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lovebugism · 11 months

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shy!reader wiggling her way into eddie lap bc she had a hard day 😫

You don’t know how to tell Eddie you miss him.

He’s sitting in bed right next to you, scribbling down notes in a worn composition notebook. You don’t even know why you miss him, only that the couple of inches separating you from him feels cavernous.

You don’t know what to say, so you sigh. A big, deep exhale that makes your chest deflate like a popped balloon. It’s sort of what you feel like, anyway.

Eddie’s chin brushes his shoulder as he turns to you, chocolate eyes wide beneath his clear-framed glasses.

He knows that certain sounds mean certain things, kind of like a baby’s cry. You don’t know what you want a lot of the time — you know less how to express that you don’t know what you want — so Eddie’s learned to read you like a book. Most of the time, he knows what’s going on in your head before you do.

But the grieving breath you let out now is too ambiguous for him to understand. It’s too soft to be one of frustration, too drawn out to be contentment. He decides to check the boxes.

“Are you hungry?” he murmurs.

You shake your head in response, focusing on the book in your hand but not any of the words.

“Sleepy?” he asks. “‘Cause I, for one, could totally go for a nap right now, princess.”

You shake your head again, smiling a little this time at his word choice.

“Bored?”

Another head shake.

Eddie gives up. “A feeling neither of us can name because we don’t know what it is?”

You nod.

“I don’t think it even existed before now,” you mutter, half-joking.

The boy laughs. His pink lips match the apples of his cheek. You don’t know how to tell him you want to press your faces together until you’re made of the same vibrant colors he is.

“Is it cabin fever, you think? I’ve kept you hostage here for, like, two days now. Maybe you’re gettin’ sick of me.”

“You’re not holding me hostage. I asked to come over,” you remind him, giggling softly to yourself. “And I could never get sick of you, Eds. You know that.”

You lean over to nudge his shoulder with your own. Instead of sitting back up again, you linger just against him. You find you feel a lot better now, finally touching him. The gnawing feeling is less loud but still there.

Eddie smiles in silent understanding. “Wanna hug?”

A beat passes. You feel a little bit lame for wanting it so desperately. You nod anyway.

Eddie sighs as he sets his notebook on the mattress beside him. It’s not an unhappy one. It’s not an underwhelmed one, either. It’s just a breath, really — a clean, deep inhale-exhale he can finally take, knowing you’re about to be in his arms.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he ushers with his arms spread open. “My body’s always free real estate for you.”

“Ew,” you giggle at the unintentional connotation, sliding closer to him. You duck your burning face away from his in attempts to hide the wide smile on your mouth. Eddie sees it anyway and grins back.

He lazes against the headboard while you settle against his chest, one hand wedged between your bodies and the other curling around his side. You tuck your face into the curls at his neck. He smells like nicotine and floral shampoo and skunk weed. You don’t know how to tell him you need him to lay all his weight on top of you until his natural scent becomes your own.

His chin rests on the crown of your head. He smooths a hand up and down your back. “Is this what you wanted? Just needed my strong arms to feel better, huh? Is that it?”

You know he’s joking, but you don’t laugh. You shrug. “Kinda…”

“Kinda?” he echoes. His contorted face is audible. “Do you need something else?”

He’s not bothered by it, the fact that you want something more — just curious as to how he can make you feel better.

“I don’t know…” you murmur, wriggling against him like you can’t get comfortable. “It’s just… I need to be closer, I think.”

“Closer, huh?” Eddie muses, wrapping his arms more intently around you and squeezing you tight. He presses his lips to your hair. “Honestly, I don’t know if we can get any closer than this… Well. I mean, we could, but I have a feeling that’s not what you want…”

You shake your head against his chest at the implication. You need everything but the sex right now — the holding, the contact, the tangled limbs.

“No, I just… I think I just need to… I don’t know…” you mutter, almost inaudibly into his chest. You hold him tighter. “Would it be okay if I…”

Eddie’s brows raise beneath his bangs as you trail off. You’re getting better at it, at vocalizing when you need something, but the words are hard to form sometimes, and he gets it. He did fail senior year English two times, after all.

“You don’t have to ask for anything, you know?” he assures, practically cooing, punctuating his words with a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever you want, you can just take it. It’s all good with me, babe.”

His words give you a minimal boost of confidence.

You part from him, lips pursed to the side of your mouth. Eddie eyes you attentively with slow and owlish blinks behind the thick lenses of his glasses. You don’t know how to tell him you want to swim in his chocolate syrup gaze or taste the stars that twinkle inside them.

“I just wanna, like…” you trail off. You never end up finishing your sentence, actually. Without words to describe the overwhelming, unnamed feeling, you just crawl into Eddie’s lap and wrap around him like a koala.

Your thighs settle on either side of his hips, arms curling around his neck as you tuck your face into his wild hair again, pressing your chest intently against his own.

Eddie sighs into your shoulder; it trembles like a faint laugh. His palm smooths over your back, pushing you further against him until the laws of physics prevent either of you from coming any closer.

You exhale slowly. For the first time, Eddie feels you relax against him.

“Is this better?” he mumbles into your cheek.

You nod into the side of his.

Your chests move together with each of your slow, even breaths — rising for a few seconds, stilling for a moment, then falling for a couple more. You think your hearts might be beating in the same rhythm, too.

That gnawing feeling behind your ribcage turns to sunlight.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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just-a-creep-babe · 2 months

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A Demon’s Ache — Part 19

Eyeless Jack x Reader

A Demon's Ache Masterlist

Dedicated to @cookiereblogss --- tysm for all the support you've provided, this series wouldn't be here without you <333

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Just like always, parting from you is difficult

He’s helped you clean up after everything’s been said and done, but even then, he just can’t bring himself to leave

He doesn’t want to abandon the warmth of your body, doesn’t want to abandon the indulgence of your scent surrounding him

And he can almost trick himself into believing it’s mutual

Your gaze lingers on him for a split second longer than usual, and your lips part, almost as if you want to say something

Jack’s never really been a religious man, but he’d pray to every god under the sun if it meant you’d stay with him

Tell me to stay, tell me you want me as badly as I want you

But then you press your lips back together, like you’ve reconsidered your words, and part of his black heart shrivels up and dies just a little bit more

“I should get back to my room,” you say, and when you bite your lip as you say it, all he can think about is kissing you until you’re both dizzy all over again

He swallows thickly, nodding

He wants to say something, but he can’t think of the right words

Tension mounts, filling the sparse distance between you

He can’t bring himself to move

And, from the very first moment he met you, he’s almost always felt like there was something pulling him towards you

But right now, that feeling’s amplified tenfold, and God, the mere thought of parting from you is nauseating

All he can think about is how badly he wants more of you

He’s so fucking hopeless

He’s about to lean in to kiss you again, acting purely on some base impulse within him

But then, you blink, as if snapping yourself out of some trance

And you mumble out an excuse, turn away, and leave him behind again

He has to fight every ounce of his being screaming at him to follow you

A few minutes later, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to think about going to your room

It’s pointless, he knows it is

With one final breath, he sighs, summons the willpower to get up, and tries to find a way to make himself useful

He avoids the hallway that leads to your room, instead opting to take the longer route to the library

Doing research is going to help keep his mind off things, he thinks

Well, it’s either going to distract him, or make things even worse by reminding him of what he did to you

But, at this point, he’s willing to try almost anything to stop overthinking

The warm smell of old books greets him as he enters the familiar room

Rows and rows of imposingly large bookshelves press up against the walls, each of them holding hundreds of colourful books—novels, encyclopedias, bibliographies, scientific studies—whatever topic you could possibly want to read about is kept in this very room

Despite being what could almost be considered the “heart” of the mansion, however, it’s almost always empty

And today is no exception

Jack takes in a deep breath, enjoying the honeyed scent of aged paper and the intimacy of the large empty space

He takes a second to orient himself amongst the rows of information, and then it doesn’t take long for him to find the section on all things demonic anatomy

As soon as he gets settled into his research, he doesn’t notice the time going by

And every time his thoughts drift back to you, he forces his attention back to the task at hand

All he allows himself to focus on are the paragraphs upon paragraphs explaining the compositions of demons

Mating rituals, sexual reproduction, anatomical differences, cultural and generational distinguishers—

He knew the demonic world was complex, but he never realized just how complex it really is

He ends up with a pile of heavy books stacked up next to him at a secluded table

Finding specifics is more difficult than he realized it’d be, especially because he doesn’t exactly know where he fits into things

Does he classify as possessed? A cross-breed? Some kind of undead?

He knows the very basics of what the cult was trying to summon when they created him, but clearly, they didn’t know the ritual properly, or it wasn’t a functional ritual, because he’s damn sure they weren’t planning on ending up with whatever he is now

He’s a fucking walking abomination because of those incompetent assholes

After what feels like arduous hours of research, he only finds anything useful in a mere two of the books he’d initially pulled out

And with his limited information on the specifics of his “breed,” he only manages to gather a couple of points that might be relevant

One; mating marks are much less common between a human and a demon, so both the available information and known effects are even more limited to begin with

Two; the intensity of a mark’s effect generally reach their peak anytime within the first to fourteenth day, and it gradually stabilizes after anywhere between three months to a whole year

Three; the intensity of the effects further depend on the type and strength of the demon, which, while useful to know, is ultimately a null point because, again, Jack’s a fucking abomination of a monster

Four; there are no known ways to reverse the effects of a mark

Reading that fourth point leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he tries not to dwell on its implications too much

Finally, the fifth point; because shared marks between humans and demons aren’t common, depending on the type and strength of the demon, there’s a high likelihood of the human not surviving the initial peak of the effects—which, again, makes cataloguing the anomaly all the more difficult

That last point is all he can take before snapping the book shut

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck

He stands, his thoughts racing a mile a minute

He’s about to rush back to you to make sure you’re ok, but as soon as he takes that first step, he stops dead in his tracks

Wait

What’s he supposed to say—he fucked up and bound you to an eternal arrangement, without your consent, and now there’s a chance it’ll fucking kill you?

The implications of it all crash into him like a tidal wave, and he suddenly feels like he’s drowning in a million and one thoughts—each one worse than the last

How badly did he fuck up?

He doesn’t realize how hard his heart’s pounding or how quickly he’s breathing until the room starts to feel like it’s shrinking around him, and he’s not sure if he’s about to puke or pass out

Keep it together, keep it together for her sake

He swallows thickly

Deep breath in, deep breath out

After years of managing his instincts, he, at the very least, has gotten decent at controlling himself when his emotions spiral

Deep breath in, count backwards from ten, deep breath out

It’s ok, he’ll figure something out, he tells himself, and he doesn’t know if he’s blatantly lying to himself, but it doesn’t matter right now, anyways

Right now, he needs to think clearly

He needs a plan

He doesn’t know how much longer he stays at the library, either pacing back and forth, wrestling his frantic thoughts, or standing deathly still with his sight zeroed-in on the books splayed out on the table

It’s like he just can’t think of anything useful—his mind’s a fucking mess

He’s too tense, too high-strung to think properly

He needs to calm down if he wants to get anywhere productive, he realizes

He pauses one last time to weigh his options

And then he blows out a frustrated breath of air, picks up the useful books, and heads out of the library

Straight to his room, he dumps the books on his desk, leaving them open to re-read later, then heads out of the mansion

He tries not to think about you, but it’s just about impossible to stay distracted for more than a few minutes at a time

He registers that it’s dark and cloudy outside when he steps out, but he’s otherwise too absorbed in his own thoughts to focus on his surroundings any more than that

Hunger

If there’s any feeling strong enough to compete with the thought of you, it’s his hunger

He lets it take over, lets himself surrender to his baser instincts, and the rest of the night is basically a blur

You still resurface in and out of his mind, but whenever he sinks his teeth into that squirming human flesh, the sweet burst of blood filling his mouth snaps him out of it all over again

He’s not proud of what he does, but in the heat of the moment, he’s too indulgent to care

He’ll regret it in the morning

He always does

Surely enough, by the time the sun is creeping along the horizon, he’s satiated, yet nauseous with guilt

He returns to the mansion, makes his way to his room, and almost immediately collapses into bed

He’s filthy, covered in dried bits of blood and gore, but that’s a problem for future Jack

Having spent most of his energy, he expects to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but sleep doesn’t come so easily

Instead, he simply lays there in the dark, waiting

And, waiting one minute turns into fifteen, then fifteen minutes turn into half an hour, and before he knows it, the hours are slowly but surely trickling by and he just can’t seem to fall asleep

A dull ache of exhaustion settles in his now-sore muscles

He huffs, rolling over, trying not to let the thought of you permeate his mind yet again

But he just can’t help it

How could he live with himself if something happened to you—how could he live knowing he’s the one who killed you?

He can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen; he needs to confront you and figure things out

But first, he really needs a shower

He gets up, grabs a towel and a change of clothes, and makes it to the nearest bathroom

He throws his shirt off over his head, yanks his filthy pants down, then steps into the shower and lets the warm water wash away his sins

He stands there, motionless, for a few minutes as the water running off his body turns from black, to red, then almost pink as the mess of gore is rinsed off

He grabs the soap, runs it over his ashen skin, and tries to think of a way to broach the subject

He’ll have to be open, honest and genuine; no bullshit, no hesitation, no leaving any information out

And if you hate him for it, then that’s that

It’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it, anyways

Even if you come to loathe every fibre of his being, he needs to stay level-headed enough to handle it

He needs to find some kind of solution with you; he’ll do anything to fix his mistake

The more he thinks it through, the more he’s able to rationalize things

He still feels like total and absolute shit for what he’s done, but at least now, he feels somewhat more in control of himself—at the very least

He finishes rinsing off the remaining soap, steps out, wraps a towel around himself, and returns to his room to get dressed

One last look at the demonology books splayed open on his desk is all it takes for him to finally straighten himself up and head out his room to find you

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he’s too lost in thought to remember to check, but he knows you’re not in your room anyways

Like a strange sixth sense, he feels a tug pulling him towards the kitchen, almost as if there was an invisible string guiding him right towards you

And, surely enough, there you are, sitting at the table with a warm mug of coffee between your hands

On instinct, he takes in a deep breath—and that’s when he smells it

He freezes, stopping dead in his tracks

Feeling someone in front of you, you look up from the coffee between your hands, and your eyes lock with his

Every muscle in Jack’s body tenses

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way

He takes another deep breath—just to check, just to see if somehow got the wrong impression

But there’s no denying it, no masking the scent

Hoodie and Masky—their odour is all over you

He almost doesn’t know what to think

Those fuckers

Those fuckers slept with his mate

“Jack—“

You say his name, but he doesn’t even hear it over the blistering rage pumping through his system

Something within him snaps

The demon takes over again

And all he can suddenly think about is one thing

Kill

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless Jack #eyeless Jack x reader #crp ej

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fallout-lou-begas · 3 months

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As a comic artist myself (read @ikroah), something that I keep stopping to admire about Dungeon Meshi so far is its use of vertical bleed in page composition. It's usually just used for extra room on complicated panels, or for emphasis, like this spread demonstrates quite well:

And usually these vertical bleed panels are just one or two per page, but sometimes they'll be the main type of panel on a page. On the page below, you can see the way that the vertical bleed both exaggerates the descent in the top row of panels and gives extra room for very narrow "camera angles," and then crucially, the vertical bleed on the bottom row of wider, more square panels balances the overall composition. If you remove the bleed from the bottom panels, not only do you crucially iss out on half of Laius' pose, but the whole page seems like it got misaligned at the printer:

Vertical bleed panels will very often be used as the first or the last panel on a given page because they can have a transitory effect between pages or scenes, especially when used to introduce a new location or scene. These two pages from the first chapter, and then the two pages that immediately follow the page above, demonstrate:

And horizontal bleeds, while less common, are also present (see the above page on the right, and the top page on the right). This next page has a particular use of a full horizontal bleed combined with vertical bleeds that really impresses me because of how elegant it splits the page composition artistically and tonally, with vertical bleeds on opposite corners of the page for balance. You can see how without the full bleeds, not only do those panels feel way too tight individually (even the first one, where the bleed was mostly empty space anyway), but the whole page gets a lot more claustrophobic. And while it's not bad, it's definitely a bit more staid and boxy than the dynamic, full-bleed version in the actual comic.

The shape of Senshi's knife and the (implied) trajectory of the mandrake head are incredibly subtle eyeguides built into the artwork!

One final note about full vertical bleeds is that their use often reminds me of the way that newspaper comics will elide panel borders entirely for similar utility: more space in the individual panel, more interesting composition overall, and that effect it has on establishing or transitioning to a scene. Here's come Calvin & Hobbes strips that do it, for example:

And while full bleeds (except occasional splash pages) are much less common in my own mother tongue, classic superhero comics (mostly due to how they were and to a degree still are printed, I figure), you can still see some of these principles displayed in this sample of incredible pages from one of my favorite single comic book issues, Amazing Spider-Man #229.

#dungeon meshi #loumeshi #calvin and hobbes #spider-man #the amazing spider-man #advice #comics

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momtaku · 12 days

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Excerpts from Shingeki Fly

I finally had time today to look closely at my copy of Shingeki Fly. I used my cell phone to translate bits of the interviews, so mileage may vary, but I am fairly confident the gist is more or less correct.

About the Shingeki Fly Color Art Book

Since Isayama prides himself on not being an excellent artist, he wanted the color art book to highlight the work Mr. Nakao, his colorist since the beginning of the series.

I really like this reflection regarding Mr. Nakao on his first chapter of Attack on Titan:

This is the first color manuscript that a presumptuous amateur, a newcomer who doesn't really know how to hold a pen left or right. The composition, panel layout, and everything else is terrible, but the way you colored it so nicely made me think that maybe I can make a living as a manga artist, and that manga doesn't have to be created by one person alone. I remember feeling hopeful that I would be able to participate in the unknown series that was about to begin.

Isayama's experience at Anime NYC in January 2022:

Isayama talks about how happy he was to visit Manhattan. Because he can't be normal for two seconds, he mentions that seeing the skyscrapers at night reminded him of the 1998 GODZILLA movie.

He also talks about the fan panel. My translation app says something like this: By actually seeing the crowd I was able to realize that Attack on Titan,'' which I had been drawing while holed up in my room in Tokyo, was connected to people far away from Japan and overseas. I was very happy to be able to see each fan's face and think, ``How happy are they?''

(I was able to attend that fan panel in person so I can attest how emotional he was by seeing us all there.)

Isayama's experience at Anglouleme in France in January 2023:

Being in France made him feel very far away from Japan because the city and architecture were so different from what he was used to. He described walking on the streets by the Eiffel tower in the middle of the night as thrilling.

While he set the landscape of Attack on Titan as French, German and Italian architecture, he understands now it was all from his Japanese perspective. Seeing the city is person was completely different from what he'd imagined.

How it felt drawing Levi after such a long time

Here is something I didn't know. At first Isayama was going to write a prequel set 100 years before the main story, but after meeting the fans in France he realized the idea of a one shot was to make them happy. Instead of an original idea, he settled the tea cup story, which is something he'd intended to write but had never had the chance.

He said is was surprisingly easy to draw Levi again after such a long break. The only thing he really had to think about is what Levi would sound like as a 10 year old.

"Bad Boy" was also his first time drawing manga on an iPad. Because he wasn't used to it, he had three assistants helping him. I really want a good translation of this bit because it seems funny. He mentions something about how what should've been digital remote work was more of an analog training camp. He said is was fun to reminisce about his "war era" when he would work while chatting with his assistants about trivial matters.

#shingeki fly #bad boy #levi ackerman

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canmom · 8 months

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Music Theory Notes (for science bitches) 1: chords & such

This is one of these series where I use my blog as a kind of study blog type thing. If you're knowledgeable about music theory, it will be very basic. But that's kind of the problem, I've really struggled to absorb those basics!

When I was a teenager I learned to play violin and played in orchestras. I could read music, and play decently enough, but I didn't really understand music. I just read what was on the page, and played the scales I had to play for exams.

Lately I've been trying to learn music again. This time my instruments are zhonghu, voice, and DAWs. At some point I might get my violin back too. But really, I'm a total beginner again, and this time I want to do it properly.

For a long time when I tried to learn about music I would get overwhelmed with terminology and jargon and conventions. I might watch videos on composition and they'd be interesting but a lot of it would just fly over my head, I'd just have to nod along because I had no idea what all the different types of chord and such were. I tried to learn from sites like musictheory.net, but I found it hard to figure out the logical structure to fit it all into.

I feel like I'm finally making a bit of headway, so it's time to take some notes. The idea here is not just to answer the what, but also to give some sense of why, a motivation. So in a sense this is a first attempt at writing the introduction to music theory I wish I'd had. This is going to assume you know a little bit about physics, but basically nothing about music.

What is music? From first principles.

This is impossible to answer in full generality, especially since as certain people would be quick to remind me, there's a whole corner of avant-garde composers who will cook up counterexamples to whatever claim you make. So let's narrow our focus: I'm talking about the 'most common' type of music in the society I inhabit, which is called 'tonal music'. (However some observations may be relevant to other types of music such as noise or purely rhythmic music.)

Music is generally an art form involving arranging sound waves in time into patterns (in the sense that illustration is about creating patterns on a 2D surface with light, animation is arranging illustrations in time, etc.).

Physically, sound is a pressure wave propagating through a medium, primarily air. As sound waves propagate, they will reflect off surfaces and go into superposition, and depending on the materials around, certain frequencies might be attenuated or amplified. So the way sound waves propagate in a space is very complicated!

But in general we've found we can pretty decently approximate the experience of listening to something using one or two 'audio tracks', which are played back at just one or two points. So for the sake of making headway, we will make an approximation: rather than worry about the entire sound field, we're going to talk about a one-dimensional function of time, namely the pressure at the idealised audio source. This is what gets displayed inside an audio editor. For example, here's me playing the zhonghu, recorded on a mic, as seen inside Audacity.

A wrinkle that is not relevant for this discussion: The idealised 'pressure wave' is a continuous real function of the reals (time to pressure). By contrast, computer audio is quantised in both the pressure level and time, and this is used to reconstruct a continuous pressure wave by convolution at playback time. (Just like a pixel is not a little square, an audio sample is not a constant pressure!) But I'm going to talk about real numbers until quantisation becomes relevant.

When the human eye receives light, the cone cells in the eye respond to the frequencies of EM radiation, creating just three different neural signals, but with incredibly high sensitivity to direction. By contrast, when the human ear receives sound, it is directed into an organ called the cochlea which is kind of like a cone rolled up into a spiral...

Inside this organ, the sound wave moves around the spiral, which has a fascinatingly complex structure that means different frequencies of wave will excite tiny hairs at different points along the tube. In effect, the cochlea performs a short-time Fourier transform of the incoming sound wave. Information about the direction of the incoming wave is given by the way it reflects off the shape of the ear, the difference between ears, and the movement of our head.

So! In contrast to light, where the brain receives a huge amount of information about directions of incoming light but only limited information of the frequency spectrum, with sound we receive a huge amount of information about the frequency spectrum but only quite limited information about its direction.

Music thus generally involves creating patterns with vibration frequencies in the sound wave. More than this, it's also generally about creating repeating patterns on a longer timescale, which is known as rhythm. This has something to do with the way neurons respond to signals but that's something I'm not well-versed in, and in any case it is heavily culturally mediated.

All right, so, this is the medium we have to play with. When we analyse an audio signal that represents music, we chop it up into small windows, and use a Fourier transform to find out the 'frequencies that are present in the signal'.

Most musical instruments are designed to make sounds that are combinations of certain frequencies at integer ratios. For example here is a plot of the [discrete] Fourier transform of a note played on the zhonghu:

The intensity of the signal is written in decibels, so it's actually a logarithmic scale despite looking linear. The frequency of the wave is written in Hertz, and plotted logarithmically as well. A pure sine wave would look like a thin vertical line; a slightly wider spike means it's a combination of a bunch of sine waves of very close frequencies.

The signal consists of one strong peak at 397Hz and nearby frequencies, and a series of peaks at (roughly) integer multiples of this frequency. In this case the second and third peaks are measured at 786Hz, and 1176Hz. Exact integer ratios would give us 794Hz and 1191Hz, but because the first peak is quite wide we'd expect there to be some error.

Some terminology: The first peak is called the fundamental, and the remaining peaks are known as overtones. The frequency of the fundamental is what defines this signal as a particular musical note, and the intensities of the overtone and widths of the peaks define the quality of the note - the thing that makes a flute and a violin playing the same fundamental frequency sound different when we listen to them. If you played two different notes at the same time, you'd get the spectrums of both notes added together - each note has its own fundamental and overtones.

OK, so far that's just basic audio analysis, nothing is specific to music. To go further we need to start imposing some kind of logical structure on the sound, defining relationships between the different notes.

The twelve-tone music system

There are many ways to do this, but in the West, one specific system has evolved as a kind of 'common language' that the vast majority of music is written in. As a language, it gives names to the notes, and defines a space of emotional connotations. We unconsciously learn this language as we go through the process of socialisation, just as we learn to interpret pictures, watch films, etc.

The system I'm about to outline is known as 12-tone equal temperament or "12TET". It was first cooked up in the 16th century almost simultaneously in China and Europe, but it truly became the standard tuning in the West around the 18th century, distilled from a hodgepodge of musical systems in use previously. In the 20th century, classical composers became rather bored of it and started experimenting with other systems of tonality. Nevertheless, it's the system used for the vast majority of popular music, film and game soundtracks, etc.

Other systems exist, just as complex. Western music tends to create scales of seven notes in an octave, but there are variants that use other amounts, like 6. And for example classical Indian music uses its own variant of a seven-note scale; there are also nuances within Western music such as 'just intonation' which we'll discuss in a bit; really, everything in music is really fucking complicated!

I'll be primarily discussing 12TET because 1. it's hard enough to understand just one system and this one is the most accessible; 2. this has a very nice mathematical structure which tickles my autismbrain. However, along the way we'll visit some variants, such as 'Pythagorean intervals'.

The goal is to try and not just say 'this is what the notation means' but explain why we might construct music this way. Since a lot of musical stuff is kept around for historical reasons, that will require some detours into history.

Octaves

So, what's the big idea here? Well, let's start with the idea of an octave. If you have two notes, let's call then M and N, and the frequency of N is twice the frequency of M... well, to the human ear, they sound very very closely related. In fact N is the first overtone of M - if you play M on almost any instrument, you're also hearing N.

Harmony, which we'll talk about in a minute, is the idea that two notes sound especially pleasant together - but this goes even further. So in many many music systems around the world, these two notes with frequency ratio of 2 are actually identified - they are in some sense 'the same note', and they're given the same name. This also means that further powers of 2, of e.g. 4, 8, 16, and so on, are also 'the same note'. We call the relationship between M and N an octave - we say if two notes are 'an octave apart', one has twice the frequency of the other.

For example, a note whose fundamental frequency is 261.626Hz is known as 'C' in the convention of 'concert pitch'. This implies an infinite series of other Cs, but since the human ear has a limited range of frequencies, in practice you have Cs from 8.176Hz up through 16744.036. These are given a series of numbers by convention, so 261.626Hz is called C4, often 'middle C'. 523.251Hz is C5, 1046.502Hz is C6, and so on. However, a lot of the time it doesn't matter which C you're talking about, so you just say 'C'.

But the identification of "C" with 261.626Hz * 2^N is just a convention (known as 'concert pitch'). Nothing is stopping you tuning to any other frequency: to build up the rest of the structure you just need some note to start with, and the rest unfolds using ratios.

Harmony and intervals

Music is less about individual notes, and more about the relationship between notes - either notes played at the same time, or in succession.

Between any two notes we have something called an interval determined by the ratio of their fundamental frequencies. We've already seen one interval: the octave, which has ratio 2.

The next interval to bring up is the 'fifth'. There are a few different variants of this idea, but generally speaking if two notes have a ratio of 1.5, they sound really really nice together. Why is this called a 'fifth'? Historical reasons, there is no way to shake this terminology, we're stuck with it. Just bear with me here, it will become semi-clear in a minute.

In the same vein, other ratios of small integers tend to sound 'harmonious'. They're satisfying to hear together. Ratios of larger integers, by contrast, feel unsatisfying. But this creates an idea of 'tension' and 'resolution'. If you play two notes together that don't harmonise as nicely, you create a feeling of expectation and tension; when you you play some notes that harmonise really well, that 'resolves' the tension and creates a sense of relief.

Building a scale - just intonation

The exact 3:2 integer ratio used in two tuning systems called 'Pythagorean tuning' and 'just intonation'. Using these kinds of integer ratios, you can unfold out a whole series of other notes, and that's how the Europeans generally did things before 12TET came along. For example, in 'just intonation', you might start with some frequency, and then procede in the ratios 9/8, 5/4, 4/3, 3/2, 5/3, 15/8, and at last 2 (the octave). These would be given a series of letters, creating a 'scale'.

What is a scale? A scale is something like the 'colour palette' for a piece of music. It's a set of notes you use. You might use notes from outside the scale but only very occasionally. Different scales are associated with different feelings - for example, the 'major scale' generally feels happy and triumphant, while a 'minor scale' tends to feel sad and forlorn. We'll talk a lot more about scales soon.

In the European musical tradition, a 'scale' consists of seven notes in each octave, so the notes are named by the first seven notes of the alphabet, i.e. A B C D E F G. A scale has a 'base note', and then you'd unfold the other frequencies using the ratios. An instrument such as a piano would be tuned to play a particular scale. The ratios above are one definition of a 'major scale', and starting with C as the base note, the resulting set of notes is called 'C Major'.

All these nice small-number ratios tend to sound really good together. But it becomes rather tricky if you want to play multiple scales on the same instrument. For example, say your piano is tuned in just intonation to C Major. This means, assuming you have a starting frequency we'll call C, you have the following notes available in a given octave:

C, D=(9/8)C, E=(5/4)C, F=(4/3)C, G=(3/2)C [the fifth!], A=(5/3)C, B=(15/8)C, and 2C [the start of the next octave].

Note: the interval we named the 'fifth' is the fifth note in this scale. It's actually the fifth note in the various minor scales too.

But now suppose you want to play with some different notes - let's say a scale we'll call 'A major', which has the same frequency ratios starting on the note we previously called A. Does our piano have the right keys to play this scale?

Well, the next note up from A would be (9/8)A, which would be (9/8)(5/3)C=(15/8)C - that's our B key, so far so good. Then (5/4)A=(5/4)(5/3)C=(25/12)C and... uh oh! We don't have a (25/12)C key, we have 2C, so if we start at A and go up two keys, we have a note that is slightly lower frequency than the one we're looking for.

What this means is that, depending on your tuning, you could only approximate the pretty integer ratios for any scale besides C major. (25/12) is pretty close to 2, so that might not seem so bad, but sometimes we'd land right in between two notes. We can approximate these notes by adding some more 'in between' piano keys. How should we work out what 'extra' keys to include? Well, there were multiple conventions, but we'll see there is some logic to it...

[You might ask, why are you spending so long on this historical system that is now considered obsolete? Well, intervals and their harmonious qualities are still really important in modern music, and it makes most sense to introduce them with the idea of 'small-integer ratios'.]

The semitone

We've seen if we build the 'major scale' using a bunch of 'nice' ratios, we have trouble playing other scales. The gap above may look rather haphazard and arbitrary, but hold on, we're working in exponential space here - shouldn't we be using a logarithmic scale? If I switch to a logarithmic x-axis, we suddenly get a rather appealing pattern...

All the gaps between successive notes are about the same size, except for the gap between E and F, and B and C, which are about half that size. If you try to work that out exactly, you run into the problems we saw above, where C to D is 9/8 or 1.125, but D to E is 10/9 or 1.11111... Even so, you can imagine how people who were playing around with sounds might notice, damn, these are nice even steps we have here. Though you might also notice places where, in this scheme, it's not completely even - for example G to A (ratio 10/9) is noticeably smaller than A to B (ratio 9/8).

We've obliquely approached the idea of dividing the octave up into 12 steps, where each step is about the size of the gap between E and F or B and C. We call each of these steps a 'semitone'. Two semitones make a 'whole tone'. We might fill in all the missing semitones in our scale here using whole-number ratios, which gives you the black keys on the piano. There are multiple schemes for doing this, and the ratios tend to get a bit uglier. In the system we've outlined so far, a 'semitone' is not a fixed ratio, even though it's always somewhere around 1.06.

The set of 12 semitones is called the 'chromatic scale'. It is something like the 'colour space' for Western music. When you compose a piece, you select some subset of the 12 semitones as your 'palette' - the 'scale of' a piece of music.

But we still have a problem here, which is the unevenness of the gaps we discussed above. This could be considered a feature, not a bug, since each scale would have its own 'character' - it's defined by a slightly different set of ratios. But it does add a lot of complication when moving between scales.

So let's say we take all this irregularity as a bug, and try to fix it. The solution is 'equal temperament', which is the idea that the semitone should always be the exact same ratio, allowing the instrument to play any scale you please without difficulty.

Posed like this, it's easy to work out what that ratio should be: if you want 12 equal steps to be an octave, each step must be the 12th root of 2. Which is an irrational number that is about 1.05946...

At this point you say, wait, Bryn, didn't you just start this all off by saying that the human ear likes to hear nice simple integer ratios of frequencies? And now you're telling me that we should actually use an irrational number, which can't be represented by any integer ratio? What gives? But it turns out the human ear isn't quite that picky. If you have a ratio of 7 semitones, or a ratio of 2^(7/12)=1.4983..., that's close enough to 1.5 to feel almost as good. And this brings a lot of huge advantages: you can easily move ('transpose') between different scales of the same type, and trust that all the relevant ratios will be the same.

Equal temperament was the eventual standard, but there was a gradual process of approaching it called stuff like 'well-tempered' or 'good temperament'. One of the major steps along the way was Bach's collection 'the well-tempered klavier', showing how a keyboard instrument with a suitable tuning could play music in every single established scale. Here's one of those pieces:

youtube

Although we're using these irrational numbers, inside the scale are certain intervals that are considered to have certain meanings - some that are 'consonant' and some that are 'dissonant'. We've already mentioned the 'fifth', which is the 'most consonant' ratio. The fifth consists of 7 semitones and it's roughly a 1.5 ratio in equal temperament. Its close cousin is the 'fourth', which consists of 5 semitones. Because it's so nice, the fifth is kind of 'neutral' - it's just there but it doesn't mean a lot on its own.

For the other important intervals we've got to introduce different types of scale.

The scale zoo

So, up above we introduced the 'major' scale. In semitones, the major scale is intervals of 2, 2, 1, 2, 2, 2, 1. This is also called a 'mode', specifically the 'Ionian mode'. There are seven different 'modes', representing different permutations of these intervals, which all have funky Greek names.

The major scale generally connotes "upbeat, happy, triumphant". There are 12 different major scales, taking the 12 different notes of the chromatic scale as the starting point for each one.

Next is the minor scale, which tends to feel more sad or mysterious. Actually there are a few different minor scales. The 'natural minor' goes 2, 1, 2, 2, 1, 2, 2. You might notice this is a cyclic permutation of the major scale! So in fact a natural minor scale is the same set of notes as a major scale. What makes it different?

Well, remember when we talked about tension and resolution? It's about how the notes are organised. Our starting note is the 'root' note of the scale, usually established early on in the piece of music - quite often the very first note of the piece. The way you move around that root note determines whether the piece 'feels' major or minor. So every major scale has a companion natural minor scale, and vice versa. The set of notes in a piece is enough to narrow it down to one minor and one major, but you have to look closer to figure out which one is most relevant.

The 'harmonic minor' is almost the same, but it raises the second-last note (the 7th) a semitone. So its semitone intervals are 2, 1, 2, 2, 1, 3, 1.

The 'melodic minor' raises both the 6th and 7th by one semitone, (edit: but usually only on the way up). So its semitone intervals are 2, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 1. (edit: When you come back down you tend to use the natural minor.)

If you talk about a 'minor scale' unqualified, you mean the natural minor. It's also the 'Aeolian mode' in that system of funky Greek names I mentioned earlier.

So that leads to a set of 24 scales, a major and minor scale for every semitone. These are the most common scale types that almost all Western tonal music is written in.

But we ain't done. Because remember I said there were all those other "modes"? These are actually just cyclic permutations of the major scale. There's a really nerdy Youtube channel called '8-bit music theory' that has a bunch of videos analysing them in the context of videogame music which I'm going to watch at some point now I finally have enough background to understand wtf he's talking about.

youtube

And of top of that you have all sorts of other variants that come from shifting a note up or down a semitone.

The cast of intervals

OK, so we've established the idea of scales. Now let's talk intervals. As you might guess from the 'fifth', the intervals are named after their position in the scale.

Let me repeat the two most common scale modes, in terms of number of semitones relative to the root note:

position: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 major: 0, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11, 12 minor: 0, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 12

So you can see the fourth and fifth are the same in both. But there's a difference in three places: the third, the sixth, and the seventh. In each case, the minor is down a semitone from the major.

The interval names are... not quite as simple as 'place in the scale', but that's mostly how it works. e.g. the 'major third' is four semitones and the 'minor third' is three.

The fourth and fifth, which are dual to each other (meaning going up a fifth takes you to the same note as going down a fourth, and vice versa) are called 'perfect'. The note right in between them, an interval of 6 semitones, is called the 'tritone'.

(You can also refer to these intervals as 'augmented' or 'diminished' versions of adjacent intervals. Just in case there wasn't enough terminology in the air. See the table for the names of every interval.)

So, with these names, what's the significance of each one? The thirds, sixths and sevenths are important, because they tell us whether we're in minor or major land when we're building chords. (More on that soon.)

The fifth and the octave are super consonant, as we've said. But the notes that are close to them, like the seventh, the second and even more so the tritone, are quite dissonant - they're near to a nice thing and ironically that leads to awkward ratios which feel uncomfy to our ears. So generally speaking, you use them to build tension and anticipation and set up for a resolution later. (Or don't, and deliberately leave them hanging.)

Of course all of these positions in the scale also have funky Latin names that describe their function.

There's a lot more complicated nuances that make the meaning of a particular interval very contextual, and I certainly couldn't claim to really understand in much depth, but that's basically what I understand about intervals so far.

Our goofy-ass musical notation system

So if semitones are the building block of everything, naturally the musical notation system we use in the modern 12TET era spaces everything out neatly in terms of semitones, right?

Right...?

Lmao no. Actually sheet music is written so that each row of the stave (or staff, the five lines you write notes on) represents a note of the C major scale. All the notes that aren't on the C major scale are represented with special symbols, namely ♯ (read 'sharp') which means 'go up a semitone', and ♭ (read 'flat') which means 'go down a semitone'. That means the same note can be notated in two different ways: A♯ and B♭ are the same note.

The above image shows the chromatic scale, notated in two different ways. Every step is exactly one semitone.

Since a given scale might end up using one of these 'in between' notes that has to be marked sharp or flat, and you don't want to do that for every single time that note appears. Luckily, it turns out that each major/minor scale pair ends up defining a unique set of notes to be adjusted up or down a semitone, called the 'key signature'. So you can write the key signature at the beginning of the piece, and it lasts until you change key signature. For example, the key of 'A♭ major' ends up having four sharps:

There is a formula you can use to work out the set of sharps or flats to write for a given key. (That's about the point I checked out on musictheory.net.)

There is some advantage to this system, which is that it very clearly tells you when the composer intends to shift into a different scale, and it saves space since with the usual scales there are no wasted lines. But it's also annoyingly arbitrary. You just have to remember that B to C is only a semitone, and the same for E to F.

What are those weird squiggly symbols? Those are 'clefs'. Each one assigns notes to specific lines. The first one 𝄞 is the 'treble clef', the second one 𝄢 is the 'bass clef'. Well, actually these are the 'G-clef' and the 'F-clef', and where they go on the stave determines note assignment, but thankfully this has been standardised and you will only ever see them in one place. The treble clef declares the lines to be E G B D F and the bass clef G B D F A.

There is also a rarer 'C-clef' which looks like 𝄡. This is usually used as the 'Alto clef' which means F A C E G.

This notation system seems needlessly convoluted, but we're rather stuck with it, because most of the music has been written in it already. It's not uncommon for people to come up with alternative notations, though, such as 'tabs' for a stringed instrument which indicate which position should be played on each string. Nowadays on computers, a lot of DAWs will instead use a 'piano roll' presentation which is organised by semitone.

And then there's chords.

Chords! And arpeggios!

A chord is when you play 3 or more notes at the same time.

Simple enough right? But if you wanna talk about it, you gotta have a way to give them names. And that's where things get fucking nuts.

But the basic chord type is a 'triad', consisting of three notes, separated by certain intervals. There are two standard types, which you basically assemble by taking every other note of a scale. In terms of semitones, these are:

Major triad: 0 - 4 - 7 Minor triad: 0 - 3 - 7

Then there's a bunch of variations, for example:

Augmented: 0 - 4 - 8 Diminished: 0 - 3 - 6 Suspended: 0 - 2 - 7 (sus2) or 0 - 5 - 7 (sus4) Dominant seventh: 0 - 4 - 7 - 10 Power: 0 - 7

There is a notation scheme for chords in pop, jazz, rock, etc., which starts with a root note and then adds a bunch of superscripts to tell you about any special features of a chord. So 'C' means the C Major triad (namely C,E,G) and 'Cm' or 'c' means the C Minor triad (namely C,E♭,G).

In musical composition, you usually tend to surround the melody (single voice) with a 'chord progression' that both harmonises and creates a sense of 'movement' from one chord to another. Some instruments like guitar and piano are really good at playing chords. On instruments that can't play chords, they can still play 'arpeggios', which is what happens if you take a chord and unroll it into a sequence of notes. Or you play in an ensemble and harmonise with the other players to create a chord together. Awww.

Given a scale, you can construct a series of seven triad chords, starting from each note of the scale. These are generally given scale-specific Roman numerals corresponding to the position in the scale, and they're used to analyse the progression of chords in a song. I pretty much learned about this today while writing this post, so I can't tell you much more than that.

Right now, that's about as far as I've gotten with chords. On a violin, you can play just two strings at the same time after all - I never had much need to learn about them so it remains a huge hole in my understanding of music. I can't recognise chords by ear at all. So I gotta learn more about them.

As much as I wrote this for my own benefit... if you found this post interesting, let me know. I might write more if people find this style of presentation appealing. ^^'

#Youtube #music #music theory #notes #music notes

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 7 months

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ANGELLL!!! I AM OBSESSED W YOUR ALFIE FICS. I loved your 'A brother for Cyril' fic and I wanted to ask if you'd consider a kinda 'sequel' of Alfie and his wife introducing the two dogs and Alfie thinking they'll hate each other only for them to actually become the perfect dog siblings?! Please don't feel bad if you need to decline, I'm just throwing random ideas at the wall as I saw you were seeking some. sending you lots of love always and thank you for the work you do ❤️

Anon!!! Hi friend ah this was so so sweet!!!! Thank you for sending this in this was literally such a kind message I feel so blessed!!! I hope you enjoy this story, I took it a little further than I anticipated, but I hope it satisfies 💕💕💕 sending my love! - Mo

A Brother for Cyril: Part 2

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Warnings: language, mentioning pregnancy

One thing is for certain... Alfie could never deny you anything.

To someone on the outside of your relationship, it would looked as though you were irreperably spoiled. Alfie absolutely doted on you... in his own way. It didn't make sense to those on the outside. One moment you two were fighting as if your lives depended on it, hollering and shouting obscenities, arguing about the best way to handle something. The next moment he had you in his lap, chuckling into your neck, 'begging' for forgiveness with kisses and whispered promises, "Oh treacle don't be cross with me now! Give a kiss yeah? You can't be mad at your husband forever!"

And you couldn't. You could never be truly cross with Alfie. Even when you were fighting, it wasn't truly directed at him. It was just your passions overflowing and exploding, ignited by his own stubborness. And God did you love setting each other off. For the making up was so sweet.

Alfie loved spoiling you. He loved giving you things. A sweet treat from the bakery. Delicate earrings and necklaces from his jewelry shop, engraved with his initials. A bouquet accompanied with a sonnet of his own composition. Alfie loved to dote on you endlessly, and loved to give you any type of happiness.

But this was a rat dog.

Alfie could not believe that he was actually stuck with this piece of lint. And was even more in shock that not only was he stuck with it, but you loved the piece of fur. Alfie was struggling to keep the scoffs at bay, as he watched you coo and caress the puppy, as it gave small kisses to your fingers. “Oh Alfie I’m so happy we’re going to have another dog. We really did need another puppy.”

He prayed you didn’t see the rolling of his eyes. This wasn’t a dog. Cyril, now that was a dog!! This ball of fur was pathetic! Cyril was big and strong, and was good at things! Like guarding the house and playing fetch and roughhousing on the floor. And Cyril just looked impressive! What would people think if they saw this piece of dust walking on the end of a lead held by him? Could it even walk? It was being cradled like a human baby the entire time. It was tiny… what if Cyril ate it? Alfie placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, “Now darling, don’t be shocked if Cyril and…”

“Barty.”, you reminded him.

“Yes right Barty, if they don’t get along. Cyril is a man’s dog. He probably won’t want to fraternize with the likes of Barty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at your husband, “Fraternize? Alfie, Cyril is a dog. I don’t think he’s overly concerned with social standings in the dog park.”

“Well dear see that’s where you’re mistaken. Me and Cyril yeah we talk. Man to man. And I’m not sure little Barty here will be able to keep up. He seems a little delicate.”

“Alfie you’re not even giving him a chance!! He is just a baby!”

You held up Barty to look into Alfie’s eyes, “Look at his face darling!! He can fit in! Cyril and him are going to get along perfectly!! He just needs your love and acceptance!”

Alfie stared into the barely open eyes of the puppy, and just squinted, as if trying to measure the baby’s spirit. You moved Barty closer to Alfie, being nearly nose to nose, neither Alfie nor Barty blinking. And then Barty licked Alfie’s nose with a yip.

“OH LORD! BARTY!” Alfie lurched back, spluttering and rubbing the minimum slobber off his nose. You just cackled in your seat at your ridiculous husband. The mad baker of Camden upset by some dog slobber! “Alfie! It’s just a kiss! And Cyril’s slobber is much worse!!! You don’t care when it gets on you! You don’t mind his kisses!”

“Well first off Cyril does not kiss! Cyril snarls! And Barty and I just met! Where does he get off kissing already!”

You couldn’t stop laughing and teasing your dear husband. He was such a secret to the outside. To everyone else, he is ferocious and unfeeling. Absolutely mad and vicious. But your Alfie… your Alfie had such a different side to him. You weren’t naive. You knew what this life entailed. Hell, you were his secretary before you were his wife. You knew what Alfie was, and knew what it took. But you weren’t afraid of him. Alfie wasn’t just the King of Camden. He was an animal. But he was also tender and artistic. He bellowed and roared and tore through men like nothing. But he also whispered his undying love for you every night, and pressed hot kisses to each of your fingers every morning. Alfie was everything. And that’s what people missed. And it’s what you cherished. That you got to hold the Mad Baker and Alfie Solomons in one.

When you got to the house, Alfie waved to Ollie goodbye, and guided you through the door, hand firmly on your waist. As soon as he opened the door to your home, the pounding sounds of massive paws fill your ears. Cyril makes a bee line to his father, and immediately starts pushing his head against Alfie’s stomach, “Hello my boy! My Cyril!! You miss your papa and mum yeah? You’re so good, you watched the house for me yeah?”

Cyril’s sweet face broke out in a large smile, panting and leaning in to Alfie’s touch. After giving all the love his boy needed, Alfie finally straightened, preparing to witness what may be a bloodbath. “Alright Cyril sit my boy sit. We have brought you something.”

Alfie motioned for you to hold out Barty, “Cyril my boy, mummy and papa have decided that you need a brother. This here is Barty, and you’re going to teach him how to be a real dog.”

“Alfie!”

“Well he’s not a dog darling! Go on put the little runt on the ground, let Cyril sniff him out.”

You gently put Barty on the ground near Cyril’s front paws. You stand back up, shifting closer to Alfie, waiting for what was to come.

Barty managed to pull himself onto his tiny paws, sniffing the air around Cyril. Cyril’s head went to the side, as if trying to understand what was just put in front of him. He leaned all the way down sniffing Barty for a long time and then… gave him the biggest kiss Alfie had ever seen.

Cyril began to bark, and bounce around with all his young dog energy. Barty began yipping excitedly hopping around Cyril’s feet. “Barty! Are you so excited to meet your big brother?” You we’re so excited, so happy that the dogs were getting along, and Barty had been accepted into the Solomons pack.

After dinner, you and Alfie took your tea in the parlor, nestled together, enjoying each others presence and the radio playing softly. Cyril and Barty were snoring together close to the fireplace. Barty was snuggled right against Cyril’s stomach, legs kicking ever so often, lost in a dream.

“I cannot believe this… Cyril has gone soft.”

From your place on Alfie’s chest you swat him, “Leave them alone. It’s sweet.”

“He romped. He’s never romped before.”

“Well you did tell him to teach Barty how to be a dog. He’s just being a good big brother. I saw him trying to play tug of war with him. It was very sweet.”

Alfie just grunted, staring off into space. Until he hummed out, “Sweet heart?”

“Yes darling?”

“Would you ever want… human puppies?”

You sat up straight, “… do you mean babies?”

“Nevermind it was stupid.”

You laughed loudly, grabbing his shoulders for him to face you, “No you stubborn man! It’s not stupid, I just have never heard someone say 'human puppies'."

He just mumbled to himself, as he typically does, but still grabbed your wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. Meeting your eyes you feel those butterflies in your stomach that still haven’t left after all of these years, he presses you “Well?”

You sigh, smiling softly, thinking and considering as your fingers comb through his hair, “Hmmmm I’ve thought about it. Had dreams about it. I’ve always wanted a big family, just like how I grew up. I’ve thought about you holding and playing with the children. Absolutely spoiling them with your affection. Teaching them. Being the man that I know you are. I just didn’t think you wanted kids.”

Alfie leaned into your touch, still holding your hand, “I just didn’t think I’d have the chance. You know… to have a family. Thought I was getting too old. Then here you come… crashing in my bachelor life. And now… I just keep thinking about it.”

You leaned in, heart glowing at his vulnerability. You knew it was sometimes hard for him to discuss those deep feelings, it made him feel exposed. But the fact that he still opened up like that to you, it spoke to the volumes of trust between the two of you. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips you whisper, “If you want children Mr. Solomons, let’s have them.”

You think you see a small glitter of a tear threaten to show itself in his eyes, before he says, “Cyril could teach them how to be dogs too.”

The rest of the evening flows in laughter and kisses. As you dream with him about what the future holds, Cyril admires from his place on the floor, keeping his new little brother safe, and thinking about the new siblings sure to come.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic

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emillyverse · 3 months

Text

Production stages of the Fan Comic of "The Wish Kingdom" !!!

(written by @annymation)

And as promised, here is the "schedule" I said I was putting together for the Comic fic production process.

In the end, this isn't really a "timeline", it's more like a list of what I'll do to build the comic. I want to make all the processes very clear and described to give you an idea of how it will be done and a small idea of how long it will take.

Remembering that I am a human being, not an AI to do things quickly, I have another life beyond networks and this project.

Besides the fact that none of us are being paid to do this comic (although I really wanted to, I'm not going to lie), all of this is being done on the basis of love, affection, positivity and adoration for the initial concepts dispensed by Disney, their classic films that really made that company grow and the main messages conveyed by Walt Disney while he was still alive: "If you can dream something, you can make it happen!" and "It's fun to do the impossible!"

So please be patient and kind to me and the entire team! I already love, adore and thank everyone willing to follow our project.

Well… Let's get started!

1- Rereading and Separating the text:

Starting today (02/26/2024) I will be re-reading Anny's fanfic, separating all of her text into scenes, highlighting the following points:

Atmosphere

Characters (designs made by @uva124)

Speeches and facial expressions - the message

Thus defining "who says what, how and in which place?"

Since I will be doing the setting art myself, as the story progresses, I would really appreciate a little help. I'm guessing if you're reading this you've probably already read The Kingdom of Wishes and consequently imagined the scenarios! If you find any images online that remind you of the locations of the scenes in your mind, you can send them to me as a reference! I'm always open to references for drawings!

2- Make the "Thumbnails"

I don't know what term foreigners use to define the thumbnails that make up the first drafts of comics, but here in Brazil, we call them "Doll", in reference to the fact that the sketches are a "test doll" for the comic strip .

Anyway, I digress! It is at this stage that I define the composition of the scenes through sketches. This is where I define what appears or not in the scene, what the scene will be focused on, how I will guide the reader's eye by the meaning of reading the scene, where the lines, the characters, their movements and others will be located… It's a planning phase on how to portray the scenes; the most complex I would say.

3- Review

Here I take a break for two days or three days at most, to relax and forget about the project for a bit. I come back with new energy and review everything that was done, ask for opinions and suggestions from the team, in short, I give a great evaluation and improvement in everything!

4 - Finalization and Publication

In this last step, I transform the sketches into final artwork using graphite pencils, colored pencils and pens that I have available.

When they are all finished, I will publish the comics here and on all my social networks!

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

Finally....

I would like to say that yes, I will be posting spoilers for all these stages, watch them at your own risk!

Remembering that English is not my native language, so I really hope everything was understandable! But if you have any questions, you can send questions to me or any member of the team!

And if you want to know a little more about my arts, you can check out my Instagram!

Kisses full of light and stars!

Let's work!!

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holyprincenerd · 1 year

Text

A Few Thoughts Regarding Why the ESC Jury is SO Dysfunctional

I’m going to cut right to the chase: The judgement criteria for the jury make literally no sense once you stop and think about them. They quite literally cause trolley problem after trolley problem. As a reminder, these are the criteria the jury was supposed to use to judge the performances this year:

composition and originality of the song,

quality of the performance on stage,

vocal capacity of the performer(s),

overall impression of the act.

Let’s start simple - vocal capacity of the performer(s):

As everyone’s aware, this year, we had many talented vocalists participating in the competition: A few examples are Sweden, Norway, France, Cyprus, Spain, Estonia, Albania and Portugal. They all came swinging with their vocalists. Notice something funny about this list of countries?

It’s based entirely upon the assumption that the ability to belt or the usage of one’s head voice is what defines someone’s vocal capacity. Here’s why this is a problem: Assuming that belting as an example is the peak performance of singing means to ignore other, arguably harder and more demanding techniques that are more unconventional sounding to the mainstream ear. A hilariously good example of this would be growling. It require a lot, and I mean a lot of technical prowess and control over your voice, and is thus arguably harder than say belting, as an example. Seriously. Try to growl. Right now. I bet most of you have noticed that you literally can’t growl without sounding hilariously pathetic. If you did manage to let out a decent growl, now try to sing while growling. Pick any song you like, and go for it. Pretty hard, right? And guess what! We had someone doing that this year, and being phenomenal at it.

Too bad they came last in the competition.

That’s right, if we’re going to start judging vocal abilities here, arguably the most vocally capable singer was Chris Harms. There are multiple parts in Blood and Glitter where he uses the growling technique. Not only that, but du-du-dum! He also belts during the song, and does so wonderfully. So, based on this, clearly, he was the most vocally talented artist out of the bunch, right? (Obviously, I am 100% simplifying things here, but bear with me for a bit.) He does everything that the previously mentioned group did, and more. Arguably we could also say that alongside him Alessandra is carrying the torch of the most vocally capable performer, as she does have that one whistle tone in her song (if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, don’t worry, we’ll get to that later).

However, this gets even more complicated than singing techniques, how hard they are to master, and how many of them you use in your song.

You see, we can’t really judge someone’s vocal capacity and compare them with the other contestants, when many of these artists were performing songs in different genres. Here are some of the genres represented during the Eurovision finale of 2023:

Metal

Industrial metal

Progressive metal

Rock

Alternative rock

Progressive rock

Pop rock

Pop

Dance-pop

House-pop

Latin-pop

Hyperpop

Chanson

Flamenco

Disco-house

Electronic

R&B

Rap

Schlager

Tractor (lol)

With this many genres, different singing techniques are more appropriate for some songs than others. So this is no longer even a question about comparing each contestant’s vocal abilities with one another (which is a problem, since you know, this is a competition), but rather who performs well within their own genre. Suddenly, we can add almost every contestant to the list of competent vocal performances. For those of you who are wondering, yes, even Käärijä came through with his vocal performance, especially in the first half of the song.

While we’re on the topic of Käärijä (and we won’t leave him for a bit), how are the juries supposed to judge the vocals of rap performances that are more heavily reliant on the enunciation of words than the vocals themselves, if the song’s not in English? Part of the reason Cha Cha Cha works so well is because of the way Käärijä raps certain lines or even words. How is any other jury, except the Finnish one, (who’re not allowed to vote for him,) supposed to catch something like how good the ”Ja mä jatkan kunnes en enää pysy tuolissa niinku” part sounds to a Finnish ear? Specifically the words kunnes, en and enää, are doing a lot of heavy lifting in that one singular line due to the rhythm and enunciation. Can a jury member who doesn’t understand Finnish catch onto the way he allows the first two words to almost melt into each other while pronouncing the last word ridiculously fast to create a very specific rhythm? I’m sure some jury members would notice that, but it’s just as likely to go completely unnoticed unless you’re familiar with the language.

Next, composition and originality of the song:

Again, we have a clear victor here: Cha Cha Cha is by far the most ”original” out of these songs (despite the Electric Cowboy plagiarism accusations, and it’s all thanks to the fact that the song does a genre based one-eighty by the end). I mean, hello? Blending industrial metal, rap, hyperpop and Finnish schlager? This is such a strange combination of genres, it becomes its own entity. And somehow it works. Personally, I’d say this is at least in part due to the melodic hook that repeats literally throughout the song. Those beeps and boops you hear after the first line of the song? They keep repeating themselves, in the chorus in the ”Cha, cha cha, cha cha cha cha” portion, and in the schlager part of the song, though there, the melody is cut in half and only the last three keys are present in the ”Niinku cha cha cha” parts and in the lines that end with an ”aa-aa-haa.” (So, ”Niinku cha cha cha, enkä pelkääkään tätä maailmaa-aa-haa” etc.) Obviously, we get to hear the melody in its entirety once again in the final cha chas. Brilliant! Douze point. Sometimes less is more, and I can’t believe I am saying that about fucking Cha Cha Cha but here we are. Simplicity is king.

Now, on the other hand, we could say that most of the pop entries are not original in the slightest. We could argue that there is literally nothing original about repeating the same pop formula and the same chord progressions which can be found in most pop songs. This is why Tattoo, Solo, Unicorn, I Wrote a Song, Break a Broken Heart, etc, are getting compared to other pop songs and accused of plagiarism: Pop music just is that generic in its building blocks. It’s also why we could argue that they’re not particularly noteworthy in their compositions.

And while we’re still on the topic of originality, songs that are tied to a specific genre are practically screwed. No one’s going to reinvent genres like cha-cha-chá, waltz or mambo here, unless they step away from what identifies these genres, the rhythm. If the rhythm isn’t there, it’s not a cha-cha-chá, waltz or mambo song. You wanna blend salsa and reggaeton? Too bad, salsaton is already a thing! Should everyone start doing what Käärijä and his team did, and mix a minimum of four genres with a somewhat unusual structure in order to be ”original”? What even is originality in the context of composition, really? There are only so many chords and chord progressions to use, there’s practically no way to actually be original, which is also why the topic of plagiarism is so fucking complicated when it comes to music in specific.

Anyway, let’s move on to the quality of the performance on stage:

To avoid making a lengthy repetition of the previous point, let’s keep this short: Depending on the genre of the song, a certain type of performance is going to be more appropriate than another. Imagine Alika having a performance like Let 3, or Teya and Salena performing like La Zarra. What’s that? It’s the taste of good ol’ thematic and tonal dissonance. Each song is elevated by a performance that matches that song in specific, and the artists can either perform well or fuck up. Again, this becomes a trolley problem, where the juries have to ask themselves: ”Do we value a performance like Joker Out’s above a performance like Luke Black’s?” When both perform well, it’s hard to compare them because they’re playing in two completely different ballparks.

Finally, the overall impression of the act:

Literally what the fuck does that even mean? This is actually just a preference question. Unless someone fucks up tremendously, everyone should be getting points for this. And that’s the core issue here. Because we’re dealing with such a large variety of different artists, different genres, different languages, it becomes impossible to judge them fairly against each other. Do we value belting above growling? Trolley problem. Do we value pop above metal or rock? Trolley problem. You get the point.

”Okay, but obviously the juries are basing their votes upon objectivity and looking at the whole package,” someone might say, and if they do, they’ve missed the point: There is no objectivity here, and because of that, there is no comparing whole packages either. Literally the only way to be objective about this is if everyone has an identical performance; same song, same staging, same camerawork, same choreography. And that’s not the point of the ESC. We’re supposed to be celebrating our individual cultures and our differences. Variety is quite literally required for this contest to work the way it’s intended to. At the end of the day, music is art, and art can be many things. You can’t argue that EAEA is more artistic than Mama ŚČ! (or vice versa) without opening a philosophical can of worms that is way too big for this silly competition. You can’t say Tattoo is objectively better than Cha Cha Cha (or vice versa), because, again, the songs shine in different criteria and are playing in two completely different ballparks. As a matter of fact, their ballparks exist on completely different planets. There are too many variables at play here for anyone to logically be able to be objective. And that’s when this becomes a question of voting based on opinion and personal taste (you know, if the concept of jury darlings hasn’t made this obvious enough). And personal taste is what the audience is supposed to base their votes upon.

Oh, and before I forget to touch upon that, Alessandra: According to some tabloids, her vocals were struggling during the jury show, and that’s why she in specific didn’t receive as many points from the jury as she probably should and could have otherwise. And that’s ridiculously unfair. Why should the jury and the audience base their judgements of an act on two completely different performances? As Käärijä has said in many interviews, each performance is unique and its own entity. Shit happens. Sometimes your vocals are struggling, other times a wire tries to murder you, etcetera. It’s actually bizarre that we don’t give our votes based on the same performance.

So yeah, shitty system, does not work, 0/10. Zéro point in French.

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vaguely-concerned · 25 days

Text

Garashir ficlet, PG, context is that Garak is about to go do… Something on his own (specifics very much ????? but probably something foolhardy and secretive and doomed ala Improbable Cause) and Julian is Not Having It this time. Probably fits into some of the later seasons vibes-wise.

Julian said tightly: “My Kardasi might still need some work, but — ”

“Oh, no at all, considering how recently you started your studies your efforts are downright impressive, if, ah — charmingly archaic at times. If that’s to be laid at anyone’s feet it should be mine, probably, remind me to recommend you something written within the last few centuries sometime soon.”

Giving this attempt at diversion exactly as much consideration as it deserved, Julian completely ignored him and finished his own line of thought: “ — but at this point I have a veritable doctorate in Garakese. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Many things, I’m sure. If I’d known you had any interest in the optimal soil composition in which to grow Lovalan roses, I would have gladly shared my insight. All you had to do is ask, my dear. In the spirit of cross-cultural knowledge exchange, I always stand ready to chip in and do my par — ”

“Elim.”

That made Garak blink, just that split second too long, even as his face remained perfectly still and smiling around it. It was subtle enough that an unaugmented eye might not have caught it, but Julian’s did.

No longer bothering to hide his own desperation, Julian pressed on: “Elim, please. You’ve got me worried with this. I want to help in any way I can, and — and I don’t like to think about what might happen if I can’t.”

There was a moment of silence between them in which Julian could hear his own quickened breathing too loudly in his ears.

“That’s… characteristically kind of you, Doctor,” Garak said eventually, voice slightly hushed, like someone trying not to wake a sleeping child in another room. “But there is nothing to worry about. Really.”

“Brush me off if you really feel like you have to, but please, at least do me the courtesy of not going out of your way to insult my intelligence while you’re at it,” Julian snapped. “How stupid do you think I am? How do you expect me to just close my eyes and sit back like nothing’s wrong while you — ”

Garak sighed. “You’re right, that was unworthy of me. Please, put it down to old habit, not a lack of respect. Very well, then let me rephrase what I was trying to say slightly, in order to be more precise — whatever might or might not be going on, there’s absolutely nothing you can do, and I really would rather you stayed out of it. Knowing you to be safely out of the line of fire would provide me with infinitely more comfort and utility than anything you could actively do to help. Which, again, is nothing.”

“But — ”

“Julian. Please.”

Julian would have been thrown less off-balance if Garak had punched him square in the jaw. “Oh, that’s a dirty trick,” he said, unsteadily.

“And here I thought ‘turnabout is fair play’ was a guiding Human principle,” Garak said, and his tone was light but his eyes were soft and very sad. “I see I have been misinformed.”

The idea that Julian’s initial exposure to the Cardassian language leaves him speaking it like the equivalent of a Regency era novel or something to contemporary Cardassian ears in the beginning is a headcanon that is so dear to me

#garashir #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9 #julian bashir #elim garak #my writing #god. I just started a new fic this evening. I've got 5 proper wips on the go now not just this style of fragment nonsense. help

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my-hobby-is-finding-the-source · 10 months

Note

What are some of your favorite artists?

Oh, thanks for adding "some" to that question! I wouldn't be able to sort through them in linear time...

I'm gonna pick just five (is that too much?) off the top of my head, in no particular order. Sorry if I'm unable to elaborate well on why I like them—some times, when looking at art, my mind is just ù̷̞n̶̘͌i̵͖͌n̶̪͗t̵͕̆ė̶̼l̷̢̀l̷̤̈́i̶̪̋g̵̲͆ì̵̫b̸̪͆ļ̵̍ḛ̴͌ ̷͔͝n̷͚͘o̶̪͑i̴͙͆ș̵͛e̴̗̽s̶̮͐. This might end up a bit long.

We can start with Kotou (孤島), I guess. He hasn't been active for a while, as far as I know, but the Madoka Magica Major Arcana set is a permanent resident of my mind.

The composition can be so elaborate, and the use of the technique is simply fascinating.

If I were to think of any more recent works, I must mention Kart (@kartprowler). I absolutely adore the animal character designs, and Raku (the fennec fox) has got to be my favorite.

Also, for any fans of Revue Starlight, there are some really incredible pieces you need to see as well.

If the topic is animal characters, I couldn't possibly forget to bring up Sakutake (さくたけ). I'm particularly captivated by the bunnies! Or would those be hares?

If your preference is birds, there are a couple, and even butterflies for those inclined.

All this talk of rabbits tangentially reminded me of max! I found him via his GochiUsa works, and was positively charmed by his art style.

Or maybe I should say styles—his range is quite impressive! If you're predisposed for horror, give his alt account a look.

And last but not least, for those expecting something steamier (here's the NSFW warning for one of the links below), my recommendation is maiqo.

They dabble in both the sweet and the spicy, and though I'm not well-read in these particular fandoms, the pieces have more than enough to sustain me on their own.

For now, that's it. I really enjoyed doing this! As I went, I got to see some older works again, it was really nice.

#answer #awesome art appreciation

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celestialscatterbrain · 1 month

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Hi celestialscatterbrain!

Hope you are well today ◡̈

Wanted to see what you thought about venus square uranus in composite chart as well as an 8th house stellium in composite!

I also am curious to know what your fav/least fav placement and aspects would be in a composite chart.

Thanks for your time, energy, effort and knowledge

Enjoy your week 💐

(18+) minors do not interact

Thank you so much!!! I hope your week is great too 🩵

Venus square Uranus in the composite chart has potential to be a great thrill, but it also felt like such a headache. It feels like the butterflies exist here because of the relationship’s unpredictability. I had asked myself numerous times if that’s the only reason I liked this person, because I wasn’t getting much more out of it. If you’re at a distance from one another or can’t see each other often, this placement can easily be really annoying. It can also feel like you guys are only allowed to come together in bursts. You guys have “chapters” where you’re involved, and probably not for long periods of time, and then come back together (… and then the cycle repeats 🎡).

There’s probably something a little controversial or unconventional about your setup. If not, it can feel like it’s not a relationship that is instantly going to be committed until a more stable time in life. I also wouldn’t be surprised if this started off as a “meaningless hookup,” where you still interact on and off after. This might be best between two people who are friends with benefits and truly want to keep it that way for a while. Even then, you still might wish for there to be something just a little more concrete between you two. If not, it might feel like this lyric from the song “romantic homicide” by d4vd: “why am I still here? I don’t mean to be complacent with the decisions you made, but why?… I’m sick of waiting patiently for someone that won’t even arrive.”

For me, it felt like things were going great, and then all of a sudden you’re caught off guard by something. Then you have to wait for that “something” to be resolved or normalized before you resume the interaction. You might compromise on a lot of circumstances you definitely wouldn’t encourage your friends to compromise on. You might also feel like you have to normalize a lot of new situations you’ve never handled before. This interaction can really call for you to be adaptable and non-judgmental.

You guys might feel like you’re on a seesaw, where one desires more commitment so the other one pulls back, and then you take turns. In some cases, one person definitely spends a lot more time being the one pulled back and afraid of intimacy than the other, bc maybe the other is already more comfortable with closeness even if it doesn’t come with commitment.

This can be so unstable, it’s nauseating. The mixed signals can be infuriating. Am I being led on? Am I being used? Do you just want me when you want me to make you feel attractive and desired? Did your last option fail and now you want to come back so you can enjoy the thrill of a relationship/intimacy?

You two can bring out and understand each other’s reckless or wild side. You’ll be willing to get out of character, or misbehave with one another. It reminds me of “happiness is a butterfly” by Lana del Rey when she says: “I’ll pick you up if you’re in town on the corner, happiness is a butterfly, we should catch it while dancing high, lose my self in the music baby…” “don’t be a jerk, don’t call me a taxi, sitting in your sweatshirt crying in the back seat.. I just want to dance with you… baby I just wanna dance, with you.”

This is such a situationship placement.

I don’t think it helped that when I experienced this, we had our Venus in the 12H of our composite. 😭

On a positive note, you guys can have a lot of fun together!!! You guys give each other a nice rush and it can make the more stable, normal partners you experience after them feel “boring” or “too safe” in comparison. You could’ve linked up in a very memorable way. It’s definitely a fling or relationship you’ll never forget.

—

I do enjoy the 8th house stellium a lot more. I recently got to experience this one, so my appreciation has grown for it! 👻

You two might come together when one of you is undergoing a spiritual transformation. They can just be coming into their spirituality or feeling very inclined to explore it deeper or in new ways, and maybe you are too! You guys love to talk about the occult together. You want to deep dive into it together. One of you can mentor the other in a sense, spiritually. You can introduce them to more nuanced topics within their own beliefs. You want to do magic together. Merging is easy and natural. You share your paranormal experiences together. You also have no problem talking about any topic with one another, because nothing is off the table! You can appreciate the taboo sides of one another, and it’s easy to confess secrets. Physical intimacy is instantly great, and you might be surprised at how comfortable you feeling during the act with this person even if you would be shy or reserved with past partners. You two find each other’s genitals to be attractive. Sex involves a lot of touching and grabbing, and overall appreciation for each other’s bodies as a sexual partner. You surprisingly can really respect the others personal time and space, which makes them come to you more. You think about them a lot in passing. Even if you guys are in a casual fling, you guys still chit chat throughout the day every day to let them know you’re not going anywhere even if you’re extremely busy. You can also come together when you two are attempting to shift the way that you generate your respective incomes.

You two can be very different, but those differences can be where the magnetism towards one another is sourced from. You have a respect for one another immediately. You’d instantly like to have them around for more than just a night! You always want to make sure they’re okay. You can be protective over one another and can defend each other unconditionally. You want to help each other transform. You can let go of old, outdated guards you had up with others, because this person knows what hurts you and how to handle you. You like to get each other little gifts early on, maybe gifts tied to the occult! Together, you are a force to be reckoned with. ❤️‍🔥

Of course, this is more of the positive and ideal manifestation. I’m sure with more negative aspects to planets in the 8H or an 8H mars, the potential for extremism can be far more activated. Mars in the 8H with harsh Pluto aspects can really take over the “nice” qualities of 8H contacts. The sex will still be amazing and keep on getting better and better and better and BETTER with time, but make sure you guys learn how to diffuse anger early on in the relationship and don’t try to hurt the other. That isn’t a relationship you want to sabotage before it properly begins, because those grudges can be held for far too long. Extreme arguments can occur here, and physical violence can become a thing. You will literally be wishing death on one another and your adrenaline levels can drive you to mutually destruct. This is best for a couple where forgiveness is easily achieved and always sought after. If you start off well, and always have each others best interests in mind, then you can defeat old wounds and negative beliefs together and rise like phoenixes from ash.

You can also read my first post on an 8H stellium in the composite chart here for more information/another manifestation of it! (Maybe more reflective of the long term aspect, my description above is more for the start of the interaction)

#astrology #astroblr #astrology observations #relationship astrology #composite observations #sexstrology #astro notes #astrology blog #composite astrology #synastry #Venus square Uranus #8th house stellium #composite Venus #composite Uranus #composite 8H #witches of tumblr #witchblr #romantic astrology #love astrology

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ro-sham-no · 20 days

Text

Sam fucked up.

Dean had always teased him for being a try-hard at school (with a secretly proud smile he thought Sam couldn’t see or wouldn’t notice, but oh, Sam noticed). He’d tease Sam, saying it would bite him in the ass one day, and now, at Stanford, it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq class he actually liked had given him extra work. It's not a big deal, not really, just reading out his stupid, gay-ass prose about his big brother in front of a crowd of people, all to get out of taking a final... Dean was across the country, so what could go wrong?

cw: wincest, referenced underage sex (barely), questionable prose lol

includes excerpts from "sweetness" - stephen dunn

“I’m telling you, man, they’re gonna expect more from you ‘cause you’re putting in all this extra effort.”

Dean was speaking in that slow, crooning voice that he always got when they were alone together in the quiet, like he was afraid to break the silence but still wanted to fill up Sam’s head with the sound of his voice so bad that he couldn’t stop himself. As if the way he was smoothing his hand up and down the breadth of Sam’s bare ribs and stomach - all palming and grabby, groping at Sam like he owned him - as if that didn’t already nail Sam’s focus and affection to the cross of their shared devotion. As if he needed to do anything at all, other than exist, to completely own Sam from the inside out.

Sam shook himself out of his trance to respond, huffing that scoff-laugh that only little brothers manage to pull off, reaching up to trap Dean’s hand against Sam’s stomach, splayed and possessive but finally stilled so Sam could actually think for a second. But before he could come up with a counter, Dean continued, sweet and slow in his ear, like syrupy molasses that’s just warm enough to drip and run down the spoon,

“I swear, if we stayed in one place for longer than it takes Dad to fuckin’ blink, they’d have you up to your ears in extra work by now.”

Sam hummed at that, all smug younger brother proving a point, “Well I guess it doesn’t matter then, huh, Dean? ‘s not like the old man’s that old, his blinks aren’t slowing down anytime soon,” said with a finality that shut Dean up, finally granting Sam some goddamn peace as they basked in the feel of each other’s bed-warmed skin.

And that was that. Still, they rehashed it a few times, here and there whenever it got brought up.

Sam flicked Dean’s hand off his shoulder because, “I need to finish my homework, Dean. There’s a quiz on it tomorrow,” providing the perfect opportunity for Dean to bring up that old argument once again. Calling him a try-hard and a teacher’s pet, distracting him enough to bully him into their bed, away from his homework, and suddenly enveloped in the warm arms of his older brother - devious bastard that he was, dammit.

Sam always got 100s on those quizzes, anyway. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the chase, the thrill of seeing Dean be jealous of a piece of fucking paper and a pen before Sam caved and they fell together oh-so-sweetly.

But that was then, when the metaphorical speed of Dad’s blinks still kept them flitting from place to place. Now, Sam had already been in this place for 9 months, consecutively, and he was in for at least another 3.25 years. Four years he would be here, and that’s where Sam fucked up, forgetting his “wise” older brother’s warning (because he’s not here to remind me), and it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq that he actually liked, Dr. Morris, had given him extra work. All because,

“This is really something special, Sam! I really think people deserve to hear it.” She saw Sam begin to protest but cut him off, continuing, “From the author’s mouth, don’t give me that. That’s you, in case you’ve conveniently forgotten. C’mon, the literary arts event is next week and they’ve been asking me to fill an inspired composition spot. I think this is the perfect work to fit right in, with the way you’ve expanded on Dunn’s poem, interpreting meaning from it and making it your own- just, Sam, I seriously want you to consider presenting it.”

“It” was an assignment to write a piece about or inspired by one of the poems Dr. Morris had covered in class recently. One of them had tugged at Sam’s recently-shredded heartstrings, and so he wrote something inspired by it - so sue him if he wrote a little prose, alright? But, Christ, it was soft and mushy and it was horrifically revealing. But he didn’t have time to redo it, so this was what he was stuck with.

Damn, she’s really trying to sell this, Sam thought with a sigh.

Once again, though, his professor cut him off, this time with a conspiratorial look on her face, “Besides, a little birdy told me that the final for this class might be optional if you participate in the event…”

Well, that’s just diabolical.

Sam pinched his nose with yet another sigh, arms clutched around his notebook, which conveniently contained the exact literary “work” Dr. Morris had been raving about for the last ten minutes. All Sam had wanted to do was to make sure that it fit what she was expecting for the homework prompt before he turned it in, and then she’d trapped him.

He really did hate taking tests for this class, too, and she knew that. UGH.

“Fine, Dr. Morris, you win! But that little birdy better be tellin’ the truth or another little birdy is so gonna write the meanest course review this school has ever seen, I swear to god,” he pointed his finger at her accusingly, eyebrows raised in faux intimidation.

She laughed along with him at his empty threat, holding up her hands in mock surrender with a gasp, “No, not an angry student review! What about my career?”

She sobered a little, “The birdy is telling the truth, Sam, I promise. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sam nodded with a rueful smile, “I know. Thank you, Dr. Morris, I’m uh- well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was worse. So, so much worse. God, Sam fucked up, colossally.

Somehow, his friends had gotten wind of his little performance - something about a poster with his name on it? (Damn you, Dr. Morris!) - and now Sam was about to go on stage and make a fool of himself in front of both liberal arts and now STEM majors alike. Four STEM majors, specifically, his “friends,” and he was never going to hear the end of it after this.

I’m not even out to these people, what was I thinking? They’re gonna know, now. Sure hope they’re fuckin’ cool with it.

And, beyond that, he’d only read through the piece a total of two times without crying like a fucking baby. Reduced to hiccupping sobs over the stupid poem, and over his stupid feelings laid bare on the page, and over his stupid fucking brother that he’d basically broken up with when he came here like the incestuous freak that he was, and-

Goddammit.

Sam pinched viciously at his thigh through his pocket to stop his eyes from prickling.

This is gonna be a disaster.

But the final would be worse, Sam was sure, and he didn’t want to disappoint Dr. Morris - like the total sucker that he was - so he was gonna man up and do this thing.

The person on stage before him finished up their piece and, is the crowd seriously fucking snapping? Jesus Christ, these people are pretentious. Thankfully, pretentious or not, the event wasn’t that formal. They were just outside on a small stage, with standing and sitting room in front of it. Casual. Easy.

Yeah, right.

Still, Sam steeled himself and stepped out onto the stage as prompted, calmly raising the height of the mic stand while the event coordinator introduced him to the audience, “Thank you for that wonderful reading. Now stepping on stage is Sam Winchester, with a literary reading of his work, inspired by the poem “Sweetness” by Stephen Dunn.”

Sam cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, “Ah, thank you, for that introduction. So… this is just a piece I wrote based on that poem, which uses the term “sweetness” to describe more than just sensation - to me, it describes a feeling, an emotion, and even a person. That’s something that really struck me, and is the basis of what you’re about to hear.”

While he was speaking, he scanned the crowd and- yep, there were his friends, waving and cheesing so hard it made his own mouth twitch a little in response, amused at their amusement. Still, there was this odd feeling, almost like… nevermind.

He cleared his throat again, purposefully this time, and began, “Often, a sweetness comes and changes nothing in the world, except the way we stumble through it. Our sweetness, the one we make between us, changes the world - my world - because of the way you envelop me entirely. The sweetness between us changes the world, shrinks it down to the size of your mouth, to the size of your hands.”

Images flash in Sam’s mind: silver ring; cupid’s bow; black bracelets on twin right-wrists, like their own secret wedding bands.

“But the world is no smaller for it, even though it’s shrunk to fit the shape of your body.

It’s still ever-expansive, always with something new to explore. New gasps to wring out from the valley of your mouth. New ways to bruise and mar the landscape of your skin, changing its terrane to map out the topography of our love, our sweetness, and the way it blisters between us…

Staining, always staining.”

Golden skin that’s littered with scratches, hickies marring it in impossible places, and freckles that reach out to Sam like starlight.

“Some days you believe it stains us down to the soul level. Those are the days I spend sick with heartbreak because those are the days you won’t touch me. Those are the days you won’t touch me, when you can’t even bear to look at me, littered as I always am (and how I always want to be) with the stains of our shared, world-changing sweetness. You see the stains on those days and, instead of cherishing them the way I would bid you to, you are sickened by them.”

A memory, now,

That beloved cupid’s bow stretched out in a self-deprecating sneer, “This is wrong, Sam! God, look at what I’ve done to you, I should be fucking locked up. You don’t even want this, you can’t!”

“Even worse, you’re saddened by them, the stains that I cherish, convincing yourself that you’ve doomed me by them. On those days, you believe you’ve doomed me to an eternity of fire and brimstone, even though the only God either of us truly believes in takes on the form of the finger-shaped bruises you leave on my thighs and the teeth-sized scars I’ve left in your skin.”

The stains, god, the stains: tear tracks on freckled cheeks, red and puffy eyes so unused to crying, bloody knuckles from losing to brick walls.

Sam’s eyes prickled. One hand went from the podium to his pocket and gouged its nails into flesh, welts forming on top of already-present bruises.

He cleared his throat again, blinking harshly, “But even if that were true, that you have doomed me, my love, then please: let me be doomed. The truth is that I am doomed. I am condemned by the shade of your eyes, by the strong elegance of your wrists, and the way your head tilts when you focus that I’ve never told you about.

I am doomed by the sinuous-sinful curve of your lips and your waist, by the crinkles caused by your breathtaking smile, and by the shade of reddish-orange on your teeth when you consume me. I am stained by these things, and for that, I am doomed.”

Sam's fingernails were digging into his skin through his pocket, but he still had to pause to sniffle off to the side, hopefully out of the range of the microphone. But the movement of his head let his peripherals sweep over the crowd and, there- the feeling from before was back, or maybe it was just stronger, now, never having left.

The feeling that he was being watched, but not just by anyone. It was a feeling he’d memorized during late nights with the lights out, not seeing but nevertheless knowing that Dean was watching him, staring at him, in the dark. And that’s what it felt like, now, but that’s impossible… right?

He continued, “I am stained by our sweetness, and so are you. We are stained and left wanting, always wanting, because there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient to leave us sated, never to be needed again. For that, there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient, because it comes as if on a loan, ripped away at a moment’s notice. Re-possessed with an interest rate that leaves us desolate and bereft.”

His eyes were tearing up actively by then, and he knew it, but he couldn’t spare the thought to worry about it. Not while he was overwhelmed with DeanDeanDean, trying so desperately to avoid looking in that corner but- the figure ducked behind a group of people stuck close together, and wasn’t that just telling? Telling, but also heartbreaking, because,

He won’t answer a fucking phone call, but he’ll haul ass across the country in two days to come see me read some half-assed prose?

Sam regularly tracked Dean’s phone, see, so he knew where he was two days ago: middle-of-nowhere Indiana. How the hell he had heard about Sam’s current predicament? Sam couldn’t even begin to guess. But he’d learned of it, somehow, and had driven thirty-four out of the last forty-eight hours to get here and watch Sam fall apart on a sound stage, California-tanned cheeks lit up in the golden evening light and soon to be glistening with tears that he couldn’t seem to stop from forming.

There’s no way he doesn’t know this is about him. Fuck. It’s Dean, he’s here, and he’s hearing me turn whatever the fuck we had together into this flowery, perfume-tinted crap. Fuck.

He came to see me. He’s here. Fuck.

Sam searched for Dean in the crowd without a care for the rest of his audience, voice coming out strong and clear as he spoke directly to him, suddenly bold,

“But the loan lender is you, and I, the borrower, the loan holder. The interest rate is your guilt, entwined with your ever-infuriating sense of righteousness, and you rip away the loaned-out sweetness when it starts to make too much sense.

When the sweetness starts to come too easily for your self-flagellating tastes, that’s when my payments are no longer sufficient. You rip away our sweetness and make it return to its supposedly dark source, the one you conjure up for it in your mind.”

Sam blinked tears out of his eyes and they rolled down his cheeks, but just he didn’t care.

Dean stood frozen, mouth open and tears of his own making his eyes turn that same puffy shade of pink that it always did. His left hand was rubbing over his bracelet, on the same wrist as always, mirroring the one on Sam’s own wrist. Unsubtly, Sam reached over to shrug up his sleeve and reveal the black bracelet he also wore.

More glimpses of memories, Right hand reaching out to right hand, clasping awkwardly between them but it felt right, so right, to see the claim they’d put on each other stated so loudly, stark black lines so obvious across their wrists.

Dean’s golden amulet gleaming in the light, dragging across Sam’s chest as Dean stayed above him, so deep inside Sam that he swore he could taste it. He shivered at the cold touch of the metal, but all he could feel was warm.

They were holding each other’s gaze, now, and Sam’s face was twisting up as he tried desperately to choke out the next words, tried to reach out with his brain waves to shove them into Dean’s own skull, to make him understand,

“But-” he sniffled again, into the mic this time, “But as for me, in the end, I don’t care where our sweetness has been, within the depths of your mind. I don’t care what bitter road it’s had to travel, through the muck and the mire of your unfounded shame, your self-made sorrows and imaginary transgressions.”

Sam was one step away from weeping at that point, voice strangled and cracking intermittently as it rose in pitch, tears streaming all ugly down his reddened face, roughly scrubbed away by a stray hand. This was the most direct Sam had ever been with Dean, a lifetime of silent looks and unspoken words suddenly torn wide open; his ugly, accusatory feelings laid bare, but mixed in with forgiveness, and with yearning for a reunion that Sam knew was never going to happen.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

Dean looked gutted, and it twisted up Sam’s own insides even more in response. He was clutching his bracelet-ed wrist tightly to his stomach, twisting the strands of it between his fingers in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was shaped with that familiar, guilt-ridden sadness, the set of his shoulders belying his age, making his 22-years-young appear suddenly ancient.

All the responsibility and burdens of a brother, a boyfriend, and a parent- a mother, wrapped up onto one person’s shoulders. Sam could only imagine how heavy it was.

“Because oh, my sweetness - and that is what you are, what you have been this whole time - when the sweetness finally returns, when you have come back to me, I don’t care how long I’ve been in its absence, or rather in your absence.”

Sam could just barely make out the tempo of the tears streaming down Dean’s face as they fell, though he wasn’t sure if he could actually see them, or if he just knew the rhythm of Dean’s anguish better than his own heartbeat.

Dean was a boy full of a sadness that was forced to stagnate, forced to fester and rot inside him, never to be allowed out. The rot was pouring down his face from where he stood in the crowd. Sam thought he’d never looked more beautiful than how he looked right now, back in Sam’s life after the longest time they’d ever spent apart.

“I don’t care what bitter road you’ve traveled to come back so far, to taste so good. It’s okay, it’s alright! Please, my love: lower your hackles, you’re on that bitter road no longer. It’s okay, and I don’t care, I’ve never cared, because in the end you come back, and for all of your travels, you never fail to taste so, so good.”

Sam fell silent and stepped back from the mic, smiling that sheepishly awkward, too-dimpled smile of acknowledgement and faux-gratitude to the crowd to signify his conclusion, never quite taking his eyes off Dean even as the crowd hesitantly-to-enthusiastically applauded his work.

Then Sam blinked, and Dean was gone.

#3k+ words #OH btw #this was also inspired by the 10 things i hate about you poetry scene... y'all know the one #just fyi #(#spn #sam winchester #wincest #stanford era #sweetness by stephen dunn #ro writing tag #)

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