#and reading chords is too overwhelming

[ookaookaooka]

do you ever remember your dad telling you about an obscure folk song he used to love as a kid and then look it up based on a single lyric in the hopes that the tune will be familiar only for it to be completely new to you. and then years later you get a random little ditty your dad used to whistle stuck in your head and then you realize it's the tune of that same folk song but your dad's family's version is just different enough that the more popular recordings of it didn't bring up the memory

[hoshifighting]

okay hear me out…..pick me seventeen like completely pathetic and yearning seventeen who act like picks me for their s/o attention

pick-me!seventeen, attention-seeker!seventeen pathetic!seventeen, yearning!seventeen

seungcheol is the ultimate pick-me. it’s like he’s got a radar for your needs and wants. you forget your hairbrush? no problem, he’s got a new one waiting on your desk. craving ramen? a steaming bowl appears out of nowhere. it’s a bit overwhelming, honestly, especially when the gifts keep getting more extravagant. you were about to stop him when you saw an yves saint laurent bag on your desk. you tried to explain it wasn't necessary, but he just grinned like he won the lottery. “i just want to make sure you have everything you need,” he says, looking way toopleased with himself as you see yet another luxury item appear.

jeonghan tries to play it cool, like he’s not affected by your presence at all, pretending he doesn’t care while he’s actually dying for your attention. he’s got this casual air about him, but you can tell he’s obsessed. the way he casually tosses a snack in your direction, or how he pretends to be deep in conversation with friends, but keeps glancing at you. when you finally acknowledge him, he’s way too nonchalant about it. “oh, hey,” he says, as if he wasn’t just counting down the seconds until you noticed him. “didn’t see you there.” his tone way too casual for someone who’s clearly been waiting for you.

joshua takes a more direct approach, pulling out his guitar or starting to sing whenever you're nearby. it’s like he’s trying to lure you in with his talent. sometimes, it’s a bit awkward, especially when he messes up a chord or stumbles over lyrics. but he keeps going, hoping you'll compliment him. “how’s that for a song?” he asks, trying to sound casual but clearly hoping you’ll swoon over his performance. it’s awkwardly charming, and you can’t help but smile. “not bad, right?”

junhui is always trying to be the cool guy, but he’s clearly not very good at it. he’s playing basketball outside, and every time you walk by, he tries to show off with some flashy moves. he dribbles a little harder, jumps a little higher, and always makes sure to throw you a grin that’s way too hopeful. “yo, you see that shot?” he calls out, clearly trying to impress you. “thought you might want to see my skills up close.”

soonyoung can’t help but embarrass himself trying to get your attention. he’ll leave a banana milk on your desk with a sheepish grin, saying, “for you, shawty.” he says trying to sound cool but clearly embarrassed by the gesture. his cheeks are a little red as he avoids eye contact, clearly hoping you’ll appreciate the small, quirky gift. you can’t help but laugh at his antics, and he looks so pleased when you accept the drink.

wonwoo is all about paying attention. he overhears your conversations about books or skincare and then subtly drops references to them in his own conversations. you catch him reading a book on dermatology right after you talked about skincare. “i heard you’re into this stuff,” he says, trying to sound casual. “thought i’d give it a read too.” he mumbles, clearly hoping to impress you with his attentiveness. it’s sweet how he goes out of his way to connect with you.

woozi is subtle with his attempts. he’ll spin a pen or crack his fingers, trying to look cool and nonchalant. when you ask him to teach you how to spin a pen, he’s caught off guard and turns beet red, clearly flustered by the close contact. “uh, sure, I can show you,” he stammers, trying to hide his embarrassment. it’s adorable how he struggles to maintain his cool.

minghao is protective in a subtle way. if he overhears the boys talking shit or swearing next to you—you know, boys. he’ll step in, saying, “hey, we’ve got a girl here, watch your language.” he’s got this protective vibe, and you can’t help but appreciate how he stands up for you, even in small ways. it’s clear he values you and wants to make sure you’re treated well.

mingyu like flaunting his strength and height. if you’re struggling with something, like lifting a chair, he’ll swoop in to help, lifting it effortlessly. when he’s next to you, he’ll flex his muscles or show off his veins, trying to get you to notice. “need a hand?” he asks, lifting your pile of books effortlessly for you. “just thought you might need some help with this.”

seokmin is the ultimate “pick me” guy when it comes to social media. he’ll post things related to your interests, like a song from the artist you mentioned or a dish you posted about. when you like or comment on his posts, he’s over the moon, celebrating like he’s just won the lottery. “I saw you liked my post,” he’ll say, grinning like a fool. he’s clearly obsessed with making sure you know he’s into the same things you are.

seungkwan loves making you laugh. he’ll crack jokes loudly, making sure you hear them, and give you a sidelong glance to see if you’re laughing. when you try to hold back a laugh, he’s beaming, he flashes a triumphant grin, clearly pleased that he managed to get a reaction from you.

vernon is always tuned in to your preferences. if you mention liking boys in pink hoodies, he’ll show up in one the next day. if you talk about sour patch kids, he’ll have a pack open right next to you, offering you some with a shy smile. “you like these, right? I don’t really like them, you can have it...” he says, clearly hoping you’ll appreciate the gesture.

chan is the quintessential attention-seeker in P.E. classes, for example. he’ll go all out to show off, from pretending to be hurt to make you worry to making sure you see him perform. “hey, partner up with me!” he’ll call out, positioning himself right next to you, clearly hoping to get closer. when he’s showing off, he needs to make sure you’re paying attention to him.

[02zhoonie]

i testify this lovin’

18+ MDNI !!

guitarist! park jongseong (jay) x fem! reader smut

(can be read as idol!jay too)

you watch your boyfriend play the electric guitar. he’s hot. antics ensue.

cw: fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, semi (?) public sex (they’re in a soundproof music studio in a company building do with that what you will), slight sub!reader/dom!jay

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble i don’t know how this became longer than that. how dare jongseong drop that tiktok video on us on a random tuesday morning does he know his effect??? shout out to my love @fakeuwus for inspiring me and also fueling my delusional tendencies ?? i feel insane. anyway please do enjoy this !!

NOT PROOFREAD

your boyfriend jongseong was practicing on his new electric guitar for the past hour and though you enjoyed the music he played, you couldn’t help but start to get restless. it was getting stuffy in the small studio he had in his company’s building and it also didn’t help that he looked incredibly attractive like this. he is handsome on a daily basis - something you find yourself having to indoctrinate in him whenever his self doubt comes into play, but there was just something about him being so fixated on playing the guitar that made you so… horny

maybe it was the way a pout was formed on his lips as he usually did when he concentrated hard on doing something. or the way his thighs were spread to accommodate the length and size of the guitar. his outfit choice today was simple but his hair being unstyled and bare face just added to the appeal. and it was definitely the way his skillful fingers plucked and strummed on the strings as the sound filled the room. even the song that he chose to focus on seemed to be suggestive as well. you couldn’t help but to squirm while imagining all the things you wanted to do with him in this very moment. so much so that you didn’t realise that the song had stopped playing on loop and your boyfriend was trying to get your attention.

“baby? are you with me?” jongseong let out a soft chuckle after you finally noticed that he was taking a break. you nod slowly after snapping out of your daydreams, cheeks getting warm as you register what you’d just been doing. hopefully your boyfriend wouldn’t have been able to tell.

“tired?”

“no jjongie, just got distracted for a moment.”

“ah,” a smirk graces his lips. shit. “c’mere then, i wanna teach you something.”

he pats on his lap invitingly, and you can’t help but oblige, getting up from your spot on the sofa to join him where he was sitting, not before taking a quick sneak at his thick thighs. you make yourself comfortable between his legs, leaning back against the warmth of his chest. after pecking the top of your head, jongseong adjusts his guitar and brings your smaller hands to clutch the fret board.

“gonna teach you how to play a chord ‘mkay” he utters from behind you and feeling his hot breath against the nape of your neck. you feel the stickiness start to gather between your thighs as he does something as simple as gently moving your fingers to press down on the strings. it’s quite embarrassing to admit how worked up you’re getting by his actions, his other arm looping around your waist to keep the base of the guitar steady.

“relax, baby,” he laughs at you again, “your fingers are so stiff.”

“there’s a reason why i don’t play instruments, jay.” you roll your eyes though he can’t see, trying to deflect away from the fact that really your awkwardness stems from his presence overwhelming all of your senses at this very moment and you could barely focus on holding your hands still much less relaxing them. jongseong steals a quick kiss against your cheek, muttering a short apology knowing you were getting tired of his teasing, and continues on to properly explain what he was teaching you in detail.

“so this is a g chord,” he says after placing your fingers in an almost triangle like shape across the board. “it’s one of the most basic chords and almost every pop song has at least one in it.”

“can you hold it there for me baby?” your boyfriend asks before removing his hand from your wrist and placing it on your thigh instead, dangerously close to where your panties were slick with your wetness. his hand that was previously around your waist, moves to the bridge of his guitar and strums once. “and it sounds like this.”

“did i hold it right?”

“yes, you did so good for me baby. that’s my girl.” he moves in to place an open-mouthed kiss against your neck and that’s when you know it’s game over. he knows.

“mmm, jjongie!” you squeal as he moves down to suck on that sweet spot between where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. your cunt clenches and you pray to every god out there that your panties are not drenched through to the leather seat cover.

“wanna tell me what you were so distracted by, baby?” slowly manoeuvring the guitar away from the two of you and safely onto the stand, one of his hands crawls up your torso to play with your nipple through the fabric of your t-shirt, drawing circles around them and sending tingles straight down your spine. your voice is strained as you are barely able to force out a response, his lips traveling down to your clavicle as he paws at your shirt collar.

“your lips” you let out a gasp as both his hands now have found their way under your shirt and grab at your boobs.

“mhmm.”

“your thighs” he pulls you ever so close to him, his large hard bulge pressing against the small of your back.

“‘s that all baby? you know, you were staring so hard.”

“your h-hands,” you stutter as he sucks harder on your neck, pulling the flesh between his teeth to leave a pretty purple mark there. he hums in satisfaction at your answer as his fingers trail down to the waistband of your sweatpants but pausing before going any further down. a whine leaves your lips at this.

“what about my hands baby?” he inquires with a curious lilt to his tone, though he already has an inkling of what you would say.

“looked like they would make me feel so good” you admit, biting down hard on your bottom lip. feeling yourself grow impatient as your boyfriend continues to drag out his teasing even more, you pull him by the wrist and all but shove his hand down your pants. “please jjongie, if you don’t touch me now, i feel like i’m going to explode.”

as the wetness that has pooled at your cunt reaches his fingertips, you just know that there’s a smug look on his face as he realises his effect on you. beginning to toy with your clit using his thumb, his index sweeps up and down your folds almost slipping in your entrance.

“all i did was play the guitar but my baby’s already this wet and needy for me.” oh he definitely has that smug look on his face.

without warning his finger plunges into you and the squelching noise echoes as he expertly moves it in and out of you. you mewl loudly after finally finally getting the contact you so desperately craved but cut yourself after remembering where you were.

“it’s okay, make all the noise you want, these walls are soundproof.” jongseong assures you as he realises you were muffling yourself. “i wanna hear you, pretty.”

soon enough he adds another finger into the mix, pushing deeper within your walls, easily finding the spot that makes your back arch and moan his name repeatedly. there was something so confident and assured about the way he was fingering you that sent you to seventh heaven. normally he was good, knowing all your pleasure points and hitting them just right but this was good. as if the ego boost from you had allowed him to push into you deeper and stronger. you feel your high start to approach at an embarrassingly fast pace and he knows it too with the way your pussy starts gripping his fingers like crazy, bending the tips of them to press against the most sensitive parts.

“‘m so close, jjongie.”

“i know baby, can you take one more? wanna stretch you out some more.”

you let out a noise of approval, too blissed out to gather a proper response as he presses his third finger into you, giving your walls a delicious stretch. the feeling of being so full of his fingers makes you cry out and jongseong has his lips against your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed and little pants falling out of his mouth as he tries so intensely to bring you to your high.

“cum on my fingers baby, i wanna see you make a mess on them”

and with that your orgasm washes over you, collapsing against his chest with heavy breaths as he lets you calm down a bit in his arms, before pulling his fingers out and adjusting you so that you are now straddling his lap. his hand is coated in your arousal as he brings them to his lips and licks them clean. there’s also a damp patch on your sweatpants as well as on his loose jeans where you came. holding his jaw in your hands, you join his lips messily with yours, giving him a long wet kiss, not caring that you can taste your juices on his lips and he lets out a (cute) noise of surprise.

“so. they lived up to your expectations then?” he asks with a quiet laugh after you separate, but it was more of a statement than a question at this point. you let out another miffed whine at his words burying your head in his neck and steadily grinding against the bulge in his pants.

“just shut up and fuck me already.” you demand, losing all sense of politeness in your tone as your patience and neediness for his cock overrides everything else.

“what happened to my sweet, shy princess who got horny just from watching me play my electric?” he starts to hook his arms under your thighs and carry you over to the couch. “has she lost all her manners? wants me to just fuck her here in my studio?” he attempts to sound stern but he can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. if he knew this would have had that much of an effect on you, he would have invited you over to watch him play a long time ago.

“sorry jjongie, just fed up of waiting.” you pout as he lays your back gently on the cushions, pulling your sweats and panties off in one motion. undoing the button of his jeans and finally being able to release his cock out from his boxers, the tip red and pulsing, he climbs his way so that he’s hovering over you on the sofa, grabbing one of your legs and wrapping it around his hips.

“it’s okay baby, i’ve always dreamed of taking you on this couch.” he has the biggest shit eating grin on his face as he says this, recalling the lonely late nights in this room that he spent finishing up his work. now having you laid out beneath him, it was almost like he was fulfilling one of his biggest fantasies. he lines up his cock at your entrance, looking back at you for your go ahead. 

“take me then” 

you didn’t have to tell him twice. 

jongseong presses into you, letting out a loud groan as your walls basically swallow his cock whole. it takes a little while for you to adjust to his size though having been fucked by him many times, he’s still the biggest you have ever had and it drives you crazy how full he makes you feel. 

“fucked my fingers into you and you’re still so tight for me?” he grunts when he’s able to push all the way into you, touching that crevice behind your cervix that has you clawing his back. “god, you’re a fucking dream.” 

you tap on his shoulder as a sign for him to start moving and your boyfriend begins pounding you into the sofa cushions with no mercy. incoherent babbles were the only things leaving your mouth. your little ah’s and um’s and calls of his name, only drove him to go deeper with his thrusts. 

he gets down on his elbows to steal your breath away with a kiss, body moving rhythmically to fulfill your needs. there’s not enough words in your vernacular to describe the pleasure that comes from the repeated ramming of his dick into all the right places in your pussy. 

“wan’ more” you finally muster after so long of being breathless, “wan’ you deeper jjongie, please” 

it’s in the way he immediately proceeds to put your legs over his shoulders and practically folds you into half, that you know you don’t have to say much for him to know and do exactly as you want. (and that’s princess treatment from park jongseong for you.) his eyes are half-lidded as he continues his motions and it’s a sight to behold, the beads of sweat running down his temple, glistening against his tanned skin. 

“love it when you give me your body like this” he murmurs between breaths as they grow heavier with his physical exertion. “mine to hold, mine to fuck and mine to fill with my cum”

“mmm, please” you beg at his words, the idea of white cum spilling down your thighs making your eyes roll back in excitement. 

“please, what baby? fill you up?” 

you nod your head so violently, jongseong is starting to get afraid you’d get vertigo from it. with a hand on one of your ankles and the other supporting his weight, he starts plunging in you harder, gritting his teeth as your walls tighten around his cock and the pleasure becomes immeasurable.

“i will baby, i'll fill you up so good i promise. you just gotta be a good girl and come with me, okay” 

“i will jjongie, i’ll be good for you.” 

that’s enough for him to release his load into you, and as the first spurt of warm cum starts to fill you up and his thrusts become more sporadic, you reach your second high of the night, squeezing his cock for every last drop. 

after gently removing your legs from his shoulders, your boyfriend collapses against you, not wanting to pull out just yet, the two of you squashed in that sofa. he plays with strands of your hair, smiling as the two of you catch your breaths. 

“so,” he says after a beat, “you think guitar players are sexy huh?” 

“JONGSEONG!” you yell, the warmth returning to your cheeks as you try and inevitably fail to hide your face away from him. 

“nothing to be shy about baby, i’ll just make a mental note for later.”

[tothegirlwiththemousyhair]

Broken down and hungry for your love

<3

Logan Howlett x Reader

Reader struggles with vulnerability, but the overwhelming misery finally breaks through

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Comfort so warm it'd scare bobby (x-men)

Word count: 977

Notes: title is from 'Lover, you should've come over' by Jeff Buckley also I'm fairly sure this can be read as any of Logan's eras, so feel free to read it as you see fit! <3

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You’ve had a rough couple of weeks. From the misery that you could feel looming over your shoulder, the anxiety that followed you around every corner you turned in an attempt to outrun it, to the million different errands you’ve had to do. The past two weeks have genuinely wrecked you, mostly because they piled on to a pre-existing misery you never properly dealt with. It felt like you needed to scream, cry, be held, sob until your lungs collapsed in on themselves. Absolutely anything just to get this intolerable pain out. 

The ability to simply ask for help is not one that came easily to you. The words would get caught in your throat, and in those moments where you’re considering finally asking for help or simply admitting you need to be near someone, your vocal chords fail to function. It feels as though you’ll open your mouth and no words will come out, or any noise at all for that matter. But these two weeks have been far too much. 

You find yourself starved for affection. It’s not that Logan hasn’t been there, of course not, you’ve just been hiding your misery this entire time. That obviously added to the toll it took on you, even though you knew full well he had no problem with you being upset, not at all. It’s your self-judgement that holds you back. The shame of feeling weak, as human as it is.

Now you find yourself standing in the bathroom you and Logan share. You’ve been staring at the door for the past five minutes, and that same feeling that catches the words in your throat and drags them back down into your heart is preventing you from turning the doorknob. You know Logan is on the other side sitting on the couch, the movie the two of you chose is ready and the window is open letting an early fall gust fill the room. You’d usually love this (which is why Logan made sure you were both free of any other occupations for the night, in an attempt to get you out of the mood you’re unaware he’s picked up on). But you also know that the moment you climb into his arms on the couch you’ll break down into tears. You can already feel them welling behind your eyes before you leave the bathroom, the intensity of just how vulnerable you’re about to be weighing down on you.

“You okay in there, bub?”

His voice cuts through the noise in your head immediately as if you stepped out of an extremely loud party after hours of being stuck in there. “I’ll be out in a second”, replying in your best ‘I’m completely ok’ voice. You finally take the doorknob in your hand and turn it. You step out and try not to make eye contact with Logan as he turns to look at you. You sit down on the couch close enough to him but don’t make any sort of contact, still trying to calm down the slowly cracking dam of tears behind your eyes, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

You start the movie and about five minutes in, Logan pulls you to him, holding you in his arms. One arm wrapped around your body, and the other cradling your head. He can feel how tense you still are in his arms, but decides not to comment. A minute passes and he starts stroking your hair while holding you. And that’s what it takes to shatter the dam you’ve been maintaining this entire time. 

The tension possessing you begins to falter, allowing your limbs to intertwine around him. Your eyes start leaking onto his flannel, which he doesn’t notice for a moment before it alerts him. “You alright?” That’s what gets you to sob audibly, absolutely crumbling in his arms. “Oh honey, what’s wrong?” You can feel his arms tightening around you, holding you to him, keeping you grounded. One hand rubbing circles on your back, while the other continues to stroke your hair, knowing you’ll answer when you can gather your voice. “I’m just so fucking tired, Lo” you finally squeak out, muffled by your sobs and your face being pressed against him, “it feels like everything’s cracking me, bit by bit.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “That’s ok darling, you don’t have to be strong all the time, let it out.” Your involuntary sobs continue to escape you for a couple of minutes, only after your breathing begins to calm down do you notice Logan had paused the movie and the entire room had gone silent except for the gentle sound of both of your breathing. 

You pull your head up a bit and see the concerned look on Logan’s face, along with the wet patch you had left on his flannel. “I’m so sorry, Lo, I-” before you could even continue Logan interrupts. “Don’t ever fuckin’ apologise for being upset, alright? You’re human, you can’t possibly uphold being alright all the time, and I’m more than ok with seein’ all sides of you, bub. So don’t apologise because there ain’t nothing fuckin wrong with it. Sob as much as you need, love, I will always be here to hold you. Got it?” A beat of silence passes before probably the last couple drops of water left in your body slip through your eyes, and you close the already small space between the two of you for a slow, appreciative kiss, throughout which he holds your face. The moment your lips detach from his, Logan picks you up and walks over to your shared bed, placing you in it before laying down himself and  pulling the blanket over the two of you, holding you close as you fall into the calmest sleep you’ve felt in the past couple of weeks.

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thanks for reading!! <3

[wolfsclothing6]

Changing Room pt. 2

Elliot sat awkwardly on the bench in the cramped changing room, his round belly pressed against his thighs. The briefs clung stubbornly to his body, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the faint musk emanating from the fabric seemed to grow stronger by the second. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

Minutes dragged on, and Jake still hadn’t shown up.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey, uh, I’ve got some clothes here for you,” a deep, slightly gravelly voice said.

Elliot froze. “Jake?” he asked cautiously.

“No, name’s Martin. One of the clerks here said you needed something in a larger size, so I brought these over.”

Before Elliot could respond, a neatly folded pile of clothes was shoved under the door. He stared at them, hesitant. Something about the stack gave him a strange feeling, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” he called back weakly.

He unfolded the clothes: a plain blue polo shirt, a pair of khakis, and some sneakers. Each item had a faint, earthy scent, a mixture of leather, sweat, and… something else he couldn’t quite place. He was desperate, though.

First, he pulled on the polo. The fabric was soft and well-worn, stretching perfectly over his new girth. It hugged his belly snugly, the hem riding up slightly when he moved.

Next, the khakis. They slid on easily, fitting as if they had been tailored just for him. Even the sneakers felt like they were made for his wide, slightly sweaty feet.

Elliot looked at himself in the mirror. The clothes fit too well. It was uncanny, like they belonged to him all along.

As he adjusted the polo, his fingers brushed against something sewn into the inside of the collar: a small, embroidered name tag.

“Teddy,” he read aloud, his voice trembling.

The name struck a chord deep within him. Teddy. Teddy… yeah, that was right. That was his name. A sense of familiarity washed over him, and he found himself smiling absentmindedly.

“No!” he muttered, shaking his head. “My name’s Elliot. Not—”

But the scent of the clothes overwhelmed him, seeping into his mind. Memories that weren’t his began to surface: folding clothes on racks, helping customers find their sizes, and chatting with coworkers during breaks. He could almost see himself leaning against the counter, laughing with a cup of coffee in hand.

The reflection in the mirror shifted slightly. His face softened, his stubble thickening into a neatly trimmed beard. His hair darkened and shortened, styled into a practical cut. His posture changed, his shoulders rounding as if weighed down by years of retail work.

“Hey there, buddy,” he heard himself say, though it wasn’t his voice—it was deeper, friendlier, with a faint Midwestern twang.

Elliot—or rather, Teddy—blinked, confused. The name tag felt warm against his skin, like it was branding him. He turned to look at the pile of his old clothes on the bench. They felt alien now, like they belonged to someone else entirely.

“Why would I wear that stuff?” he murmured, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

A knock at the door startled him.

“Hey, Teddy! You done in there?” a voice called.

Teddy—no, Elliot—hesitated for a moment. Then, as if on autopilot, he grabbed the pile of discarded clothes, opened the door, and stepped out.

A coworker greeted him with a grin. “Took you long enough! Break’s over, man. There’s a mess in the men’s section that needs cleaning up.”

Teddy nodded. “Right. Sorry about that.”

As he walked toward the department floor, the faint scent of musk still clinging to him, the last remnants of Elliot faded into the background, replaced entirely by Teddy, the department store clerk who always had a warm smile and a friendly word for every customer.

[delicatebarness]

i cant read your mind | chapter five

Summary: The Return of The Winter Soldier?

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers throughout. Zemo. Reader has anxiety and doesn't trust men.

Word Count: 1308

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A/N: I will get through this episode, even if it kills me. 2/? of episode 3.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff | @buckys-metal-arm | @matchat3a | @shadowzena43 | @torntaltos | @honeydew3064 | @scott-loki-barnes

As the car approached Madripoor, you nervously bounced your leg in the backseat, and you found yourself picking at the skin on your fingers. The bright lights, booming music, and the smell overwhelmed your senses, leaving you to feel uneasy. Just as your anxiety threatened to consume you, Bucky’s hand landed gently on your thigh, giving it a slight squeeze, instantly soothing your nerves. 

Feeling Bucky’s reassurance, you turned to him and offered a grateful smile. His presence acted as a grounding force amidst the Madripoor chaos. As the car continued its journey through the streets, you felt a renewed sense of determination, ready to face whatever awaited. 

Arriving at the club, Sam seamlessly slips into his character, Smiling Tiger. He placed his hand on your lower back as he skillfully navigated you through the bustling crowd. As you moved, you couldn’t help but sense the curious stares directed at Bucky. The whispers of “Is that The Winter Soldier?” come from different areas of the space. But, you also felt the weight of their attention on yourself. 

Suddenly feeling self-conscious in the revealing dress, you attempt to discreetly pull down the hem trying to cover more of yourself. However, your efforts failed as the fabric refused to cooperate, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. 

“Hey,” Sam attempted to grab your attention as he noticed your fidgeting. “It’ll be okay,” he reassured you, his voice gentle. 

In the back of your mind, you knew the truth: you were one of the world’s top secret agents, as well as an Avenger, surrounded by a fellow Avenger who is a trusted friend and ex-Winter Solder. You took comfort in the belief that Bucky still cared enough to ensure your safety. 

~

Emerging from the restroom, you adjusted your dress once more before returning to find Sam, Bucky, and Zemo. You expected to return to Sam’s arm encircling your waist yet you were instead seized by a sudden dread. 

You observed with a mix of fear and recognition as the Winter Soldier once again overshadowed Bucky’s mind. Sam and Zemo remained passive which only added to your concern. Though you knew this was part of the plan, it felt all too authentic and it unsettled you.

With your protective instinct for Bucky, you began to move closer to him, determined to snap him out of it. Memories flooded your mind of nights you’d calm him down after a nightmare, reassuring him that, that isn’t who he is. Now, all seemingly in vain. 

As you approached, he sensed your presence. He knew he was still performing and knew if you tried to bring him back then your cover would be blown. He caught the genuine worry etched on your face, striking a chord within him.

Before you could begin to intervene, a cold metal grip closed around your throat, lifting you off the ground. You kicked frantically as your hands desperately clasped his wrist, your eyes pleaded with him.

Pinning you against a wall, he paused for a moment before he revealed himself to you. A smirk played on his lips, accompanied by a wink as he eased the grip on your throat. 

“Hi, Baby,” he began a low growl in your ear before detecting someone behind him. Swiftly dropping you, he spun around and aimed a blow at the intruder who lurked behind him. You scrambled to your feet, gasping for breath as you made your way over to Sam. 

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us,” Zemo murmured toward the three of you after Bucky forcefully pinned a man against the bar nearby. “Well done, Soldier,” he added in Russian, addressing Bucky. With a vacant expression, he gradually released his grip.

“You good?” Sam inquired, receiving a quick nod from Bucky in reply, never glancing in your direction once. Sighing, you proceeded to follow them to speak to Selby.

~

You remained at Sam’s side as Zemo conversed with Selby, the tension hung in the air. You couldn’t resist glancing over at Bucky as he kept a vigilant eye on her. 

A shiver ran down your spine as Selby’s voice took on a seductive tone, addressing Sam as his cover, Smiling Tiger. You suppress a cringe when he purrs at him. 

You listened to the conversation as they continued, your breath caught in your throat as Zemo approached Bucky: offering him and the Winter Soldier code words in exchange for information. The urge to intervene surged through you as his hand neared Bucky’s face. 

Your jaw tensed as your phone began ringing in your bag, you hesitated looking between Selby and Sam. You reached into it, pulling the phone out, and you read the name ‘Tim TD’ on the screen. 

“Answer it,” Selby demanded you, her tone was sharp. “On speaker.” she gestured to one of the men on guard. The phone continued to ring persistently. Between Selby’s commands, the guarded men, and Bucky’s watchful gaze, you hesitated, uncertainty ran through your body. 

“Hello?” you finally answered, you tried to keep your voice steady despite the rising tension in the room. 

“Hey, um, we need to talk about what happened at brunch.” Tim’s boomed over the speaker, he sounded strained and troubled.  “It’s been driving me nuts.” 

“What exactly happened at brunch?” you inquired, trying to maintain the facade of one of Smiling Tiger’s girls, you exchanged a glance with Bucky.

“You know what happened, the problem that showed up,” Tim replied, his frustration palpable even over the phone. 

“What happened, Tim? Say it,” you pressed.

“The damn Winter Soldier,” Tim’s voice rose, causing you to instinctively glance over at Bucky again, a sense of unease settling in your stomach. 

“Yeah, I’ve got my eyes on the Winter Soldier,” you replied, trying to inject a hint of levity into your tone.

“Oh you’re with him now?” surprise was evident in Tim’s tone. “I guess I know now why you haven’t answered any of my texts, Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” Selby’s sharp voice cut through the conversation. “Who’s Y/N? Kill them.” Suddenly, a gunshot came through the window, killing Selby instantly. 

For a second, the room froze until the guard looked back at you and Sam instantly disarmed him, knocking him out. On the other side of the room, Bucky did the same to the other guard. You ran behind Bucky for cover as he took a stance readying himself with the gun he took from the guard. 

“They’re gonna pin this on us.” Sam rushed as he readied himself for further confrontation. Zemo sighed heavily, “We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” he directed. Bucky removed his leather jacket after setting the gun aside, handing it to you with a reproachful glance as he eyed your dress once again. 

Clutching Bucky’s jacket tightly around you, you kept your head low as you stuck close to Sam and Bucky. Suddenly, the light of Madripoor flickered out, and the sound of gunfire filled the air. Bucky’s arm swung around urging you to duck as he yelled, “Come on!”. Zemo had vanished, leaving you, Bucky, and Sam to sprint away.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam shouted as he ran. “Welcome to my world!” you shot back as you ran ahead of him slightly. 

Dashing down the alley, you find yourselves cornered by bounty hunters closing in from both exits. You glance around as gunfire erupts again, but it’s not aimed at you - it’s targeting the bounty hunters. With a sigh of relief, you watch them collapse to the ground. As tension eases, Zemo emerges from behind a dumpster, stepping into your view.

“Well, this is too perfect,” a familiar voice speaks, you glance in the direction it came from. Your suspicions are confirmed as your old friend emerges, gun pointed at Zemo.

 “Sharon?!”

---

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[wylanspipebomb]

i made a master doc of all of wylan’s anxious habits and thoughts from crooked kingdom. enjoy:

“Wylan tugged at the hem of his sky-blue jacket… and tried to look at ease.”

“All he had to do was… figure out what to do with his hands. Clasp them in front? Too much like a singer at a recital. In back? Too military. He tried just dangling them at his sides, but that didn’t feel right either. Why hadn’t he paid better attention to the way waiters stood?”

“His hands were shaking as he took the bottle from the silver ice bucket…”

“So Wylan took stock of the room’s details - a trick he’d often used to steady himself whenever he arrived someplace new…”

“Wylan knew he couldn’t have prevented his father from double-crossing the crew and kidnapping her. He knew that, but he still felt responsible.”

“‘Oysters, miss?’ Wylan asked. His voice sounded too high. ‘Buttered prawns?’ Too low.”

“What am I doing here? He found himself gnawing on his thumb and forced himself to stop.”

…Kaz never yelled the way Wylan’s father did but, Wylan had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony…”

“...Wylan said, fiddling with a pen on one of the blotters.”

“Wylan tugged the strap of his satchel… Wylan tugged on the satchel strap again.

“Wylan was gnawing on his thumbnail.”

“‘Will he?’ Wylan said softly. He used his finger to draw a line across the map of Ketterdam…”

“Wylan pulled on his lip.”

“‘Don’t you think we should be more cautious?’ Wylan asked, his own face buried in the collar of his coat.”

“Wylan tried to make himself relax and unbuttoned the roughspun coat Kaz had obtained for him.”

“‘Come here.’ Warily, Wylan sidled closer.”

“Jesper released a guffaw that had Wylan looking frantically over his shoulder again, afraid of drawing attention.”

“Wylan tugged at a thread unraveling from the sleeve of his coat.”

“Jan Van Eck had done his best to care for his son, and if he’d failed, then the defect lay with Wylan… and everything he said made perfect sense. Wylan could not be trusted with a fortune because he would be too easily swindled. Wylan could not go to university because he’d be the target of mockery.”

“His father’s ire had been unpleasant, but it was his logic that haunted Wylan- that practical, irrefutable voice that spoke in Wylan’s head whenever he thought about attempting something new, or trying to learn to read again. ”

“Wylan felt ridiculously pleased - until he thought about Kaz finding out. Then he felt a little like the first time he’d tried brandy and ended up spewing his dinner all over his own shoes.”

“Wylan waited, nervous.”

“Wylan looked down at the bouquet. It seemed smaller and more straggly than he thought.”

“... on it sat a vase of the wisteria Wylan had seen outside. He inhaled deeply. The smell was comforting.”

“He set the wildflowers down on the desk. Their stems were broken. He’d been clutching them too tightly.”

“Wylan leaned over his shoulder and felt a hopeless, choking panic grip him… he fought for breath. ‘Jesper, please,’ he begged, his voice thin and reedy. ‘Read it to me.’”

“Jesper pulled him into the chair behind the desk and pressed against Wylan’s shoulder blades, urging him forward. ‘Put your head between your knees, focus on the floor. Breathe.’”

“Wylan forced himself to inhale, exhale, to gaze at those charming blue tulips in their white tile boxes.”

“Wylan took a deep, shuddering breath through his nose. He couldn’t fathom what was happening, couldn’t understand the scope of it.”

“So just do one thing at a time. It was a technique one of his tutors had taught him to try and keep him from getting overwhelmed by the page… Wylan had managed to apply it elsewhere”

“One thing at a time. Stand up. He stood up. You’re fine. ‘I’m fine.’”

“‘We’ll be fine here,’ Wylan managed in a voice that sounded too loud and too hearty to his ears.”

“Wylan studied his mother, his thoughts a jangle of misplayed chords.”

“He’d planned to play it beside her grave like some kind of idiot.”

“Wylan didn’t register the walk down the drive…”

“He hated that Jesper was seeing him cry, but there was nothing he could do, not about the tears, not about any of it. He buried his face in his arms, covering his head as if, were he to only will it strongly enough, he could vanish.”

“‘You don’t understand. It was me. I caused this.’”

“Because through all of it, he’d believed that he deserved his father’s contempt…”

“Wylan wanted to be brave, but he was cold and bruised…”

“Wylan had stayed inside for two days, terrified.”

“His second was that his father had sent someone new to kill him. He gripped his paddle.”

“All Wylan wanted to do was stand as close as he possibly could to him and know that he was safe.”

“‘Kaz,’ Wylan said, twisting the tail of his shirt.”

“Wylan nodded, anxiously. ‘I’d like that.’”

“‘I don’t know why I’m so nervous,’ said Wylan.”

“He’d clenched his hands so tightly in his lap his knuckles had become white stars.”

“‘I can’t read.’ His skin went instantly blotchy, but his voice was steady.”

“Jesper could see the anxiety in his face, what it cost him to speak those words. It made him feel like a coward.”

“Wylan fiddled nervously with the buttons on his shirt.”

“‘It felt like I’d choke on the words. I was so afraid he’d sneer at me. Or just laugh.’”

“... in the afternoons he’d spent sitting in the pantry or curled into a window seat behind a curtain, hoping that everyone would forget him…”

“Wylan drew a line on the floor with his finger.”

“Wylan’s heart stuttered. Sound it out, Wylan. A child half your age can read this without trying. He’d thought he was ready for this.”

“Wylan hesitated. ‘You can go if you need to.’”

“This was the nightmare he’d had countless times as a child - standing in public, his deficiencies exposed.”

“Wylan tried to smile, but Jesper could see he was all nerves.”

“‘I feel like an intruder. Like any minute, my father’s going to barge through that door and tell me to get out.’”

‘“I was terrified. I still am.’ He looked down at the keys and played a gentle chord.”

[hoodreader]

MY CAT’S CHART 💋

his birth date is approximative. this is what the foster told me and they were monitoring him since he was a couple weeks old, so i went with it.

menu — forms — readings open.

TAURUS SUN.

comfort over everything. and he gon lay on whatever make him feel comfy, he don’t gaf.

grooms himself. naps for like an hour. wakes up. then he grooms again. cycle continues.

he’s very patient. it takes a lot to get him to be upset with u. he don’t hiss or anything, he’ll complain meow when annoyed.

i have a very greedy cat. he is so loud and demanding when he wants to eat ur food.

PISCES MOON.

pretty shy and sensitive. he can be easy to overwhelm if u don’t know him.

he don’t like feeling smothered in any capacity and he don’t like being held too long. pushing him will cause him to hide.

he feels safe when given space (if u don’t know him) and then letting him decide if he wanna be closer. he’s a vibe reader.

very empathetic. when i was or felt sad, he’d always come in and check on me. he’d meow like “what’s wrong?” then just purr and lay with me. cats definitely aren’t always asocial.

because he’s so docile he usually won’t assert boundaries himself. i’d have to step in.

TAURUS MERCURY (Rx).

a real yapper. especially about food. makes sense b/c taurus rules the vocal chords.

makes a wide variety of sounds. chirps, chatters, trills (he sounds like a pigeon).

always purring. sometimes all i have to do is look at him and he’ll start purring.

his voice is light for the most part!

mercury is ur sense of community. Rx mercury people might be more on the shy side, and he prefers a small community.

CANCER VENUS.

a real cuddle bug. his love language is probably quality time or physical touch.

he is very clingy. will walk between my legs as i walk around. and i trip over him often.

he’s very sensuous in my opinion. he loves looking outside the window and loafing as he just takes the outside world in. very zen 🧘🏾

again loves to eat. food brings him great joy.

CANCER MARS.

conflict avoidant, but he can be territorial and defensive about whatever he considers to be his domain. he act like he run shit

the first day he met another dog, i saw a side of him i never seen. he puffed up big and crab walked, trying to dominate the energy.

my cat was definitely like “aight now…” like… i was pretty proud of him for trying!

but in tense situations, he kinda doesn’t hold his own. i remember i got a female cat (i surrendered her b/c the shelter thought it was best). she was lowkey hoeing him. 💀

ARIES JUPITER.

the shelter named him “Superman” because they said he was the bravest out of his litter mates, as he was born to a feral cat mother.

he is very adventurous and curious, despite his shyness. he just isn’t adventurous about people. but he loves to explore otherwise.

“carpe diem” is his expression for sure.

he’s so destructive though. and too curious sometimes. once he jumped on our closet shelf to knock down the muffins we purposefully hid from him. then he ate them

he also bit through my tarot cards

he jumped on the fridge and ate our baguette. imagine my shock when i saw the baguette with a cartoonish bite mark in it.

PISCES SATURN.

he appreciates a good nap. which is something i love. because one thang i know two thangs certain, he gon take a mf nap.

saturn shows how we rest / work. so his being in pisces really shows that he values the rest aspect of saturn.

he so hardheaded sometimes but that’s because (1) he has the comparable of a two year old but (2) he doesn’t believe in rules.

because well… he’s a cat.

but i love the way he doesn’t let my human values stop him from living his best life

and i love our chart energies.

his sun is conjunct my venus (in the eleventh house). like it’s giving best friends, lmao. his south node is conjunct my fifth house moon too, it’s giving we really been besties.

his south node is conjunct my bf/co guardian’s moon too. tbh we all are just super watery (lmao) so it’s a lot of emotion in our trio dynamic. i also love how his venus and mars is in my first house/in my bf’s eleventh house.

it’s wild cuz i deadass feel like this cat can read my mind sometimes. he just knows me. and i wish i could explain to him how much i love him.

i’ll love him to the end of time. he’s my best friend, confidant, and there will never be a cat like him. 🤍 the universe sent u to me. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

[offtorivendell]

Is an oily residue corrupting Azriel's hypothetical mating bond and making him feel off kilter? Is it related to Valg-type magic?

Disclaimer: this theory is a continuation of a few of my others that I've been too lazy to post until now - first I was going to post it for Elriel Month 2023, then Azriel Week 2023... it never happened - but like everyone else I'm having massive FOMO before HOFAS, so here we finally go, even though I know I've forgotten something lol. As usual, this makes no claims of being accurate, it's just theorising for fun.

A massive thank you goes out to @wingedblooms, @tswaney17, @silverlinedeyes, @psychologynerd, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and anyone else I've forgotten (sorry!) for all of our discussions that finally became this post. Love you guys. 💜

Spoilers: this is a Maasverse post, and draws from the ACOTAR series, CC 1 & 2/HOEAB & HOSAB, and the TOG series. It is CC 3/HOFAS spoiler free, as I'm waiting to read it in its "original English" 🤓 on the 30th of January. Please be respectful of that if engaging in the comments before it's published!

Plenty of people, including @silverlinedeyes, @icedflames and myself, have posted our thoughts on mating bonds in the Maasverse, and this theory builds on those previously established - though again, as yet hypothetical - ideas. Specifically, this post about the use of “oily” throughout the ACOTAR series is recommended reading.

What we do know is that:

Mating bonds contain threads, and so do spells.

Mates are the song/music of the soul, and their laughter is likened to music.

Different fae, and magics, contain different scents, be that personal or regional

First, let's go back to ACOWAR, when Feyre described the Ravens' entrance into the library as being like an off-kilter chord:

I felt it at the same moment she did. The ripple and tremor. Like … like some piece of the world shifted, like some off-kilter chord had been plucked. We turned toward the illuminated path that we’d just taken through the stacks, then to the dark far, far beyond. - ACOWAR, chapter 30

Initially, I had wondered if the King of Hybern had had Jurian use the Harp to infiltrate Velaris, but it was @merymoonbeam (I think) who theorised that the Cauldron might be mimicking the Harp, and maybe not doing the best job of it. Which made me wonder, could it do the same with mate bonds?

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. - ACOSF, Azriel's bonus chapter

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

What if the Elucien bond, as either a spell or piss poor Cauldron-Made approximation of a bond, causes Azriel - and maybe Elain, possibly Lucien - nausea when Lucien is around because it's constantly changing, or reverberating over the top of, what remains of a hypothetical Elriel bond?

What if it's making the Elriel bond off-kilter, out of whack, imbalanced?

Does this make Azriel feel sick, nauseous, or simply overwhelmed/overstimulated?

When people are feeling off-balance, for whatever reason, they can feel sick or nauseous. It's one of the symptoms of vertigo, which can be triggered by severe headaches such as migraines. And guess who rubs their temples? Azriel!

Alternatively, certain chords played loudly enough on a string instrument can really mess with your chest - and where do mating bonds attach - if you're standing close enough for them to vibrate through you (at least, they do for me haha). It can be weirdly disconcerting, and I'd imagine that if Azriel or Elain feels something like this, no wonder he describes such severe discomfort that he needs to leave, and she shrinks away from Lucien, the unintentional cause of her pain.

Same with the smell; if the magic of the Cauldron, in whatever way, is messing with the smell that should be there? Contaminating it? Unbearable.

Is this too crack for you? Well, let's get even crazier.

I have previously suggested that the Cauldron's actions throughout the series could be tracked, in part, by SJM describing a feeling or quality as “oily,” and I've also wondered if the dark maker of the Cauldron - Koschei? - could have hijacked it in some way, as the Book of Breathings being made from leftover iron gave me “One Ring” vibes. I still stand by that, but with a clarification (and here is where the TOG and CC spoilers come in, FYI). I think it's only half of the magic belonging to the Cauldron that is "oily":

Throughout TOG, the Valg are heavily associated with “oiliness,” in terms of their blood and magic. The smell “reeks” and always results in the involved characters experiencing extreme revulsion, including headaches. Sound familiar?

Wyrdstone has an oily, hideous aftertaste.

Even in CC 1/HOEAB, Danika was described as oily when she came into Griffin Antiques.

Celaena looked at the sealed door, her stomach turning. A half-dried pool of blood lay at the base of the door, so dark it looked like oil. She crouched, swiping a finger through the puddle. She sniffed at it, almost gagged at the reek, and then rubbed her finger against the pad of her thumb. It felt as oily as it looked. - COM, chapter 45

“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.” No, it wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to— “This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if … what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they were now … ready? - HOF, chapter 45

The overseer roared, thrashing as her magic swept into him, melded with him. But there was nothing inside to grab on to. No darkness to burn out, no remaining ember to breathe life into. Only— Aelin reeled back, magic vanishing and knees buckling as if struck. Her head gave a throb, and nausea roiled in her gut. She knew that feeling—that taste. Iron. As if the man’s core was made of it. And that oily, hideous aftertaste … Wyrdstone. The demon inside the overseer let out a choked laugh. “What are collars and rings compared to a solid heart? A heart of iron and Wyrdstone, to replace the coward’s heart beating within.” - EOS, chapter 15

* Side note, it's giving Tamlin and his stone heart.

Danika didn’t just look like she’d been rootling through the garbage. She smelled like it, too. Wisps of her silvery blond hair—normally a straight, silken sheet—curled from her tight, long braid, the streaks of amethyst, sapphire, and rose splattered with some dark, oily substance that reeked of metal and ammonia. - CC HOEAB, chapter 1

The Hind held Ruhn’s gaze as the game began. She was the spitting image of Luna, with her upswept chignon, the regal angle of her neck and jaw. As coldly serene as the moon. All she needed was a pack of hunting hounds at her side— And she had them, in her dreadwolves. How had someone so young risen in the ranks so swiftly, gained such notoriety and power? No wonder she left a trail of blood behind her. “Careful now,” the Harpy said with that oily smile. “The Hammer doesn’t share.” The Hind’s lips curved upward. “No, he doesn’t.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 33

I think the dark maker of the Cauldron could have been Valg, whether that's Koschei or someone else I don't know though Koschei currently makes the most sense. I also don't know when the dark maker would have had the chance to influence the Cauldron; was it always made from dark and light, or - as @fawnandshadows theorised a while back - did Koschei bastardise it after the fact? Where the Valg would fit in with the Daglan and the Asteri is also a mystery, though my current train of thought is that they could be family names or allegiances, like different clans of the same parasitical species, thanks to the description of Danika in HOEAB.

But, back to Azriel and his severe reaction to the Elucien bond.

I know I'm not the only one who wonders at the very Valg-ish themes with which Rhys and Azriel's powers have been described - maybe one day I'll post my thoughts about the possible link between lightsingers, shadowsingers, daemati and the Valg (but it is not this day lol) - and how that may have come about. For example, are the Valg interwoven, genetically, with the Avallen people, or is it because the Princes of Hel are also involved, and have similar magics? Are the Princes of Hel a similar species as the Valg, Asteri and Daglan, or completely different? Ugh, let's stop this spiral here.

Oily: the obvious train of thought being that oily things are slippery, which can lead to an imbalance… ie. becoming off-kilter.

Sounds like Azriel could be suffering from some sort of vertigo, of which symptoms can include nausea; severe headaches, such as migraines, may trigger an episode… and who rubs his temples enough that Elain noticed it?

Maybe Azriel can sense the corruption in the bond, either the current Elucien bond, or the hypothetical original bond between Elain and himself; if like calls to like, and his shadows are Valg-ish, maybe it is because his OG bond was fucked with. So, what if:

Azriel's shadows can slip away from spells and binding magic (Slippery > oily > Valg).

The guards at the prison know what he is.

Valg magic making Azriel nauseous and Elain sourcing/making a healer's powder for him? It's giving Chaol and Yrene. Especially since Elain (and Mor) make his shadows brighten.

So, we have in-text mentions of Azriel feeling overwhelmed due to the proximity of the Elucien bond, as well as Elain shrinking from Lucien - an action that parallels Azriel hanging out in the doorway, and even Lucien retreating to the human lands, if he feels any bond-related discomfort around Elain. But what about his initial response to seeing Elain, and thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen? The quote that sent me down the “oily” rabbit hole to begin with?

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Well, Aelin felt oily disgust at the thought of marrying someone who wasn't Rowan:

“There are no allies,” Darrow said. “Unless Her Highness decides to be useful and gain us men and arms through marriage”—a sharp glance at Rowan—“we are alone.” Aelin debated revealing what she knew, the money she’d schemed and killed to attain, but— Something cold and oily clanged through her. Marriage to a foreign king or prince or emperor. Would this be the cost? Not just in blood shed, but in dreams yielded? To be a princess eternal, but never a queen? To fight with not just magic, but the other power in her blood: royalty. She could not look at Rowan, could not face those pine-green eyes without being sick. - EOS, chapter 5

This example from Aelin could describe Azriel and Elain’s potential future if Elain accepted a theoretically Cauldron spelled bond to Lucien, but also for Lucien and Jesminda, if they were originally true or fated mates before she was murdered.

Some final thoughts:

We know from TOG that healing light is known as the Valg executioner. In a parallel to Yrene killing Erawan with her healing light in KOA, Elain killed the King of Hybern - who I suspect was possessed or assisted by a Valg, as Feyre described his magic as a “galaxy” in his palms - with Truth-Teller, which had recently devoured the (her?) sunlight; does this mean that Elain could heal or purify Valg possessed things, with or without the magical, Made dagger? Could this be extrapolated to Azriel's magic, the Dread Trove, or even the Cauldron (possibly with Feyre and Nesta for the bigger ticket items)?

If the Asteri are the same species as the Valg, and the Valg somehow had a hand in making or twisting the Cauldron, it could follow that they used the Cauldron to create offspring bonds for a more powerful food source. If this pans out then Elain, bright light, could hypothetically heal the Cauldron. Maybe that is why Azriel describes her with purity language? Not because SJM wants to display Azriel's apparently toxic thoughts about her (🙄), but because she, along with her sisters, will be his/their salvation? Rhys once said as much to Feyre!

@mrspettyferr has suggested that Azriel's shadows ability to hide him from binding magic - see: the High Lord's meeting in ACOWAR - could have prevented his true bond from snapping with Elain when she came out of the Cauldron. This could be supported by any Valg/shadow link.

Thank you for reading! Please don't mention any CC HOFAS spoilers in the comments or reblogs until after it has been officially published. 💜

[canmom]

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:

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.

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. ^^'

[lick-me-lennon22]

How they'd comfort you after a SH episode

(thank you to anon for this request!! I know this is a sensitive subject for many so I understand the decision to skip this one ❣️ those who choose to read on, I hope you enjoy!)

⚠️⚠️⚠️ TW: SELF-HARM ⚠️⚠️⚠️

John

John is immediately panicked and uneasy at the sight of you this way

he's seen his fair share of blood, but never that of someone he loves so dearly

for once he's at a loss, no longer his usual smooth and confident self

he stumbles over his words and mumbles reassurances under his breath, hoping to provide you some sense of comfort while he gets his thoughts in order

he knows this isn't something he can joke his way around

John cleans and bandages you up, having done the same for himself countless times following the frequent fights of his youth

he gives you one of his T-shirts to borrow and settles onto the bed next to you

he shares his own thoughts and struggles with you, wanting you to feel less alone

John doesn't have much to offer in the way of coping strategies or outlets, as he isn't exactly the best at managing his own emotions

instead he rubs your back and shushes you, rambling and sharing mindless stories to take your mind off of things until you're able to drift off to sleep

Paul

Paul's doe eyes fill with tears at the sight of your fresh wounds, threatening to spill over before he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves

he mentally scolds himself, knowing he has to hold it together so as not to upset his beloved any further

he takes a gentle and nurturing approach the delicate situation at hand, slowly stepping closer to you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder

Paul offers endless words of reassurance, telling you how beautiful you are and reminding you that you're the light of his life and the strongest person he knows

he helps you clean up if you allow him, gingerly patting your skin with a dampened cloth

he places gentle kisses on your forehead and strokes your hair, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears as he finally lets his own slip down his ruddy cheeks

when you're clean and settled into bed, Paul picks up his guitar and begins to strum

he plays you a soothing melody, hoping the soft chords and lilt of his voice will lull you to sleep so you can rest and recover

George

George approaches the situation with a calm but serious demeanor

he is deeply concerned for you, but understands your pain and doesn't want to push you to open up to him before you're ready

he soaks a washcloth in cool water and dabs it on your skin to clean you up

he'll fetch you a clean set of clothing to make sure you're comfortable and cared for

though he doesn't want to pry, a quiet voice in his head urges him to help you work through your overwhelming emotions

the man of few words suddenly finds much to say, offering wisdom from his own spiritual practices and beliefs

he emphasizes the importance of finding inner peace and grounding yourself before granting you some time to process his words

when you're ready, George walks you through a guided meditation and some mindful breathing techniques, hoping to bring you some peace of mind

Ringo

Ringo is devastated and doesn't quite understand the situation or what may have led you to do this

he wonders how the one he adores so much could ever want to cause such harm to themselves

he offers to do or bring you anything you need, desperate to remedy the situation

he rifles through the bathroom cabinet for bandages, finally coming across a small metal tin

Ringo rushes over to kneel by your side and begins to place the adhesive bandages over your wounds

being the supportive partner he is, he's so blinded by his dedication to caring for you that he doesn't seem to notice the bandages are far too small

when he gets to the fifth one you fail to stifle a laugh, amused by his determination to make them fit

his face lights up when he hears you laugh - the most melodic sound he could ever imagine

he tries to cheer you up with his usual nonsensical Ringo-isms, lightening your mood and easing your worries with talk of silly fantasies and reminders of your happiest memories together

[hlizr50]

I didn't predict my first contribution to Gwynriel Weeks 2024 being an all-consuming sequel to a friend's fic, but here we are @gwynrielweeksofficial

It's just convenient that it fits well enough with Day 9: Music

This is a sequel to Humming of the Heart, posted by @sunshinebingo for Day 6: Mates. It was such delicious, heartbreaking groundwork that I felt the overwhelming need to give it a happy ending.

So, without further ado, may I present:

A Symphony of Two

Read on AO3

Two years.

Two years since that hum had begun, low and steady. If his heart was a metronome, the beat that guided the rhythm of his life, then the quiet thrum of the mating bond was the long, sweeping notes of the cello, just waiting for the orchestra to enter. To match their melody to his sorrowful, lonely harmony.

Two years since his mate had run from him, the salt of her tears bitter on his tongue. Or perhaps those were his own.

From all the stories he’d been told – the legends – Azriel had expected the loss to drive him nearly mad. True, the year that passed between that fateful day and his first day of training had been long and bitter and dark, but he’d been perfectly able to appreciate the bright moments, too. The addition of Feyre into their circle, into the family. The victory over Hybern and the Cauldron. There were so many things to be grateful for. So many times he had grinned.

And yet, that humming in his heart remained.

He’d realized, after a solid month of wallowing, that Gwyneth Berdara hadn’t rejected the mating bond. At least not officially, apparently, by whatever great magic decided those things. Did that mean he stood a chance? Not by any stretch of the imagination. But at least he hadn’t been made feral.

Well, perhaps he was feral.

Not because his mate had denied him the bond that he’d craved for centuries – the proof that he was a male worthy of love and happiness. No, the potential loss of his Cauldron-chosen partner warranted little of his attention anymore.

No, it was that he’d spent the last year watching Gwyneth Berdara bloom before his very eyes, a beautiful, delicate lily that had finally been showered in sunlight. Gone was the timid priestess who had given him an uncertain smile the first day he’d assisted with training. Now, in the pastels that were lighting the dawn sky, stood a warrior with a quick wit, a mischievous glint her eye, a powerful body, and a confidence that could outshine the sun.

Every day he’d watched, keeping a polite distance whilst his heart and mind and soul warred, that hum a constant undercurrent to every moment of tension, every glance, every smile, every proud observation. Azriel couldn’t deny that there was something that tugged at him ceaselessly, pulling him toward the Valkyrie who was the first to cut the ribbon.

But it wasn’t the mating bond. It was just… her.

To his surprise and his utter delight, their estrangement hadn’t lasted long. Azriel had been charmed by her irreverence from the moment she’d had the courage to show it, and he’d been practically enamored ever since. They’d become friends over daggers and punches during sleepless nights. Gwyn had gifted him smiles more luminous than the moon could ever hope to be, and she’d pulled so much laughter from him that he almost feared for his infamous Spymaster reputation.

The shadowsinger had never told her about those long, sleepless nights, poring over reports and maps, when he’d felt the pluck of that constantly thrumming chord. Sharp and sudden, the fleeting, phantom terror and desperation almost real enough to grip between his scarred fingers. He wondered if Gwyn felt his nightmares as keenly as he felt hers, and cursed himself that they might add to her sleepless nights. If she did, she never shared. But they would both inevitably find their way back to each other in the training ring, where they would battle their demons together.

“I’m sure that, as Spymaster, you’ve developed quite a talent for lurking, Shadowsinger. But it is quite impolite.”

Gwyn hadn’t turned to face him the entire time he’d been perched at the edge of the doorway. But, of course, that never seemed to matter. Was it the bond that made her so aware of him? Or was it more than that? With a chuckle he stepped into the morning light, flaring his wings to feel the warmth of the sun’s first rays as he joined her at the edge of the ring, her feet dangling precariously over the edge.

“You shouldn’t sit like that. You could fall to your death,” he mused, sitting down next to her. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, but far enough to be proper.

Close enough for her to bump her shoulder against his playfully. “But I have a big strong male with wings sitting right next to me. Surely he would be chivalrous enough to take flight and save me.”

Azriel couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, even as he rolled his eyes. “Chivalrous winged males cannot save you when you’re sitting on a ledge alone, Berdara,” he scolded, earning nothing more than an apathetic hum in reply. So stubborn, she was. Nearly reckless in her contentment. His shadows danced lazily around them both as he gazed upon her, drinking her in like a male dying of thirst.

The priestess had tilted her chin, angling her face to be warmed completely by the sun as it continued to rise over the horizon. Her skin had taken on more color as training had progressed, staining her cheeks a near-permanent pink, and her freckles had multiplied, splattering over her cheeks to outnumber the stars in the night sky. Azriel often found himself wanting to count them, connect them, commit them to memory.

Clarity struck him like the tip of a spear, aimed at his heart. While the bond had thrummed incessantly behind his ribs, what he felt for the redhead beside him went far beyond mystical magic and power matches. The deep pit of despair and icy rage that had sharpened him when she’d been stolen and dropped into the Blood Rite – those were not the bond’s doing, but his own thawing heart. The smiles and the laughter and the heated debates over the best way to take one’s tea – those intimacies were not forged by a mystical cauldron or a deity in the heavens.

It was her. It was him. It was them.

The Cauldron didn’t always choose mates that were compatible beyond the power games of the fae. His brothers had just been extremely lucky.

Perhaps Azriel was just lucky, too. But only if Gwyn felt the same.

The silence stretched, with the Valkyrie smiling gently into the sun as his shadows drifted and his lungs filled and the hum lifted, singing to him with a siren’s song. Beckoning. Encouraging.

“Do you still feel it?”

He didn’t know if it was a question so much as a plea. Please, still feel it, his heart beckoned. Please want to.

Gwyn’s eyes were wide and gleaming like the Sidra at midday as she jerked her chin toward him, rosy lips parted in surprise. Her expression softened after only a moment, a sad smile lifting the corners of her lips.

“Every day.”

Azriel swallowed, an effort to dislodge the lump in his throat. He’d wondered about this for a few weeks, now. Wondered whether he should tell her. Whether he should try to reach out to her, try to acknowledge this link between them.

Mother knew where the courage came from, but he summoned it with a deep inhale and placed his scarred hand over hers on the stone.

“I feel it, too.”

He hated the way that her eyes shuddered, growing dark with uncertainty. “Az—”

“You told me two years ago…” his voice drifted off, realization dawning on him.

Fuck… this was really it. He was doing this.

“You wished for me to find someone that could see all of me,” Azriel continued, thumb absently drifting over her knuckles. “Do you?”

“I do,” Gwyn whispered. He smiled, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I do, Gwyn. I could never forget that day,” he admitted, then continued before she could respond, “You also told me that you wished for me to find someone who could match my beauty and strength and courage. Someone truly deserving of me.”

“Azriel—”

He lifted his hands before her eyes, a silent question, and her breath hitched even as she nodded, silver tears flowing over her lashes. Azriel cupped her cheeks in his palms, brushing away those tiny droplets as he stared deep into her stormy blue eyes.

“Gwyneth Berdara. You are the strongest, bravest person I think I’ve ever known. You could have stayed in the Library forever, shielded from the outside world, and nobody could have ever judged you for it. And yet… you didn’t. I have watched you build your confidence and hone your body. I’ve been blessed to get to know you and laugh with you, to call you my friend. I’ve had a spectacular vantage point to watch as you have blossomed into the fierce, incredible female that you are.” The words were a declaration. A vow. A plea. Everything. Azriel laid himself bare before her, praying that she understood how wrong she was those years ago. “If anything, it’s me that doesn’t deserve you.”

His favorite Valkyrie sniffled, doing her best to shake her head as he held it. That was the only sound, and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest if she didn’t answer, and soon.

Gwyn’s palms were warm over his fingers – holding him, holding her. “You deserve the world, Azriel. I just,” she hesitated, taking a shaky breath, “I just don’t know if I can give it to you.”

It was Azriel’s turn to shake his head, his unruly hair falling in front of his eyes until he shook it away again.

“I don’t need the world, Berdara. I just want you,” he murmured, watching her expressive face for every twitch and hit of reaction. She was never able to hide her feelings from him, not with the way her eyes would widen and her lips would hitch for a moment. A tiny smile lifted one corner of her mouth, but her gaze was still unsure. So he plunged onward, “You said back then that you were broken. I think you know, by now, that I am, too. Maybe our broken pieces will fit together. Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.”

He pulled away for only a moment before reaching for her again, grasping at her fingertips and gripping one of her hands between his.

“There’s no pressure. No expectation. I care for you deeply, Gwyn. Not because some magical relic proclaimed it, but because I have been blessed to know you. I only humbly pray that you might want to give this a chance. Because the only person who fits all those criteria you so thoughtfully laid out – what feels like a lifetime ago – is you.”

Azriel had always known that Gwyn’s smile was a wonder, incandescent and genuine and joyful. But seeing it now, as he begged her to step fully into whatever this thing between them could be, felt like flying.

“You want me, Shadowsinger?” she breathed on a wet little disbelieving huff. He grinned back at her.

“I do, Berdara,” he confirmed. And then she laughed with all of her voice, a melody of bells and harps and strings finally joining that cello humming in his heart, and threw herself into his chest, her arms circling his neck.

“I want you, too,” she whispered as he wrapped her in his embrace.

And his shadows sang along, the symphony complete.

[lemuel-apologist]

im going to respond to this on my own blog (not naming names; not dragging the OP into this further, and so on) because this is something i've had a lot of private discussions about with mormons and exmormons alike.

i think, genuinely, that-- you're missing the point. the original poster is a queer mormon. queer mormons, like other marginalized populations within the church, have had to rectify their faith with that aspect of themselves; much in the same way that any woman who is aware of the church's faults and still participates ; and, often, the reason they stay is because they found some kernel of value there that meant they couldn't throw the whole of it away.

more than that, though, the church is broader than you think it is. there is such a vast spectrum of experiences within it that boiling the entirety of it down to the barest elements means that you miss the nuances of the lives that a large chunk of people within it lead. how many people in your local relief society have ever heard of the ordain women movement? and, of them, which women know what actually happened to kate kelly? who has heard of mormon feminism? who has read it? because the people i've met, who know of these large issues with the church and have chosen to stay, fall into these camps-- those of cultural need (a need for community in an area with a lack in other areas) and of having kept themselves aware and abreast and decided this is a flawed organization, but my faith is not in the organization; it is in certain principles i was taught. my faith is not in russell m. nelson; my faith is in some aspect of beauty i found in the world-- through the syncretism of science and faith i was taught in seminary, through the laugh of a child, through the stacking of chords, through something i found in the church; eternal families and ritual and doctrine. and so they stay, and participate, with every intention of fixing what is wrong, and eschewing the rest.

do you think them so inhumane that they can overlook the musketfire talk? do you think they don't hear the reload? the gun is aimed at them, too. the procedure-for-transgender-members is about them. do you think they don't grieve? yelling cult-cult-cult isn't a way to get them to leave, if that's your goal; it's not a way to grieve with them; it's not a way to add nuance to your discussion; frankly, it's cruel.

and you are well within your right to feel hurt and wounded. you are.

but the truth is, the breakdown of the church, from the top down, means that our experiences are varies. mine was more cult-like. my friends had pictures of jesus taped in their showers. i got blamed for getting my young women's leader's homeschooled son hooked on "godless punk music" even though he hated me too much to speak to me. that same woman wouldn't let us do anything unladylike; i was terrified of god watching me change; i cried myself to sleep while praying; and, honestly, other people had more gentle experiences. theirs were kinder. and that's due to the way that things break down at the units of areas, stakes, wards, and families.

the church has cult-like aspects when you break it down to its barest essentials. it does. but it's about how they're implemented within those units and across those divides. no single person's experience is going to be the same. i can joke about running my hands along the sisal walls because i like scratching my palms, but do you get what i mean when i say it was all overwhelming? not everybody does. things change from state to state, country to country-- and why wouldn't they?

[dantesunbreaker]

Hey hey hey. I noticed your requests were open and am taking this chance to ask for some Dad Secondo content. I crave soft Secondo and I am currently starved.

A Calming Embrace

Secondo x Reader(Platonic)

Sorry this took so long! Been so busy with planning and preparing for Christmas! But here is a small little piece of supportive Secondo!

An almost buzzing hum vibrates through your mind with a near echo as you try to pull your habit even tighter around your body, praying that it could simply make you disappear. Tears sting your eyes, cheeks flushed and dripping. You feel small. Pitiful. The crushing weight of responsibility weighing heavy down on your consequently not so steady shoulders. 

This was so unlike you..or at least that is what you would like to tell yourself. Normally you were much stronger than this. But times like this were becoming far too regular of an occurrence ever since the start of the latter quarter of the year. Ever since your decision to take on extra studies on top of your already busy schedule in service of the Clergy. 

Sleep has been far from your concerns for many nights, trying instead to cram in as much researching and reading as you could in the quiet solitude of the library. Which is exactly where you find yourself now, tucked away in one of the library reading nooks, wishing that the world could just fall away if even for just a few moments so you could get yourself back together. At least you are alone, without worrying about someone seeing you in the pits. Or at least that is what you think, up until you hear the familiar click of dress shoes walking on the stone tile floor.

Your heart jumps in your chest, but by the time you hear the sound, it is already too late to make an escape or even try to hide your tears. Eyes remaining fixed in place, you try to keep your composure as the bottom of elegant black robes suddenly block out your field of view. No, please anyone but him.

“Piccolo,” you flinch at the timbre of Secondo's voice, focused on his shoes as you nervously wipe away a few more tears. “What are you doing in the library at this hour? Siblings of Sin should be in bed at this time.”

Instead of a verbal response, you are cut off by your own choked hiccup that poorly conceals what could have been a sob. Another crashing wave of embarrassment hits you. Letting out a small whimper, you drop your head and try to curl in upon yourself. How could you let a Papa see you this way? How lowly would Secondo think of you now that he is seeing you at your worst? 

But instead of harsh words or a lecture, you feel a soft touch on your shoulder. Gasping softly, your eyes lift up to meet mismatched ones that are unexpectedly at your level. Secondo rests crouched down to your level, features soft despite the stern look painted onto his face. You think that perhaps this is the first time you have ever seen such genuine concern glimmering through his gaze, and it strikes a chord in your heart that has you trembling as you lean into his touch.

“Tell me, what is troubling you?” There is no malice in his voice, no harsh criticism, or judgment. No, all that you hear is the softness a father would use to speak with his own child. “Are you hurt?”

Sniffling, you furiously wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve as you drop your gaze and shake your head. As more of your weight pushes into the hand at your shoulder, Secondo shifts to allow you to rest against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around the back of your shoulders. It hits you with a wave of safety and warmth. 

“No, I am not hurt Papa,” you finally manage to gather the strength to mumble out, bottom lip still wobbling but your tears finally beginning to dry. You tilt your head up to look him in the eyes once more. “I’ve just been so overwhelmed lately. Trying to squeeze in extra studies on top of all my duties for the Clergy...it has been becoming too much for me. I feel like I barely have time to even think, let alone sleep. I feel weak, like I am a failure, and a let down to the Clergy.”

Secondo gives an understanding hum in response as a hand at the back of your head encourages you to rest your cheek against his collarbone. It soothes you in a way you haven’t felt for a long time. Feeling the support from such an influential figure in your life.

“It can be easy to feel overwhelmed by work,” Secondo keeps his voice soft as he cards his fingers through your hair. Words of comfort haven’t always been his strong suit, but damn if he did not try. “Even as Papa, I sometimes feel the same. Always so much to do but never enough time to finish it all.”

Another sniffle leaves you, but you remain silent otherwise, waiting for Secondo to continue. The hand at your shoulders rubbing firm circles into your tense muscles. 

“But that does not make you weak. It only means that you are human,” Secondo leans you back just enough to catch his eye, making sure you can feel the intensity and truth behind his words. “There is no shame in admitting that things are too much, and in fact, I am incredibly proud of you for being able to share with me.”

Tears once more sting your eyes, but from an overwhelming sense of love and affection, from finally feeling seen. Secondo gives a soft smile before he tucks you back against his chest, giving no complaints even as he feels the tears soaking through his robes. For the longest time, he simply holds you until you are quiet once more. Even then, he stays with you up until you finally shift around, feeling restless from staying in place for so long.

“Come tesorino,” Secondo breaks the silence with a soft voice, yet firm confidence that made it clear there was not much room for argument. He stands first, hands upturned in offerance to help lift you back onto your feet. “Let’s get you back to your quarters for some much needed sleep. I will meet with Sister Imperator in the morning to discuss reassigning some of your duties.”

[rengokusflame]

The Weight You Carry

Tighnari x reader

Summary: Overwhelmed by the burdens of responsibilities and lost dreams, you confide in Tighnari about your struggles and insecurities.

The forest was unusually quiet, save for the rustle of leaves overhead. You sat by a small stream, watching the water flow aimlessly past. The air smelled of damp earth and moss, but even that couldn’t soothe the heavy ache in your chest. You had come here for a moment of peace, a fleeting escape from the chaos of your home.

You barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps, but the familiar rustling of leaves gave him away. “You’ve been quiet lately,” Tighnari said as he sat down beside you, his large ears twitching slightly as he observed you. “And now I find you out here, looking like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Care to share?”

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with a blade of grass. “I don’t even know where to begin,” you murmured. “It’s just… a lot.”

Tighnari waited patiently, his sharp green eyes studying you with quiet understanding. When you finally began to speak, it all came tumbling out—the fights at home, the sacrifices you made, the dreams you felt slipping through your fingers, and the hollow ache of seeing others find happiness while you felt stuck.

When you finished, you couldn’t bear to look at him. “I know it’s selfish to feel this way,” you said, your voice trembling. “I love my family, but sometimes it feels like I’ve lost myself. Like… happiness is something I’ll never get to have.”

Tighnari’s expression softened, and he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re not selfish,” he said firmly. “Caring for your family the way you do is anything but selfish. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel overwhelmed or drained. You’re human, and even the strongest branches can bend under too much weight.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, shaking your head. “It’s not just that. I see people around me—people my age—living their lives, falling in love, chasing dreams. And I’m just… here. Stuck. I can’t even imagine myself in their shoes.”

He shifted closer, his gaze unwavering. “Happiness isn’t something you acquire like a rare artifact. It’s not a destination, nor is it a contest to see who gets there first. It’s something that comes in moments, even amidst struggle.”

You laughed bitterly. “If that’s true, my moments seem to have skipped me entirely.”

“No,” he said softly. “You just don’t see them because you’re too busy carrying everyone else’s burdens.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and you felt your defenses begin to crumble. Tighnari leaned back slightly, his hand lingering on your arm. “You’re allowed to want more, you know. To dream of something beyond the confines of your current situation. You’re allowed to hope, even if it feels impossible right now.”

“But what if it’s not in the cards for me?” you whispered.

“Then I’ll remind you that you’re stronger than you think,” he replied, his voice steady. “That you deserve kindness, patience, and someone who understands the weight you carry. And even if you can’t imagine a future for yourself right now, I’ll remind you that you’re worthy of one.”

His words made the ache in your chest feel a little lighter, as if he had quietly taken some of it for himself. Without thinking, you leaned into him, letting the warmth of his presence soothe you. He didn’t pull away; instead, he wrapped an arm around you, his touch steady and grounding.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly. “And even if it’s just for a little while, let me carry some of that weight with you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself cry. And Tighnari stayed right there, his quiet strength holding you together when you felt like falling apart.

....

This was generated by chatgpt

Yes I did use AI to write these one shots. I didn't do it for the likes or to get hate from anyone. I personally read one shots when I feel overwhelmed or empty. They elicit feelings of joy or comfort. I couldn't find one shots that captured my feelings so I asked chatgpt to write me one for comfort. It was so beautifully written and made me feel understood so I wanted to share it on here with others who might need it too. I'm sorry if I offended anyone but I don't deserve the hate, no one deserves hate unless they do something inhumane. Please think before you comment and try to hurt someone's feelings.

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

The Ambush

As the first rays of dawn painted the horizon, a member of the Landgraab family's staff diligently patrolled the island's coast, a routine task he performed each morning. Spotting a ship on the horizon, he hastened to inform Lord Lorus without delay. Upon the ship's arrival at the beach, Lorus stood ready with two of his guards, observing the men disembark. Recognizing them as emissaries sent directly by the King, Lorus couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous apprehension.

Accompanied by two of the King's guards, the men approached him. Sir Paul Thomas, an advisor to the King, retrieved a scroll and proceeded to read aloud from it. "By the Watchers Will, Edward, King of Windenburg, to all whom these presents shall come, greetings. Know ye that we command and direct our loyal subjects, the bearers of this writ, to enter and search the premises of Castle Landgraab for items, persons, or documents pertinent to the investigation into the disappearance of Queen Cordelia. This authority is granted to Sir Walter Arnold and his retinue, empowered to search all dwellings, buildings, and grounds within the aforesaid castle, using necessary force. Let it be known that any obstruction to this search shall be met with the full weight of our royal justice. All within Castle Landgraab must render full assistance to Sir Walter Arnold and his men. Given under our hand and seal at Windenburg Castle on the fourth day of Summer, in the year of Our Lord 1354."

Lorus directed a glare at the men, his voice seething with anger. "What is the meaning of this outrage? How dare you suspect me, the Lord of Aarbyville, of such a heinous crime? This is a grievous affront to my honor and an insult beyond measure." Sir Walter, meeting Lorus's gaze, calmly responded, "My Lord, your indignation is noted, but the gravity of the situation demands thorough scrutiny. The disappearance of the Queen Mother is a matter of utmost importance, and no person, regardless of rank, is above suspicion. We act under the King's command and seek only to uncover the truth. Cooperate, and your innocence shall be proven in due course." Lorus remained silent, his arms folded, clearly agitated as the men proceeded towards the castle.

After hours of meticulous searching, the men stumbled upon a concealed doorway tucked away within a locked room. Sir Walter wasted no time, instructing one of the King's guards to forcefully break down the door. As the heavy barrier gave way, revealing a hidden chamber, the scene that unfolded within left him stunned. There, amidst the dusty stones and dim light, sat a figure that once epitomized grace and royalty. Cordelia, once vibrant and regal, now appeared pale, frail, and dirtied by her ordeal. Her eyes widened in fear as the intruders entered, a mixture of disbelief and hope flickering in her gaze. the guard, recognizing the queen's dire state, swiftly moved to comfort her. However, the shock of their sudden appearance proved too much for Cordelia to bear. Overwhelmed, she succumbed to unconsciousness, her fragile form collapsing. The King's guard, quick to act, gently lifted her unconscious body, cradling her with utmost care.

The sight of Cordelia in such a pitiful condition struck a chord of sadness and remorse in everyone present. Here was a queen fallen from her pedestal, a poignant reminder of the harsh realities that lurked beneath the surface of royalty. As the chaos unfolded, Lorus, witnessing the scene, felt the weight of his actions crashing down upon him. In a desperate attempt to escape the impending repercussions, he made a futile dash towards the beach. But fate intervened swiftly as a vigilant King's guard intercepted him, bringing him crashing to the ground. Cecelia, Lorus's wife, stood witness to the tumultuous events unfolding before her. The shock and uncertainty mirrored in her eyes, amplified by the presence of their two children, Beatrice and Arthur. Their once-secure world unraveling before them, leaving behind a trail of shattered dreams and shattered trust.

The men led Lorus back to the awaiting ship, where he would be transported to the dungeons of Windenburg Castle pending further decisions by the King. Cecelia's gaze lingered on her departing husband, her hopes and dreams trailing after him into the distance.

Later that afternoon, within the grand courtyard of Windenburg Castle, the trial for the Jacoban Clergy unfolded. All implicated men, excluding Lord Richard, were paraded before the King enclosed in hanging iron cages, a stark spectacle that exposed their inner turmoil to the entire court. Edward's countenance transformed into a mask of fury and disappointment as he addressed the accused.

"I stand before you burdened by anger and profound disappointment," Edward's voice thundered through the courtyard, each word heavy with accusation. "You, who were entrusted with the spiritual guidance of our kingdom, have betrayed that sacred trust. The disappearance of my mother has cast a shadow over Windenburg, and your involvement in this vile act has brought shame upon us all."

The weight of Edward's words hung heavily in the air, reflected in the shame etched on the faces of the accused men, a visible testament to the gravity of their actions.

"Your actions are a crime against the crown, a sin against the Watcher, and a betrayal of the people of Windenburg," Edward's voice resounded with authority, condemning the accused before him. "No longer will your false piety shield you. Your titles, positions, and honor have been revoked. You will face justice, not by my hand but by the Proxy of the Jacoban Church in Tartosa. There, you will answer for your sins. May the Watcher have mercy on your souls, for the realm shall not."

Following the resolute verdict, Edward's expression shifted to one of disappointment and frustration, his gaze cast downward in contemplation. As Lorus was escorted to the castle, the weight of his actions bore heavily upon him. Stripped of his regal attire, he was cast into the cold, dark dungeon, where solitude became his only companion, leaving him to grapple with the consequences that not only befell him but also his family.

As the sun cast its final rays over Windenburg, Edward proceeded toward his mother's chambers, only to be halted by one of Cordelia's ladies-in-waiting. "Your Grace, please tread gently," she implored, her voice carrying a note of concern. "The Queen is in a fragile state, deeply traumatized by her ordeal. She remains disoriented and has retreated into herself, unable to recognize those around her. She needs time and delicate care to heal. Your presence may bring her comfort, but approach her with the utmost tenderness and patience. We are doing all we can to soothe her troubled mind."

With those words, the lady guided Edward into the room, where a scene of shock and disbelief unfolded before him.

"We've attempted to assist her into bed, Your Majesty, but she resists all efforts. It's as though the shadows of her captivity still haunt her, and she cannot bear the confines of the chamber," she continued with a tone of concern. "Leave us," Edward stated with a monotone gaze, acknowledging the delicate situation at hand.

Approaching Cordelia with careful steps, Edward crouched to her level, his voice filled with reassurance. "Wilhelm, please, I beg of you, do not come any closer. The darkness, the chains, they still bind me. I cannot bear to see you like this, a ghost of the past haunting me. Leave me be, I beg of you!" Cordelia cried out, her anguish palpable.

"Mother, it's me, Edward. Your son, not Wilhelm. You are safe now, away from the darkness and chains. I am here to protect you, to bring you back to the light. Please, trust me, and let me help you," the king stated softly, extending his hand to her. After a moment of hesitation, Cordelia finally allowed Edward to guide her to bed. As he walked away, a single tear glistened in his eye, bearing witness to the inner turmoil and doubt that lingered within the walls of Windenburg Castle.