. How clumsy and awkward you both were, strangers trying to map out the shape of each other with vague guesses. You’d said something like, You seem like a good listener, and Joshua had commented on your style.

All surface.

Now, there’s too much underneath.

Joshua clears his throat. “You go first.”

You consider calling him a narcissist, but you opt out. “Okay. Uh,” you start. “You’re—steadfast. Once you decide something matters to you, you stay. Even when it’s hard.”

He hums. “You’re perceptive. You always notice the things no one else does.”

“You’re thoughtful,” you go on. “You remember things—like people’s favorite snacks or how they take their coffee. It’s never loud, but it’s there.”

“You’re funny,” he says, a little more quickly. “In a smart way. You don’t always say the joke out loud, but when you do, it lands.”

You laugh. “That’s the first time you’ve called me funny.”

“I call you funny in my head all the time,” he replies.

You don’t quite know what to say to that, so you look down at your phone.

“You’re earnest,” you offer. “Even when you try not to be. Especially then.”

His grip on the wheel tightens for a split second before relaxing again. “You care deeply. About people. About doing the right thing. Even when it tears you up.”

Joshua drives just a little below the speed limit, as if trying to stretch this moment out. You don’t say it out loud, but you both know you’ve passed five.

You wonder if that’s the point.

The hum of the car is soft under the quiet that settles again between you. The GPS chirps—still three hours to go. Still three hours of pretending it doesn’t sting to sit this close to him. Still three hours of pretending like this is just a ride and not a slow unraveling of everything you’d packed away.

You read the next prompt aloud, your voice only slightly more confident now: “Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling...’”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Three each? That's excessive.”

You shrug. “Take it up with Dr. Arthur Aron.”

Joshua rolls his shoulders. “Okay. One: We are both doing our best to not make this weirder than it already is.”

“One: We are both extremely bad at not making things weird,” you counter.

He laughs, and it's the kind of laugh that softens something in your chest. “Two: we both care more than we probably should.”

You hesitate. Then, “Two: We both don’t really know what to do with all the leftover feelings.”

Joshua exhales like you had punched the air out of him.

So far, everything has alluded to this. To the eventual conclusion that you both had things you still wanted to say. Joshua was never slick; you know why he’s insisting on playing this game.

He’s hoping to find closure—some twisted semblance of it—in between questions one to thirty-six. Or maybe he’s hoping to find something else. A hint. A reason. An opening. You don’t know for sure, but you know Joshua Hong is the type of person that always has a motive.

Leftover feelings is just a nice way to put it.

“Three,” he goes on, as if he physically can’t bring himself to address your second statement, “We both remember everything. Even if we pretend we don’t.”

You look at him. His hands on the wheel, that little crease between his brows that forms when he's thinking too hard. You say, quietly, “We are both still here. In this car. On this trip. That counts for my last one, right?”

He doesn't answer right away. Then he says, voice lighter than it’s been all day, “Are you still okay with all this?”

It feels like the first real question he’s asked you—not part of a list, not pulled from a script, not something rehearsed. It’s a moment of benevolence, an offer for an out. If you told him your heart was cracking open, he’d find one of his own playlists and you would throw in the white flag at the start of set three.

You turn toward the window. “I’m okay if you are,” you say, because it’s true, because you’re indecisive, because you kind of want answers, too.

From the corner of your eye, you see him nod. “Okay.” A pause. “Then we keep going.”

You move on to question twenty-six.

“Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’”

Joshua shifts his grip on the wheel. The road outside blurs into long stretches of beige and green, but neither of you is looking at it.

He exhales. “...small wins.”

You think of the refrigerator in your shared apartment, the one with fish-themed magnets and Joshua’s accomplishment reports pinned up like kindergarten drawings. You think of his evening prayers, the sleepy mumbles of Hey God, it’s me, Joshua, and the gratitude for no traffic or healthy corals. You think of the crumpled look on his face when you couldn’t quite understand why he was so happy over something, the way his shoulders would fall when you couldn’t share in his small but certain happiness.

You give your own answer. “...my fears.”

It lands heavier than it should. There are notebooks full of pages upon pages of writing, words you should have probably divulged to Joshua but chose not to. There are sweaters, and hoodies, and jackets with loose threads around the sleeves, from all the times you’d gotten scared but took it out on yourself instead of saying something. There are memories of Joshua—on his knees, slamming the door—asking for you to give him an inch. You never did budge.

The car suddenly feels small. Too small for the weight of things unsaid.

“Twenty-seven,” you announce, voice wavering. “If you were going to become close friends, please share what would be important for him or her to know.”

You look at Joshua. His jaw tenses. It’s a query that works best in the context of the study. The questions are a first-date gig, meant for strangers looking to be friends or friends praying to be lovers.

Not exes. Not you and Joshua.

“That I get quiet when I’m overwhelmed,” he responds. “That it doesn’t mean I’m shutting people out. I just need space to think.”

You give a jerky nod, then answer, “That I overthink most things. That I’ll ask for reassurance even when I know the answer.”

He glances at you. “You still do that?”

“Yeah.”

The silence this time is different—not the awkward kind from the first hour of the trip, but something rawer. Tension prickles at the base of your neck.

You tap the GPS map. “Can you pull over at the next gas station? I have to pee,” you say, even though your bladder is the furthest from full.

Joshua grunts his approval.

A few minutes later, he turns off the road. You murmur a quick thanks before slipping out of the car.

The restroom is fluorescent-lit and smells faintly of soap and old tiles. You grip the edge of the sink and lean forward, staring into the mirror.

“You’re fine,” you tell your reflection. “You’re fine. Don’t go there again.”

You splash cold water on your face, the shock of it grounding. You know what this is starting to feel like. A ledge, a pattern, a memory dressed up like something new.

You’re not sure if you can fall again and survive the landing.

Behind your reflection, the bathroom door creaks open. You dry your face and brace yourself to step back into the heat of the day—and into a car that feels more like a confession booth with every mile.

Joshua drums his fingers along the curve of the wheel, elbow resting by the window as highway signs blur past. Your hair is still slightly damp at the edges from where you splashed your face. The radio hums low between you, some soft indie band murmuring about lost time.

“Two more hours,” he informs you. Not quite a warning, not quite a relief.

You nod, thumbing through the article on your phone. “Eight more questions.”

He exhales a laugh. “Maybe space it out? Take your time with the hard ones?”

“I’ll take a break after the next one,” you say. “Number twenty-eight.”

There’s a half-smile on his face, like he remembers the first time twenty-eight was posed. “The big one.”

You clear your throat and read aloud: “Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time.”

You both laugh, maybe a little too hard. You’re thinking of the first date—how you’d nervously said you liked that he was punctual, how he’d said he liked your jacket. Neither of you were very brave, then, or honest.

Will you be now?

“Okay,” he says, tapping the wheel in rhythm to the Billy Joel song that has started to croon. “I’ll go first.”

You don’t stop him.

He speaks slowly, at first. As if he’s the weight of each word. You had expected maybe one or two big things, but the fact that there’s an upcoming break seems to embolden him.

He says he likes how you read people before they know they’re being read. He says he likes how you tilt your head when you’re thinking too hard. That you always ask baristas how their day’s going. That you cry during movies, but always pretend it’s allergies. That you never half-listen to someone when they talk.

Each word feels like it’s making the air between you warmer. Thinner. More charged.

He goes on, and on, and on. Some things, you already know. Some things, it’s the first time you’ve heard.

Some things, you thought he had hated—only to find out it was the complete opposite.

Some things, you’re surprised he even noticed.

When he patters off, he looks a bit sheepish, like he hadn’t expected to ramble. Neither of you steal a glance at the car’s analog clock. There’s no need to check, to confirm he spent perhaps a little too long extolling your virtues and waxing poetics you no longer felt like you deserved.

You inhale.

“I like how you look like you’re trying not to smile when you are,” you start. “I like that you leave voice memos instead of texts when you’re tired. That you care about fish more than people sometimes, but you’ll never admit it. That you always carry two chargers. That you know the scientific names for all your favorite corals but still call them ‘little guys’ when you talk about them.”

Your list goes on, and on, and on. You like the calluses on his fingers from the years of guitar-playing. You like the soothing cadence of his voice when he’s reading something out loud. You like the slightly absurd way he sits, and the empathy he gives out as easily as one gives out gum, and the expressions he makes when somebody does something questionable.

You stutter to a stop, knowing you’ve said as much—maybe even a little more—as him. The entire time, you’d kept your eyes on the road, but now you dare yourself to look. You regret it immediately.

He’s gnawing at his lower lip, fighting back a smile. You don’t know how long he’s been trying to hold it back, but from the ruddiness of his cheeks, you’d say it’s been a couple of minutes. “Don’t say all that,” he manages.

“Why not?” you say defensively.

“Makes me want to kiss you,” he says outright, so softly it folds itself between the cracks of your ribcage. “And I’m not supposed to want that anymore.”

His eyes flick over to you. You meet his gaze for half a second longer than is wise.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Hong,” you say, voice steady even as your pulse wavers.

He does as he’s told, but the smile on his face still tries its damnedest not to break.

The silence between you now is lighter, almost companionable. The kind that doesn’t need filling. You’re both tired, but not from each other—at least not in the same way you were when the drive began.

There’s still an ache, a wariness, but it’s no longer sharp. Just an awareness of proximity and time passed.

Outside the window, the highway begins to bleed into coastal roads, winding through the kind of sleepy seaside towns that barely show up on a map. You catch a whiff of salt in the breeze when Joshua cracks the window open. The air is briny and cool, and your landlady’s city can’t be more than ten minutes away now.

“Bring up the next one,” Joshua prompts. “Question twenty-nine.”

You unlock your phone and read aloud, “Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.”

You think for a second before answering. “One time during a client pitch, I said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism.’ Completely straight-faced. No one corrected me. I didn’t even realize until hours later.”

Joshua barks out a laugh. “That’s… incredible.”

“Corporate girlie era. Not my best work.”

The road narrows, bending toward the sea. Then, he says, “A few weeks after the breakup, I accidentally called you during a team meeting. Like, I butt-dialed you. I was underwater a lot at the time, so I’d listen to your old voicemails whenever I could. Guess my phone got confused. Everyone heard it. The voicemail. You were talking about soup.”

You blink. “Soup?”

He nods solemnly. “Tom kha kai. You were mad I ate yours.”

You stare at him. He tries to act like it’s nothing, like the voicemail wasn’t from very early into your relationship, but his ears are pink.

“That’s…” You want to say sweet, or something else foolish. “Embarrassing. Yeah. I get it.”

He nods, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

Neither of you speak after that. The silence returns, soft and warm. The car turns down a familiar street, and the ocean gleams in the distance like it remembers you both.

Your landlady—sorry, ex-landlady—Minjung lives in a cheerful, sea-salted bungalow at the end of a sloping road. The pavement gives way to pebbles and gull cries. It’s the type of house you and Joshua once joked about retiring in.

There’s none of those jokes today.

The two of you pull up just after one in the afternoon, both exhausted but trying not to show it. The air smells like fried dough, and there’s a breeze that tangles your hair the second you step out.

Minjung opens the door almost as soon as you knock. She’s wearing her usual floral house dress, grey hair pinned up in a neat bun, and when she sees you both standing side by side on her porch, her eyebrows lift so high they nearly disappear into her hairline.

“Oh, you both made it,” she says. Her voice is kind but pointed. “Together, even.”

You and Joshua smile politely, murmuring greetings as you step inside. The living room is exactly how you remember it: mismatched furniture, a faint smell of liniment, crocheted doilies covering every available surface. She ushers you in, offers you barley tea you both politely decline, and sits with a huff in her favorite armchair.

The conversation is short and mostly administrative. Paperwork is signed, keys are handed over, deposits are discussed. She asks if you've found new places to live, and you both assure her you have. When the last form is signed, she takes a long look at the two of you.

“I’m surprised,” she says plainly, “that you two didn’t make it. I had a good feeling about you.”

You glance at Joshua, whose smile is tight but not insincere. “We had a good run,” he says, voice gentle, and that’s somehow the part of this whole endeavor that tears you up the most.

Minjung hums, not quite convinced. But she pats your hand and says she wishes you both well. You thank her.

It’s done. After everything, it’s finally done.

No more shared bills or split chores. No more arguing about groceries or laundry schedules. Just clean breaks, and quiet endings, and another eight hours back home you’ll probably sleep through.

You’re on the porch again, about to step off the last stair, when Minjung opens the door behind you.

“By the way,” she calls out. “You two didn’t have to come all this way, you know. I have a—what do you kids call it? Van-me? Venmo? Yes, that. I have that now.”

She shuts the door in your faces before either of you can respond.

You and Joshua stare at each other. For a beat, silence.

Then, laughter. Real, deep, absurd laughter.

You double over, hands on your knees. Joshua leans against the porch rail, laughing so hard he wheezes. Your cheeks hurt, your eyes blur, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re laughing with him like you used to—like nothing ever changed.

“I hate us,” you manage between giggles.

“She really let us suffer through all that,” Joshua gasps. “An eight-hour drive, a motel with one bed, all for... this.”

You can’t stop laughing. Not for a while. And when you finally do, breathless and dazed, you’re not sure what the ache in your chest means anymore.

Joshua invites you to the beach after Minjung’s door shuts behind the both of you. He says it casually, like he’s not asking you to walk across a tightrope of memory, but just to sit, to rest, to let the waves be the only thing talking for a while.

You agree. Because it’s the least you can give him, considering the fact he’s in for another long drive. Because Joshua said that nothing in the world made him happier than the beach, and you.

“We should finish the questions,” he says, already headed toward the shoreline. “Might as well. Before we have to get back in the car.”

You follow him. It’s easier to, now.

The wind’s picked up, but not so much that it makes the air cold. Just enough to push your hair around your face and coat your skin with salt. The two of you find a smooth stretch of sand near the water, a small incline that gives you a view of the waves curling back on themselves. The city behind you is quiet and gray, the kind of place where time seems to wait a little longer between minutes.

You settle in beside him, knees pulled up to your chest. Joshua stretches his legs out in front of him, leans back on his palms.

You open your phone and pull the list up again. “Alright,” you say, trying to make your voice light, “question thirty. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

He hums. You think he's stalling, but when he answers, it’s immediate.

“By myself? Last month. One of my undergrads turned in a paper about the death of coral ecosystems and how they linked it to their relationship with their dad. It hit me. I cried in the breakroom.”

“And in front of someone?”

He glances at you. “Right now doesn’t count, right?”

You smile. You don't answer.

“You?”

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “By myself, probably... a couple weeks ago. Work stuff. And in front of someone?” You give him a look. “When we broke up.”

He nods like he remembers, and you know he does.

Question thirty-one. “Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

Joshua chuckles. “This is like the third time they’ve asked this.”

“Reinforcement is key.”

He looks at you. Not in the way he used to—hungry and open—but with a quiet sort of affection, like he's memorizing without needing to possess. Really looks at you.

“I like how you look when the wind hits your hair. Like you're always on the verge of something. Running or staying,” he says.

You roll your eyes, but your heart doesn’t get the memo.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You used to like that about me.”

“Still do,” you mutter.

Joshua doesn’t press it. You give him your answer—something about the way his eyes light up when he’s watching the sunset. He takes it with grace, angling his face a little more towards the horizon like he’s trying to remind you of what you love about him. As if you’d need a reminder.

Question thirty-two. “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

You take longer with this one.

He answers first. “Grief. Not because it can’t be joked about, but because not everyone gets to laugh about it. You have to earn that.”

You look at him.

“What?” he says.

“That was... insightful.”

“I’m a marine biologist, not a clown.”

You huff out a laugh. Your chest is tight, and your heart is full, and your throat is dry with words you shouldn’t say.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

You tell him you agree with him, and he doesn’t claim you’re trying to field the query. He knows you’ve earned the right to say the same thing.

The waves crash in slow rhythm, and the sun slips further down the sky. Joshua turns his head slightly toward you, just enough for the breeze to tousle the hair at his temple.

“We doing all thirty-six today?” he asks, a small smile playing on his lips.

You shrug. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

The wind answers for you both.

It tugs at your sleeves and hair, but not enough to be cruel. Just enough to remind you where you are: a little too far from home, and closer to something else you can't quite name.

“Alright,” you murmur, tapping into your phone. “Thirty-three. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

You expect him to hesitate. Instead, he answers softly, “That I forgive my dad.”

You glance at him. He stares out at the water, eyes glazed over and jaw tense, but his voice is even. “I kept waiting for the right time. For him to earn it, maybe. But some things... you give, not because they deserve it, but because you need to let it go.”

You nod, even though he isn’t looking. You don't ask questions. You don’t press. It feels sacred, what he said.

He turns to you. “What about you?”

You think for a long moment. The waves come in, and the waves go out.

“That I’m proud of myself,” you say, eventually, your voice cracking around the confession. “That I spent so long trying to be someone worth loving, I never stopped to tell myself I'd made it.”

Joshua’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m proud of you, too,” he says.

He says it not because it’s some concession, not because it’s a consolation prize he wants to give you in the face of your honesty. He says it because he means it, the same way he probably meant it when he said he was proud of you for starting your corporate job, proud of you for opening a jar without his help, proud of you for this, and that, and simply existing.

You smile at him. He smiles back. It’s the moment you will carry in your pocket when it’s all over, the one you’ll replay when the morning comes and no trace of Joshua is left.

“Question thirty-four.” You clear your throat. “Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

“This feels like a game show.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Final answer, Hong?”

He grins, but it fades quickly, as if he’s realizing just how serious the question is. “There’s this box,” he says, “in my closet. Letters, ticket stubs, Polaroids. I guess I thought I’d forget otherwise.”

You know the box. You’d added to it once. Movies you had watched. Grocery receipts. Post-Its with crude drawings of sea animals that he deemed worthy of keeping despite your disgruntled protest.

That had always been Joshua’s way—loving every part of you, every scrap and morsel, even the ones you didn’t think deserved love. Especially the ones you didn’t think deserved love.

You turn back to the sea, silence stretching between you. You’re not sure what your answer to the question is. Everything you own feels replaceable lately.

You open your mouth. Then close it.

And then, softly, “There’s a necklace. My mom gave it to me before college. It wasn’t worth much, but... it made me feel safe. Like I was tethered to someone.”

He knows the necklace. He’d fixed it once. You were hysterical when it broke, and he painstakingly gathered every broken charm, every loose bead. He watched three YouTube videos and treated the necklace with such care that it came back to you good as new.

You stopped wearing it shortly after, though, out of fear that it would snap again. That Joshua might some day not be around to fix it one more time.

Joshua reaches across the space between you and takes your hand, gently, as if asking permission without words. You let him.

For the first time in months, you feel tethered again.

The question lingers between you like sea mist: soft, hazy, impossible to ignore. Joshua is still holding your hand, thumb barely moving, but the warmth of it spreads up your arm like it's been waiting all this time to find a home there again.

You read out loud thirty-five. “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

You share a look, then, simultaneously—the same way you had when you first encountered the questions—you both say, “Skip.”

“Thirty-six,” you go on, voice a little thinner than you'd like. “Share a personal problem. Ask for advice. Then—”

“—have the other person reflect back how you seem to be feeling,” Joshua finishes for you. His smile is faint but real. “I remember that one.”

The tide hums its low lullaby, and for a while, you pretend to be thinking.

You both stare out at the ocean instead of each other, even as the last question hovers between you, even as his fingers shift—no longer just clasping, but sliding between yours, interlocking like they used to.

Like it’s the last time he'll get to do it. Maybe it is.

Then, you crack. Partly because the entire trip has been absurd, because thirty-six questions got you here in the first place and was now bringing you back.

Partly because you think it’s the last time you’ll have this, too.

You laugh. It escapes like air from a balloon, breathless and tinged with disbelief. “I have a personal problem,” you admit, looking down at your joined hands. “It’s really serious.”

Joshua tilts his head toward you, brows raised.

You meet his eyes. The world around you fades into pale sand and blue waves. “I really, really want to kiss my ex right now.”

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t look away.

And then, softly, like it's the simplest thing in the world: “I can fix that.”

He leans in, and you meet him halfway.

His free hand slides to your cheek, yours to his chest. His heartbeat—usually so certain and steady—hammers underneath your palm. There is nothing scientific about the way it undoes you.

Whatever comes next, you’ll figure it out later. For now, the question has been asked.

The answer is this.

Four years ago, you sat in front of Joshua with your heart on your sleeve.

After running through the thirty-six questions, you had asked him between giggles whether he was in looove with you now. He had looked at you like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

You got some ice cream for dessert. You had felt like you were floating, as if your feet weren’t touching the floor, and the feeling only worsened when he tried and failed to be cool about holding your hand.

At the door of your dormitory, he had kissed you good night. A proper kiss. And when he’d leaned in, you put a hand to his chest and told him to leave the night clean and quiet. Leave it at that, you had said against his lips.

That one, perfect kiss. We’ll have more, you had promised, and he responded with I’m going to collect.

You had watched him turn the corner and go. Right before disappearing, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed you a giddy smile.

The ocean gives—

Five months ago, you sat in front of Joshua with your heart in his hands.

The conversation ended with less than thirty-six questions. There is only so much times you can argue, and compromise, before the spats threaten to spill into resentment. In a small voice, you had asked him if he still loved you. Yes, he had said breathlessly, but you and I both know love isn’t always enough.

In the freezer, a tub of his favorite ice cream waited. One you had picked up in the grocery store, remembering him. It would remain there, cold and sweet and untouched, because the argument started mid-dinner and ended with you feeling like you were an astronaut jettisoned into space. One that would never come back down to Earth.

At the door of the apartment, he had kissed the crown of your hair with quivering lips. You were the one with a friend nearby, the one with a place you could stay at before the two of you had to figure out the shared apartment. Joshua had tried to kiss you properly, but you shook your head wordlessly.

Clean and quiet.

All Joshua could do was love you hard. All you could do was let him go.

You had gotten into a cab. Right before you turned the corner, you twisted in the seat to look in the rear window.

Joshua had been by the gate, watching you leave.

The ocean takes away—

It was easier than you thought, quitting your job.

After the roadtrip, that seemed like Joshua’s parting gift. The realization that you had wanted to do something meaningful with your degree, that running or staying was always a choice you could make.

And so you put in your two-week notice, and looked up Master’s programs, and got a part-time job at a non-government organization with an advocacy you believed in. You had been looking for an excuse to change your life, anyway, and here it was.

It was not like anything happened after the kiss by the beach. Somehow, it had reminded you of that first night—how you had advised Joshua not to push his luck.

He knew, you knew, that the kiss was perfect as is. To try and steal another would do neither of you any good.

He hadn’t answered question thirty-six. The kiss took away that opportunity, and so the two of you simply got back into his car without another word.

You slept the entire ride back and woke up to Joshua listening to some podcast about investigating subtidal zone organisms using a light source. He dropped you off at your apartment, wished you well with a one-armed hug, and drove off into the night.

It’s not like you’d been expecting a follow-up text, but it sure would have been nice.

You don’t dwell on it. You transition your replacement and tie up all loose ends. On your last day in the office, you pack up your desk. Whale-themed calendar, coral-shaped push pins, blue Post-It’s.

“I’ve always loved that about you,” a co-worker says in passing as you rearrange your belongings like a perverse Tetris game. “All the sea stuff.”

It hits you, only then, that you’d been a walking, talking documentary for all the things Joshua Hong loved. You could almost cry at the realization. Instead, you laugh politely.

You’re logging out of your work computer for the very last time when the Mail app pings. You’re inclined to ignore it, to just open it up on your phone and be done with everything, but the preview in the notification has your brows furrowing.

You open the email.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: RE: My personal problem

I never got to answer thirty-six. It’s because my ‘problem’ is this: I have a couple of questions I want to ask you.

For your reference and kind consideration.

Have you eaten today?

Did you remember to water the plant on your windowsill?

What time did you wake up this morning?

Are you sleeping okay lately?

Did you bring your jacket today like I told you to?

What song have you been listening to on repeat?

Is your favorite mug still the blue one with the chip in it?

Did you ever replace the broken lamp in your room?

When was the last time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt?

Are you still drinking your coffee with too much sugar?

What’s the last book you finished reading?

Do you still cry at that one movie you always cry at?

Have you called your mom lately?

Do you still keep emergency chocolate in the freezer?

What’s the newest dream you’ve had for your life?

What do you miss the most about living with someone?

Do you ever think about our old kitchen, and how the faucet always leaked?

Are you still scared of thunderstorms?

When was the last time you let someone take care of you?

What’s the one thing you wish you could say without it sounding like too much?

Do you remember how we used to dance in the living room when it rained?

What memory have you been holding onto lately?

Have you forgiven me for the words I didn’t say when I should have?

Do you think it’s possible to love someone differently, but just as much, the second time around?

Do you think timing is a real excuse, or just a convenient one?

What did I do that hurt you the most?

What did I do that made you feel safest?

What was your favorite version of us?

What do you think we did right?

What do you think we got terribly wrong?

What did you learn about yourself when we were apart?

What made you fall in love with me, back then?

What did you fall out of love with?

What’s something you wanted to ask me, but never did?

What would you do differently, if we had a second chance?

Could we have a second chance?

– J.

#joshua x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svthub #keopihausnet #joshua imagines #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #joshua hong x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt

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thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Gareth sits in the front row, the only row, really. Everybody in attendance fits under the small, enclosed tent the funeral home set up over the folding chairs. He's never been to a graveside service that was so claustrophobic before. He understands that it was to keep it private. Because when the dead guy has been accused of unspeakable crimes, you don't mourn them in public. Out loud.

No, you do it privately, sequestered away. Long after the fact. Months of limbo, of Wayne saying that they're waiting until the time is right. Until the town has settled down. Until the headstone is ready.

He doesn't know why they waited for that. The town's never gonna settle down about this, about Eddie, and Gareth can barely see the headstone here in the dark.

Of course, there was no rush. No body to bury. No hole dug at all. Which means the fake green Astroturf they've laid is useless. Out for no reason at all. It's wrinkled under his feet, and he toes at one of the bubbles of trapped air.

Gareth's not gonna cry. He's already done that, and he's not about to do it again while seated between Jeff and Steve Harrington.

The preacher from Wayne's church is condemning Eddie. Nicely, kind of, but definitely not sugarcoating the memory of Eddie Munson, or his unspeakable actions, right at his own funeral. Gareth silently fumes, balling his hands into fists. Itching to start a fight. Make a scene.

How much trouble would he be in if he pops Pastor Dave right in the kisser?

Steve Harrington puts a hand over his, stopping his thought before it can fully form into a plan. He looks over at him, and Steve shakes his head.

Fuck. What the fuck does he know? He barely knew Eddie. Not like Gareth did. Not like Jeff and Goodie did. He wasn't friends with him. He doesn't even deserve to be here.

Henderson doesn't even look sad. Quietly joking with Mike as Lucas tries to shush them, and it looks like Steve wishes he'd sat over there instead, just to keep them in line. He didn't need to, apparently, because Erica leans forward, says something short and to the point, and they both straighten up and fly right.

Gareth sulks back into his uncomfortable folding chair, and listens to more lies being told about an Eddie that never existed, a demonized version, as his best friend is laid to rest.

Afterwards, Steve has the other boys cornered near a tree, reading them the riot act. They don't look sorry. Not at all.

Eddie died, and they're already over it. Gareth's never gonna be over it.

Jeff's standing at his mom's station wagon, waiting on Gareth. Goodie is already settled into the front seat, as always. Gareth heads their way, and when he slides in the backseat, he's surprised that Steve Harrington slides in right after him.

"Uh, hi?" Gareth says.

"Drive," Steve says.

"But your car," Jeff answers.

"Nance has it. Drive," he demands for a second time, and well, Jeff drives.

Once they are back on the highway, after leaving the winding roads of the cemetery, Steve starts giving directions. Jeff follows them, and Gareth isn't all that sure why. They don't even like Steve Harrington. Why are they letting him call the shots of where they're going?

Jeff doesn't protest until they're out past the city limits sign.

"Steve, like, I get that you're going through something, but I gotta get my mom's car home," Jeff says, and Gareth knows that's not really true. Mrs. Williams isn't that strict.

"Just drive," Steve says, and Jeff does. They all stay silent as he insists that they turn off onto a gravel road. After following it for a while, ignoring a DEAD END sign, they find a heavy, locked gate. Steve has a key, and swings the gate open, letting them pass. Then he locks it behind them.

Jeff starts easing down the even shittier dirt road that is absolutely plastered in PRIVATE PROPERTY KEEP OUT signs. Jeff meets Gareth's eyes through the rear view mirror. Gareth shrugs. Fuck if he knows.

At the end of the long, bumpy, washed out trail that can hardly be called a road at this point, they come upon a lake, with a trailer right near the water.

"What are we doing out here, man?" Gareth asks. But his question is answered when the door to the trailer swings open.

There's Eddie. Hair cut short, in clothes that look straight out of Steve's closet. But it's definitely him. Alive and well. When he smiles and waves, Gareth makes a sound that he wouldn't have ever assumed he could make, flinging open the car door, and running.

Eddie catches him, but winces, "Easy, I'm still a little chewed up over here."

Reluctantly, Gareth lets him go. He can't believe he's here. Alive. Can't believe that Steve Harrington knew and didn't tell anybody—

Oh.

Everybody at the funeral knew. Everybody but them.

"Does Wayne know?"

"Wayne knows," Eddie reassures, and leads them in through the trailer and out the other side, onto the back deck. It's peaceful, not another soul around for miles. There are birds hovering around a tall birdhouse, wings fluttering, and Gareth catches Eddie watching them.

"Whose place is this?" Jeff asks, looking around.

"Hopper's," Steve answers, reaching down into the old Coleman cooler, pulling out a dripping wet bottle of beer from the ice. He pops off the cap on the railing, and plops down in one of the deck chairs.

"Can I?" Gareth asks, motioning towards the cooler, and Eddie and Steve both say 'no' at the exact same time. Assholes.

"Are you…are you staying here? For good? Or is this just a temporary stop?" Gareth asks.

"Probably temporary," Eddie admits, and Gareth's face falls. Eddie must see it, because he bumps his hip against Gareth's, "Hey. This is a little too close to Hawkins, you know?"

"But—"

"You can come wherever I go. After you graduate. Promise. I'm not getting wiped off the face of the earth. Just laying low."

"You faked your death," Goodie says, "you're not hiding out at Skull Rock. This is a little more than laying low."

Eddie laughs, "Desperate times, desperate measures. All that. Wanna see some gnarly scars?"

And they do, so Eddie sheds his shirt, then tugs his jeans down really low.

"Did it get your dick?" Goodie asks, "Because I don't wanna see your mangled dick. I don't want to see any version of your dick."

Steve laughs, stretching out, putting his feet up on the railing. Crossing them at the ankle. Clearly comfortable here, and not at all interested in Eddie's scars. Though, Gareth supposes he's seen them before. He was involved in this whole mess, Gareth knows that much.

"How'd you? We thought?" Gareth asks, thumb pressing into Eddie's jaw, right above the scar on his neck that looks like it should have killed him.

"Steve's more stubborn than I am, somehow," Eddie answers, and Steve just grins, lips pressed to the bottle in his hand. "The bastard just refused to let me die."

"And I'll do it again, if you decide to do something else stupid," Steve says with a laugh, so they all laugh too, even if it's not all that funny. Not an exaggeration. Because it's evident all over Eddie's skin that the funeral today probably could have been real. He really did almost die.

Eddie pulls his shirt back over his head, and leans up against the railing, looking out over the still, peaceful water.

"It's nice out here," Gareth says. He doesn't know exactly what Eddie went through, and supposes he'll learn the details in time. For right now, he's absolutely certain that Eddie deserves some peace.

"It is," Eddie agrees, smiling over at Gareth, "and even nicer now that you're all here."

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #stranger things s4 #stranger things fic #jeff stranger things #corroded coffin fic #corroded coffin #steddie #steddie fic #eddie x steve

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shesanangelll · 24 days ago

Note

Hello can I request adult shauna who gets obsessed with Callie's female friend (not a minor) because she's been very sweet and polite to her, basically complimenting and giving her attentions and shauna takes this the wrong way. Thank you in advance

Soft spots

Adult shauna shipman x fem!reader

Summary: Callie’s mom was just supposed to be another parent you made small talk with. But the more time you spend around Shauna, the more her attention lingers—too careful, too focused. She says you’re different. That you make her feel calm.

You thought you were just being polite.

She thinks you see her.

And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

Warnings; shauna shipman.

notes; took my first one kinda seriously and been writing since you send the ask 😭 (UNEMPLOYED ALERT)

You’re not really sure how it started—maybe it was just good manners. You were raised to be polite, respectful. So when Callie introduced you to her mom, you smiled. You complimented her sweater. You said she had a calming presence.

Because she did.

Shauna wasn’t like other moms. She didn’t try to act younger than she was, didn’t ask prying questions or fake enthusiasm. She was… reserved. But aware. She looked at you like she was watching something important.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. She was quiet, thoughtful. Maybe a little tired. You figured she’d been through something. You didn’t ask.

But over the next few weeks, you started to notice things.

She’d always offer you tea when you came over. Sometimes snacks. She’d ask how school was going, or if you were still working that bar job. She remembered small details—things even Callie forgot.

“You’re always so sweet,” she said once, handing you a mug. “Most of Callie’s friends don’t even say hello.”

You smiled, a little flustered. “Well… you’re always nice to me.”

Her eyes lingered on you just a beat too long.

“Nice,” she echoed, like she was testing the word on her tongue.

You didn’t think it was weird—yet.

The first time it truly struck you was a quiet Tuesday afternoon. You were waiting in the kitchen while Callie changed for dinner, and Shauna was making something on the stove. You offered to help. She waved you off, but you stayed anyway.

“You’re very comfortable here,” she said without looking at you.

You smiled. “I hope that’s okay.”

Her hands didn’t stop moving. “It is.”

Then, quietly: “It’s more than okay.”

You laughed softly, unsure if she was joking. “Well, you have a nice energy. Kind of… grounded.”

That’s when she looked at you.

Really looked.

You felt it—like she was peeling something back in your chest, just by holding eye contact. It made your skin prickle.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone like me.”

You blinked. “What?”

Shauna tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “I’m not as calm as I look.”

You tried to laugh it off. “Well… nobody is, right?”

She didn’t answer.

That night, you thought about the way she said it. The weight behind it. Like a warning. Or a dare.

You started to wonder if you’d imagined it—if maybe she was just lonely. You knew she had some kind of complicated history. Something unspoken in the way Callie changed the subject when it came to her mom. But it wasn’t your business. You were just being kind.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until the texts started.

Not anything inappropriate. Just simple things. Check-ins.

“Glad you made it home safe.”

“Let me know if you want that recipe.”

“It was nice seeing you today.”

They were sweet. Thoughtful. Maybe a little too thoughtful. You replied out of courtesy, trying not to read into it. But every message ended the same way—some version of “You’re different,” or “You’re always so genuine,” or “People don’t usually make me feel this… at ease.”

It was flattering. But also… strange.

One night, Callie invited you to stay for dinner. You said yes. Shauna cooked. She barely looked at Jeff. Barely acknowledged Callie. But she kept watching you.

You felt her gaze on your hands, your lips when you took a sip of wine. The way she noticed your bracelets. The way she brushed past you in the narrow kitchen hall—just close enough for your arms to touch.

And then she said it.

“You know,” she murmured when Callie had gone to answer a call in the other room, “you remind me of someone.”

You tilted your head. “Good reminder or bad?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s say… complicated.”

You held her gaze, something unspoken crackling between you.

“Can I ask something?” you said.

“Of course.”

“Do you… always get this intense about people who are nice to you?”

Shauna’s expression flickered—surprise, then amusement, then something darker.

“I don’t usually notice people,” she said, her voice low. “But I notice you.”

You swallowed.

Hard.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you added quickly. “I’m just—Callie’s friend. I wasn’t trying to—”

She stepped closer, not touching you. Just present.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

There was silence. Thick. Charged.

“Then why does it feel like I did?” you asked quietly.

Shauna’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe because you liked it.”

You left not long after that. Told Callie you were tired. Said you had work early.

You didn’t tell her what her mom said.

You didn’t block Shauna’s number, either.

Part of you wanted to. Part of you meant to.

But the messages kept coming. And you kept replying. Polite. Careful. Never leading her on—at least not intentionally. But maybe you were flattered. Maybe you liked the attention.

Maybe, deep down, you were a little curious.

Curious what it would feel like to be wanted by someone who looked at you like you were a secret she could keep forever.

#yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman x reader

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stagefoureddiediaz · 9 months ago

Text

911 and the Wizard of Oz!

So I’ve written a couple of times about the wizard of Oz connections that 911 has had in the past. Well after 8x03 and the trailer for 8x04 - everything has become much clearer to me and boy oh boy is Tim pulling a blinder with this one!

I need to start by saying he is playing on lore from both the original books as well as the film, so much of this wouldn’t be evident if you had little to no knowledge of the book series. I however do - because I loved the books as a child and I have also long been interested in the link between the books, the original film and the queer narrative that runs through them. Especially because of my yellow and blue and then blue and green colour theory and its use in telling queer narratives in cinema and television in the aftermath of the 1939 film.

For those who don’t know the background of it, you can read my post here about the wizard of oz and its queer narrative and the yellow/blue colour theme, but for a brief run down the wizard of oz and its themes have been a key part of the queer narrative since they first appeared in print and then on film. Yellow blue colour theory stems from Dorothys dress and the yellow brick road and became a film short hand for queer narratives in film, during the hays code era (1934-1968), and has continued on to this day. the most recent and most obvious use of the blue/yellow blue/green coding has been in heartsotopper - where it is very heavily and very cleverly used to help tell the queer narrative, but it is its use in films during the hays code where it was doing a lot of work to ‘secretly’ provide queer narrative in film. (this is a specialist subject of mine and I could write about it all day - I really would love to do a phd in it, but I do not have the money or time to do that so I write about it at any opportunity on tumblr!)

Many of the nods to the story are subtle, but they are there and I am going to go through a good number of them with you - especially the ones we’ve had in season 8 so far, the main thing to note right off the bat though is that they all connect in to Eddie and that is very telling to me - especially when we take 5x01 - 5x04 into account. the rest is below the cut becasue it's long!

The very first reference to the Wizard of Oz we get is in 202 - 7.1. We have the entitled woman (that is the name they gave the character in the credits!) with her dog - Paisley.The entitled woman is wearing red shoes and we get shown her with just her feet sticking out from under the rubble in a clear nod to the wicked witch of the east being buried under Dorothys house in Oz.

Kat the little girl who gets separated from her family and ultimately reunited with them is a nod to the overall story of Dorothy in the wizard of Oz - and Paisley is a nod to Toto - Dorothy’s dog. I will also mention the fact that we get a heart metaphor during this disaster - Jeff - the heart of a champion.

We get a further nod in season 2 in 207 - Haunted - where we have the girl at the halloween parade dressed as the film version of Dorothy. I don’t think there is a huge amount to read into from a Wizard of Oz perspective, beyond the fact that it is referenced - we don’t actually need to see anything further in regards to the Wizard of Oz - its all about making the connection.

This episode is a big episode of Eddie and his storyline and this is a way for 911 to link Eddie into the Wizard of Oz theme without being massively obvious about it and his absence from this scene is a key part of that.

There are other key elements in this scene that we’ve been seeing come into play over the seasons for Eddie and that is what makes the wizard of Oz reference especially interesting. First up it's important to note that this is the episode we see the return of Shannon in. We have the horse and his rider - being separated by the death of the horse and the officer describing the horse as his friend. There are two things this is playing on here - the first is the foreshadowing of Shannons death, the second is that the show has then reused this metaphor of partners being separated by death, this time making use of the police aspect as a part of Eddies breakdown in season 5 - Mills’s - Eddies partner while he was in the army and her death. These two elements are why Eddie absence is key - Eddie becomes the officer and Shannon or Mills becomes the Horse and having Eddie present in the scene waters down the metaphor.

The fact we get a lot of wizard of Oz references in season 5, makes this a really interesting and clever connection to draw. The other aspects of this scene in 207 is the pretty important reference about the horse needing a sedative to stop him thrashing around until his heart gave out. Bearing in mind this is the first really intentional heart metaphor we see on the show and it’s a pretty key episode for Eddie in relation to his heart, his absence from this scene becomes louder, especially as he is off with his heart (Christopher) enjoying halloween. It makes it clear that the Eddie and hearts metaphor has been there since very early on - and has been (at least loosely)connected to The Wizard of Oz.

Remembering what I said above and in my other post about the wizard of Oz being very heavily connected to queer theming and storytelling in media it makes it likely that this is the show putting in early building blocks for a queer Eddie arc gif they wanted to then go down that route later on. (this makes the season 5 theming I’ll talk about shortly even more interesting to me!)

The last thing to mention is the is the emphasis on the devil, a priest and a drag queen at the parade- all things we see appearing in Eddies arc through season n7 and into 8. The drag queens from the bachelor party - in which we really see Eddie letting go and have fun for the first time. The priest and the devil are a metaphor for Eddies struggles with his faith - the idea of temptation (in the catholic church - especially the devout catholic church, being queer in any way is seen as being tempted by the devil), and with us having knowledge of Eddie going to church and likely talking to a priest in some capacity in the next few episodes, we have yet another tie back to this storyline from 207.

Now I obviously have no proof with what the intentions were for ~Eddie in season 5, but I’ve long had my theories and now, knowing that they had originally intended to have Bucks bisexual arc take place in s5 but it got shut down by the higher ups, I can make some pretty educated guesses based off what we did get early on in the season.

Season 5 opened with the blackout and then we led straight in to 5x04 ‘Home and Away’ with all its yellow and blue colour theming. Can you see where I’m going with this? How does the opening of the film version of the Wizard of Oz start? Yup that’s right - in black and white and then when Dorothy finds herself over the rainbow everything is in colour and the use of yellow and blue is very strong with Dorothy’s blue gingham dress and the yellow brick road with the green colouring coming later on when they reach the emerald city.

So I think 911 was intending to play on that concept in season 5 - the idea that the black out is a nod to Kansas being in black and white (not to mention the use of green for the hackers!) and then 5x04 is a play on Dorothy following the yellow brick road - hence the heavy use of yellow and blue and the way it winds through the narrative of the episode (along with the use of the bluejay as the schools animal emblem - which is a symbol of communication, curiosity and confidence - seeing a bluejay is telling you to be bold and chase your goals!). What is the other thing we get a huge number of references to in season 5 - especially connected to Eddie - hearts and heart metaphors.

We do also get a nod to the wizard of Oz in season 6 and the zeppelin disaster - which is a nod to the hot air balloon the wizard crashed into Oz in. The zeppelin is yellow and blue and the conversation on board refers to one of the pilots mother in law - whilst she isn’t stated to be a witch, the implication is there. the 110 is also closed in roughly the same place as we get it closed in 8x03. along with the fact that Eddie is the one to go into the zeppelin - Chim and Buck only partially go in - and the parallel storyline in the episode is about a heart issue, we once again have The Wizard of Oz being tied into heart metaphors.

Let’s move on to season 8 now and look at the vast number of Wizard of Oz references we have seen so far and appear to have coming up in 8x04. I will say the sheer number of references in season 8 compared with the more subtle ones from seasons 5 and 6 is one of the reasons I’m so very sure we have a queer Eddie arc going on - that they’ve finally been able to pull that trigger and move things forward for him.

Just remember that things don’t have to exactly follow the story of the wizard of Oz to be relevant - its not about the narrative following the same path, but more about the use of recognised aspects and tropes from the book and film to convey information and aid the storytelling. It is often more about the concept and meaning behind something and a 911 character may share the traits of more than one wizard of oz character because it is their traits that are relevant not necessarily TWoO characters full journey through the book or film.

The bee-nado is a literal reference to the tornado that sent Dorothy to oz - its one of the reasons we don’t see more of the bees - they serve their purpose in the same way the tornado does so we don’t need to see them again.

Gerrard building ‘his 118’ with a security fence around the firehouse and cast iron plumbing is a reference to the wizard building the Emerald city - which has a wall around it for security. In Oz it is the place full o the most up to date technology etc. So Gerrard is building his Emerald City.

The mother in the car falling asleep due to anaphylaxis is likely a reference to the poppy field in the film version of TWoO, along with the flowers at the perfume launch and Bucks statement that ‘smoke worked last time’ - because the smoke did make the bees sleepy like the poppies made Dorothy and her friends sleepy.

Bucks plan to have Eddie run and attract the the swarm of bees is a reference to an event that happens in the book. The wicked witch sends a swarm of bees to sting them to death. The tin man and scarecrow had seen them coming and scarecrow comes up with a plan - he has Dorothy, toto and the lion covered in his straw to hide them from the bees who only find the tin man - they try to sting him but it breaks their stings and kills them instead without hurting the tin man as he is impervious to bees by nature of being made of tin. What we see happen in 801 is very clearly placing Buck into the role of Scarecrow and Eddie into the role of tin man - Buck comes up with the plan and Eddie undertakes it successfully - his turnouts protecting him from the bees just like the tin man being made of tin protected him.

Gerrard hitting his head is a reference to Dorothy hitting her head in the tornado and waking up in Oz - its a reference to Dororthy’s line ‘Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore’ - its a play on the fact that the 118 is a very different place to when Gerrard was removed first time. Gerrard represents the black and white world - outdated and not up with the times (which he wasn’t back in the day either but that’s kind of the point), the world (the 118) is now in glorious technicolour since his departure and Gerrard will end up back in a black and white world in the end while the rest of the 118 will remain in colour and move forward. This places Gerrard in the role of the Wizard, but it is more akin to the book wizard than the film wizard - originally in the books (it was later glossed over as it didn’t go down well with readers) the Wizard arrives in a hot air balloon and becomes ruler of Oz by usurping he King and handing over the princess to a witch (more on this later!). As is shown in the film, he leaves Oz to return home in a hot air balloon. If Gerrard is the wizard, this makes Bobby the king (usurped from his throne at the 118) and Hen becomes Ozma (this is something I will talk about a bit later as it deserves its own section!) which fits with how we are being shown Hen being given the 118 captains role on a more frequent basis - suggesting the show is transitioning her into becoming the captain down the line.

Tia, her dog and Jordan are an interesting trio - they are a very clear parallel serve as a multi layered allegory as they play on several aspects of the film and books, as well as linking to aspects of 911 and especially on Buck and Eddies storyline.

Firstly we have the dog - who is the same type of dog as Paisley from season 2 - right down to the red bow in the hair (which is encouraging us to draw parallels with the earthquake disaster). Both dogs are a nod to Toto - Dorothy’s dog in the Wizard of Oz. The dog is also a representation of Buck, but I’ll go into that when I talk about Buck below!

Tia represents both Dorothy and the tin man, we see her initially as, not heartless, but guarded, but she softens especially when we see her following the instructions Hen gives, and bonding with various people on the plane including Jordan, in much the same way we see the tin man do for Dorothy and scarecrow. She is also a representation of Eddie (again I’ll go into this more later on)

Jordan is a reference to both the flying monkeys (through his telephone conversation he is implied to be a business monkey which is in turn a play on monkey business - behaviour that causes discomfort our annoyance) and the cowardly lion. He is also a reference to Chopfyt who only appears in the books and is a man made from the parts of others and is a reference to Tommy, which I will explain later as well!

its worth pointing out that Jordans viagra fuelled boner is hidden under a rainbow towel and when they get off the plane Tia, Jordan and the dog are sat on a yellow tarpaulin - the implication being that they are still in Oz and over the rainbow, but that isn't real life - its fake - a dream - and reaity will set back in once they are able to go home.

Buck has 2 red flares to bring the plane home - symbolic of the red slippers - click three times and say there’s no place like home.

There is a lot of yellow and blue lighting used in combination - especially around Buck and Eddie.

The green lighting on the plane after it has landed - a reference to leaving the Emerald city and Oz and going home.

Im sure there are others that I may have missed, but these are the key ones, and most of them will likely remain in play in some capacity in the upcoming episodes.

As for the potential upcoming oz references, we have the following

the tiger in 804 is likely a reference to lions and tigers and bears. Oh my! from the film, but may also be a reference to the hungry tiger from the books - who is a tiger who is never full and desires to eat a fat baby but never would as his conscience would never allow him to. He is described in the books as the largest and most powerful of his kind and is one of Ozmas chariot drivers and is friends with the cowardly lion. The Tiger reference coming in no place like home and the books connection of the tiger with Princess Ozma and the cowardly lion makes me feel like Karen may be represented by and paralleled with the tiger, and the idea that Karens conscience won’t allow her to metaphorically eat Ortiz (the fat baby) but that is purely speculation on my part!

the pumpkin stuck on a head storyline that’s been hinted at coming up in 805 - in the books there is a character called Jack pumpkin head who is made by the Princess Ozma when she is Tip and then brought to life by magic (Ozma is the rightful ruler of Oz and was given to the Witch Mombi of the North by the wizard in order to prevent he rightful ruler of Oz ascending the throne. Ozma is transformed into a boy called Tip by Mombi, but is later turned back when Glinda discovers what has happened). Im expecting this arc on the show to play into Jack’s storyline in the books. Jack refers to having lost a father when Tip is returned to being Ozma. I think we’ll see it played as a reference to Mara, Chim and Hen, because Hen is Very Ozma coded which I’ll explain a bit more later on!

Masks. with 805 being titled masks it feels very loaded towards the Wizard of oz and the fact he wears different masks (in the book) depending on who he is meeting with. He appears to Dorothy as a giant head (as we see used in the film), to the Scarecrow as a lovely lady, to the Tin Woodman as a terrible beast, and to the cowardly Lion as a ball of fire. He does this with the intention of scaring them all, but in all cases has chosen the wrong image to make the desired impression. there is of course the fact that the mask slips (the curtain gets pulled away by Toto) and the truth of the Wizard is revealed - that he is a fraud - merely a man who has been using magic tricks to make himself seem great and powerful.

these are just the ones we know about, there may very likely be more revered once we’ve seen the episodes, for example we might get a play on Eddie in church and going to confession - the idea of hiding ones identity behind a screen.

I want to talk a bit about the specifics of the firefam, and how they fit into the concept in a more detailed way. Obviously all members of the firefam fit into multiple aspects of each of the 4 main characters in Oz, but they each have one that has a stronger pull than the others. Each one of the characters in the books and film have specific traits that form their personality and a key part of their narrative - Dorothy wants to get home, The lion wants courage, the scarecrow a brain and the tin man a heart. These are all allegories for the bigger picture.

Dorothy wants to go home, yes, but that is part of her bigger desire to belong - the books reveal much more about her past and upbringing in Kansas. She is also the first person in the wider story - it is her journey that sets in motion all of the other ones.

The cowardly lion is in fact not cowardly, but incredibly brave, and a loyal friend, he is just full of self doubt because he believes his fear makes him inadequate as lions are supposed to be the king of beasts. we see him overcome that self doubt and go onto succeed - becoming a well respected and important member of Ozma'z court.

The scarecrow wants a brain but is in fact shown to be the smartest of the group - coming up with clever plans and sharing a great depth of knowledge the also becomes the ruler of the Emerald city - appointed by the wizard when he leaves, and it is stated by the tin man in one of the later books the he is ‘probably the wisest man in all Oz’

The Tin man wants a heart, but in fact is one of the most tender, emotional, considerate and caring people in Oz as well as being extremely competent and practical. He is also shown to seize up and rust due to either the rain or his tears. In the books he is given more backstory - his axe was enchanted by the wicked witch of the east and it causes him to chop off his body parts limb by limb. The witch does this because he is win love with her ward Nimmie Amee. when he chops out his heart he feels his could no longer love her and so left. he does later try to find his long lost love but is left disappointed when he finds her married to a man made up of his body parts and those of another tin man called Captain Fyter who had also been enchanted by the witch for the same reason. she refuses to leave her man of parts and tin man and scarecrow return to the emerald city together.

The Tin man and the scarecrow sit very much in parallel with one another in both the books and the 1939 film, they are very much a pair and shown to be each others foil and in the books especially spend a long time debating with one another about the relative importance of the brain and heart, but in combination with one another form a perfect whole.

With the main characters of Oz covered we can explore the way 911 is using their traits to tell the stories of our firefam, but before we do that I want to look at a few other key 911 characters and how they relate to the wizard of oz!

Bobby in my opinion is Glinda the good witch - he shares a lot of traits with her. It is Ginda who helps restore Oz (the 118) to its fully unified state - something that had ceased to be under the Wizard and the wicked witches rule in separate counties. She also tends not to meddle or interfere in Ozian matters unless requested to do so. This fits with bobby’s traits very well - he doesn’t tend to get involved in things unless pushed to do so or asked directly. Much earlier in Oz’s history Glinda also helps redeem the tyrannical king of Oz through the creation of the forbidden fountain and the waters of oblivion - the king drank the water and then forgets his cruel and nefarious intentions. bobby replacing Gerrard at the 118 fits fairly well into this theme.

Ortiz is an interesting one - she fits into bot the role of The wizard, as well as the wicked witch of the west. I think that Ortiz is the wizard in part because the name Ortiz can loosely be read a s a play on ‘wiz’ as in wizard, but also because she is the most powerful person in the show right now - and it is all built on lies and corruption - much like the wizard is in Oz! However as the film unfolds we are shown that the witch is in fact more powerful than the wizard, but is also eventually easily brought down. This is why I think she is also a reference to the wicked witch, but also because the witch controls the flying Monkeys - who serve as her lackeys and undertake her bidding.

Gerrard is both the Wizard of Oz and a flying monkey. I wrote above about the wizard hiding behind screens and masks and and Gerrard and I wrote about Gerrard building fences around the 118 being reference to the wizard building the emerald city. The flying monkey connection is obvious - he is working under Ortiz.

Tommy fits into a couple of different characters. He is in my opinion most closely connected to Chopfyt and Nimmie Amee, but he also fits into the meaning of the flying monkeys. Chopfyt is made up of the parts of the Tin woodman and Captain Fyter (the tin soldier) who are rivals for the attention of Nimmie Amee who is married to Chopfyt but was at one time courted by the tin man and the tin soldier. Captain Fyter and the Tin Woodman become friends during their journey to find Nimmie Amee. The flying monkey connection is perhaps a more obvious of the three, the monkeys are subservient to the wicked witch of the west and in the begins episodes we are shown Tommy being very much under Gerrard wing through his behaviour. It is also worth nothing that the flying Monkeys in the book drop the tin man over shape rocks leaving him so dented he could not move and they pull the scarecrow apart, scattering his straw and throwing his clothes up a tree - Dorothy is able to repair them both with the aid of the Winkies (the people under the control of the wicked witch of the west) and Dorothy then commands the flying monkeys to take them to the Emerald city.

The meaning of these character connections is clear to me - Tommy as Nimmie Amee courts first the tin man (Eddie) and then the Tin Soldier (Buck) but chooses Chopfyt in the long run. Tommy is made up of parts of both Buck and Eddie in the same way that Chopfyt is made up of parts of Tin man and Captain Fyter. The fact neither Tin man or the Tin soldier succeed with Nimmie Amee and that she choses Chopfyt is telling and possibly gives us clues about the eventual demise of Buck and Tommys relationship and suggests that as tommy fits both characters parts (both characters who are fairly small roles in the books and are plot devices - much in the same way as Tommy is in 911), he will ultimately choose himself (as we’ve already seen him do in 705).

Onto the 4 remaining members of the firefam, and I believe Chimney is for the moist part, meant to be Dorothy - he is the first member of the firefam in the same way Dorothy is, he fits a lot more of the Dorothy tropes from the book than the film shows, he is described as the heart of the 118 - which is basically what Dorothy represents in the books and film - she is the one who keeps everyone together, or brings them back together when they have been separated. And if we follow the theming of Gerrard being the wicked witch of the west, it becomes more apparent - in the books Dorothy is enslaved by the wicked witch and forced to carry out menial cleaning tasks - in much the same way we see Chim being treated by Gerrard in Chim begins. It is Chim who we are shown supporting Hen, Buck, and Eddie as they begin their careers at the 118.

The other thing of note - which currently doesn’t fully work, but will if, as I suspect, the wizard of oz references around Eddie are a part of his Queer journey - is that Chimney is the only one of the four members of the team (we are not including Bobby as he is the captain) who has no queer coding in any way and is in a heterosexual marriage. The reason this is important and plays into the idea of Chim being Dorothy is that the term ‘Friend of Dorothy’ is coded speak for being queer - I explain it further in my meta which I linked at the top of this post - the play is that Dorothy herself is not queer, but that her companions on her journey down the yellow brick road are. Which fits Chimney perfectly - with Hen and Buck being Lesbian and bi respectively and with the Wizard of Oz connections to Eddies storylines across the previous seasons and again in the current season being very loud, it feels fair to assume that Eddie will also sit somewhere on the queer spectrum before too long (and really is the reason behind me writing this insanely long post!)

Hen is the cowardly lion. We are shown Hen doubting her abilities at several points throughout the show, but she is arguably the bravest of the 118. The cowardly lion’s favoured companion is the hungry tiger (as I wrote about above - we may well see Karen paralleled with the tiger in 804)

But Hen is also Princess Ozma and this is a far more powerful connection. Ozma is the rightful heir to the throne of Oz and spent much of her childhood in the form of a boy called Tip as she had been enchanted by the witch Mombi until Glinda the good witch discovers the enchantment and forces Mombi to return her to her true form and take her rightful place as ruler of Oz. With Bobby filling the role of Glinda, helping Hen achieve her full potential and the allegory of Hen having to hide herself for much of her life until she becomes a firefighter - the wig we see Hen wearing in Hen begins plays into this idea perfectly - that Hen was disguised but has been freed from that disguise and become her true self.

Buck is the scarecrow. But he is also Toto and Captain Fyter. I explained the Captain Fyter connection above in the section on Tommy so I won’t repeat myself here. Buck is toto for a couple of reasons. Firstly we have the connection to the dog in the plane in season 8 who growls at Jordan and Tia tells him that the dog doesn’t like men, he then becomes friendly when Jordan is ill, but we see him returned to Tia when they leave the plane. this is all a allegory for Buck’s bi arc. Tia is Eddie in the scenario and Tommy is Jordan . The dog growling and being protective is akin to Buck growling and becoming jealous over Eddie and Tommys friendship, trying to keep Tommy away from Eddie, but then becoming friendly with Tommy in the same way the dog becomes friendly with Jordan in a therapy dog kind of way before returning to Tia at the end, implying that Buck will always go back to Eddie when it comes down to it. the therapy dog aspect is also interesting as it implies BUck is providing some kind of therapy for Tommy - this could be read as Buck helping Tommy learn and grown (likely in connection with his still undressed past behaviour) - makes him a better person, before they part ways and Buck ‘returns’ to Eddie.

Then there is the wizard of oz references - it is Toto who sets much of the plot of the wizard of Oz in motion - by biting Almira Gulch in Kansas in the film version and by hiding under the bed in fright in the book version. It is Toto who reveals the truth of the Wizard of Oz being just a man, and it is Toto who leads The lion, scarecrow, and tin man to where Dorothy is after she has been captured by the wicked witch (in the film - he is less involved in the book!) and it is toto who stops Dorothy from leaving with the Wizard and ultimately leads to Dorothy learning the slippers she wears can carry her home if she clicks her heels together 3 times and wishes to go home. All of these events either play into Bucks arcs in 911 or will potentially going forward. Bucks impulsive ways could be said to mirror Toto’s impulsive actions in TWoO and it will be interesting to see if being taken under Gerrard wing leads to him gaining information that helps Hen take down Ortiz!

The biggest connection though is with the scarecrow. The scarecrow has long been associated with bisexuality - due to his line in the film ‘of course some people go both ways’. in the book the scarecrow also reveals that he lacks a brain but greatly desires one - he is in fact only 2 days old when Dorothy meets him so he is essentially just naive because as the book progresses it becomes increasingly clear he actually is very intelligent and knows many things. One of the other aspects of the scarecrow is his ability to know his own limitations and in the books he becomes ruler of Emerald city, but hands the crown over to Princess Ozma enabling her to take up her rightful position as ruler of all Oz, becoming one of her most trusted advisors. Most of these are traits that Buck shares with the scarecrow - we see season 1 buck reflected in the naijvtie of a 2 day old scarecrow, but once he hits his stride, we see that Buck is actually very intelligent, full of knowledge (random facts wiki Buck!) and comes up with great ideas - things that are being very clearly demonstrated in season 8 so far. He is also becoming much much better at knowing his limitations and that is something I think we will continue to see develop in the way it does in the scarecrow across the books.

And finally we have Eddie. Eddie is the Tin man through and through. The heart metaphors that surround Eddie - especially in season 5 are a very obvious and direct link to the tin man. and Like I said above the Tin man is the most compassionate, sensitive and tender and caring people in Oz. He is incredibly practical and competent as well and undertakes the scarecrows plans readily. He and the scarecrow pair up a lot across the book series and go on adventures together, their heart and brains combining to lead them to success in nearly all cases. The tin man also becomes a trusted advisor to Ozma and is considered to be a fair and wise person in Oz. These are all things we see portrayed in Eddie. He has this tough exterior, but inside he is very soft and tender and he only reveals that side of himself to those he can trust. Eddies heart is a key part of Buck and Eddies dynamic especially in combination with Bucks brains - we are so often shown Buck having an idea and Eddie carrying it out because he trusts Buck - the perfume bee run is just the latest in a long line of them and it is a key aspect of the Tin man and Scarecrow in the Oz books. I’ve spoken above about the other aspects of the tin man and his connection with various characters, but it really is the tin man and scarecrow dynamic that is at the heart of things in the wonderful wizard of Oz book especially (pun intended!!).

All of it plays into the Oz theming we’re being shown in 911 having an important meaning and it is very much connected to Eddie far more than any other character. One can argue that the books - at their core - are about following your heart and letting it lead you to your truth and to home and that is the very heart of Eddies story. Carla’s line about making sure he’s following his heart and not Christophers rings very true, and we’ve reached a point now where Eddie has to follow his own heart, because Christopher is not in the picture and they’ve chosen to go very very hard with the wizard of Oz metaphors - building on the foundations they already created in previous seasons and now being able to bring them to fruition.

I could literally write about this all day, but this is already ridiculously long and I'm not sure it even makes sense at this point! It was only supposed to be a short post! So I’m stopping here and letting you all go back to your lives - thank you for reading especially if you've made it this far! and let me know your thoughts!💜💜💜🐝🌪🌈

Tagging a few random people just in case they're interested! @buddiediaz118 @buddie911abc @fruityfirehose @sunflowerdigs

@spotsandsocks @livingwherethesidewalkends @satvojihusana @inell @eddiedisasterdiaz @lemotmo @courtjestermerlin @lover-of-mine @lovecolibri

#kym writes very long meta!#long meta #sorry this wasn't meant to be this many words!#911 does the wizard of oz #911 abc #911 meta #the wizard of oz #the wizard of oz and queer narrative #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #911 spoilers

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alicentsgf · 3 months ago

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I think you are one of the few that don’t characterize Jackie as a total loser and a terrible leader. Like this girl led a team of underdogs to Nationals! I love Tai, but with her approach the team wouldn’t have made it to even the quarter finals. Unfortunately, what hasn’t been canonically established (as they did with Lottie) is that Jackie is depressed. The difference between the wilderness and the real world is that in the real world she had a facade to maintain and a goal to work towards, and her person by her side - and that does majorly help when you are depressed, it’s what makes you get up in the morning. In the wilderness she had no transferable skills (perfectionism doesn’t help matters here either), she then lost all hope (Laura Lee), and then she also lost Shauna. We never get to see what Shauna wrote in her diary, but I doubt Jackie would have been crying that much if it was only about Jeff and Brown. Shauna must have written something profoundly abhorrent about Jackie. And losing your person in that version of hell, when you also have a mental condition? Jackie had no chance.

oh my god this is so real. if i said it actually might be one of the only things i see that has the power to actually piss me off? luckily i dont see that characterisation of her very much because i curate my space pretty well.

what gets me is its so fundamental to understanding the show that people know how pivotal jackies downfall and death was to all of the characters, not just shauna. jackie was Influence, like coach martinez says in the pilot. specifically for the girls shes the influence of society/civilisation - its after her death that the wilderness religion and their new little, brutal society can actually form. (its why its so crazy to me they call on jackie to guide them, as if she was going to guide them anywhere but back home lmao) why do we think nat, the person who tries so hard to lead them home, is the one still referencing jackie as their captain even a year after her death? that to me is so clearly a comment on what jackie represents.

actually answered an ask before about jackies mindset and why, whilst being exceptional for elite sports, it maybe doesnt translate well to the wilderness: X

I know we only get an episode with the Jackie of before. the one whose seemingly in control, who has influence, who knows how to make everyone feel seen (except shauna, which is her downfall). so maybe people forget, but we're shown so clearly in that time who she is. what she can do. tai may have been a great strategist but honestly i can tell you right now that doesnt win you tournaments, togetherness does. your gameplan can be top shelf, but its not gonna work if your players dont have trust and an understanding of each other. jackie was who could bring that, as long as she had hope, something to actually fight for, but the crash, laura lees death, and shaunas betrayal took all of that. so like you say, ofc she only became more depressed. its funny, its as if people block out those scenes in the pilot from their minds or something. why did they think we were being shown jackie alone in her bedroom looking depressed as hell for so much of it if it wasnt to make a point about her mental state? like i fully believe if jackie hadnt frozen to death she would have tried to off herself the very next day, im literally not joking. the girl was so over it. i dont think she was being stupid by sleeping out there when she could literally see her breath in front of her face, i think she just didnt care anymore.

the truth is jackies innate qualities are why she had to die when and how she did, because this story just doesnt take place otherwise. if one or the other of laura lee and javi and crystal live no offence but the descent into ritualistic cannibalism still happens, the wilderness religion still takes hold. but it doesnt if jackie has purpose, wants to live, doesnt lose shauna. understanding why thats true requires you to understand who she was so idk how people who are fans of the show can mischaracterise her so badly.

#ask #anon #thank u for understanding her with me its fun in here #yellowjackets #yj thoughts #yj meta #jackie taylor

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koibitogata · 2 years ago

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hello hi wifi bet you won't do a scenerio where you're baking together with the pastas ‼️ I want messy ass kitchen shenanigans ‼️ who'd make a mess yet have delicious food? super clean but disgusting food?

if you don't wanna do this it's ok 🐧

hey penpen!! dw about it, since this scenario is a wholesome one i’ll try to write the wholesome fanon version of them so here goes

cw: wholesome. if you're looking for dark content, I'M SORRY word count: 482

toby would MESS THE FUCK UP like no joke the counter is full of flour there are chocolate chips everywhere. toby goes “CHOCOLATE CHIPS CHOCOLATE CHIPS—WOO!” it’s to the point you can’t tell if the whooping is real or if it’s a vocal tic.

the food you made comes out…decent. because all he did was just dump a full bag of chips into the cookie dough. no way in hell are you letting him touch the food. oh, but cleanup is going to be a pain.

ben can’t bake so he just watches you.

actually you don’t know if he can’t touch the stuff because he’s an apparition or if it’s because he just…doesn’t want to.

baking with ben is miserable. you cannot convince me otherwise. but he eats the food like a little bitch anyway.

bonus: he calls the whole mansion over to eat the cookies while you’re asleep so you have none left for breakfast/snacks tomorrow.

jeff… uh. i can see him absolutely torching the place. baking with him is barely baking, it’s more of trying to get him not to blowtorch the dough to bake it.

“y/n what if i blowtorch the whole thing” no. no, jeff. that’s not how it works.

but if you’re dating jeff, chances are you’re the type to let your intrusive thoughts win anyway.

there is no food when you’re done.

ej is actually decent!! he’s calm and collected and he knows what he’s doing. it’s more likely that you don’t know what you’re doing and he guides you.

oh, he stands behind you and gently holds your hands and guides you in kneading the dough, and you feel his breath on your neck and he says “yes, that’s it, darling. you’re doing so well.”

you’re too busy blushing by the end of it to actually savor the cookies. and all you can think of when eating the leftovers the next day is how he held you…

you’re saving baking with ej for a special occasion. your heart can’t handle this.

not sure if you want slenderman but i really cannot imagine him baking as the operator. but i did say it’ll be wholesome so here goes

slender’s tentacles basically do everything for you. “don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll do all the work. sit back and relax, my dear.” he reassures you that it’s not a burden and insists, but when you whine that it’s not fun when you don’t do it together, he lets up.

he still doesn’t let you do a lot of work though. but occasionally he’ll scoop up a bit of dough from the bowl and feed you, so you can’t complain.

if you decide to cheekily suck on his finger, he’ll chuckle.

“my dear, we can save that for later. it is unsanitary.” you pout as he washes his hands again.

the cookies come out delicious though. you can’t complain.

and he feeds you by hand. and you get to suck on his fingers playfully. you can’t complain.

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samicakes-exe · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, I loved the hatefucking jtk fic and I was wondering if you could do a part 2 where maybe he is jealous about something happening between the reader and someone else and he "reminds" the reader who she belongs to; or maybe into a crazy discussion jeff throatfuck the reader ( I'm sorry for being a lewd bitch and my lack in fantasy but your writing is so well done and is my first time requesting someone so feel free to consider or not my request :3 ) take care <3

AHHH! I am so happy that I am ur first request! and I hope that I make you proud hun! Also Dont apologize for being a lewd bitch! Lewd bitches are welcomed here!!! am very excited to make the Jeff fic into a little series! so without further ado here is the fic! going to start these specific type of fics with the title!

OKAY SO I MAY HAVE STORED THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY- um so imma just release it without editing it sooooo sorry to the jeff fuckers i’ll get better food to you soon pls 🧎‍♀️

words:

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʜᴜʀᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ? <3

(throat-fucking version!)

warning: Jealous toxic toxic Jeff. Roughness, dub-con???? probs dub-con im so sorry (maybe non-con i dunno i wanna make sure!!), a little bit of angst, tears, Public like you could get caught, throat-fucking, Jeff pushes your head. Afab reader, use of feminine pet names, only Jeff getting off. V toxic, Jeff is sweet at the end???, light aftercare, arguing/fighting, Barely edited rip

ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕝𝕚𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕪𝕒 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨:

Jeff is a man of many words (mostly insults) BUT my boy shuts up when his feelings are hurt.

You two's relationship is complicated.

Not quite boyfriend and girlfriend but also not only fuck buddies.

He feels entitled to you.

Sooo seeing you flirt with any other guy in the house sends him over the edge.

He wont confront you out right since he doesn't want anyone else in the house knowing he stands you.

So usually he grabs you when the others are busy- taking you off to a secret corner to have some fun

or HE WILL IGNORE YOU FOR THE REST OF THE DAY!

honestly it's a 50/50 chance

Tonight wasn't any different to the small hang outs the creeps occasionally do:

Tim and Brian managed to get their hands on some cases of beer.

BEN is playing music from his "perfected" party playlist

and everyone is having a good time!

except Jeff :(

He's watching you closely from across the living room, his grip on the red solo cup was tight.

You were in the corner with EJ, talking about whatever.

It didn't matter to him.

The lingering touches of Jack's arms.

How you stared up at him, batting your eyes.

How your giggles lasted a little while longer

You couldnt stop smiling

He hated it

He watched EJ slipped away and went over to grab another beer So Jeff made his way to you.

You weren't aware of him until he had his hand wrapped around your arm and roughly pulling you away.

★★★

𝕆𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕞𝕦𝕥!!!

The crowd was thinning out leaving red solo cups littering the floor. The music still pumped from a small speaker resting up on a bookshelf. There was BEN and LJ still hanging around near the drinks. A couple of other creeps spread out between you and Jeff.

He's kept an eye on you the entire night but now paying closer attention, You were curled up in the corner of the living room with Eyeless Jack close by chatting among yourselves with the same cheap beer in hand.

It put a sour taste in Jeff's mouth.

It was clockwork with every assumed joke, you giggled and playfully touched his arm and it lingered there before falling to your side. Jeff's jaw clenched, teeth pressing against teeth tightly.

Another joke and you were touching him again. This time on his upper arm, a smile stretched wide across your face as you nodded your excited agreement to whatever he said. Jeff couldn't hear over the music playing but the pit in his stomach grew with how long the touch was. He counted the seconds with how tense his jaw gotten by the time your hand dropped back to your side, it was clicking.

Jeff put the cup to his lips and swallowed the last bit of beer, swishing around in his mouth beforehand.

The solo cup ended up being tossed on the couch with a collection of others.

He couldn't pull his eyes away from you for long, watching how innocently you were batting your eyes up at EJ, leaning ever so closer when he spoke.

Whenever Eyeless Jack pulled away however, excusing himself to grab another lukewarm beer. A small pout pulled at the ends of your lips watching him now leave and talk with both LJ and BEN.

At the moment with the rest of the creeps distracted, Jeff strolled up to you and without a word he pulled you by the arm to the hallway.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked, keeping his voice hushed.

"What do you mean what I'm doing?" You asked mimicking the same tone as he was.

"Trying to fuck Jack." He said pointedly.

"Trying to... fuck.. Jack" You repeated it slowly, blinking blankly each time. "I can't have friends now?"

"Y/N Fuck off with that friends bullshit."

"Jeff we're not together." You reminded him. He was slowly starting to get on your nerves now, he always worked you up like this no matter what.

Jeff's squeezed his jaw tight, you were right and how he fucking hated it.

"Knees."

"Excuse me?"

"On your knees now, Y/N"

"As if Jeff... You know you're a real piece of wor-" You were cut off by him shoving you down, your knees buried in the itchy carpet.

"Shut up." He ordered, he wound your hair in his fist pulling it back to force eye contact. "We might not be together but I'm the only one that fucks you, got it?"

"Fuck you." You spat.

"Already did doll, so has every other guy in the house apparently."

You rolled your eyes but stayed on your knees. The bickering starting a warmth between your thighs which made you stay put right where you were. You watched him look around over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before his free hand went to his dress pants and fumbled around with the zipper.

You couldnt help but to giggle under your breath which made him yank your hair back.

"Shut up." Despite being a whisper his tone was harsh. With enough effort he finally pulled his hardening cock out of his jeans. "And open that pretty little mouth for me."

You stared up at him with your mouth shut tight and a cocky smile that pulled on your lips. You innocently bat your eyelashes up at him, watching his eyes narrowed.

"I'll make you." He threatened, his grip on your hair got tighter, the nails of his ever so slightly digging into your scalp.

You stayed staring up at him with your mouth tightly shut.

"I warned you." He muttered, a hand of his going and plugging your nose tightly.

Your eyes flew opened and you tried to keep your mouth shut for the longest time but you felt a deep burn build up to your lungs. Holding it in was making the burn climb up your throat. Finally you gave in, opening your mouth and taking the first greedy breath in.

"Good girl." Jeff chimed, and he quickly pushed his cock into your open mouth, pushing about halfway in. "Was that so hard?"

You looked up at him with your eyes narrowed and he reqarded your mean stare with another shallow thrust of his hips. He leaned his head back and moaned softly, forcing your mouth deeper on his cock.

You placed both hands on his thighs while gagging around his cock, eyes watering up when he hit the back of your throat with one deep push of his hips.

He looked back down at you, seeing how red your face has gotten only spurred him on, He quickened his thrusts into your mouth leaving you sitting and drooling all over his cock.

"God Doll." He moaned, pushing your head to meet with his thrusts. "I forgive you~ I forgive you~" He whispered cocky sorrys while he filled your throat.

He watched you drool on his cock, face red and a couple of tears cutting a cold line in them. You dug your nails into his thighs while you held on.

He wasn't going to last long, not that he cared.

"Oh fuck!" He whined out softly, now struggling to keep his voice low. He fucked your mouth faster, holding onto your head with both hands as he was nearing his release. He whispered out many intelligible praises and curses. "Cumming!" He grunted out.

With one final thrust deep in your throat he finally came, letting out soft moans as he gently pumped your mouth to make sure you had every last drop. Soon he pulled out, looking down at you. A cocky smile against his carved one.

"Was i to rough on you doll?" He asked, shoving himself back into his pants and zipping up before leaning down and offering you a hand.

You took it and he pulled you up. "No.. Could warn me next time." You laughed.

"Where's the fun in that?"

#jeff the killer x reader smut #creepypasta smut #smut #creepypasta x reader smut #jeff the killer smut

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yellowjacketsfashion · 8 days ago

Note

Any paper pages we can recreate?

I actually do have some! I just finished a few pages of recreating Jackie’s journal so I can explain how I did it!

Recreating Jackie’s Journal Part One:

I’ve previously identified the journal in a post here but other journals should work fine as an alternative. The pages on Jackie’s journal has 31 lines so if you wanted a more accurate journal I’d suggest looking for a journal with that amount of lines on it (that way it’s also proportionate).

Based on the sequence of the journal in 01x06 I believe this is the order of the pages in the show starting at the first lined page of the journal:

1. A Blank Page

2. My Top Songs

3. Favorite Movies

3. A Written Page (which you can’t really see)

4. Places I Want To Travel (only the backside is seen)

5. Mash

6. Movie Characters I Would Be

7. Shauna and Jackie’s Jeff Plan

The Mash and Travel Pages were recreated in a separate part of the journal for 02x01 as well though I haven’t pinpointed exactly where.

The page I started with is the Top Songs Page as it’s the first written one in the Journal. I found it helpful the start at the beginning because if I messed up I could just tear the page out and start over without messing up the page order.

Using the reference photos from the show I first sketched out the design with a pencil to make sure I got it right. You can’t see the entire page but I tried my best to recreate it while leaving room in case we ever see more of the journal page in the show.

Once I have the whole design sketched out I then go over it with marker and erase the pencil underneath afterwards. In the end this is how this page turned out:

The next page I recreated is the “Favorite Movies” Page.

This was actually a page I ended up having to redo because I didn’t wait to do the markers until I finished the pencil sketch. I miscounted the lines and ended up putting the hearts in the wrong spot and since I used marker I couldn’t go in and change it. I started over and the second version of the page ended up good. The reference photo also doesn’t show the whole page but more is seen in the show so I paused the show and looked at that for reference as well.

I kind of messed up with this one because my black pen didn’t dry down all the way before I erased the pencil so it kind of smudged in a couple spots. I didn’t really mind that much but that might be something to look out for when you recreate your own journal.

The last page I’ll cover in this part is the “Places I Want To Travel Page.” We never actually see the front of the page but the marker bled onto the back of it so when the image is flipped you see part of it. Based on what I can make out this is what I came up with:

I didn’t write the rest of the page but if we ever end up seeing it in the show I’ll add onto it.

I’m currently not finished with the journal but I’ll try to get the rest of the pages done so that I can get the next part out sooner rather than later! If anyone attempts to recreate the journal I’d love to see how your guys’s turn out!

#yellowjackets #props #jackie taylor #prop journal

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cosycryptid · 6 days ago

Text

Preparing for Battle - Part 2

Eddie has a favour to ask Steve. Also on A03: [Here] Part: 1 / 2 / 3

Eddie is met with three bewildered stares as he starts pacing the garage like a man possessed.

He’s still trying to process the fact that his entire worldview has just been flipped upside down by Steve Harrington, of all people singing Fleetwood Mac like it was second nature. His voice had been clear, steady, and somehow enchanting. And he’d done it while reading Tolkien, no less.

And then there was the aftermath. That weird, awkward, weird interaction where Steve had been—what, nice? Even though Eddie had stood there like a creep, gawking from the doorway, and then proceeded to knock over a standee like a total disaster. And Steve hadn’t even looked annoyed. He’d smiled. Offered to help.

Sure, that’s technically his job, but still.

Then he’d told Eddie to have a lovely afternoon. To enjoy band practice. And to come back. Specifically, to see him.

What was that about?

Eddie is met with three bewildered stares as he paces back and forth like a man on the edge.

“Okay, start explaining,” Gareth says, crossing his arms. “And maybe take a seat before you wear a hole in the rug.”

Eddie halts mid-step and flops dramatically into one of the mismatched chairs they keep around for post-practice hangouts. He stares at the floor, hands clasped like he’s about to deliver a eulogy. His mouth opens, then closes again. He separates his hands, knowing he’ll need them to gesture properly.

“So, I drive to Family Video to return a movie I borrowed last week, because the last thing I need is another late fee, right?” His eyes go wide. “Shit! I left without returning the tape!”

The others give him a look—the one they reserve for his tangents. The one that says, focus, man.

“I’ll deal with it later,” Eddie waves it off. “Anyway. I walk in, and who do I see but his royal highness, King Steve Harrington. And get this—he’s reading The Fellowship of the Ring.”

“No way,” Jeff says, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, fucking way, Jeff,” Eddie insists. “Didn’t even look up when the bell rang. Just leaned over the counter, totally absorbed.”

“Wow,” Gareth says. “He must’ve been really into it. I never would’ve pegged Harrington as a Lord of the Rings guy.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Eddie agrees, throwing his hands up. “And then the next thing I know, Harrington opens his mouth and starts singing along to a Fleetwood Mac song on the radio, and his voice is somehow better than the studio version. Because of course it is. Because he’s Steve Harrington and everything he does is effortlessly perfect.”

“Fleetwood Mac have some good music,” Jeff points out. “It’s probably not that hard to make it sound decent.”

“Jeff, you don’t understand,” Eddie says, like he’s trying to convince someone Bigfoot is real. “I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the single most beautiful singing voice I’ve ever heard in real life. Ever. Do you know how many live gigs I’ve been to? That’s out of a lot of voices.”

Gareth narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t just have a big old crush on the guy?” he asks. “Because, I’m not going to lie, you sound like you’re in love with him or something.”

“I’m sure, Gareth. I do have standards,” Eddie scoffs, clearly offended. “It’s not like I go around swooning at the feet of every objectively attractive man in a ten-foot radius just because I happen to like guys.”

Silence.

Eddie blinks. Shit. He just called Steve objectively attractive. And now the guys are giving him that look—the one with the raised eyebrows that says oh really?

Time to pivot.

“I also happen to have two perfectly functioning ears,” he says quickly, “and I know what I heard. Are you seriously about to question my ear for music? Mine? Be careful how you answer that, because I can and will kill your characters off at the next Hellfire session.”

The others roll their eyes, already used to Eddie’s flair for the dramatic. Crisis: narrowly averted.

“Okay, so... ask him if he’ll sing for us at Battle of the Bands,” Jeff suggests.

Eddie stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m not just gonna saunter up to King Steve and ask him to join Corroded Coffin, Jeff.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?!” Eddie repeats, eyes wide, like Jeff just asked why he’s never tried out for the football team. “Because our band is a sacred space, and we don’t need any ex-jocks contaminating it with their sweaty jockstrap, ‘I can throw a ball real high so everyone else is beneath me’ meathead energy.”

“I don’t think he’s like that anymore,” Gareth says. “Do you not remember his almost legendary plummet off the social ladder? I think even we’re more popular than he is these days.”

“Yeah,” Jeff nods, the traitor. “And that Henderson kid talks like the sun shines out of Harrington’s ass. So, he’s probably cool now.”

“Forgive me for not taking Henderson’s word as gospel on who’s cool.”

“You know what I mean,” Jeff rolls his eyes. “The kids think he’s a nice guy. And he never did anything to us. That was his jerk friends, who he ditched years ago. It’s not like he could control them.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “Okay, but he’s still a pretty, preppy, privileged rich boy. That’s not exactly metal.”

The others pause, clearly considering it. Then Gareth shrugs.

“I mean, we might have to teach Harrington what real music sounds like and corrupt him a little before we let him on stage. Maybe give him a makeover so we don’t get laughed out of the venue. But if he’s chill? And if it gives us a shot at the prize money? I don’t see why not.”

Eddie tries very hard to ignore the fact that Gareth just said corrupt and Harrington in the same sentence. But Gareth isn’t done.

“Plus, like you said, a lot of people think he’s hot. That might give us an edge over the competition.”

Absolutely diabolical.

“Yeah, we can’t underestimate the impact of having an ‘objectively attractive’ guy as our lead singer,” Jeff adds with a grin. “On the ladies—and probably a fair few of the guys in the audience, too.”

Eddie glares at them, but he doesn’t have a comeback. Unfortunately, they have a point.

“Okay, you’ve got me there,” he mutters, pointing a finger at them before letting it drop. “I do really want to win this year. We could use the prize money to upgrade our gear. Maybe even book studio time if we’re lucky.”

He tries not to get carried away with the thought. It’s too easy to imagine them on tour, playing real venues, maybe even buying Wayne a house someday to thank him for everything. Too easy to picture being the pride of Hawkins instead of its punchline. Too easy to hope for a future where cute guys are throwing themselves at him in green rooms instead of dragging him into alleyways for a sloppy, regrettable kiss and a threat to keep quiet.

“Exactly,” Jeff says. “And we haven’t had any luck with the two people who did audition. Don’t make me remind you about the tone-deaf guy with the body odor. Are you seriously saying you’d rather be stuck in a small space with him than Steve Harrington, who probably smells like expensive shampoo and sunshine?”

Eddie groans. “Please stop talking.”

He really doesn’t need to be thinking about how Steve Harrington smells. And he definitely doesn’t want to remember the other guy. That audition had left a scent so strong Eddie had to shower just to feel human again. The guy had taken rejection badly, insulted them, and stormed out—leaving behind a memory Eddie would rather bleach from his brain.

The cringe that rolls through him is full-body.

“It’s worth a try, at least,” Gareth suggests. “If he turns out to be a dick, we can just kick him out again, and you’ll get to say, ‘I told you so’ for the rest of time.”

“You agree with them?” Eddie turns to their fourth bandmate, who just shrugs and makes a non-committal noise. Eddie groans and drops his head into his hands, already bracing for future awkward encounters with Steve Harrington. “Okay, okay, fine. I see your point.”

“Good, so you’ll talk to him?” Jeff asks.

“I’ll try,” Eddie mutters. He already knows he’s going to regret this. “But how am I even supposed to bring it up? I think that interaction we had half an hour ago was the first actual conversation I’ve ever had with him, and now I’m supposed to convince him to join our band?”

If you could even call that mess a conversation, his brain adds unhelpfully.

Gareth taps his chin like he’s thinking hard.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Eddie mumbles.

“Shut up,” Gareth says, giving him a light kick. “You still have that video to return, right?” Eddie nods. “Then go return it and ask him. Just, like... be cool about it.”

“When am I ever not cool?” Eddie asks. The other three stare at him. “Don’t answer that.”

They keep staring.

“What?” Eddie asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh my god, just go ask him!” Jeff groans, grabbing Eddie’s arm and pulling him out of the chair.

“Wait, you want me to go now?” Eddie’s eyes go wide.

“Yes!” Gareth says. “Family Video’s still open for a couple more hours. Go now, ask him, and come back with an update.”

“But—” Eddie protests as Jeff and Gareth start pushing him toward the door. “I need time to prepare!”

“Prepare what?” Gareth asks, shoving him gently. “Go strike while the iron’s hot!”

Eddie resists, flailing dramatically and grabbing the doorframe like it’s a lifeline. But it’s two against one, and his friends are relentless.

“Alright! Alright! You win!” he yells. They stop pushing, all three of them panting from the effort.

“You’ve got this, man,” Jeff says, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Who knows?” Gareth smirks. “If Harrington’s reading fantasy novels now, maybe he’s open to trying all kinds of new things.”

They both wiggle their eyebrows at him. Eddie glares.

“I swear, I will open your fucking minds right now if you don’t stop,” he hisses.

“Go!” Jeff laughs.

“Fine!” Eddie snaps. “I’m going.”

He storms off toward his van, ignoring their laughter behind him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, turning the key in the ignition and glancing at the video tape on the passenger seat. “Let’s get this shit show over with, I guess.”

His friends owe him. Big time.

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

When Eddie peers through the window of Family Video, he’s surprised to see Robin Buckley inside.

She’s not wearing her usual ugly green jacket, and she’s dressed a little too nicely to be working, which makes Eddie think she must’ve stopped by just to see Steve. Huh. He wouldn’t have pegged the two of them as close beyond the forced proximity of their shared job.

They’re bickering about something over the counter, but it looks like the friendly kind—the kind Eddie and his bandmates fall into when they’re killing time. Both of them are smiling wide.

Eddie’s never seen Steve wear an expression like that before. It suits him. Makes him look younger and lighter, like he’s not trying to impress anyone, just being himself. Honest. Free.

He needs to stop thinking about this. He’s standing outside like a creep, and if they look up and see him staring, he’ll never recover.

He pushes open the door. The bell chimes overhead, and both of them stop mid-conversation to look up at him.

“Oh,” Steve says, his smile noticeably smaller than it was a few seconds ago. The awkward tension creeps back into his posture. “You came back.”

“Um, yeah,” Eddie replies, trying not to squirm under Robin’s curious stare. “I, uh... forgot to return this.” He lifts the tape and gives it a little wave.

“Right,” Steve nods. “Sure, bring it over. I can take care of that.”

Robin’s still watching him like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, and Steve looks like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

Fuck it, Eddie thinks.

If he’s going to be spending more time around Harrington, he needs to stop acting like a nervous wreck. Time to fake it till he makes it. A little extra charm wouldn’t hurt—especially if he’s about to ask for a favor.

Man, I wish I could roll for persuasion in real life.

He relaxes his shoulders, flashes his most confident smile, and strides up to the counter like he owns the place.

“I also remember a certain someone asking me to come back and see them,” he says, sliding the tape across the counter with just the tips of his fingers. “And who am I to ignore such a sweet request—especially from Hawkins royalty?”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, but then his shoulders relax. He shakes his head and lets out a quiet, amused huff. “Haven’t you heard, Munson? I’ve officially abdicated the throne,” he says with a smile, picking up the tape.

That’s promising. Steve seems to respond well to casual teasing, which means Eddie doesn’t have to tiptoe around him. That’s... nice. He can work with that. He’s going to be chill. Totally casual about this whole thing.

“That’s a shame,” Eddie says, leaning on the counter. “I bet that magnificent hair of yours would’ve looked great under a crown.”

He almost adds a wink but pulls back at the last second. No need to risk crossing the line between friendly banter and something that might get him punched. Robin suddenly makes a choking sound beside them, and Eddie briefly panics that he already has.

But then Steve laughs. Actually laughs. And Eddie feels way too proud of himself for being the one to make that happen.

“Shut up,” Steve says, rolling his eyes but still smiling. “No one around here appreciates the importance of good hair care. I thought you might be different—your hair always looks nice.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. It’s barely a compliment, but he’s blushing like a teenager with a crush. He refuses to entertain that thought.

“Aww, you really think it looks nice?” he says, twisting a lock of hair around his finger and fluttering his lashes with a grin. “You flatter me too much, Harrington.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Steve replies, matching his grin. “You know exactly how pretty you are, Munson.”

Steve turns to do something on the store computer, which is just as well, because Eddie is absolutely floundering. He glances to the left, trying to look like he’s casually browsing the shelves—but Robin is standing there, staring at him like she’s trying to read his soul. He immediately abandons that plan.

The radio catches his eye. Right. He’s supposed to be asking about the band thing.

Get it together, Munson.

“So, Harrington,” he says, leaning against the counter in what he hopes is a laid-back, totally-not-panicking way. “Ever thought about singing in a band?”

Steve’s back goes ramrod straight.

Oh no. Mistake. Mistake.

“Steve. Singing. That’s a good one,” Robin snorts, like Eddie just told the funniest joke she’s heard all week.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. So... people don’t know about Steve’s voice. That’s interesting. And kind of a shame. He always figured Steve for the type who’d flaunt any talent he had. Maybe Dustin’s been right about him all along.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve says suddenly, voice tight. “Can you give us a second?”

“Yeah, of course,” Robin says, her expression shifting to something softer, more serious. “I wanted to check something out in the back anyway.” She reaches over and gently touches Steve’s forearm. “Call me if you need me, okay, dingus?”

Steve nods, and she disappears into the back.

He sighs and turns to face Eddie. The look on his face is... not great. Anxiety coils in Eddie’s chest like a snake, and his pulse starts thudding in his ears.

Oh no. This is it. I’ve messed up.

“Look, man,” Steve starts, stepping closer and meeting Eddie’s eyes. “If you came here to make fun of me, I get it. I deserve it. I really do.”

Eddie blinks, stunned. “Whoa, whoa, hold up. I’m gonna have to stop you right there, Harrington. Why would you think I’m making fun of you?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look confused.

“You’re not trying to get back at me for high school? For catching me singing like a total loser earlier?”

Steve looks so unsure, so vulnerable, and something about it hits Eddie right in the chest. It feels wrong—like seeing a kicked puppy. He never wants to be the reason Steve looks like that again.

He reaches out and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve glances at it but doesn’t pull away. Eddie takes that as a good sign.

“Steve, I have nothing to get back at you for. You haven’t done anything to me,” he says gently. Then, after a beat, “You know what? Fuck it.”

He pulls his hand back—pointedly not thinking about how Steve’s eyes follow the movement—and takes a breath.

Time to lay it all out.

“I came here to ask if you’d do me a huge favor and join Corroded Coffin as our lead singer. My friends heard me talk about how amazing your voice is, and now they won’t let me live in peace unless I ask you. Battle of the Bands is in two months, and we’re kind of desperate. There’s a cash prize, and we’d split it evenly. It doesn’t have to be permanent—just a temporary thing.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. His lips part slightly in surprise.

Eddie catches himself looking. Briefly. Barely.

“You think I have an amazing singing voice?” Steve asks, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it.

“If I’m being honest,” Eddie says, “I think my exact words were ‘the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in real life,’ which is very high praise coming from me, Harrington. Believe me—I know what good music sounds like.”

“Steve,” he replies. “Just call me Steve.”

“Okay, Steve,” Eddie smiles. “My point is, you’ve got a real talent. And I think it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“I—” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Eddie. That’s really... that’s really nice of you.” He smiles, soft and a little shy, like it’s just for Eddie. But there’s still something hesitant in the way he holds himself.

“You don’t have to say yes right now,” Eddie offers. “But how about this—you come by my trailer tomorrow, or whenever you’re free, and I’ll show you some of our songs. You can try them out, see how you feel. No pressure. No bandmates yet. Just me and you. And I’ve already heard you sing, so you’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

Normally, Eddie wouldn’t dare suggest a jock might be nervous about anything. But there’s something different about Steve—something softer, more self-aware. Eddie wants to handle that with care.

“Would that be okay?” Eddie asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Steve takes a second too long to answer, and Eddie braces for disappointment.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I can do that. I’m free at 5 p.m. on Thursday. Does that work?”

Eddie blinks. “Really?!”

“Yes, really, Eddie,” Steve laughs.

“Cool. Yes. Thursday at 5 is perfect.” Eddie grins, unable to stop himself. “Do you have a pen and paper I can borrow?”

Steve reaches under the counter and hands him a pen and a stack of neon yellow post-it notes. “Here,” he says, turning back to the computer.

“Thanks,” Eddie replies, scribbling down his details as clearly as possible.

He only looks up when Steve lets out a low whistle.

“You have a lot of late fees, man.”

Eddie blushes like a tomato. “Um, yeah, sorry about that,” he winces. “I’m trying to be better, but I just forget. I almost forgot to bring this one back after everything earlier.”

“It’s all good. I’ll just cancel them real quick,” Steve says, way too casually.

“Wha—seriously?” Eddie sputters.

“Yeah, dude, it’s no big deal,” Steve replies. “What Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“You could lose your job.”

“He wouldn’t fire me or Rob,” Steve shrugs. “He’d have to start talking to customers more often if he did that.”

“Okay, but only if you’re absolutely sure it won’t get you fired,” Eddie says, surrendering.

“I’m sure,” Steve says, clicking a few buttons. “There. It’s like you never took them out in the first place.”

“Steve Harrington, breaking the rules for me,” Eddie says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock scandal. He holds out the post-it between two fingers. “This is my address. I also put my number on there; in case you need to reschedule or anything.”

Then, with a smirk: “Although maybe you shouldn’t spend too much time with me. If a few minutes has you breaking company policy, I might be a bad influence on your pristine reputation.”

Steve takes the post-it with a smirk of his own. “That’s good,” he says. “Because I don’t care about having a pristine reputation anyway.”

Eddie slips out of the store with a grin and doesn’t let it drop until he’s safely back in his van. Once the door’s shut behind him, he punches the air in victory.

His chest feels light—fluttery, even—on the drive back to his friends’ place. He doesn’t even care that they’re probably going to be unbearably smug.

He has a good feeling about this.

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