#if it's mentioned it must be foreshadowing

[thegraininessofitall]

“What about Tolya? Aren't you worried about how he'll find us now?” “Unless he starts reciting epic poetry to Zoya, he'll be fine.”

Lewis Tan as Tolya Yul-Bataar & Sujaya Dasgupta as Zoya Nazyalensky

Shadow and Bone season 2 (2023 ) | E05

#lewis tan #sujaya dasgupta #shadow and bone #season 2 #sabedit #tvgifs #tvedit #showgifs #showedit #2020s #me myself and gifs #well now they have to include a scene of tolya reciting epic poetry to zoya if the show gets a third season #i'm sorry i don't make the rules #if it's mentioned it must be foreshadowing #is what i like to tell myself #apparently these two are not a pairing i should be absolutely obsessed with yet here i am

[ofswordsandpens]

Okay compiling my most critical opinions on the pjo show so far (episodes 1 & 2)

The Gods' Conflict, Foreshadowing, & Big Three Kids

The show has seemingly dropped a lot of the foreshadowing and threat regarding the gods impending war over the theft of the lightning bolt. In the book, Percy remarks about how the weather's been inexplicably weird and extreme. When he gets to camp everyone is on pins and needles about something and they don't want to talk about it but its still very present. By the time he's claimed as a son of Poseidon and everyone's like "oh fuck" and then Chiron finally explains to Percy that the gods think he's the lightning thief, everything clicks into place for the reader. It all makes sense why everything seems so wrong... because things are wrong. Meanwhile in the show, that doesn't carry through as much, so the reveal of the conflict between the gods and why that's a big deal falls flat in comparison imo.

They dropped/stalled the foreshadowing of the fates and the cutting of the string. They could very well include this in future episodes, and probably will, but I think the timing of it - Percy seeing this before he even knew he was a demigod - again carries some hefty significance and helped set the foreboding tone of things being wrong even from the beginning.

They did drop Zeus's attack on Percy in the minotaur battle completely, which does disappoint me. In the book, its lightning that blasts the car off the road. In the show, Sally seemingly loses control of the car. That change is pretty significant, because it's again losing the power of RR's foreshadowing in the book. The attack on Percy outside the camp borders was a duel attack from Zeus and Hades.

Finally, I don't like the changes they made to Percy's claiming scene, namely, the reaction from the rest of CHB. Percy being a son of Poseidon is a huge deal. When Percy's claimed, the attitude is very much begrudging reverence paired with genuine fear of what it means and what he represents. In the book, Percy is claimed. People gasp. Everyone kneels. Annabeth says, "This is really not good." In the show, Percy is claimed. People... stand there? Annabeth smiles - she's going to get her quest. The only person who has the most outright negative reaction is Luke. I won't go so far to say this is out of character for Annabeth, but it is focusing on an entirely different aspect of her character in the moment, and what the audience gets from Percy's claiming scene here, the tone, is now different from the book. Basically, the reverence and fear don't really carry across to the show, which I think is important.

The phrase "forbidden child" slaps tho.

2. Gabe's Characterization, Sally's Characterization, & Why the Changes do Make a Difference

I'm going to say this with great care: The show has absolutely depicted an abusive relationship between Sally and Gabe. The show has shown Sally to be a strong woman who would do anything for her child. The show has shown Gabe to be a controlling, toxic man.

What they have depicted in the show does not read like the characters and dynamic in the books.

Book Gabe is a violent, menacing drunk. He is so disgusting and vile that monsters avoid him. This is overwhelmingly apparent from the second Percy gets home in the book, even before he is aware of the physical abuse Sally has been facing. Percy has already been dealing with physical abuse from him, amongst other things (edit to be more specific: this is including verbal, emotional, & financial abuse). I've already spoke to it here, in-depth, so I'll try to keep it short but all of this has not been translated accurately to the screen. (Is this to say that a person must be overtly abusive to be abusive? No. But does this character on-screen feel like Smelly Gabe? No.) These things have shaped Percy (and Sally) in very specific ways. As others have mentioned: Percy cannot stand alcohol. He meets Dionysus and is reminded of his step-father. He gets to Tartarus and the air reminds him of Gabe.... The character on screen, while abusive, does not share this presence at all, and that makes a difference.

Edit: To emphasize once more, I am not saying that the show has not depicted a realistic portrayal of abuse. It has (verbal, emotional, & financial so far). It has also distinctly changed the tone and Gabe's presence from the book, to the extent that it no longer feels like the same character and that does have a rippling effect on the dynamics he shares with both Sally and Percy.

3. The Lack of Annabeth

Annabeth in the show is just like... really not as present as she is in the book so far, and I'm just kinda like, why lol?

Annabeth in the books is already way more involved in Percy's life. She was in the infirmary feeding Percy ambrosia after the attack (ulterior quest motives lol), she's the one who lead Percy around camp and re-explained godly parentage to him - and its a moment where she's very sincere with him, and even trying to help him! Instead these moments are given to Chiron and Luke, which I do get the merit of, but still, these were her moments!

Annabeth in the books had already surmised that the gods were fighting, something was stolen, and the something bad was going to happen, all before Percy had even been claimed. And she shared that with him! Again, the loss of foreshadowing and little bonding moments has me :(

I'm a little worried how they're going to deal with her crush on Luke because its pretty central to her character in the books! It helps Luke to manipulate her and also keeps her from admitting he's done something wrong. Also, it was very sweet and funny reading her get flustered - It drove home the point that she was just a kid with a crush that she didn't know how to handle. But in the show Luke spoke to her and I was expecting there to be some sort of reaction to it and there just... wasn't? (This is not something I'm laying at Leah's feet btw! Only the writers/directors!) We're only two episodes in tho so maybe we'll see it some more moving forward.

4. The Minotaur Battle

Again, I've already spoken about this in depth here but !!

The lack of Zeus's lightning strike, them all coming to a standstill and just chatting instead of running for their lives, Grover being awake and just sort of off to the side watching the fight, Sally being like "Promise Me Grover Swear it"... it all just doesn't ring right to me

I wanted more panic, more terror, more urgency. Higher stakes. I wanted Grover unconscious, I wanted to see Percy drag him into camp, and I wanted to see more of Percy's grief alongside his rage. Like the book did.

The pacing in the show here, and just overall, is weird

5. Other Stuff

Mrs. Dodds fight kind of fell flat too. It was honestly too sudden and Percy killing her in the show seemed even more accidental than in the book lol. Like, accidental impalement vs intentional swing of the sword.

They really had show Grover throw Percy to the wolves and not just gaslight him, but low-key have a part in getting him expelled? Not sure how I feel about it tbh.

More New York. I wish we had gotten the part of Percy taking the bus home with Grover included cause like? Him ditching Grover was funny, but it would have been the perfect opportunity to show Percy traveling through New York and establish it has his home. Shots of him looking at the city, walking the streets, interacting with people near his building.. yeah.

More Montauk too tbh. Like more shots of him and Sally on the beach rather than just the cabin.

Nectar and Ambrosia! Unless I missed it, which I might have, why have we still not gotten an onscreen depiction of it yet lmao.

#I'll add more tags/thoughts to this later lmao but! #pjo adaptation #pjo #percy jackson #pjo show crit #had to expand more on Gabe cause im already getting comments like: /you know there's more abuse than physical right?/ #yes #I never said there wasnt #I never said that was the only form of abuse percy and sally faced #I said both show Gabe and book Gabe are abusive #but its played differently #tone wise #presence wise #and that matters

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

One thing I’m seeing on this re-read of Dracula Daily that I’m already really enjoying, it’s all the little details we didn’t catch before

When we first started we didn’t know who Jonathan Harker was and to us he was just a silly little British man who was ignoring the obvious warning signs, so there was a comedic element to the dramatic irony of him going to Castle Dracula

But now that we know who Jonathan is and we care about him, it hits much harder all the subtle horror elements we missed while focusing on this good friend telling us about his travels

From the first entry, people picking up on the dog barking under his window and being like “is that Dracula? Does it start this early?” Being skeeved out by Dracula’s overly familiar letter to Jonathan, which at first seemed perfectly reasonable except for the name attached at the end, and picking up on all the terrible foreshadowing for what will be Jonathan’s living hell over the next month in his Castle.

And people this time picking up on the bravery of the wife of the innkeeper who gave him a crucifix, begging him to stay or wait, to not go to the castle, of the terror of knowing that Dracula was in correspondence with her husband to get the letter to Jonathan and the sort of subtle threat they must be under at all times, of the significance of “for your mother’s sake” knowing what Dracula does to children. She is no longer perceived as a random background character, but an active player forced to be a bystander who is trying desperately to help this ignorant soul in any way she can even if she knows it might be useless.

I love people realizing Jonathan is skeptical and off-put, but not enough to deter his mission. He’s not oblivious, just making an effort to remain open-minded to the culture and superstitions and beliefs he is not familiar with, since he’s aware it will be wildly different from his own (to the best of his ability for being an Englishman from the 1890s) and pointedly dismissing the things that might be red flags as an attempt to rationalize because nothing truly concerning has happened yet to provoke him to leave, and he doesn’t want to be deterred by something he’s getting worked up for for no reason yet, he couldn’t do his job otherwise and people are depending on him

Idk, I just like this deeper analysis and thought now that people are already familiar and attached to his character, and now know what happens, so they can properly point out when something is foreshadowing later events or themes in the novel, and they can pick up on it quicker

Even something as simple as people noticing the other meals mentioned in the first entry because of all the focus on Paprika Hendl last year makes me happy :)

I like that they are giving our protagonist more credit now, knowing the character he turns into later in the novel (a badass)

It is satisfying :)))

#dracula daily #Dracula daily may 4th #dracula daily 2023 #re: dracula #dracula #jonathan harker #Dracula meta #Dracula analysis #dracula daily may 3rd #paprika hendl #Dracula innkeeper’s wife #my post #original post #skele talks #my analysis

[milling-around]

The Bad Batch Finale and Joel Aron’s cryptic tweet

Okay so Joel Aron, Director of Cinematography Lighting & VFX at Lucasfilm, tweeted this:

Initially, I thought that this was going to be the runtime of S3E15 The Cavalry Has Arrived. This episode being longer would make sense as it’s the finale of the show and it’s close in length to S1E1 Aftermath. However, I saw a screenshot floating around the other day that says the runtime of the final episode “spans 24 to 25 minutes”.

If this episode is the typical length then this timestamp must be referring to a different piece of media. The question is, what media? In an effort to determine what could happen in the finale, I went to that point in the films to see what I would find. None of them strike as much fear in me as what’s happening in A New Hope.

The Phantom Menace - Anakin has just won the pod race and they are celebrating his victory.

Attack of the Clones - Jango Fett and Boba Fett have just attacked Obi-Wan with seismic charges.

Revenge of the Sith - Anakin is looking out over Coruscant from the Jedi Council room. He has just revealed to Mace Windu that Palpatine is a Sith.

A New Hope - Before leaving to disable the tractor beam on the Death Star, Obi-Wan delivers a line which may foreshadow what’s to come in The Bad Batch.

Empire Strikes Back - Luke is trying to lift the ship out of the swamp on Dagobah.

Return of the Jedi - Luke, Han, and Chewbacca, along with the droids, are captured by the Ewoks.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars - Anakin and Ahsoka are heading towards Tatooine to deliver Jabba’s son back to him.

At 01:09:56:01 in A New Hope, or as close to it as I could get (Disney+ sucks) this is what we see:

Sorry it’s a photo of my computer, I don’t know how y’all take screenshots of Disney+.

“Your destiny lies along a different path from mine.”

Many people have been theorising that the show could end with the Batch and Omega surviving but being separated, either by choice or by circumstance. This line from A New Hope, as well as the fact that Omega’s voice actor, Michelle Ang, has described the ending as “bittersweet”, definitely make that a solid theory.

Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree though. There’s also speculation about whether Omega is force sensitive, so maybe Luke using the force in Empire Strikes Back is the real clue. Despite Ventress not believing Omega to have a high m-count, and her not being one of Hemlock’s designated m-count specimens, we have seen characters with a low m-count who were capable of wielding the force. Sabine Wren, for example.

Still, Omega being force sensitive doesn’t prevent the theory that she gets separated from the Batch from being true. It could actually be a reason for that separation because she may pursue training or decide that her proximity to the Batch endangers them.

But wait, there’s more!

At this timestamp in S1E1 Aftermath, Omega is on the Marauder with the Bad Batch (minus Crosshair) and they’re setting off on what will be her first big adventure. Omega’s Theme is playing and she’s gazing out at space with child-like wonder. While they’ve just parted ways with Crosshair, the overall feeling in this scene is hopeful.

If the tweet is referring to this episode, it could mean that we get a wholesome Bad Batch family moment. Whether Tech is there or not may rely on CX-2 being unmasked. Perhaps it’s bittersweet because Tech truly is dead or because he’s alive but they cannot save him from the Empire. Or maybe it’s bittersweet for a whole host of other reasons.

Honourable mention

@kiffobaby also looked into what is happening at this timestamp if you combine the runtimes (including credits) of all episodes in clone relevant story arcs and didn’t really find anything of note. If credits were removed then it would put at us a different point in the arc, however it’s unlikely that we’d be looking for a timestamp in an arcs combined duration anyway.

If you’ve read this far, I love you and don’t worry, we’re almost done.

Secret 16th episode?

Seasons 1 and 2 each had 16 episodes which leads me to speculate that this timestamp could actually be the runtime of the final episode, a secret 16th episode.

Is it likely? No. Can I dream? Yes.

#star wars #star wars the bad batch #star wars the clone wars #the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #sw tbb #tbb spoilers #the clone wars #the bad batch spoilers #star wars rebels #the bad batch speculation #star wars the phantom menace #star wars attack of the clones #star wars revenge of the sith #star wars a new hope #star wars empire strikes back #star wars return of the jedi #hunter tbb #hunter the bad batch #tech the bad batch #tech tbb #echo the bad batch #echo tbb #wrecker the bad batch #wrecker tbb #crosshair the bad batch #crosshair tbb #omega the bad batch #omega tbb

[the-magiarcheologist]

The Forgotten Witch

Let me tell you the tale of the Forgotten Witch.

Chapter 1: The Prophecy

First of all, do you know Sylvia Pembroke? She is a seer in one of the portraits in the Grand Staircase.

Throughout the game she makes different prophecies that foreshadow events in the game:

"Ancient secrets bring forth an age of magic with the rise of a new hero."

This one is about the whole plot of the game.

"I can sense someone close to you needs your help. Someone with the initial "S"."

That one is obviously about Sebastian.

"When what was lost has been found, the brother's betrayal will turn the tides of war."

That's when Lodgok finds the last of Bragbor's journal and tries to bring it to the MC. Ranrok discovers that he betrayed him, takes the journal and kills him. And by getting hold of the last journal this turns the tides of the war since Ranrok now knows where to find the last repository.

"When mentor and student collide a path must be chosen."

I think that one is about the final choice of the player, whether we follow the path of the Keepers and keep the repository closed and secret or we follow Isidora's path and try to use the ancient magic in the repository.

I think all of her prophecies can be explained by event in the game. And then there is this prophecy:

"When the forgotten one's true power is revealed bonds of trust will be broken."

And for this one, I couldn't think of a straighforward, obvious interpretation for it. And trying to find out who exactly this "forgotten one" is has lead me down quite the rabbit hole...

Now, the first thought is: the forgotten one must be Isidora. After all, all mentions and memories of her have been erased by the Keepers. What is her "true power" then? It could be her ability to rid people of their pain. And what about the bonds of trust that are broken? That's where it all starts to break down. The MC learns of Isidora's "true power" through the Keepers memories, there is no big revelation about Isidora that causes MC to loose trust in the Keepers or Fig or anyone else, really.

Someone on reddit had another interpretation. They believed the "bonds of trust" that were broken were between Rookwood and Ranrok. When Rookwood discovered what the repositories they were looking for really were (Isidora's "true power") and what Ranrok intended to use them for the fragile alliance between Rookwood and Ranrok shattered ("broken bonds of trust"). But rewatching the scene in the mine when Ranrok takes bragbor's last journal I think it's pretty clear that Rookwood realizes that his alliance with Ranrok is over the moment he understands that Ranrok has now found the location of the last repository. He realizes then that he has lost all of his usefullness to Ranrok and that the tentative partnership they had is over. Hence why he tries to kill Ranrok right after (before Ranrok can try to kill him). I don't think any "bonds of trust" are broken here because there was no trust to begin with and there is no revelation of a "true power". Rookwood already knew they were searching for repositories of ancient magic.

But thinking along the same lines, maybe the broken bonds of trust could be between Sebastian and MC when Sebastian realizes that Isidora could use ancient magic to cure people of their pain (the "true power" that is revealed) and yet MC refuses to ask the Keepers about that power or refuses to use it to cure Anne. But I think that is stretching it. Even though MC and Sebastian have a little fight about this I hardly think that you could say that "bonds of trust" are broken.

So maybe we should go right back to the beguining. Maybe the "forgotten one" is not Isidora but someone else entirely...

Chapter 2: The Statue

How do you go about discovering the identity of someone who was forgotten? You go search through the game files for clues of course!

And low and behold, there is an asset called "ForgottenStatue", could it be related to our "forgotten one"?

I think the name of this particular asset is quite significant. Usually any asset in the game is identified with a letter. There are plenty of assets called "SmallStatue_A", "SmallStatue_B", "WallPlaque_D", etc. Few assets are given actual names like this.

And besides, don't you recognize this statue? It's the statue that is standing in the alcove by the water in the transfiguration courtyard!

It's the statue that Prof. Ronen had us repair at the very beguining of the game after learning reparo. Prof. Ronen says this statue alledgedly represents heartbreak and that perhaps a jilted lover, seing it and finding it too accurate, could have lashed out and destroyed it. But maybe that is not the full story. Maybe there is another reason it was destroyed, perhaps so that no one could ever recognize this statue and find anything out about the witch it represents.

So here we have a statue of a forgotten witch. No one really knows for sure who she is, what the statue represents. Looking at the clothing that she is wearing, it seems that she is from really ancient times (could be ancient greece, could be ancient rome,...) and alledgedly she had her heart broken at some point.

Chapter 3: The Dagger

The statue is not the only thing I found in the game files. There is also a very interesting asset called "SM_Evil_ForgottenWitch_Dagger". Again, note how this asset has an actual name (as opposed to just "SM_Dagger_A") and also that it is even labelled as "Evil".

Sorry for the image being so dark but I really wanted to show how the rune on the dagger is glowing. From what I can understand by looking at other in-game assets, the glow we see on the rune means there will be some VFX applied to it in game. So obviously, the rune etched into the dagger is significant somehow. The dagger is also very ornate. And, because it is labelled as "Evil", we can deduce that it is some king of artifact used for dark magic.

The gives us some new information about our "forgotten one". First of all it seems that she is a witch (that is also consistent with the "Forgotten Statue" that is of a woman) and she practised the dark arts. Could this be what her "true power" is? Some secret form of dark magic?

For the longest time I thought that this dagger was just part of some cut content, that it was not used in the game. Until someone found this exact dagger in a the middle of a standing stone circle near Marunweem Lake!

They also identified the rune on it as Mannaz rune. It's an Elder Futhark rune meaning 'mankind'. Elder Furthar dates back to the first century which is coherent with the type of dress of the forgotten statue. These runes also apparently had deep spiritual significance. Mannaz represents humanity, community and cooperation. It could also represent intelligence, mind and memory.

I went and found the dagger in-game myself.

It's in the middle of standing stones on a flat circluar stone engraved with some weird symbols reminiscent of alchemy symbols. Also note the human skeleton that could hint at some dark ritual maybe involving a sacrifice.

I don't know if there are other places like this one elsewhere in Hogwarts Valley where we can also find the dagger. I have not found any yet but let me know if you have!

But there's more! In the game files, the asset for the dagger is found within the folder of props for "Sanctum_Dungeons". These are any dungeons related to ancient magic (like the keeper trials). So, how exactly is this dagger related to ancient magic and the Keepers?

Chapter 4: Ancient Magic

There is yet another place where the "ForgottenWitch" appreas within the game files. There are assets for stone columns used to build the environments for the ancient magic dungeons which are the Keeper trials, the place below the restricted section when we find the book and the cave we go to with Richard Jackdaw to find the missing pages and get access to the Map Chamber.

First there is a set of assets called "SM_SanctumDun_Column_Natural" which look like stone swirls.

Then there is a set of assets called "SM_SanctumDun_ColumnFlair_Forgotten_Witch" which look a little more ornate with some developped "spikes" (sort of looking like thorns on the stem of a rose) but still made of stone.

And lastly, there is a set of assets called "SM_SanctumDun_ColumnFlair_Keepers" that are even more ornate and detailed with spikes and some sort of tendrils. These columns also glow (again I believe indicating some VFX being applied to it). There are also some gold trims that can be added.

To me, this looks like some kind of evolution of art style or archetictural style over time. As the technique is developped over the centuries (from 'Natural stone' to the work of the Forgotten Witch in antiquity and to the work of the Keepers in the late middle ages), more and more ornate designs are made possible.

I believe the "Forgotten Witch" could wield ancient magic. Like we see the Keepers do, she used ancient magic back in antiquity to transfigure the world around her, build elaborate colums. But then she also used her ancient magic for some dark purpose. This is the "true power" that the profecy refers to. What about the bonds of trust that are broken, then? I believe the events of this particular prophecy have not happened yet. Someone (and lets be honest, it's probably the Keepers because they are the only ones who seem to know anything about ancient magic) knows about this Forgotten Witch and the dark magic she used but they kept that secret from the MC. And when this secret is finally revealed, uncovering a dark history of ancient magic, the bonds of trust between MC and the Keepers will be broken.

After all, Isidora herself, another forgotten witch, could have left us a warning when she wrote on the wall of the Undercroft: "Percival is hiding somehing".

#hogwarts legacy #isidora morganach #hogwarts legacy theory #Forgotten Witch #Ancient magic #sylvia pembroke #Marunweem #Keepers

[ask-the-prose]

The Gun In This Guide Does Not Go Off

Hi yall, sorry for the late post this week! I'm running this blog by myself, so if you are interested in helping mod this blog or write guides, please fill out the mod form linked in the pinned post! If you have anything you want to see covered or specific questions answered, please don't hesitate to send an ask! Anon is on.

Onto the guide!

This week I want to talk about foreshadowing, what it is, why incorporate it, and how!

What is foreshadowing?

Foreshadowing is an event, line, dialogue, or other element of a story that alludes to or predicts a future event. Foreshadowing can be overt or covert, and it can appear in many different elements depending on your writing style, story needs, or reader interest.

Overt or concrete foreshadowing is directly and clearly stating a prediction or allusion to an event in the future. This can be a line of dialogue ("Winter is coming" from Game of Thrones or the musical number "Be Prepared" in The Lion King), an event or image (Korra's anxiety dreams about losing her bending in season one of Legend of Korra), even the title of the work can be foreshadowing (The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe).

Covert foreshadowing is a little more subtle. An example includes bad weather in Great Expectations to allude to Pip's future angst. Symbols, setting, and throwaway comments can be utilized as covert foreshadowing as well.

Why would I want to spoil the twist?

Foreshadowing doesn't necessarily mean spoiling the twist or ending of your story. However, spoilers can be utilized to your advantage if you do so purposefully (John Dies at the End started out as a web novel serial. In every update, readers tuned in to see if this was the chapter in which John dies, as spoiled by the title). The key word here is "purposefully." Foreshadowing is not accidental, and it can do a lot of heavy lifting with the emotions and feelings you want your reader to experience while reading.

Your reader is smart and will pick up the hints you lay down. You can use this to your advantage to create tension, dread, excitement, or simply a desire to discover what happens next.

How do I incorporate foreshadowing?

Foreshadowing usually happens at the beginning of the story. If you're a pantser like I am, foreshadowing may be difficult to incorporate in your first draft when you don't know where it's heading. That's okay! Foreshadowing can be added in later drafts when you know what exactly happens in the story.

For the plotters out there, consider foreshadowing during your outlining. When you know what happens next, how do you hint at those events early on? There are so many different ways to incorporate foreshadowing into your story. Your imagination really is the limit.

A few notes about what foreshadowing is NOT

Foreshadowing is not a flashforward. A flashforward is a moment in the story in which the narration moves forward in time. The narrative shows the reader explicitly what will happen in the future by depicting those events. Foreshadowing is an allusion or hint at events but not the depiction of those events as they happen.

Foreshadowing is not Chekhov’s Gun. Chekhov’s Gun is a method employed by storytellers as a rule. Anton Chekhov said in his famous quote that if a gun is described hanging on the wall in chapter one, it must go off in chapter two or three. This is to say, every element in a story is there for a reason. The gun is only described because the gun will be used later. If the gun does not go off, it should not be mentioned in the narrative.

The difference between Chekhov’s Gun and foreshadowing is that foreshadowing is an element of the story, whereas Chekhov’s Gun is about the storytelling process. Chekhov’s Gun is not a real rule, so much as a suggestion that if you are to create tension in the story, it must pay off. Foreshadowing is the act of creating tension.

Foreshadowing is not a red herring. Building off of Chekhov’s Gun, if the gun is described but never goes off, following Chekhov’s rule would indicate the gun is a red herring. A red herring is a hint or allusion to something that never comes to fruition, such as describing a gun to create tension that it will fire and then never firing it.

Conclusion

Foreshadowing is an interesting and, frankly, fun storytelling element to incorporate into your writing. Readers often love rereading books to see all the hints they missed at the beginning! That’s foreshadowing.

Foreshadowing can exist in many methods and elements, and it is up to you how you want to approach foreshadowing. Keep in mind how you want to utilize tension in your story, and you’ll find the foreshadowing falls into place to create an interesting and engaging story your readers will love and love again.

– Indy

** Edit: 6/8/23 fixed an error regarding one of the examples in the first section.

#writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #writing #creative writing #writeblr #amwriting #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #on writing #writing help #writing guide #foreshadowing

[cinnbar-bun]

Good Fortune

Pairing: Dio Brando x GN!Reader

Summary: Dio is told he is lucky, often. He can't see how, considering how awful his life has been. But after meeting you, the child of George Joestar's old business partner and Jonathan's friend, perhaps his luck has turned for the better.

Even if he refuses to engage with such notions.

Rating: SFW but it's painful

Word Count: ~4.5k

AO3 Link: Here

Notes: Childhood-friends-to-lovers, Phantom Blood!Dio, babes this just angst, talks of death and dying, death, religious discussion, religious imagery, Dio unfortunately falling in love, Reader is MENA! but it's easy to ignore, foreshadowing for parts 3 and 6 (no spoilers though), yes I made this to be self indulgent because I wanted to torture Dio because omg what if he went to Cairo specifically because his partner mentioned it?

Dio stares in front of the full-length mirror in his room, adjusting his suit and tie. George explained he was having an old friend over tonight for supper, making a brief comment about how said friend was also bringing his child over. Dio noticed Jonathan’s eyes widen and the smile adorning his face- obviously, they were acquainted from before he ever arrived to the mansion. 

He could only sneer as he thought of how obnoxious this ‘friend’ could possibly be. He couldn’t just antagonize them or Jonathan like he normally did, not when George would be around and watching. The thought of having to sit all night with that buffoon and a friend of his made him want to gag. 

Alas, one must do what they have to do to obtain wealth and power. If he wanted the Joestar fortune, he had to play the game correctly. Assuring he was in good standing with George and this guest would only serve him well in the future. 

And who knows, Dio chuckles to himself, maybe this ‘friend’ of Jonathan’s would slowly grow to hate the boy as well. He brushes his blond hair back, fixing it up properly. A loose strand makes him use his hand to push it back, and he smirks as he sees the three little birthmarks on his ear. He fixes his cufflinks and proceeds to walk out of the room, annoyed at having to put on airs, yet interested to see what will become of this dinner. 

The minute he steps down the stairs, there is a knock at the door. Dio curiously looks from the staircase at the large front doors that George himself approaches. The first thing Dio can make out is a large man, around the same age as George- perhaps a few years older if the few strands of gray hair are anything to go off of. Before he can take a closer look, Jonathan races down the stairs, accidentally brushing shoulders with Dio. 

“You damn-,” Dio snarls, but quickly shuts his mouth in case of anyone nearby. Jonathan didn’t seem to notice, instead jumping off the last few steps and running towards the guests. Jonathan yells out a name Dio doesn’t recognize, but the energetic boy is quickly put in his place with George’s hand on his shoulder.

“Jonathan! That is not how we greet our guests!” George scolds his son. Jonathan’s shoulder slink apologetically, like a beaten down puppy. 

Dio despises that look more than anything. He makes an expression of disgust before he hears some chuckling. 

“Oh, it’s alright, George, let the boy be! He’s young!” A jovial voice exclaims, and George sighs. 

“I’m aware, my friend. I just can’t help but worry about what kind of man he will grow up to be,” George muses, tugging on Jonathan’s ears. Dio’s ears pick up that despite the negative words, George isn’t angry at Jonathan. Jonathan himself isn’t too offended either. 

Hmph. Disgusting. 

Dio figures that he’s seen enough and makes his appearance in front of the guests. The man is clearly foreign and has some semitic features that Dio hardly has ever seen in Britain. He’s finely dressed, wearing a fancy English suit and plenty of gold accessories. Dio finds himself fascinated by the many rings on the man’s fingers. 

“My, my, and who could this be?” The man questions, a friendly smile on his face. Dio is frankly grossed out by the overly familiar tone the man takes, but bites his tongue back. 

“This is my adopted son, Dio Brando,” George proudly states. The man extends his hand to Dio and shakes it with a firm grip. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brando,” he introduces himself then pats his child on their shoulder. “This is (Y/n), my only child. I assume you’re all the same age, so I think you’ll get along splendidly.” 

Dio glances at you briefly as you bow your head politely to him. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dio.” 

You look quite similar to your father, albeit, younger and more rounded, with the same features Dio finds rare on you. Your clothes are just as intricate as your father’s, clearly very expensive, making Dio curious about just how rich you and your father are. 

Dio bows his head back to you. “It’s nice to meet you as well, (Y/n).” 

Once the greetings are done, Jonathan goes up to you and excitedly beams at you. “(Y/n), did you bring anything for me this time?” 

Dio is almost tempted to smack Jonathan on behalf of George, but you chuckle and nod, seemingly not minding. You glance over to make sure the older men are not looking and open your satchel, taking out a red box. Dio and Jonathan peek at it while you remove the cover. Inside the box are small, pink cubes covered in white sugar. 

“Woah… what are these?” Jonathan asks. 

“Lokum, oh, ah, ‘Turkish delights’,” you say in English. Jonathan is about to take one when you close the box and shake your head. Jonathan pouts after being denied, probably due to his love of sweets. “After dinner. Otherwise my father might lecture me.” 

“Turkish delight, you say?” Dio repeats. “So, I assume you and your father must deal within the Middle East, correct?” 

“Yes. He was born there, then moved here to start his business,” you pridefully comment, always happy to share how proud you are of your father’s hard work. 

“Interesting…” Dio thinks. He frowns when he thinks of his own drunkard of a father, and the gross feeling that dwells within him bubbles upfront. How nice it must be to be happy for your father. How wonderful it must feel to be proud to share the same DNA as the man who had created you. He can’t point to a single thing he enjoyed about Dario, can’t even count anything nice the man has done on one hand except die. 

Yet you look to hold your father in such high regard, perhaps even moreso than Jonathan does to George. Likewise, your father keeps smiling at you and flaunting your accomplishments to George, as if you were the best of the best. As if you were the most wonderful thing to have ever graced this earth. 

Dio can’t help but feel disgusted and so, so jealous that you get a father who adores and spoils you like nothing else. You don’t even have a mother, but that doesn’t seem to damper you. Any hope he had of wanting to meet you is squashed by the hatred and rage he feels for your relationship. 

----

You write letters often, Dio finds out. Now Dio knows why Jonathan is always so excited to check the mail. Soon after leaving the dinner party George held, Dio started getting letters addressed just to him from you. 

Apparently, you were too stupid to understand that Dio wanted nothing to do with you and actively despised you like he did Jonathan. Or maybe you just didn’t care, since you began writing about anything and everything you were thinking of as if you were old acquaintances. Dio once snagged Jonathan’s letter from you to see if the tone was any different, but almost nothing was, except for mentions of a historical places Jonathan would like to possibly visit. 

At first, he burned them away, not interested in whatever mindless rabble you had to discuss. He had no interest in history, none in studying, and absolutely none for whatever rich person you had just met on the road. Jonathan writes back plenty, but in order to save face, Dio writes back, only very rarely, pretending as if he actually cared. 

It isn’t until his birthday that he sighs and relents, opening up the package you had sent. He rolls his eyes at the well wishes you give him (although he does wonder briefly how you knew his birthday) but finds two wrapped gifts in the box. 

In the first one, thinner and longer, is a selection of the Turkish delights you had brought over the first time you met. He actually hadn’t bothered trying it then, mostly due to his disgust with you and the fact Jonathan looked like he was enjoying himself when he took a bite. 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, about ready to throw away the sweets when the smell of the powdered sugar and rosewater drifts into his nose. It is… certainly unique, he thinks. Nothing like what he’s ever smelled before. He places the box on his desk again and glares at it, as if the treats were personally ruining his day. He folds his arms and stares at it some more. 

He should throw this out. Never look at this and just write a quick ‘thank you’ so you felt appreciated or something. But still… the powdered sugar dusting the outside, the sweet, sweet smell of it- it was far too tempting. He clicked his tongue and picked one up, groaning at the way the sugar dusted his fingers and part of his suit. 

“Disgusting,” he mumbles before he takes a large bite of it. The taste is nothing like what he’s ever had before, and he nearly chokes at it. He coughs then swallows, taken aback by the taste. It’s… it’s quite delicious. He’s never tried something so wonderfully sweet, something that overtakes the senses quite like this. Roses make an interesting flavor profile, he muses. 

Wait, no, what is he thinking, getting excited over this stupid gift from an annoyance like you? He closes the box of sweets then opens the last box. Inside is a ring, similar to the one your father wore at the dinner party. The ring had a large amber stone, and Dio twirls it in his hands, fascinated with how the light catches the stone. 

This must have cost a fortune. He chuckles as he picks up the note to go alongside the ring. 

My father and I thought a ring would be a good gift for you. He says that it’s always wise to have something nice on your hand. It can bring you good luck and make you stand out. I hope you like the color- he was going to get you the blue one, but this one reminded me of your eyes. I thought you might appreciate it more. 

Happy birthday, Dio. 

You sign your name at the bottom and Dio finds himself biting his lip harshly. It’s really frustrating how you always naively try to think of him like this. Who said he wanted your damn sweets? Who said he wanted your rings? Or your good luck? Who said he wanted anything you had? 

He shakes his head and gazes at the ring again. He hates himself, so why would you dare get something that is meant to be of him? This body that he despises, how could you covet it in a god damn ring meant for him? 

You bother and enrage him like nothing else. He always thought this was because of your friendship with Jonathan, but this just cemented that the hate he felt for you was entirely just because of who you were. Whereas Jonathan was an obstacle he needed to rid of for the Joestar inheritance, you were someone who actively treated him like a damn charity case. 

You must have thought you were so clever and kind gifting these things to him, weren’t you? 

Fine. If you wanted to be a useful idiot for him, then he would make sure to get the most use out of you. The violent rage he had boiled over into interest and excitement. He grabbed his paper and pen, quickly writing a letter back to you. 

This time, however, he made sure to be more expressive than he normally would have. He laughed loudly as he signed the paper in a hurry and sealed it within an envelope. This could be quite enjoyable. 

Imagine him- getting rid of Jonathan and using you for his own gain! Not just one- but two means of success and fortune! Oh, you were a delightful idiot through and through, he thought as he threw aside the lid to the dessert and popped in another cube. 

----

The years were kind to Dio. Ever since his plan to use you came to fruition, he slowly refined it to working his way up to being able to ask for your hand in marriage. He spent years cleaning up his act, faking his way to the top, even joining the rugby team and a university to study law. He was practically the perfect man- attractive, intelligent, resourceful, strong- why, anyone would be lucky to have him as a son-in-law and husband. 

The interest he deemed to show you in his teens made you reciprocate his affections. You began writing longer letters for him than you did to Jonathan. You would stop by and visit, not even for Jonathan, but just for Dio now. You two would have long discussions in the gardens, on the road, and in the library of the Joestar mansion. Your father practically adored Dio as a son, always patting his shoulder and joking with him more casually. He was an admirable prize, one that was practically handing himself on a silver platter for you. 

Except, somewhere along the line, like a damn fool, Dio made a mistake in his normally thorough plans. Somewhere, somehow- you managed to make Dio enjoy your presence. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

When he first started trying to get your attention, he often would do so at the expense of Jonathan. He just liked pissing his brother off while he would drag you away as if he had something urgent to say to you privately. He would aggrandize and embellish his stories, making himself seem far more noble and special than Jonathan was. Of course, Jonathan, ignorant as may be at times, wasn’t stupid. He knew right away Dio was up to no good and tried to warn you, subtly take you away, or even insert himself into the times when Dio pulled you aside. 

Nothing worked, however. You either didn’t notice or didn’t care, always brushing aside the warnings and believing in Dio wholeheartedly. It was cute- misguided, frankly- but cute, nonetheless. Especially after Dio did his best to mend his relationship with Jonathan, Jonathan found he had no leg to stand on and tried to leave the past behind him, wishing you two only the best. 

Good, thought Dio. He was tired of having to play nice with his Jonathan, and now that Jonathan had no chance of stealing you away from him, Dio could enact his plan still. And that’s what it should have stayed. 

But fate was far more strange than Dio realized. One day, he would find himself listening to you more. While before, it was just to keep track of your stories to use later, it now became an interesting part of his day. Another day, he would naturally seek out your hand to hold- not as a means to make you swoon and desire him, but just for his own comfort. And on another, god, he couldn’t believe this- he found himself imagining what a ‘home’ could be like for you and him. 

You somehow managed to imprint yourself in his brain, filling his head with stupid, ridiculous, and childish thoughts. He found the hushed whispers he spoke in your ear to become less and less false as time went on. He found the way your cheeks would warm up made him grin and not smirk. He found your voice pleasant and the words you’d say become clearer. He found his body recoiling when any other man, especially Jonathan, tried to talk to you. 

You ruined him. You ruined everything. How dare you? He could afford plenty of things now, yet he continued to wear that damn amber ring on his finger. You adored his eyes, and for once, he found himself almost agreeing whenever he looked in the mirror before he would take you on a date. 

You. Damn. Worm. 

You must be the devil. You must be some evil snake charming him and destroying him inside and out. He couldn’t accept the fact that he, Dio Brando, was actually enjoying your presence in his life. 

You spoke of the trips you took with your father for business. You loved almost all your destinations, bringing back souvenirs and charming photos for him. But one city always stood out to him. 

Cairo. 

“Oh, yes, the city is wonderful there,” you mused dreamily. “There are these beautiful pyramids-” 

You point at the photos of these pyramids and he’s become interested in these monumental landmarks. Jonathan made a mention of them once, he thinks. 

“And what are these pyramids for, exactly? Why would someone just build these with stone in the middle of a desert of all places?” Dio raises a brow. Although he’s impressed, he finds himself questioning the worth of these structures. You chuckle, a sound he’s grown to enjoy. 

“The ancient Egyptians lived here, Dio. They built these pyramids and all sorts of buildings for their final resting place,” you smile. 

“Tch, how pretentious,” he teases. “You sound far too happy talking about a place of death.” 

“Perhaps, but you know, death isn’t so bad.” Now this makes him pause. 

“And what do you mean by that?” Dio questions. You shrug. 

“Well, for them, they believed that when you died, your heart would be judged and you could go to the Field of Reeds, Aaru.” 

“Similar to western dogma,” Dio mumbles. He never had such faith in things like ‘God’ or a ‘heaven’. 

If God really existed, he would have helped Dio’s mother. He would’ve made Dario a better father. Would have made Dio feel safe. 

But there is no such thing, no such tangible way to prove that God did exist. And it seems these ancient humans were just as foolish as the people of today. They would continue to believe in something that did not exist and did not love them. 

“Yes, you could say that,” you nod. “But I think the idea is nice overall. Don’t you think?” “I don’t understand what could be considered ‘nice’ about it,” he frowns. 

“I like to think of it as a second chance. Another way to live, having gone through the struggles of your first life. You’d know more and appreciate more.” 

You don’t notice the way his face tenses as he grits his teeth. Even if there was a god, in no way shape or form was Dio ever going to be in ‘heaven’. He could push that aside right away. He was the son of Dario, and that certainly already meant he was sentenced to eternal damnation. 

“I see,” is all he says. You snap your fingers as you then show a picture of a gorgeous terracotta mansion. 

“I almost forgot to show you! We got to stay in this beautiful place. Oh, it was just wonderful inside. I think you’d love it. There was a lovely garden there, too. I wish I could take you there, I’d show you everything Cairo has to offer! And you could finally taste the dates when they’re ripe and the festivals that go on there!” 

“I would love nothing more,” he replies, suddenly thinking of how hot Cairo must feel. He wondered how you would smile if the festivals were going on. How lovely the night must be with you in it under the lamps and palm trees of Egypt. “Maybe we can go for our honeymoon?” You lightly smack his shoulders and laugh. “Don’t tease me like that! Otherwise I might make you propose tomorrow!” 

“I could have that arranged,” Dio leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Let’s focus on our studies first,” you chuckle. “I really would love to marry, but alas, our fathers have decided to make us wait longer.” 

“Alas,” he joins in, the thought of finally being yours and you being his making his heart swell. 

Only you could offer Dio this momentary salvation. This brief respite of peace despite the anger and hatred he held in his heart. This was a feeling only reserved for you, the you who practically forced your presence and love onto him. 

It almost didn’t even feel like a part of his plan to gain the two fortunes, even though he would force himself to remember this was just business. Ah, but you made it so easy to enjoy life. You made him forget for a moment he was not the son of Dario Brando. You could made him forget he was a maniacal bastard orphan, instead making him feel he was Dio. A new Dio, a Dio no one could have thought ever existed, even him. A Dio that was just a man, for once. 

He would become Dio, the man who would pick you fresh roses. Dio, the man who carried you over puddles on the street. Dio, who enjoyed drinking tea with you. Dio, who loved when you slipped into your mother tongue. Dio, who held you when you cried. Dio, the man who would get curious whenever you would remark joyfully about his birth marks, saying he must have been lucky. 

The only thing “lucky” about him was you. That’s all he could genuinely point out in his life as “lucky” and “good”. 

So slowly, and foolishly, the only thing he could do was simply let you in deeper into his heart, letting you carve your initials into him and marking him as your helpless servant. 

----

It had now been two months since your passing. Dio returned to the mansion in a drunken stupor, finding he was unfortunately still aware. 

Aware of how empty he was. How angry he was. How much he despised everything. 

Why the hell was Jonathan crying over you? Jonathan knew nothing about you. Jonathan didn’t love you or care for you anywhere close that Dio did. 

That rich boy who had everything handed to him and given to him just for existing knew nothing of the pain Dio was feeling. 

He didn’t deserve to cry over you. Didn’t deserve to feel a god damn thing about you. 

Dio was the one supposed to marry you- not him! So Jonathan should have left and let him grieve properly over the fact his betrothed was now gone. 

Was this God’s way of punishing him? Huh? Was this his sick joke? A reminder to him that no matter he did, he was never meant to be happy? 

Was that all his life was? One meaningless, empty joke for God to amuse himself with? 

Dio couldn’t help but burn every letter he had kept from you over the years. He didn’t need them. With a bottle of alcohol in his hand and a few letters in the other, he held them over the fireplace and let them burn to ash and dust. He didn’t care. Couldn’t care less. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing could ever bring him satisfaction. Nothing could ever bring him joy or peace. He was obviously not meant to have it. 

Even your own father tried to console Dio, having thought of him like a son, but Dio couldn’t bother. Your father promised to give employment and a portion his fortune to Dio still, already securing his future wealth. 

But that wasn’t enough. It was not enough. For every ounce of love you tried to give Dio, he felt a thousand times more angry at the world he lived in. 

He didn’t need this world. He didn’t want any of this. He couldn’t live like this. 

He couldn’t die like you- oh god, no, he couldn’t. He’d most certainly be punished and made to repent for his sins. 

As he burned the last of your letters, he downed the rest of the alcohol, burning his throat. He could not muster anymore tears, not after he laid the roses down on your tombstone. Dio Brando was dead and buried alongside you. 

All that was left of him was his hatred. 

So close to having everything he wanted, and now it was all gone. 

He was so close to even giving up his earlier desires to torture Jonathan, instead content to protect your father’s business and travel with you after he finished getting his degree. But now he had nothing to hope for. 

Drunk as he may have been, he found himself thinking like he did when he was a young boy. 

Yes… I’ll just kill them all. I’ll ruin them all. I should’ve stuck with that plan originally. 

He cursed himself between hiccups, cursing himself for daring to let you in, letting himself feel safe around you, letting himself be vulnerable and able to be torn to shreds by you. 

It was his fault. His fault for all of this. If he hadn’t acted a fool and loved you, he could’ve had Jonathan gone, perhaps disowned or dying in a ditch somewhere. He could’ve been the richest, prodigal son of Britain. He would’ve been powerful then. He wouldn’t have had to have you extinguish every ounce of life within him. 

He was no longer human. He was now Dio. Only Dio. 

Dio, who hated everything. Dio, who had no love for anything but himself. Dio, who wanted everything erased. Dio, who had become exactly like the man he despised most. 

He hated it all. 

In his anger, he picked up the pictures you had given him and threw them all in the fire. He hacked out his lungs when the smoke billowed from them and surrounded him. A few photos began to melt before his very eyes, but for some reason, one of them caught his eye. 

The terracotta, three story mansion from your trip in Cairo. The one you wanted to take him to. The one you two dreamed about going on your honeymoon for. The one you joked about possibly buying and redesigning to make it your home forever. 

He gasped and grabbed the photo, blowing out the flame quickly and saving a majority of the picture. The corner was burned off, but the picture still remained. He held it to his chest and let out a shaky breath. 

Cairo was something he could never give up. Cairo, the only place that would allow him to be with you. Cairo, the place where you two promised to go. 

You promised. 

So why…? Why? Why, why, why? 

But Cairo would have to wait. He had something he needed to do first. Once he could get rid of Jonathan and George, and everything else that would stand in his way, then he could go there. 

I will find you again in Cairo, my (Y/n)...

#x reader #reader insert #jojo #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #jjba #dio brando #dio brando x reader #phantom blood dio x reader #dio x reader

[canonicallyobserving911]

Buck & Eddie: 5 unresolved items from season 6

There were several things in season 6 that were left unresolved including some that happened between Buck and Eddie.  These are items they never discussed and IMO, it’s possible they might resurface in season 7 and present the small amount of angst that’s been mentioned by OS and RG during their recent interviews.

Full Disclosure:  When season 6 ended, I like many other viewers, absolutely LOATHED the way Buck’s and Eddie’s endings were handled since they were both shoehorned into relationships with one-dimensional love interests the same way they had been at the end of season 4.  The constant delays of Buddie going CANON was just 🙄 and at the time, I took a step back because it felt like all the metaphors, callbacks, foreshadowing and hindsight that happened during the first 13 episodes were replaced with a forced narrative.  Characters were retconned too so they could fit into some “metaphorical FOX procedural drama box” and it frustrated me.  After 6x18 aired, I took a couple of weeks to formulate my overall thoughts on the season and I completed 15 Constructive Criticisms posts to move past my frustrations. Additionally, I started writing a massive multi-chapter fanfic to unravel the mess that was season 6 and I must admit, doing so helped because I was able to put some of the messy pieces to that unfinished puzzle of a season together.

Now... back to the regularly scheduled programming…

This post highlights the 5 things IMO that are still in play that didn’t get resolved last season and I’ve included details about them below.  Since season 7 is shortened and only has 10 episodes, it’s possible none of the things listed will be revisited but it’s also possible they will. 

Before I get started, here’s a quick reminder, Buck and Eddie didn’t discuss any of the things listed in CANON.

1. The Donation

Other than 6x7 when Eddie heard about Buck’s sperm donation for the first time at the firehouse, in 6x9 when they were on the four-way call when he responded to Chimney and said, “I don’t know… it kind of feels weird to congratulate him” and in 6x10 when he replied to Buck and said, “Sounds like your family had your back on the whole donation thing. That’s definitely progress” (notice he NEVER said he had Buck’s back on it and also his facial expressions in 6x9 after Buck’s announcement showed he wasn’t too thrilled about it) Buck and Eddie never discussed it.  Therefore, it is possible there could be some angst coming from it when the Buckley family’s other “deep dark family secret” (related post linked here) is revealed during or after Madney’s wedding.

Furthermore, Maddie’s NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BUCK’S SPERM DONATION in CANON and every time it was mentioned in 6x10, it happened right after she left the room to check on Jee-Yun.  It’s obvious she knows about it since Chimney spoke up and said something to rebut Sang’s comment regarding a man raising another man’s child.  Another point to make about the whole “Meet the Parents” saga in 6x10 is the audience never saw Maddie converse with Sang and based on BTS information for season 7, it appears Sang, Albert nor Albert’s mom will be in attendance at the wedding. 👀

[FTR, I still don’t believe Connor and Kameron’s baby is biologically Buck's and I will stand on this hill, even if I have to stand alone, until there’s a blood test proving he is related to the baby (post linked here).]

2. The Onesie

At the end of 6x9, Buck was asleep and he left the LAFD onesie he purchased sitting on top of his nightstand and it was right after the “Santa Ana Winds” ended.  However, there are two important things that should be remembered.

First, it has an LAFD logo on it which means it’s important to Buck because as he told Maddie in 2x18, "Being a firefighter is MY LIFE!  It’s the only thing I’ve ever done that was important and that mattered, ok?"

Why is this important? 

It’s important because BUCK IDENTIFIES HIMSELF AS A FIREFIGHTER and after all these years he still hasn’t figured out firefighting is what he does. Eddie knows Buck’s more than a firefighter especially since he knows and loves him to his CORE!  Also, if Buck believed the biological relation wasn't important, then he could have just bought a regular onesie from Target or Wal-Mart, right?  Yes!

Second, in 6x17, Kameron stayed with Buck for several days which means if he wanted to, he could have given it to her as a gift but he didn’t.  Therefore, it’s possible it might come back into play after 7x5 when Connor and Kameron are supposed to show up again (OS mentioned Buck being a sperm donor for his friends won’t resurface until after the first five episodes).  Additionally, after 6A, the narrative could have changed since the onesie wasn’t seen again and that could be due to all the audience backlash that happened after it was over.

Viewers didn’t like the jokes about Buck’s "swimmers" or the lack of his "alone time" and all the other ways the storyline was fumbled. By the start of 6B, the show tried to make the audience believe Buck understood he was the "donor not the dad" 👀. 

If the actual onesie doesn’t make a reappearance, then I believe the ramifications associated with the way Buck identifies himself will and it could be a point of contention between him and Eddie since Eddie was the one who told him in 4x14, “You act like you’re expendable... but you’re wrong”.

3. Buck’s Death

At the end of 6x18, it appeared as if Buck still hadn’t dealt with the fact that he DIED and it’s possible nobody else has either, especially Eddie, Maddie, Bobby and their found family. Reminder, Maddie and Bobby both said, “Buck, you died!” and when they said it, Buck became frustrated.

However, when Eddie said, “You died Buck!”, he stopped and listened but the way Eddie said it was different for A LOT OF REASONS (post linked here).  After Eddie asked if he was allowed to ask how he was, Buck replied, “Honestly Eddie… I don’t know” but they have yet to have a full CANON conversation about the effects of it the same way they haven’t discussed any of their other shared traumas.

Additionally, during that conversation, they briefly discussed the shooting but they didn't fully talk about it other than Buck asking Eddie what he remembered. It’s another important and shared traumatic event that’s happened between them but like the well, the hostage situation and Eddie's breakdown, they still have yet to discuss it. Buck seemed to be a little upset by the fact that Eddie “said” he didn’t remember anything other than the searing pain he felt in his shoulder (I believe he remembers more than he said he does).

Buck's response was, “Is that it?” as if to say, “You don’t remember me crawling underneath a firetruck, pulling you out, picking you up and putting you inside of the truck? You don't remember me holding a gauze to your wound and asking you to stay with me? You don't remember asking me if I was hurt? Because I WAS!”  Also, it was kind of like Buck’s heart broke because Eddie “said” he doesn’t "really" remember it while Buck can’t forget the way his heart fell out of his chest that day when he saw the love of his life bleeding out in the middle of the street.

Also, Eddie’s still waiting for Buck to talk about the fact that he died. Reminder, Eddie's heart fell out of his chest too and he yelled at the hospital staff and told them to "Do More!" Even though they briefly discussed it while they were in the cemetery in 6x15, BUCK STILL HASN’T DEALT WITH IT YET!  If he would have gone to therapy instead of whatever he was doing with the DeAtH dOuLa, then maybe he would have dealt with it by now.

4. Buck’s Couch

Full Disclosure:  Like so many viewers, I was pissed at the end of the season when Buck asked N to help him pick out a new couch because it didn’t make any sense and the truth is IT STILL DOESN’T but hindsight is 20/20 and I do believe the couch was still there for a reason.  IMO, it has everything to do with what could happen between Buck and Eddie in season 7.

Please note, these are my observations and interpretations about what I believe the destruction of Buck’s couch represented.

After Margaret bought Buck a new couch at the end of 6x11, beginning in 6x12, the show spent a lot of time showing how uncomfortable it was for Buck whenever he tried to rest on it.  Also, they AVOIDED showing it in a lot of other scenes even though Buck’s previous couch (the black leather one), when he still had it, could always be seen in the frame (post linked here).  However, the orange couch wasn’t fully seen until 6x18 before Kameron gave birth on it.

IMO, her giving birth on the couch Buck's mother purchased represented a lot of things including Buck’s idea of the life he always believed he was supposed to have.  Reminder, he gave his sperm (I don’t think the baby is his but let’s roll with this idea for a moment) to Connor (a former roommate) so him and his wife could have a baby even though Connor and Buck hadn’t seen each other in years.

He met him while they were in Peru and the only reason Buck ended up in L.A. was because Connor suggested he move with him and his friends because they were “kind of like a family”.  Also, he said Buck has a good heart and that was the reason why he wanted him to be their donor but reminder, the reasons why he said he chose him aren’t hereditary.

It appears the way Connor presented himself in 6x4, with a wife and in search of that "missing" piece (a baby) is exactly what Buck’s always wanted and that’s what his couch represented.  Let's be real, Connor manipulated Buck and they aren’t friends because if they were, wouldn’t he have invited Buck to the wedding or kept in contact with him over those three years? It kind of seemed like he wanted to rub his nose in the fact that he finally settled down while Buck was still living the bachelor life (not really because he already has his own family with Eddie and Chris, he just hasn't realized it yet).

The issue with Buck’s couches was he’s wanted his own family for years but the way his life has been presented, it appears he believes no one wants to build a life or a family with him and that's why he gave away a piece of himself. In doing so, he was trying to fix the issues he may have seen in Connor's and Kameron's marriage since it was barely hanging on by a thread.  Reminder, Connor let his pregnant wife leave and he didn’t try to reconcile with her.  Also, Buck never said why he didn’t want to turn them down when he was talking to Hen even though he should have.

I believe the destruction of Buck’s couch with the birth of the baby on it was about more than the couch itself.  It was destroyed and unsalvageable because THE DREAM OR IDEA Buck’s always believed he was supposed to have got destroyed when he gave his sperm away.  Also, the couch was his MOTHER’S idea of the life she wants him to have instead of the life he wants to have for himself, hence the reason why he told her he would get a couch when he was ready but she ignored him and bought him one anyway.

His "destroyed couch" illustrated the image Buck’s had in his mind of the life and the family he thought he was supposed to want for years, (i.e., a wife and a child) is no longer applicable because his family will include a husband, EDDIE and their son, CHRIS.

Reminder, there was a lot of talk about the types of family in 6B and they all related to Buck's idea of a family.  In 6x10, Buck told Bobby and Eddie, “It kind of felt like we were an actual family” but then Eddie replied, “You are an actual family”.  Also, in 6x13 when they went to play poker, Eddie responded to Buck while they were walking through the kitchen and said, “It’s a different kind of family” and later in the same episode, Chimney said to Maddie, Athena and Bobby, “Every family is different” but they were talking about Buck because Maddie said she would be furious with Buck if he did what Rhonda Fitzsimmons did when she used her nephew to gain access to Maddie's and Chimney's home.

5. Eddie’s Couch

Eddie’s blue couch has always been Buck’s couch too and if it wasn’t going to be Buck's anymore, then something would have happened to it or Eddie would have bought a new one like he did at the end of season 2.  But Eddie didn’t and only Buck’s couch got DESTROYED at the end of season 6👀.

Reminder, in 6x9 Eddie was shown sleeping on it, in 6x12 Buck was shown sleeping on it and Chris was shown sleeping on it in 6x15.

Eddie didn’t get the blue couch until season 3 and the couch he had in season 2 was gray (post linked here).  It’s evident Buck still hasn’t figured out Eddie’s couch is also his even though he does know he’s not a guest there.

Therefore, Eddie’s couch and everything it represents for Buck, i.e., a romantic relationship, family and fatherhood will be in play until Buck realizes it or until Eddie explains it to him.

Will the small amount of angst Buck and Eddie experience in season 7 revolve around these 5 unresolved items or others? Only the showrunner, writers and producers know the answer to that question.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #911 abc #911 meta #911 on abc #911 season 7 #911 season 7 speculation #911 speculation #ryan guzman #oliver stark #anti connor and kameron #anti marisol #anti natalia dollenmeyer #anti eddiemarisol #anti bucktalia

[sugar-grigri]

This chapter confirms that Fake!CSM is the CSM Devil

According to me, according to me, according to me!!! Fujimoto will surely trample this theory but that doesn't stop a little effort of interpretation is always fun

Fujimoto's writing (I'm beginning to understand the character) consists of references, whether to previous chapters or the use of symbolism. Several draw through this part 2, I had evoked the one of the cat, there is also... the birds and the dawn.

You will see that all this has a link with Fake!CSM and proves to me that he is indeed the CSM demon. When he mentioned the sunrise, it automatically reminded me of chapter 111 when Yuko died.

Fujimoto wanted to emphasize the time of day, the morning... without any of our dear characters being awake yet: the dawn marked by the awakening and the singing of the day birds. Fake! CSM appeared at this moment to attack Yuko in order to decapitate her

Now let's think by symbolism.

The bird symbolizes social cohesion at the moment, tying in with others. It was initiated by Bucky, whom Asa hates not for his demonic nature but because he was appreciated by all. Bucky that she continues to crush whether it is when she makes an immoral choice, or when she closes herself in solitude: her nightmare, the social rejection. This is logical since, after the death of this mascot, Asa was harassed.

In the chapter of Yuko's death, there is a preponderance of birds surrounding her, symbolizing the fact that she still has a link with Asa whom she has just left. But these birds might have a connection to Fake! CSM as well.

According to the CSM Devil theory, CSM is as much admired as feared.

This would have given rise to CSM Devil the fake CSM.

There are several points in Chapter 128 that support this theory:

the size of his chainsaws and his size at all. Much larger. As if he was an exacerbated CSM, sublimated in horror.

Given his vocabulary, and his annunciatory manner of address, he also seems to prove a certain intelligence, yet another trait that makes him more powerful over Denji whose contrast is operated by the fact that he wants to take Asa's ass with him. Not to mention the fact that people today may fear Chainsaw Man more than chainsaws per se.

Mostly ironically, the door which is a symbolism that follows Denji enormously is more beautiful, better presented. As if it were his best version in every way, even in terms of the horror that surrounds CSM. An ironic way for Fujimoto to tell us that the trauma will be even worse, and that it evolves. No matter what form it takes.

But why talk about the dawn? What does it have to do with birds? Is he an ally and an enemy?

If Fujimoto refers to the dawn, it is first of all to push to the reading of chapter 111. In this one Yuko confides first of all to Asa: I dreamed of becoming Chainsaw Man! This already inserts the image of following the steps of the hero. To become like him.

Yuko is killed for 2 reasons in my opinion:

Denji in itself had not finished the "job". The goal of a demon is that we fear him because his strength will be proportional. So he has to look invincible.

A reason that can't be conscious: Yuko's impertinence to have taken herself for Chainsaw Man. Her usurper having recalled his rank, by eliminating her.

The birds in chapter 111 would then not only echo the relationship between Asa and Yuko. But would also serve to initiate the theme of social relationships... but para-social. CSM Devil is the result of this fear and paranoia around Chainsaw Man.

And the dawn? Is it simply a symbolism that acts as a hint to the reader as Fujimoto did with the mention of the "bad movies" in chapters 39 and 93? Fujimoto is not content to make the symbolism simply a hint, the dawn must have a meaning. The bad movies foreshadowed the conflict of ideology between Makima and Denji, one wanting their extermination, the other accepting them as a part of existence. Symbolizing the evils of society.

The dawn for me, will be the image that will be associated in itself with CSM Devil. When the dawn submerges, CSM sleeps. The purpose of CSM Devil is not to claim its own existence. It is only meant to act when CSM is inactive, symbolized by sleep.

That's why CSM Devil helps Denji in this chapter. His goal is not to kill or replace Chainsaw Man immediately.

Because he is not Chainsaw Man himself, which is his vector and his reason for being. He's not an enemy, I wouldn't say an ally either, but his interest is that CSM continues to exist.

If I say that he is not an ally it is because I think that in the long term he would like to replace him in order not to depend on him. To devour him, when he has enough strength. And to do that, he has to create fear. And CSM must continue to exist. He is what fuels it. Fake! CSM is a long-term enemy, or a deuteragonist not only of this arc. And that whoever after Asa is another antagonist.

As such, part 1 and part 2 follow each other with the same theme. Love, okay... Relationship with others, okay... But above all: identity.

Who is Chainsaw Man? The teenager that nobody knows in the back? Or the bloodthirsty demon who feeds on fear?

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #csm 128 #csm spoilers #denji #asa #asa mitaka #yuko #fake chainsaw man #fujimoto #my thoughts

[ladyzirkonia]

Until your song is written.

I must shamelessly take this opportunity to thank you all. Yesterday I reached 100 followers and I can't believe that there are so many people who enjoy reading my stuff. I would like to take this opportunity to open my question and request box. Don't be shy to send me questions or ideas you want to discuss, whether it is Dinbo stuff or something about Mandalorian culture.

This is the way.

The scene starts with a completely shattered Bo-Katan. You can tell that she has to pull herself together not to burst into tears. Her confession about the night of a thousand tears and the memory of it seem to torment her. She hears Din approaching and tries to compose herself by briefly closing her eyes.

I think Din apologizing to Bo is one of the most beautiful things in this scene. He admits once again in this season that he was wrong. Din Djarin knows no false pride and has no problem admitting mistakes. And he admits what's been said about her being selfish and uncaring isn't true. It seems to have touched him that Bo-Katan gave up the darksaber for her people, gave up the claim to the regency.

Din steps up to her after she repeatedly blames herself for everything. He tries to build her up, not downplay what she did or what happened, just making sure that he wants to help her. He says: ''WE will rebuild it.'' A foreshadowing that you both should bring the future for Mandalore?

She doubts herself, still. She has made so many mistakes, mistakes that are unforgivable, that she cannot undo. How is she supposed to be the one to hold her people together in all the animosity?

Din repeatedly makes it clear that this weapon means nothing to him and his people. I think it's really ironic that so many have a problem with Din giving up the darksaber. He just doesn't care. It's just a story, a legend that doesn't matter until people believe it. And he also makes it clear what really matters to him, he basically tells us what it means to him to be a good Mandalorian.

When Din mentions the term honor, she seems to sigh slightly and raises her head. She's heard those words from him too many times. For a short break it seems that his words are bothering Bo-Katan. Honor... This is the way. It seems to be a constantly repeating mantra.

Din appreciates Bo-Katan's loyalty and character. These things that have been most important to him since we saw him first time in season 1. And Bo seems to appreciate his words as you can see a very faint smile on her lips. It's good to hear such words after years of being reminded of her failure by others.

That's why I serve you Lady Kryce. After this words I really think Din Djarin's love language is act's of service as he showed many times to different people who he cared for. He is not a man of many or fancy words, but of deeds. So what's a better way to show his affection than to offer his services to her. She doesn't have to go through this alone, he wants to stand by her side.

Bo-Katan turns her head to him after his words. It's obvious that she wanted to hide her feelings before and remained with her back to him. Now she shows him her face for the first time in this conversation. Din Djarin has managed to amaze her time and time again, and her expression softens because of his words to her.

Din gives her hope. Your story is not over yet. Her song is not yet written. The Mandalorian's main musical theme sounds in the backround. He begins to weave his fate irreversibly into hers.

I know some people have wrote, more or less jokingly, that this could be Din Djarins wedding vow. But it's not that exaggerated and ridiculous. We must not forget that the Mandalorians are based on a clan system of warriors. If Mandalorians are one thing, it's very pragmatic. Marriage is consummated between the two partners alone and in any place. Just before or after a fight, the couple doesn't even have to be in the same place. The marriage can even be consummated via voice or text messages. (if you are interested in this kind of topic, please tell me!!)

Honor and loyalty means everything to Din. He would not lightly pledge his life to someone. It means exactly what you suspected, he stands by her side until death.

Screenshots are mine. Gifs made by the wondeful @itberice. Please go and leave a follow and some love there!

#the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 3 #bo katan kryze #din djarin #bo katan x din #dinbo #analysis #the spies #mandalorian culture #the darksaber #until your song is written #acts of service #the mandalorian

[mueritos]

Hi matteo! I think you’ve talked about gay and lesbian books you like, but I was wondering if you have any that you think every trans person should read?

hai!! good question :) I have a couple I can think of but they're definitely not very different from the ones Ive already offered. I think trans and cis queers should be reading the same literature, but I do also understand the want to find trans specific literature.

Transgender History by Susan Stryker...a good start but definitely not the most expansive look into trans history

Trans Sex by Lucie Fielding...this is definitely a more clinical book for folks who work in therapeutic settings with trans people, but reading it before I even decided to go into clinical social work gave me a lot of tools, knowledge, and lived experience to draw upon

The Trouble with Normal by Michael Warner...posted about it before but I do think its a must read for any freak/pervert/degenerate out there looking to academically justify "freakdom"...aka lets stop normalizing ourselves into the us imperial regime!

Trans Studies: The Challenges to Hetero/Homo Normatives...havent finished reading this but ive picked at some of the essays...some don't land all too well if you're BIPOC, but nonetheless are informative

Sex Wars by Lisa Duggan and Nan D Hunter...not necessarily a trans history book but I think its a book essential to understanding how radical feminism historically veered into conservatism...not to mention all the foreshadowing of language/policy/scapegoating being used by TERFs today...lol

The Joy of a Castrated Boy by Joon Oluchi Lee...def need to reread this because it was like so fucking epic for my brain but...you'll get it when you read it (he's also a fellow virgo)

Ill leave it at that lest I just bombard you with more readings. I actually have a queer theory google drive here if you're interested in checking out some readings/lists I have on file. Haven't had time to read everything in there but golly! lots of great places to start :)

#muertoresponds #queer theory #hope u enjoy #yippee!!! #want to get back into reading soon #first i need to fucking finish giovanis room #the bf and i are reading it rn and hes like slowly catching up to me #cannot...let him...win....must....finish....baldwin....first...hnngg... #anyway enjoy all the reading!

[levi-dayne]

anyway i have some more proof for my "mello still would've killed himself if he lost to near" theory. special shoutout to @melloneah for giving me input while i talked my head off about this. ur a real one

first of all, this:

his "great and respected predecessor, the man whose actions were a strong influence on me personally." beyond birthday, the second child much like second place mello. the second child, the backup, the second choice who went off the deep end. he could never succeed, bound for failure. and of course, mello goes so far as to say he's trying not to base his analysis of beyond on his own experience. trying, but not succeeding. he takes influence from B because he understands and relates. he knows what it's like to be second best, to feel like a copy. and the "if this was how i felt, i shouldn't even need to say how bad it was before."

then, there's this:

the emphasis on beyond's failure and loss. but then, mello circles it BACK around to "my poor, poor predecessor," which has a strong undertone of mockery, given what we know about mello and how he views failure. and then he says that B must've "longed for death," and offers condolences for the humiliation that he experienced.

obviously, i can't bring up any of this without mentioning mello's introduction to the story where he knows he's going to die and has accepted that.

mello knows he is going to die because he knows his options are a victory by default if near dies or not beating near and surviving, which as i mentioned before, he implies to be embarrassing and not worthwhile. he studies these actions through beyond as he leads himself knowingly up to his death. but he knows what he's doing. that's why he takes off his helmet. he can't and won't live with the failure and shame. he studied where beyond went wrong in his own failsafe suicide attempt so that he wouldn't make it out alive and suffer the same shame and embarassment.

not to mention the phrasing. "died like a dog," according to merriam-webster, is used to describe a dishonorable or shameful death. he acknowledges that through beyond too, with the embarrassment of failing. he knows his own death will shameful, but he also hasn't died yet, which implies his choice in the matter. he chooses to die a shameful death because he believes it's better than feeling his own defeat. he compares himself to beyond repeatedly and admittedly takes inspiration from his actions all the way until the end.

he references the hardest part of killing someone in one of the paragraphs above, which is important because it's a callback to when he says this:

he acknowledges that killing is hard, and in the part where he makes this callback, he says that humans aren't designed to die easily. so he has to do something more extreme to not make beyond's mistakes. something that would keep him from the same embarrassment of surviving when he meant to die. perhaps even something that violates those natural laws of the universe-- oh, wait, wait.

interesting. very interesting.

i also must point out my own personal views on the labb murder cases book. firstly, i do not think it is canon in the sense that everything in it happened. i do think it is how mello personally views the events that unfolded, but despite his denial i do also think it is largely influenced by his own experiences and worldview. there would be no way for him or L to know the exact dialogue that occurred, or anything beyond the major plot points. a lot of it is left open for interpretation, and mello makes up his own dialogue and perspective. was B or misora really anything like how they were depicted in this story? who knows. most of it was made up. and given he expected near to be the first to read it and the only person to care or understand, i think he knew that near would know exactly what that book was.

mello knew he would die, was yet to die, seemed to know how he would die, foreshadowed it, recognized all of the risks of the notebook and yet continued to show his face, and then all of the connections of himself to beyond especially right before acknowledging his suicide attempt as a power move and the humiliation of surviving through failure. he never had any intention of making it out alive. his case study on beyond was truly an analysis on himself. the labb murder cases wasn't just a story or a fanfiction, it was a suicide note. one last insight into the complexities of mello's mind, and perhaps most importantly, he gets the last word.

edit: i also just realized the full title is "death note: another note the los angeles bb murder cases" but none of the other death note books are called "another note" because the rest of them are not notebooks or notes. but this is. mello says he doesn't want it to be a novel, but it's because it's intended to be a suicide note and that EVEN IF IT TURNS INTO A NOVEL it is always a suicide note first and foremost.

#tw suicide #mello #mihael keehl #labb murder cases #death note #death note another note #mello death note #death note mello #dn mello #mello dn #deathnote mello #mello deathnote #dn #deathnote

[blueywrites]

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, smut, oral (f & m receiving), fingering (v), dirty talk, praise kink

chapter three: my curse (14k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. songs for this chapter include #6-#14 and are all mentioned by name.

There is love

Burning to find you

Will you wait for me?

My Curse— Killswitch Engage

All day Friday, powdery-sweet Chrissy is on your mind as you labor through the shift from perdition. It's like the cosmos had overheard her question about crazy patient stories and generously decided to provide new conversation topics. You've been screamed at, berated, exasperated, and drawn so thin you spend the car ride decompressing in rare silence without your typical Spotify playlist. When you'd finally arrived home, the draw of sweatpants and nostalgia had proven too much to resist. You'd promptly cocooned on the loveseat in thick socks and a knitted blanket, retreating into Breath of the Wild for the umpteenth time. The buzz of your phone on the armrest runs up your elbow, but you're too absorbed to answer until the buzzing starts again, too insistent to ignore.

You glance to see it's Steve calling; you swipe and put him on speaker without pausing your game. "Hey," you answer, voice fond but somewhat distracted.

"Hey, babe." Steve sounds like he's in a wind tunnel. He must be driving. "What are you doin'?"

"Nothing," you answer absently, eyes still trained on the soft pastels of Kakariko Village until he says, 

"Well, I'll be home in forty, so start getting ready."

You frown in confusion, glancing at the contact picture on your phone screen: you and Steve at an NBA game, his anniversary present to you last year. "Ready for what?"

The smile in Steve's voice is audible. "Chrissy called. We're going to Insa tonight." 

You instantly straighten from your comfortable slouch, Switch abandoned beside you as you fumble up the phone. "Really?!"

"Yup." You can hear the happiness in his laugh as you squeal, tearing the blanket from your body and bolting for the bedroom. "She got us a private room for an hour."

You make another little joyful sound, hand already tugging at the shower knob, words spilling like a rush. "Yay! Okay, I'm getting ready, bye!"

"Love you," you hear Steve say.

"Love you!" You drop the phone onto the counter, hips wiggling as you wait for the water to warm. This is even more appealing than spending a night in with your favorite comfort game. You love music and singing, but traditional karaoke bars make you nervous— all those strangers staring at you on stage under the glare of the lights makes you instantly freeze. But Insa is a Korean karaoke bar, and since Chrissy has booked you a private room, it means it'll just be you and Steve, your two friends, and all the soju or sake you can drink. Here you were, thinking about Chrissy all day, and now it feels like you'd unintentionally manifested her invitation. Maybe the cosmos is trying to make amends.

  You decide that must be so as you choose your clothes: slouchy cardigan over tank top, tight black skirt almost obscenely short, sheer black tights to make up for it, white socks peeking just above Chelsea boots. You're still working on makeup when you hear a creak of the door and the jangle of keys to signal Steve's arrival. 

"I'm almost ready," you call, swiping mascara onto your top lashes. 

You hear him call back in acknowledgment, finishing the rest of your makeup with haste before fluffing out your hair and joining him near the door. 

He's still wearing his winter coat, unzipped to reveal dark jeans and an untucked button-up, his go-to for casual Fridays at the bank. His brown waves are a little windswept as he turns to you, and it matches the roguish sparkle in his eye as he takes you in. "Hey," Steve says, voice low and tinged with heat as you approach him.

"Hi," you answer happily, letting him pull you in for a kiss before you reach for your puffer jacket.

Steve's hand snakes back to your ass, drawing you against him as you tug one arm of your jacket on; you chuckle against his lips, protesting lightly, "Steve, we're gonna be late!" 

"Just wanna steal a minute to kiss my girl," Steve murmurs, and you can’t resist melting as he kisses you again, surrounding you in that familiar citrus cologne. You sneak your other arm underneath his coat to hug him, jacket half hanging off like you're trying to wear his and yours at once. The brush of Steve's tongue against the seam of your lips complements the heat— heat where the jackets drape around your body, heat where his palm grabs your ass, heat in the pit of your belly as his tongue meets yours.

Even without the radiator or your knitted blanket, Steve makes sure you're thoroughly and wonderfully warm before you venture out together into the cold night.

-

Luckily, on-time subway transfers and two powerwalked blocks later have you arriving at Insa with minutes to spare despite your short dalliance. You wander around clumps of people outside until Steve spots your friends near the wooden arch above the building's entrance. Seeing Chrissy's blonde ponytail fills you with effusive eagerness, and when her blue eyes meet yours, your broad smile is echoed on her lips. 

"Hi!" you greet her, arms opening for her tight embrace. "Thanks for inviting us!" 

"Of course!" Chrissy squeezes you affectionately tighter before she releases you to hug Steve. 

Leather creaks as Eddie moves closer, and you can feel his jacket seep cold even through your puffer jacket when you hug him, though his neck is warm as you graze it with your cheek. "Don't you have a better jacket than this?" you ask, running your fingers against the leather at his elbow.

You drop your hand, looking up into dark and twinkling eyes as Eddie replies, "Worried about me, sweetheart?" He smirks, a little crooked thing, and those full pink lips— their sudden phantom press against your own— make color prickle your cheeks. "Don't need one. My blood runs extra-hot." 

You hope your doubtful expression speaks for you and your sudden flush looks like it's from the cold. Judging by the glint in Eddie’s eyes, he’s not buying it.

"Come on, I'm freezing my balls off out here," Steve says, slinging an arm around your shoulders and hastening the four of you inside. 

"Certainly don't want that," you joke, pleased when Steve slants a grin at you as you're ushered to your room.

Inside is one long modular u-shaped couch against the back wall, a small coffee table, and two televisions: one against the front wall and one behind the couch so you can face your companions. Insa is one of the more technologically advanced karaoke restaurants: there’s an iPad for ordering drinks and a dedicated kiosk near the television to select songs. Coupled with its superior aesthetics— rich purple and turquoise mood lighting that avoids the tackiness of other bars— Insa boasts some of the largest crowds in the city, which makes it all the more exciting that Chrissy has surprised you and Steve with this outing tonight.

You shed your coats and watch Chrissy flounce over to the kiosk eagerly before the rest of you have even sat down. She's wearing a babydoll dress— one of those nearly shapeless ones that seem effortlessly chic on the right kind of person. With your curves, you think you'd probably look like you're wearing a potato sack if you attempted it, but you admire how it hangs beautifully on Chrissy. She looks like a cute little sugar-plum fairy as she scrolls through the offerings. 

"I guess Chris is going first," Eddie jokes, sprawling out in one corner of the couch with his dark legs spread, arm thrown against the back like he owns the place. He's in a long-sleeved muscle shirt in charcoal gray, accented by his signature flashes of silver— rings, wallet chain, and earrings that gleam in the neon light. Does he ever wear anything in color? Your eyes sweep him over as you sit, close but not quite sandwiched between him and Steve. Probably not, you think wryly, darting a quick glance at his profile as he grins cheekily at Chrissy when she glares at him.

"Not all of us get to be on stage every week, Mr. Rockstar," she reminds him sassily, plucking a microphone from the lower shelf on the kiosk and planting her feet in the middle of the open floor, hands on her hips. You can clearly see the cheerleading influence in her stance and expression, which is set in a confident mask of gleaming teeth and arched brows. A raucous female laugh begins her song choice, and Chrissy snaps the mic to her mouth to sing the first words: "Yeah, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want—"

Chrissy owns Wannabe by The Spice Girls as she struts around, flicking her fingers and swinging her wavy ponytail as she exudes attitude. "I won't be hasty; I'll give you a try," she sings, cocking a shoulder as she smolders, "If you really bug me, then I'll say goodbye—" Her voice is a little pitchy, but what she lacks in technique she certainly makes up for in confidence. Chrissy pivots around to face backward for the final chorus, swaying her hips until she hits the last line where she shoots you all a foxy look over her shoulder, cocking the mic to sing, "If you wanna be my lover."

As soon as the music fades, you're clapping wildly, cheering as she spins to face the couch with a broad, sparkling smile. "You did so good! You're, like, a natural," you say, looking up at her as she prances over, skirt billowing. 

"Thanks, y/n! I guess I still got it, huh?" she adds, looking to the men for confirmation.

"I'd say so," Steve answers. "I remember, when I was a senior on the basketball team, Chrissy was one of the best flyers on the squad. It was crazy how much air she'd get!"

You watch Chrissy's eyes sparkle as he acknowledges her skill. Eddie reaches out, pinching the edge of her dress and tugging playfully as he adds, "And she was head of the squad her senior year. Lead them to regionals with her own routine and everything."

You smile up at her again, though it shifts with surprise as she pulls you to your feet with startling strength for such a slight person. "You should go next," she says, squeezing your fingers, expression earnest. "Come on, you can do it! It doesn't matter how you sound; it's all about having fun!"

From someone else, the statement may have felt like a veiled insult. But Chrissy doesn't seem to have a mean bone in her body, so you realize she's just trying to be encouraging. "Okay," you say, a little shy with the exuberance of her glee. You swap places and take the mic, lips pursing as you peruse the options at the kiosk. 

Behind you, you hear Steve say, "She's actually a really good singer." You feel a flattered smile bloom at the praise as you choose one of your favorites to sing during karaoke: If I Ain't Got You by Alicia Keys. 

As you drift toward the middle of the space and the piano introduction begins, you see Chrissy squeeze Steve's arm, thin brows crinkled up sentimentally. "Aw, that's so sweet of you, Steve!"

For a moment, Steve looks perplexed at the comment, and you think maybe Chrissy believes he's just saying that to be nice. But you're not worried about it; you're not thinking about much of anything other than what you're about to sing. Still, you’re always most nervous for the first song of the night, so as you face your audience of three, their expectant stares threaten to make that familiar anxiety begin to frost in your chest. Thankfully, you know what to do in this situation: you simply close your eyes, letting the music wash over you before you begin to sing.

"Some people live for the fortune. Some people live just for the fame."

Your voice is pitched naturally lower than Chrissy's and has a bit of rasp, but it's smooth and practiced from years of singing in chorale in school. Yet it isn't a performance, not really, because it's not about that. You stand still, aside from a subtle instinctual sway, unconcerned about moving around for your audience. You're only interested in borrowing Alicia's words, letting them bloom out of you as if they're your own in a way your words sometimes can't when you try to speak. Once you hit the chorus, a smile kisses the corners of your lips as you feel the emotion in the song, channeling the sentiment: "Some people want it all, but I don't want nothing at all if it ain't you, baby; if I ain't got you, baby—"

Alicia is an incredible vocalist; you don't try to imitate her. You simplify the vocal runs later in the song, letting yourself improvise what feels good instead. And throughout it all, you keep your eyes closed, singing with a peaceful smile until that tinkling piano returns at the end to signal the song's conclusion.

There's a brief silence where you hang suspended in the moment, eyes still closed. And then it's broken by a swirl of spoken smoke.

"Shit." The exclamation isn't loud, but it cuts through the room nonetheless as you open your eyes and smile shyly. Your face flushes as Steve whistles with his fingers; beside him, Chrissy's eyes are wide, dainty fingers clasped as she pops up. 

Chrissy wraps her arm around yours and squeezes you close. "Wow! Steve, you really weren't kidding!" You're hit with a puff of expensive perfume as she clings to you, and her billowing skirt brushes against your tights while she sways you back and forth. "Let's do couples next," she suggests, pulling back to meet your eyes. "Is it okay if Eddie and I go first?"

"Sure," you reply easily, sitting between Steve and Eddie again as she heads to the kiosk. Immediately, Steve leans in, lightly knocking your shoulder with his.

"That's my girl," Steve says, hazel eyes shining with affection, broad palm landing on your knee and squeezing lightly. Appreciative, you kiss him on the cheek, stubble like fine sandpaper against your lips. His smile widens as he pats your knee, saying more briskly, "I'm gonna need to get at least one drink in me before I join you on the next song, babe." 

You watch him scroll through the menu on the iPad for a moment until a light brush against the small of your back has you turning to meet wide brown eyes.

Eddie is no longer slouched in the corner of the couch; instead, he's curved forward, left elbow braced on his knee as if poised to get up, though he seems to have no intention to do so as he leans toward you. "You are really good," he says sincerely. "I was pleasantly surprised."

Your nose wrinkles faintly, somewhat amused and at the edge of offense. "Pleasantly surprised?" A hint of a challenge tinges your voice as you add, "What, did you think I would be bad?"

Eddie's face falls as he stumbles. "I—" His eyes dart away, reminding you of the day you'd met— when, at the ice cream shop, you'd seen that pink on his typical black and white. The idea that it may happen again excites you, and you aren't quite sure why.

But Eddie doesn't turn pink; instead, he huffs a chuckle, slanting a glance back at you as his eyes glitter. "Well, I wouldn't say that."

It's obvious that he's teasing you, so you feign annoyance. "Well, you'd better look out because I might take your place and become frontwoman of Corroded Coffin if you keep talking smack." 

You try valiantly to maintain your pretend annoyance, but it's really quite hard when Eddie grins so manically, brown eyes eager as they flick you over. "I'd like to see that, sweetheart," he replies, and it's not sarcastic at all— in fact, he sounds eager, as if the idea excites him. And you realize, as his fingers twitch against your cardigan, that Eddie hasn't yet taken his hand off the small of your back. 

That pink that you'd been hoping for on Eddie's face colors your cheeks instead as he stares at you intently, and his manic smile tightens to a smirk when he notices. A flutter of wings trembles low when his gaze dips to your lips, and your tongue darts out to wet them just as Chrissy calls across the room, 

"Okay, Eddie, get up here! I picked the song."

The drag of his fingers against your back leaves you with a shiver when Eddie rises, stuffing his hands in his back pockets as he lopes over to Chrissy. As he surveys her choice, the door opens to reveal a server with a green bottle and four shot glasses. 

As she sets the tray on the coffee table, Steve immediately reaches for it, calling to the others; Eddie turns, swaying wild curls haloed by neon light. "C'mon, Chris," he says, nodding over. "I'm gonna need a fuckin' drink for this one."

The sardonic tinge to Eddie's voice intrigues you, and you wonder what song Chrissy has chosen as Steve passes you a glass of soju. You all drink together, and the alcohol is ice cold as it slides down your throat, settling into a comfortable burn in your belly. It lingers sweet on your teeth as Chrissy grabs Eddie's hand to pull him into their performance.

Eddie shifts his weight as he cracks his neck to the side, saying dryly, "Just warning you, I haven't warmed up my falsetto, so—"

Chrissy scoffs fondly. "Oh, come on, Eddie. You always sound good." 

"All right," he concedes, a little self-deprecating grin spreading as the music begins— jaunty bass and a jazzy piano that you'd recognize anywhere. Chrissy has chosen You're The One That I Want from Grease.

Despite his reticence, Eddie gamely gives the song his all. Though at first, his falsetto makes you want to giggle, you hold back, not wanting him to think you're laughing at him when he'd already seemed unsure about it. You soon find yourself smiling widely as they play off each other for the second bridge: "I'd better shape up cause you need a man—" Eddie begins, dark eyes locked on Chrissy as she takes over, drawing her hand down his chest. "I need a man who can keep me satisfied." 

Steve nudges another shot of soju into your hand. "Cheers, babe," he murmurs, warm breath ghosting your face before you both take your second shots. It slides down cold and burns in your belly again, but when it's followed by the quick, eager press of Steve's lips against yours, the burn is accompanied by a slight tingle. 

You break away to applaud as the song ends, watching as Eddie leans close to kiss Chrissy. Her hand finds his cheek when he begins to draw back, and when she presses forward for another kiss, you hear Steve whistle again, though this time it's a teasing, flirty two-tone that makes Chrissy break from the kiss to giggle. Eddie hugs Chrissy from behind, walking with her as they come over to the couch, and you see it again— the gentleness in those brown eyes, the softness in the way his pink lips tilt in a small smile when she sing-songs, "Your turn!" 

Steve’s hand finds yours, guiding you to the kiosk. "What do you wanna sing?"

You don't really care what song you and Steve sing right now— you're just content to be here with him and Eddie and Chrissy, surrounded by affection and music. "Whatever you want, babe." 

His smile widens at your reply, and he lazily drags his finger across the screen. "How about this one?" 

Fondness fills you as you see his suggestion is from Dirty Dancing. It's a sentimental movie for you both— you'd watched it the first time you'd spent the night at Steve's old apartment instead of going out. And while eating Chinese food on Steve's couch and cuddling in your lounge clothes seems so commonplace, that was what you'd valued about it: that it was casual, that it felt normal. That it seemed like the beginning of an intimate closeness that didn't require dressing up or fancy restaurants or showy gestures.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "I love that song."

You nearly forget you have an audience as you sing The Time of My Life with Steve, giggling at his characteristically loud, brassy voice. Steve never holds back at karaoke, though he is— by far— the worst singer of you four. But you couldn't care less as he sings to you, "I've been waiting for so long, now I finally found someone to stand by me." And you know Steve doesn't care how he sounds either, eyes locked on you while you sing to him, "With my body and soul, I want you more than you'll ever know." When the instrumental breakdown occurs, Steve grabs your hand, spinning you, strong arms lowering you into a dip that makes you squeal and laugh with delight before he brings you back up.

When it’s time for the final chorus, you give it your all, hopping as you throw your arm wide and sing with abandon. When the song fades out, Stever snatches you up as you laugh, lifting you briefly from your feet to kiss you before setting you quickly back down. 

"You guys are just so cute!" Chrissy beams at you, sweet and powdery soft as she leans against Eddie's side. You hold out a hand to them, eyes sparkling.

"Get up here, you two," you say, excitement dancing like sparks across your skin. "We have forty minutes left, and I don't wanna waste a second."

You sing several songs as a group, all crowded around the kiosk to decide on your selections. You each have wildly different tastes in music, so there's quite a bit of friendly bickering as you negotiate what to sing together. Still, with the shots flowing and the joy of shared experience, you delight in even that aspect of the process. After a number of group selections, Steve and Eddie shoo you girls off to the couch so that they can, as they say, 'serenade you.'

"Oh, God," you mutter good-naturedly, leaning comfortably against Chrissy as the guys huddle close to conspire. "What are we in for now?"

Apparently something entirely unexpected as the guys stand side-by-side, stone-faced while a guitar plucks along. Their faces remain serious even as Eddie croons, "Yeah…" in the most exaggeratedly whiny boy-band voice you've ever heard. You can't stifle an incredulous snort as you and Chrissy exchange glances, eyes wide as your lips twitch. Your eyes snap to your boyfriend as Steve sings loudly, "You are my fire, the one desire…."

You manage to hold your composure until Eddie whines, tossing his long curls dramatically, "But we���"  

You're cackling before he can even hit the next line, and for a split second, his composure wavers, a chuckle breaking through as he continues, "...are two worlds apart… can't reach to your heart—" 

The sight of Steve— the straight-laced banker in a collared button-up, all citrus and sea salt— and Eddie— the hardcore musician in combat boots and chains, all smoke and ink— singing I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys as a pretend-earnest duet is too much for you and Chrissy to take. As soon as the chorus starts, you both flush bright red with laughter, clinging to each other in utter hysterics. Once the song ends, all you can do is curl over into Chrissy's lap, burying your face in gauzy fabric as she collapses onto your back. Your reactions urge each other on until you're hysterical for long enough that Steve exclaims, "Jesus Christ, was it really that funny?"

You hear Eddie snipe, "You both are real fuckin' rude, you know." Your head pops up to see him swaggering around, gesturing widely and theatrically as he grouses, "Here we are, trying to sing about our undying love for you, and you have the gall—" he pauses dramatically, "the audacity— to laugh at us." He turns to Steve, arms crossed, head shaking like a scolding parent. "These girls don't deserve us, Harrington."

"You're right, Munson. Maybe we should find us a new pair of girls who appreciate real culture."

You and Chrissy straighten, exchanging looks of deep indignance as your boyfriends smirk at you. "We'll show you culture," she sniffs, shoulder brushing Eddie's as she pushes by him with you in tow. He and Steve chuckle to themselves, falling back onto the couch as you and Chrissy lean close to assess your options. You find yourself relishing this dynamic— allied with Chrissy against the two guys, conspiring to choose the best song to annoy them. You're giddy with feminine closeness as Chrissy whispers in your ear, though as you notice one particular song, you grab Chrissy's fingers to halt her scrolling.

"That one!" you say, voice hushed but urgent. You turn to her, eyes bright. "That's the one."

She purses her lips, brow crinkling. "Really?"

"Yes," you say firmly. Whereas usually, you would defer to her preference, your desire to provoke the guys has lit you inside, made you bold.

Chrissy must see your determination because she concedes quickly with a little shrug. "Okay."

You grin widely, victory and sweet revenge buzzing in your blood as you grab your microphone; Steve and Eddie’s conversation wanes as they see you standing before them. When you feel Chrissy's dress brush against your thigh, you tip your chin, smirking as you murmur with false sincerity, "We've chosen this song specifically for the country music fans in the audience."

In your peripheral, you see Steve's face crease in confusion, but your eyes are locked on black and white. You buzz with pleasure as Eddie cocks a brow at you, spreading his dark legs to settle into the couch corner, hint of a smirk growing on his lips. Those brown eyes are wide and dark as they hold yours, glittering with approval at the challenge in your stare. 

Your voice is pitched as close to sultry as you ever get as you finish your introduction: "We hope you thoroughly enjoy this."

You never perform when you sing, not really, but now, suddenly, you are. "Right now, he's probably slow-dancing with a bleach-blonde tramp, and she's probably gettin' frisky," you rasp, channeling the drama of Carrie Underwood's delivery. Chrissy sings the next line, high voice also loaded with attitude, and you alternate the verses and sing the choruses together. You play up the growl in your voice as you smolder, any self-consciousness forgotten, "Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats."

As you sing for Steve and Eddie, you suddenly understand the appeal of performance and why Chrissy's face became so luminous after she'd sung Wannabe . Their attention wraps around you, coiling into your blood, coaxing you to rock your hips and shoulders as you sing to them. It's intoxicating, the heat of their stares as you and Chrissy sway together, bodies brushing as they watch you; there's power in it, power that you've just barely tasted. 

And you know, as your gaze flits back and forth between both men, that you want more.

When the song ends, their approval is instant, pretend contentiousness forgotten now. After lavishing you in whistles and applause with Eddie, Steve notes, "We've got enough time for a couple more songs."

"All right," Eddie says decisively, slapping his thighs as he stands. "I'm going."

A flutter of moth's wings begins low at the idea of hearing his smoky voice again— not him singing a song from Grease or the Backstreet Boys, but something that echoes his performance the first time you'd heard him on stage. When, before you'd even known him, his voice had reached inside you, tugging at something that has only just begun to take root in newfound light.

You nestle snug between Chrissy and Steve as you wait for Eddie's song, knee nearly bouncing with anticipation. Impulsively, you take a cheeky swig from the soju bottle, shrugging as Steve shoots you an amused look. The soju isn't as pleasantly cold anymore, but the burn still spreads from your belly, coaxing out a little hazy smile as Eddie returns to the center of the room. You wonder what song he's chosen, thighs pressing together as you imagine harsh guitars or driving drums, as you remember the black and white of his torso on stage at the bar, ink now sadly hidden behind charcoal long sleeves.

You should have known by the mischievous twinkle in those dark eyes what was coming. But when a smooth R&B beat begins, you blink, clouded mind instantly befuddled. Eddie's voice is still that smoky husk, though it's intentionally exaggerated as he drags out the word, "Baby…" You remain perplexed until he sings the next line: "I'm hot, just like an oven. I need some lovin'..." 

Eddie's rendition of Sexual Healing seems to hover somewhere between his real performance at the bar and his joke performance of I Want It That Way. But when he starts slowly thrusting his hips, running one hand sensually across his chest and up his neck, it becomes abundantly clear that he's fucking around. 

Chrissy wrinkles her nose at his exaggerated movements— body rolling, hips twitching with little jerks as his lips curl with amusement. "Ugh, Eddie," she whines, "this is so cringy!" 

And you know what she means— it is cringy, and everyone knows it. But you can't help but utterly delight in the two sides of Eddie Munson that seem to alternate in little glimpses: confident, self-possessed, sharp, and wolfish, but also awkward, goofy, unafraid to be exactly how he wants to be even in the face of others' judgment. And you know Chrissy isn't judging him, not really, but you think even if she was, he wouldn't care at all.

As you watch Eddie gyrate, eyes wide and grin manic, you feel something start to build inside you— a desire to join in his revelry, in this uninhibited display of enjoyment that disregards the opinions of others.

And with your eyes on Eddie's black and white, you act on that desire. 

You pop up from the couch just in time for the music to swell; he holds the mic out toward you when he sees you coming so you can both sing, "Whenever blue teardrops are fallin'…."

Together you turn to face Chrissy and Steve, smiles wide as you sway, arms wrapping comfortably around each other's waists. You extend your hand toward the others, coaxing them with wagging brows and little shimmies of your shoulders to try to get them to join you. "The love you give to me will free me," you and Eddie sing, sides pressed together, hips bumping as you move out of rhythm. Steve eyes you skeptically as you urge him with your extended hand, but he can't keep the curve off his lips for long as you stage-whisper, "Get up, get up, get up, get up," like it's a message directed to him. Steve sighs heavily, smile springing free as he joins on your other side, wrapping his arm around your back atop Eddies. You barely stave off your giggle as you all start to sway back and forth. 

You do laugh when Steve and Eddie squish you between them to try to both reach the mic. Steve attempts to convince Chrissy to join you, who's still watching you all reluctantly, though you can tell by the look in those blue eyes that she's close to cracking. 

"Come on, Chris," Steve wheedles, and finally, she relents, smile spreading on her bow lips as she skirts around the coffee table, huddling close to sing, " Come take control, just grab ahold of my body and mind—" 

Uninhibited joy floods you entirely as the four of you sing together, all pressed close, faces shining with bright smiles and laughs as Chrissy finally gives in, committing to the cheesiness of this song. When it ends, Steve and Eddie wrap their arms around you both, squishing you together as you and she shriek and giggle. Still pressed tight, you all shuffle dizzily toward the kiosk to choose your final song.

You lean closer, dragging them all with you as you see Mamma Mia on the list. "Steve loves ABBA!" 

"You would love ABBA, dude," Eddie teases, and Steve reaches around you to shove him playfully. 

"Shut up," he grouses, though you predict trouble as his lips go tight against a smirk. "I could tell them about your guilty pleasure music, Munson—" 

Intrigue blooms as Eddie looks instantly horrified. "ABBA it is," he relents quickly, jabbing the selection to start the music and, you suspect, to avoid any follow-up questions.

Mamma Mia turns out to be the perfect song to end with as even Eddie, who'd implied his disdain by teasing Steve, seems to enjoy it. "Yes, I've been broken-hearted, blue since the day we parted," you all belt together, and when you glance at Eddie to see him smiling widely with dimpled cheeks and little scrunched lines at the edges of his warm brown eyes, it strikes you, for the first time, just how downright pretty he is. When those brown eyes catch yours, you don't look away from him, drawn in as the song concludes:

"Mamma mia, now I really know— my my, I could never let you go!"

And with that, your time at Insa comes to a close— but the night is far from over.

-

Inviting Eddie and Chrissy back to the apartment is inevitable, and you smile as Eddie opens the back passenger door of his van for you. "Comfy?" He grins, pulling the seatbelt down to press into your hand. "Buckle up," he says, voice warm and teasing as you giggle. 

"You may think he's kidding," Chrissy says, sweet voice floating back to you from the front seat as Eddie closes your door. "But Eddie is probably the worst driver I've ever met, so… I'd make sure you heed his advice."

When Eddie practically throws himself into the driver's seat, hand jerking the gearshift into reverse as he peeks back over his shoulder, the wicked mischievousness in those brown eyes has you scrambling for Steve's hand to hold tight. "I'm not the worst driver," Eddie says lightly, eyes glinting as he adds, "but I am the craziest."

Despite Eddie's ominous teasing, you make it back to your apartment happy and in one piece. In fact, you're practically effusive from the alcohol and leftover merriment despite how you stumble trying to toe off your boots on the welcome mat. Your loveseat is still littered with the remains of your planned night in— fuzzy socks and knitted blanket strewn across the cushions, Switch balanced on the arm. You gather your items as your boyfriend and guests shed their coats and shoes. Once the socks have been tossed in your hamper and the Switch returned to its ottoman, you reenter the living room with your folded blanket to see Steve and Eddie seated together on the big couch. 

Chrissy pulls the knit from your hands, draping it over the loveseat with impatience.

"What?" you say, perplexed as she pulls you along with purpose, but all becomes clear as she releases your hand to run her fingers lightly down your cardigan instead, smiling coquettishly.

"Let's give the boys a little show again," Chrissy suggests, hand trailing up your sheer black tights, fingertips skimming your thigh as you glance at the couch. And you see that heated look again in brown and hazel— the one they'd worn as you and Chrissy performed Before He Cheats . Heat that coils into you, that echoes the comfortable fuzz in your head from the soju; heat that reminds you of the power you'd discovered, the taste you'd wanted more of. 

You palm Chrissy's waist, crinkling the shapeless fabric against her lithe body as you slant an alluring glance at Steve and Eddie. "Yes," you murmur, "let's." Your smile stretches as you watch them shift against the couch— legs widening, palms rubbing on knees, heads falling back to observe the show.

Caught in the hypnotic power of their masculine gazes, you and Chrissy undress each other, peeking glances at your men as you reveal skin little by little. She slides your cardigan from your shoulders, air cold against your bare arms as you lift her dress to tease a glimpse of her panties before letting it fall again, giggling with her as the men huff their impatience. 

Gradually, Chrissy sheds each article of clothing from your body: your tank top to reveal your midnight blue bra, your tight black skirt— which nearly gets stuck on your ass, which would have been embarrassing if you hadn't noticed how both Eddie and Steve's eyes were wide and rapt as it finally bounced free— and your white socks. Finally, she peels your sheer black tights down your legs, revealing a matching set of cheeky midnight blue panties cut high on your hips. You run your hands along her clothed waist again as Chrissy smiles at you with pink bow lips, eyes meeting. You know what her expression means because you're feeling it too: the heady desire practically palpable in the air as it rolls off your boyfriends. The sensual feminine control you have over them in this moment, made more potent together.

Chrissy is wearing much less clothing than you, so you gently lift her dress over her head last, revealing a set of aggressively strappy black lingerie. She runs her hand over your bare waist to settle on the small of your back, and your hand settles on her hip, fingers resting against the thin strap of her thong. Together, you turn to face the couch, bodies on display for devouring gazes.

And devour they do— they no longer lean back against the couch, feigning nonchalance. No, Steve and Eddie are so clearly wound tight by your mutual display, eyes dark and gleaming as you both draw closer. 

You and Chrissy have a choice now: begin the night by approaching your own boyfriends, comfortable and safe; or, perhaps, decide to approach the other man on the couch, whose touch is still unfamiliar and thus tempting. As you glance between them— first at the roguish swoop of Steve's bangs over hungry hazel, the look on his face one you've seen many times before, and then to the wildness of Eddie's long disheveled curls, brown eyes darkened like ink, the look on his face one that makes you flutter with nerves— you realize that your emerging boldness isn't yet enough to steer you away from the comfort of Steve's arms.

You gently pull from Chrissy, eyes fixed on the buttons of Steve's shirt. As soon as you get close enough, his hands attach to your hips, warm and broad and not at all timid as he pulls you onto his lap. You settle, humming as he kneads the flesh of your ass. As his lips find the sensitive spot underneath your jaw, your eyes slip closed to work the buttons of his shirt open by feel. The couch dips to your right as Chrissy mirrors you on Eddie's lap, and you sneak a tiny peek at what they're doing. You see Eddie's thumb drag her bottom lip down as her hands dip to the hem of his muscle shirt. "Mmm," you hum again, breathy and quiet, as Steve sucks lightly on your neck, fingers moving faster to pop his buttons so you can feel the press of his skin against yours. 

As soon as you get the last button free, you pull away from Steve's mouth, dragging the fabric down his shoulders, revealing a dense cloud of hair on his chest. It's soft like fur under your fingers as you stroke him— your favorite thing to do when Steve's shirt is first removed— and you get just a glimpse of hazel nearly swallowed by black pupils before Steve's mouth claims yours.

Your fingers continue to drag through the hair on his chest as Steve cradles you close with solid arms, tongue dipping wet and insistent into your mouth. It's a novel experience to be making out on the couch next to another half-naked couple like this. You find with the doubled sounds blending together— the soft smack of lips, the subtleness of deepened breaths, the masculine rumble of low groans, the high, breathy moans to compliment them— that when the throb starts within you, it intensifies quickly, burning in your belly, building insistent need that demands to be sated.

Steve pulls you closer by your ass, the motion dragging your panties against his jeans, catching your clit just right to throw kindling on the burn. When his hands palm your breasts over your bra, your fingers find the buckle of his belt, tugging at it until it jangles loose and you can pull down his zipper. Steve leaves your mouth to press blistering kisses along your jaw; you lift your hips, and he dips lower on your neck to reach his pants, shimmying them down his legs until he can kick them off into a haphazard pile.

You sigh as Steve mouths at your neck, tangling your fingers in the thick waves of his brown hair when he starts to suck a mark, the sting adding to your kindling. And as you tilt your head back to give him more access, you hear it— quiet murmuring, a delicate voice pitched thick and sultry beside you.

"Am I your bad girl, Eddie?"

Your eyes pop open as surprise rushes, and you can't help but dart a quick glance at the couple beside you: sweet Chrissy with her powdery-soft eyes and saccharine smiles, face flushed as Eddie's plush lips drag against her throat when he murmurs back, "You know you are, baby."

Chrissy hums in pleasure, and you suck in a quick breath as you see Eddie's pink tongue dart out to lick at her skin, the sight conjuring the phantom brush against your own throat— wet and warm opposite Steve's sucking lips. You stifle a whimper as you burn hotter between your legs, hips shifting against Steve's lap as he sucks your neck more aggressively. And then Chrissy talks again, still quiet, but yet more shocking:

"I'm just a dirty little slut for you—"

Steve's lips suddenly pop from your neck, and you sway as his nose abruptly drags against your throat when he turns to look. "Damn, Chrissy," he rasps, sounding almost as surprised as you feel. "You've really got a mouth on you, huh?"

Chrissy's blue eyes widen, her gaze darting from you to Steve as she shrinks slightly in Eddie's arms, suddenly bashful. "No, no," Steve assures her, "it's a good thing. It's hot." He pulls one arm away from your back to clasp her forearm, rubbing his thumb soothingly against her skin. When your boyfriend smiles at her, you watch Chrissy's expression soften, a tiny relieved smile curling in return. "No need to be shy," he murmurs, soft and kind, and as you look at his profile— alkaline nose, stubble dusting his jaw, thick dark brows tugged up in an earnest expression of reassurance— you feel a sudden rush of fond affection for Steve Harrington. 

You glance at Chrissy again, smiling encouragingly when she meets your eyes before looking back at Steve. And you notice that Steve hasn't drawn his hand from Chrissy's arm, and Chrissy's gaze is running over Steve's face, and if they're looking at each other, then, well, that leaves you free to search for that pair of beautiful brown eyes.

And you find them— your heart thumps as you look at Eddie to see him already staring back at you, intent on your face. You feel that flutter of wings kick up as your gaze roves over him, heart beating faster at the sight of that dark body armor exposed again, so stark on the pale quartz of his arms and chest. 

Instantly, you need the press of Eddie's inked skin against yours.

You don't know if Eddie can see the desire in your eyes or if maybe he's just thinking the same thing as you— either way, it brings both relief and unbelievable tension when he murmurs, voice huskier than usual, "Do we wanna mix things up a bit?"

The implication is clear, and as Steve's palm drags lightly up your back, lips pressing against your temple, you look to Chrissy. 

Her face is flushed, blue eyes hazy with want as she watches Steve nuzzle against your skin; when her gaze catches yours, agreement flows between you. 

You each slip from your boyfriends' laps, exchanging soft smiles as you brush by one another to switch places. There's so much of Eddie's pale skin on display, so many dark trails of ink that weave across his chest and down his arms. Your gaze drags along them until it travels lower over his abdomen, over his soft stomach, over the trail of dark hair that leads down below checkered boxers, loose fabric obscuring what's beneath. You're willing— more than willing— but looking down into Eddie's dark eyes causes those wings to stir up, to flutter wildly with a potent mixture of anticipation, nervousness, and desire. 

Slowly, Eddie leans forward, gaze locked on your wide eyes, assessing your reaction as he draws closer. He touches you carefully; his fingertips drag lightly over your thigh, feather-light, traveling up, up, up until they brush against the lace of your panties at your hip. And when just the tip of his index finger sneaks beneath it, the touch coaxes you closer, drawing you to his ink and smoke.

When you settle on his lap, the drag of Eddie's warm arms as they close around your back makes you shiver despite their heat, lips parting as you near those brown eyes, that soft nose, that strong jaw, those full pink lips. Eddie tilts his chin up for you, an invitation, and his warm breath puffs against your lips before they finally meet again. 

Kissing Eddie is just like kissing Steve, but also nothing like it at all. His arms are firm like Steve's, and his lips are full like Steve's, and he holds you close like Steve does. But Eddie's curls brush against your neck, teasing your skin; Eddie's scent is muskier, less crisp than Steve's; and Eddie doesn't dive into your mouth like Steve does after three long years of dating. He's more polite— not quite hesitant, but careful as his lips press to yours, not deep or thorough enough to sate the want that's throbbing between your legs. And you appreciate his consideration, but you need more.

You tilt your head, fingers finding his jaw as you press closer, urging him silently to take more of you. Your arousal flutters when you pull that breathy groan again from his throat at your eagerness, and Eddie's arms tighten, pressing your breasts to his chest as he leans into you with his kiss. Your blood sings as he kisses you deeper for a while until he pulls from your mouth to duck to your neck. Eddie licks a path up your throat, slick and hot, and you tip your head to give him room, arms draping over his shoulders, fingers finally tucking into those wild curls you've been admiring from afar. 

Eddie groans quietly against your skin as his hands run over your back, calloused and rough, dragging over your shoulders and spine with a tantalizing rasp. You notice that his fingers begin to linger near the band of your bra, and you anticipate his question before it rumbles against your throat. "Can I take this off?"

Though you'd been prepared for it, as it's voiced, the question makes those wings flutter again, mixing nerves with arousal. A quick breath, the press of your fingers into curls to ground you, and then you answer. "Yes," you whisper, breathing deep as you feel him work at the clasp.

A high moan next to you has your eyes darting to the left for the first time since you'd crawled into Eddie's lap. Steve is sucking at the thin column of Chrissy's throat. You wonder briefly if it's invasive to watch them, but the thought melts as you notice Chrissy's bra is already off, and your boyfriend's broad hand is gripping her breast, fingers rolling her nipple.

Chrissy's breasts are just as delicate as the rest of her: small and perky, with little pink nipples nearly engulfed by Steve's broad fingers. So different from your breasts, different enough to make a sudden flash of insecurity prickle as they fall free from your bra, bottom-heavy.

You turn away from Chrissy, nerves sharpening when you see Eddie's gaze roving over your breasts. The instinctual desire to hide is strong, but Eddie speaks before you can. "Look at you," he hums, practically a purr as he looks up at you, eyes glittering with approval. His voice startles you, and you feel your cheeks flush as he presses you gently closer with his palm against your spine. When Eddie kisses the base of your throat, plush lips soft and warm, your nerves settle; when he nips downward, the flutters take over as you stretch your spine, angling your chest up for him.

As Eddie's lips draw closer to your nipple, you shift your hips unconsciously, body seeking to ease the ache between your legs. When he hums, hands wrapping around your hips, you realize that Eddie is very vocal— you can hear each time he responds to something you've done, and you find you enjoy having that knowledge, that confirmation. When he lifts your hips slightly so he can adjust beneath you, the groan he muffles against your skin when his hardening length presses against your pussy echoes the relief you feel inside but don't voice. He's hot through those loose boxers, firm as he drags against your heat when you shift your hips experimentally again, quietly exploring how he feels. But when his lips close around your nipple, sucking at the same time you use him to drag friction against your clit, you can't prevent the tiny whimper that escapes your lips.

Eddie switches to the other breast, presses his face closer, sucks harder, and you're pleased that he seems to have enjoyed your sound. Calloused hands meet at the small of your back, silently urging you forward; encouraged, you rock against him again. With each shift of your hips on his lap and each hot lave of his tongue against your nipples, you stoke each other's fires, clear in how you throb harder and he hardens further beneath you.

You hear Chrissy murmur again, coquettish and smooth: ""You know, Steve, I can be your little slut, too."  

You don't look, eyes closed while Eddie lavishes your breasts, but you hear your boyfriend chuckle breathlessly, husky and eager. "Yeah?" Chrissy hums, and their lips smack, soft groans and moans falling from them, washing over you. The heat in their voices— the evidence of their pleasure— adds to your own pleasure, and you move your hips more boldly against Eddie's lap as you hear it. You're enjoying how he's sucking your nipples, each brush of his tongue zinging to your pussy, but your desire suddenly shifts. You use the fingers buried in his hair to tug him lightly from you, pussy pulsing as he startles a slight groan, brown eyes snapping to yours as his pupils dilate. 

It only confirms what you'd just realized: Eddie's reactions feed you, and you're hungry for more.

You tilt his head back, ducking to kiss and suck at the edge of his jaw, mouthing at the pale quartz of his throat. You wonder what Eddie would do if you worked a bruise into his skin— would he suck in a delicious gasp of air? Would he moan, chest rumbling against your breasts? Would his hips twitch beneath you, pressing himself up into your heat? 

To experiment, you kiss him sweetly beneath his ear, stimulating the skin before taking it between your teeth, nipping gently. You feel his breath catch in his chest; his hands take firm hold of your hips for the first time, dragging you against his hard cock. 

And oh, is it so utterly satisfying when Eddie's hips press up into you, wanting you closer as you suck and nip at his throat. When he starts a slow, steady grind, pushing you down against his cock as he drags friction along your clit, both of your breaths deepen, quicken, murmuring small sounds of pleasure into each other's skin and hair. Arousal begins to tighten low in your belly, kindling finally catching fire, pussy now slick and heated.

"I need your mouth on my cunt, Steve."

You flush hotter as you hear Chrissy's words and feel Eddie's fingers tighten against your hips. The idea sits loaded between you as Steve murmurs something to Chrissy, presumably about her proposition, but you can't be bothered to listen as you feel Eddie swallow under your lips, chest pressing to your breasts with his deep breath.

Eddie's fingers find your jaw then, gently guiding you up to look into his eyes: brown burnished to warm amber, lit from within by feverish desire. Desire for you. It makes you pulse again, knees squeezing lightly against the outside of his hips.

After looking at you for a moment, Eddie draws closer, soft nose brushing your ear. "You wanna?" he husks, lips feather-light against the skin of your throat. Tantalizing smoke flows, inflating your lungs as he asks, "You want me to go down on you?"

You bite your lip as a thrill pulses through you, and you nod, frizzy curls brushing your cheek. He kisses you again underneath your ear, firmer now, seeming eager at your answer. His eagerness settles into you, and your excitement rises as Eddie kisses a path back to your lips. You cup his jaw as he reaches your mouth, opening your lips for him, tasting his tongue for the first time. 

Eddie's tongue is sweet like soju and spicy like cinnamon gum, but it mostly tastes like nothing you've tasted before— his flavor, you suppose. His tongue is firm and wet as it dips into your mouth, and you press yourself to his chest as you taste him, wanting every inch of his skin against your own, as much as you can touch. 

Beside you, Chrissy squeals as the couch suddenly shifts, and you part from Eddie's mouth in surprise at the sudden movement. You see Steve carrying her to the loveseat; lithe, pale arms wrap around his broad shoulders, ankles meeting at the waistline of his tight black boxer briefs. 

You don't want to, but you start to think about how easy it was for Steve to lift Chrissy, how he never picks you up like that—

Eddie's thumb brushes against your clothed slit, and the thought promptly sieves from your conscious mind.

You find brown eyes by instinct, a little plaintive crease forming in your brow as you look at him. Eddie's lips curl in a smile when, as he brushes you again, you gasp, and your eyes dart down to watch his hand— ruddy knuckles, gleaming silver rings that look aggressive against the dainty lace of your blue panties. You squirm slightly as he palms your thighs, fingers kneading flesh, and you see it at the same time you feel it— the overwhelming wetness of your pussy, the saturation of your panties. The wet spot on the front of his boxers, which you wish was from him but know is from you.

A hot rush of embarrassment pours down your spine as you realize you've soaked through your underwear onto his, but Eddie seems not to share your sentiment. His smile grows, eyes half-lidded and heated as he draws closer to your face. "So wet for me," Eddie praises you, breath ghosting against your lips, inky eyes glittering with approval. When his thumb brushes you again, you shift into his touch, hips pressing it more firmly against your slick heat, seeking more pressure.

A glint of teeth as his smile turns to a smirk. "Mmm," Eddie hums, voice low, husked against your lips. "Good girl."

Your breath catches, pussy clenching as he calls you that— feeling bursts low in your belly, fluttering, blooming up to your chest as you whimper for him. "Oh," Eddie murmurs, voice still quiet but curious now, as if he's discovered something. "You like that, don't you?"

Your face flushes hot, lips twisting as you shrink from a response, but Eddie takes pity on you. "Lie down on the couch for me," he says, releasing you from having to answer. 

You rearrange until you're stretched out flat on the big couch, looking beyond your breasts to the valley of your soft stomach, the curve of your thighs, watching as Eddie's fingers seek blue lace. He pauses before he removes them, on his knees and hovering above you, wild curls like a dark stormcloud around his head, patient as he waits for your permission. 

Your chest heaves with a shaky breath, and then you nod.

The air is cold against your newly-revealed skin as Eddie drags your panties from you, and you bite your lip as you feel them graze your calves. You look up at the white ceiling as his hands softly press your thighs apart, heart thumping as his curls brush your skin, pussy throbbing with the anticipation of his mouth on you—

As Eddie licks a thick stripe up your pussy, your quiet moan expresses your blissful relief.

His tongue is slick fire against your heat, wet and firm on your swollen flesh. Again, it strikes you, just like when you'd first sat on his lap, how he feels different from Steve. The thought fills you with a naughty thrill, the knowledge that you're letting another man lick your pussy while your boyfriend is sprawled out on the loveseat nearby, having given his full permission. You're allowed to enjoy this, to relish the way Eddie's broad tongue parts your folds, the way he drags that slick fire from your entrance to your clit before teasing it with little light brushes of his tongue-tip, little flicks that make your hips shift as he stokes the burn in your belly. 

That burn only increases as Eddie starts to explore you— thumbs pulling your folds apart, tongue dipping into your entrance, lips sucking lightly on your clit, tongue swirling in different patterns as if he's trying to learn you, to seek out your strongest reactions. And when he finds something that makes your thighs twitch, or your breath hitch, or your lips part with a moan or whimper, he does it again and again, a little firmer or lighter, a little faster or slower, curious like he'd been when he'd discovered you liked the way he spoke to you.

It begins to build— the tension inside you, encouraged by Eddie's eager seeking. But it's not the only thing that builds— you're suddenly reminded of what your boyfriend is doing sprawled out on the loveseat nearby when their sounds hit you like someone has turned up the dial and stripped away any filters.

You hear Chrissy first: loud feminine moaning, interrupted as she mewls, "Fuck, yeah— oh, that feels so good, Steve." 

Steve groans, the sound muffled as if against flesh. "Your pussy tastes so fuckin' amazing." 

Another moan, higher. "Oh yeah, shit, Steve— finger-fuck me hard, baby—" 

More groaning, loud and deep. "Oh, fuck—"

Though Eddie's tongue is lavishing you with pleasure, once you hear them, you can't stop the spiral of your thoughts. You're suddenly conscious that you've been mostly silent this whole time. Should I be making more noise? You remember how Chrissy had called herself a bad girl for Eddie, how he'd seemed to like it. Should I be saying things like that? You can feel it: the freeze that begins to creep, to spread along your ribs. And as Eddie keeps licking you, Steve's voice echoes in your head: 'Your pussy tastes so fucking amazing,' he'd told Chrissy. Steve has never said you taste bad or anything— he's never really said anything about your taste before. What if I don't taste as good as her? What if Eddie doesn't like the way I taste but is too nice to say anything? What if—?

When the wet heat of Eddie's tongue leaves you, it almost seems like confirmation of your spiraling thoughts— the freeze travels up your throat, brow twitching with distress until you feel the couch shift underneath his weight. And then he's there: fingers brushing back the hair at your temple, brown eyes staring calmly into your own, warm skin covering you as your thighs part to accommodate his hips. 

Eddie's voice is a soft murmur. "You're all tangled up in your head, aren't you?"

Your eyes dart between each of his as you look up at him shyly, swallowing thick against the freeze. But his warm gaze is melting it; the heat of his chest is sinking into your ribcage. You nod for him.

"Focus on me," he says, ducking his head to press his lips to yours. 

And as you breathe slowly through your nose, lips parting to allow him access, Steve and Chrissy recede. You let them fade as Eddie coaxes you back to him, tongue slick against yours, fingers stroking your cheeks and jaw and neck until you make a breathy sound against his lips and your hips shift up into his, seeking, wanting. "There she is," Eddie murmurs, approval clear in that rasp of smoke he breathes into your mouth. He pulls back, curls brushing your collarbone as he strokes your hair again. "I wanna make you feel good," he says. "Will you let me make you feel good?"

"Yes," you whisper.

Eddie hovers nearby, waiting patiently as you look into his eyes, that warm brown burnished to amber. And then you stretch your neck to kiss him. 

As soon as your mouth meets his, he leans in, lips pillow-soft and plush, sticking slightly as you pull away. You're rewarded with a crook of a smile and a smoky purr. "That's it, sweet girl."

It's like 'sweetheart,' like 'good girl,' except it's so much fucking better. Your pussy pulses, hips pressing up into him as feeling blooms in your body, sweet like a rush of rain. You kiss Eddie again, more passionately this time, hands cupping his jaw to keep him close. He groans against your mouth, hips pressing his cock to your pussy, only the thin fabric of his boxers separating your hot skin. Mouths open, wet, sloppier than before, tasting of alcohol and cinnamon and musk— the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. 

And when Eddie, now satisfied that he will sustain your attention, travels down your body— dropping kisses over the peaks of your breasts, the slope of your soft stomach, the wide curve of your hip— you aren't thinking about anything except his mouth on you: where it is now, and where it's going to be as it travels lower, lower, lower.

As his broad tongue parts you again, your hips twitch up into him, less inhibited now. Eddie groans against your heat, vibrating deliciously, and you feel that fire burn hot in your belly as he noses your clit, tongue dipping into your entrance. He moves back up, lips sucking on your clit, and your sigh turns to a moan as you feel his finger press inside, stretching you slowly. You reach down for him, soft fingers weaving with callused where his hand rests against your hip. 

And it's so strange. His tongue is working your clit, and his finger is stretching you open. But it's when Eddie squeezes your hand, fingers holding tightly to yours, that something shifts inside: creeping, extending into peat, quivering down into soil at the bottom of you.

Distantly, you register that Chrissy's moaning and mewling have begun to intensify, to crest in a wave of feminine satisfaction. But you don't think about that. You're thinking about the sound Eddie makes as you tangle the fingers of your other hand in his hair, the way he moans against your swollen flesh, voice pitched higher than before. Discovering that reaction makes you wonder how else you might make him react. You imagine that pale quartz skin flushed as you take him into your mouth; you imagine that strong jaw tensing as you lower onto him, engulfing him in your wet warmth. You imagine those plush lips spilling groans as you rock on his length; you imagine his brow contorting in pleasure as he empties inside you.

And with these imaginings, you're nearly shocked to feel that tightening in your lower belly, the tingling burn that signals your approaching orgasm. You're shocked because this never happens— not from being eaten out. Not from being fingered. And your breath quickens, fingers grasping desperately onto Eddie's as your muscles tense in anticipation, head tilting back as you begin to moan louder, for once unconcerned about the noise you're making—

The creak of the coffee table is abrupt and utterly startling, and your eyes pop open as adrenaline spikes in your chest, gaze darting toward the sound.

It's Steve, sitting on the table, hard cock trapped behind tight boxers, hazel eyes darting intently between your face and your spread legs.

And it's Chrissy, standing beside him, letting Steve guide her onto his lap as her blue eyes rove over your naked body.

Instantly, your muscles tense for a different reason, your arousal withering under the weight of their stares, feeling like you're a bug under a microscope.

You realize, with startling clarity, that the brush of Eddie's tongue and the press of his finger is no longer stimulating you, that your orgasm has been chased away by your audience. Eddie hasn't noticed yet that things have changed for you, and you desperately want to keep it that way. And it's not the first time you've faked an orgasm for Steve. It's not that it doesn't feel good, that Steve isn't good at it— clearly, he must be since he made Chrissy cum. It's because you can never fully relax enough to let yourself go. 

So you do what you always do: you make your chest heave with deepened breaths, tense your legs against Eddie's ears, but not too hard; and then, when you deem you've gone long enough, you throw back your head, drag your moans out as you twitch your hips up into Eddie's face, writhing against the couch.

"That's it, baby," Steve murmurs, and you know you've been convincing.

You open your eyes when the couch dips beside your shoulder, registering Steve's face just before he kisses you. You open your lips automatically, though you balk slightly at the unfamiliar musky taste on his tongue, realizing it's Chrissy in his mouth. You withdraw your fingers from Eddie then, releasing his hair and hand, and your thighs are cold without the tickle of his curls against them as he withdraws from you. You keep kissing Steve as you feel Eddie pull up your panties, lifting your hips for him. And as the kindness of the gesture strikes you, you pull from Steve's lips then, glancing up at the man still kneeling between your legs.

Eddie's arm is wrapped around Chrissy's waist as she clings to his side, pink bow lips happily pressing kisses to his cheek. You watch him wipe his mouth on the back of his wrist, but when your eyes dart up to his, the ink of his stare— its intensity— makes you suddenly want to squirm.

Unnerved, you avoid Eddie's gaze, pecking Steve one last time on the mouth as you brush back a rogue lock of hair that's fallen over his eye. You aren't sure what Eddie's stare means— if he's expecting you to thank him, or if he wants to tell you something, or if, God forbid, he'd found the experience of eating you out less than pleasant. 

As vague nervousness pings in your chest, you know you need to do something to distract yourself from this train of thought, and the question of what to do is thankfully answered by Chrissy:

"All right, Mr. Harrington." She smiles foxily. "Now it's your turn."

Eddie's arm slides from Chrissy's waist as she and Steve move close; when she settles on her knees before him, you sit up, eyes locked with purpose on the front of Eddie's loose boxers, now tented. While part of you wants a distraction from your nervousness, another part conjures the flush of Eddie's face as you again imagine going down on him, and you feel your pussy pulse despite the lingering nerves. 

You choose to let that decide for you.

"I'm happy to return the favor, you know. Since you got me off." You sound more confident than you feel.

Your gaze darts to his, diverting quickly as that strange intensity remains in his eyes. But when you kneel beside Chrissy, looking up at him, Eddie rises from the couch to stand next to Steve, pale hands hanging loosely at his sides. 

It seems whatever he's thinking isn't pressing enough to distract from the promise of your mouth on him.

You draw your fingers lightly up his legs, sparse hair tickling as you reach up, up, up to the waistband of his boxers, dipping your fingertips underneath as you lift on your knees to press a kiss beside his navel. When you look at Eddie again, that intensity in his face has shifted, heated, turned desirous once more as he watches you slowly pull down his boxers.

He pops free from the fabric, stiff and thick, not as long as Steve but flushed a deep, mouthwatering pink at the tip, standing proud from a snatch of dark curls. You suck in a quick breath as you see him, as he steps from his boxers and his length bobs near your cheek with the movement. Beside you, Chrissy is already working Steve, tongue swirling around his head, delicate fingers lightly gripping the base of his cock— but you don't want to watch her, mesmerizing though her technique may be. 

You want to watch the man standing before you.

Your tongue darts out to taste him, dragging slowly along the underside of his head, and you watch Eddie's adam's apple jump with a thick swallow, eyes locked on yours as you take him into your mouth. His precum is briny on your tongue, and you bob lightly on his tip until he's breathing more heavily. You explore him the way he'd explored you, trying to learn what he likes— licking a fat stripe up the underside, flicking your tongue against his frenulum, taking him further into your mouth, jaw clicking as you stretch to accommodate him. And that flush you'd imagined on his cheeks— you're watching it spread now, relishing the sound of his moans as you suck and lick him, lavishing all your attention on his cock.

Eddie's flush and his sounds spur you on, making you bold. And maybe it's the way Chrissy is so expertly bobbing and swirling on Steve's cock beside you. Or maybe it's your hunger for more of Eddie's reactions. Whatever it is, you're possessed to do something you've never thought to do before: as your lips pop from the head of Eddie's cock, you work his length with your hand, ducking your head and gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth.

His reaction is immediate and utterly breathtaking. 

"Jesus Christ," Eddie hisses, hand fisting against his thigh, ruddy knuckles turning pale white above his chunky silver rings. Your pussy throbs, and you hum; he thrusts into your fist, smoky groans slipping from his lips as you lick and suck on his balls until you feel his warm palm clasp the back of your head, fingers tightening in your hair. You release him then, taking his length into your mouth again, sucking him as you work the underside of his cock with your tongue. 

You may not be as good as Chrissy at giving head, but damned if you haven't had plenty of practice these last three years.

The tell-tale sound of Steve's release— a ragged breath, groans stifled in his throat— is unmistakable beside you, and you keep bobbing on Eddie's cock as you glance to see Steve painting Chrissy's perky breasts with his cum. She squishes them together with her hands, sucking his tip as he gasps and moans, and you're distracted until you feel Eddie's fingers tighten in your hair again. You look up at him then, watching his eyes dart briefly to the side before returning to you, remaining there as you take him a little deeper into your mouth. Eddie's fingers in your hair loosen, but not to let go; instead, he drags his palm further down to cup the back of your skull, voice a husky murmur as he tells you, "I'm close."

You hum a moan around his length, and Eddie takes a sharp breath, jaw tightening, brow tensing, dark eyes intent as he watches you suck his cock. You can feel him starting to twitch in your mouth, and you prepare to pull off and swap to your hand to bring him to completion.

And then Eddie strokes your hair as he husks, "You want my cum, sweetheart?"

The answer, before he'd asked, was no, not particularly. Sure, you'd wanted him to orgasm because that was your aim in giving him a blowjob. But did you want his cum? You wouldn't say so. Yet the way Eddie's face looks— framed by those beautifully wild curls, brown eyes hazy and inky-black with his want for you, brow pinched, cheeks flushed— and the way his voice sounds, that smoky timbre that won't stop reaching, tugging, pulling deep inside you….

Suddenly, you do. You want Eddie's cum.

"Mmhmm," you confirm, humming around his cock, taking him deeper yet, eyes locked on his face as those full lips fall open with a deep moan, and Eddie gives you what you want.

He's briny and musky but not unpleasant as he floods your mouth, cock twitching on your tongue. You pull off until just his tip is inside, swallowing him down as best you can. But there's a lot of cum, and you're not used to swallowing, so it's not surprising that a little leaks from your lips as you try to keep up. 

Your eyes open as you feel a brush against your face, and you only realize then that you'd closed them. You blink, realizing that Eddie's hand is on your cheek and his thumb is wiping a bit of cum from the corner of your lips. And that gentleness you see sometimes— it's there now, pouring out in amber brown as he looks at you, eyes deep and framed by long, dark lashes.

A flutter of wings accompanies the brush of Eddie's thumb against your skin, and you find yourself running your palm softly up his calf, wanting to somehow communicate the blooming you feel inside at the tenderness of his touch.

"Damn, Munson," Steve says, and your spine straightens at the loudness. "How'd you get her to do that?" He chuckles, hazel eyes teasing as your gaze darts to meet them. "Gotta give me pointers," Steve jokes, and you pull your head back, suddenly realizing that your lips are still wrapped around Eddie's cock.

Eddie huffs a chuckle, glancing at his friend as his hand drops from the back of your head. "Well, maybe if you tasted better," he ribs lightly, cocking a brow. "I eat my weight in Twizzlers." 

Steve scoffs, shoving his shoulder. "Fuck off."

You'd felt on the edge of embarrassment, but it recedes as their attention leaves you, focused on each other instead. You look at Chrissy to your side, gaze meeting powdery-soft blue and a kind smile. 

A sudden surge of fondness for Chrissy fills you as you kneel side-by-side while the men argue familiarly. Strangely, there isn't any strangeness between you after having blown each other's boyfriends, but you welcome that lack as she rolls her eyes at their antics, fluttering her eyelashes to imply exasperation. 

You giggle, jerking your chin toward the bedroom. "Come on," you say, smiling at her. "Let's get cleaned up and dressed. Forget the bickering dummies."

-

When you emerge from the bedroom, you find the guys have resolved their petty argument and are sitting at the dining room table, presumably waiting for you both. You've redressed in your black skirt, tank top, and cardigan out of solidarity with Chrissy since she didn't have anything but her dress to wear, though you'd pretended it was just for convenience, so she didn't feel bad. You somewhat regret that when Chrissy wants to talk to Steve about her class again— it turns out that wasn't merely a ploy to get you and Eddie to spend together that first time you'd met— and Eddie says he has something for you in his van.

The air is cold against your bare legs as you stand near the back doors, hugging yourself tight, cardigan not nearly enough to ward off the chill. It’s forgotten, though, when Eddie emerges with a swath of black fabric, smiling manically, brown eyes wide as he brandishes his find.

It's a t-shirt with white graphics: an open coffin and swathe of bats that flow across the jagged name ‘Corroded Coffin.’ "If you're gonna take my place," he says, dark eyes dancing, "you gotta rep the merch."

You laugh as you take it from him, holding it up to your torso. It's at least three sizes too big for you, but you don't care; you bunch it in your hands as Eddie explains, "Sorry it's so big— we only have these leftover 'til we order more."

Unconcerned, you pop the shirt over your head. You giggle as you realize it covers your skirt and fits easily, even over your cardigan, arms spreading wide to show it off. 

You thank him genuinely, then follow up with a tease. "When's my first show? I'm free next week."

Eddie laughs, the sound scratchy and thick, and it flutters low in your belly— the knowledge that you'd amused him. "Hold on, now," he says. "You haven't even auditioned yet."

"True," you reply, smiling as his eyes crinkle at you. You don't know what possesses you— it's a total non sequitur, and it makes no sense to ask right now, but you really want to know. "Was it good?" you ask, voice hesitant and quiet. "The, um…" you work to clarify as his head tilts in confusion. "The blowjob?"

Eddie's brow jerks, but his answer is quick and sure. "Yeah," he replies, a corner of his lips curling in a small smile. "Yeah, it was good."

And had you known what would come next, you never would have asked. But you didn't know Eddie would follow up with a question of his own. 

You didn't know he'd noticed.

His head tilts again as he asks plainly, "Why did you fake your orgasm?"

The words strike like a physical blow, and the liquid rush of hot mortification is so overwhelming that your knees nearly buckle with it. Your cheeks heat, blushing bright in the shine of the streetlight, horror flooding your face as you stare at him. The shame of it— of Eddie not only knowing you'd pretended to cum, but voicing it like this— pricks at your eyes, stinging as they water.

Instantly, Eddie looks utterly stricken, eyes darting helplessly over your face. "Shit, I— I'm sorry—" He takes a step forward, brow crumpling, arms extending, fingers flexing as if he wants to grab onto something— you, the van door, his hair. Something. Anything. "Fuck— Look, just forget I said anything—" 

The sight of Eddie's distress just makes your own distress more acute; you stumble to explain. "No, I'm just…" your chin trembles as you attempt to tell the truth. "I'm just embarrassed."

He looks even more horrified. "Was it…." He trails off and swallows, voice hoarse. "D-Did I do something wrong—?" 

Your eyes widen. "No, no! You were great. I… I just felt, like…." You force the words out, hating how his face looks enough to voice them. "When they came over to, like, watch…." Admitting this is embarrassing, but you're already mortified, so the benefit of truth outweighs the sting. "I just felt kind of pressured, and it took me out of the moment." 

Eddie blinks, frowning less fiercely now, but he doesn't look entirely convinced. But you know by now that he’s kind, so you let that strengthen you. You admit, "I… I've never actually gotten there before from… from someone going down on me. So, it's not you." 

You want to make him feel better, but Eddie Munson is too perceptive; he searches your expression, reading something there. "I swear," he says slowly, cautiously, "I'm not trying to be a dick, but.. has he ever made you…?" He trails off, dark eyes free of judgment, sympathy in the tilt of his brow.

You blush deeply, averting your eyes. Eddie isn't being a dick, but the question is too intimate. Your truthful answer is too revealing. 

"Please," you whisper instead, voice trembling. "Just… please don't tell Steve about this." 

You can feel Eddie move closer, though your gaze is stuck to the giant t-shirt hanging from your frame, concealing your clothes beneath a swath of black and white. When he stops in front of you, body close but not touching, you take a bracing breath and finally drag your eyes to his face.

Those bright brown eyes are so big, and Eddie's touch is careful as he pulls you in, folding you in the cradle of his arms. The chill of the outdoors is soothed; hot embarrassment fades as you breathe in smoke and apples. You let him hold you, burying your nose in his collar, chasing that scent until he speaks relief. 

"It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

-

Not long after Eddie and Chrissy have left, your phone vibrates.

You're brushing your teeth, swathed in flannel pajamas, squinting in the bathroom light as you hear it, and when you swipe to unlock it, peering down at the text, you smile through foamy toothpaste.

'If you want to take over as frontwoman of Corroded Coffin, you're gonna need to nail your audition song.' Eddie has followed the text with a Spotify link.

You spit, rinsing it down as you plunk your toothbrush into its holder. "I'm taking out the trash real quick," you tell Steve, carrying your phone past the bed where he's reclining, scrolling on his own phone.

The apartment stairwell echoes with My Curse by Killswitch Engage; it trails after you all the way to the trash room. This is better than Lacuna Coil— it's driving but somehow still melodic, and that first howl is so guttural that it quivers behind your ribs. On the way back up, you pause at the third story landing as you open up your text messages and record the voice note, typing, 'You can send in your two weeks now.' 

At first, you feel silly. But when you listen back, your voice sounds full, echoing off the stairwell walls. And you haven't gone overboard; you've only sung about fifteen seconds, your favorite part of the song, enamored by the strength of the singer's baritone, the emotion in his vibrato: 'There is love burning to find you; will you wait for me?'

Before you can let the rising nervousness freeze you, you hit send.

By floor five, he's answered. 'Holy shit, sweetheart. If you can scream, I'll clear out my desk right now.'

You flush and giggle at the choice of words, the sound echoing loudly in the emptiness. At the threshold of your floor, you type back, 'I'll leave that to the professional, I think.' With that, you slip your phone into your pocket, pushing open the door.

When you return to the comfort of your bedroom, soft light illuminates Steve's hazel eyes as he glances up, a broad smile spreading on his lips. "Hey," he says softly, lips crooking higher as you slide under soft covers beside him.

"Hi!" You smile at him before plugging in your phone beside your bed.

"So," he begins, running a palm through his bangs, mussing them against his forehead. You straighten them fondly as he talks. "I was wondering. Was there anything Eddie did today that you really liked? Something that you'd like me to do?"

Steve's gaze is warm as he waits for your reply. You feel appreciation rise at his consideration, grateful that he'd be willing to change or adapt based on today's discoveries, the things you'd appreciated. 

But as you think about the things you'd appreciated most— Eddie's calloused hand squeezing yours, the rasp of his thumb against your lip, his murmured words: 'I won't tell anyone. I promise—'

You realize that you can't really explain it. That it's amorphous; that when you try to grasp it, it slips through your fingers, visible but not yet palpable.

Like smoke.

"No," you answer, "Nothing really." When Steve continues to gaze at you, you realize he may want you to reciprocate, so you oblige, face open and receptive. "Was there anything you liked that you might want me to do?"

Steve's brows raise optimistically. "Yeah, actually," he replies. "I kind of liked the dirty talk. I was thinking maybe we could do that more."

'Oh, yeah, fuck yeah, Steve, lick my cunt, finger-fuck me so fucking hard, shit —'

Chrissy's mewling voice echoes in your head, words she'd said mashing together until they loom large. Self-consciousness prickles as you imagine trying to imitate her, but Steve's kind face stares back at you, hopeful and encouraging. "Yeah," you say, lips tugging into a small smile. "Yeah, I can try that."

Soft, broad fingers weave through yours, and Steve lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back, hazel eyes gleaming. "Thanks, baby," he says. "I love you."

Your smile softens. "I love you, too."

That night, you dream of smoke and ink. Roots creep, deep and aching, burrowing further down into you.

#tkym #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson smut

[lestappenforever]

Hellooooo it’s your social psychological anon back because I just caught up w the gossip from this week about Ferrari contracts and what not and have some thoughts on this.

We know F1 is -as many TPs out it- super cutthroat and have insane politics going on behind the scenes especially with drivers and contracts. I think Ferrari themselves leaking that they are trying to get Charles to sign was a very bad move especially because the public isn’t reacting how they expected, instead of pressuring Charles to sign which is what they most likely expected to happen, they’re mostly telling him to make a move or laughing at Ferrari who think they can keep Charles with their performance. But more importantly I think that the move was also a breach of Charles’ confidence that has already been shattered after Ferrari gave him a car with an engine that almost exploded (the timing of contract negotiation rumours is even worse now) because instead of Ferrari recognising they screwed up and giving Charles time, now they pulled a dirty move to not only pressure him from within but also try to summon the masses to pressure him from outside (which isn’t working).

We all made a huge deal about Charles liking the “Charles x Verstappen laps” (as we should) but it’s so incredibly sus that to this day that is the only thing he has liked post-Brazil. I really don’t know if it is a calculated PR move, foreshadowing a move to red bull, intended to put pressure on Ferrari in return or he just thought it was cool and “hey look it is me and Max and we are so cool”. I don’t think it matters because it is still indicative of his lack of engagement with Ferrari and- in my opinion- an increasing disillusionment with the team.

I generally have an issue with most, if not all, Charles-rbr interactions being framed as Charles putting pressure on Ferrari. Because it makes it extremely difficult to understand the general change in Charles-rbr dynamics because not once has it been Charles initiating contact with the red bull members (not drivers)- it has so far been them congratulating him, giving him soft pats and handshakes, the continuous “Charles” on the radio even from GP (who actually sounded so sad for Charles and also saying “Charles stopped” instead of “charles (Leclerc) crashed/is in the wall” is also v specific because at that point for them it must have looked like charles lost control and it had nothing to do with engine or hydraulics but I digress it’s just an interesting thing to consider) which leads to the logical conclusion that Christian has summoned the rbr team to try to convince Charles by acting super friendly, or the team knows of ongoing negotiations and are de facto bringing charles into the team by acting as if he is an honorary member because as we have said previously this isn’t standard behaviour other teams don’t just congratulate drivers from another team and this has never happened before even with charles and red bull so something obviously changed and it’s coming from the rbr side of the garage.

Also brief mention of Daniel and Charles leaving the same restaurant? Because if anyone can convince Charles that rbr is the place to be not from a data and championship winning capacity (that is self-evident especially with rbr looking like they will dominate till 2026 and also nail the 2026 qualifications unlike Ferrari) but from a team pov it will absolutely be him. He is the one who left rbr and was miserable before rbr took him back and he felt as if he was coming home. If it was actually a case of rbr sending him or if they just had dinner the topic defo came up and but the timing seems to me to be more of a strategic choice than a coincidental meeting.

Going back to online behaviour- thus far no comment or like or repost of the Ferrari livery or Las Vegas special suit announcements (unlike Carlos), just no mention of Ferrari since Brazil except the one post. At the same time someone pointed out that charles stopped doing race highlights after Suzuka on IG and because all Ferrari and other drivers do these I think that it might be a clause in the contract related to PR duties and their online presence. The fact that charles hasn’t done them even when he has had a good race is even more suspicious considering everything with rbr started- or became more intense- after Japan.

Anyway, lots to unpack here defo lots of moving parts and it seems like Charles and Ferrari relationship looks like it will be getting bitter and I am willing to bet that the DTS episode where Christian is dissing Ferrari for potentially endangering their drivers is already in the making- it would be a huge PR move to criticise this publicly at the next press con but this may come across to Charles as also putting pressure on him and I think it’s obvious that rbr is taking a coaxing approach where they know it is only a matter of time before Ferrari will shove Charles into their arms, all they have to do is show him that they are welcoming.

Anyway, can’t wait to see all the drama that will defo go down next week but for now thank god we don’t have a race weekend because it would probably be a bit too much for us. So happy non- race weekend 🫶✨

Oh, social-psychological anon, how I have missed you. Welcome back! ❤️

Once again, you’re bringing such an interesting and wonderful take on the current situation with Charles/Ferrari/Red Bull. And I must say I agree with everything you’re mentioning, but one thing I feel like I want to add a bit more to is the mention of the perspective that the increased amount of Charles/RBR interaction is nothing but a ploy for Charles to secure himself a more lucrative deal with Ferrari.

You and I are in the same boat here, and my personal opinion on why Charles using his interactions with Red Bull to secure a better deal for himself doesn’t make sense is because:

1. His actions don’t align with the narrative (the lack of posting/interacting with Ferrari content recently, the entire vibe of Charles' relationship with his beloved team just seeming off).

2. I don’t think he needs to. Scuderia Ferrari is a historic team, and it’s not exactly a secret that appearances mean everything. So if Charles truly just wanted a better deal, better terms, more money, all he would have to do is go to his team and say: "These are my demands. If you don’t meet them, I will leave." That contract would have been drawn up in a matter of hours.

3. Red Bull Racing is a huge institution that would never play along with something like that. If there was any belief whatsoever internally at Red Bull that Charles was using them to try and secure a better deal for himself at Ferrari, they would shut that shit down immediately. But they haven’t. They are, as you said, treating Charles as if he is an honorary member of the team, and there is no way in hell they would do that if it wasn’t for their own gain. Now, whether that gain is getting Charles to come to Red Bull, or if it’s because they know what an excellent marketing strategy it is, I have no idea. Only time will tell.

Charles is incredibly smart, and so fucking well trained in terms of PR and how to present himself to the world at large. He's calculated, and the way I see it, his recent change in behavior, on the grid, off the grid and on social media, seems more of a sign that he is reaching (or has reached) his limit with Ferrari, and even though it probably breaks his fucking heart to face it, Ferrari isn’t the team who can give him a World Championship. And no amount of deep-rooted love and loyalty is going to change that, no matter how badly he might want it too.

At the end of the day, all we can do is speculate (and anon, I fucking love speculating and your amazing insights), but you are absolutely right. Something has shifted in Charles, in his relationship with Ferrari, and in his relationship with Red Bull, and I cannot wait to see where that leads.

Social-psychological anon, I love you so much. Please stay with me forever. ❤️

#Asks #Lestappen asks #Lestappen dynamics anons #Social-psychological anon #Lestappen gate 2023

[melrosing]

anyway I'm gonna start posting My Own Robert's Rebellion Adaptation ep by ep because.... GRRM's never gonna do it?? I have too much time?? both?? stay tuned

rules are I can fuck with timelines a little as a treat, but not so much that events/character ages & development are changed. so for example Aerys doesn’t actually make Tywin hand till four years into his reign I think, but who actually cares when Jaehaerys died, let’s say it was a little later and that Tywin was made Hand straight off

finally I am picturing a two season show where this one ends w Harrenhal. anyway

Next Part: Episode 2

Episode 1: Aerys' Dad Dies

We open on the body of King Jaehaerys II, lying in state at the Sept of Baelor. There’s a silent congregation standing around him, and closest of all his children, Aerys and Rhaella. Between them stands their young son, Rhaegar

At the King’s council as they discuss next steps from here. Right now, Aerys seems faintly charming, albeit with a jagged edge. There’s mention of Rhaella’s new pregnancy, and a fear that the distress of losing their father might cause her ill health. Everyone wants the transition to Aerys’ rule to be smooth as possible, so he must choose a Hand asap. His council have ideas; Aerys has one of his own 🦁

We are introduced to Tywin Lannister, travelling in a golden coach (obvs) to King’s Landing. With him are Joanna and their year-old twins. Tywin looks pleased with himself; Joanna notes he’s not Hand yet, but Tywin has no doubt he will be

The Lannisters are greeted jovially by Aerys, who is a little too familiar with Joanna, making her, Tywin and Rhaella equally uncomfortable. Aerys is introduced to the Lannister twins (inadvertantly meeting his own future murderer - 🚨 kill bill sirens 🚨 ), and welcomes all. Generally just appears a bit too upbeat for a funeral, because as a human being he is just fundamentally Off

The funeral: burning Jaehaerys’ body in a ‘manmade pyre’. Aerys mumbles they used to have dragons for this, the implication being that there’s something faintly undignified about this for a Targaryen. Rhaella weeps, and Rhaegar stares hard into the flames because he is a weird 👏 kid 👏

Rhaella and Joanna take a walk through the gardens of the Red Keep. Rhaella implies having noticed Aerys’ behaviour towards her, and that she has noticed it before. Joanna quietly asserts that she does not invite it. Rhaella says she knows - Aerys is like that

Aerys and Tywin meet for post-funeral drinks in Aerys’ solar. Aerys comments that he finds Rhaegar kind of strange and bookish, and believes he has too much of his mother in him. More generally, we see both the familiar and the fractious in how Aerys and Tywin engage, and have some sense of the two being childhood friends (insofar as either of these men even know what a friend is ❤️). Aerys offers the position of Hand to Tywin. Tywin plays a little hard to get, but ultimately agrees. A rare Tywin smile is witnessed x

The coronation: Targ aesthetic dialled up to eleven, because I imagine the more insecure Targaryen kings would cling to it in the absence of dragons. Aerys passes the dragon skulls on his way to the throne (some heavy-handed visual foreshadowing by urs truly xo). Watching on are the heads of the greathouses and their young scions: Aerys death stands all about him in the room, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Rhaella too receives a crown, and somehow doesn’t looked thrilled about it

Final scene sees Rhaegar sitting crosslegged on the floor of his bedchamber with a book and a candle, singing a Valyrian song to himself - the words are not translated

#asoiaf #sparknotes robert's rebellion #I wanted the kids from the rebellion at the coronation to introduce them but they’re so young that it’s like #aerys getting crowned in front of a parent and baby group where the babies are his doom

[bestworstcase]

actually no i WILL elaborate re: #and the punchline is: salem’s playing the dragon variation (here)

ok. so. rwby’s chess motif is chiefly there to foreshadow and then articulate the paradigm shift that occurs between salem and cinder in V8; insofar as any other characters are involved in the chess symbolism it is largely in service of clarifying what’s being said about those two. but first we have to talk about

✨chess theory✨

for context. some basics. briefly.

if you’re not a Chess Person you probably have at least a vague idea of what the pieces are, how they move, and their relative value. but that’s as good a place as any to start, so:

a chessboard has numbered ranks (rows) 1-8 and lettered files (columns) a-h. you can notate a specific square this way: a1 is the dark square in the bottom left corner of the board. white’s pieces start on 1, black’s on 8. the queens start on the d file, the kings on e. pieces that start on a,b,c are called the queen’s or the queenside and likewise pieces that start on f,g,h are the king’s or kingside.

from the edge of the board in, the pieces go on in this order: rook -> knight -> bishop. then the eight pawns start in ranks 2 and 7.

pawns (P) can move 1 square forward and capture pieces that are 1 square diagonally in front of them (so a pawn on the light square e4 can move to the dark square e5 if it’s empty, or capture a piece occupying the light squares d5 or f5). from their starting position only they are allowed to advance 2 squares if both are empty. they also have a special and highly situational pawn capture (en passant) that Isn’t Important but i have to mention it because it’s really fucking funny to catch the unwary with. look it up. they cannot move backwards, but if a pawn travels all the way across the board to reach the 8th/1st rank they can be promoted to a piece of the player’s choosing (knight, bishop, rook, or queen)—usually queen but there are certain circumstances where a knight is preferable.

rooks (R) move in straight lines vertically or horizontally across any number of unoccupied squares. if they land on an occupied square the piece is captured. rooks also have a special move they can perform with the king if 1. neither the rook nor king have moved yet, 2. the king is not in check, 3. the king would not move through or into check, and 4. every square between the rook and the knight is empty. this move is called castling and it moves the king two squares in the direction of the rook whilst jumping the rook over the king into the light square adjacent to the king’s new position. so if white castles kingside, the king moves e1 to g1 and the rook moves h1 to f1; if white castles queenside the king moves to c1 and the rook moves a1 to d1.

knights (N) move in an L shape (1 square either horizontally or vertically, then 2 squares at a right angle to the first direction, or 2 then 1), jumping over any pieces in between. if they land on an occupied square the piece is captured; pieces they jump over are not captured.

bishops (B) move in straight lines diagonally across any number of unoccupied squares, capturing a piece if they land on it. both players have a dark square and a light square bishop; bishops can never move onto squares of a different color from their starting square.

queens (Q) can move and capture like a rook or a bishop; so, in a straight line horizontally, vertically, or diagonally across any number of unoccupied squares.

kings (K) can move 1 square in any direction (outside of castling). if an adjacent square is occupied they can capture the piece. the king has the unique restriction that it cannot move into a square where it would be under attack, so if there is a white rook on b3 and the black king is on c2, b2 and c3 are not legal moves.

a piece is attacked when it occupies a square that could be taken by an opposite-color piece; if the king is attacked it is in check and the player must use their turn to get the king out of check (by moving the king, blocking the path of attack with a different piece, or capturing the attacking piece). the goal of chess is to checkmate the opponent by forcing the king into an inescapable check; you do not win chess by capturing the king, you win by trapping the king in a position in which your opponent has no legal moves.

(if the king is not in check but one player has no legal moves, the game is a stalemate and ends in a draw.)

so it’s not about overpowering the enemy… :)

anyway. chess pieces are conventionally given relative valuations (standard is P=1, N=3, B=3, R=5, Q=9) for the purpose of having a loose rule-of-thumb to quickly assess positions during a game. but—and this is the important part—piece valuations are only rough approximations of the actual strength any given piece might have on the board, because how strong or weak a piece might be is contingent on a lot of things. the queen isn’t always the strongest piece on the board; pawns are extremely important in the opening and can be really strong in the endgame. etc

so! chess strategy and tactics! basic ideas:

space—that’s how much of the board you control—is very important. space can be evaluated by counting up how many squares a player currently occupies or has attacked (including empty squares that an opposing piece cannot safely move into because they are in an attack line) on the opposing side of the board.

control of the center—d4,e4,d5,e5, the four squares in the center of the board—is achieved by developing pieces to attack those squares. controlling the center is the goal of the opening because the player with the strongest control over those four squares has the advantage in

initiative, which belongs to whichever player is able to attack in a way that their opponent has no choice but to respond, like putting a king in check or otherwise forcing the opponent to defend rather than develop their own position.

placing one piece on a square from which it can attack a square currently occupied by a friendly piece defends the friendly piece; if the opponent captures a defended piece and the defender captures the captor that’s called an exchange. a piece in a defensive position to more than one other piece, or a piece under more than one attack, is overworked and therefore weak.

the strongest piece on the board at any given time is a piece that: 1. can attack through the center, 2. is defended, 3. is not overworked, 4. is not closed in by friendly pieces, and 5. is able to capture, put the opponent king in check, or defend another piece doing those things.

ok! this:

is the setup for an opening called the sicilian defense, dragon variation. black has just moved the kingside knight’s pawn to g6 and will on the next turn move the kingside bishop to g7, then castle kingside. this is notoriously one of if not the sharpest openings—a risky, aggressive, highly tactical play. if you open with the dragon your intention is to spend the rest of the game attacking and counterattacking; ideally you keep the bishop on g7 and knight on f6 until you can capture with the knight and reveal the bishop’s attack up the long diagonal. in this game the fianchettoed bishop on g7 is THE strongest and most strategically and tactically important piece on the black side, to the point that every major line for white to counter the dragon aims to weaken the bishop.

ok done talking chess theory now

back to rwby:

in the essentials, the chess symbolism is constructed around the metaphorical game between salem (playing black) and ozma (playing white); the white king is the relics and the black king is remnant freed from the brothers, basically. and the black queen—

—isn’t cinder.

the black queen is a virus written by arthur watts which cinder deploys in tandem with the grimm and the white fang to shatter beacon’s defenses and keep ozpin’s guardians pinned down while she captures the fall maiden and then takes down ozpin.

and that’s the dragon. conceptually. cinder is the bishop fianchettoed on g7 biding her time until the black queen, knights, and pawns launch the attack on white’s queenside defenses and open the long diagonal for her to go in for the kill.

the same setup happens at haven except that this time cinder’s chief opponent is raven, who can see what cinder is doing and counters by baiting her into a more vulnerable position with a decoy and then whacking her.

and then it happens again in atlas, twice, first when cinder plants the black queen in ironwood’s office to force the winter maiden into the open and second when she remembers how this play actually works and gets watts and neo to tear open the line for her before she forces checkmate.

ironwood is the white queen, and he believes salem is the black queen—hence them being positioned as such in the V8 opener. he sees the black queen as salem’s calling card; ruby connects it to cinder. but the black queen is watts—his virus, his icon—and salem identifies herself in both 3.12 and 8.1 as the one playing black; beacon was the first move and it’s her game to win. cinder “holds the key to [salem’s] victory” and cinder is “more valuable to [salem] than a pawn,” so much so that salem values her more highly than the notionally higher-value queen.

because salem plays the sicilian defense, dragon variation. and. well,

…cinder’s the dragon.

#cinder ''anthropomorphic personification of a fianchetto'' fall. #cinder ''chess but in an ‘i will fucking immolate you’ way'' fall.