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rubynationwins · 2 years

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The Best Part of Waking Up (18+)

PA! Steve Rogers x Dom!Boss! Reader

Summary: His boss may not be a morning person, but it’s up to Steve to get you to work on time. Things don’t exactly go the way he expects, though.

My Masterlist

Word Count: 4,153

Warnings: smut, slight dub-con/coercion, light dom/sub, mild use of restraints, power imbalance, oral - m & f receiving, petnames, dirty talk, body-inclusive reader, fem reader

A/N: First time dabbling w/ dom reader so I hope that element presents itself well. Personally, I think mcu Steve (especially in the earlier movies) screams sub😋 so I will probably experiment more with that aspect of his character in future fics too😍 Tho not always bc dom Steve is just...🤌🏻 Like, comment, reblog, I always appreciate feedback so plz let me know what u think!

This story should not be posted anywhere else without my express permission.

Thanks for reading!

-Ruby

“Steve, I need you to wake me up at exactly 5:30 tomorrow morning.”

Those were the words that kept rattling around in Steve’s head as he rode the elevator to the top floor of the lavish apartment building you resided in. When the elevator’s bell dinged and its doors slid open, he swallowed heavily as he stepped into the modern-looking hallway.

This was not going to be enjoyable.

It wasn’t that the early rise bothered Steve, he usually woke up at 6 am to go on a run before work, so an hour or two earlier didn’t kill him. The problem laid in how you acted in the early waking hours. You were notorious for your hatred of mornings. You weren’t a fan of them in general, and waking up before 8 am was pure agony. For him.

Sure, you disliked mornings, but he was the one who had to deal with your cranky attitude and unyielding criticism of every single thing he did when you were tired. A 5:30 morning wake up call was definitely going to put you in a foul mood, and Steve would be the recipient of that sleep-deprived anger. Even worse than that was actually trying to wake you up.

It was a well-known fact that normal alarms were no match for you. He had replaced many broken alarm clocks and phones that you had thrown across the room in your slumbering rage. You claimed that you had no memory of your destructive actions since you were such a deep sleeper, but Steve suspected you just didn’t want to admit that you threw such dramatic fits. You always carried an air of assertive power with you, and breaking alarm clocks did not fit that professional aura.

So, because of said fits, when it was vital that you arise earlier than what your circadian rhythm deemed acceptable, someone had to physically wake you up. That didn’t mean you were any less violent, it just meant you couldn’t get rid of them by throwing them at a wall– not for lack of trying.

Steve hadn’t yet had the displeasure of being the one to wake you up, but you had point blank told him to do it, so he couldn’t shirk the responsibility onto one of the lesser assistants.

Which was why he was now unlocking your apartment door with his spare key. He flicked on the entryway light as he walked across the threshold. He knew the layout of your home as well as his own — significantly smaller — apartment. As your personal assistant, he was at your beck and call 24/7, which entailed a lot of house visits. He glanced over at the couch he slept on whenever you worked late into the night without dismissing him for the evening, even though you had a guest bedroom.

He set your steaming cup of coffee on the counter along with your usual breakfast. Hopefully, they would compel you to rise without making a scene. Glancing at his watch, he headed down the hallway and stopped at your closed bedroom door. It was 5:28. You had said exactly 5:30, so he waited with bated breath as he watched the tiny hands of his watch tick. As soon as the long hand hit ‘6’ he opened the door while saying in a voice that lacked conviction, “It’s 5:30, time to wake up, ma’am.”

There was no response. He looked toward the large bed and saw a lump covered in lush blankets. It rose and fell with your every deep breath. He stayed at the door, but increased his volume, “You have a very important meeting, so you need to wake up.” Your slumbering form didn’t move an inch.

Steve cleared his throat loudly but still, nothing. With a frustrated sigh, he walked closer to your bed and repeated himself. He was met with the same, unmoving response. So far, Steve had stayed out of arm's reach, keeping an eye out for any sudden movements. When it was clear that method wasn’t going to work, he gave in and moved to the side of your large bed.

He held his breath as he reached out and grasped what he hoped was your shoulder – it was hard to tell with all the blankets – and began shaking it. His coworkers who’d had the misfortune of waking you up before had said this was the best tactic. After a few seconds, he felt you shift and heard a low groan. He kept shaking, upping his speed just a bit and leaning into it.

Just get it over with, Steve.

Suddenly, the pile of blankets rolled away, and he fell forward into the mattress. He let out a loud “oof!” as he landed face first into the soft but firm cushion. He heard what sounded like the mutterings of a gargoyle as the bundle beside him squirmed. At least he’d done something. Hopefully, now you could hear what he was saying, “It’s a little past 5:30 now so you should really get out of bed and-”

He was cut off by a mountain of blankets tossed on top of him like a tsunami. Startled, he thrashed under the smothering heap of expensive fabrics until he was finally able to throw them onto the floor. When he got his bearings, he turned around and found you sleeping on the opposite side of the mattress. You were curled up on your side, a pillow clutched around your head.

With more caution, he approached you again. That time it was blankets, next it might be something that could actually leave a dent. He glanced at the large bedside lamp that sat next to you and felt sweat start to bead at his forehead.

At this point, he felt ridiculous. He, a grown man, was stealthily crawling across an unreasonably wide bed while his power-house of a boss snoozed on the other side. He had never imagined being the executive assistant for one of the most powerful women in the city would end up like this.

When he reached you, he stretched out a hand and squeezed your upper arm, cringing as he did so. You didn’t throw anything at him, which he took as a good sign. When he spoke, he tried to keep his voice calm and low so he didn’t startle you so much, “Hey, boss. It’s-uh, time to wake up and start the day,” he sounded like a cautious dad trying to wake up his unruly kid from a nap, “I know you don’t care for mornings, but I got something special waiting for you that’ll really help boost your energy. Get that blood pumping.” The only reply he got was the muffled sound of your even breathing. He dropped his hand and looked towards the ceiling in desperation, out of ideas other than to throw you out of bed.

He was gearing up the courage to shake you awake again when he heard the rustling of covers. He whipped his head down and saw you slowly rise so that you were leaning on your elbow. The pillow you had been hiding under was nowhere to be found. Your back still faced him, and he sucked in a breath when you shifted on your elbows to face him.

His words caught in his throat when your eyes finally met his. They weren’t sharp and demanding like he was used to. In fact, your whole face held a softness he had never seen before. You were always serious and commanding. Now, though, your eyes were glazed over with a sleepy haze, eyelids only half open. Your fluttering eyelashes cast shadows on your delicate cheeks. You blinked a few times before your eyes slowly scanned him.

Steve’s body was stiff as a board and he felt like his tie was too tight around his neck. He had no clue how to act in this situation. He fell back on the manners his mother had instilled in him at a young age. He glanced at his watch, “Ma’am, it’s now 5:42, so we need to get going soon.” He looked back over at you and saw that you hadn’t shifted, your eyes still partially glazed over. It looked like you were still half asleep.

Your lips opened and Steve once again froze in place, “You said you have something special for me?” The sound of your low, raspy morning voice made Steve shift in his spot. He pondered your words, and then it dawned on him.

“Yes, I’ll go get it right now, Ma’am.” Steve scooted towards the edge of the bed. His plan was to sprint to the kitchen and back with your breakfast in hand before you had the chance to lay back down.

His exit plan was thwarted, however, when he a warm body pressed up against his back. You slung your arms over his shoulders and held him against your chest. You brought a hand up to his cheek and turned his head to face you as you leaned forward. “What-”

You curled your fingers in his hair and brought his lips to yours, hot and wanting. He let out a strangled gasp in surprise and you took advantage of the opportunity and plunged your tongue past his open lips. He was too stunned to do anything but react to your sudden advance, leaning into the heated kiss. When you flicked his tongue with yours he mewled and joined you in a fight for dominance. Your soft lips pressed against his as you explored his mouth. The kiss was fierce and rough, a mash of greedy need. When you pulled away he felt light-headed, his lips raw and his dick twitching in his pants.

You threw a leg over to straddle his lap, sitting right on top the bulge blooming in his suit pants. You giggled. The unfamiliar sound you emitted snapped him out of his reverie. He grabbed your shoulders before you could lock lips with him again, keeping your intoxicating scent at bay.

“W-wait. Y/N-I mean, boss, ma’am-whatever. What are you doing?” He let out a muddled huff and shifted beneath you as your core rubbed against his clothed cock. Everything was happening so fast, he needed to stop before he lost his grip and did something he knew you’d both regret. “Y-You’re not awake yet. And-and even if you were we can’t do this.” He attempted to push you off, but you grabbed his wrists and ground your pussy down into his crotch. He let out a lewd moan and cursed under his breath. You giggled again, the sound ringing in his ears.

You pouted your lips but your eyes were calculating, the sleep slowly draining from them, “What do you mean? You promised me a special treat, and now you’re taking it away from me? I expect my top employee to follow through on his promises. He should know that kind of behavior will get him in trouble.” Your voice was coated in honey as you slowly humped him, and he felt a growing damp spot on his pants. He didn’t know if it was from you or him or both, but he didn’t care. All his mind do was focus on his throbbing cock and keen for more contact. His dick wasn’t even inside you and he was already pussy-drunk.

“I-I was talking about coffee,” his weak voice trailed off at the end and he sucked in a sharp breath when you shifted so that you were only straddling his right thigh. Your knee dug into his growing erection.

“I think-” You ground your pussy against his thigh, rubbing back and forth- “that a much more efficient way to give us both a boost of energy-” Your sleep shorts did nothing to prevent his pant leg from getting soaked in your dripping arousal- “Would be an orgasm.”

He had no comeback, too captivated by the feeling of your wet pussy sliding against his thick, muscular thigh. He couldn’t help himself from bucking into your touch to get more friction against your knee. You gasped and he moaned when you pressed it forward, grinding into his bulge.

He didn’t get to enjoy the feeling for too long, though, because you moved it away. Before he could protect, you pressed your palms against his chest and pushed him onto his back. He looked up at you as you leaned over him. You brought your hands to his collar and removed his red tie, undoing the half windsor knot in a heartbeat. Your fingers made light work of the buttons on his navy dress shirt and you pushed the material away as you explored the hard plains of his chest with your warm hands. His skin was flushed and sweaty. You flicked his nipple and he flinched, bringing his hands up to hold your waist. You stilled. “Hands off.” He immediately dropped them, your tone sounded like the commanding one he was used to, with an extra warning bite to it. “Above your head.”

“Wh-” he yelped when you pinched his nipple.

“I said, hands above your head, Mr. Rogers.”

Your tight grip only relaxed when he did what you demanded. With practiced motions, you quickly fastened them together, using his tie. “Now keep them there like a good boy and you’ll be rewarded.” His cock twitched at the nickname and you noticed. “Oh! Does it turn you on that I’m in charge? You’re such a big, strong man, so let me take control for once. We both know I already do outside of the bedroom, so this shouldn’t be too difficult.” You leaned down and whispered in his ear, “And you say ‘yes ma’am’ like the perfect little assistant you always are.”

Steve shivered at the feeling of your hot breath cresting the shell of his burning ear, “Y-yes, ma’am.” He had never felt so dirty in all his life. There was something about giving you control that made him weak in the knees.

“Good boy, Steve.” You pressed a quick kiss against his temple and pulled back up, once again looming over him. With his hands placed above his head, he felt more exposed than he’d ever been in his life. He wasn’t much of a player as it was, so this was wildly out of his comfort zone. But still, he’d never been so turned on in his entire life.

You ran your hands down his chest, raking your nails across his skin. He hissed at the sting but when you settled at his pants belt, a whine caught in his throat. You fiddled with the belt buckle. “I could help you out down here, as a thank you for all the loyal, dedicated service you’ve given me.” You straightened up and pulled your loose, silk top off. Steve could have melted. You weren’t wearing a bra, so your tits were on full display. He felt drool collect at the corner of his mouth at the look of your nipples. He wanted to suck them, worship them, worship all of your body. You shifted slightly and he looked down as you shimmied out of the matching silk shorts. “Or-” you said as you returned your hands to the top of his pants- “I could ride your face like it’s a fucking saddle.”

His cock strained. He’d be satisfied with either option, he just wanted to feel more of you, however you dished it out. You grinned like a wolf, he guessed you had made your decision, which was a good thing because he was about to bust. “Or, how about we do both?”

You unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, and pulled them down to his knees. His groan was low and instinctual when you grabbed his dick and stroked it up and down. While still stroking him, you pivoted your body so that your ass faced him. His hands itched to grasp your ass cheeks and squeeze. You must have noticed because you clucked your tongue. “Remember, no touching.”

He dropped his jaw, tongue at the ready as you backed up further and landed on his face. He lapped at your flowing juices like a man who had been lost in the desert for a year and had finally found water. The sound of your lecherous moans only egged him on further, and he dug into what was soon becoming the best meal of his life. He plunged his tongue further into your pussy, passing your entrance and diving right into your dripping hole. He repeated the motion over and over while nuzzling into your heat. His chin brushed against your clit and you mewled.

Until that point, you had been steadily stroking his straining cock from tip to base at a torturous pace. As you ground your pussy into his wanting face, you lowered your head and enveloped the tip of his cock in your mouth. You sucked up the precum beading from it and hummed at the musky taste. Steve’s hips bucked up and he groaned into your core. You dug your nails into his thigh as a warning. He panted against you but didn’t stop in his quest to make you come.

You continued to suck his cock, it was large and girthy, but you were plenty up for the challenge. Inch by inch, you lowered your head, pausing to adjust to his overwhelming size. His cock burned through your throat, but it was well worth it when you felt his absolutely feral reaction against your cunt.

He sucked against your clit and you groaned around him, starting to bob your head up and down. You worked together in tandem, sucking and licking. Steve’s cock was large and thick, it was heavy in your mouth as you worked your way down him, not quite reaching the base. You groan around him, the vibration and squeeze of your throat was sending tingles of heat through him.

When he flicked his tongue on your clit, you started pumping with a new vigor as you ground your hips down onto his face, riding him like a god damn horse.

It was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced.

He felt lightheaded, partially from his life being sucked from cock, and that his entire face was enveloped by your velvety flesh and heady essence. He only got little spouts of air in when you would hover off of him for a second. Each time you did, he whined, wanting your sweet cunt back on him. He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed to consume you, devour your pussy like you were devouring his dick.

He’d never felt this kind of pleasure in his life, and having you on top, you in control, it brought out something deep inside him he never knew existed. He felt a connection beyond simple fucking; beyond the lines now blurred between work and play.

It was an undeniable urge to please, to obey. The want for his own release paled in comparison to his want to give you everything he had. Because he needed to be the one that gave you pleasure, that ate you out with abandon until you became moaning mess. All the while, you still held the reigns, able to lift away were he to make even one unapproved movement. So, he blissfully did what you commanded. Let the stress of his life and job fall away, and just focus on the singular task of getting you to cum on his tongue.

He could have spat his load ages ago, probably without you even touching him, but he knew that was taboo. He had to have permission. He just couldn’t voice his pleas. His desperation for relief from the almost painful torment you were giving him was muffled by your weeping cunt. You must have noted his obvious need, because the next time you popped off his dick, you replaced your mouth with a warm hand and asked, “Do you need to cum, Stevie?”

He moaned, that simple nickname coming from you did something to his brain. He tried to nob but you pressed against his head harder, wiggling your hips.

“I’ll tell you what. since you’ve been such a good boy for me and have been eating out my cunt like a starving man, I’ll let you cum.”

Tears were welling in Steves eyes as you teased his cock, rubbing your hand around his cockhead, swirling beads of his precum along the thick veins.

“First, though, you have to make me cum, understand?”

Steve’s reply of, “Yes, Ma’am,” was muffled from underneath you.

You chuckled. “Go ahead, then.”

He ran his tongue between your slit, collecting your dripping juices and mixing them with his own saliva. He brought the salacious mixture up to your bundle of nerves and twirled it around your trembling little nub. The sound of your moans combined with the sloppy shlucking of his own ministrations was like music to his ears.

When your moans morphed into blissed out praises, “Good boy, that’s it. So good - so good for me Stevie,” he lost all sense of control. Like a feral animal, he growled into your heat, nipping at his irresistible prey. He grazed your throbbing clit with his teeth and then fluttered his tongue on it. The sudden teasing took you to the edge, and when you pressed your ass down for more, he met you, smacking his lips around your sensitive clit and sucking. Not holding back, you mewled and cried out as your orgasm shot through your body, blazing with the most divine fire imaginable. You shuddered over him as he gobbled the arousal flowing from your quaking walls like a fountain.

Your pleasure still rolled through you as you bent back down and enveloped his cock in your mouth. Drool and precum slid down the sides as you pressed down, taking him all the way to the hilt. He didn’t know how you could possibly breathe, but before he could grumble his concerns, you swallowed around his pulsing length. The feel of his dick hitting the back of your throat as you gagged around his massive size was like heaven.

He almost couldn’t believe you were doing this with such vigor. The blowjobs he’d received in the past always seemed like a chore for his partners, something they had to do solely for his pleasure.

But not you. The both of you knew who was calling the shots. You could have gotten your fill, kicked him out of your apartment, and he wouldn’t have voiced a single complaint. The fact that you wanted him to cum in your mouth, that you craved his release as much as he craved yours, it set him on fire in a way he’d never experienced before. It was incredible. You were incredible.

God, your fucking mouth was incredible.

When you brought a hand to his balls and squeezed, he had no choice but to let go. His cum shot up into your wanting mouth as you sucked the leaking tip of his cock, pumping the base to milk out every last droplet so you could swallow it down.

Steve kept himself from bucking up into your throat, he knew better than that now. He roared into your pussy, the aftershocks of his orgasm shaking through his sweat-drenched body. He lapped at your sopping folds, drinking up every drop of your sweet nectar, still starving for your essence. You swallowed it down.

Steve let out a groan of protest when you pulled your delectable pussy away from him. His eyes were fixed on your ass like it had hung the moon. You shifted so that you were once again face-to-face. Reaching out, you untied his hands. He kept them in place until you gave the word to move. “That’s my good boy. Go ahead now, you can even have a little touch.”

With your permission, he placed his hands on your heavenly ass. Before he could partake in anymore of your generosity, a blaring thought shot into his mind. He wrenched his left hand off you to check his watch. “Shit! It’s 7:15! There’s no way we’re making it to the meeting on time.”

You set a hand on his chest, stilling his instinctive personal assistant panic. “Don’t worry about it, Stevie. They called last night to say it was pushed back to this afternoon. I guess I forgot about my-” A smirk played across your lips-“Wakeup call. My bad,” you chuckled, giving him a knowing wink.

Steve didn’t have the energy to even be a little bit annoyed at the (supposed) mix up. This was the best morning of his life.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #Steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #PA! steve rogers #chris evans character fanfiction #captain america #captain america x reader #light dom/sub #mcu fanifiction #dub con #coersion #sub steve rogers #dom reader #modern au #my writing #me #rubynationwins

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roboticnebula · 24 days

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may I ask for the ask game, the fic u r most excited to share?

I will cheat and tell you about two because I am working on them at the same time and I genuinely could not decide.

First up is chapter two of Both Hands! I, personally, can't wait to read it, too bad I actually have to finish writing it first. It currently sits at 11 000 words and growing, but I figured out how to fix a pacing issue that's been bothering me for months, so we're getting somewhere.

Here's a snippet of Wally and Kyle having a great time together:

Barry found both kids on top of the rig. Wally was lying on his back, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at the sky whilst Kyle sat crossed–legged a few handspan away from him, angrily scribbling in a small notebook that looked like an old address book. The silence between them was so thick Barry could cut through it with a knife. “Hey boys, how’s it going?” he asked, tentatively. “Fine,” they chorused. They shot each other ice cold glares, but neither of them spoke up to spill the beans on whatever happened between them.

The second I'm sneaking in is the SuperFlash thing. This is one is a brainworm. Barry and Clark have been a relationship for about a year. Snippet takes place after a fight against the legion of doom, Barry has an injury that needs taken care of and Clark decides it's a great time to pop the question about meeting the parents.

[Clark] spread Barry’s fingers with both hands, gently probing with his thumbs. By the intent way he was staring at it, Barry knew he was using his X-ray vision and he braced himself. “So, there’s this goat,” said Clark. “What - ?” Clark took advantage of his surprise to press his thumb down and break the crooked bone with a snap. Barry hissed in pain and flayed in reflex, but Clark kept the hand trapped in a firm grip, realigning the bones and holding them in place as Barry’s healing kicked in. “A goat?” asked Barry, when he could speak again. “Yeah – Ma and Pa want to buy a baby goat at the fair and so I’m going over this weekend to help them set up the barn and stuff.” He looked up at Barry then, slightly boyish smile on his face. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

(The bone breaking was inspired by this piece by Emin-Folly.)

Thank you for asking!!

WIP ask game

#asked and answered #my fics #my writing

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tony-blair-erotica · 2 months

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This Guardian article got me thinking about the semiotics of politicians having a brew:

“He [Sunak] wasn’t the first politician to mobilise teaware. Tony Blair was regularly pictured with a mug, using his casual appearance sipping from it to semaphore the sort of modernising tendencies upon which New Labour set out its stall. Bush [no, not that one, Stephen] notes that before the Blair years, in pictures of politicians meeting in Downing Street, everyone would be using cups and saucers. The mug, he says, was “part of a visual language of early New Labour … we’re modern and we’re different”.

Photo credits:

1. Press photo of Tony Blair drinking from a ‘Big Conversation’ mug whilst meeting members of the Faculty of Health at the University of Birmingham as part of the 'Big Conversation' programme aimed at creating dialogue between politicians and the general public. David Jones/ Alamy, 23rd February 2004.

2. Press photo of Blair drinking a cup of tea (not sure what the mug is?) before visiting a community project in East Manchester on the way to the 2002 Labour Party Conference in Blackpool. PA photos, 2nd July 2002.

3. Blair drinking from a souvenir mug from the AlienWar virtual reality experience based on the Alien films at the Trocadero, London: looks like the photo was originally on the front cover of the Times but I found it on Reddit courtesy of u/CowperAndrewes https://www.reddit.com/r/LV426/s/nbKny3DLXI date and author unknown.

4. Photo of Blair drinking from a mug emblazoned with the England flag/ St George’s cross whilst being interviewed by Adrian Chiles on BBC Radio Five Live about England’s chances in the World Cup. Jeff Overs/ BBC News/ Getty Images, 19th May 2006.

5. Press photo of Blair in the run up to the 2001 General Election drinking from a Labour Party mug with the slogan "The Work Goes On", during the daily election briefing at Millbank. Toby Melville/ Alamy, 31st May 2001.

6. Press photo of Blair drinking from a Labour branded mug on the campaign train for the 2001 General Election at the Trimdon Labour club in his constituency of Sedgefield, Durham. Owen Humphreys/ Alamy, 13th May 2001.

7. Press photo of Blair outside No.10 with a Dogs Trust mug after announcing that he and Cherie were expecting their 4th child. Neil Munns/ Alamy, 20th November 1999.

8. Press photo of Blair outside No.10, this time announcing the safe arrival of their son Leo (sadly I can’t tell what the mug is in this one either!) Fiona Hanson/ Alamy, 20th May 2000.

Link to the Guardian article by Ellie Violet Bramley, 26th April 2024:

#One lump or two Cherie?#The People’s Princess #tonibler #new labour #Rishi Sunak #Brews can only get wetter (sorry)#Lolitics #Tony Blair

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sodorsteam · 1 year

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Doctor's Orders

SOOOOO i wrote a little standalone Rook story U uU

as per usual, it is set in TTTE Sodor, but is mostly my own goofery.

WARNING! there is: Alcohol use, illness and a brief blood draw scene, so please be aware - if that shit freaks you out you might wanna skip this one!!

ANYWAY - i love to write! it's kinda one of my unused 'muscles' so if you like it, please let me know <3 and if you think there's things i can fix, let me know that too! <3

1 No One Knows

The Island of Sodor. No other place on earth is quite like it. Digging its heels against the steady pull of progress, it has stood against the monster of Modernization quixotically, a knight errant wreathed in steam. Predictably, the island has secrets. And one of those secrets was returning to his shed, red faced and wheezing, after a particularly grueling day as one of the Living Locomotives on the NWR.

#141 Rook Drummond may not have been the busiest engine, but nonetheless he bore his labors with glowing pride. As the NWR’s sole M7, Sodor University’s shunter at Pottersfield, and shepherd for The Ferryman (Sodor’s funeral train), Rook was careful, attentive and hard working, like any other engine. And like many of his fleet mates, he was known to drive himself rather ruthlessly as far as his work ethic was concerned. Usually, he had routine maintenance at the steamworks, and his student drivers were instructed in tasks to extend the longevity of his replaceable parts, and maintain the bits that were meant for the long haul.

Of course, none of this applied to that particular situation that made Rook so…Rook.

As he returned home slowly, he could tell that it was going to be an unpleasant evening for him. His boiler ached in that squirmy, uncomfortable way that he couldn’t articulate to anyone. Not that he would have; calling attention to his various complaints was terribly rude - the most grievous of faux pas. But in this case, he knew his affliction was one that could not be solved with a trip to the works, because of course most engines didn’t also have boilers that could be full of organs and blood occasionally.

Rolling into his berth at Pottersfield, he patiently waited for his crew to dump his fire and bed him down for the night, bidding them a pleasant evening as they filtered out casually, their dirty coveralls stuffed into plastic bags. Only when hours had passed and darkness fully settled over the bog did Rook finally shake and gibber, his eyes losing focus and face going slack as his whole engine frame seemed to bulge and distort, billows of flesh and gore exploding outwards to reform into the neat shape of an indeterminate beast, pleasantly plump and fluffy, standing on tiny compact hind paws and thick scaled forelimbs. He staggered for a moment and sat down hard as his boiler…No. My guts! gave an upset gurgle. He winced and rubbed a paw on the curved surface of his belly. “Gracious, this doesn’t seem quite normal.” he muttered.

He had tried his best to ignore it. Of course, a Very Useful Engine did not complain about a few boiler aches. Even if those aches felt like he’d swallowed a bucketful of hot lead slugs. But over the weeks, the slugs had been increasing in size and the bucketfuls had been coming more frequently. It made him feel bloated and nauseated, and sometimes, only sometimes, he’d actually felt querulous enough to neglect using honorifics when addressing his crew. Scandal!

He could not go to the hospital. He knew that. A voice, soft and sibilant, just below the surface of his consciousness, warned him that if he went to a hospital there was a very good chance he would not come back. And he had far too much work to do to be pickled and put into jars, which is what that voice also implied in its slippery, whispery way.

But it seemed that the grace period on ignoring the issue had run out. He would have to break down and seek medical attention, or simply break down. He slowly got to his feet and slumped to a cluttered desk shoved near the wall of his shed, where the students stashed various bric a brac for their weekly work at the archaeological site deep in the bog. He opened the first drawer, which squeaked open reluctantly, it was so jammed with rumpled papers. He removed a thick sheaf of paper and peered down his nose at them, through his little round glasses.

His paws trembled as he rifled through the stack. Pizza delivery, bakery services (Novelty shaped cakes our specialty!) dry cleaners. A drop of sweat rolled down his long nose and dotted...Ah.

‘ANTON KOZLOV, DVM. Services for agrarian and domestic animals.’

Rook tilted his head to the side as he reread the information out loud. He wasn’t sure if this applied to ‘industrial animals’ as well, but he stifled a moan and a greasy belch into his paw, and realized he probably had no choice in the matter.

It was pickle jars or this.

Rook neatly replaced the papers, straightend his back with a litany of pops, and gathered his pocket book and overcoat.

***

2 SCOTCH

Anton Kozlov’s family had come to Sodor by train generations ago. And even if they were not Sudrian forged they had taken to the life there as if they had been, and his whole family had flourished. Kozlov had as well, but he had secrets too.

Perhaps they were not as secret as he thought though, as his clients had been dwindling slowly since Masha had left him. It was true that there were many veterinarians on Sodor, given that the island fully embraced its agrarian lifestyle, but there was more than enough work. But Masha had left him. And he hadn’t thought much of the work was worth doing. Sudrian scotch though, now that had been worth doing. Again and again. As soon as he stepped inside his home and locked the door behind him, he felt the weight of the bottle in his hand before he even set his house keys on the hook. By day he was a respected member of the community; tall, broad chested and strong of limb, dark hair going gray at the temples, with deep set, intelligent eyes. By night he was just the man Masha had left because he liked that aforementioned scotch too much.

Kozlov had returned home at about the same time as Rook, but he was now half a bottle deep and sitting in the dark of his comfortable renovated farmhouse on Trevithick Row, wearing his silk undershirt and scrubs. The television was on, trying to pierce the haze of his intoxication, telling him all about the state of the world. He was looking at his expensive orthopedic shoes, with their gel inserts and arch support, and wondering if the spots on the toe were blood, mud or shit. He frowned. Sometimes he wondered if his life was the same. He’d been voted the best veterinarian on Sodor by the chamber of commerce for 15 years. That was achievement.

He picked up a chip from the white plastic take out tray (don’t worry- the chips had been accompanied by terribly overpriced but terribly delicious beer battered, organic ling cod from a trendy seafood shop in town. Not skint was the good doctor.) and swished it around in the cold curry sauce, eating it by rote.

That was nadir.

He was content to continue this spiral round the drain for the next few hours when he heard what he thought was a knock at the door. He looked up sharply. Certainly, malignancy lived in the shade of every city, but it seemed to have a harder time taking root in Sodor’s soils; and found even less sustenance in Wellsworth. But Kozlov’s closest neighbor was a mile and a half away. His ears strained. The knock came again. He stood. Somehow managing to shake off the double vision of self-medicated drowsiness, he grabbed the M1 Carbine that lived peacefully over his door, hoping that it was more awake than he was and would succeed where he failed at intimidation. He boomed out a loud ‘Who is it’, gripped the doorknob and let the night air and cricket symphony in.

He heard the soft howl of a steam whistle, far away, haunted and haunting.

Kozlov stared out into his neat front lawn, hanging from the doorjamb like a sailor hanging from the mast. He grunted, seeing nothing, and carefully turned himself to skulk back inside, cowed.

“D….Doctor Kozlov? Dee Vee Em?”

Kozlov’s watery eyes rolled downwards to catch sight of a small, phenomenally ugly child in a moth eaten suit. Except that children did not generally dress like 19th century undertakers. Nor did children have railroad spike noses, horsey ears, and a long swinging tail.

Kozlov just continued to stare, then realized that the not-child had asked him a question, and was politely waiting for a response.

“Ye.”

That was all the university educated man could muster. He dropped the bottle of scotch he’d been nursing and cursed eloquently, the resultant high pitched glass bomb of noise startled the man-creature, but it seemed to recombobulate itself just as easily. He (he!?!) nervously cleared his throat and spoke in a soft, deep little voice that Kozlov had to crane forward to hear.

“I apologize for the lateness, doctor. Your leaflet did say you were open after hours…”

The little thing held out a worn, foxed sheet of newspaper. Kozlov took it, eyes still pinned on the visitor. He forced his gaze to the object in his hand, and staring back at him from the yellowed page was an advertisement Kozlov himself had placed in the local Sudrian papers 23 years previously, when the economy had slowed to a crawl and he’d been making his scotch money by assisting difficult deliveries of calves and foals at all hours. He stared incredulously, reading the fine print that stated he was open to late night inquiries. Well, here it was late night, and here was an inquiry. He opened his mouth to complain, but the little man winced. He put a wee hand (paw!?!) to his belly, his strange pinched face crumpling.

The way Kozlov could see it, he had two options. He could go to bed. Which he probably should have done so hours ago. Or he could help.

A lifetime ago, Kozlov had been given his diploma and taken a vow that stated he “will strive to promote animal health and welfare and relieve animal suffering”. And to his credit, he had done so as much as possible when he was called on to do so. Even after Masha had left.

But did that oath apply to figments brought on by scotch fueled benders?

Here was this itty bitty man, elf sized at the highest (but perhaps not elf weight: the guy looked like he did not skip any little fairy meals) decked in clothes from the victorian age, looking like someone had mashed a dead kangaroo with a roadkill house cat and called it a day.

Am I actually going to administer aid to a hallucination?

“I can pay sir.” The little fellow whimpered.

Well. Can’t turn away a suffering hallucination, especially not one with a checkbook.

“C…come in” Almost as if in a dream, Kozlov held the door open wider, to allow the miniature undertaker inside.

Rook inclined his head gratefully, he shuffled into the first home he’d ever been inside. Neat, (thank you to Brigit the maid who came every Thursday) cozy, and well kept. Rook’s little bun feet pattered on the dark wood, his claws like those of an old family dog clicking on the floors, as he furtively looked around at the realm of the House Human; the comforts and conveniences, the accoutrement and ornament. He liked it. It was like a soft echo of the pride his Victorian makers had exhibited when they built the engines that had once powered the world; bright and glossy with brass and pin striping.

Kozlov followed him in, still in a state of lazy shock. He snapped on lights and stumbled into his office - clean, white and scrubbed down. He reminded himself that he was dreaming. Or hallucinating. But the hallucination staunchly refused to disappear. “this way,” he grunted, ushering Rook into the office.

Kozlov grabbed his stethoscope and the digital thermometer from his desk. As his vet techs were not on call in the evenings any longer, he prepared his instruments himself. He asked curt questions while he did so.

“Age?”

“126”

“Sex?”

“…blush male”

“Breed?”

“Drummond M7”

Kozlov wondered if it would be wise to risk his back trying to lift this Sudrian leprechaun onto the table. He split the difference by pulling over another small stool, indicating that Rook should take a seat, which he did.

“What seems to be the problem?” Kozlov asked.

Rook blinked. He’d just been asked more questions about himself than he’d ever answered and was still digesting the experience when the imposing doctor bludgeoned him again. What was the problem? How to articulate it?

As an engine, it was his boiler. As a beast? Deep in his body somewhere, below his heart. In this, the closest he could get to human, he could feel a fierce knot of pain in his chest that radiated angrily outwards, and it was aggressively making itself known currently. He knitted his worried brow.

“I feel ill, as though I might be sick. And I feel quite tired and uncomfortably full, and it hurts here, in my…erm…this.” He settled lamely, patting the upper part of his stomach.

Kozlov nodded, finding it peculiar that this drunken fiction had such a soft, calming voice. Almost like a lullaby. He nodded, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

“Right. shirt off.”

“M…Must I?”

The hallucination is shy? Naturally. Why not?

“‘Fraid so Mr. erm…”

“Rook. Rook Drummond”

“shirt off.”

While the fussy little thing shucked its multiple layers neatly, Kozlov looked at the thermometer…he slid the plastic sheaf over the sensor, but omitted the lube; he hoped he’d be lucky enough to forgo the usual method of employ and just ask.

Rook sat shyly, stripped to the skin from the waist up. He was alway keenly aware he hadn’t perfected his human shape. It seemed far too bulky, far too awkward. Furless, but fuzzy like a peach. And certainly this learned man of Medicine would know just how far off the mark he actually was.

Kozlov kneeled by him, noting the big, badly healed scar on Rook’s left side. The hallucination smelled like something familiar, and something else deep and vital, unpleasant. The smell made him queasy. He put the earpieces of his stethoscope in and placed the resonator on Rook’s chest. It was cold. Rook startled back just a little.

“Sir, do you think I shall be able to return to work so…”

Kozlov shushed him, putting a finger to Rook’s lips. He took the opportunity to put the thermometer in his mouth.

“Under the tongue. Don’t bite”

Kozlov frowned. He listened hard. He heard a heartbeat…but he also heard an uncomfortable liquid sliding and squelching. Like tectonic plates of flesh and mud.

He blinked. He moved the stethoscope down to this alcohol fueled horror’s belly, and here was a rhythmic cacophony. The phrase meat hell came unbidden into his mind.

He just listened, gorge rising, threatening to make a mess of this clean and tidy exam room. The beep of the thermometer brought him out of his terror-stricken musing, and he removed the probe.

Error.

Well, that did make sense. He’d felt the heat coming off this freakish vision even before he’d touched him. But here it was, with a Dante’s inferno in its head and an eldritch chorus in its guts, and still on its feet, reasonably coherent.

“You’re running a fever.”

“I’m a steam engine.”

Kozlov rubbed his tired eyes. He wondered what it would look like from the outside. A 50 year old man, a 50 year old alcoholic, talking to himself and trying to medically diagnose a gargoyle or demon or imp or gnome. Trying to keep his life together through the haze of drink that had lowered the visibility in his mind to nil.

But long ago, Masha had told him (ironically, when she too had been drunk on one of their sadly few anniversaries, the gin blossom on her face was the exact shade of pink he would dream about for the rest of his life) that she loved his compassion. That he always helped. And so he would help.

He looked at his patient, who was trying to be as small as possible, clutching his little rat paws, arms crossed over his chest, shy as a bathing maiden. This thing was a hallucination, but he still owed it a proper diagnosis. He had a very good hunch. Well. Good as any. “I need some blood”.

Rook’s eyes widened. He looked to his left and right comically, as if thinking surely he was not for whom the blood was for. Kozlov retrieved the phlebotomist kit from the closet. He would not have been able to admit that he was enjoying this somewhat, the rituals of medicine that he usually passed on to the techs, but he certainly was. Granted, he’d have never in a billion years attempted venipuncture while balls deep in the drink on a REAL patient, but why stop the farce now? He rubbed the crook of the goblin’s arm with an alcohol towlette, tied the elastic tourniquet, and readied the vacutainer.

He then realized the goblin was shaking. Quite badly. He looked up at Rook.

“Just stay still. Make a fist. You’ll feel a little prick and then pressure. Open your hand. Look at the painting on the wall over there. Do you…work around here?”

“On the NWR sir…as a sh…shunter.”

“Mmh, hard work.”

“Yes sir. Very hard…”

“Like it, do you?”

“Oh yes sir…I do. It’s not easy pulling such heavy loads, but the work at the bog is satisfying.”

Kozlov heard the tone of the hallucination change. Pride. Accomplishment. Satisfaction.

Then the samples were collected, the needle withdrawn, and Kozlov placed a neon pink bandage on the collection site. He stared at Rook long enough that the latter started to sweat.

“Get dressed.”

The doctor strode out, leaving Rook alone, confused and smarting.

The whole ordeal had been rather humiliating, and now it seemed this big doctor man was angry with him. He’d never fathomed that he could be so utterly put together wrong that he was offensive. He gritted his teeth, feeling hot shame prickling his cheeks, the ugly bubble of emotion starting to boil over in him…

Meanwhile, Kozlov checked the results.

H. Pylori. He pumped his fist. Just as he thought.

Kozlov stumbled to the bathroom. In a cabinet, behind bottles of pink bismuth and rolls of unopened antacids was a nearly full bottle of omeprazole and plastic blister packs of antibiotics. He swept the whole lot into a plastic bag.

He returned to the office as Rook was walking out, dressed neatly, unable to look Kozlov in the eye.

“Doctor, I’m terribly, terribly sorry for the inconvenience I have ca…”

Kozlov stopped him.

“Stomach ulcer. Easy to treat.”

He kneeled next to Rook carefully, feeling the alcohol vertigo threaten to dump him on his ass for a moment, and started lifting the strange new treats out of the bag and explaining them carefully.

“Take this every day, once a day. Take these morning and night until they are all gone. Don’t forget. Take a few of these ones every time you…eat? Or whatever you do. No coffee, tea, alcohol or soft drinks. Have a spoonful of this if you feel sick.”

“Give me your hand.”

He opened a roll of antacids and shook three out into Rook’s palm.

“Eat.”

Rook, responding best to unequivocal orders, ate the little fruit flavored tablets with no delay.

Kozlov watched him like a buzzard wheeling over a kill. Rook quailed under the scrutiny…the smell of alcohol on the doctor’s breath very strong, his stained under shirt very white. His intense eyes with their dull dagger glare.

I should have stayed home. I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t want to…oh. I…I feel…

“I feel better sir…”

Rook murmured softly. And indeed, he did. That horrible burning was abating, and with it the nausea and tightness. His shoulders slumped, relieved.

Kozlov stood.

“Keep up the meds. You’ll heal in a few weeks.”

For the first time that evening, the doctor smiled.

Kozlov watched his patient as he pobbled back into the night, going gods knew where.

As he stood on his front stoop, he looked at the shards of glass from the broken bottle of scotch. He’d only managed to drink half of it before he’d imagined up the most realistic troll he’d ever seen. He closed and locked the door and climbed the stairs to bed.

Masha once said she loved my compassion. Compassion I even had for a figment of my drunk mind.

He had a lot to think about. But he didn’t need to think about it tonight.

***

Rook was back at the bog, tucked into his nest. He had returned home, washed, and slipped into his pajamas feeling lighter and more at ease than he had in weeks. He looked at all his new acquisitions, the little plastic bottles of pills - the label said ‘KOZLOV, ANTON - OMEPRAZOLE - DR. BEHER. TAKE ONCE A DAY ’ Which he didn’t quite understand but would absolutely follow to the letter.

Doctor’s orders, after all.

He rolled on his side and closed his eyes. Somewhere out in the dark, he heard the howl of an engine, and felt, at least for now, that he was a part of something very large and powerful, something proud and brave. And that was a secret he enjoyed keeping.

***

#Rook Lore #rook 141 #rook the funeral engine #Doctor's Orders

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sunb0rn · 1 year

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nakwento ko weeks back na nag ask si kar sa akin randomly about finances sa bahay, tas nabanggit ko sa kanya yung clip na ito na napanuod ko at sinave pa sa TG nung november.

my 20s self ay nakaka relate. but things isnt like this anymore kaya hits hard in diferent levels especially sa dillema ko since last December- I was thinking na sa darating na taon kukunin ko at least half ng sahod ko monthly and ako nang bahala mag budget atleast for my personal needs, the rest si mamy na bahala for savings and expenses.

disclaimer if u havent seen some of my previous post tungkol sa set up namin sa bahay since nawalan ako ng malaking amount ng money (savings from first working years, 2011 to 2013)- pooled money with my parents, joint savings, shared expenses.

malaking part is napupunta pa din naman sa savings, im grateful for that pero as time passes nahihirapan ako as an adult na hindi ko nahahwakan pera ko.

example: given na yung mga gusto ko bilhin for myself na di ko mabili basta basta, at iba pang bagay na intangible but completely another thing yung gusto ko silang maregaluhan.

i cant kasi nga na kay mamy yung pera. naiingit nga ako nung nagkwento si kar na christmas gift nya sa mama nya ay washing machine tas cash sa papa nya.

i would really want to experience na bilhan talaga sila ng regalo, yung surprise ganon. hindi yung "kung may gusto kayo bilhin kunin niyo nalang sa sahod ko".

nasabi ko na ata dito that there is some kind of resentment on my part doon sa dati na ayaw nilang (esp my mom) tumanggap ng tulong or share ko ngayon hirap din ako na kumukuha lang ng pera ko sa kanya.

it was hard since the whole set up started, kahit na sinasabi kong mutual decision yon especially when I entered gradschool kasi bawas sa isipin ko ang mag budget + mga taong nanghihingi ng tulong na di ko matanggihan, eh sobrang susceptible ko sa abuse.

lately its extra hard pa kasi hindi nalang yung deprivation ko sa sarili ko pero yung pakiramdam na dapat nag ggrow din ako as a person in handling money matters pero di ko magawa.

sabi nga ni kar kausapin ko na, dinelay ko kasi yung plan kong idiscuss nung December. ang akin hayaan nalang muna this year kasi now lang naman ako naka sahod ng medyo malaki- just to secure more savings and other stuffs for the fam.

ngayon, im trying to be as "unapologetic" as i can be kapag kukuha ng budget sa mga lakad ko, nag dagdag din ako weekly allowance. tbh at times naguguilty pa din ako, ang dalas kasi ng mga lakad mula mag 2023.

di naman ako sinisita ni mamy or what pero i still have this uncomfy feeling na baka sa utak nya kinikwestyon nya expenses ko and/or nahihirapan sya mag budget. bukod sa pinanganak ata ako para mapraning sa buhay, sinisi ko pa din sarili ko kung bakit ganito. balik tayo sa clip. it wouldve stayed that same way.

#thoughts

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ceramicdove · 1 year

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hello dove! i am intending to send a similar ask to matthew and angie so if u see them answering asks of the like thats whats up. anyways, i finished jane austens persuasion today. its a rlly lovely book, pondering on something i never rlly thought of but which has enlightened me quite a lot as someone in the position of persuader myself. theres a lot of craft put into it thats very clever and delightful... but i only realised it by reading the introduction after reading the whole book! im not very good at noticing literary techniques at all or implications in words and actions unless theyre very obvious :( reasonably this troubles me (although i hope this ask does not do the same for u)

as someone who reads a lot i assume or just has a great deal of passion for what u read , what do u do to become more sensitive to texts so u can form such nuanced and layered takes! or really how do u read in general?

hello to you too, lab! it took me a while to get around to this, though I strongly enjoyed angie’s and matthew's responses. I've yet to read persuasion, but you make me curious about it, so I may add it to my reading list. Thank you for choosing me to answer this as well! It's an honour.

angie and matthew both wrote very solid and informative responses with more practical advice, so I will ruin this streak of well-sharpened answers by offering you the most dove-like response there is: one that is very long, tangential, and convoluted. this is a theoretical and personal response, it will carry parts that are more like general rants on how people engage with reading, rather than things targeted at you specifically. but this is just how I am. you likely already knew that when you chose to ask me this.

To preface my actual thoughts with a more personal & anecdotal segment: despite your assumption, I actually don't read a lot (what even is "a lot"?), despite wanting to. I'm frequently disappointed with my short-comings in reading and analysis. I have glaring issues with feeling restless and having a poor attention span and memory while reading, which makes it difficult for me to parse through long texts. Like you, I struggle with taking certain things at face value. I have to rely on re-reading a lot.

It's something I beat myself up over frequently. I'm very eager to pursue knowledge, and I always feel like the more I learn, the more I realise I ultimately know absolutely nothing. It's so easy to feel unbearably small. It's a very human thing, but it also makes it difficult to healthily relate with myself when I set such a high bar. at times, it has made me very doubtful about whether my thoughts are worthy of sharing.

Plenty of those who either are or wish to be into analysis & literature place a lot of value and pressure on the act of being someone intellectual, someone who reads a lot, someone who can read a book one time, understand it, and walk away to the next book. I get a lot of youtube videos about literature in my recommended, videos about people who read dozens upon dozens of books in a year, people who read 15 long books in just one month. It's a nice mental image, no? you must be so smart, being able to say "I read 100 books this year!"

I have never read 100 books in one year. I probably never will.

I think many of us don't engage with reading the way we should. I think there's too much pressure placed on being fast and doing more, instead of taking your time and doing better.

reading is a skill. the ideal way to improve a skill is not by mindlessly practicing a lot or as fast as you can, just so you can feel fulfilled by the concept of practicing so much. the ideal way of improving a skill is by identifying your own blind spots, your pace & personal needs, and understanding each piece of knowledge you gain as you evolve.

this is NOT to say that anyone who reads a lot must be a faux-pas intellectual who doesn't actually understand what they're reading, or that you HAVE to pour over every paragraph in a literary work in order to be a good reader. my point is that the desire to "read more" (implicitly the desire to be fulfilled, passionate, smart) is a slippery slope into feeling inferior because you can't read fast enough, can't understand a specific metaphor, can't understand a book if you only read it once, can't do [X] and [Y].

we are all different people, with vastly different minds, needs, and limits.

this is something I'm still coming to terms with. I'm 17, going on 18, and my relationship with art & analysis is constantly shifting as I age. but, fucking hell, you can read just 3 books front-to-back in a year and still have that be more impactful than reading 30 books, solely based on what you read and how you choose to extend your time and sensibility to the work.

You can dedicate a year of your life to loving one singular work, researching all of its references, absorbing its vision. You can do that with just one work, and have that singular experience expand your general culture, evolve your relationship with art and analysis as a whole, or even change your life. Conversely, you can have a massive bookshelf and still have the sensibility & analysis skills of a cardboard box. We are obsessed with doing more, and subsequently beating ourselves up for not doing more, for no reason at all.

the point I'm trying to make is that many of us are a little too hard on ourselves, or are looking at things from the wrong angle. and I really do understand your sentiment of being troubled! I finished utena last night and found myself almost overwhelmed by how much content & symbolism there was that I still needed to go back to and grasp. there were moments when I questioned my own merits as someone who enjoys critical analysis.

but there's a reason why many books have published student guides: lots of people will naturally struggle to grasp certain literary devices. there is no shame in using whatever resources you have at hand. there are entire books and blogs published on understanding specific authors and their works. there's a reason why author's notes exist.

there will be authors who will confuse you, authors that will make you second-guess yourself constantly, and there is nothing inherently wrong with that. we all have different lives, minds, and artistic visions. some authors just have narrative voices you can't connect with very well, and that can be a matter of personal discrepancy. there will be times when you will have to offer yourself patience or look towards external sources. similarly, because you have your own individual mind and vision, there will be instances where other people may seek your help, or praise you for how easily you could grasp an idea that is natural to you, but complex to others.

part of my sensibility as both a reader & writer came from acknowledging all of the aforementioned things, and fighting to untangle them in my mind so I can read in a way that is natural to me and my needs. this is something I still do every day. I still doubt myself every day. I still feel guilty every day. for not being smart enough, not understanding things fast enough, not being a good learner, not being able to use my own words when I need to. but ultimately, I try to remain as open as I can.

would some people be surprised to hear that a lot of my ideas on ES, the ones you and I have spoken of, stem from information I've slowly picked up from other people? I did not re-invent the wheel! I was just open to everything until I started to alchemize everything I learned into my own ideas.

I was insanely different when I first started reading these stories back in the summer of 2021. it's now december 2022, I have re-read some of them more times than I can count. I have read other people's thoughts, at first passively, as a neutral audience member taking everything in, then critically, as someone who has a more solidified vision. the thing is, I still remain open, and still believe I essentially know nothing. but I needed external influence to get to this point.

angie is actually someone who helped me feel more driven towards pursuing and sharing my thoughts with people before we were even friends like we are now, and his analysis & writing is very meaningful and dear to me. it can be really important to have people you can talk to and share ideas with, and that can prove to be mutually beneficial as well. I'm not exactly sure where I'd be now if it weren't for his presence!

in my own case, another part of being nuanced and layered lies in my nature of being open. there is no secret mechanism to this. the truth is, I am inherently what some would call naive. the word "naive" is quite derogatory, and it's true that carrying this childishness has caused me a lot of cognitive dissonance, emotional turmoil, and consequences. but, sometimes, and especially in the field of art, it grants me a special kind of sensibility. it's part of who I am. I am very open to wonder and to child-like feelings. I am very prone to offering the benefit of the doubt and to believing in everything and everyone. I am not a push-over, but I am malleable. I absorb everything around me until I can mature my knowledge and evolve my own ideas.

this can be a downfall, it can cause me to become so conflicted with my ideas that I can't bear it, and it has isolated me at times. but it has also manifested itself as an artistic and interpretative strength, an internal world I see that others cannot.

look into yourself and how you engage with art, and come to terms with your own strengths and needs as someone who both creates and engages with creations. you are a very sensible and intelligent person, and I admire you for that. perhaps we all just need more time with ourselves in order to find a method of engaging with texts that is more personal and holistic to us.

generally speaking, in no particular order, this is what I do:

-> I re-read the material as many times as I feel called to. re-reading is my natural way of evolving information. I seek patterns and reoccurring symbols, structures that sew the story together.

-> I take note of any terms or references that are foreign to me, and I research them as deeply as I can to see if I can find anything useful to my interpretation. sometimes, I will put coloured post-it indexes on the pages of a book to mark information I plan to research at a later time, or I use my highlighter chrome extension if I'm reading digitally. wikipedia, articles, academic papers, and guidebooks are my best friends.

-> I stay open to what other people are saying and weigh in their perspectives. I try to understand people's backgrounds, as well as what they seek from the story, so I can understand why they look at it in that way. I take information that is new and intriguing to me, and I leave the rest behind.

-> I can get very restless and overwhelmed quickly if I focus too much on a text, so I give myself time to process information. I write down analysis notes, half-baked as they may be in the beginning, in order to unravel any confused and tangled thoughts in my mind and give myself space to think and evolve more calmly.

-> I listen to ambiental music or meditate in order to cool off and allow ideas to come to me more easily. entering this flow state can be crucial to me as someone who easily gets too energetic or tense when trying to process information and ideas.

-> I try to take a step back when I am frustrated with my understanding of a text, and I either seek external resources, come back to it a bit later, or I put it on the backburner for when I feel that my reading skills are more developed and I can tackle it more confidently.

I could say a million other things, but I already think it's a miracle if you even read this far in the first place. if you did, thank you. I emphatise with your feelings a lot, since I have shared similar experiences with understanding prose, poetry, and plays alike. this is something I am still actively learning for myself. I hope we can both continue finding ways to grow as readers!

#🕊️📬

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capitalism-and-analytics · 2 years

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hello. i am 24 currently, i have my bachelor’s in acct (graduated in dec 21) and ive done a single acct internship with crowe in spring 22. however i did not get a job offer afterward. i think i was overwhelmed by the job, how i was doing such important work after starting from nothing. it was kinda monumentous and a little heavy. idk if that makes sense? but currently im just working at a coffee shop and a restaurant. its very different but idk im kinda flailing around not going after my dream. i do love acct. i graduated with a 3.9 gpa and enjoyed every bit of college. i should also mention that im high functioning autistic so idk if i chose the right field 😭 do u have any advice for me that could potentially help me get to where i want to be? i dont mind being a staff accountant. i dont aim very high. im not for senior manager or partner stuff. i also do wanna mention that i did apply for another internship for 23 spring but i did not receive it. i was kinda ashamed of myself and stopped trying 🥲 im sorry if im bothering u. thank u.

i have my bachelor’s in acct (graduated in dec 21)

Congratulations!

and ive done a single acct internship with crowe in spring 22. however i did not get a job offer afterward.

Crowe is a reputable firm and arguably one of the better large PA firms from what I've heard. Did they provide any feedback as to why you were not receiving a return offer? I know you mentioned that you were overwhelmed with the job, but just curious if there were any specific gaps, issues, or deficiencies that you could potentially address in preparation of your next role.

i should also mention that im high functioning autistic so idk if i chose the right field 😭

Although I will not pretend to be an expert on autism, I can tell you from experience that I have worked with many individuals with autism throughout my career, including in consulting, which is one of the more socially challenging areas among accounting, so I wouldn't let yourself question if accounting is the right field for you. At least not due to having Autism, it may be the wrong field for other reasons.

At the very least, one of the many perks of accounting is how versatile it is, so perhaps you may just want to pursue something with less client-facing (i.e. not public accounting) or at smaller firms.

do u have any advice for me that could potentially help me get to where I want to be? i dont mind being a staff accountant. i dont aim very high. im not for senior manager or partner stuff.

Well let's start with that: where do you want to be? It'll be much easier to advice you in a direction after knowing where you want to go and don't worry if that changes in the future. Your journey isn't one that is set in stone, it can change many times in your life.

Also don't put yourself down so much, you got a strong GPA, a valuable degree, and an internship from a reputable firm. You have A LOT of options and just realize you have already accomplished a lot more than many other graduates with and without Autism.

Furthermore, just for your awareness, you can still go far in your career as an individual contributor (IC) and not ever become a people manager (PM). There's a lot of people who become long-term IC's and still go far.

i also do wanna mention that i did apply for another internship for 23 spring but i did not receive it.

No worries! Just keep applying everywhere that seems interesting and don't just limit yourself to internships, you should apply to full-time positions too. You don't have to do an internship to get a FT offer. I did a tax internship my junior year at a small cpa firm and then switched to data analytics consulting at a big 4 (w/o internship) after I graduated.

Something to remember is that, just because you don't get a response or even get rejected from a company, it doesn't necessarily mean you are underqualified. A lot of companies have permanent job postings to have constant applications that auto-reject after XYZ days, even if they have no open positions.

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prescott-roofing · 2 months

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Hiring Masonry Contractors: Top Questions to Ask

Did you know? The spending of homeowners in the US on home improvement tasks was about USD 8,484 in 2022. (https://www.globenewswire.com/en/news-release/2022/12/07/2569411/0/en/Despite-Inflation-and-Recession-Fears-U-S-Homeowners-Continued-to-Invest-in-Their-Homes-in-2022.html) Yes, you read it right! The core rationale behind home improvement is to enhance its functionality, aesthetic appeal, liveability, and overall value. Whether you want to fix your cement flooring, repair the chimney, or install a new brick fireplace, hiring an expert masonry contractor in Pittsburgh is crucial. With extensive experience, the professionals can offer you the best services and meet your unique requirements.

Want to hire a professional contractor for brick masonry in Pittsburgh, PA? Read on to explore the top questions you must ask to gain clear insights and avoid any confusion later. Let’s dive in!

#1 What level of experience do you possess?

While every masonry contractor promises to deliver quality services, you cannot partner with any random one. It is always best to collaborate with the experienced ones for top-notch services. Besides their overall experience in the industry, you must get an idea about their relevant expertise in the specific area.

For instance, if you are looking for Pittsburgh chimney repair services, the professionals must have handled such projects earlier. On the other hand, when you hire a Pittsburgh roofing company, they must have adequate experience in installing new roofs. With expert masonry contractors by your side, you can expect flawless and hassle-free home improvement.

#2 Is any preparation required before the project begins?

Some projects demand preparing your house before the home improvement actually starts. To avoid last-minute hassles and surprises, clarifying the same with your contractor is essential. It will provide you with more time to get the preparation done and ensure the smooth completion of the project within the set deadline.

#3 When can I expect the completion of the project?

After you share your unique requirements, you must get an estimated timeframe for the project completion. No doubt, unforeseen situations may cause the home renovation project to take a longer time. However, getting an idea of the approximate time is essential. Moreover, you can also ask about the projects your masonry contractor is currently handling and when you can expect your work to start.

#4 How does payment work?

Besides getting an estimate of project costs, you must also gain insights into the available methods of payment and the payment schedule. Try to agree on a schedule that requires you to make payments with the progress of the project instead of hefty upfront costs.

#5 Do you have an insurance?

Things can go wrong and mishaps may happen during the home renovation projects. Therefore, verifying the insurance of your masonry contractor is crucial. It will ensure that you won’t be liable for any damage to the property.

Conclusion:

To ensure a successful partnership with the masonry contractors, complete transparency is vital. That is why you must ask all these questions and gain optimum clarity. Are you looking for a masonry or new roof contractor in Pittsburgh? WM. Prescott Roofing and Remodeling Inc. can be the perfect choice.

Source: https://prescottroofing.wordpress.com/2024/05/01/hiring-masonry-contractors-top-questions-to-ask/

#Masonry Contractors

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benefits1986 · 7 months

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R U G

Started the day with Kodaline PL and thought I'd be able to down a whole bottle of wine in the name of sedation, however...

Sucking in all good vibes because wala lang for today's video. Been really in the zone as I plugged in my planned leaves for the year-ender. Not sure pa saan ako mapapadpad pero, oks lang. Ready for it. CHZ.

So ayun na nga. Kodaline is one of the most underrated bands I've been listening to for quite some time. Parang in between praise song siya and feel good music kahit 'yung iba, sadboi songs. LOL.

Lakas maka-good vibes and all. The plan for tonight is to down work items and hustles. Happy lang ako kasi apart from goal setting with our newest hire, we both love BL. Tawang-tawa ako because I asked her anong series ang bias niya. She readily said Call Me By Your Name. Shookt ako kasi oweeem. Then, I told her if GSP (Gaya Sa Pelikula) is part of her Gen Z radar. She Googled it and screamed, gwapo daw ng mga bida. 'Di ba? And she's off to binge watch daw sa weekend. Sabi ko, chikahan kami on Monday about it. And we'll down her goals before the week ends, too.

Also, in our call, I met her mom and brother na plus her dog. Shemay. Buti, mabait voice ko. HAHAHA. The brother kasi greeted me back ng good morning and the introvert in me froze. I asked if she's on headset and no raw. Hello, po tita and to your dog too. Good morning! HAHHAHAA. Shet. Another stakeholder na naman po, opo.

Syempre, ganado tayo kasi nabubuo na ang game. Unti-unti, but, wait, there's more. Mas dama ko 'yung flow na 'di pa naman flowing pero papunta na doon ng team. 'Di siya madali sa dami ng lusak levels ganaps, pero, naniniwala ako na character and culture na intentional are the keys, baby. LUH. Dalisay era gaming na ba ito talaga? Or gusto ko lang talaga ng bonus for JaFunds +++? Or both din naman, puwede.

Side note: End state na gusto ko sana soon pero tanggap ko naman na ang gestation period since 'di naman talaga madaling mag-inception ng mindset agad. OKAYYY. FINEEE. 'Yung parang kami ng second dad ko. Iinom lang tapos may slides na agad then sabak na agad. Message-message and banter na lang. Walang ego gaming. Syempre, laging mala-defense 'yung mga batuhan namin pero, mabilis. Dumadaloy. Tuloy-tuloy. In my past life kasi, hataw-kalabaw ako. If you can't catch my drift, aggressive-aggressive mode ako kahit kanino. LOL. Pero, hindi na ako ganun ngayon. I've learned bitter lessons na I'm using as guideposts in this chapter. LUH. Hahahahaha.

Drank wine pa, and halfway through the bottle, my fourth anak-anakan arrived at home. 'Yung sedation ko, nauwi sa palpitation. Lakas. Hahahaha. LOL. I really need sedation para makalma ako at makatulog din. So 'yun na ngaaaa. She's been reaching out the past weeks. Sundot lang nung una. Kamusta ba raw ako and all pabebs. Then, poof. Luwas daw siya kasi need niya ng backup. As a backup files girl, sabi ko, sige. Okay. Then, real quick, andito na siya. Akala ko naman sa weekend pa. HAHAHAHA. 'Di aligned ang calendar namin. Opo. Pero, seriously, she's been battling silent battles for a long time. And, 'yung mom niya reached out years ago na ako na raw muna bahala sa panganay niya. They live together naman pero, Gen X parenting is not giving... slay 'pag dating sa mental health issues.

Honestly, when her mom reached out, I begged off agad coz I'm not a good example. Actually, I'm the best example of a really bad shit example. LOL. Sinabi ko rin 'to sa mom niya. Sabi naman ng mom niya, she knows that I can handle her strong-willed daughter kasi 'di na nila alam gagawin nila. HAHAHAHAHA. Sabi ko, I will try. Best effort kasi 'di ko naman alam anong vibe ng batang 'to. Small talk. Milktea. Kulitan 'pag nasa Laguna ako and then she eventually opened up. Hay. Hay. Hayyyyayyy.

'Yung g na g na ako will say na: Magusap kasi kayong mag-ina. Pareho naman ang intention n'yo pero you don't speak the same language. 'Yun lang. Napaka simple naman kasi ng problema. Wala kayong heart to heart alignment. UGH. Pero, syempre, to atone for my scarlet sins nung kabataan ko, sige. Sige na. Sige na nga. I've been my 4th anak-anakan's journal x graphic novel. Ganern. And in all of our talks, I find myself talking to my younger, naive self. Ang lala. Cringe pero sige... eto na tayo. Mas mabait pa naman siya sa akin pero 'yung spiral, kinabog ako, mhie. Iba na talaga mga bata ngayon. Not to judge, pero iba na rin kasi ang realities nila. Online and offline world gaming.

She has so much potentials as a med student doing fan art. Mabuting bata. She started sa DeviantArt pa. Alam mo 'yung 'di patapon buhay pero she has this belief that she is not enough. HUY. Sounds oddly familiar, noh? HAHAHAHAHAH. Can't sleep na naman kasi binabantayan ko siya. Parang tulog naman na while I'm writing this. I am hanging onto her small wins and hyping her sa abot ng kaya ko. Para tayong candy-sprinkled donut for this late night session. Kitang-kita at damang-dama ko na she wants to shape up. And I really am not giving up on her. She shared that she knows she is healing but why does healing hurt so badly and why does it take so long? HUY. It hit home... hard. Sapol na sapol ang hidden dark heart ko, mhie. Her fat tears rolled down her cheeks and poof. Ayun na.

Sabi ko naman as a mature kuno being and doing: Hurting and healing go hand in hand. Remember phantom pain? That's how it is talaga. Circle of life, baga. Ginamitan ko pa ng scenario na quadruple bypass surgery x brain injury pero may 15% chances of survival. Sabi ba naman e 'di deads na 'yun. Sabi ko, 'wag niya akong dadaanin sa pilosopa ways niya. I challenged her na, kung doctor ka ba and nakikita mong lumalaban patient mo to the fullest, susukuan mo ba? Tumigil. Sabi, she will try her best daw to heal the patient.

What struck me most is that now, she is sure that she wants to be a doctor, unlike before. Another win pero for me, big win na 'to. She told me: Ate, this is my chance to live longer. HUHUHUHUHU. Pero syempre, matalinong gago, kaya may bawi na, kaso parang 'di ko deserve e. Dami kong naabala. Nasasayang na oras. 'Di ako worth it. 'Yung saltik neto, iba rin e. Extremes. Sabi ko naman, mag boyfriend na siya ng may pagbuntunan na siya ng galit at pabebs niya. Humanap siya sa BGC mamaya ng qualified leads. HAHAHHAHAHA. Sabay tanong sa akin: Ikaw ba may boyfriend na? Me: Ako pa ba? :D Syempre, wala. Hahahahaha. E girlfriend? Wala rin. Basic. Matic. Paka impakta talaga neto madalas. Tanong niya, bakit. Sabi ko naman, let's not go there. Not today, Satan. Not today. :D Kelan ba kasi ako tantantanan ng mga ganitong klaseng tanong? Iniisip ko minsan, sagutin na YES MERON. Para matapos na lang.

May type daw siya na tawang-tawa ako. I CANNOT. Hahahaha. Pagdasal ko na rin 'to as a priority po, Lord. CHZ. Sabi ko rin, 'wag na niya akong gayahin kasi hindi ideal path 'yung akin. :p Masukal at masalimuot pero natatawid-tawid naman. Unti-unti. Side note: Parang kami lang kasi sa fambam ang may ganitong pitik. Sabi ko nga, 'wag niya akong tuluran. Babala. :p

Sabi ko, bahay kami mag-stay since I'm work from home later. Sabi, puwede daw ba maglakad sa labas. Okayyyy. BGC, hello po, in a bit. LOL. Also, walang dalang damit so ako pa nagbihis sa kanya. I joked pa na kahit isang buwan siya dito sa bahay, Shein finds na pasado namang Gen Z galore siya dito. Syempre, pinapili ko ng drip. Excited siya e. Pinapili ko rin kung bike o lakad since biking mode kami sa Laguna. Lakad daw. Soooo, tatapusin ng mabilis ang mga paganaps bukas at lalakad tayo sa most unfavorite space ko sa Manila. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA.

Road to yaya turned mayordoma na ba talaga ako this era? Bakit napapraning ako kahit parang tulog na siya? LOL. If I can only down the whole bottle of wine rn, but, sige, mature na tayo. Hahahahaha. Wala rin siyang dalang laptop, so sabi ko, say no more. Tawang-tawa. :D Buti, binalik agad personal laptop ko. So ayun, gising na gising na naman po tayo so early in the morning. Isipan ko pa ng roll out ganaps ko mamaya. 'Di ako sure, pero ready naman na ako. Eto na 'to e. LOL. So help me, universe.

youtube

#Youtube

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burpenterprisejournal · 8 months

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ALLOATTI / POGO / SEKI / ZAZIE AT HARD TO TALK!

2023/10/29 Hard to Talk! IDIL EASTLEY / ROTHENBERG / DÖRNER / HEIN ALLOATTI / POGO / SEKI / ZAZIE BMCCRAT JOJI NYSTAGMUS X FURR Petersburg Art Space Berlin - DE

Sunday October 29 PAS Kaiserin-Augusta-Allee 101, Berlin, Germany

Hard to Talk! October Edition Das Klacken der Krallen. Küken, Küken, Küken, Küken....

idil - "on times I have forced myself to contain" participatory performance installation

Max Eastley - The Arc, objects David Rothenberg - clarinets, electronics Axel Dörner - trumpet, electronics Nicola L. Hein - guitar, electronics

Gio - electronics, voice Kaz - electronics, voice JD Zazie - turntables, CDjs Mat Pogo - electronics, voice

Bmccrat emo folk, folk punk

joji - movement performance

nystagmus x furrr electronic set

Entrance in the courtyard, Aufgang II, 1OG Doors 18:30, performance and installation starts at 19:00

More info: on times I have forced myself to contain participatory performance installation Artist: idil (idilatasoy_ on instagram) Text: zeynep yılmaz (@zeeynepyilmaz on instagram)

WORK DESCRIPTION:

idil presents an interactive installation in the form of a tent that allows for the visitors to engage with it as they desire. Departing from the understanding of a carrier bag when it comes to narrative structures and storytelling (Le Guin), the artist invites you to take part in a collective effort to unpack individual experiences upon the tent, whether by adding new elements or subtracting existing parts throughout the exhibition.

This tent, the support for which is assembled using emptied food containers from Turkish restaurants, represents a safe haven in times of life’s uncertainties, heavy storms, and especially in regards to migratory movements. While acknowledging a sacred space for our true selves with all that they carry within, it simultaneously unravels safety’s ever-changing, non-static, multifaceted, temporal nature.

The act of constructing and modifying the tent together is a testament to the power of communities, personal journeys, diverse narratives and of the resilience needed in a world that often pushes us to move on. Conversely, in also inviting to deconstruct the tent spread over time, idil underlines the impermanence of stories and places, as a way to hold agency upon transforming and letting go structures that no longer serve us. As a way to reach what holds a chance at being ephemeral.

The tent bears an embodiment for our intimate narratives, as much as for the collective wisdom joining us in our endeavor, where and however it may be.

Bmccrat Bailey McCarty Hello, I am bailey! My music is generally emo folk, folk punk and anything that a sweet mandolin lick might accompany.

Vera Vishnevaya aka furrr is a Yerevan-based experimental musician, filmmaker, media and sound artist, curator, and a video stream host at s0r. In her solo musical output and dj-selections, Vera combines dense soundscaping with offbeat rhythms. As an artist, her work deals with collective memory and trauma, taking the form of minimalistic yet elaborate sound installations. Lately, Vera’s been actively researching local underground scenes, putting out impressive line-ups for events and festivals, as well as showcasing the talents via the video platform s0r.

Kay Khachatryan aka n y s t a g m u s is a sound artist, relentless experimenter, and an explorer of obscure sonic phenomena from Yerevan, known for using field recordings and self-built devices to capture and manipulate sounds. His work focuses on preserving the authenticity of street and acoustic noises, while exploring the timbre and psychological aspects of sound. A veteran of Yerevan's underground, Kay has been prolific in a wide range of underground genres — from raw punk-rock and metal to futuristic deconstruction of club music.

When working together, Vera and Kay deliver intuitive original performances using both acoustic and electronic instruments, showcasing their atmosphere- and rhythm-building skills. Always mindful of the space and occasion, the duo’s set can change from a deep drone session to a barrage of experimental bangers — and everything in between.

#live #concert #mat pogo #jd zazie #wp

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dinodemo · 2 years

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What does lmms stand for

Most common LMMS abbreviation full forms updated in October. All the synths are ones that came with LMMS. What does LMMS abbreviation stand for List of 31 best LMMS meaning forms based on popularity. Happy producing :)Įdit: quick note to say that I didn't use any VSTs in the first song. While using LMMS, I developed a fairly deep understanding of how everything works, and I found that the knowledge I gained carried over very well. You should know this stuff anyways, but it's possible to not get what you're dong and still sound okay in other DAWs. LMMS can really sing, but you have to know exactly how stuff is working like the back of your hand. For example, I mastered the first one using Maximus, but I have since come up with a way to do decent mastering right in LMMS. I learned a lot though and I would probably sound better if II remade it now. The first song was one of the last ones I made with LMMS, and the second one was right after my transition to FL. The difference between LMMS and something like FL is roughly the difference between this and this. I mean, we are all about open source after all ) And then. I know I'm a bit late to the party, but let me chime in. I have always wanted to let other people see in real-time what kind of music im making currently. Oh, and if you're using LMMS on linux, another high quality DAW that runs on linux is Bitwig studio. LMMS is defined as Lower Macungie Middle School (Macungie, PA) rarely. Things just "not sounding right" is something the artist needs to learn for themselves, but particular features are something that DAWs can provide. LMMS stands for Lower Macungie Middle School (Macungie, PA). What is Pan in sound mixer What is panning in sound In audio, panning is the process of positioning sounds at particular locations in the stereo. I would say it's time to switch when you've found a particular feature you really want that LMMS doesn't have. What does Pan mean for music Panning is the distribution of a audio signal (either monaural or stereophonic pairs) into a new stereo or multi-channel sound field determined by a pan control setting.

All DAWs are pretty similar, so stuff you learn using one usually translates fairly well to the next one (I've used about 4 a decent amount, this is my experience). There a ton of stuff like that where LMMS just isn't quite up to par with other DAWs.īut there's also a ton you can learn just using LMMS. For example, last I used it, there was no functionality to export midi (which means your couldn't even switch DAWs on a project even if you wanted to). Maybe it's due to the particular synth you're using (you can fix this by getting better VSTs), but you're probably right, it's your own inexperience. Title Linear Mixed Effect Model Splines for Modelling and Analysis of. LMMS has versions for Windows and macOS in addition to Linux. I don't think that the problem getting your synths to sound right is because of using LMMS. It is a very good open-source program that is used to create music tracks using sound files, predefined instruments, and sound effects.

You can find links to other useful Open Source audio and audio-visual applications, that you can download and use, in the Audacity Wiki.LMMS isn't bad.

Other Open Source Audio and Audio-Visual Applications

You may copy, distribute, modify and/or resell Audacity, under the terms of the GNU GPL.

To build Audacity yourself, download the source code.

Although there are a number of sellers of Audacity software on ebay, Amazon, Microsoft Store and Apple Store, none of these sellers are affiliated to Audacity, and none have contributed in any way to the Audacity project.

Source code and user manuals for some old versions are available on FossHub. Due to reported problems with SnapCraft / Flatpak / PPA versions, our current recommendation for Ubuntu / Mint users is to install the “deb” version from the main repository.

For Linux, the appropriate version of Audacity for your operating system is usually included in your distribution’s repository.

For macOS 10.12 (Sierra) and earlier, legacy versions of Audacity are available on the Legacy Mac downloads page.

For Windows 7 and earlier, legacy versions of Audacity are available on the Legacy Windows downloads page.

#What does lmms stand for

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misterbitches · 3 years

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i did it. im caught up. im sad i caught up. i like it a lot. i’m very sensitive to the faults storywise and visually as well as societal implications but it’s good that i get to engage with it and think. i don’t know if they will pull it out but so far so good. i’d like to hear if anyone has any critiques but probably not. now i’m tres interested in aeymhok and also pls keep aey on skewerslide watch i swear to god the energy the actor was radiating i was like was this me looking at my brother when i thought he was gonna lose his mind? is this mymom looking at me? maybe im just extra sensitive lately but i feel like he’s a sad sack but bnot in a bad way. it;s like ugh you’re actually pathetic rn but there’s so much shit! and u can tell even through the stupid behavior he just knows it sucks. so melancholy jesus christ. i will fly to thailand rn and save u i swear 2 god kid

i liek the ensemble nature. interested to see whats ahead. i’m trying to locate the feeling of watching it. it is enjoyable and romantic but it’s also a show i actualyl have to think for. i mentioned this before but they upload the videos on youtueb pretty crisp and htey dont come compressed, the audio is clean, the production design is nice, and even if its’ a bit emptier than what we would be used to like yea it works. they are asking us to understand and take the show seriously, go through the ups and downs, think and reflect, and think back and also the immediate jokes and thoughts that come up. theyre telling us it’s serious so the two MAJOR things to do that i know they wont do: clean up the fucking edit. i am sorry it’s unacceptable. there’s some lazy fucking syncing and cutting. it’s probably some kid who knows nothing doing it but this is your WORK guys and it’s so far decent work so i don’t think the scenes where it’s clear they were rushing to get it out or something should go out unchecked. dont care that’s filmmakign 101. ur telling us everything abt this is a true work SO FUCKING MAKE IT COUNT IN YOUR EDIT. IT’ S AHUGE PART OF THE EXPERIENCE.

secondly they NEED to understnad the timing of sound. like honestly. they have to get rid of the gulping “foley” (sounds recreated after the fact but idk if that would be foley? idc) it’s REALLY DISTRACTING. the eye movements. it’s been more sobering and theyve tempered the music but you can tell when they nail certain scenes and then it’s like others hwere they were like ????? WHAT 2 DO? NEED 2 SUBMIT TAPE? UHHHHHHHHH JUST (fast typing) and then we get shit like a double cut in a shot. nah. they KNOW how to do it so you can feel what parts are being rushed and that’s where im like DO BETTER GUYS IT’S IN YOU

the editing thing imo is not minor. the music thing fine. but im hoenstly shocked. that’s really embarrassing and th eeditor should be embarrassed and so should the team. it’s soooo frustrating to see that cos you know they spent time and energy on it. so it needs that consistency.

i can literally onyl talk about this at length bc i genuinely like what i hvae seen and i find the show interesting! i love it when satire makes me think but i brace myself for if it fails cos it can. and even though you kind have have to think more with it there’s less stress and pressure when watching it. i think bc there’s a lot to figure out tempered with the humor so the watch isnt stressful which a lot of TV is to me. but again these shows arent meant to be binged! which is good! and why it is even more imperative u fucking make sure when u publish ur show u get that cut motherfucking TIGHTTTTTTTT MATE

bonus for sure the acting in this show is really beyond than usual. not like stellar. but like with ITSAY it’s like ah yes gravitas. feeling. and they have to bc of the show’s contents. but u can see up takes it seriously. he’s doing really well. i was recently listening to this make up artist who sued to work in film and he was like listen if ur gonna fake drunk u gotta SELL THAT SHIT MAN and ever since then it’s been stuck in my head. up sold it!!!!!! yes indeed my measure of a good actor is HOW GOOD ARE U AT FAKING BEING FUCKED UP / BEING FUCKED UP AND ACTING WHILE UR FUCKED UP LMAO

fun fact that’s actually an insurance disaster. ur not allowed to have driks around a camera bc it’s insured. yes it’s stupid but it’s true. no people dont follow it.

#lovely writer #why yes #yes filmmakers will go into your home #cos htey rented an airbnb for their film #and u may or may not be working on set as a PA #and u may just so happen to spill some coffee on a white couch #anythign can happen #now imagine that but with like a 75k camera #art :')

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movie-magic · 3 years

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Ruby Rose Alleges Gruesome Injuries, Toxic Behavior on ‘Batwoman’ Set

“I will come for you so what happened to me never happens to another person again,” actress wrote on Instagram

Actress Ruby Rose detailed the injuries and difficult working conditions she says she and others endured while making the CW Arrowverse series, Batwoman.

Rose — who left Batwoman in May 2020 — leveled her allegations in a series of posts on Instagram Stories, which included video from doctors’ visits post-injury. She also detailed alleged injuries suffered by crew members and stunt people, while she accused Warner Bros. Television executive, Peter Roth, of hiring a private investigator to track her.

“Enough is enough,” Rose wrote in her first post, which was addressed to the CW, Batwoman showrunner Caroline Dries, and Greg Berlanti and Sarah Schechter of the show’s production company Berlanti Productions. “I’m going to tell the whole world what really happened on that set… I will come for you so what happened to me never happens to another person again. And so I can finally take back my life and the truth. Shame on you.”

Rose shared a handful of videos from doctors’ visits regarding injuries to her ribs and neck. Reposting a clip made during a neck surgery she underwent in 2019, Rose wrote, “To everyone who said I was too stiff on Batwoman, imagine going back to work 10 days after this … 10 DAYS! (Or the whole crew and cast would be fired and I’d let everyone down because [Warner Bros. exec] Peter Roth said he would recast and I just lost the studio millions (by getting injured on his set). … Instead of spending half a day to rewrite me out for a few weeks to heal.”

Rose went on to say she would never return to Batwoman for “any amount of money nor if a gun were to my head,” although also clarified that she did not quit. “They ruined Kate Kane and they destroyed Batwoman, not me. I followed orders, and if I wanted to stay I was going to have to sign my rights away. Any threats, any bullying tactics, or blackmail will not make me stand down.”

She then went on to share allegations involving dangerous workplace conditions and injuries she says were suffered by herself and others on the set. Rose claimed a crew member “got 3rd degree burns over his whole body, and we were given no therapy after witnessing his skin fall off his face.” She claimed that soon after, she was told she “had to do a sex scene without a minute to process.” Additionally, she said the show lost two stunt doubles, and she was once cut so close to the eye while doing a stunt, “I could have been blind.”

Rose also claimed that a PA was “left quadriplegic” following an incident on the set. While the incident was allegedly blamed on the woman being on her phone, Rose noted, “she’s a PA, they work via phones.” Rose added that the incident “occurred because our show refused to shut down when everyone else did because of Covid,” and that the showrunner, Dries, “wanted us to finish the season throughout the pandemic and I told her it was a bad idea… I told her everyone was too distracted, constantly checking Covid updates, checking on friends.” Rose said when the show was finally shut down it was not because of the PA’s injury, but because of the government mandate.

Elsewhere in her posts, Rose addressed Roth, the Warner TV exec, saying he allegedly made “young women steam [his] pants, around your crotch while you were still wearing said pants,” and that he allegedly hired a private investigator to track Rose, but fired them “as soon as the report didn’t fit your narrative.” “When it comes to you, there’s already an army waiting for u,” Rose wrote.

She also leveled several accusations against Batwoman co-star Dougray Scott: “Dougray hurt a female stunt double, he yelled like a little bitch at women and was a nightmare. He left when he wanted and arrived when he wanted, he abused women and in turn, as a lead of a show, I sent an email out asking for a no yelling policy, they declined.”

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Could we please have a prequel to the praise kink fic? Because i really want to know why were Sirius and Remus not together and what did Remus send him. I really need context

I was hoping somebody would ask for this!! The aforementioned fic is here for any curious souls (18+ please) and SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for spicy texts (not exactly nudes), and smutty feelings with nothing explicit

The bus went over a bump and Sirius winced as his shins knocked against the back of the seat in front of him, connecting with the metal brace inside. “Fuck.”

“You sure you don’t want to switch?” James asked next to him. Sirius glanced down at the veritable wall of gear and empty snack bags between them, then back to James in disbelief. He shrugged, then set his headphones back over his ears. “Worth a shot.”

“Merde,” Sirius hissed as a pothole nearly took off his kneecap. He gritted his teeth and readjusted, drawing his legs closer to his chest. I want to be home, he thought, allowing himself an internal moment to whine.

He checked his phone—not even ten in the morning. It was a Saturday, so Remus would probably just be rolling out of bed, still sleepy and soft with his hair sticking up like a disgruntled cat’s. Sirius sighed heavily and stared out the window at the small town rolling past in the distance; there was little he wouldn’t give to be back with him instead of on the way to a full week of conferences.

“Why did we have to win the Cup?” he grumbled.

James lifted one side of his headphones. “What?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t like they had had much time to themselves before that, either—Sirius’ schedule was packed with interviews that felt more like interrogations, and Remus had been running the PT department mostly by himself while Moody took a well-deserved vacation. They were dead on their feet every night, worked to the bone with little energy left to do more than cuddle and fall asleep. Still, Sirius was grateful for every second of it.

He waited ten more minutes before giving in.

New Message To: Re

Bonjour mon loup <3

There was no immediate response, which made sense, though he was a little bit disappointed. Sirius closed his eyes and tried to make himself relax; it would be at least another six hours before they arrived at their destination, and the bad weather gathering overhead didn’t bode well for quick travel.

His phone buzzed gently and he scrambled to answer. Don’t be Reg, don’t be Reg, don’t be Reg—

New Message From: Re

Morning love!

Thanks for the bagels <3

“Fuck yes,” Sirius said under his breath. The bagels had been a last-minute decision as he crept through the house in the early hours of the morning after carefully detaching himself from Remus with a final half-asleep farewell kiss. There was no guarantee he would remember breakfast with everything going on, so Sirius figured it was a safe bet to toast them and leave them on the countertop before heading out.

Message To: Re

Pas de problem

Sleep well?

Message From: Re

Decent

Missed you :(

Sirius rested his temple against the cold window with a soft sound. He hated leaving at different times, but that was just how their life worked at the moment.

Message To: Re

Missed you too <3

Three small dots appeared for a long moment before vanishing without a trace just as his heart rate began picking up. Where’d you go? he almost wondered aloud. Something bumped his arm and James raised a quizzical brow. “Loops,” Sirius said by way of explanation.

“I figured. He okay?”

“I think so? He just…disappeared on me.” Sirius was well-aware of how plaintive he sounded—James’ teasing smile was completely unnecessary.

“Aw, Cap,” he laughed, reaching over to mess with his beanie until Sirius slapped his hand away. “It’s alright, buddy, it’s just a couple days.”

Sirius jammed his hat back on his head and flicked James on the unprotected bit of his ear, making him yelp. “Fuck off, I know you’ll be a mess as soon as Lily FaceTimes with my godson.”

“He has a name, you know.”

“Sorry. You’ll be a mess as soon as she FaceTimes with Pocket Pots, who happens to be my godson.”

James rolled his eyes. “I regret giving you that title.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

As if on cue, his phone lit up again; Sirius ignored James’ snickering as he quickly unlocked it.

New Message From: Re

When will you be at the hotel?

“That’s it?” he muttered.

Message To: Re

That was a lot of typing for one sentence

6-7 hrs, if the weather holds

Why?

Message From: Re

Sorry lmao Reg came in for a bit

Just curious :) Keep me updated?

Message To: Re

Will do <3

Tell Reg he needs to wash his sheets. It’s been over a month.

A small thumbs-up emoji was his only answer, and he tried not to be too bummed. Remus liked having things to do; sitting there and texting Sirius while he slowly got further and further away was probably not his preferred way to spend a morning. With a sigh that was likely a bit too dramatic for the situation he was in, Sirius faced the window once more and buckled in for a long ride.

He chatted off and on with the others when they stopped for lunch, but everyone was exhausted from the combination of a packed week and an early morning. Even Talker stayed fairly quiet, and James kept his headphones on for most of the trip.

Sirius finally succumbed to his tiredness and put some music on, then dozed for an hour or three while they traveled through yet another field. A few halfhearted calls of “cows” made their way around the bus, though nobody seemed particularly enthused about being packed in with double the gear due to a broken storage compartment. Donuts and gas station coffee could only do so much.

“Just crossed the state border,” Arthur called from the front of the bus as Sirius tried to ignore the cramping in his thighs. Three hours. Just three more.

His music was interrupted by a soft jingle alert and he pulled his phone out, hoping against hope that Regulus hadn’t caused a fire anywhere. It was unlikely given the…well, everything about him, but with Sirius’ luck it could happen.

New Message From: Re

How far?

Message To: Re

About 3 hrs. Ran into some detours

Good day?

Remus remained silent on the other end and Sirius frowned. That was rather rude, and highly unusual. Between the two of them, Remus was the one who kept conversations going past the initial question to be answered.

Message From: Re

Attachment: 1 Image

Love you! Call me when you get there : )

Sirius opened the attachment and almost threw his phone in utter shock. Skin. Bare skin everywhere, its smooth edges broken up only by tight black fabric that may as well have been painted onto the curve of Remus’ ass. “Oh my god,” he whimpered, voice barely audible even to his own ears. It had been taken in their bedroom mirror; Remus looked over his shoulder, and Sirius caught the corner of a devious smirk on his lips. “Oh, you fucker.”

Message From: Re

Thoughts? They’re cozy

Message To: Re

Did you miss the part where I said three (3) hours

Message From: Re

Nope

Second one is a guessing game and u get a prize if u get it right : )

The second photograph was more zoomed-in than the first and Sirius wracked his brain, running through his mental catalogue of Remus’ body to figure out the answer. It did absolutely nothing to calm the situation in his pants.

He had no idea what the promised prize was, but anticipation made his hands shake slightly as he carefully scanned the picture. The shadows caught it at an odd angle—it wasn’t the steady slopes of his face or neck, nor was it the strong curve of a shoulder. Not enough freckles, either, he thought.

A lightbulb lit in the back of his mind.

Message To: Re

Right hip

Another thought connected half a second later.

Holy fuck you took them off

Is that my prize?

Re?

Remus Lupin I swear to god

TEXT ME BACK

Message From: Re

Bingo!

Christ you’re impatient, I was gone for like 2 mins

He chanced a look toward Pots, whose head lolled to the side as he snored.

Message To: Re

Hey quick question why are you like this

It’s a good thing Pots is out cold bc this bus is too small to hide anything

Message From: Re

Haha sux to be you

Sirius’ cheeks heated with a whole cocktail of different emotions as he furiously typed a response.

Message To: Re

‘Sux to be you’???

Are you 13 yrs old????

Message From: Re

Do you want your prize or not u horndog

Message To: Re

YOU MADE ME THIS WAY

He took a deep breath through his nose and flexed his fingers.

Yes please

A simple smiley face—Sirius would never see those things the same—popped up, followed by an audio file. He triple-checked that his headphones were plugged in before tapping ‘play’ with an unsteady thumb.

His face went very, very hot before all the blood went straight to his groin and he closed his eyes, covering his mouth with his hand. Breathy sounds came through the heavy earphones, a little more crackly than they would be in-person; he heard Remus’ gasp catch in his throat and crossed his legs as best he could in the too-small seat, torn between thanking and cursing any higher power. He could practically see Remus’ face in his mind’s eye as the noises continued, intermixed with fragments of desperate words.

The file came to an end after what felt like the blink of an eye and a hundred years, and Sirius did not look away from the violently red seat cushion in front of him for a long moment as his brain came back online. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so turned on.

He took a few deep breaths, though it did nothing to erase the poorly-muffled whines that still rang between his ears like church bells. Sirius huffed and turned to grab his waterbottle out of his duffel, only to make direct eye contact with Finn across the aisle.

Sirius froze.

Finn grinned.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed, too low to wake James but just loud enough to carry over the four feet separating them. Finn’s smile widened. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“How’s Loops?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“That good, huh?”

“O’Hara, I swear to god—”

“Oh, is Cap spilling secrets?” Kasey asked, poking his head over the back of the seat.

Finn opened his mouth, but the force of Sirius’ glare must have been enough to at least intimidate him a little, because he shook his head. The smug Cheshire grin remained. “Nah, just having a chat about our plans when we get home.”

Kasey groaned. “You’re a lucky man, O’Hara. Both your people get to come with you. Nat sent me a promise, like, twenty minutes ago and I can’t stop thinking about it. I won’t be available tonight from six to eight if anyone was wondering.”

“Did she really?” Finn looked back to Sirius, who bit the inside of his cheek and tried to keep his cool. Two and a half hours, and then he would be safe. Just two and a half more hours.

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