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#their bpms are different though

somehow-a-human · 18 days

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Whose POV is it Anyway?

The Ball

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

The ball, ah the romantic sweet ball. Episode 5 gives us the build up to the Jane Austen style Whickber Street Shopkeepers Association Monthly Meeting. We then see the event itself, before it is rudely interrupted by some bottom-of-the-barrel-practically-the-damned demons.

For reference & context, I recommend reading these posts:

Whose POV is it Anyway? - Introduction

Lens Filters

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

POV a Companion to Owls

POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

POV Bodysnatchers & Cosplaying a bookseller

POV 1941

Read this meta with me? While we dance?!

Episode 5 opens with Crowley pulling up to Whickber street and getting out of the Bentley. He meets Aziraphale in the street and after confirming he's really going through with hosting the meeting begins his demonic guard dog duties which basically just consist of following Aziraphale around all day.

His sideburns are short, he's being short and snarky with Aziraphale in regards to the hosting the meeting; we're not seeing Crowley obstructed by anyone else's lens, we open with Crowley's POV.

When we enter Arnolds Music Shop and the lighting is significantly warmer, the camera shot is centered on Aziraphale and Crowley's sideburns are long. We've switched to Aziraphale's POV. He gives away a book, we see an alarmed look from Crowley but no reaction.

Once they leave the music shop, Crowley's sideburns are short again, the lighting is toned cooler, and he immediately grills Aziraphale about giving away a book. We've switched back to Crowley's POV.

The next stop on Whickber Street is the Will Goldstone's Magic Shop. The lighting is warm and glowy here, and I would easily say this is the Bronze Glimmerglass filter that I typically also associate with Aziraphale's POV. Crowley's sideburns here though are short. This is one of the only times, if not the only time they are incongruent with the assumed filter (if I am to be trusted in my analysis). I think it is also worth noting that this was the first scene David and Michael filmed together for season 2. So, if this whole series of posts I've been writing is a complete waste and Davids sideburns simply grew out as filming went on and they didn't trim them at all, well then this would support that theory lol.

When they talk with Ms Cheng in the street we are back to cool toned lighting, and short sideburns, indicative of Crowley's POV. They talk to Justine, same thing.

Crowley realizes "Oh I'm in human love with Aziraphale", still his POV.

"Smited, smote, smitten" is still Crowley's POV. The lighting seems warmer because they are sitting under a yellow awning and surrounded by fairy lights but the shot is missing the warm haze and glow.

When Crowley goes to confront Gabriel, the lighting is indiscernible but Crowley's sideburns are long.

By the time Crowley makes it down to tell Maggie & Nina to come to the meeting, the filter being used on Whickber Street appears to be Hell's filter, Black Pro Mist (BPM). Crowley's sideburns are long. He confronts the demons and then the ball is in full swing.

The entire ball is shot through a heavy dose of the Bronze Glimmer Glass filter. Each of the filters has different strengths that can be used, and this must be a fairly high one used for the ball scenes. I think everyone will agree we're likely seeing Aziraphale's POV for the ball scenes. Everything is heavily golden, sparkling, hazy, and Crowley's sideburns are long. Not even to mention that the ball is simply his dream come to life anyway.

the street outside is green and foggy, and using the BPM filter still.

When Crowley gets in the elevator to heaven his sideburns remain long.

Welp. Thats episode 5, all we've left to do is episode 6 and I then I will be writing a conclusion piece to these! See you there!

NEXT POV The End?

#good omens #good omens 2 #michael sheen #aziraphale #good omens meta #david tennant #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens theories #good omens clues #ineffable mystery #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable spouses #ineffable fandom #ineffable divorce

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prismaticfaery · 1 year

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Little Bunny

John Price x Fem!Reader

Summary: Never in a million years would Captain Price think that he'd have a chance at a family, but with how dangerous his profession was and his chances of becoming a father becoming a reality, you and him have to learn the hard way that moving on is the best you both can do.

**TW: Pregnancy, vomiting, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, labor, childbirth, anxiety, panic, angst, unrequited love. (Forgive me if I miss any!)

Rating: Mature

This is not short, it's 10K words! Also, don't expect too much of a happy ending!

Part Two

A/N: I was debating posting this for so long out of fear it was trash, please be gentle with me! To add, termination is always going to be your choice and it’s okay to consider that option!

Fluorescent lights hung overhead, your eyes poorly adjusting to the harsh lights as you fumbled with a pen nervously between your fingers. You had filled out a small packet of papers on a clipboard, the receptionist telling you that your doctor would see you soon and to make sure every bit of information was filled in. When you had initially told the receptionist that it would only be you when she asked if you were accompanied by a partner for a confirmation of pregnancy ultrasound, she gave you a look, and you knew she was silently judging you for your situation.

“Y/N?” You hear a nurse call out while propping a door open, breaking you out of your trance.

It was two weeks ago when you had realized your period was late, your work schedule and general hecticness in your life made you suspect that it was stress at first but when your period never showed even a week later, and with having a pretty normal cycle, you darted to the commissary on base and bought two boxes of pregnancy tests– two different brands to make sure. Yeah, you had been more tired lately, and you had lost your appetite more than a few times, but you knew that those could also be normal premenstrual symptoms.

With your uniform pants and panties down to your ankles, you held two different pregnancy test in your hands, the trembling in your arms and hands from fear only became worse when the test slowly turned positive. With a harsh breath in, you hold it for a moment, fresh tears stinging your eyes when you finally release your breath. Your body felt frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Do you tell him now? Do you wait? You were on birth control and never missed a dose, but of course, it’s not always foolproof. You weren’t even with the baby’s father on an exclusivity level, only really depending on each other for comfort and pleasure when you both needed it– not to mention he was your Captain, your superior.

A hiccup leaves your throat, the metaphorical golf ball stuck in your throat nearly choking you as you place your head in your hands, those fresh tears gathering in the corners falling into your hands. You were active duty in the SAS and newly recruited into Task Force 141, though just a Sergeant, and you were living in the barracks, which was not the place to bring a baby up in, nor was it even allowed. You weren’t prepared for a baby to come along, and you knew that your Captain had no intention of having children while he always had a target on himself. You knew he wouldn’t take this news well.

“It looks like you’re reaching nine weeks, strong heartbeat at 168 bpm– see it here?” the doctor pointed to the tiny fluttering heart on the ultrasound monitor.

“I do,” you smile lightly, your eyes never leaving the small floating jelly bean that jerked and wiggled inside of your body.

“Do you have support at home?” The doctor asked, her eyes meeting yours with a certain softness, knowing that you checked your marital status as “single”.

“Well I have my mother, but as for the other half of the child, he won’t be very happy,” you say, sitting up and adjusting the paper blanket draped across your nude bottom half.

“Reach out to your mother, okay? Best of luck with everything,” the doctor takes her leave, giving you the privacy to clean up and put your uniform back on.

You sat for a moment, the silence deafening save for the nurses speaking at their station outside the exam room door. You peek over at the ultrasound monitor, which had been paused on a picture of your tiny baby. Your heart ached, and you found yourself struggling to turn your head away, until a knock at the door sounded.

“Here are your papers, there’s also a script for prenatal vitamins and some brochures,” the nurse smiles, handing you the small stack, “take care of yourself.”

The door closes behind the nurse and you decide that it’s time to finally get dressed. You wipe the ultrasound gel from your abdomen and lower region, and silently slip your clothing back on, your eyes never leaving the monitor until you notice a small black and white photo had been printed and attached to your after appointment papers. Your heart skipped, quickly tearing the photo from off of the stack to hold in your hands, your little baby’s side profile had been captured and you could see the tiny arms and legs scrunched up to its body.

Checking the time on your watch, you pick up speed, remembering that you had a debriefing on a Task Force affair with your Captain soon and you were definitely going to be late arriving at it. You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your lack of punctuality, but you had proof that you were tied up in a last minute affair.

Once arriving back at base, you could see the familiar form of Soap who was also a late arrival to the debriefing, but you knew it was because of his poor time management skills, or he was just waking up from one of his naps. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spins around in a wild fashion.

“Good grief, ya scared the shite out of me,” Soap held a hand to his chest.

“Sorry, I was just curious if we could walk together to the debrief,” you question, your eyes pleading for him to agree as to save yourself from being individually called out by your Captain.

Soap nods, his longer legs falling into step with yours, “you’re not usually late to these things, something must have had you tied up,” Soap scratches his head, yawning into his unoccupied hand.

“Oh you know, women’s issues,” you shrugged, Soap wincing at your words.

“Ah, I don’t think you need to explain,” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he was treading into territory he was very familiar with, having to be around female soldiers– especially with being around you so much– taught him more than enough.

Opening the door to the small debriefing room, you could see Ghost leaning back in his chair, one leg over the other while his arms crossed against his chest, his usual black balaclava covering his face. Gaz was in the seat adjacent to Ghost, his face blank– an almost bored expression showing.

Price’s body language was showing very clear annoyance as he watched you and Soap enter, the awkwardness in the room causing you to fumble into your seat, the loud scraping of the chair leg against the tile floor made Price audibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You two are late, don’t let this happen again or I’ll have you assigned cleaning duty for a week,” Price points his finger first at Soap, then at you, your eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

As the debriefing went on, you could feel the familiar crystalline blue eyes of your Captain steal glances of you. You make yourself small and scarce in the meeting, your arms folding across your upper body and your body slinking into your chair. You felt strange about having such a huge secret being hidden away from your Captain who was more than deserving to know about it, but you needed time to formulate a plan on how you were going to carry out telling him. It would be better to tell him sooner than later though because you could be deployed at any time and that would be a dangerous situation for you and the life that was growing inside of you.

“Ghost, you and Gaz will be going to Russia for some recon, I need intel– any intel on where they’re moving next,” Price nods his head in Ghost’s direction, handing Gaz a debriefing packet on his and Ghost’s deployment that they’ll go over together at a later time.

You feel your body tense as a very heavy wave of nausea washes over you, Soap noticing your eyes fluttering and your skin becoming ashen and shiny from sweat. Pushing his seat out with the back of his legs, Soap rushes over to the trash bin, knowing all too well you wouldn’t make it yourself. He shoves the bin into your lap where you attempt to shield yourself with your arms as you empty the contents of your stomach. Gaz winces, and Ghost is pretty much unbothered but keeping a watchful eye on you.

“You alright?” Price askes as he makes his way over to your hunched over form.

“No, I really need to go,” you heave a sigh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave that, I’ll have someone clean it,” Price nods, motioning for you to leave.

Long having discarded your uniform, you sat on your bed, staring at the white wall across the room. So many thoughts flooded your brain, and you felt like you were losing control of everything in your life all in the span of a few hours. You were young, and still inexperienced in life, halfway to reaching your thirties. The dried yet still sticky feeling of tears coated your cheeks and you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest every time you even thought of mentioning this pregnancy to Price. How the hell was he going to take it?

You knew that it would go two ways most likely– one: he’d walk away and break all contact, or two: he would tell you that he would support you and the baby, but would not be present.

A knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, your voice cracking as you told the visitor to come inside. Price’s tall body stands in the doorway for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was risky coming into your room so early in the evening but he was willing to take that chance.

“Everything alright? Soap said you were dealing with something– didn’t know the pain got so bad for you during that time of the month,” Price sits beside you on your bed, his taller form making yours tiny in comparison.

“I’m alright, I just need to rest,” your voice is small with a tinge of exhaustion, playing into Soap’s assumptions of you being on your period.

“You been crying, love?” Price’s large hand caresses your neck, his thumb dancing across your cheek soothingly.

“A little, yeah,” you smile softly, leaning into his touch.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really, if that’s okay?” Your breath catches in your throat, you knew damn well you should tell him, but fear froze you in place.

“I understand, hormones and all that lot can be difficult,” Price sighs, the hand that rested on your neck falling back into his lap.

You suck in a breath as his words repeat in your head. Did he already know? Or did he have an inkling of an idea? No, that wasn’t possible.

You feel the familiar burn of bile rising into your throat, your legs making a mad dash for the bathroom across your small barracks room. Heaving what little was left in your stomach, you could feel your Captain’s cool hands gather your loose hair from your sweat covered neck and forehead. As you breath in and out heavily, a soft cry escaping your lips from the horrifying nausea pounding through your body, you feel Price’s free hand rub soothing circles along your back.

“You’re alright, sweet girl, let it out,” the deep gravel in his voice was soothing.

You gag and heave one last time before you begin to feel like the nausea is subsiding, Price’s arm reaching over to flush the toilet and then bring your body back to lay against him as he leaned back against the tub. Your shorter legs are pulled up to your chest as his thick arms engulf you.

“I’m pregnant,” a sob escapes your throat, a trembling hand brought up to your now teary eyes, wiping away any stray tears that escape.

Everything goes silent around the two of you, and you could tell John was formulating his response and keeping himself from reacting in a way he would regret. His arms go slack around you and you begin sobbing even harder at his action.

“Did you not take your pills?” Was all he could muster asking.

“I did, I did-!” you cry, turning your body to face him now.

“Y/N, you know what this could do to us– to me, right?” Price’s voice was dangerously low now, a look of pure anger painted on his face.

You knew all too well what this situation could do to you both. Demotion, dishonorable discharge, enemies who had a target on both of you– but more specifically him, would know that there is something precious and innocent that could be easily taken away.

Price goes quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks to himself for a moment, “I think you should consider your options.”

“So that’s it? You’re putting all of this on me?” your heart begins to sink into your stomach, knowing damn well that this was his way of telling you that he wanted to cut all contact and act like this situation never happened.

“What will you have me do, Y/N, hm?” He points a finger at himself, the tip poking into his hardened chest.

“At least consider options with me– it takes two-!”

“No, Y/N. No,” Price rises to his feet, leaving you in a puddle of anxiousness on the bathroom floor, your eyes frantically watching his hand swing the bathroom door open.

“Please don’t–,” you reach an arm out to him, but he’s gone so quickly from your sight.

You find out the next day that you were pardoned from work, formation, and PT for a full month, knowing that Price did this to allow you time to think about what to do with the pregnancy. You hardly left your room, and when you did, it was usually just to eat and do laundry. Soap tried to stop you a few times to catch up and ask how you were doing, but you instead offered a smile and a quick, “I’ve gotta go,”. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried out of his mind for you, sad eyes watching you disappear down the hallways. He was often your partner in missions and would offer a helping hand if and when you needed it. Maybe he just needed to wait for you to come to him? He would always wait for you.

You stared at your discharge papers for days, the blanks filled out neatly, and the pen you used sat atop the thin packet. You were sure that this is what you wanted, and this would save John from the possibility of having everything he worked so hard for to be snatched away. No one would know he was the father of the baby, and you weren’t going to make him be something he didn’t want to be. You wouldn’t inform him of the gender, due date, name– anything, if he didn’t want to know, in which you knew he wouldn’t.

You wanted to make this as easy as possible– slowly cutting off your military life, and going back home to make a new life for yourself and for your baby. Your mother was in agreement, telling you to come home and to get yourself back on your feet, that she’d be happy to watch over the baby while you worked. You would have your childhood room back and your mother’s cooking, and that was enough to put a smile on your face even for just a moment through the rough patch. She knew that having support was the most important thing for you.

You gather the papers in your hands, tapping them on the counter to even them out. Taking a moment to think one last time if this was truly what you wanted, you let out a shaky breath, leaving your room and making your way to John’s office, your fingers grasping the papers tight enough to wrinkle them.

You knock three times on Price’s door, waiting for him to call out an answer for you to enter, “come in,” you finally hear him say.

He straightens in his desk chair, the air in the room becoming thick and tense. He looks to be stressed out, his hand soon covering his forehead as he attempts to relax. You sit in one of the two chairs across from his desk, sliding your filled out discharge paperwork over to him. Price’s vascular arm reaches over to grab the papers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. At first, he thinks that these are adoption papers for the baby, in which he would sign the parts that said “father’s information”, but he soon realizes that’s not what he was given.

“You’re leaving the military?” his eyes darted up to look at you.

“I won’t make this difficult. You don’t need to know a thing if you don’t want to, you won’t need to be present, just sign those papers and we’re gone.”

“The Task Force needs you,” Price’s voice falters, his usual soft tone you were so used to is back.

“I want to raise this baby, John– our baby,” you feel yourself spiraling, your hormones making it difficult to keep your composure.

You could see his eyes flutter closed, his body shaking as he releases a large huff from his lungs, “you’ll be discharged immediately. I don’t want to see a trace of you left in that room.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had very little to pack up in your room, your mother having come from London to help you carry anything heavy. Soap had stopped by your room after hearing the news that you were being discharged. His thoughts soared wildly as he watched your mother pack away your things as you carried out items to her car, thinking of how sick you must have been to have to leave the military immediately. You must have been in need of serious medical treatment to just drop everything and leave. His form standing outside your door caught your mother’s attention, making his entire body tense. Turning on his heel, he prayed to whatever or whomever that your mother hadn’t seen the stray tear fall down his cheek.

Your civilian clothing felt a little tight around your lower abdominal area, your belly poking out slightly, bloating from the pregnancy hormones and constipation since the baby was still very tiny to make an appearance quite yet. You were half tempted to keep your jeans unbuttoned but with it being so hot out, your shirt was cropped right above your belly button. You had to keep cool somehow and you weren’t sacrificing your style for your growing belly. You and your belly bump can be stylish together.

“Is this the last of it, darling?” Your mother questions, placing the last box in the trunk of her sedan.

“Yes,” you answer, looking around one last time before opening the passenger door of the car and slipping inside.

Your eyes caught a glance of Price, who was outside on the training field with a group of soldiers. He was looking right at you, and it sent a flood of different emotions to wash over you. Tears stung your eyes, your throat swelling as you tried your best to keep yourself from falling apart. You were prepared to do this whole parenthood thing alone, but you were hoping that you would at least have him present for the sake of the child– not even for the sake of you because you weren’t what mattered in this situation.

You had fallen madly for him but your job had made it very apparent that feelings for your superior could be a whirlwind of repercussions to pay. You had to play it safe in the shadows. John would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t also felt the same feelings as you, but kept it no more than a hook-up every once in a while. This was the most difficult decision you could ever make– deciding to walk away.

It had taken you weeks to acclimate to civilian life after being in the military for so long. You were freshly 18 and had just graduated secondary school when you joined the Royal Army, just entering your mid 20’s when you passed selection for the SAS, Price was the first to congratulate you, shaking your hand and offering you a warm smile, the creases in the corners of his eyes sending you into a tizzy– goodness he was so handsome. His face was shaved then however. You loved his chops when he started growing them out, your eyes catching his own as he carefully combed through the thick auburn beard hairs with a sandalwood comb in the middle of his debriefings.

You sat at the dining room table of your childhood home, scanning over the words on your laptop screen. You had gotten a new job and you were going to start working remotely from the house, which was perfect because of the baby coming around February. You had since gotten into a new doctor’s office, your mother accompanying you for support. Her face lit up when she saw the baby floating around on the screen, their little arms covering the front of their face. You had cried more than you liked and your nausea had increased dramatically once leaving the base. You thought it may have been from the stress of leaving your old life behind intermingling with the pregnancy hormones.

Your mother was a huge support, telling you that you could take time to yourself before you found a civilian job. You waved her off however, saying that she had no business having to pick up the slack for her adult child. She had already taken to knitting small items for the baby, and your favorite was the small floppy bunny beanie that was a light cream color, the inside of the ears a dusty pink.

“Have any of your military friends contacted you since leaving?” Your mother asks, peeking up from the cream colored blanket she had started days previous.

“Soap has, but he ended up being deployed before I could answer. He probably thinks I’m dying with having left so suddenly when I was experiencing morning sickness during debrief,” the sigh that left your lips was a sad one, as Soap was someone you had grown quite close to over the years of being in the same barracks and then being on the Task Force together for a short period of time.

“Well hopefully you can remain friends,” the nimble fingers of your mother placed a stitch marker into the blanket.

“One can hope,” you lie.

You were entering your 20th week of pregnancy– halfway to the finish line is what your mother said to you that morning. Her excitement was easy to spot as today was the day you would find the gender of the baby out. Your belly had grown some, but not enough for it to be immediately recognized as a baby bump. Maybe you just ate an entire pizza?

Drinking the last bit of orange juice, to which your mother swore would make the baby more lively in your belly during the ultrasound, you look over the texts in your phone, Soap’s name popping up suddenly. It catches you off guard when you open the text, seeing a picture of Ghost and Price out on the firing range, Price’s hat sitting on top of Ghost’s head as he lay prone on the ground with a sniper rifle. Price had his arms crossed and was seeming to refuse being in the photo, his hand covering his face. Soap hadn’t sent so much as a “hi” in weeks, and you had hoped that he just moved on from the thought of you staying in touch with your old roots. Closing out of the text app, you place your phone face down on the kitchen counter, your heart dropping. You just won’t reply, just like you had been doing before.

Patiently waiting in the exam room at the midwife’s office, you placed a hand on your belly, hoping that soon you would finally be able to feel movement. Your midwife said it’s normal to not have movements until now or even a little later but you were so impatient. Once entering the room, the midwife went over her routine questions, and took your blood pressure.

“Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, are you getting enough water and rest?” The midwife asks, placing herself on the stool next to the ultrasound machine.

“Mum wouldn’t let me live it down if I weren’t,” you answer.

“I believe it,” the midwife chuckles, looking over at your mother who had taken a seat next to you on the exam table, “I would like for you to continue what you’re doing, and if you’re feeling any strange symptoms like dizziness, faintness, seeing stars in your vision, or pains in your chest or ribs, go to the hospital immediately.”

You nod your head, and the midwife starts setting your ultrasound up, helping you lie back on the bed as soon as she’s done. Unbuttoning your jeans, she places a flannel over the top of your jeans to keep the gel from staining them. The lights are then turned off and you begin to relax and clear your mind, ready to see your baby after weeks of waiting. Squeezing a large amount of gel onto your abdomen, the midwife places the transducer of the ultrasound machine onto the mound of gel, rubbing it around to find where the baby is positioned.

“Look at those little puckered lips,” the midwife smiles down at you.

“Oh darling, look at that sweet baby,” your mom was in tears, her emotions always outmatched yours.

As the midwife continues looking at the baby through the monitor, she takes her time going through all of the anatomy of the baby, noting it on the keys of the machine. Your hand was being squeezed so hard by your mother, you thought that your circulation might be cut off after so long. The tiny fingers of the baby were by their mouth, their legs stretching out and scrunching back up.

“What were your bets on the gender, mum?” the midwife asks your mother, the two smiling at each other.

“That’s a little girl in there.”

“Mum is correct,” the midwife points her finger to the wiggling baby, a clear picture of the baby’s gender boldly displayed.

You’re going to have a little girl, Captain.

Squealing with delight with fresh tears coating her cheeks, your mother squeezed your arm and kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you. I’m a grandma to a baby girl.”

While there was downtime, Price often grabbed drinks with the Task Force, his usual military uniform shed and his dog tags resting on his bedside table. The black jumper he wore had gotten a little loose, his appetite scarcely there since you told him about your pregnancy. His anxiety made his mind wander more than he liked. How were you doing? Was your belly finally popping out? Did you start purchasing baby items? He would always ground himself after some time, his internal voice telling him that this was for the safety of himself, and the safety of you and the baby. His baby. But not his baby at the same time, he made that clear with you all those weeks ago.

Clutching a rocks glass in his hands at the bar, Price took a quick swig of the amber liquid as Soap sat to his right, scrolling through his social media timeline. Ghost was at the pool table across the bar, talking with Gaz, who had just taken a shot at a cue ball. It had been raining for days straight, the cool air flowing into the bar with each time the door opened. Were you also experiencing this weather? Or had you gone countries away to escape staying in the same country as your former friend with benefits with whom you now had forever ties with?

“You know, Y/N’s social media was deactivated and she never answers my texts. I wonder if she’s okay?” Soap mumbled, unable to put his mind at ease as to where you went or what happened to you.

“She was honorably discharged from the special forces, she’s probably cutting ties with her old life as much as possible,” Price’s voice was grim, however Soap didn’t quite catch on.

“That’s not like her though– she used to post everyday–!” Soap gestured his hand to his phone, his social media app still open.

“I think it’s best to allow her to move on,” Price slammed the rest of his whiskey, placing the glass back down on the bar with a loud clunk, “she’s been shot, wounded, seen death, caused death, stayed in hospital for weeks altogether in her career– she deserves peace.”

“She was ill, Captain,” those baby blue eyes of Soap’s were now filled with worry.

“You said it yourself: she was experiencing her time of the month.”

“You’ve turned cold recently Captain–.”

“Move on, Soap. That’s the best you can do, for her sake and yours.”

Soap’s emotions were crushed, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his belly. Price knew Soap always cared too much, and that’s what set him apart from many people who had grown a bit cold and cynical while in the SAS– like Ghost for example. It was time for everyone to move on, it had been many weeks since your departure, and the only one who seemed to hold on the most was Soap… at times. Price struggled too but he was a Captain, he needed to be a leader and offer guidance to his soldiers, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but needed to hear.

Holding his glass up to signal the barkeep for another pour, Price sighs, watching Soap scroll some more on his social media timeline, hitting the search bar and typing in anything and everything he could think of just to find you. He then sees him type in your mother’s name, his body language picking up in relief when a profile popped up, he just hoped your mother’s timeline wasn’t completely private.

“Shite,” Soap mutters, disbelief flooding his tone, “she’s fuckin’ pregnant?”

The Captain’s heart might as well have stopped beating right then and there when he heard Soap. Looking over at Soap’s phone, Soap adjusted the phone to show Price the screen, a post from two weeks ago exclaiming that you had just found out about the gender, a picture of you attached with a pink cupcake in your hand.

“It’s a girl,” Price stared at the photo of you for way too long, his eyes softening when he saw that pregnancy glow, your cheeks becoming more filled out, and the swell in your lower belly being caressed by your hand.

“Lucky lad, the father is,” Soap locked his phone, placing it face down on the bar, soon cradling his head in his hands. Soap is now trembling, a relieved yet saddened sigh leaving his mouth.

Yeah, a lucky lad he would have been in a different world.

Lying in the bath, the bubbles that had been added to the water thick and covering most of your body, your hands rested on your belly, rubbing the soft and stretched skin gently. Twenty two weeks along and you still hadn’t felt movements, and it was starting to worry you. Most people felt movement already. Sinking lower into the warm bath water, you feel the tension in your shoulders release after having worked all day. Come to think of it, your desk was still in a disarray with papers and pens and you had no energy to clean it up at the moment.

Stilling yourself in the water and staring ahead at the faucet, you notice your stomach twitch, thinking that at first it was just a reflex, until it happened a few more times. You place the tips of your fingers where the twitches were happening, flinching when you could feel little taps.

“Is that you in there, trying for your mummy’s attention?” You whisper, and another tap could be felt.

Tears escape your eyes, quickly rolling down your cheeks when you think about how John is missing out on these moments. He would never be able to feel his little girl’s first movements. You wanted to imagine him being right there after you called out his name, his large hand reaching down into the tub, brushing softly against your swollen belly. He would wait patiently, at first discouraged that he missed those little kicks. Until finally, those little taps started up again, his baby blue eyes lighting up as he felt the tiniest movements against his palm.

Wiping your tears away with the butts of your palms, you let out a shaky breath, attempting to ground yourself as much as you can in this moment, knowing that tears and sadness were not going to help get yourself through this. But it did feel good to cleanse your soul with a few tears after they built up for so long.

When John had gotten to his room back at the barracks after downing three glasses of whiskey, he could feel his body give out from under him as soon as he shut the door behind him. His back slides down the door, his bottom meeting the cold tile, hands cradling his face as he chewed his bottom lip raw, the dull sting of the open wound radiating on his mouth. Hot torrents of anxiety begin to course through his body, tears stinging his eyes as he feels like he might crawl out of his skin. Clawing at his jumper collar, he feels like he’s suffocating, his breaths uneven and raspy.

He missed you– missed those nights where he crawled into bed with you, your limbs entwining in a warm and comforting embrace after a hard day of work. His hands would search for the feeling of your soft skin in the darkness, only to feel an empty coldness on the sheets where your body should have been. You weren’t even his and vice versa but his attachment to you was obviously present from the beginning. His eyes always sought you out in the room, always scanning the battlefields to make sure you were safe. He should have pulled out all those times, knowing damn well that no birth control was 100% effective, other than abstinence or sterilization. He had gotten too comfortable with you, too lost in the warmth, the comfort you brought him. The smiles and the joking, the playful smacks you would give him, the wrestling and tickling matches that very often turned into that hot and heavy sex that left you both breathless and in a heavy daze.

John knew he needed to move on, and to allow you the opportunity to live a happy and safe life with the baby, away from the military, the SAS, and the Task Force, but he was stuck on the idea that things could have been so different. If his duties weren’t so important– ridding the world of everything ugly and scary, meaning that his daughter wouldn’t have to one day live in fear, he would do it a million times over. No matter how much it hurt– no, how much it killed him, or how difficult it was to go day after day not knowing who or what she might be when she finally came into the world. How he’d never be able to see you become the mother you talked about being one day, holding a brand new baby while coming down off of the adrenaline, sweat still clinging to your forehead and cheeks. How he wanted so badly to witness that ecstatic yet exhausted “I did it,” come from your mouth, your tired eyes peering up at him. Being your support system while you struggled to nurse, changing the baby’s first nappy, letting you rest while he gently rocked and soothed the fragile bundle, whispering how much he loved her already.

“Fuck–!” Price shouted, throwing his car keys across the room.

At 32 weeks, your baby shower took place, friends that had kept in contact with you over the years came, as well as family members that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were in a comfortable maxi dress as your belly had gotten too big and it felt like the skin on your belly was always itchy so the soft fabric of the dress played a part in keeping that feeling away. There was a mountain of gifts that sat around the recliner in the den and you were overwhelmed with how much people cared to spoil the baby this much.

As you sit in the recliner unwrapping the gifts, you smile for the pictures your mom begged to take so she could show you off, holding up each and every item you received. Blankets, nappies, outfits, baby gear, necessities, and even postpartum kits sat in a corner neatly. You were crying, feeling so undeserving of the kindness, but as your family and friends saw you, they all offered their comfort in the form of words of affirmation and bone crushing hugs. That you were loved and supported in this particularly difficult and confusing time. Your friends and family would have loved John.

Your mother brings in another gift out of nowhere, her arms barely able to wrap around it, let alone carrying it over to you. Confused, you make her drop it, your body lifting from the recliner to help her set it down, her hand waving you off to not help her with something so heavy in your condition. She gives you a look and shrugs, saying there was no name on the gift. Tearing the wrapping paper off, you see a beautiful bassinet pictured on the large box. No one had fessed up to getting the gift for you, so you sat confused for longer than you would have liked as everyone else mingled.

It had taken days for Price to figure out what he wanted to do for your upcoming baby shower. Your mother had posted an event, not realizing it was a public post, and fortunately for John, he knew your address from your paperwork and files. He found the sweetest bassinet, a cream color with a lacey pink border. It had a little storage area at the bottom so that you could keep any baby items at arm’s reach. Once he had put his payment and your address in, he hit the confirm button. He just hoped it would arrive on time.

Sitting back in his desk chair, he listened to the busy hallways in which soldiers congregated and conversed while on their down time. His mind wandered to the most recent pictures your mother had posted, and your belly had grown bigger and you smiled so large. He imagined lying in bed, shirt removed, sweatpants on, your warm body next to his in a night dress that had become too short on you with your bump, his hand caressing the bottom of your abdomen, whispering sweet words. You were pressing your lips to his own, lingering for a moment and breathing in each other’s breath.

“God, I hope you’re doing alright,” Price’s voice came out in a near whisper.

Work has become a distraction of sorts, the meeting on your screen with several of your coworkers becoming something like a white noise as your mind wanders, your pen hanging loosely between your fingers as you stare into the void. A plate of biscuits and a cup of tea had been placed on your desk almost an hour ago by your mother, but they hadn’t been so much as even touched. You had a pretty significant headache that had gnawed away at the back of your head for the past few days that not even a paracetamol here and there helped. Thinking that the hormones had everything to do with it, you brushed it off without a second thought.

“Y/N, what do you think about this?” Your coworker asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I think it’s a great idea,” you answer, nodding and smiling into your webcam.

Catching the fully set up bassinet that had been put in the other corner of the room in your video feed, you smile, placing your hands on your now nearly full term belly– 36 weeks to be exact. Your coworkers dismissed the meeting after agreeing to start the new project that had been outlined for a few weeks now, the small details and start date finally figured out.

You stand from your desk chair, a hand placed on the underside of your belly to keep your center of gravity balanced and to keep your pelvis from hurting from the weight of your belly. The dress you wore swayed as you waddled over to the corner of the room where all of the baby’s things had been set up. Grunting as your knees bend to the floor, you drag the hospital bag you had been slowly putting together over the past few days. There were folded onesies, and knitted cardigans that you still had yet to pack away, as well as a small bag of toiletries. John would have chewed you out for being so carefree on such important things such as the hospital bags. He would have had his bag packed for weeks and sitting at the front door.

Wincing from a twinge of pain in your chest, you stop what you’re doing for a moment to wait for it to subside. It could have been a trapped gas bubble– pregnancy and all of its little quirks. When the pain doesn't subside, you attempt to get onto your feet, but cry out when the pain worsens.

“Mum–!” You cry out, bracing your hand on the bassinet and clutching your chest.

Hearing your mother stomp up the stairs quickly, she barges into the room, rushing to your side and helping you up, “what happened, sweetheart?” she questions, eyes wide.

“I’m having really bad pains in my chest,” you begin to cry, hot tears pooling in your eyes, scared out of your mind for the baby.

After little to no convincing, your mother packed you and the bags into the car. It felt like the longest drive to the hospital ever, the diaper bag sitting in your lap and your own hospital bag at your feet, the baby kicking the wind out of your lungs, so you thought that she was hopefully doing just fine with all of her movements. There was a fresh sheet of snow on the ground and icicles formed on the trees, the freezing January air nipping at your skin.

A nurse brought your mother and yourself over to triage, hooking you up to a non-stress test, the nodes placed cozily around your stomach, and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm that was inflating and squeezing the life out of you. You knew that 140/90 was not where a pregnant person’s blood pressure should be, and you were certain the nurse was going to have you pee in a cup to check for proteins.

Sure enough, you had to pee in a cup, handing it over to the nurse when you were finished and it was a hard enough feat to reach under your belly. Thankfully though, the non-stress test wasn’t alarming, the baby’s heart rate staying in a normal range even with the issues you were facing.

“I think it’s safe to induce you right now, I’m not liking the looks of your blood pressure and labs,” the midwife sits in a stool across from your bed.

Everything started off manageable– the pains, you were able to breathe through. Your mother stood by your side the whole time, clutching your hand when you needed it. You sat cross-legged in a hospital gown, the bed placed at the highest position, and an IV placed in the crease of your elbow. It was five hours later when the pitocin had started causing the most excruciating pains you had ever felt, and you had been shot many times in the SAS.

Crying out and grasping the handles of the bed, your breathing became ragged and your mouth dried out and you were so happy when your mother applied lip balm to your mouth to keep them from cracking. Each time your progress was checked, the pain worsened, the labor pains feeling like a searing hot knife was dragging across your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly for John to be here, sitting across from you on the bed, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while you groaned through your pains, but it was your mother who stood in his place, her tender touches breaking you out of your swimming mind.

Hours later, your water had broken on its own, and now you were in the home stretch and the anxiousness began to flow throughout your body, knowing that your little girl was to make an appearance by the beginning of the next day.

John’s body was wired, sleep not taking him this evening, his hand resting on his bare stomach as he splayed out on his bed, the blanket barely covering his waist. He scrolled mindlessly for hours on his phone when he finally decided to browse your mother’s social media, hoping that she had updated with anything that had to do with you. He shot up from his pillow when he saw a photo of you sitting up in a hospital bed, and IV and wires hooked up all over your body.

“Posted three hours ago,” he mutters to himself, tapping your photo and zooming in on your face– you looked so angelic.

His baby would be here so soon and it made his heart skip beats, anxiety flowing through his veins. He could be there right now in place of your mother, whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear, rocking with you and helping you breathe through the pain. Even when on the battlefield while injured, he knew you were terrible at controlling your breathing, often passing out and waking back up with him chewing your head off.

“Make sure to breathe, sweet girl, you’ve got this,” he spoke almost silently– a whisper off his lips.

Lying back down, he knew immediately that he was not going to sleep until he knew you had delivered safely and that the baby was okay. Knowing how much your mother posted updates about you, it was surefire that she’d post a picture of that sweet baby as soon as she arrived. What were you going to name her? Would you give her your surname? Of course you would, he doesn’t have that badge of honor– of his kid taking his name, when he wasn’t present. What would his daughter look like? Hopefully like you because you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.

The smallest hand was wrapped around your finger, swaddled in the cream colored blanket your mother knitted just for her. The baby came out kicking and screaming after almost two hours of pushing. You cried out for John, wanting him by your side more than anything. To hold your hand, to kiss you so deeply when the baby came and was placed on your chest. Your mother knew how much you missed John, your forlorn looks never fooling her, and so she felt great sympathy hearing you scream out for your past lover.

“Look at you, Bunny,” you whisper, stroking the soft cheek of your little girl ever-so-softly.

“Oh, you did such a good job, my love,” a kiss was placed on your cheek by your mother, her hand resting on the back of the baby’s bunny hat covered head.

You would go through the pain of carrying her and bringing her forth a million times over, your heart swelling so much it might have exploded when your eyes caught the looks of her face. She was so perfect, so tiny. The moment she was placed on your chest, her eyes peered right into yours– those same crystal blue eyes she shared with her father.

It was late morning the next day. John hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes heavy and Soap was late to debriefing– like that was a new thing though. He decided to sit at the table instead of the podium at the front of the room where the projector screen hung behind it, too exhausted to stand for more than needed. Gaz was away on deployment, leaving Ghost and Soap to sit in the seats to the right and left of him. Ghost’s eyes peered at his newest deployment papers, flipping through the pages pretty quickly as he was a fast reader. Soap had his head down, phone hidden under the table while there was a moment of silence– a break of sorts, in John’s meeting.

“She had the baby, bonnie lass she is,” Soap says out loud, Ghost looking up from his papers with a quiet hum.

John frantically dug his phone out of his pocket, searching your mother’s name on social media. There you were, holding the tiniest bundle in your arms, swaddled inside a knitted blanket with her hands tucked under her chin. He had to leave, he needed a moment. The chair screeches when he stands, Soap’s attention snapping to his Captain, who started rushing out the door.

Sharing a confused look with Ghost, Soap stood from his seat and left the room. Why did he leave in such a hurry? Why did he react like that in general? Soap was searching his brain for the possible answer. Come to think of it, Soap never noticed a gentleman by your side during your pregnancy and your mother had mentioned in posts how you were so strong and she was lucky to be by your side during this new adventure. Was John that baby’s father? Why was he not there with you? But then it all began to make sense the longer Soap thought– the SAS and Task Force were always keeping themselves hot on the tails of dangerous people, and those dangerous people would stop at nothing to take everything away from them. Maybe this was a mutual decision– and exactly why you left the military.

John’s breathing was heavy as he shut the door to his room behind him. He felt unstable on his feet, nearly tripping on his way to sit on his bed. Your photo was zoomed in on his phone, your hair was disheveled, your hospital gown hanging from your shoulders– he was guessing you’d already attempted to feed the baby with how lazily it had been tied back up. John’s eyes focus on the baby, his heart skipping a beat when he looks at her sweet button nose and wispy little hairs poking out from her knitted bunny hat. Oh how beautiful his girls looked after all of their hard work. Pride swells in his chest, he knew this must have been so difficult, but you did it and looked even more beautiful than before as a new mother.

The nights were long, the days melted together, and you found yourself lost. Though your mother lent a hand when she was available, you had taken on so much so quickly and had no adjustment time, as having a baby would do. Between nursing the baby and running on less sleep than you had gotten on some of your deployments, you were ingesting more caffeine than you liked, and you often found yourself nodding off at random times. But that little girl had been the easiest to please so far. As long as she got milk, had a clean nappy, warm clothes, and cuddles, she was content.

John would have been the one to wake up at the first signs of movement in the bassinet– he was an incredibly light sleeper and would often rise earlier than most of his team. He’d say how much of a waste it was to sleep the morning away when you could be productive and get more important things done before the day actually needed to start. You weren’t much of a morning person and would often tell John to let you sleep in until the last possible minute if you stayed in his room for the night, but you always managed to slip out of his room before anyone came into the halls.

Your mind wandered more during your maternity leave, often you questioned what John was doing, if he knew his daughter had arrived safely and if he knew how beautiful she was. Did he have any deployments in the time you were discharged to now? You were sure he was busy, as he always had been.

A few weeks passed and John was on leave for three weeks, visiting home and executing plans he made with Soap for the day, who was taking a leave around the same time as John for a wedding. While walking the streets of London, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Soap to his side, the two talked about quick bite options nearby. John had a cafe in mind, mentioning that they had great coffee and sandwiches.

The late winter air nipped John’s nose, the tip dusted a light pink. He had a black beanie placed atop his head and a black peacoat over his jumper. Soap’s outfit resembled the outfit John wore, save the beanie, but add a scarf. Soap had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions since having the baby, but of course, you didn’t answer. Soap knew that he shouldn’t keep trying to pry and answer out of you, but he also knew that you needed the support of a friend, even though he wanted to be more than a friend.

Price felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, telling Soap to go on ahead and order for them both– Price wasn’t picky. Opening the door to the cafe, Soap felt an immediate warmth wash over him and the heavy smell of coffee filling his nose. Taking a spot in the short line, he stared at the menu above, until he became distracted by the woman in front of him, kissing a very small baby on the head, cooing and rocking her body as her hands caressed the sling that held the baby to her chest. He knew your voice anywhere.

“Y/N?” He places his large hand on your shoulder, spinning you to face him.

Your eyes were wide, a scared look on your face until you noticed Soap’s familiar face. Barely able to string words together, Soap took you by the arm and dragged you to the side, his arms engulfing you in an embrace, careful as to not smoosh the baby’s head between your two chests.

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?” Soap’s low voice vibrates the side of your face as your arms wrap around him.

“I didn’t want my old life to follow me because of her,” your voice trembles.

“But you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“I do though,” you pull away, looking at Soap with watery eyes.

Feeling his heart sink, knowing that what you said was true, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be the one to hold you– support you, and keep you safe. Even though what Price was doing was carrying out the same purpose.

“She’s a beauty,” Soap nods to the sleeping baby covered almost entirely inside your sling, her little face settled against your chest, lips puckering as she stirs to get more comfortable.

“Thank you Johnny,” you smile, stroking her cheek softly, then adjusting the knitted bunny hat to sit closer to her eyebrows.

Johnny– he hadn’t heard you say his real name in so long, it was like a treat hearing it leave your soft lips.

“Reach out to me from time to time, just so I know you’re doing okay?” Soap pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his words through to you.

Nodding with a soft smile, you could hear your name being called by the barista. Grabbing your coffee, you turn to exit the cafe, offering Soap a soft “bye,” as you pass him. You wrap your thick shawl around the baby tight, holding onto her with one hand while you balance your coffee in the other. You were only minutes from your mother’s house, and the fresh air was something you needed after being cooped up in the house for so long.

Then you see him– John. He was ending a call on his phone, placing it back in his coat pocket before setting off on his walk to the cafe to meet back up with Soap. Your heart was pounding, and almost as if the baby senses your unease, she begins to stir and whimper. You walk closer and closer to where John’s position is by a lamp post. His eyes spot you and his body freezes in place. You keep walking, shushing the baby softly, your hand placed on her back to let her know her mother was right here.

“You’re alright, Little Bunny,” you say into her hat, softly kissing the crown of her head as you pass John.

His daughter was right there, cozily pressed against your body in the chilly climate. The baby wore a cream knitted bunny ear hat, one ear flopping over the side of the sling. She looked so much like the both of you, it almost scared him. He wanted to hold her— hold you. It ate away at his insides, turning his guts to liquid as he watched your eyelashes flutter down to the ground, watching your feet.

Tears were falling like mad down your face as you passed him without a word, John watching you in disbelief– he didn’t think he would be able to rest his eyes upon you again, not after going this long without contact. But it was for the best, you both knew this.

His eyes followed you until you were no longer in sight, making sure you were absolutely safe with the baby. Life could be different, he could run after you and grovel on his knees for forgiveness. To beg you to forget he was ever cold to you and to start fresh. But he couldn’t, especially not after how things ended and with knowing he’d jeopardize yours and the baby’s safety.

It was days later that you had run into Soap and John while out in London. You hadn’t slept right in days and it was a mixture of having a newborn who needed your attention and the anxiousness of seeing your old lover and not being able to think about a thing other than him.

Your mother’s footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs and she soon appears in the doorway with a small parcel. Handing it to you and planting herself on your bed next to you, she waits for you to open it. As you tear into the parcel, peeling the tape and opening the box, you look inside and see a knitted bunny, the yarn pink and soft. Pulling the bunny out, you notice a note attached to it, neatly folded and taped shut. As you carefully open the note, your eyes scan over the words written on it. You knew that handwriting— John’s handwriting.

“For Little Bunny.”

#cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you

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liure00 · 5 months

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Mixing Stuff Masterpost for Vocal Synth Users

i'll say a few things here and there on how i approach mixing based on a set of guidelines i've been giving thru learning. i won't go 100% and i encourage you research further on your own as everyone has a different perspective of certain concepts. whats important is that you understand the concept so that you are able to interpolate on it with your own liberties. yeah. please read the links before looking at my commentary or you won't understand what im saying.

Some DAWs, Their Guides, & Some Freebies: One of the first things you should do is pick a DAW and learn how to use it and its functions to streamline your mixing process.

Free DAWs: The Best Available in 2023 by Produce Like A Pro

Audacity / DarkAudacity (i like darkaudacity): has a section of the site dedicated to tutorials on using Audacity!

Reaper: has a 3 hour course FREE course on mixing!

FL Studio: has a demo version you can pretty much use forever with a few.........exceptions. I won't be linking any cracked versions though. Here's a manual for this program since many people use it!

Free VST Plugins by Bedroom Producers Blog

37 Best Free Mixing VST Plugins by hiphopmakers

ORDER IN THE COURT!: The order of plugins is more important than you think. These links should also introduce some terms we use in the audio production world (like "gain staging" or "EQing")

WHAT'S THE BEST EFFECTS CHAIN ORDER FOR MIXING? by Icon Collective:

The Order Of Things: Audio Plug-ins by AskAudio

Plugin order is viewed from "top to bottom". BASICALLY... most like to gain stage -> EQ -> compress -> saturate -> MORE EQing -> whatever else at this point, but i do my process a bit differently. don't be afraid to bend the rules a little bit. but the guidelines are there for a reason.....based on what they do

Basics: I'll link to some tutorials to elaborate on what was listed by Icon Collective's list.

Gain Staging: Gain Staging Like a Pro by Sweetwater

Saturation: Saturation in Mixing – Instant Warmth, Glue and Fullness with One Plugin by Tough Tones (soundgoodizer fans make some fucking noise i guess)

EQ: SUBTRACTIVE VS ADDITIVE EQ (WHEN TO USE EACH & WHY) by Producer Hive

Compression: THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO AUDIO COMPRESSION by Icon Collective + Audio Compression Basics by Universal Audio

Modulation: Modulation Effects: Flanging, Phase Shifting, and More by Universal Audio

Time Based Effects: Reverb Vs. Delay: Complete Guide To 3D Mixing by Mastering.com

Audio Busing/Routing/Sending Tracks: Your guide to busing and routing audio tracks like a pro by Splice

Limiters: 10 BEST LIMITER PLUGINS FOR MIXING AND MASTERING by Icon Collective

Sidechaining: Sidechain compression demystified: what it is and how to use it by Native Instruments (i dont know anything about this lol)

Automation: Mix Automation 101: How to Automate Your Sound For a Better Mix by Landr (p.s learn how to write automation in your respective programs)

Last note: great. these are the main things you should focus on understanding in mixing. now you are FREE my friend!

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Bonus: Tempo Mapping in Reaper (if you want to learn how to midi songs with bpm changes!!!)

#vocal synth #tutorial #masterpost #mixing #utau #vocaloid #synth v #synthesizer v #cevio #voisona #neutrino #mixing tips #audio production

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prince-kallisto · 5 months

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Crowley’s Special Lesson Themes Analysis

HELPPPPPPPP OMGGGGGGG WTF

Okay okay okay, first of all, I’m really flattered when some of y’all say I’m perceptive and such due to my theories, but tell me why I literally JUST realized that the lesson theme changes when Crowley drops in for a Special Lesson?!?!? 😭😭😭😭 L Kallisto moment. -100 perception.

Im not kidding I was literally so focused on Crowley’s chibi form that I never noticed that the music changed when Special Lessons were activated 💀 Self-roasting aside, I immediately went to search up the OSTs for Special Lessons. A huge thank you to this user on YouTube. I compiled the three videos just for my personal reference, but I highly recommend to listen to these songs they’re such a bop!!! 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

I find it really fascinating that the “Dire Crowley” theme (the song that plays when you first open the game) is very foreboding, but the Special Lesson songs are rather flamboyant. Maybe I’m just hearing it wrong, but I like how a ringing bell-like sound can be heard in the Special Lessons songs. It seems like the passage of time through bells is a shared motif in Crowley’s songs? It could also be a reference to school bells.

I have a theory that these Special Lesson theme songs represent Crowley’s relationship and dynamic with each of the staff members. I separated each song into their different section to talk about, including their bpm/tempo, just because I think the details put into these songs as amazing! Note, I don’t know much about music and instruments haha, so please correct or feel free to elaborate on any information ∑(ﾟДﾟ)

Alchemy Special Lesson BGM (Crewel)

-100 bpm, Allegretto, and in D minor. Allegretto is lively, but it must be executed with a sense of restraint, elegance, and precision. It is not like Allegro, which tends to be happy and upbeat. Allegretto is quite literally “less than Allegro,” so it’s restrained. D minor is a key that is often related to feelings of desperation or distress, which is fitting for Crewel’s students. Although don’t take anything I say about the keys too literally (*ﾟ∀ﾟ*) “Major=Happy, Minor=Sad” is a gross oversimplification of keys, and a song can represent any emotion regardless the key it’s in. However, I think it’s worth mentioning because keys are still chosen purposefully to guide the listener to an interpretation of the music! ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

-This is honestly one of my favorite songs from the game. I am LIVING for the doublebass in the background. It’s so jaunty and lively despite its deceptively simple sound. It keeps the tempo very well, I love it

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-I relistened to the “Cruella De Vil” song that Roger sings in 101 Dalmatians, and it’s what gave me the idea that Crowley combines his theme with the individual teachers. This song has a elegant yet foreboding vibe to it, much like Roger says about Cruella: “she’s like a spider waiting for the kill.” If you listen to instrumental versions of this song, I feel like the vibe is there

-The Alchemy song feels a bit tense, especially near the end, where is feels like the instruments are fighting for attention and overlapping each other. Although Crowley and Crewel are both (SEEMINGLY) classy and get along surprisingly well in canon, both of their “teacher modes” are very intense. E.g Crewel with the whole pup thing, and Crowley just being unreasonable over all haha. Perhaps it is why Crewel and Crowley very rarely are on screen together? For both Crewel and Crowley to be present in a Special Lesson must be very stressful for the students, with Crewel being strict and demanding and Crowley just being nosy haha.

-Their relationship fascinates me, as they both seem to respect each other a lot. For Crowley, it makes sense, as he generally speaks favorably of the other staff members. But Crewel is rather critical of both Vargas and Trein, so why is he so tolerant of Crowley’s rather unreasonable behavior? Crewel seems to respect him and consider him to be kind, even though it’s obvious Crowley is not. And like I said, they don’t interact a lot in canon, and they mostly do when the other staff members are there too, so there’s very little time of them talking to each other specifically. But then it made me think how crows/ravens and wolves have a mutually beneficial relationship in the wild, with crows leading wolves to possible prey, and the crows feeding on the carcass once the wolves make the kill and eat their portion of the prey. Research has even discovered that ravens have close bonds with specific wolves in a pack, and often play tug-a-war with wolf puppies with sticks. Thus, ravens are often referred to as “wolf birds.” Due to this, some crows and ravens get along with bigger dogs too, as crows/ravens tend to like canines. So perhaps Crowley and Crewel’s positive relationship is a reference to this, and how they may just instinctually like each other? 🤔 Because I cannot think of a reference from the 101 Dalmatians, Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty to be made here with these two characters.

-So going back to how the instruments seem to be fighting each other in the end, perhaps it represents how differing Crowley and Crewel’s personalities and teaching methods are. Crowley is strict when necessary, but he’s far more tolerant with student antics and often acts even more immature than the students sometimes and allows fights/conflicts for the students “personal growth,” whereas Crewel has this intensity and energy with the students at all times, never wanting them to be out of line in any matter at all. Like the clash of their hands-off and hands-on methods, but at the end of the day, they’re both rather strict and it’s unfortunate when the students have to deal with them at the same time haha! In their Alchemy Special Lesson voice lines, both Jack and Rook express how intense the room gets, and Room saying HE feels like the prey now. Several other students say how they feel a chill in the air during Alchemy special lessons, with even Floyd saying he gets the “heebie-jeebies.”

History Special Lesson BGM (Trein)

-100 bpm, Allegretto, and in F major. Allegretto is a common tempo in classical music, alongside Allegro and Adante, so it’s fitting that Alchemy and History follow suit. Ernst Pauer describes F major to express peace and joy, but to have an underlying passing regret and melancholy. I could think of few possible “passing regrets,” with Trein in particular with the passing of his wife, whom he remembers fondly and has many habits in her memory. And of course, History in general causes many regrets.

-After listening to this one, I immediately went to go listen to the BGMs from Briar Valley in Book 7 lmaooo…I find it interesting how prominent wind instruments are shared between these songs, but I need to analyze further before I can say something more definitive 🏃‍♂️ It is interesting how the History Special Leason theme has this whimsical and fantastical feel to it- it’s very fitting.

-On this note, the middle-ish section of the song reminds me a bit of a marching band! Which is. Interesting considering it’s military origins 👀but maybe I have to admit that this is a stretch haha…something to think about though when I analyze Book 7’s music in the future.

-I’m really in love with the “call and response” theme they have with the woodwind instruments (clarinet and piccolo?? I’m apologize if that’s inaccurate, I don’t know much about woodwind instruments 😭 I listened to samples and just made my best guess,,,) clarinet plays a melody and a piccolo responds and repeats the same sound. Not to be dramatic af, but it lowkey sounds like a pair of songbirds who are courting each other, which makes me sad because I’m not normal over my silly Crowley theories🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️ When courting, a songbird “sings”so the other bird they are courting can respond. If the courting is successful, the pair duets the same tune, which is exactly what the piccolo and flute are doing. Crowley x Trein is real… (I’m kidding HELP). It goes to show that even though Trein scolds Crowley a lot, they clearly have some faith in each other, especially in Book 6 when Crowley assigns Trein as temporary Headmage. This “call and response” is a representation of this faith, with one calling, and the other responding when it’s necessary.

-Or if you’re ridiculous like me, it’s sad in context because Crowley is an isolated character, despite all the pairs of raven statues around the school haha!

-Interestingly enough, this is the one song out of the Alchemy and Flight themes that does not have a the “ringing bell” I was talking about. Interesting this is missing in the History class, as if time is not relevant/time has stopped. Or perhaps how sense it’s history, we are not at the “present” time.

-Overall, this song feels far more harmonious than the Alchemy song. I think it goes to show how genuinely dedicated Trein is about the study of History, given he’s done fieldwork in the past. Trein is able to keep Crowley relatively in line just like the students, so the song flows smoothly.

Flight Special Lesson BGM (Vargas)

-140 bpm, Vivace, and in A minor. Vivace means brisk, lively, which signals to the musicians to play with spirit and energy. This tempo is AMAZING, because Crewel and Trein’s were both at 100 bpm, right? But this song is at 140 bpm. It gives a dynamic sense of movement and vigor to the song. At this beat, it’s known that it may make some listeners feel restless, due to the beat being faster than a resting heartbeat range. It was an incredible choice for the Flight lessons with Vargas, as it is a gym/workout class! 140 bpm falls comfortably in aerobic exercises heart rate range, especially since where referring to teenage boys. Haha this may be obvious in music theory/composition, but I thought it was cool! (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

-I was surprised by this one, for how prominent the electric guitar is instead of the orchestra at the start of the song! Crewel and Trein go along with the orchestral theme rather well, making it a strong highlight of their respective songs. Compared to the other themes, the guitar feels overbearing. It’s very fitting for Vargas’ personality, for as we see in the special voice lines, Vargas is a bit much even for Crowley

-However, strangely enough it works, as the ending portion combines everything quite well. Vargas is one the staff members who I think has the most positive opinion about Crowley. Although Vargas is overbearing, he and Crowley get along really well. In events like Beanfest, they share an equally concerning enthusiasm of the sport of it all. They seem to have a lot together sharing their predictions and ideas for Beanfest, and Spelldrive is also a shared interest of theirs. Funnily enough, I think Vargas of all people is able to take Crowley’s antics more in stride than the other staff members, and vice versa.

-This song ends in a particularly exuberant manner. It goes to show how excitable both Crowley and Vargas be, and how they have high hopes for their students. Yes, they’re a bit much, but there’s a genuine liveliness they both share. Crowley even plays along with Vargas’ strange ideas, like how in an Unified Exam voice line, Crowley thinks that Vargas’ idea of making the student uniforms with heavier fabric to “build muscles” is a genius idea and he wants to look into it more.

-So perhaps this song deviates a little bit more from the classical themes to represent the antics these two have compared with the other teachers?

Did I overthink these theme songs WAY too much? YES LMAO 😭😭😭 But I am so genuinely surprised at how the different Special Lesson themes were made for each class. You would think that the song would be the same, since Special Lessons are rare and last for a short amount of time. It is why I have these little notes about each song, because if the time was spent to craft unique songs, I feel like there is a purpose and thought put behind it? Hmm, I’d like to study more about music to articulate my thoughts better, because I am very interested in Twisted Wonderland’s songs, and I know very little about music!

Edit: the brilliant and lovely @snakevsnis (💞) also sent me a brilliant interpretation that Crowley may also just be the type to “mimic” the personalities of the people around him, especially based on their habits to blend in. I love this idea! It makes me think how Crowley’s immaturity becomes far more rampant when he’s around the students. He’s even a character with a generous voice range, e.g his deep, serious voice in the opening prologue, versus any other time when he’s silly. It’s to the point where his “true” personality is currently ambiguous, as it tends to shift quite a bit. So yeah, I think these BGMs could be representation of this!!

Anyway if the Alchemy special lesson theme song doesn’t get played at my wedding, what’s even the point anymore. L spouse, L wedding, I’m ditching it immediately and running away into the night, taking all the gifts and money with me so I can finally buy a Crowley plushie (things perfectly sane people say)

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macgyvermedical · 14 days

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hii! what are the effects of prolonged tachycardia with fluctuating bpm ranging from 140-160 for around 30 minutes to a conscious patient? will it cause any brain damage?

The short answer is basically nothing and no.

Tachycardia is any heart rate above 100 in an adult. There are several different kinds of tachycardia, including sinus tachycardia, paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia, atrial fibrillation with RVR, and ventricular tachycardia. Whether the tachycardia is bad for a person has to do with what kind of tachycardia it is, what the heart rate is, and how long the person is in that rhythm.

The first one we'll talk about is sinus tachycardia. Sinus tachycardia is a normal physiological response to the body's demand for more oxygen and nutrients. Sinus tach happens when someone has a fever, is dehydrated, has blood loss, is in shock, or is having a strong emotional response.

It's one of those things that doesn't need treated in and of itself, though figuring out and treating the cause is important. Once the cause is treated, the heart rate usually drops back down to normal.

There are also times when you intentionally bring the heart rate up above 100- for example, exercise. This is also considered sinus tachycardia. When you exercise, you want your heart rate to be in a target zone, which depending on age can be anywhere from 75-170bpm (the younger you are, the higher the target heart rate).

In the case of exercise, a heart rate of 140-160bpm for a half hour would be completely reasonable. In the case of dehydration or shock, you'd really need to fix the problem, but the heart rate itself isn't going to hurt anyone under about 60 who is otherwise healthy.

Paroxysmal Supraventricular Tachycardia (PSVT) is a condition in which the heart rate randomly increases into the high 100s-low 200s. This heart rate is so fast that the heart doesn't have time to fill with blood in between beats. Because of this, not as much blood is getting out of the heart to the brain and body, which means the person may feel faint, short of breath, or dizzy or even pass out.

People in PSVT may spontaneously convert back into a normal rhythm, or they may need a drug called adenosine given to change them back to a normal rhythm. Adenosine works kind of like a defibrillator- it briefly stops the heart in order to let it restart normally. If this happens frequently, someone may need an ablation- a procedure in which parts of the heart muscle that are causing the rapid heart rate are burned to permanently prevent future attacks.

In order to understand atrial fibrillation with RVR, you have to understand how the heart initiates beats normally. In the heart there are cells in a place called the SA pacemaker node, which send out small electrical signals that work to coordinate a beat across all the cells in the heart.

In atrial fibrillation, lots of cells outside this node try to initiate beats, which causes the top half of the heart to quiver. If a lot of these "beats" get through to the bottom of the heart, that's called Rapid Ventricular Response, or RVR. Afib RVR causes a rapid, irregular heart rate.

Afib RVR can cause the same problem as PSVT- namely that it causes the heart to beat so fast it can't refill with blood in between beats. Usually the first few times this happens the person converts out to a normal rhythm within about a week (or can be converted out with defibrillation or medications). Later this state can become permanent and has to be managed with medications that reduce the heart rate and blood thinners to prevent strokes and heart attacks, which happen because blood gets stuck and clots in the quivering upper part of the heart.

The last one, ventricular tachycardia, is the most dangerous because if not treated it can either become so fast virtually no blood is coming out of the heart (cardiac arrest) or become another dangerous rhythm called ventricular fibrillation (also cardiac arrest, but even worse).

This one is a life-threatening emergency and needs to be treated immediately with CPR (if the person is unconscious) defibrillation and medications.

This was a lot to answer your question, but all this to say that if your person is running 140s-160s because they're working out for a half hour, they're totally fine. If they're 140s-160s because of PSVT they're not fine but they're probably going to convert out of it with a medication or just time. If they're 140s-160s in RVR they're probably uncomfortable and need medical attention but they'll probably be alright. If they're in ventricular tachycardia, they need emergency care.

Of these, the only one that could really cause brain damage is the ventricular tachycardia, but it would have to be a lot faster than 140-160.

#whump reference #writing reference #heart stuff #tachycardia

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cookinary · 6 months

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I'M FINALLY DONE WITH THIS BOI'S REF HOLY SHIT THIS TOOK TOO LONG

Mad Guy! (Maddie for short lmao)

Based on the rhyhtm platforming game Mad Rat Dead (CHECK IT OUT IT’S SO GOOD)

Pedro''s best friend is named Kate and they study occult science among other things

Pedro was born with a weak heart and couldn't do much exercise because of it

He was still sent on jobs though

After The Incident, he ran away to Kate's place

But the strong emotions he was feeling at the moment and his mad dash throughout the whole city sapped all his strength and he died of cardiac arrest on Kate's doorstep

Kate got so desperate to save him that they summoned a powerful dark God for help

The God agreed to bring Pedro back to life on one condition: since Pedro's original heart was so weak, Kate had to sacrfice themselves to become Pedro's new heart

Kate agreed and thus got turned into a functional heart, but with all their memories intact

The God got a little lazy on the medical accuracy though, so it made everything cartoonish

When Pedro wakes up, he's... confused to say the least

He doesn't remember much, apart from being angry at a group of people, running away until he felt a sharp pain in his chest and passing out at Kate's house

He has no clue why he has a massive painless hole in his chest, why his heart is suddenly able to float in said hole and also able to talk, why his heart is playing a goddamn bop that he can't stop moving to, and why he suddenly has the power to affect his own perception of time

He just knows that Kate brought him back to life but now they're missing

Kate calls themselves Heart, they do not want to reveal their identity to Pedro

Pedro is the only one able to hear Heart's music

Hearing a song whose BPM is too drastically different from Heart's BPM makes him nauseous

The songs that Heart plays can influence his behavior; a slow song will relax him while a more fast-paced one will make him more hyper and aggressive

MAH BOI I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

Please reblog! It helps more than likes!

#My Friend Pedro #Mad Rat Dead #Mad Guy Dead AU #Mad Guy/Maddie #yeah the breakdance dodge is based on the charged move of MRD #don't ask him where the food he eats goes #he'd fall into an existential crisis for a week #aaaaanyway i don't think i have anything else to say #check out Mad Rat Dead it's great #toodles

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noonaishere · 2 months

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Music of the Heart [J.YH] - thirty-one | JUPiTER

You walked into the studio to the cacophonous sound of multiple keys on the keyboard being held down. You looked over at the keyboard to find Hongjoong, face down on the keys.

You laughed softly; he probably fell asleep there last night and didn’t even hear the noise. This poor guy was going to make himself deaf before thirty if he kept doing this kind of thing.

With a chuckle, you walked over to the keyboard and switched it off.

“Why’d you do that?”

“AHH!”

Hongjoong looked up at you, the lines of the keys indented on his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you fell asleep like last time.”

“Oh…” he touched his face and then ruffled his hair in frustration. “I was just thinking.”

“Having emos?” You chuckled.

“Yeah, having emos.” He turned the keyboard back on.

Now that your heart rate had lowered to a number under 180 bpm, you could put your stuff down on the table. “What about?”

“This song I’m working on for my own recordings.”

“Are you also a soloist?”

He nodded as he pressed a few keys idly. “I release under another name though.”

“Really? Why?”

He shrugged. “I’d rather people look at my solo work without being biased by my producing work.”

“Makes sense. You are one of the most famous producers in the business.”

He nodded tiredly. “Anyway, JUPiTER is coming in today so I think I need to give up for now.”

Your eyebrows ticked up.

JUPiTER was Wonderland Entertainment’s most popular boy band. While their main concept was astronomy and Greek mythology, each of their comebacks had a different vibes, from cool, to cute, to sexy, they pulled them all off well. As expected of a group managed by Wonderland.

“Wow, really?”

“Mhm. we had finished their album right before we hired you. I think they had some questions for their performances.”

“Umm, what should I be doing?”

“You should just observe today.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

You took your notebook and a pen out of your bag so you could make notes if you needed to. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hongjoong watch you for a moment before going back to idly pressing the keyboard keys.

A few minutes later, Maddox came in with JUPiTER behind him.

“Yes I be the cat and, yes I do the dragging.” He sang as he walked in, followed by his temporary entourage.

You looked up and bowed as they came into the room.

Hongjoong stood as well. “This is our new bassist and producer in training, t/l/n t/f/n.”

The group of boys took turns shaking your hand as they introduced themselves: the leader, Dal; the “mom”, Max; the unofficial maknae, Keeho; the fashionista, Jiung; and the actual maknae, Jongseob. You had seen them all on stage and in pictures before but - even though they were wearing casual clothes - they were all gorgeous in real life. Who could possibly think the visual arts were still needed when there were people this pretty on planet earth?

“It’s nice to meet you all.” You said.

They all nodded and responded with the same sentiment to varying degrees.

“So what are you doing here today?” Dal asked.

“She’s here to observe the recording process,” Hongjoong answered.

“But we’re done,” Keeho pointed out.

Hongjoong nodded. “And answering the questions of the artists is also part of the process. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in the studio today, would you?” He smiled.

They all nodded. He was right.

He gestured to the chairs at the table. “Please, sit.”

Maddox joined you on one side and Keeho sat on the other side.

A few hours of discussion went by as mostly Dal and Max asked questions having to do with technical aspects, and asked for notes Hongjoong might have for the sound guys on the music shows.

You paid attention and took copious notes; if Hongjoong was really serious about training you as a producer, you wanted to show him that you were serious too.

When the conversation slowed and it seemed like the meeting was about to adjourn, Keeho turned to you.

“So how long have you been working here? You’re new right?”

You nodded. “I’ve been here… a few weeks already?

He nodded. “That’s cool. You’ll be around for our comeback-- Dal?”

Dal looked up. “Yeah?”

“When’s this comeback again?”

You opened your phone and went to the recording calendar, it had the comebacks on it. You checked the upcoming week. It was in three days.

“Umm… You know, it’s soon but I forgot the date again. I’ll check when we get back to the dorms. It’s not this week, I know that.”

“Okay.”

Your brow furrowed, could he have forgotten his own group’s comeback date? That’s weird.

You opened your mouth to help him, when you felt something hit your foot. Looking down, Maddox’s foot was now against yours. You looked up at him, confused, and he shook his head slightly. You looked to Hongjoong and he did the same.

You closed your phone and put it in your pocket.

After a few more minutes of questions and notes, the members, you, Hongjoong, and Maddox all said goodbye to each other and the members left. Maddox and Hongjoong went to their chairs at the desk and you sat at the table and got ready to do some transcribing.

“So um… is there a reason why Dal forgot his own group’s comeback date?”

Hongjoong and Maddox both laughed.

“What?”

“Dal knows it,” Hongjoong started, “he’s a really good leader who’s on top of everything. It’s just that Keeho…” He looked for the right words and looked to Maddox for help.

“Keeho is a streamer,” Maddox said, “and has spoiled every single comeback in some way since they debuted, so eventually the rest of the group decided that they had to lie to him if they didn’t want to continue getting yelled at by their managers for spoiling their comeback dates.”

You laughed. The idea was absurd. “On-- he’s spoiled them on purpose or by accident?”

“By accident. Every single one.”

“Wow,” you laughed. “Okay.”

They both nodded.

“That’s kind of ridiculous that they had to resort to lying to him about it.

“It really is.” Maddox laughed.

“Honestly, they’re doing it for his own good.” Hongjoong added.

“Does he know they’re lying?”

“At this point? I’m not even sure.”

You shook your head with a laugh and got to work transcribing.

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e-the-village-cryptid · 1 year

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Goncharov the Musical (1985)

with all this goncharov posting I still haven’t seen anyone mention the musical adaptation! granted, if goncharov is a lost movie, then the musical is fricken atlantis, but the little-known adaptation did in fact exist, if very briefly. as far as I’ve been able to find out, there were only two showings and somewhere between 5 and 10 previews before it was shut down for good.

just as goncharov itself is full of bitter ironies, so too is the story behind the (partial) recovery of this musical. Cranston Park Theatre, where the musical was staged, suffered flooding in September of this year, forcing the theater to close for repairs. in clearing out their flooded basement, a few discs from the goncharov production were discovered, but not before the long submersion in water highly damaged them. yeah, the same flood that led to the discs’ rediscovery also ruined large portions of them. the irony is flawless, but I’m still mad about that lost history that may never be recovered.

however, we do have a mostly intact rendition of the first two numbers, which are, as in most musicals, an ensemble opener and an “I want” song. (many thanks to the Cranston Park Theatre employee who got permission to post the recovered clips to youtube!) the song titles are lost to time as far as I can tell, but we have some footage and that’s what’s most important. let’s dive in!

the ensemble opener: it’s very militaristic, which is an interesting choice. the stately march-style opener evokes the mechanical, grim themes present throughout much of the film— or, at least it would, if the costumes weren’t so ridiculous. despite the attempted seriousness of the number, the set and costumes come off as quite campy— perhaps this was an intentional mockery of the militaristic march, to emphasize the existing irony of comparing mafia and gangsters to soldiers? my favorite part about this number is that the strong, steady beat is exactly 60 bpm— one beat per second, like the ticking of a clock. say what you will about the directors of this musical, but they knew their motifs for sure!

the “I want” song: usually the second song of a musical would be given to the lead to sing their “I want” ballad— think “Waiting on a Miracle” in Encanto where Mirabel just wants to be special like the rest of the family, or “Carrie” in Carrie (a musical from around the same time period that suffered a similar fate of early cancellation, but that’s a parallel for a different post), where Carrie longs for her classmates to stop bullying her and see her for who she truly is. now, in Goncharov, this song is given not to Goncharov, but to Katya. this is fascinating! the narrative is essentially establishing Katya as the central character, of equal or greater importance than Goncharov himself. I wish so badly I could make out the lyrics, but the recording is too damaged for me at least. the tone of the ballad is emotional, though, and Katya can be seen gesturing to Goncharov, who is staged out of reach and out of earshot. At another point, she also gestures close to the wings, where there appears to be a figure? the video quality is very grainy but at least in my mind this has to be Sofia. (oh how I wish the lyrics were audible here!) and of course, the centerpiece of the number (and the whole musical, really) is the giant clock tower in the square, which the choreography and Katya’s movements places as an important element of the song. the song ends with the tolling of the clock bells, setting the characters into a hurry about their business as if the spell is broken. ok, a little heavy-handed at this point. oh well, I honestly enjoy it, this song strikes the balance between sincere and campy— the choreography could be considered over-the-top and even a bit ridiculous in other circumstances but weirdly it worked?? one of my favorites and definitely the one I wish the most that we had a better recording of.

I’ll keep the analysis to just these two songs for now, but if anyone on some off-chance has found any better recordings of this musical please share them! not much is known about this musical’s history since it fell apart so quickly, likely due to budget and conflict between several of the lead actors and the director, so it’s entirely possible they performed at some other smaller theatre or at least rehearsed there. let’s piece this musical back together!

#goncharov #goncharov the musical #unreality #an e original

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vioxis · 7 months

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Consume 3/?

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Word count: 1,439

Pairing: Stalker!König x F!Reader

Summary: The story follows König and his obsession, You. The object of his desire, the constant temptation before him. Do you know what you do to him? You feign innocence, but worry not Shatz… He'll find that out on his own.

TW: NSFW! MDNI +18. Very obsessive and possessive behavior, Stalker!König, Breaking and entering,

Will update with more tags along the way! Part 1/? Let me know what TW I should use!

He slept soundly, cradled in the comforting embrace of your scented underwear. It felt like heaven, as though you were right there beside him. The fragrant notes of vanilla and jasmine intertwined, striking a perfect balance of innocence and allure. After the scent had gently dissipated, he carefully stowed the garment in his dresser. The counterpart, your bra, hung within the confines of his closet, gracing its own dedicated hanger, nestled snugly between the wall and his uniforms.

As the scent gradually faded from memory, an insatiable curiosity gnawed at him. He yearned to explore, to discover what else in his possession bore the mark of your ownership. Today marked yet another meeting with you for a physical examination—a ritual he had grown to relish. Your dynamic was always charged with playful banter, a dance of wits where you effortlessly adapted to the flow of the moment.

Stepping into the room, his eyes fell upon you, positioned on your knees behind the desk. Your inviting silhouette, obscured by your coat, was tantalizing. He cleared his throat, causing you to startle in surprise, inadvertently bumping your head against the desk.

"König," you greeted him with a smile, a mere utterance of his name that never failed to ignite the desire within him. If only circumstances were different, more primal…more animalistic. You gracefully moved out from behind the desk, meticulously patting your knees to ensure they were free of dust, the embodiment of perfection as always.

"Hello, Doctor. Same spot?" he inquired, gesturing towards the examination table. You nodded, your gaze momentarily diverted as you retrieved his files. Curiosity burning within him, he couldn't resist probing further, "What were you doing under the desk?"

"I had a pit bull... or was it a bulldog? A small figurine," you mumbled, your voice tinged with confusion. "I swear I had it on the corner of my desk. Perhaps it fell and the cleaning staff removed it."

His back remained turned to you, but the revelation sent a thrill coursing through his body. A wicked smirk played upon his lips beneath the shadow of his hood. Your obliviousness to the disappearing items fueled his exhilaration. He struggled to contain his excitement, fearing that any more arousal would propel his pants across the room in a reckless rush to claim you.

His hands gripped the examination table, the supple leather within his grasp, as he imagined it to be your body. A gentle touch on his back elicited a groan as he turned his head to meet your concerned gaze.

"You good? Would you like to reschedule the examination?" you inquired, genuine concern in your voice.

Oh Shatz, If only you knew...

"Doctor, I am fine to continue," he calmly asserted, catching even himself by surprise with his collected demeanor. Without hesitation, he sat on the table, watching intently as you procured a small stool to stand on. What struck him most was that this seemingly insignificant act was adorable. You had invested your own money to ensure his examination was as comfortable as possible, and the thought of it warmed him.

As you delved into the details of his BPM, his muscle-to-fat ratio, and various health metrics, he found himself utterly captivated by your gaze. Your words flowed like a gentle stream, each sentence an elaborate picture of his health. Yet, he knew that your thoroughness would be distilled into a summary later—a pattern he had come to remember about you.

Your proximity was a constant temptation, your hand gliding up his thigh, your touch exploring his chest with expertise, searching for any hidden knots or signs of discomfort. He fought to maintain his composure, his senses tantalized by the lingering scents of vanilla and jasmine that clung to you. His mind raced with fantasies of how he might savor your essence during more intimate moments, lapping you up, craving to consume every inch of you.

The tap of your pen on the clipboard sent a sudden electric jolt through his body, snapping him from his thoughts about your proximity. He met your gaze, a steady, unwavering gaze that held a playful edge as you spoke, "I'll give this to your superior; you aren't listening to me." There was a subtle teasing quality to your words that danced in the air.

König interjected smoothly, any opportunity to draw nearer to you, to prolong this intimate exchange. "Do you need help looking for your statue?" he inquired, his voice laced with a blend of genuine concern and seductive curiosity.

Your response was soft, a light chuckle resounds in you, a sound that had the power to entrap his senses that led directly to his groin.

"Are you offering?" you teased, your laughter like a siren's call that tugged at the very core of his being.

His internal thoughts screamed, Anything. I'd give you anything, yet he responded with a nonchalant tone, masking the intensity of his longing with constant restraint. "If you need it," he assured, his words laden with unspoken promises.

"Yeah, okay, well... My office is always open, so you're free to take a look inside," you offered, your voice now infused with a hint of warmth as you turned your attention to organizing his paperwork. "You're free to go. See you in two days, König."

As was your custom, you wielded the power to swiftly dismiss him once your professional duties were fulfilled, leaving him yearning for more but painfully aware of the distance between your worlds. He obediently donned his shirt and helmet, holding the door knob, his own feet stopping his body from leaving. "I'll check it tonight," he declared, his voice carrying anticipation and frustration, his desires unspoken yet palpable in the air, as he left the room.

After his examination concluded, he wasted no time and swiftly departed for your house, armed with his tap wires and discreet cameras. A quick stop was made to tend to Luna, your loyal companion, granting her a small snack outside your room.

Inside your private sanctuary, he began his exploration once more. To his surprise, he was greeted by an unexpected sight; your laptop sat there, unattended and devoid of a password–a contrast to your usual meticulous habits. It seemed as though you had brought your work home, leaving your digital life wide open, as if inviting someone to explore.

The absence of a password was an open invitation, just for him. Everything seems too easy, a slight paranoia entering his thoughts of how this could be a trap.

Opening the laptop, he found himself stepping into your world, your virtual office. The idea of an "open laptop" was a metaphor for his unfulfilled desire for more openness from you. He longed to see beyond professionalism, to dig deeper, to uncover anything you kept hidden, even from him.

His exploration of your laptop revealed an unexpected treasure trove. It was seamless as it was synced to your phone, granting him access to every aspect of your digital life. Your photos, a personal and intimate window into your world, were now in his hands.

"Shiesse..." he muttered under his breath, a mix of amazement and desire coursing through him as he scrolled through the private moments captured in those images. Each photo unveiled a piece of you, moments and memories meant only for your eyes, now laid bare before him. Nothing was left to his imagination, and he found himself captivated by your intimate photos, most in lingerie and some in nude.

He glanced at the clock on your bedside table, calculating that he still had a couple of hours before your return home. The thrill of this intrusion mingled with a sense of urgency, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the countdown to your arrival.

He reclined on your plush bed, savoring the lingering scent in the air like a cherished memory, a reminder of your presence he had yearned for. He pulled out his cock once more, unable to contain his lust any longer. “This is crazy..” He chuckled to himself, delirious for doing this once more in the comfort of your home.

He removed his glove and spat on his hand, fisting his shaft as his head tilted back from the contact. He groaned as he fucked his fist in a faster pace, imagining you on top of him in the lingerie you adorn in your photos.

A sudden sound, a bell ringing from your laptop as he turned to it. A message unexpectedly materialized at the top of the screen, and he found himself frozen in place.

Addictive, isn’t it?

That message was from you.

#cod x reader #call of duty #konig cod #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod smut #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig x reader #konig imagine #konig x y/n #konig smut #vioxi writes #konig fanfiction

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noisytenant · 20 days

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breakcore psychedelia conceptum? hell yeeeaaahhh i'm fist bumping you, you into synthesizers or VSTs/sound plugins at all?

(fist bump)

"into" in a general interest sense, or in an objecto way? i can admire certain sounds or interfaces, but they're mostly tools to me, so there's not much to say on the latter. Also my laptop is fried so I can't check my folder to jog my memory on what I like.

the truth is my current workflow is so heavily sample-based (like ~90% sliced samples) that i don't play as much with synths as i used to, which was already not that much. I use FL studio and often try the default tools first, though i've downloaded more silly VSTs than I know what to do with.

I'm mostly running a bunch of Slicex channels, sometimes granular synth, Fruity Slicer for songs w/ fixed BPM, etc. When I was more synth-using, I used a lot of Sytrus presets. Also, Rave Generator 2, which doesn't really count since it's also a sampler, but I digress. Nowadays I sometimes play with BIGROOMKIXSYNTH to make my own kicks when combined with effects -> (next paragraph elaborates)

I decided to finally learn some facsimile of mastering when I realized you use effect plugins in the mixer. You can hear the difference between my first album where they (politely) asked me "yeah this is cool but can you master it?" and so I (a teenager not knowing of these things) EQ'd it in Audacity and ran, to my newer album which actively employs effects and automation.

It's not my most used, but off the top of my head I really like Angelina FX for interesting ambient sounds. It has an X-Y formant transformer, chorus, reverb, and granulizer functions. Also, if you need real-time pitching/autotune, KeroVee is solid for free.

Hope this answers your question 🫡

#indexed post #music #I don't know if this was meant to be private but I'm choosing to respond publicly. 👍

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somehow-a-human · 24 days

Text

Whose POV is it Anyway?

1941

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Alright you lot! I wanted to post this days ago but it proved to be a more difficult bit of writing than I was expecting! I'm not sure why but I just had a tough time finishing this one. The other POV posts I've done have been pretty straightforward, but this one was a little tricky.

As always, for reference & context, I recommend reading these previous posts:

Whose POV is it Anyway? - Introduction

Lens Filters

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

POV a Companion to Owls

POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

POV Bodysnatchers & Cosplaying a bookseller

Let's take a trip to Soho during the Blitz....

We open Episode 4 with Aziraphale driving back from Edinburgh in the very late hours of the night or early hours of the morning. Shax stops him and gets herself into the Bentley. The lighting is cool and misty and since we're dealing with Shax, my guess is we're looking at Hell's Black Pro Mist filter (BPM). Shax reminds Aziraphale of 1941 by mentioning Furfur, and we're drawn into the 1941 minisode.

SO enter 1941... we're in the church, and the bomb has just exploded.

I went back and decided to watch this opening scene from both season 1 and season 2 side by side to see if there were any noticable differences and the HUGE one is the difference in the color grading of this scene between seasons. It's the same footage, though season two's is spliced with bits of nazi's dying, but the footage in season two is so much more green than it was in season one. Take a look at these screenshots, season 1 on the left and season 2 on the right.

These are unedited, same computer screen and everything, season 2 is just so green. We know green is associated with Hell, so I'd posit a guess we're getting the green from the nazi's (Hell's) POV being added in here. We're shown they're still alive for a few moments of this scene. Crowley's sideburns are short in this scene but it is reused footage from season 1 so I'd just disregard it.

Then we move on to the drive home from the bombing, Crowley's sideburns are still on the shorter side, which according to our previous theories would indicate we're likely to be matched with Crowley's POV. However I'm sure you'll agree deciphering a filter from this scene is very difficult, given they are driving through a bombing sequence. We are supported though by the demons snippy tone toward Aziraphale, something we've previously observed him don when in his POV filter with the accompanying short sideburn/hair length. Ex: switch inside the coffee shop & switch outside the pub.

They pull up to the Windmill Theater, there are lovely glowy warm halos around the marquee lights, so I'd say we're looking at Aziraphale's POV now, or the Bronze Glimmerglass (BGG) filter. Crowley's sideburns are also long here, which would fit the narrative that these are connected. Inside the theater the coloring is still warm toned. Inside the bookshop, the lighting remains warm and likely the BGG filter as well.

When we cut to outside shots of the bookshop we see that the lighting outside is again extremely green, reminding us that the agents of Hell are lurking.

We move into the magic shop and I believe we're still in the BGG filter & Aziraphale's POV, evidenced by the fact that after Crowley and Aziraphale leave the magic shop, and the zombies enter, the warm hue disappears as the magic shop owner is attacked.

Cue the magic show. The lighting of what we're shown on stage is warm and hazy and likely still the BGG filter.

In the backroom of the theater Crowley's sideburns remain long and the lighting is hazy and warm, I think we're seeing Aziraphale's POV here as well.

In the backroom of the bookshop however, when Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy their wine together, Crowley's sideburns are short again, and he tells Aziraphale he's terrible at magic. He's being snippy which indicates Crowley's the narrator, but the lighting is still warm.

I'm reminded here of Finney's characterization of the different filters from the VFX article. He specifically described the Black Diffusion FX Filter as "Crowley's Present Day Storyline". Does this mean there isn't a filter change for Crowley as a narrator in flashbacks? The filter is definitely helpful for deciphering who's our narrator in present day but maybe that's why Crowley's hair also seems to be correlated with the POV? Because it isn't a hard and fast rule?

Aziraphale arrives home from the trip, and when Crowley brings his plants out of the bookshop, his sideburns are still long.

NEXT POV The Ball

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #michael sheen #crowley #aziraphale #david tennant #crowley x aziraphale #good omens theories #good omens clues #good omens theory #good omens mystery #ineffable mystery #ineffable divorce #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #ineffable fandom

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glass--beach · 2 months

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Hello J!! I just recently found your music and have been enjoying it immensely! So much in fact that i have been thinking about making a complete "the first glass beach album" chart to play on Stepmania.

I wonder if there are any bpm changes throughout any of the songs? I love music but beyond that im not musically talented in the least so i dont really know much about this. I usually just google it but i have come across different answers on different sites? one says Classic j dies and goes to hell part 1 is 80 bpm, another 124, one 123?? Im wondering which one is right? or if any of them are?? Or if like i asked it changes throughout the song? If you dont know that is of course fine, i dont imagine a artist knows the specific bpm of all their songs! But wanted to ask just in case. thank you!! :D

ohhhh yeah there are a lot of tempo changes. i am so sorry. well no i am not because tempo changes kick ass. i don't know bpms offhand and lots of the songs change tempo frequently. i get asked this so much though because a lot of our fans are rhythm game fans and i think i need to just write out the tempo changes for everything somewhere... it's on the to do list. take any tempos listed online with a grain of salt and get a metronome app that lets you tap out a tempo, won't always be exact but will often get you close enough to be able to pin it down. also i'm ideologically opposed to tempos with a decimal point they are all whole numbers and often end in 0 or 5 so keep that in mind

#asks

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lovlibea85 · 10 months

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Imagine if people irl had leitmotifs and themes, it would be so cool to see how that would work

Like, you go three years without seeing someone and then when you run into them again you realize ‘wait, when did your theme pick up that baseline?’ And they tell you about how they moved and now they’re best friends with their current neighbor, it’d be so freaking cool

Just think about it:

•music that changes with people’s emotions!

•boss themes when you piss someone off

•Also! It’d be so cool for it to be like another social language, and that in and of itself extending to neurodivergence

•autistic people’s themes playing situationally incorrect mood music

•people with anxiety having unnecessary tension to their themes while anxious

•people with ADHD (and maybe autism too, or also anxiety) having tempo regulation issues

“Sweetheart nothing is happening but your theme tempo is running at 240 bpm do I need to call a doctor??”

“Prescribe me Adderall mother”

•people with DID having multiple main and intrinsic leitmotifs!

•uhhh probably something different about people with schizophrenia idk, I don’t wanna slap something on there and have it feed stereotypes or something

•spending enough time with someone leads to you picking up parts of their theme, even their own leitmotif

That would make hiding a relationship really hard though… unless:

•maybe it’d be semi-automatic like a stim or flinching or whatever, but able to suppress or alter its expression

•masking with themes? Masking with themes.

•people being traumatized into not letting their theme play

•musical therapies to help people get comfortable playing their theme again

•therapies to help people alter their theme’s expression!

“I’ve spent so long recovering from the abuse my dad put me through, but I still can’t get that high trill of his out of my theme”

And then therapy sessions focused on helping reduce or alter the expression of that portion of theme

Man, there could be so much potential here

#text post #ideas #writing prompt #maybe?#leitmotif #music #i still don’t know how to tag

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