#Scaffolding training Long Island

[fastlinesafetyny]

Hands-On Learning: Inside Heavy Equipment Training Programs 

In the realm of heavy machinery, knowledge and skill are the cornerstones of success. The towering cranes, earth-shaking bulldozers, and powerful excavators that shape our modern world require operators who are not just well-versed in theory but are also adept at hands-on control. This is where heavy equipment training programs come into play, immersing aspiring operators in a world of practical learning that bridges the gap between classroom instruction and real-world applications.

The Power of Hands-On Learning

Hands-on learning has long been recognized as one of the most effective methods of education, and heavy equipment training programs embody this principle. These programs understand that the intricate dance between an operator and their machine demands muscle memory, instinctive reactions, and the ability to adapt to changing conditions in real-time. Through hands-on experiences, students can internalize the art of operating heavy machinery, translating theoretical knowledge into practical prowess.

Simulating Real-World Environments

Central to hands-on learning in heavy equipment training is the use of realistic simulations. These simulations recreate authentic work environments, enabling students to practice their skills in a controlled setting before facing the challenges of a construction site. From maneuvering a bulldozer through tight spaces to lifting and placing loads with precision, simulations offer a safe space to make mistakes, learn from them, and develop confidence in their abilities.

Mentorship by Industry Experts

One of the defining features of quality heavy equipment training programs is the mentorship provided by seasoned industry experts. These instructors bring a wealth of experience to the classroom, sharing anecdotes, insights, and practical tips that textbooks simply can't convey. Learners benefit from this firsthand knowledge, gaining insights into best practices, safety protocols, and the nuances of different machines.

Mastering Machine Controls

At the heart of hands-on heavy equipment training lies the mastery of machine controls. Students learn to navigate control panels, levers, switches, and joysticks that govern the intricate movements of the machinery. Through guided practice, they develop an understanding of the cause-and-effect relationships between their actions and the machine's responses, fostering a deep connection between operator and equipment.

Safety as a Priority

Safety is paramount in heavy equipment operations, and hands-on training programs are committed to instilling a safety-first mindset in their students. Operating heavy machinery comes with inherent risks, and proper training ensures that operators are well-versed in safety protocols, emergency procedures, and risk assessment. Hands-on training allows students to experience these safety measures in action, making safety an instinctive part of their operating routines.

Building Confidence and Adaptability

The journey from novice to proficient heavy equipment operator is marked by the growth of confidence and adaptability. Hands-on learning plays a crucial role in this transformation. As students progress through their training, they encounter a range of scenarios, from routine tasks to unexpected challenges. Each experience contributes to the development of problem-solving skills, adaptability to different machines, and the ability to make split-second decisions under pressure.

Realizing Industry Relevance

The heavy equipment industry is in a constant state of evolution, with new technologies, techniques, and machinery continually reshaping the landscape. Hands-on training programs are designed to keep pace with these changes, equipping students with the skills and knowledge that are relevant to today's job market. Graduates of these programs emerge not only as operators but also as adaptable professionals ready to contribute to the industry's future.

Hands-On Learning in Action

Consider a scenario in a heavy equipment training program: a student sits in the cab of a hydraulic excavator, hands gripping the controls, and eyes focused on a pile of debris that needs to be moved. With guidance from their instructor, they deftly operate the excavator, scooping up the debris and depositing it into a designated area. This simple action is a culmination of classroom learning, safety instruction, and hours of hands-on practice.

As the training progresses, the student encounters more complex challenges. They might learn to use GPS systems for precise digging, simulate digging trenches for utility lines, or practice intricate maneuvers for delicate tasks like pipe laying. Each exercise hones their skills, building a foundation of competence and confidence that will serve them well in their future career.

The Essence of Hands-On Learning

Heavy equipment training programs focus on bridging the gap between theoretical knowledge and practical application. While classroom education is essential for imparting foundational concepts, the heart of mastery lies in hands-on learning. Students enrolled in these programs get a chance to step into the operator's seat, maneuver the controls, and feel the vibrations of the machinery beneath their fingertips. This tactile experience is invaluable, as it allows trainees to internalize the nuances of machine operation, develop muscle memory, and learn to make split-second decisions.

Simulated Realism

The training environment provided by these programs mirrors real-world conditions as closely as possible. Advanced simulators recreate scenarios that operators are likely to encounter on job sites. From navigating uneven terrain to lifting and placing heavy loads, trainees gain exposure to diverse challenges in a controlled setting. Simulated training not only builds technical proficiency but also hones problem-solving skills and enhances situational awareness.

Safety First

Safety is a paramount concern in heavy equipment operation. A significant portion of hands-on training is dedicated to instilling safety protocols and practices. Trainees learn how to perform pre-operational checks, assess potential hazards, and respond effectively in emergency situations. By incorporating safety into hands-on training, aspiring operators develop a safety-conscious mindset that stays with them throughout their careers, contributing to a culture of safety in the workplace.

Variety of Equipment

Heavy equipment training programs expose students to a variety of machines commonly used in the industry. This breadth of experience equips trainees with versatility, enabling them to adapt their skills to different equipment types. From compact loaders to towering cranes, each machine comes with its own set of challenges and intricacies. Hands-on exposure to a range of equipment prepares operators to tackle various tasks with confidence.

Expert Guidance

Experienced instructors are the linchpin of effective hands-on learning in heavy equipment training programs. These instructors are seasoned professionals who have spent years in the field, mastering the art of machine operation. Their guidance is invaluable as they share practical insights, offer real-world anecdotes, and provide personalized feedback to each trainee. The mentorship aspect of hands-on training not only enhances technical skills but also fosters a deep understanding of the machines' capabilities and limitations.

Progressive Skill Development

Heavy equipment training programs are designed to accommodate learners of all levels – from novices with no prior experience to experienced operators seeking to refine their skills. The curriculum often follows a progressive structure, starting with fundamental concepts and gradually advancing to complex maneuvers. This scaffolding approach ensures that each trainee builds a strong foundation before moving on to more intricate tasks. The gradual progression not only builds competence but also boosts trainees' confidence in their abilities.

Real Job Site Integration

While simulated environments are essential, the ultimate goal of heavy equipment training programs is to prepare operators for real job sites. Many programs incorporate field training, where trainees work under the supervision of experienced operators on actual construction projects. This integration provides a taste of the challenges and demands that operators face in the field. It also instills a sense of responsibility and accountability, as trainees contribute to ongoing projects.

Industry Certification

The successful completion of a reputable heavy equipment training program often leads to industry-recognized certification. This certification serves as a testament to the trainee's skills and competence as an operator. Many employers prioritize certified operators when hiring, recognizing that certified individuals have undergone rigorous training and possess the necessary expertise to operate heavy equipment safely and efficiently.

Building Careers

Beyond the technical skills, heavy equipment training programs contribute significantly to career development. The demand for skilled heavy equipment operators remains high, offering graduates a range of employment opportunities across various sectors. Whether it's in construction, mining, forestry, or logistics, the skills acquired through hands-on training are transferable and in constant demand. Moreover, with experience, operators can advance to supervisory roles or even transition to related careers such as equipment maintenance or safety management.

CONTACT US: Fast Line Safety Training 535 Broadhollow Rd STE B9, Melville, NY 11747, United States 631-393-6755 https://www.fastlinesafetytraining.com/

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[javanleopard]

(Y/N)'s breathing was ragged as she rushed down the crowded streets of Logue Town. Her feet hit the ground with many audible 'slaps,' though they were drowned out by the intense, bombarding noises of the clamoring behind her. Only a few yards away from her, at her back, approximately (from what she had surmised after running for so long) thirty pairs of shoes struck the ground with harsh, terrifying 'booms' and 'clacks' in near-unison. 

She cursed herself for her earlier mishaps silently before she made an effort to look behind her for a brief moment in order to gauge the distance between the two parties. 

Who were the parties in question? Well... it just so happened that it was (Y/N), herself, and the Marines.

Yeah. 

The Marines, a small portion of the World Government's battalion stationed on Polestar Island, specifically in Logue Town, were chasing lil' ol' (Y/N). 

A harsh sigh ripped through her nostrils as she continued to run ahead of the men behind her. Their shouts and calls for her to stop were in vain, a mere waste of energy, for she was not planning on giving in to their demands any time soon.

(Y/N) was a free woman and she'd make sure it stayed that way for the rest of her life. 

She was, however, prompted to smile when she heard the encouraging calls of her 'neighbors' to her left, right, forward, and behind. The calls of her friends rang out like jolly bells on Christmas day-- they were cheering her on! 

(Y/N) was no criminal. Only, she was a... vigilante of sorts. Renowned for her dislike of the Marines (need a reminder that it's the entire World Government she hates? Right...), she is both hated and loved. She does good, of course, but she also does bad.

What could she have done that was so bad?

Her train of thought was cut short when a sword whizzed by her head, striking a barrel of fine wine far-off from where she was currently placed. 

They were really trying to kill her! 

Before the Marines could stop to congratulate the thrower, (Y/N) ducked down under a vendor's intricate little tapestries and shielded herself from prying eyes. She was now hidden behind many fine artworks that had been tailored to perfection. 

The girl hummed, interested in the many pieces that were presented to her prying eyes, before she tore herself from her thoughts once more and fled the area. 

The incredibly convenient thing about Logue Town was that it had so many allies, twists, and turns that it was difficult to not get lost! (Y/N) couldn't say she was particularly familiar with the area, only knowing certain landmarks like that one scaffolding piece that pirates and/ or criminals are usually executed from, but she did know how to get lost pretty well. 

In fact, that's what she just did! In her haste, she had entered an alleyway by the vendor's booth and took far too many turns to count. She recalled going down some stairs, scaling a fence, and ducking under some caution tape, but that was about it. 

Now, (Y/N) stood on the other side of town, clearly in her element. 

Ah. 

Silence.

She had completely lost the Marines that had been on her tail! 

When running away from people, it's best to not think about where you're going. If you do, you'll make conscious decisions that can be presumed by others. If you have no idea what you're doing, they can't anticipate your next move. In the short time that (Y/N) had had a mother by her side, she had always told the young girl, "It's hard to win an argument against educated people, sure, but it's even harder to win an argument with uneducated people."

Wasn't that just the truth? 

Suddenly, the silence in the small, empty square of the town was broken by a peal of bubbling laughter that had erupted from her throat. 

"Hah! Hah-hahaha!" She called out, placing firm hands on her belly. She keeled over, eyes shut tightly as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. 

She calmed herself in a moment or so, able to collect her bearings after having released her joy. 

"Man!" The girl shook her head, releasing the hold she had on her stomach, and, instead, raised her right hand to wipe at the few tears that had snuck down her cheeks. "Those Marines never learn." 

A smirk drew across her face as she dusted off the garments she donned. Due to having men on her tail at all times, she had long since scrapped the idea of living in a set-in-stone home; this means that she also didn't change very often... unfortunately. Around town, she'd be seen wearing one outfit that she had (regrettably) stolen in the past. It had fit her for years no matter the amount of growth she had gone through. 

(Y/N) couldn't be described as little or big, wide or thin, tall or short-- she was just herself. The outfit she had decided on long ago was basically a part of her in its entirety. Sure, it fit more tightly than it had in the past, but it still looked good! 

Blemished, but good... trust, it does. 

She shook her head, ruffling her hair gently with her left hand, before she took a short step forward, keen on finding a place to sleep for the evening. She was surprised, however, when she felt a stinging in her left foot. 

"Agh-- what the hell?" She murmured to herself, eyes narrowed to slits as she made an effort to get a look at whatever this pesky wound on the sole of her foot was. It ached and stung relentlessly even when she lifted it off of the ground.

Now, (Y/N) was in a rather awkward position-- she tilted her head to the left in order to have a good view, but she was also hopping on one foot with her back slightly bent in the opposite direction with her left leg bent upward, foot baring itself to her prying eyes. 

Yep. There it was-- the small wound. Looks like, in her little running session earlier with the Marines, she had sliced the sole of her foot down to the ball. 

"Man!" She grunted, rolling her eyes as she dropped the appendage to the ground once more. She straightened her back and looked forward before running a hand through her hair roughly. "Eughh!" She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Wounds weren't a good look on... well, 'street cats' like herself. It was expensive to treat in both time and money. 

Both of which (Y/N) didn't have. 

She could always request a place to stay from a friend (she had a lot of those in Logue Town, surprisingly, despite her being somewhat of an outlaw), but it was dangerous for them and she'd never want to put people she loves in such compromising situations. No. She wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't. 

She stomped off to a corner in the Square, making a conscious effort to apply extra pressure to her fresh wound out of spite, before settling down on a thin bench that had been placed there in the past. It was old, but it was comfortable and sturdy. 

She plopped down like a sack of potatoes, immediately sprawling out across its width. The low ambiance of Logue Town didn't seem to reach this area, for no vendors were out and about in this part of town. Despite having lived here for so long, she still hadn't reached every corner of this island. 

"I gotta work on that." She mumbled to herself slowly, eyes half-lidded as fatigue began to creep up onto her still-upright form. "But I also gotta get some sleep." Her eyes flickered upward, now peering up at the sky. Pink and purple hues mixed with oranges and yellows. Dusk. 

She yawned widely, shrugging off any further intentions to garner food or water before 'bed.' She didn't need it today-- she'd be all right. 

Gently, she shifted to the right and laid herself across the bench. Her arms were folded behind her head, acting as a pillow, though they were contorted in a way that allowed for proper circulation. She looked awkward with her knees hiked up and eyes tightly shut with a 'go-the-fuck-away- frown’ on her face, but it was how she always lived. 

She didn't usually get bit by any bugs, thankfully. Her natural repellant was quite handy on some days. 

The girl drifted off to sleep rather soundly, not getting interrupted by any miscellaneous creatures of the night or annoying, pesky kids that liked to seek her form out and tattletale to the Marines. 

Later, she awoke. Still, night prevailed; the stars twinkled above beautifully, shimmering on the reflection in her glassy eyes. 

(Y/N) didn't need much sleep because of her 'condition' that shoved her sleep schedule towards being more crepuscular than a daylight-oriented devil. 

Quickly, she set off into the night. Her bare feet, injured and dusty, slapped against the cold stone ground loudly as she meandered through the streets. After too many turns and ups-downs and turnarounds, she reached her original place of being: the main street! 

Just yesterday, she had been, as mentioned earlier, 'told on' by some slimy little kids that had found her lying in a corner on some unnamed street in Logue Town to the Marines. That led to her being chased from morning to near-dusk! It was certain that she had worked up quite the appetite in the commotion. It was a miracle that she could run for so long. 

"I know those damn bastards don't." She spat, rolling her eyes obviously as she continued to stalk the main street. At some point in her little escapade, her footsteps had quieted. She was hunched over, arms half-outstretched as if she were going to grab something. 

"I see those Seamen taking breaks on the sidelines while their stupid ass replacements jump into the fray in their place. So lame." She continued to complain to everyone and no one, speaking to herself but to the whole world at the same time. She was talking just to talk, but she wanted someone to listen despite that. 

(Y/N) was a difficult girl. Or, if simplified, she's just a girl. A catty girl. A spiteful girl. A-- you get the point. 

Suddenly, she halted. She raised her torso and stuck her nose into the air, angled just slightly to the right. Now, she wasn't hunched over-- she was stretching upward. She smelt something rather delectable.

"Oh, this is gonna be good." She squealed lowly, eyes narrowing as she changed her direction, now heading toward a vendor's booth on the right of the unlit street. The scent permeated throughout the area so it was difficult to pinpoint the booth specifically, but after a minute or so of sticking her nose up against the closed shops ('closed' meaning they were covered by a single thick cloth), she had located it. 

"Damn right, this is gonna be good." She purred to herself, raising a quaint brow as she swiped her right hand out in front of her, striking the booth's detestable cloth that shielded the prize from her eyes. 

Yheaup! It was good. All she saw was meat-to-meat, lining walls and short tables! Chicken, turkey, lamb, beef, crustaceans, all of it! This guy knew his stuff, apparently. 

So sad that she was gonna steal some of it, though. 

(Y/N) suddenly tossed her torso backward, her head nearly striking the stone ground beneath her. "Oh! I simply couldn't-- possibly could not!" She wailed loudly and obviously, shaking her head vigorously from left to right as she denied her tempted thoughts. "I couuuldn't take this.. this... delectable goodness!" She drawled, clenching her eyes shut tightly. She balled her fists in front of her chest, gripping her top. 

Without a moment's notice, though, after her little display, she righted her stance and snagged a fat hunk of meat that she didn't bother to identify. It was the closest, so it was gonna get in her belly the quickest.

She fled the scene with great vigor, planting her shoeless feet (injured and all) on the cobblestone ground as she rushed off to find a place to devour the meal. She always did this. Stealing, of course, but more importantly: the damn show. She always had to put on an act as if she couldn't... but she has to! She can't... but she must! She-- she took it. Yeah, it always ends with her taking it anyway with little-to-no remorse. 

She wasn't all evil. She only took from booths she knew did well in Logue Town's ever-fluctuating economy. Because that booth had so much meat, she knew that they could afford a fifty-berry loss without a single shed tear. A grumble and a pout, yeah, but no counting individual shillings just to make ends meet. 

After quite a bit of running (she always ran, she always hid; it was basically her thing at this point), she had reached the docks where boats were tied up and prettied to perfection.

"Hey, girls!" She called cheerily, still gripping the hunk of meat with two hands. A bright smile stretched across her face when she noticed the many boats that were lined up still looked clean and tidy despite their having been stationed in the ocean for weeks on end. "You guys look great." She praised, winking at the inanimate objects as she slid into a seated position on the dock, legs hanging off of it comfortably. 

She loved boats and she loved the idea of sailing. She just wasn't very good at it. So, this was her next-best alternative: hanging out with them in the early morning. She loved the ocean, it was just unfortunate it hated her in return.

She never expected an answer when she spoke aloud to the world. She wasn't delusional-- boats couldn't talk. But she was surprised to hear a squeaky sound from her leftmost direction.

"Why, thank you!" It seemed to sing. It wasn't good singing. It was bad singing, really bad, in fact. Scratchy and forced. Almost like...

She was ripped from her thoughts when heavy footsteps (clearly long strides, she could tell even without seeing it) rang out nearby. A man's footsteps. 

A grimace quickly replaced her joyful expression when she made this conclusion. Her head swiveled to the left, giving her a good view of--

Of legs. It was just legs. 

Her brows furrowed and her grimace worsened. A tall guy, huh? She looked up, tilting her head back. In her seated position, she wasn't even up to this dude's knees! 

(Y/N)'s grimace morphed into something akin to a stupor when she got a good look at this guy. Hauntingly gaunt and pale, he looked hideous! Not to mention that nasty yellow-toothed smile he had on his hollow face. 

"Eugh." She grunted, reeling her head back in disgust. 

Wrong move, it seemed. 

He immediately got the hint, but not in the best of manners. His 'bright' yellow smile was ripped off of his face and replaced with pure, unadulterated rage. "You bitch! Calling me ugly, huh?” He bellowed, left eye twitching as if she had thrown sand in it. 

Clearly, she thought to herself, this guy seemed to get these reactions a lot. It was like he was used to the disgust. He anticipated it. Like, he just reacted so quickly! Did he want her to mess up so he had something to--

(Y/N)'s thought process was cut short when his boney knee drew back before striking her firmly in the face, knocking her over. She wasn't quite close enough to the edge of the dock that she was tossed into the water, but it was a tad too close for her liking. 

Now, her pretty face was marred by the impact. It'd leave a harsh, green-blue bruise for sure in a day or so. A pout rested on her face as she thought of the possibility, but she rightened her mood when she heard his raspy chuckles from above. 

"What's so funny about anything other than your face right now?" (Y/N) sneered, planting her hands behind her lower back in order to keep her torso upright. The right of her hip was basically hanging off of the dock at this point, leaving her in a rather compromising position. 

His chuckles halted completely when she said that. 

Whoops. 

He let out a disgruntled noise before he shifted and leaned down. His actions seemed rather sweet, actually-- it looked as if he were going to stroke her head lovingly and give her a tender kiss on the forefront of her face. 

But... you know, that is not what happened!

Her delusions were snuffed completely when his long, wiry fingers grabbed a handful of her hair. He balled his fist harshly, gripping her head as if she was about to fall from his grasp. She couldn't do much here other than lean forward and hope his grip would loosen. 

"Yeuh-hack!" She winced, allowing a dribble of spit to escape the confines of her mouth when his free hand struck her left cheek. 

She winced, mouth half-open as she let out long, whispy breaths. This guy was such a nuisance. Distantly, she thought of the meal she had yet to eat. It lay on the dirty dock beside her, dormant and... regrettably, uneaten. 

"Is this funny to you, huh? Bitch?" The man growled from overtop of her hunched-yet-leaned-back form. She was... how did she always end up in strange positions like this? Must be a feline thing. They were quite slinky-like animals. 

"I'm not a bitch!" She hissed, looking up at his thin features with half-lidded eyes. "I'm a molly." (Y/N) slurred through her throbbing cheek and stinging scalp. 

"What the hell does that even mean?" The man asked, rolling his bulbous eyes that hardly fit in their sockets. He didn't bother to ask any more questions as he dug his sharp fingernails (dirty, too, she assumed dully) into her scalp. A few more slaps sounded out over the crashing of waves on land before she heard another pair of boots stomp closer to the pair. 

(Y/N) was getting beat to all hell here and she didn't have any more than nine lives to live it out with, so she hoped this new guy would do her quite the favor and get this stick bug off of her. 

She couldn't plead for help, however; she was too prideful for that. Besides, it’s not like she actually needed it.

Well, that was going to be the answer if she could speak! Damn, her face hurt. She felt numb from the neck up at this point. Stick Man was really being harsh! All she did was insult his looks, which did not warrant a beating of her lifetime. 

Granted, he was probably intending to rape her from the beginning or something along those lines, but she never would have allowed that to happen. She was a very capable girl, she just hadn’t decided whether this weirdo was worth the energy of shutting down.

With the lanky guy hunched over her like she was, still planting his palm on her face whenever he felt like it and keeping his other hand balled in her hair, they probably looked like quite the strange drunk, sadist-masochist pair. 

"Ew." She spat, shutting her eyes tightly. She did not want to think about that! Gross! 

The newcomer seemed to halt, for she didn't hear his steps any longer. The Stick Man continued to abuse her relentlessly, clearly unaware of the new arrival just... 

Oh, word? He was right there. The new guy. 

He was lighting a bud that looked an awful lot like those wretched joints she smelt along the streets of Logue Town. 

"Oye!" She called out, disgruntled. Her eyes had opened sometime earlier in her inward musings. "Could you give a girl a hand?" She squeaked when the Stick Man's hand struck her again. Now that she got a good look at his long head and thin, hollowed face, he did have quite the flush on his fair skin. Fair? Sorry, more like ashen. Ashen skin. He was totally baked. 

When her eyes flickered away from her attacker's confused, flushed face, she noticed how the newcomer (the guy she had called out to for help) was rather tall and... stocky. She could only see the faint glow of his joint's lit tip near his lips. Other than that, he was just a silhouette to her. 

"You two aren't fucking on the docks, then?" He droned, seemingly tilting his head back. 

"N--" (Y/N) was about to deny the accusation weekly, but she was cut off by her assailant. 

"What's it to you?" He sneered, releasing (Y/N) from his hold. She allowed her form to drop to the dock's moist surface, reveling in how perfect its temperature was. She pressed her injured cheeks into the moist wood one by one before she felt relatively okay, now rubbing the abused portions of her face with her clammy hands. 

"Ugh." She murmured something incoherent to herself, a wince still seemingly permanent on her features. She reached out her right hand that had been firmly planted on the dock's ground after her little pampering session and grabbed at the hunk of meat she had planned on eating just a few minutes before the attack. 

Her eyes flicked to the right as she side-eyed the commotion just a foot-or-so away from her lain form. The lanky man who had struck her was now blabbering on and on to this man who was, from what she could tell, the complete opposite of the pale dude in terms of build... and, from what it seemed, personality. 

"Shut the fuck up." He snarled, balling his free hand into a fist. "Did you hit her without her consent?" 

Why did he have to add the 'without her consent' to that sentence? What, was she gonna yell to this weirdo-ass man, "Oh, please, strike me down and toss me into the ocean?" Hell no. 

Well, she was in no place to judge-- he was probably just insinuating that he had found peope who... liked that before in public places. Poor dude. 

Or, on the other hand, he liked that himself! Wouldn't that be a riot.

She hummed, blinking slowly as she pulled her front up off of the dock, now sat just as she was before this whole seen. Her hip was no longer dangling off of the side in danger of slipping in, only her legs cast above the water. "He did." She called out, waving the men off as she inspected the meal on her lap. "He hit me so many times!" She changed her tone, now sounding desperate and afraid. It was an act, yeah, but she had to make this stranger want to help her. 

Hah. 

Clearly, it worked, because he let out an angry-sounding noise from the very depths of his chest before he lunged at the stick bug and planted his free fist into his hollow cheek. 

When the tall attacker struck the dock and looked up angrily at his foe, he seemed to don a shocked expression before he shrieked and scampered off without another word. 

She only caught snippets of this, though, because she had readily dug into the meal in her hands. Her focus was on the meat, not the men at her left who had been feuding moments before. Her cheek was swollen quite badly from all of the abuse, but she hadn't loosened any teeth, thankfully. Not that she expected them to come loose-- she had the strong locked jaw of a leopard, after all. 

In the time it took for her attacker to disappear onto the marked streets of Logue Town after being struck down by the new guy, she had finished her hunk of meat. She had worked up quite an appetite, yet she was rid of it in just a few seconds.

A lousy burp exitted her mouth as she turned her head to the side, keen on getting a look at her savior. "Than--" She was about to thank him for his help, but she was rather shocked to see him already facing away from her. He wasn't giving her pitying looks or murmuring sweet-nothings in her ear in order to quell her 'fear' of what had just occurred. He was smoking his joint while looking across the starry sky over the ocean!

She raised a short brow before a small fit of giggles bloomed inside of her belly. She hoped to shun them by shutting her mouth and placing a hand over her lower face, but it didn't seem to help as her cheeks flushed and she couldn't help but lean back. Her hands planted behind her and she kicked her feet excitedly. 

She didn't even know why she was laughing. Really, she didn't, but it was nice. Nice to laugh like this. Even if he wasn't joining her.

She choked, however, when she heard a simple snuff to her left. She could have passed it off as the man blowing a puff of smoke in order to lessen the strain on his lungs caused by the joint in his hand, but it was pretty clear to her that it had been more of a short-lived chuckle than anything else.

"Thanks." She murmured bashfully, turning her head to her left entirely as she looked up at his standing form. Still, she couldn't see his face. "You really helped me back there." (Y/N) could've beaten that guy a thousand times over before she ever needed help, she just hadn't wanted to do it on an empty stomach so obviously in the middle of the docks. So... well, 'knight in shining armor' to her rescue! 

Or, in this case, 'knight in way-too-short jacket' to the rescue? At least, that's what it looked like to her in the dead of night. 

This time, he shot a plume of smoke from his lips. "No problem." He muttered in return, shaking his head. His voice was deep and rather soothing to her keen ears. Despite it being so low, she could hear it over the rushing waves beneath them. 

"You're my hero." She continued, awaiting a new, more exciting response from the man. 

He merely grunted, turning his head away from her. She raised a brow and frowned in response, clearly put-off. Was this guy not falling for her childlike-charms? She was making an effort here. Why wasn't he snared? Most men would grovel before a softly-speaking, injured girl who looked as good as her. To be fair, he couldn't get quite a good look at her because it was so dark, but still.

"Come on, now, don't be that way." She cooed, pulling her legs up onto the dock. She shifted away from the edge, wary of the closeness and vulnerability, before she pulled herself to her feet. 

No matter how tall she was, she didn't look quite so impressive in comparison to this tall-man shadow. 

"Don't you want a little reward?" She purred, batting her eyelashes. It didn't matter what she did when the movement was so small and unnoticeable. Due to the night's casted shadows, he couldn't catch the little things like a short smile or even a deep frown. It was the same for (Y/N), though; she couldn't see his little reactions, either. 

If she could, she would've been angry because of the detestable frown on the man's face. He heard these types of questions a lot, it seemed. 

"You should tell me your name at the very least." She pressed onward, head tilt as she peered over at his sideways form. 

The man seemed to flinch and tilt his head back, surprised. It was as if he hadn't expected her to not know who he was. 

"You don't know my name?" He asked, finally turning toward her. 

She pursed her lips, confused. "No?" She responded, leaning forward in order to try and get a better look at him. She noticed how he backed away a step or-so. It made her question his motives, but she didn't comment on it.

"I see." He grumbled, seemingly pondering something. "Then I think I know a way for you to repay me for my efforts." The man uttered the words as if they were web coming out of a spinning spider's abdomen; it was gentle and even a tad sultry. 

"Oh?" She prompted him further, now slowly pressing her hands into her sides and sliding them down her clothed form. "And that is?" 

His breath seemed to hitch as he watched her slow, silhouetted movements. Even in the dead of night, hidden beneath shadows, he could tell that this woman was attractive. In both voice and figure, she seemed delectable. "You coming back to my place." He seemed to falter at the end, as if regretting his words. 

She narrowed her eyes, hoping to get a better look at him before she agreed. However, she couldn't, so she brushed it off and murmured something lowly to herself. She'd do it, yeah, but why did it seem like he was nervous? He looked like a big man in stature alone, not to mention his voice that carried demand and confidence. What did he have to be so clammy about?

She shrugged the thought off, clearly just wanting a piece of him. She had eaten her meal already, but she didn't mind a bit of dessert. 

"Come on, then. Show me the way." She stated impatiently, shaking her head in order to brush the hair out of her face. Sure, she was wounded, but what was a little pain in bed? 

She reached out for the man, grabbing his free arm and hooking herself onto it. He led her away from the docks, puffing on his stick of foul-smelling weed. At some point during their silent walk, he had tossed the burning bud aside as anticipation bubbled in his stomach. The joint had nearly been finished, but it had had a few more puffs in it. He usually didn't waste things, but ecstasy wasn't something he'd be short on tonight, so he didn't bother with it. 

Smoker didn't get many opportunities to fuck an unfamiliar face, after all. He needed to savor it all he could tonight before early-morning light struck and revealed his identity to this shadow-masked incubus.

First Person P.O.V.

I felt my heartbeat quicken as I neared the steps that would lead up to this mystery man's apartment building. Logue Town was made up of a bunch of stacked, little houses so it made sense that this guy lived in one, too. Though, I was surprised to find that, as I took the first steps onto the property hand-in-hand with this man, it looked like a temporary-home living.

"Do you move a lot?" I asked lowly as my eyes traced over his silhouetted, well-built form. Still, I had yet to see his face or any striking features. It was a bummer, but it forced butterflies into my belly. Having sex with a 'masked' man seemed so forbidden that it made her want it all the more.

"I haven't in a few months, but I do move around the seas quite a bit." He grumbled, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "Job." He added on quickly as if trying to change the subject

I listened as he fumbled with the-- strangely enough-- many keys in his pocket. What did a guy like this, who lived in a temporary home, need so many keys for?

"Ohh-hoh. All right, Seaman." I teased, halting when his feet planted before a particular door. Looks like his room was on the bottom floor; no need to go up the flight of stairs I had unconsciously named the bane of my night. Great! "I love the ocean. I just wished it liked me back, you know?" I muttered weakly, still feeling rather down. You could say that getting beat up on a dock in the middle of the night was kind of a bummer. The man seemed to peek at me with a slight tilt of the head as he pressed a particular key into the keyhole of the shoddy door.

He took in a short, half-assed breath as he struggled to find words to console me. It was as if he immediately sensed my mood dropping. He seemed to contemplate something for quite a few moments before he finally decided that, yes, he could say whatever it was that he wanted to say without 'compromising' his identity. "I never said the ocean liked me, either." He chuckled weakly as he furrowed his brows and finally turned the key in its hole, unlocking the door. It was a near-fake consolation, but, hey, I'd take it just like I was about to take him. Besides, I shouldn't have said something like that— it was such a mood-killer.

I blinked slowly, still rooted in place when he tried to walk away and into the house. His arm slipped out of mine and I was left standing in the doorway looking rather confused. Inside of the home, no lights had been turned on. Clearly, I noted to myself silently, this guy wanted this to be a masquerade party, too.

I didn't know why I was so caught off-guard by his words, though. The ones regarding the ocean. This guy couldn't possibly be implying the same thing that I was. It was just such a far-fetched idea here in Logue Town that I had never even thought of the possibility of someone else having my very same predicament.

I shrugged it off, deciding that, yes, it was too far-fetched and that he was probably just hinting at the fact that he couldn't swim very well. A very devilish joke if I do say so myself!

After my minute of staring into the darkness that was his home, I stepped in. The apartment seemed cozy, but if I was being real, I couldn't make out any specific details. No lights, no windows. It was a middle-ground apartment meaning that there were other homes on both the right, left, and behind. Also above, but that doesn't exactly matter.

No words were exchanged when he slipped into the home behind me and shut the door, leaving only our breaths to fill the silence. Once the door clicked shut, I shifted on my feet, now facing the exit. More importantly, I was facing him.

He pressed his back against the door and laid a hand to rest on his forehead before running it through his silky hair. If I could see him, I probably would have asked for his consent because he looked so out of it. But, I couldn't, so I got straight to work.

I took a long step forward and planted my feet on either side of his body while simultaneously pressing my hands on the door beside his torso. He was 'trapped' under me, one could say. He could get out at any time, for sure, but I knew he wouldn't.

No one ever did, after all.

The mood had gone from dreary and low to sultry and suggestive. Still caging his form against the door, I leaned my torso forward and pressed my bust against his chest slowly. I felt his form tighten from what I could guess to be uncomfortability. He... was still not super into it, it seemed.

Now, I could tell he was having doubts. His muscles weren't loose or lax like they should be when foreplay was in motion. He was too rigid. Too stiff.

A frown crept up onto my face. Quickly, I retreated from my position overtop of his heavy-breathing form without a word. I continued to step around the apartment, noting that I couldn't quite hear the intense breathing coming from my partner anymore. "You all right?" I mumbled loud enough for him to hear as I finally felt for a couch and settled on its leftmost seat. "Don't get the wrong idea. I want this, it just seemed like you didn't."

The man's breath hitched and he gulped, raising his chin as he pressed the back of his head into the wooden door. "Did it?" He muttered in return, voice nearly hissing at me. "Sorry." It was a half-hearted apology, obviously, because he immediately made headway in approaching me. He now stood over the couch, towering over my lousy form. "I do want this. I've just got some things on my mind." He continued to defend his previous actions as he leaned over me, one hand lying on the couch's soft cushion. The other hand, strangely enough, was tenderly holding my chin up.

It was now my turn for my breath to hitch. "Is that so?" I chuckled weakly, feeling my stomach tie itself into knots. This guy's hands were calloused but so comfortable. It was as if he could protect me from anything in this moment.

He didn't answer my inquiry as he delved his head lower, now pressing his lips against mine benevolently. I could give a hundred reasons as to why I described our first kiss that way, but this was the one that reached the forefront of my mind the quickest: I needed that contact.

I melted into his hand like putty, allowing him to slide onto the couch beside me. The hand that had been holding his body up on the couch was now cupping his desired breast and kneading it like dough. We were still kissing, I reveled inwardly. My eyes were half-lidded as I made an attempt at getting a look at the face of this guy nearly overtop of me, but it was in vain, for when he bit down on my lower lip, demanding entrance into my soft, cavernous mouth, my eyes shut tightly. A small mewl escaped my mouth when I parted my lips for the man and his tongue slid inside of my oral cavity. I writhed briefly underneath him when he pressed his body further into mine, hand gripping my chest more tightly. His other hand, though, was still stroking my cheek lovingly, as if we were real partners and not quick-fucks.

His tongue left a smokey, ash-like taste in my mouth. I hated it, actually. I didn't like it. He tasted bad to me. It was detestable, but I allowed it because he felt so good. This man was never someone I would go after another time in my life, but at this moment, in my childish desires for release and company-- no, in my ignorance-- he was what I wanted.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft groan that reverberated into my mouth deliciously. I felt the hum of his efforts to quiet down in my very core.

I didn't say anything because I knew exactly what he needed at that moment. With my two free hands, I gripped his waist gently and tugged him closer. I hadn't realized it, but I was now pressing myself into the armrest of the couch with my legs sprawled out across it whilst he had one leg on either side of me. He was leaning over, still kissing me with great fervor, but my mind was thinking lower than our mouths.

The hands that rested on his waist trailed down his well-built form. Even when I reached his pants, I grew excited. I felt for the buckle on their front and fumbled with it sloppily, intent on getting that thick pair of pants off of this guy.

Was it hot in here or was it just me?

I didn't get hot a lot, not even during sex. That whole, "warmth bubbled in my chest," thing didn't exactly happen to me. It was a part of my little quirks, but tonight was different.

I liked it.

The man overtop of me clearly had other ideas aside from my wanting-his-dick because when my fingers got close to undoing his belt buckle, he bit down more deeply on my bottom lip and hissed out a grumble. Immediately, my hands slid back up his half-dressed form (I had realized halfway through this that the jacket he wore hadn't been buttoned up the entire time, leaving his milky skin vulnerable to my touch) respectfully.

"Too fast?" I tugged my head away, panting rather harshly. He had stolen my breath in the minute-or-so that we had been locked together by mouthes. My face was flushed beautifully and my mouth was slightly parted as I continued to huff and puff for a clear bout of air.

"Mm-hmm." He droned, ducking his head down. He neared my neck quickly, taking a deep breath before pressing his soft lips onto my exposed skin. My legs shifted, now intertwined. I made attempts at pressing my thighs together in order to help with my growing anticipation, but the hand that had been stroking my face so gently was now holding my left leg down, away from my right. A distressed noise escaped me and I tightened my grip on his hips.

He sucked greedily on my tender-skinned neck, leaving purple blotches and blemishes as if they were lovely, flowering leopard spots. Soft groans did leave his mouth every once in a while when my right knee hiked up and pressed against the bulge in his pants, but it was unfortunate that he merely shifted around whenever that happened. He liked to take things slow, apparently.

He lifted his head from my neck, unable to admire the many spots he left decorating my skin. It was too dark. He was almost angry, but then he remembered that he could only do this in good conscience when it was under the shadows' blankets.

The hand cupping my breast finally relinquished its hold, allowing the tender bust to bounce pleasantly into its resting position on my chest. It throbbed softly, showcasing just how much he had been toying with it.

"Are you ready?" He chuckled deeply, adjusting his position in a way that forced his knee overtop of my sprawled-out left leg, holding it down. Now, he had two free hands to work with here.

A pleasurable grunt left his mouth as he slid his thick jacket off of his already-sweating form. His skin was slick and, if there had been light to reveal him to me, I would have realized that his fair skin was glistening.

To my displeasure, he kept his pants on.

"I am." I pleaded, opening my eyes after their many minutes of having been closed. "I am, I so am." I continued, releasing my hold on his waist to instead grip the couch's cushions. I sounded pathetic, but he seemed to like it. I was genuinely enjoying this, after all. It wasn't often that I felt unbearably hot like this!

With my words of encouragement and affirmation, he dropped his hands to my top and gently began to remove the garment in the way he saw fit. It slid easily off of my form when I lifted my torso and raised my arms. He unclipped my bra and slid it, too, off of me. He wasn't a ripper, I noted. Thank goodness, I wouldn't be able to walk out of this place if he had been!

He lifted the knee that pressed against my trapped leg before he took both of his arms and slid them under my thighs. He lifted my bottom half up and proceeded to slide it into the hold of a single arm as he used his other hand to slide my bottom garment off.

I felt cold air immediately hit my burning pussy and I winced, beginning to squirm underneath him despite his arm holding me up.

I was surprised when he seemed to lean closer, however. His nose touched the tip of my heat and I felt addled. I didn't make a noise, my breath only caught in my throat. I heard him take in a deep breath-- similarly to how he had when he neared my neck-- before he began to press his tongue onto my pussy.

My eyes widened and my hands fumbled with nothing but air for a second before I caught my bearings and thrust them down onto his head. Palming his skull with both hands, I held him in place as I got a grip of myself.

"Wh- What are you doing?" I chuckled as a wobbly smile began to spread across my face. I asked the question despite knowing what answer was going to be returned.

"Pleasuring us." He responded, returning his tongue to his mouth as he was stopped by me. "Is that a problem?" His voice seemed to have an uncharacteristic hint of teasing and I grew anxious.

"It's no problem at all, Mystery Man." I breathed, head nearly spinning as I awaited what was to come. I relinquished my hold on his head, allowing my hands to drop down to the couch's bottom cushions. I felt him hover his face overtop of my now-heated nether regions, at a complete standstill.

He said nothing. Only, he stared forward. He still couldn't see anything and it was a tad frustrating, but he'd feel relieved soon and that was for certain. After his moment of contemplation, he dropped his head back down onto my pussy's throbbing muscles.

His mouth planted firmly on the warmth, not stopping to say a word of greeting. No tongue, no kiss-- he just began to suck. It truly felt like a slap in the face.

I squealed in both shock and delight as the contact was made. My free hands gripped the divots on the couch, allowing me some opportunity to release the tension that was spreading throughout my body.

As he tormented me by continuing to purse his lips into my pussy, I simply squirmed beneath him. At some point in my euphoric state, I had tossed my bare legs over his shoulders, allowing for proper positioning.

He had decided that it proved to be a perfect opportunity to hike me up further onto his torso and press my bare ass against his chest whilst he forced my shoulder blades into the couch's soft cushion, as if it was a better idea than simply allowing me to lie against the couch and rest while the joyous actions were administered.

And, well, he had decided right because this was amazing!

His jaw locked onto my throbbing heat effortlessly, as if he had done it a hundred times before and as a profession in-and-of itself! Finally, the long-awaited tongue began to slither its way out of his skilled mouth. It swiped across my heat, sending shivers down my spine despite the sweat that coated my skin.

He worked masterfully down below, adjusting my position in his arms every few minutes as he stormed to get me to release.

Suddenly, as he shifted my body to one side and held it up with a single arm, I felt a thick finger press into the little bundle of nerves that held immense pleasure buried within itself. My back arched when the force was applied, sending shocks down my spine.

My mouth opened in a silent scream and my eyes rolled upward when he began to rub at my sensitive bud and suck simultaneously. This was an experience I had never had before and it was sending me over the edge! I was folding for this random man on this random couch in this random home, dear Lord! I didn't currently follow any religion, but I might just have to make this guy my messiah!

I sputtered and made an effort to collect myself enough in order to speak when he said something out of the blue. "Let me hear you." He growled into me, sending a humming sensation into my sensitive organ. My mind buzzed, clearly taken aback by his thick, guttural voice.

Right after the words registered to me, my entire body relaxed for a moment despite my twitching legs and near-overstimulation. As he requested, I let out a long-drawn moan, soft and sensual. It was so genuine, I hardly knew what to think. I couldn't think, actually. He had stolen my breath, my voice, my thoughts--

If he was going to take all of those things, he should just take me, too, my mind hissed.

My lips suddenly parted when the finger pressing into my sensitive bud began to twist in circular motions, leaving me in a daze. My head dropped to the left, leaving my bruised, flushed cheek to press into the cushion comfortably.

Right when I began to think clearly again, I felt him rock my world. Literally, actually.

When he let out a moan of his own into my throbbing pussy, I felt myself release. It flooded out of me like a tidal wave, striking his face and leaving it gooey and slick.

I had made a mess of myself. Now, as he towered over my still-scrunched and hunched form, I blubbered something along the lines of an apology for having come all over his face.

A dribble of saliva snuck down my face, striking the couch. It wet my cheek, but I didn't even notice it. My legs were shaking and my hands were now roughly digging into his hair.

I don't remember putting those there, really. It just happened.

He didn't seem to have any complaints, though. All he did was gently settle my body back down beneath him, unraveling my legs. He pat my left thigh gently and chuckled.

If I could see him, I would have noticed the smirk that had sifted along his features as he swiped his pink tongue along his wet, soaked cheek. He licked up all of my liquid and I hadn't even known.

"Than.. Thank." I blabbed dopily, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly parted in a half-smile. I felt so good in that moment, I hardly knew what to say other than a genuine 'thank you.'

He didn't speak for a moment. I felt him get off of the couch, but it didn't do much to snap me out of my stupor. I heard shuffling on a clothed form before a 'click' sounded out and garments fell to the ground with a 'ruffle' and a 'shuffle.'

Oh?

He had taken his clothes off!

I was wondering why he was taking so long to get back onto me. Why wasn't he on me? He should be... like, right in between my legs right now! Still wet, still slimy. Slip on in, big boy.

My mind raved and a bright grin spread across my face like hot butter on toast. This was exciting!

I hummed, straightening up on the couch. Now, I leaned back against the armrest semi-uncomfortably. He seemed to be taking off combat boots because the stomping and his incessant grunts were too much to have just been sandals or sneakers.

"Save the noise for when you're inside of me, Mystery Man." I snickered, wiping a stray tear from my eye. Looks like my high had lasting effects. Still, my legs felt numb and my tummy tingled. He was very good at what he did.

I didn't even realize that the name 'Mystery Man' was becoming a theme here. It was sticking. Before I could think about it, he had already spoken.

"There'll be plenty." He stated confidently as he rose back onto his feet and slipped onto the couch. I could hear the grin on his face when he said that and it made me even happier to be in the room with him right now.

"Ooookay." I drawled, slowly growing in anticipation. "I better hear it." I laughed, now in a seated position in front of his resting-on-knees position on the couch. I pressed my hands into his well-built chest, feeling around his bust, biceps, forearms, and... damn, his abdominal muscles. Abdominal muscles were just so phenomenal when on display. In this case, it was a touch-only display but it was just as good!

My fingers delved down more lowly, now tracing the indents that his v-line made. It was defined, but I wasn't really surprised at this point. This guy was ripped and it was easy to tell even in the dark.

I gulped, blinking longly. My breath held firm in my lungs whilst I collected myself and my nerves. If he was this big upfront, I couldn't help but wonder what he was like below deck.

I didn't have to wonder for long. After a little while of my little 'daydreaming,' he had taken his hands and placed them on my exposed ribcage. His fingers danced along my skin, sending pleasurable tingles all throughout my body. His touch was soft, similar to how one could imagine a cloud feeling on their skin.

My held breath is now released. It fanned out across his face, leading to a stint of hushed chuckles coming from my partner.

I got to work quickly, deciding that I had stalled enough. There was no need to imagine what it was going to be like if I could just experience it right here, right now.

My eyes pressed shut as my hands finally delved lower, pressing gently on the divot in his v-line as I reached the first little bushel of hair.

Faintly, I wondered what color it was, but I'd figure it out later if I ever did see what he looked like.

Actually, would I see what he looked like? Ever? What if, after this, I was simply cast aside? It made sense. I was just a street cat, after all. This was repayment for him saving me.

I scoffed inwardly, shaking my head. I was thinking too much. I can't get attached to this dick; it wasn't like he had a knot or anything!

At that thought, I laughed outwardly. It was a one-cough type of laugh where a bright, toothy smile crosses your face even when you try to stop it. My lips twitched and I rolled my eyes before thrusting my right hand down. I had grabbed hold of the tall shaft, now gripping it firmly.

Its girth was impressive and, from what I could tell as I gave it a quick stroke, it had some decent length on it, too.

When my hand adjusted its hold on the man's penis, I felt him visibly shudder.

"You don't have a lady's delicate hand pleasing you often, I could guess?" My voice came out rather accusatory and condescending; it was purposeful. But, my taunts didn't seem to work for his manhood got noticeably harder in my hand. I chuckled lowly, shaking my head. He didn't respond to my words coherently, so I merely shrugged it off.

I was still sitting upright and he, on his knees before me, was rather tall. His dick was the type to, when erect, stick straight out at a slight upward angle. I could feel a nearly-unnoticeable tilt, but I preferred it that way so it didn't bother me much.

His little imperfections made him even hotter.

I leaned forward, pressing my lips on his shaft. I kissed it lightly, eyes shut gently as I appreciated the chance to give him pleasure in return.

He had really rocked my world and I was going to do the same to him.

Well, that was what I was going to do before his hands which had been stroking my sides so gently suddenly grabbed me and pushed me down against the couch.

Like before, I was laid out across the couch with him nearly overtop of me. He shuffled backward, now positioned in between my slightly-spread legs.

"Fucking Hell!" I squealed, releasing my hold on his dick quickly. I clasped my hands together over my chest as they bounced and slapped against my skin. As they settled, I felt his hot breath fan over my already-abused neck. This guy did not seem worried about my curses or my scare, for he was already putting in the work.

Looks like he wasn't the type of guy that wanted a blowie.

His legs were positioned on either side of me. One of them was tossed over mine so that my legs stayed open for when I was growing too stimulated, I supposed excitedly.

I heard the sifting of skin-on-skin for the briefest of moments, hinting that he had been stroking himself overtop of me. When he was in between my legs, though, I didn't find that appreciative. He could pump inside of me, not outside.

I felt my pussy throb angrily, pulsing as if it had been stung by a bee or a wasp. I just wanted to feel that muscle lining my walls-- could he be any slower?

"Hurry up..." I whimpered, my voice growing low and anguished. I was nearly hurting beneath this man. Yearning for him.

At my plea, a long groan left him. With that, he was pressing his tip onto the edge of my slick folds. He rubbed his dick against it for a few long, arduous seconds, before finally slipping it inside of me. It was relatively easy considering how wet I was, but the stings produced from the stretching burned like fire. His foreplay was no joke; had he not prepared me so well, I likely would've torn in half. He was huge.

I rolled my hips lightly, adjusting to his impressive girth and pleasurable length. He slid himself further inside of me, now at his hilt.

"Fucking.. Shit, man." He murmured, voice mimicking a cracked growl.

I felt the air grow uncomfortably hot once again. While my skin had already been slicked with sweat, the air inside the room felt sweltering and muggy. It wasn't to say that this wasn't also sexy, erotic, and steamy, but damn, was it also everything I had never experienced before.

When I settled down, I felt the first of his movements inside of me. He rocked his hips back and forth slowly in the beginning, getting a feel for my gummy walls. As he moved, I throbbed overtop of his cock, tensing and loosening with every inch he delved inside or retreated outside.

It wasn't long before he began to quicken his pace, keen on striking every bit of me and pleasing me to my very core.

He was definitely getting a kick out of it, too, if one were to judge off of the many grunts, groans, and--

He hunched over with a loud, cracked moan as I finally wiggled my way out of his hold. I was able to pause his movements and wrap my legs around his hips, giving him better access to every part of me.

He worked his free hands around my body, placing one on my breast and the other on my hip in order to hold me up more comfortably. His fingers stroked and his hand twisted and tugged, palming me and enjoying me from both inside and out.

In addition to this, he craned his neck and began to bite at the skin of my neck, decorating it with more curious shapes and bites. Still, he fucked me relentlessly. The slapping of his ballsack on my ass and our breathing was really all that flooded our ears besides steam and blush.

Murmured words escaped my opened mouth. They were some things along the lines of him being the best I'd ever had or telling him to keep up the good work in one way or another. When he hurried his pace, I was unable to keep up my blubbered speech. My tongue lolled out of my mouth and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as he struck a particular spot deep within my walls.

I was blessed to have ended up in this man's apartment, it seemed.

I came all over his cock, soaking it to the bone with the sweet juice. A purr escaped my throat, half-gurgled on saliva that had collected inside of my mouth. I was drooling for this man.

And it was returned, apparently, because my neck was moistened by his saliva, too. He continued to pepper kisses and sigh pleasantly into my skin, leaving the occasional bite here and there.

Everywhere.

When I felt the familiar twitches of his fat cock that signaled he was beginning to unravel, I tugged at his hair with my hands, prompting him to lift his head and look in my direction. When his hot breath fanned over my face instead of my slick neck, I caught him in a breathless kiss.

He sighed into it, relaxing, even, but his pace quickened and grew more sloppy. His cock twitched and tensed moreso, warning him if his closeness.

"Shit. I'm gonna— fu..hck!" He grit his teeth, preparing himself to pull out right before his release, but my displeased growl urged him to stop.

Over his ragged breathing, I whimpered, "I— I can't get pregnant right now! Just.. oh, shi—t!" I clenched my eyes shut and wrapped my legs around his waist more tightly, pressing him further into me. "Just come inside of me!" I pleaded helplessly, hands now having-moved to his back in order to scratch at any type of handhold.

Apparently, those words were all of the encouragement that he needed in order to ruthlessly pound into me once again. Right as he moved his head to the side and bit down onto my neck, I felt his cock twitch one last time before torrents of his hot seed coated my insides.

His heavy body collapsed on top of mine when the last few drops of his semen spurt out of his dick and into my body. He didn't pull out, thankfully; I needed this contact. I needed to be full.

My fingers twitched as my own body began to relax. My arms quivered tiresomely as my grip on his flesh loosened. Slowly, I trailed my hands upward and into his damp hair. I tugged at a few locks, wishing he'd take the hint and stop biting me.

When he did finally release my skin, I caught his lips in a wet kiss once again. He no longer tasted like ash. It wasn't hard to guess what the metallic taste was— it was my blood. He had bitten down pretty hard, breaking skin, but the scratches lining his back were payment enough.

"Thank you." I grumbled into the kiss, rolling my hips into his from beneath him.

"For?" He returned sarcastically.

I assumed that he was joking. Maybe. He could've truly been confused as to whether I was referring to being saved by him or being fucked by him, but... I wasn't in the mood riddles or any type of thinking.

I pulled away and chuckled, stroking the back of his head. "For being here tonight and giving me this experience.”

He chuckled shortly and thrust into me roughly, providing no verbal response. He got his point across, though, when I felt him harden inside of me once again.

I'll save the thank-yous for after he's done with me, I suppose.

#smoker smut #one piece smoker x reader #x reader #reader insert #smoker #smut #one piece #roughfuck #bite kink #biting kink #fem reader

[thetrespasserfrontier]

InGen Construction Fleet

On John Hammond's Site B facility, various locations and structures were built or begun by Portland Construction, realizing the old man's plans for the island in stages. Despite teh wealth of research, support, and other facilities, most were relatively great distancfes from one another.

VA116 - You've got to be kidding me. "Welcome to my island. No, don't try to escape. Let me tell you my plan."

While we don't have examples of the northern facilities' construction, it's unlikely the Island Express bus system was present in the earliest days without paved roads. Multiple references point to a railroad system which never made it to the recovered builds of the game, but even then additional modes of transportaion would be needed. Bus or no bus, InGen construction workers had to get themselves, their lunches, and the horseshow-throwing game around somehow.

Of the several vehicles Anne finds left on Isla Sorna, some were or may have been used for construction. The most basic of these would be the not-always-hood-covered, white pickup trucks. Branded with one of the first InGen logos Anne sees, these would have brought workers to sites over rugged jungle, pine, or plains terrain. Maybe sometimes actual human bodies road in back, but the rear section was surely a mainstay for transporting crates, rebar, and beer. Be careful of the doors falling off if you choose to investigate one.

Though possibly needed throughout the island, the unfinished monorail construction is home to representatives of another kind of vehicle: the manlifter. Red black and white, they sit collecting dirt and rust where they once stood to raise workers up to the level of the concrete rail. The Tres devs originally wanted Anne to operate the lifter from a control in the carriage. It's gone in the retail release, and the one down below doesn't work. Work with boxes to get up and over.

In the IJ area of teh power pylon construction, a third variety of vehicle sits nearby. It's not for transportation - well, not of people. Instead of lifting workers to reach higher up, the classic rusted-yellow construction crane comes with a long, counter balanced arm and a sharp hook for picking up heavy loads. The 'cockpit' for driving controlling this small monster comes with dials and buttons, but by the time Anne gets there, they don't work... Sitting beside a brown metal fence at the end of the level, it used to stand on the other side of the valley on "Gravel Hill," where legend has it a battle with the local Albertosaurus would have taken place. The devs dreamed big and may have imagined a swinging arm of metal crashing into the bloodthirsty predator, making it safe to follow the road to the town. He still waits on the hill, where Anne is left to find some other way to make it through.

A final go-time truck sits up high on Mount Watson. Was it used for construction? Various wood beams and supplies are scattered about, but in the final version of Tres, Anne would never guess that a mountain-climbing train system was being put up. Scaffolding puzzles and a Donkey Kong debris-rolling Raptor are nowhere to be seen now, but DWI had the idea earlier on, and we may guess what survives is a remnant. The Unimog which sits here lies on a paved InGen road, a construction contractor trailer sitting nearby. Was this Mercedes delivering supplies for the tram, or for the wind turbines higher up, or was it "The Maharajah's" transport, that missing InGen Hunter who was meant to radio from the station above? We may never know...

#trespasser #jurassicparktrespasser #jurassicpark #thelostworldjurassicpark #trescom #islasorna

[qualifiedwindowcleaningexperts]

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If you want to know more about this topic, then click here: https://www.britannica.com/technology/window-washing.

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 21

Today's Prompt: Off the rails... again!

I don't know what it says about me when I see a prompt called off the rails and immediately do 1,800 words about Bulgy before a train is even mentioned.

(Also, this happens just before the events of Day 14's story)

-

Smashing!

Bulgy is a rather disagreeable old bus on the Island of Sodor. Many years ago, he had gotten stuck underneath a bridge on Duck’s branch line, causing damage to both it and himself. As a result, his owners abandoned him in a field next to the line and the farmer who owned it used Bulgy as a henhouse!

However, this was not the end of Bulgy. Farmer Drury, his new owner, was a very successful man who owned several farms across the Island. As his business grew, he repaired Bulgy and put him back on the road as a farm transport vehicle and rolling storage bin - a duty that Bulgy hated even more than being a henhouse!

He complained bitterly about his treatment for many years, often irritating Farmer Drury in the process, and thus ensuring that he would never be anything more than a dirty work vehicle for as long as Farmer Drury owned him!

Eventually, Bulgy’s fortunes improved - although his attitude didn’t - when Farmer Drury retired and handed the business over to his son David.

David Drury had gone to school on the mainland, and unlike most Sudrians, was rather obsessed with old cars instead of old trains. He owned several classic race cars and the Island’s only Ferrari, so when he discovered Bulgy in the back of his father’s barn he was immediately taken with him. Almost before Bulgy knew what was happening, David Drury had restored him to ‘concours condition’, and he went from a dirty, dusty, and creaking work van to a pristine ‘show bus’ so fast that his eyes spun!

Now Bulgy was more or less permanently retired, living inside a nice warm garage on the outskirts of Marthwaite village. He never had to work, or get dirty, or even go out in the rain!

Except for one time…

April 13, 2015

Bulgy was startled awake by the door to his garage being thrown open. “Whassat?!” He groaned, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

“Come on Bulgy!” It was David, his owner. “We’ve got a sticky situation down in Hackenbeck. Let’s go!”

Far, far too quickly for Bulgy’s liking, he was started up, put into gear, and driven away. “What’s wrong?” He asked. “Where’re we going?”

“Those moro-” David started angrily, before calming himself. “I have been trying to rebuild the roof on one of the storage barns in the Hackenbeck farm for a month, and when the roofers finally show up, they didn’t check the weather, tore off the roof with no plan to finish it, and it’s going to rain this afternoon, so we need to finish the roof today or the entire harvest will be ruined!”

“Whaddya need me for?”

“The van broke down! You’re the only other big vehicle I’ve got that’s road legal!”

“You’re gonna make me work?!”

“I’m sorry Bulgy, but it’s only for today - look, I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

Bulgy acquiesced, but grumbled all the way to Hackenbeck.

The barn was located near the railroad line, accessible by a dusty and rutted tractor path that crossed the line at one point. Bulgy grimaced as he bounced down the “road” - this was no place for a show bus - even the four wheel drive pickup trucks were complaining about the potholes, and he could feel his paintwork getting dirtier with each passing second.

It didn’t get any better after that - his owner was serious about him working, and Bulgy made five trips into town for supplies like wood planks, nails, lunch, scaffolding, and even huge buckets of tar. It was disgusting and dirty work, and he hated every minute of it - at one point, men had to stand on his roof to do work, and after that he was quite literally dirty from top to bottom.

Then the rain came.

According to the weather forecast, the real downpour wasn’t to start until later that night, but the broken clouds started to knit themselves back together as the clock struck four. The men had just enough time to hang tarpaulins over the unfinished sections of roof before the deluge started, so the grain harvest wasn’t spoiled, but everything else was soaked. Anyone who couldn’t hide in the barn took refuge inside Bulgy, and he growled as muddy boots clomped across his floors, sweaty clothes fouled his seats and dirty water dripped off of his bonnet and into his eyes. “I thought I was done with this sort o’ nonsense…”

Fortunately for Bulgy, the rain shower was short-lived, and everyone resumed work after it passed, leaving him alone for the first time since the morning.

“Oi! Mate!” Evidently he couldn’t be alone for too long, could he?

Cracking an eye open, he found a big Volvo HGV with Irish registration plates idling next to him. “Can you please bother someone else?” He asked, doing his best to be polite.

“Rude.” The lorry said before continuing on anyway. “But I’m in a bit of a pickle - ya see, I’m supposed to be in someplace called “Wellsworth”, but my GPS conked out me, see? So now I’m lost.”

“Have your driver talk to Mister Drury - it’s his farm you’re on.” Bulgy said dismissively.

“Driver?” The lorry said, before looking at Bulgy more closely. “Oh, this is one of those places.”

Then the lorry drove away, leaving Bulgy confused and feeling vaguely insulted. “Well I never...!” He said, before realizing that he probably had at some point.

“Well, s’not my problem anymore.” He said after a moment. Seeing as everyone else was occupied, he closed his eyes and tried to take a nap.

“Come on Bulgy, no rest for the weary!” David Drury said as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

“What now?”

“That lorry has gotten himself good and lost, so we’re going to show him the road into town.”

“Why’ve I got to do it? I’ll sink into the mud!”

“You’ll do it because everyone else is busy.” David said. Looking over at the other quad bikes, four-by-fours, and Land Rovers, Bulgy was forced to admit that he was the only vehicle not in use at the moment and so he bounced and juddered and sloshed along the now-muddy path towards the road.

Then there was trouble.

The railway line was on a slightly raised embankment to allow for drainage. This hadn’t been an issue before, but now the small hill leading to the tracks was nothing but slippery mud. Furthermore, the path itself was narrow, with only enough room for one vehicle to go through at a time - if two were coming in opposite directions, one of them would have to pull off to the side of the road. As they approached the crossing, an orange tractor with caterpillar treads was pulling a trailer over the line, so Bulgy and the lorry pulled over at the bottom of the hill to let him pass. As they set off, neither Bulgy, David, nor the lorry realized that the road up to the tracks was nothing but mud - the tractor had made it look easy with his treads, and didn’t say anything more than “Hello!” as he passed them. Not realizing what was about to happen, David drove Bulgy up the hill from a standing stop.

If they’d been traveling at speed, they might have made it, but when Bulgy’s front wheels bumped over the rails, his back wheels weren’t going fast enough to push him over, and he stuck fast on top of the tracks, his rear wheels spinning furiously but unable to gain any traction in the slick mud.

“Oi!” Yelled the lorry as mud pelted him. “Stoppit! Yer stuck there! Get a chain and I’ll pull ya free!”

A rummage through storage compartments in both Bulgy and the Lorry revealed that neither of them had a chain strong enough. David called back for one of his employees to send a thicker chain - they arrived on a quad bike, along with the orange tractor - who introduced himself as Terrance - and his driver.

“I say,” Terrance observed idly as the men tried to figure out where they could attach the chain without damaging Bulgy. “You picked a most inopportune time to do this - Thomas will be most upset if his passengers are delayed.”

David, Bulgy, and the lorry went very still and very pale.

“You did call the railway, didn’t you?”

“Jus’ hook that chain to anything!” Bulgy bellowed. “Get me off of here!”

“Now let’s… let’s be calm.” David sounded anything but as he poked his mobile phone urgently. “We still have time to call - all we need to do is find out what the bleeding number is!”

As it turned out, they didn’t have time.

A steam whistle sounded in the distance, putting everyone into a panic. David’s employee tore off on the quad bike, trying to stop the train before it arrived, while David and Terrance’s driver tried desperately to mount the chain. “It’s not going on! There’s no hook on this end!” They yelled.

“Get in, put him in low gear, and when I say, step on it!” The lorry ordered. David scrambled into the driver’s seat, and frantically engaged first gear.

The whistle sounded again - the noise echoing off the surrounding hills to the point where its location couldn’t be determined.

The lorry grimaced. “This is gonna suck.” He muttered, before revving his own engine. “Now!”

Bulgy’s engine roared, and mud flew everywhere. Black exhaust poured from the lorry as he engaged his low-range gearbox and charged up the incline.

With a thunderous CRUNCH he slammed into Bulgy’s rear bumper.

The whistle sounded again, this time much longer and more urgent. The quad bike must not have gotten very far, which meant that the train was close indeed.

The lorry’s wheels spun, but he revved his engine well past the red line on his tachometer as he put all of his considerable strength against Bulgy.

The train appeared from behind the trees. Terrance noted with some detached portion of his mind that it wasn’t Thomas pulling the train, but rather a big engine he’d never seen before. As soon as the engine saw Bulgy, they yelled in panic and put on their brakes, but it wasn’t going to be enough…

The lorry’s wheel dug deep enough into the thick mud to find dry dirt. With a lurch and a roar he surged forward, shoving Bulgy off of the line and onto the downhill on the other side. Seconds later, the lorry followed, his back wheels clearing the tracks in just a few seconds.

But there was still his trailer. It was a long canvas sided box trailer, fully loaded with cargo, and its wheels sank into the mud a few inches as it rolled up the hill. Those few inches were the differences between safety and disaster, and the trailer’s low-hanging side underride guards caught between the rails with a screech that brought the lorry to a standstill.

“Go!” He shouted to Bulgy as he roared his engine, trying to break free.

Bulgy needed no encouragement, and raced forwards as the train got closer and closer.

The lorry pulled so hard that the trailer’s king pin snapped in half, and he shot forwards, leaving the trailer sitting astride the train tracks.

Terrance and his driver could only watch in horror as the train got closer and closer, before…

Later

Stephen Hatt arrived at the crash site to find a much more colourful scene than he’d been expecting. “Is that… paint?” He asked the Hackenbeck stationmaster, who was acting as the incident commander.

“Yes sir. The lorry was full - over thirty tons worth.” The man said as he strategically stepped over puddles of silver and yellow that were soaking into the ground despite the best efforts of the cleanup crew. Tornado had still been going at well over thirty miles an hour when she impacted the lorry, and paint had been fired in every which way as the trailer had more or less exploded on impact. Following that, there was a two hundred foot long streak of Dulux-coated destruction leading down the trackbed as the mangled trailer had been dragged along before it came apart at the seams and was deposited along the lineside.

Then there was Tornado herself, who had collided with the trailer before it started to come apart, and had therefore been impacted by individual cans of paint, instead of a fine spray of liquid colour. As a result, her LNER green was covered from buffer to cab in huge blotches of dull green, bright yellow, metallic blue, glossy red, vibrant purple, and flat white from individual cans smashing against her. In some spots, the colors had mixed together, forming steaks of orange, brown, black, and gray that ran down her boiler in a way vaguely reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock painting.

Fortunately, no one was hurt. Tornado was pulling a goods train, and despite some minor damage to her buffers and front end - miraculously, her smoke deflectors hadn’t been damaged thanks to the trailer having canvas walls - she had only derailed her leading bogie, and was actually smiling as gold paint dripped down her nose. “Well, I think I caused some confusion and delay, didn’t I?”

“Now, now,” Stephen said as he inspected her himself - the Trust was going to have a conniption as it was, so he’d better make damn sure that there was nothing seriously wrong. “I wouldn’t say you were responsible for this,” His eyes sparkled mischievously as he looked over her damaged front end. Nothing seemed to be too amiss other than the obvious, thankfully. “But I would say that you have busted your buffers.”

Tornado laughed as the rest of the breakdown crew sighed deeply.

--

It never did rain that night, (“Whaddya mean it didn’t rain?! I almost died for nuthin?” “Calm down Bulgy.” “Calm down?! Mister Drury, those blasted trains almost turned me into scrap! See, I was right! We need to rip up all the rails and turn them into nice smooth Boulevards!” “Not this again…”) and with the dry conditions, it only took Wendell and the breakdown train until midnight to finally get Tornado to the works. It was very late, and everyone was very tired, so Tornado and the cranes were already asleep when Wendell shunted them away.

Wendell was himself exhausted, and rolled into his berth at the works intent on sleeping until someone came to wake him up.

“Oi - wha’s the score with the mystery one?” Bloomer hissed from where the men had been working on him.

“I think she was at a heritage railroad for a while.” Wendell groaned as his crew set his brakes and left. “She definitely knows more about BR than any other engine I’ve met.”

“How so?”

“She knew the firing order of my engine - I think it’s safe to say that she was someplace with an archive, or the NRM has gotten very loose with their records department.”

“Huh,” Snorted Bloomer, who, like any engine that had been within earshot of Gordon in the last few years, was well aware of the NRM’s fall from grace. “Mebbe she’s just a smart egg.”

“Easter egg, more like…” Wendell yawned. “Hard boiled and painted and all; She just took a lorry’s worth of paint to the face and thought it was the highlight of her day.”

“Paint?” Bloomer peered outside of the shed doors. “Mercy me! Look at her! She’s coated!”

Wendell didn’t respond, and when Bloomer looked over, he found the diesel already fast asleep.

“Ugh, young engines these days!”

----

Several days later

The men had had their work cut out for them. The paint was latex and enamel based house paint, and it didn’t want to come off without strong solvents, the use of which also stripped off Tornado’s paint and undercoat. It took two whole days for the men to find all of the paint - it had worked its way into every crease and crevice in Tornado’s body, and if the Fat Controller hadn’t authorized copious amounts of overtime, it likely would have taken far longer.

This process was not helped by the fact that removing Tornado’s plating revealed the numerous modifications she’d received from her time in Germany - while they were safe from the paint, they weren’t safe from the deeply curious mechanical staff, who swarmed over her with cameras and notebooks, trying to determine what everything was. If it weren’t for the works manager telling them to get back to their jobs, they likely would have stayed there all day!

Eventually, the mechanical staff were shooed away, the paint was stripped off, a spot of rust on her running board was found and cleaned, the workers were able to finish, and Tornado was finally reassembled and rolled into the paint shop to be repainted into LNER green.

Except…

“We don’t have any green? On this railway?” The foreman stared at the head painter disbelievingly.

“Not this shade.” The woman said. “And somebody didn’t clear it with me before they started stripping, which means there’s none to sample, so we can’t make more.” In anticipation of a new coat, they’d decided to strip the paint off of Tornado’s tender as well. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.

“Don’t we have other greens?”

“Yes. Great Western green.” A long pause followed this. “Do you want to be the one who painted the pride of the LNER in GWR colours?”

“BR Blue?”

“Only the diesel shade of Rail Blue.”

“Henry’s Green?”

“On backorder.”

“... James' Red?”

“No.”

“Well, what do we have?”

“In sufficient quantities?” A tin of paint was produced. “This.”

“We can’t use that! They’ll think we’ve bought her!”

“Well it’s either this, or we ask the Skarloey Railway if they’ve got any of their red going spare, but considering she's bigger than all of their engines put together...”

“Okay… point made, but we’re going to have to make sure that we don’t do any of the striping or numbers - I don’t want the rest of the engines to think that we’ve bought her or anything.”

-

Tornado was actually hyperventilating as the paint shop workers buffed and polished the freshly-applied numbers and striping. She’d caught a few glimpses of herself in the mirror mounted on the far wall, and had been unable to contain herself since. “You’ve got the pictures?” She asked the head painter.

“Of course we have,” She said genially. “Now let’s get you outside for some more in the sun. Maybe we’ll even get everyone for a posed shot like they did in the twenties.”

They’d done a pressure test to make sure that nothing had been damaged in the collision, and Tornado had just enough steam left to roll into the yard under her own power.

In the yard, the midday sun was shining, the air was clear, and there were many pictures to be taken of her new paintwork. It took over an hour, and when the workers finally retreated into the sheds to work on “other jobs”, she was left alone.

“I still can’t believe it.” She said to herself quietly. “It’s like I’m really one of them.”

When the paint crew had told her they only had the NWR’s blue paint on hand, she’d been a little excited. Now that it was applied and dry, she was much more so. The red lining and gold numbers on her tender and frame completed the look, and if one ignored the smoke deflectors and squinted slightly, she could almost pass as a copy of Gordon.

Even without any steam, she could feel the excitement bubbling up through her boiler. “I’m a really useful engine you know,” She sang to herself, not really caring if anyone was listening.

“All the other engines they tell me so,

I huff and puff and whistle, rushing to and fro,

I’m the really useful engine we adore!”

She’d found the instrumentals of the song somewhere, and it quietly began playing.

“I’m the one! I’m the Really Useful Engine that we adore

I’m the one, I’m the Number One

Torna-”

“Peep Peep! Hello Fatfac- oh you’re not Gordon!” A blue tank engine had pulled alongside her.

He had six small wheels.

A short stumpy funnel.

A short stumpy boiler.

And a short stumpy dome.

“EEEP!”

#in case it isn't clear #someone asked tornado what she wanted to be when she grew up and she said thomas the tank engine #so this is a big deal #ttte #sodor #sodor headcanon #sodor shenanigans #ttte sodor #tornado #they're all just... so dumb sometimes #fic #traintober 2021 #traintober #the railway series #ttte bulgy #ttte terence #rws bloomer #ttte bloomer #ttte wendell

[dundunny]

Review: Assassin’s Creed III

I have to first make a disclaimer that I started this game in 2018 so my memories of the earlier parts are a little hazier. This probably is down with the first game as one of the worst in the series. Let me start by saying the franchise hasn't impressed me: The characters aren't very interesting and the plot is dumb, but I love climbing all over historical urban environments. I haven't played Assassin's Creed II since the early 2010s, but to this day I can remember with startling clarity parkouring Ezio up the cathedral in Florence.

Assassin's Creed III doesn't really have that. Boston and New York in the 1700s haven't created the architecture that's jaw-dropping enough to draw interest; hell, a good portion of New York is fucking burned down. So the vast majority of the game is wilderness. And herein lies the studio's problem with game design since day one: They create massive environments, but there isn't a lot of stuff in them. What they do is construct famous landmarks with fine detail, but the everyday buildings people live in look exactly the same and there isn't enough visual difference for me to navigate or even care about what I'm looking at. Let me compare to Arkham Knight. Yes, storefronts were replicated, but in my head I can still remember the lighthouse by the movie studio, the intersection for Gotham's version of Time Square, how the train tracks moves through that Eiffel Tower thing, the Halloween balloon floats by the GCPD, the shops underground below the skyscrapers, and the dock area on the southern part of Founder's Island. If I'm asked to even vaguely lay out a city map for Boston or New York, I've literally got nothing. Ubisoft just made bunch of skins for buildings and plastered it everywhere.

This is massively worse in the "frontier" because if you've seen one tree or log, you've seen them all here. Oh, I can recall the coastline to the west and east, where the fortresses are, Lexington, Monmouth, etc. But it's not fun to run through. Let's take another game, Breath of the Wild. Most of that game was climbing up the side of mountains or fighting in forests or swimming up a waterfall. I haven't played that game in a long time, but I still can vividly recollect shrines, ponds, cottages, stabbing enemies on scaffolding over a ravine, finding a tower surrounded by tar, the beautiful rocks around Zora's Domain, stumbling upon dragon skeletons... Exploration was the reward in that game. It's just not in Assassin's Creed III. Yeah, there are the feathers or treasure boxes, but I just indifference. As I said, tree 1 looks basically the same as tree 384.

The next issue is Connor. He's just boring as character. Altair went from douchebag to humble leader, Ezio was cool in everything he did, but Connor... I don't think he ever really knew what he was doing. His thing is revenge, specifically against Charles Lee for burning down his village and killing his mother. Everything else he did was really trying to put roses on his actions. Yeah, Ezio's was vengeance as well, but he really became a leader who furthered the Assassin cause. Conner... well, he made the homestead but just kinda invited people to live there and none of them were assassins. He meanders his way to his end goal by saying he wants to protect his village but ends up killing those of his people who don't agree with his methods (including his childhood friend). He allies himself with the Patriots, even though it should be very evident they don't like Native Americans any more than the British, and then is surprised when he learns Washington has killed some of his people. Also his voice actor is not very good. Really, I would've preferred to play the game as Haytham and I was so sad when we found out he was a Templar.

Assassin's Creed III also closes the Desmond arc. The premise behind the franchise is interesting—that you can access memories of your ancestors through your DNA—but as the series progressed I found the modern-day portion to become the most farcical part. Yeah, it was cool back in Assassin's Creed II when you saw the first glimpses of the "truth" and realized there was this ancient civilization that the Assassins are probably descended from. But then we learn that everything was destroyed in a solar flare (which somehow causes massive earthquakes?) and we have to stop it from happening again. Ubisoft, is that the best you can come up with? Where the hell did that come from? You walked away from that conference room thinking that was a good idea? When Desmond has to make his big decision about his fate and that of the world, at this point I'm just incredulous about the whole situation that it means nothing to me.

However that section does provide the funniest part of the whole game: When Desmond breaks into Abstergo, for some reason he and all the guards are drawing swords on each other. Why? It's literally 2012. Why aren't you all using guns? Can you imagine touring the White House and all the secret service are sporting scimitars instead of a glock?

So yeah, this was a very underwhelming installment. Normally I try to collect as much as possible and play the DLC because even after all my bitching Assassin's Creed is still fun to play, but I didn't have the emotional attachment or amusement to put in the extra effort. Hopefully the next game will be better.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed iii #connor #ratonhnhaketon #desmond miles

[tsarisfanfiction]

Nothing VII

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Gordon Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy

The seventh and final part for my answer to @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: See challenge. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Well, this has been an adventure, with a lot of screaming readers to say the least (I love you all!).  Thanks for all the response, and hopefully I’ll be back soon with the next sense to start you off all over again!

Gordon cut through the water effortlessly, striking out length after length of the pool for his morning swim.  It had been a month since that awful, awful day, and the signs were still ever-present.

John was still down on Earth.  Usually, John would be finding any excuse to go back up to his beloved space station after a matter of hours – and he had many arguments stored up for the benefit of zero gravity on broken bones.  Gordon knew that because he’d heard them all before, after previous incidents.  This time, John was suffering his least favourite force (and crutches) in silence.  Gordon could understand that – none of them really wanted to leave the island, now. Missions were always met with the slightest reluctance before he and Virgil traipsed their way to Thunderbird Two and wherever in the world needed them.  Thunderbird One hadn’t been used at all.

Thunderbird Three was still out of operation.  The damage from her ill-advised hurtle home during a cyclone had been severe, and not only was the rocket herself still being partially rebuilt, but the scaffolding surrounding the round house told the rest of the story.  They’d made a start on the repairs, but none of their hearts had been in it.  Not right now.

Not when Alan was still too quiet, blaming himself for something that hadn’t been his fault – that none of them could have done anything about.  John was spending a lot of time with Alan, connecting to him in a way Gordon couldn’t, because it was all space this and space that.  When it came to space, Gordon was the last Tracy to talk to.

He slapped his hand against the edge of the pool, bringing his lengths to an end for the moment.  He had another task to do, now.

“Special delivery!” Virgil declared as bare feet dipped into the pool beside him.  He grinned up, meeting his older brother’s eyes.

“For me?” he asked playfully, heaving himself up to rest crossed arms on the poolside.  “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

Virgil laughed and backed away, booted feet making their familiar noise as he traipsed over tiles towards the kitchen.  Gordon didn’t bother to watch him go, his attention still on the brother getting his feet wet.

When Scott had finally opened his eyes, a couple of hours after Gordon had abandoned his Thunderbird’s maintenance half-done and dragged him and the mobile equipment keeping him alive into the waiting medical bay, their relief at seeing blue eyes had quickly turned to horror when it became apparent that just because they were open, it didn’t mean he was seeing them.

Gordon saw those blank eyes in his nightmares, and he knew he wasn’t the only one.  They hadn’t known how long Scott had been without oxygen for, but they all knew the possible effects of hypoxia.  Blank, unseeing eyes terrified them, until Grandma had the presence of mind to check his reactions.

They’d never been happier to see pupils react.  Scott was still in there, somewhere.  They just needed to find him again, and find him they had.  In true Scott Tracy style, there was no keeping their biggest brother down for long, and true consciousness had returned to him in a matter of hours.

Not that that meant everything was fine.  Scott didn’t remember what had happened – more than that, he had no memory of the entire week leading up to the accident – but he’d developed a phobia of the dark. Not that Scott wanted to refer to it as such, but they’d all been in earshot when the lights went out for that first night and the heart monitor screamed.  The problem wasn’t the dark, Scott insisted once they’d all stampeded back in and turned the lights back on, it was not being able to see.  Apparently there was a difference; the rest of them didn’t see it, but they let Scott win that debate without comment and made sure there was always at least one light on in every room by the time dusk set in.

Gordon suspected he wouldn’t be going back into space any time soon, even after Thunderbird Three and her silo were repaired.

“Come on in,” he invited his brother, gesturing to the pool.  Scott was in swimming trunks and ready for his first dip since the accident – a broken rib from John’s desperate resuscitation had put pay to any strenuous exercise, and it was still a week or so before Virgil and Grandma would even consider letting him back on light duty.

He still wasn’t allowed to swim, but Gordon was a firm believer in the healing power of water, and Virgil had conceded that floating was acceptable.  John had pointed out that he’d done a lot of floating in space before being rescued, and that Scott might have an issue with that as well as the dark.  Scott, in true Scott fashion, had immediately bristled at the implication and demanded to be allowed in the water, so here they were.

Despite his earlier fire, Scott was hesitating slightly and Gordon suspected it wasn’t due to residual pain from his ribs, no matter what he was trying to pretend.  He rested a hand on his big brother’s ankle and waited, watching his chest rise and fall as Scott convinced himself that the water was safe.  In only swimming shorts, Scott’s scars were on display – they all had them, and Scott was no exception.  Privately, Gordon thought it was wrong that hypoxia didn’t leave physical scars, and nor did a broken rib.  There was a story on Scott’s skin, but it didn’t reflect the time he came closest to leaving them, unlike Gordon’s own road map.  Instead, the scars were in their minds.  All different ones, from the different aspects they’d seen.

Eventually, Scott allowed himself slid in slowly.  It was shallow at this end – Gordon had stopped here specifically for that reason.  Even he and Alan could stand up with their heads above the water here, and when Scott’s feet hit the bottom his shoulders were still dry.

How to float was ingrained in all of them; Gordon had ensured that personally during their training with him for water rescues.  With only Gordon as witness – Virgil was long gone, and the rest of the family had been subtly poked and prodded away from the pool before Scott had even arrived – Scott slowly let the water take his weight.  Very slowly, with the same hesitance he’d had getting into the water in the first place.

Gordon stayed close by, and when it became apparent that Scott wasn’t at all comfortable letting the water take his weight – as John had feared – he reached out and caught him, as though he was teaching him to float for the first time.

“I got you, Scooter,” he grinned as Scott looked at him with grateful eyes, taking a deep breath and lifting his last foot from the bottom.  Apparently no matter how unsure he was, he still trusted Gordon impeccably.  Gordon refused let him down.

“Scooter?” Scott asked after a moment, once he was settled with Gordon’s hands gently pressing against his back despite the fact that it was the water doing all the work, and the aquanaut stiffened.  It had just slipped out without thinking, a teasing reassurance like… like Dad used to do. He hadn’t called Scott Scooter in years.  “Been a while since I heard that.”

There was something off about his voice.  Gordon didn’t know what, couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was the sinking feeling that he’d just put his foot in something.  Nice one, Gordon, you idiot.  Scott was frowning, raising a hand to rub at his forehead.  Gordon had to duck to avoid an elbow to the face.

“I feel like I had a question about that,” Scott mused after a moment, letting his hand fall back into the water with a small splash and a sigh.  “But it’s gone.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gordon said, wanting to wipe the melancholy look off of Scott’s face and hurrying to change the subject even as he continued to mentally scold himself for the slip.  “How’s the water?”

It worked.

“Wet,” Scott said dryly, turning his head slightly towards him with a small grin.  It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.  “Warm.”

He hadn’t seemed to have noticed that one hand was no longer touching him, Gordon kicked back until he was floating, too, and slid his arm under Scott’s shoulders, holding him loosely.

“So are you,” he retorted, and Scott laughed.  It was a reassuring sound, one they hadn’t heard anywhere near enough of recently.  Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon saw movement – most likely a trio of brothers watching from the kitchen – but he ignored it. This was his domain, and his time with Scott.  The fourth out of five meant he’d always had to share the attention of his eldest brother and right now he didn’t want to.

A month ago, he’d thought he was going to lose his biggest brother.  He hadn’t, but it had been far, far too close for his liking, and his grip tightened just a little, pulling their sides flush together as they floated in the shallow end of the pool.  Scott was home, and Scott was recovering.

Scott was safe.

Fin

#sensorysunday #sensorysunday2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #scott tracy #tsari writes fanfiction #nothing

[madlymiho]

Hoping my scenario makes the narrow finals!! Ace's former marine love got pregnant from her first sexual encounter with Ace and two years after their training, it is time for reuniting! Their toddler is sooooo eager to meet their father that they try to go right out and find him! Thanks for taking these requests, Miho!!!

Awwwwwww here it comes!!! The cutest moment of this world!! 😭❤️❤️❤️ A rollercoaster of emotions to finally reach this AMAZING TIME 🔥❤️ I’m so glad I met you, my friend. It has been a long and wonderful journey

Since we discussed about it, the little toddler will have a gender, and it’s a girl! 😤💖

Words : 2420

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Ace scenario : The moment I became a whole (read after the cut)

His heart is wrenching inside his chest, while he’s looking at the horizon. He has never been so nervous in his entire life. Not even when his crew has been defeated by Whitebeard. Not even when he took the sea at the age of seventeen. Not even when he was on that scaffold, his life about to be ended by the marines. No, he has never felt this way. Perhaps it’s because it’s been two years since he didn’t see her. Two years without a single letters, nor a single phone call. Two years living with the everlasting fear that their passion would be gone for good ; something belonging to the past. They are young after all, barely twenty two years old. At this particular age, there’s nothing to bond you forever to the other one. Ace pinches his lips together, and watches Amazon Lily’s island becoming bigger and bigger, as his ship is about to anchor there. 

“Oï Ace, look at this!” Luffy brags while he blows in his hand, creating for the thousand time a gigantic bicep. “It’s really cool!” 

“Shut it, Luffy.” Ace rolls his eyes, while he sighs, looking at the cliff just above the natural arbor. 

Two years ago, he was with her, right there, still shocked and injured after what happened in Marineford. They made love for the very first time of their life, both of them finally forgetting the many obstacles between their hearts. Ace has cherished that moment every day since he left Amazon Lily, sailing with his young brother to that wild island where the both of them trained harshly until today. 

“Do you think she’s still there?” Luffy suddenly asks, right beside Ace, as he doesn’t know he just surprised his elder brother. 

“Who?” Ace frowns. With Luffy, there are always so many possibilities. 

Luffy chuckles and throws to Ace a playful stare, while he jumps on the barrier of the deck and starts to walk on it.

“The girl who saved your ass, idiot! You love her, don’t you?” 

Ace wants to punch his little brother right in the nose, but he’s terrified to answer this question. He doesn’t know. She lost everything during that battle, two years ago, but he can’t tell if she waited for him. Perhaps the marines took her away, when he wasn’t here to defend her. Perhaps she also decided to disappear, too ashamed to face him the day he would be back. 

“I don’t know, Luffy. She might be gone,” Ace answers bitterly, swallowing his spit. “She has no reason to wait anyway,” 

“Mmmh…,” Luffy closes his eyes, patting his chin. “I think she’s there. She’s your nakama, or sort of.” He shrugs while he jumps back on the deck and starts to exercice, easily distracted by his own mind. 

“Yeah, sort of…,” Ace adds for himself, feeling his heartbeat getting erratic as the boat is now really close to the shore. 

***

When Ace jumps off the boat, he immediately recognizes and appreciates the general atmosphere of Amazon Lily. The arbor is pretty busy at this time of the day, and Luffy is already lost in the alleys, begging for food, not even paying attention to the rest of the world. Ace chuckles and pushes his hat down on his hair, looking around to see if he spots any familiar faces. The capital of the island isn’t so far, and perhaps that a few warriors under the orders of the empress are here to shop for her. He puts his bundle on his shoulders and starts to walk, looking around to see if he can see anyone, but especially her. After all, the purpose of this visit is to find her lover ; at least for him. The real goal of this mission is for Luffy to thanks Boa Hancock, and for the two of them to get back to Sabaody and meet the rest of the Straw Hat. 

“Oh…,” Ace stops walking while he feels something grab his ankle. He looks down to notice a little toddler gripping his boot. “Hey little one, are you lost?” 

Behind dark locks, two curious brown eyes are watching him, absolutely hypnotized by his features. Ace can’t help but smile to the little girl, squatting down to have a better look on her round and chubby face. She’s really adorable. 

“Are you alright?” He tries again, his voice soft and reassuring. 

He has always loved kids, he can’t deny it. And this one looks particularly gorgeous. As an answer, she only extends her hands up in the air, closing and opening them while she gives him the purest smile ever. 

“Up!” She orders with her baby voice, and a soft giggle escaping from her throat. 

Ace chuckles and tousles her raven hair, before he eventually accepts her request, and picks her up in his arms. As he straightened himself up, he feels her tiny fingers exploring his face, gently grasping his nose and skimming his cheek. It makes him laughs softly, while he notices the many freckles on her pale skin. 

“Young lady, are you trying to seduce me?” Ace winks, as the little girl muffles another happy giggle. 

“Funny!” She says as her hands fall down on his neck, pulling on the rope of his hat. “Papa funny!” 

Ace is a little bit surprised by her statement, feeling embarrassed. He shakes his head and smiles tenderly. 

“I’m not your papa, young lady,” he says as he changes her position on his arm, so she can have a proper seat. “But I can help you finding him? Or maybe your mama?” 

“Mama!” The toddler positively shouts, her eyes enlightening by the thought of her mother. 

Ace sighs, as he starts to walk in the alley, where numerous merchants are selling their products. Perhaps her father is somewhere there? He doesn’t remember seeing someone with freckles among the Amazonians, but there’s still the possibility that the person he’s looking for works on this market. She seems too young to be on her own anyway. He decides that he just needs to ask to the different persons here, and eventually, someone will recognize this little girl. 

“Excuse-me!” He calls out to the first merchant. “Do you know who’s she? And where could be her father, or mother?” 

The merchant blinks several times, looking at Ace, then at the little girl, while she’s laughing blissfully within his arms. 

“I’m not here to play game, Fire Fist…” The merchant answers before he rolls his eyes and turns his back to disappear behind a ripped curtain. Ace tries to call him a few times, but nothing. He tries to another merchant, and another one, but all of them seem pretty hostile and busy, and none of them would give him a proper answer. 

“Papa funny…,” the little girl cooes, hiding her nose in the crook of his neck. 

Ace continues his researches for at least half a hour, as he starts to feel slightly afraid for this little toddler. Why does he feel that no one take him seriously? He heard many giggles when he asked his questions, and it seemed that all of them knew the girl. After a moment, slightly upset with the whole situation, and the precious time he’s losing, he decides to take a break, as he seats on a barrel and secures the girl on his lap. She immediately pushes her back against his belly, sucking on her thumb, continuing to give him lovely smiles. Ace can’t help but play with her hair, before he exhales loudly. She seems young, but perhaps she would be able to describe her mother? Or her father?

“Tell me, sweetie,” he starts while he cups her jawline and lifts her chin up. “How’s your mama?” 

“Fine!” The girl nods as she swings her feet. “Mama is okay!” 

Ace giggles and shakes his head. 

“No, I mean… Can you describe her physically? Can you tell me how she looks like?” 

The little girl frowns, visibility concentrated. She looks at her hands for a second, playing with her pants, before she eventually looks back at Ace with a radiant face. 

“Mama is pretty!” 

Ace widens his eyes before he massages his forehead, unable to scold such an adorable child for her more than honest answer. She’s trying her best to describe her mother, but all she can think about is that she’s a beautiful woman. And there are a lot of women on Amazon Lily. But since he can’t stay with her forever, Ace starts again. 

“Sweetheart, can you describe your papa, now?” 

Hopefully, she will understand… Again, she frowns, looking at him with curious and lost eyes, before she tilts her head and points at him with her index. 

“Papa.” She just answers, blinking. 

“I’m not your papa,” Ace shakes his head, as he puts his back against the wall. “It’s not a game, sweetheart. You have to tell me where are your parents, because I need to go.” 

“Go?” 

Ace immediately regrets his sentence. The eyes of the toddler are now full of tears, her bottom lip trembling dangerously. Before he can do anything, she turns into an impressive human waterfall, heavy tears falling on her cheeks, her screams desperate and full of pain. 

“No, no, no! Don’t cry!” Ace gasps as he pulls her against his chest and rocks her gently. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you… But you need to understand that I can’t stay…” 

“Stay! Stay!” She desperately cries, her little fingers gripping his skin, she’s now inconsolable. 

What can he do, now? He tries his best to rock her, but it seems that his words have a real impact on her heart. Perhaps her papa abandoned her? Maybe she’s an orphan? So many questions travel through Ace’s mind. He’s so busy trying to comfort her that he doesn’t notice the silhouette walking in their direction. As the little girl is still a crying mess, a young woman is now standing in front of them, her own heart about to fall in her guts. 

“Ace?” 

It feels like time stops itself, her soft voice echoing into his soul. Even the little girl immediately stops her cryings, sniffing while she looks up and extends her arm in the direction of the woman standing in front of them. Ace can’t even think anymore. He can’t believe it. It’s her. 

“Mama! Mama! Look!” The toddler happily wiggles on Ace’s lap, as the woman bends down to pick her up and kisses her cheek. 

Ace doesn’t process at all. He’s all numb, mouth slightly open, his eyes travelling from her lover face to the toddler’s one. Mama. 

“Name…,” Ace finally whispers, getting back on his feet as if he has been struck by an electric salvo. “Name, it’s you!” 

He wants to hug her, kiss her, to feel her skin again, and have her smell in his nose. To be able to cup her waist and make love to her, but every of his muscle doesn’t move. All he can think about is the fact that she’s carrying a little girl. 

“It’s been a while…,” she says, breathless, her eyes a bit shifty. “I was expecting your return…,” 

“Mama, look!” The toddler wiggles between her arms, pointing at Ace. 

Ace feels his heart wrenching hard. Is it… Really too late? After all, he shouldn’t be surprised. She’s a beautiful girl, fierce and intelligent. It’s perfectly normal that many men want to have her by their side and have a family with her. Yet, for Ace, it feels that he’s being stabbed by thousand knives. He swallows his spit, looking at the ground for a moment, pushing on the edge of his hat to cover a bit more his eyes. He’s so pitiful ; he’s about to cry. 

“I should go,” Ace whispers harshly, unable to stay anymore. His heart is broken in many pieces. “It was nice to see you again, Name...” 

“Mama, why papa is playing again?” The toddler says loudly, as Ace is about to turn his feet and leave them. 

“He...He doesn’t know who you are, sweetie…,” She answers shyly. “Not yet…” 

Ace feels his whole world spinning. He looks up, frowning. What is she trying to say right now? 

“He doesn’t know that he’s your father yet…” She continues, trembling. “I was supposed to tell him today, but someone decided to run away!” 

She turns her head to look at the mischievous eyes of her daughter. The little one only giggles and kisses her mother’s cheek. 

“It’s...It’s real?” Ace stutters, making a step forwards. He fights the need to throw up, the surprise kicking his guts. “She’s…” 

Name nods slowly. 

“Her name is *name*, she’s your daughter.” She pauses, then exhales. “I can’t believe you thought it could be someone else’s child she looks just like you!” She snaps, her impetuous character coming back to the light. 

Ace chuckles, still processing, yet, he closes the distance between the two of them. As he looks at his daughter, he can see how much she’s the spitting image of him. Same eyes, same hair, same freckles. 

“So… I’m your papa?” Ace asks, still hesitant. 

The little toddler just throws herself inside his arms, peppering his neck and jawline with tender kisses. 

“Yes! Yes, you papa!” Name chirps, “Mama showed me photo of papa!” 

Ace closes his eyes as he hugs her tightly, feeling the tender digits of his lover skimming his arm. 

“I showed her your bounty poster months ago. She wanted to meet you so eagerly, I couldn’t prevent her from escaping. She’s a real wild fire…”

Ace looks at the features of his lover, and slowly, he rolls his free arms around her waist, pulling her against his torso. For a second, he only sees the beautiful complexion of the women he loves, before he bends down and steals a hungry kiss, his thumb caressing her back. He feels so many emotions right now, and he can’t even pick one. They slowly part their lips, bliss surrounding the three of them. 

“Ace!” A voice calls from the end of the street. “Aceeee!” 

Ace notices his little brother running to them, a bright smile blooming on his lips. He waves at him, tears of happiness falling on his cheeks. 

“Luffy!” Ace shouts at the top of his voice. “Luffy, come here! I need to present you someone important…” 

#one piece scenario #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #portgas d. ace #portgas d ace #ace one piece #ace x reader #one piece hcs #one piece hc #one piece scenarios #fluffy scenario #they are family now #fluffy #takethethirdoption

[kingofthewilderwest]

Rewatched the first How to Train Your Dragon after... I don’t even know... it’s been several years, maybe last time I watched it the full way through was 2015. And holy Thor this thing is such a masterpiece I was almost crying the full way through.

The CARE. The flipping CARE that goes into this movie. I’ve always seen the movie as impressively well-paced and structured, and my goodness, it’s one of the most brilliantly paced thing I’ve EVER seen.

The small moments. Stoick talking to Hiccup having returned from the voyage. All the awkward pauses, the built-up tension... before we realize the “dragon” Stoick’s talking about isn’t Toothless. Pacing is perfect to give us this moment of worried breathlessness with Hiccup as we think he’s been outed... then realize the communication split.

Another great small moment: Stoick kneels before Toothless in silence, believing his son is dead. The pause is the right length, long enough to give us that pain and quiet reflection of what (may have) happened in the battle. Every little pacing moment here amplifies emotions perfectly. Wow.

Length of camera angles. Character pauses. Dialogue delivery. It’s spotless.

The length of scenes. No scene in HTTYD feels too long or too short... nothing is rushed. I don’t want to use the word “leisurely” exactly, but we’re able to breathe and immerse in every moment. It’s especially amplified by the use of several scenes where there’s no music in the background, allowing us to think through dialogue... or moments where it’s instrumental alone and no words (giving us the time of bonding between Hiccup and Toothless in Forbidden Friendship, or See You Tomorrow, etc.). Whatever scene we’re looking at, whether it’s Hiccup reading the Dragon Manual, or the battle of the Red Death... scene choices are perfectly timed.

The transitions between scenes. These are brilliant and clever. There’s many instances where one line leads directly to the next. Gobber: He has this way with the beasts. Transition to: Hiccup riding on Toothless’ back. Gobber asking Stoick what his plan is to attack the dragon’s base. Next scene: Astrid asking Hiccup what his plan is to get to the dragon’s island.

And then the full scaffolding of the movie. The pacing of the whole is based on where one event is related to the other and in relation to the whole: it’s a game of mathematical proportions. When key moments are brought in, when the turning point is reached, when the hero’s low is hit, when the climax is reached - it’s important to how we experience movies, as they are a time-oriented art form. The time allotment and proportion of where key events happen to each other within the full length of this film is spotless.

And within that all is interwoven charming dialogue, memorable characters that we can comprehend in their complexity (oh goodness can we understand Stoick’s frustrations and struggle as a father, even while seeing Hiccup’s perspective as a teen going through his own difficulties), and little moments coming back through again later. Hiccup at the start saying Berk’s problems are the pests; Hiccup at the end saying Berk’s perks are the pets. One letter difference, brilliant. Hiccup at the start shutting the house door in fear of dragons attacking; Hiccup at the end shutting the house door when he first catches sight of a dragon, before realizing it’s now domesticated. Even the same dragon species - we’re that consistent. Hiccup looking at Toothless captured at the start murmuring “I did this”; Stoick looking at Toothless lying on his side after the battle’s end murmuring “I did this.” Everything is perfectly structured, logically sound, leads from one idea to the next, and even the smallest attention to details is brought around again to something meaningful.

Holy freaking fuck how do you get better than this movie.

#httyd #How to Train Your Dragon #analysis #my analysis #blabbing Haddock

[anjumkhanna]

Anjum Khanna - Top 10 best places to visit in USA

I'm Anjum Khanna from India and I will share with you my best places in the USA where I visited. Pleasing Planet's movement specialists have scoured the States to present to you our main 10 underestimated, restored and incredible spots to visit in 2020. From normal marvels to enrapturing coastlines and exceptional urban areas, these objections guarantee enormous things this year.

1. California’s Redwood Coast

Lose all track of time (and cell signal) along California's Redwood Coast. Film buffs may perceive the district's scene-taking sceneries from Hollywood blockbusters like Jurassic Park, E.T. furthermore, Star Wars. In any case, the full marvel of California's 2000-year-old redwoods – some arriving at 20 stories high – is difficult to catch on any screen. Gaze toward the woodland shelter: that last 100ft of redwood development marks a long time since Redwood National Park was built up in California's tree-embracing win over logging. What's more, this year, in the festivity of their 100th commemoration, Save the Redwoods League is without offering passage to more than 40 redwood state stops each second Saturday of every month.

In 2020, another sort of greenery has been standing out as truly newsworthy as California presents the state-wide legitimization of pot. However, the draws of the Redwood Coast far outperform changes in this industry, welcoming explorers to accomplish a definitive California smooth with its peculiar shops, brewpubs, espresso roasters and calm cheerful hours.

2. Boise, Idaho 

Home to a lively expressions network, a blast of grant winning wineries and specialty bottling works and a socially dependable shopping locale, Boise is what cool resembles before the remainder of the world has made sense of it. Fun celebrations have large amounts of Idaho's capital from downtown's Treefort Music Festival (hailed as the new option in contrast to SXSW) to the Boise Brew Olympics and Punk in Drublic – a lovely marriage of underground rock and specialty lager. 

Being in closeness to an abundance of characteristic wealth, metropolitan experiences effectively progress into outside departures. Wander through the Boise River Greenbelt, a 25-mile park in the core of the city, or head into the encompassing mountains and lower regions for climbing, mountain biking, skiing and stream boating.

3. Chattanooga, Tennessee

When minimal in excess of a refueling break among Atlanta and Nashville, the nature-driven 'Noog has changed itself into a stronghold of raised Southern living. Outside lovers rush to Chattanooga for the absolute best stone moving in the nation, bunch climbing and mountain biking trails and wild rides on the Ocoee River – one of America's best positions for whitewater boating. 

Foodies, hopheads and nerds aren't a long ways behind, either. Chattanooga's revived midtown – focused on the $20-million makeover of the city's unique train station into a multi-reason nightlife and diversion objective (counting a top notch guitar historical center) – is overflowing with journey commendable New Southern food, refreshing distilleries and nerd satisfying web speeds. Meet the New South!

4. Florida’s Space Coast

Space the travel industry is a rising star, with 2018 set to check the dispatch of the world's first lunar the travel industry departure from SpaceX. Try not to need to lose your life reserve funds down a dark gap? Visit the following best thing, Florida's Space Coast: home to the Kennedy Space Center and the setting for innumerable notable dispatches including Apollo 8 – the world's previously monitored rocket to circle the moon – which praises a long time since launch in 2020. 

View satellite dispatches from Cape Canaveral and Titusville or visit the new ATX (Astronaut Training Experience) at the Kennedy Space Center, where wannabe space travelers can go on a mimicked mission to Mars. Proceed your amazing experiences with an evening time kayak in the bioluminescent waters around Merritt Island and watch settling ocean turtles on an eco-accommodating visit.

5. Cincinnati, Ohio Set among steep slopes with the scaffold throne Ohio River swashing its edge, Cincinnati has consistently been a looker. Presently brew, expressions and clever neighborhood advancement are giving it some strut. The new Brewing Heritage Trail recounts the larger story: how Cincy was a main maker through the last part of the 1800s, its residents swallowing 2.5 occasions the public normal. Today Rhinegeist and other present day lager producers have assumed control over the relinquished distilleries, a considerable lot of which are walkable in Over-the-Rhine, an old German neighborhood of lavish block structures, new restaurants and crazy shops. 

2020 invites another section for the city's creative symbols as the Music Hall commends its 140th birthday celebration subsequent to going through enormous redesigns, and the Cincinnati Shakespeare Company subsides into their new powerful exhibition space.

6. Midcoast, Maine

Single word says everything: 'Ayuh'. What could be compared to 'mm-hm', it's Mainers' typically eccentric and unassuming go-to answer. Is it valid, you solicit, that about 90% of Maine is forested (the most noteworthy level of any state), making it ideal for experience exercises and getting away from traveler swarms? Ayuh. Also, what about Midcoast Maine's wonderful sea exhibition halls and detonating foodie scene of art bottling works, neighborhood grape plantations and gourmet ranch-to-table cafés? It's not the tranquil woodlands it used to be. Ayuh. Indeed, 2018 will check the area's 70th Maine Lobster Festival and a transitioning as an inexorably energizing social focus of elite workmanship historical centers and exhibitions, isn't that so? Ayuh.

7. Richmond, Virginia

River City has flipped from modest to occurring, however the 'hello you all' friendliness remains. Scott's Addition, when an abrasive assembling region, drones with microbreweries, cideries and buzzworthy cafés, while the James River baits swashbucklers with whitewater rapids in addition to another 52-mile bicycle trail along its banks. 

Creative features incorporate midtown's splendid wall paintings, the eccentric Quirk Hotel (highlighting interesting plan components and its own craft display) and imaginative transitory shows at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. The American Civil War Museum – an ongoing solidification of three separate Civil War locales – investigates Richmond's function as the capital of the Confederacy. One consistent? Patrick Henry requested freedom or demise at reenactments each Sunday in summer at St John's Church.

8. Kentucky Bourbon Country The territory of Kentucky is known for its moving slopes finished off with masterful pony cultivates, its wild commitment to school ball and, above all, its whiskey. The state's refining legacy runs profound, and those searching for a taste should make a beeline for Kentucky Bourbon Country, the brilliant triangle between Louisville, Lexington and Elizabethtown where this prepared soul becomes animated. You'll locate a luring organization of the nation's most notable refineries and first class eateries with whiskey motivated menus. 

Yet, this industry isn't so saturated with custom that it overlooks progress – create distillers are opening their entryways, long dead whiskey locale are being rejuvenated, and in 2020 the Frazier Museum will be named the official beginning stage of the Kentucky Bourbon Trail.

9. Minneapolis, Minnesota

In spite of arriving on arrangements of 'generally moderate' and 'generally reasonable' urban areas – and in a state positioned the USA's most joyful – Minneapolis appears to be a piece overlooked. In any case, after its chance at the center of attention during the current year's Super Bowl, that could very well change. The city endeavored to tidy up for the large occasion, specifically with redesigns to downtown's primary avenue Nicollet Mall presenting awesome light highlights, craftsmanship establishments and creative social spaces. 

The Minneapolis Sculpture Garden likewise got a redo, with 18 new works by well known chiselers. Furthermore, Target Center, the city's NBA and WNBA field, got a fan-accommodating $145 million makeover. In the interim, new boutique inns and present day ranch to-table cafés (hefty on neighborhood fixings) are springing up with cool verve.

10. Southeastern Utah Arches National Park's colorful sandstone ranges. Island in the Sky's Colorado River-cut vistas. Landmark Valley's sky-puncturing towers. Southeast Utah's significant milestones have been firm top picks among voyagers for quite a long time. As of late, nonetheless, lesser-realized territorial destinations like the forested levels of the new Bears Ears National Monument have become hot-button news things because of political tussles in Washington, DC over securing characteristic and social assets. 

This tremendous quarter of the Beehive State holds numerous outstanding outside objections, from the lodging filled experience town of Moab and uncrowded Capitol Reef to the environmental Ancestral Puebloan vestiges of Hovenweep. Water has slashed the desert scene here, cutting the sandstone into alarming structures, for example, the pleasant Natural Bridges and huge Lake Powell. This is a quintessential Americana excursion nation.

Anjum Khanna launched his career as a freelance illustrator, and this started with covers of paperback books where he developed and displayed his penchant for realistic depictions of fantastic scenery. To achieve this, Anjum often used handmade maquettes and posed models for reference.

About Anjum  Khanna

Those who love fantasy tales and dinosaurs would be great admirers of the works of Anjum Khanna. After all, he's the author of the famous book series about dinosaurs coexisting with humans in a fictional setting. 

#Anjum khanna #anjumkhanna

[fastlinesafetyny]

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[driftwork]

dinner at 8 - a representation of pure corruption...

There was a slight break in the monotony of driving southwards along the motorway, only the high speed of the drive creating difference , until she drives round the long downward curve that gives meaning to the drive and transforms it into joy. It is hardly surprising that when she goes around a long curve she lets out a sigh of joy and accelerates still faster as they begin to travel along the upward curve, accelerating towards the unreachable heavens. She remembers being affronted by New York, wishing for water to rise and flood the city, annoyed by the rigid chess board of lines and squares without a single curve. The line she was driving was extravagant which reduced the prosaic moment so that she felt able to speak about her day, transforming the moment as they approached the airport and drive under the runway, a plane taxiing across the motorway, the drive like a dance in the growing dusk. Anti-photons falling, beginning to hide the  countryside. She accelerated into the dusk crossing the flow of traffic into the outside lane only then the following cars melted away.  The growling noise of the engine. She told him she was thinking of buying a car tomorrow afternoon. She slows down on a long curve to the right as the traffic from another motorway merges from the left. Drifting over a lane to slow down. They talk about how much money she has,  she confesses that the long phone call she'd had during the afternoon with the bank, had left her much richer than she'd thought. Telling him she had thought they knew about the account but they obviously didn't. She explained it was in addition to the money they'd gifted her in exile. That she'd be moving some of it into local banks, they'll be sending bank officials, a director tomorrow with dna and finger print authorization and testing kits. She likes the way he doesn't care about the value or the amount of the money. She slows down as they drive onto the sliproad, keeping to the northbound carriageway and as the southbound carriageway bifurcates away to the right she accelerates onto the dark road to the north. He asks if its safe to keep the money. We can symbolically gift it if we ever need to negotiate with them. The pleasures of love are in its curves, its chaotic meandering, without which it would little more than instinctual drives, the movement of soft fleshy pistons, they were endlessly involved in the loops and strings of seduction, red threads of cotton tie them together. The dress fluttering in the evening breeze, a leather jacket lined with kelvar gracefully removed and hung on a chair. The gentle distractions of a bare shoulder, an eye looking at you from a tattoo, the deceptively soft muscles of her forearm.  The long straight towards the city, main beams on, 110 miles an hour, transitory things, allowing his eyes to watch the light reflecting from the glass and the intense focus of her face as the roads streams by. As she slows down on the flyover drifting down towords the legal limit,  she wonders if the people following them will find them [...]

Their destination is a double fronted three story white mansion, with brick walls around the garden and a carriage drive, she parks by the lawn, there are three other cars in the curved carriage drive. The house is 25 metres back from the road. The drive is lit by lamps set 3 metres apart along the top of the walls. There are manicured bushes, trees trained against the old brick walls, other shrubs and bushes set in the green lawn of the island. One of the brick walls is being maintained, some bricks are being replaced by matching antique soft red bricks. The rest of the wall is being repointed. There is movable scaffolding to enable the work to be done carefully and safely. A sign announcing who the company and workers are.  They get out of the car, their feet crunching on the gravel of the drive. They are observed by cameras, images recorded and transmitted.

The front door opens before they press the doorbell. His boss invites them in and takes them into her office. She sits them down on the sofa, another man, a colleague of his comes in and sits in a chair next to her [...] She looked at the two of them, the woman in black dress, leggings and black ankle boots, a multicolored necklace in pastel shades from pink and yellow through to blues and purple. Her skin and tattoos glow in the soft golden light, he is sitting next to her. She realizes that what is bothering her about him is that he seems happy though recognizes he is stressed. She takes the photographs out of the brown envelope on the table and places them in a row in front of them. They are photos of Park holding a gun shooting at someone who is out of frame, he is behind her off to her left a bag hanging off him. His face clearly recognizable. She taps the photograph with her finger "what is this ?" She is about to speak but he leans forward and puts his hand on her arm.  He asks in reply "What it is?" She explains they have video of you killing people. Wait she says her hand palm out towards them. Tell me why they don't want you back Sam and Park. He looks at the photo and then explains that he is very sorry but that things just got out of hand and... she looks at him, feeling slightly amused because of the way Park is looking at him. Park explains  that she has been sent into exile. She asks for a reason why she shouldn't send her back. They are both looking pale and unwell. "Boss" She heard the hidden pleading in his voice. Park shuddered. If I return to Japan or the locality, they will kill me and under the terms of the sacrifice agreement they will kill him. She put her hand on him. She explains that she cannot have that. Why?. Because my being here is conditional, if I had stayed they would have killed him as a sacrifice,  I can never go back.  The police there know this, they will never ask for us because of the exile contract. Why happened? Politics, turned into a war internal to the council. One seat of which is the police. Two or three factions targeted me, he saved me. We ran, were chased, we escaped, people died. The cost was exile or sacrifice. Sacrifice was unbearable so we came into exile.  That's it he said taking her hand, it's us. Fuck, the other man said. What do you think frank? He sighs, the noise almost echoing in the silent room. The sound of other people talking in the kitchen can just be heard. He picks up the photos and drops them back into the envelope.  Terrible definition. I don't know who these people are, any facial recognition software would fail to  to recognize them even after the upgrade. True, useless software. Your back at work on Monday. You be good. Whilst your here, nothing illegal Park and I mean nothing. She looked relieved. Thankyou... Jean, call me Jean. They have to call me boss. I think you and I can do better. Thankyou Jean. Can I ask how many died ? Best not he said, we are police and the Tokyo people are council. She nodded accepting his logic. Lets join my husband and Frank's wife for something to eat. Frank dropped the envelope with the photos and the and the video into the waste bin. You look like you need a drink Sam. I do. Frank smiled. This conversation never happened, there is no video and will be no photographs,  however silence will cost you 2 nights off or perhaps 3 nights of babysitting. We'll do babysitting Park said with a smile. i like babysitting, i used to have a niece... They looked at her. You have a deal Park. So on Monday... Frank looked at them thinking that had gone well. You are working on a long term smuggling ring and a financial fraud, both of which have been running for months and they are not getting anywhere. Frank is taking over some murders. I am ?. Yes, one of which is a particularly unpleasant serial killer. Blame it on Park... My department just got much bigger and you guys need to sort out some of the detritus so I can make it work. Your both getting promoted. Park follows her into the kitchen whilst they begin to talk to her husband and his wife. Can I help ?  She thanks her for looking after him for me.  She looked at Park surprised but beginning to see why he was happy.  He's my friend as well as working for me. I'm pleased you brought him back in one piece. Two pieces I'm guessing. Yes it's we... Her husband brought the tray of vegetables to the table. She could sense his amusement and recognized that the two of them were the cause. He handed the bottle of Chablis to frank who was looking conspiratorially at abigail. "Oh stop it." she said feeling irritated. They laughed. "I'lll brief you on the new roles and departmental changes... Ï'll show it to you tomorrow. There was a major restructuring going on whilst you were there. Incidentally Tokyo asked us to check some financial outflows. Really what sort of money ? Park asked.  She liked the way she looked at him. Some 3 to 5 hundred million vanished and they are trying to trace it. Park looked amused, well we haven't got it... Abigail asked her about the dress. We went shopping yesterday and I bought this and some other clothes. Since we are staying here I thought I had better buy a wardrobe.  It's a lovely dress. How could you afford it ? She looked embarrassed after asking. Park smiled at her,  it's OK. I'm quite rich. Since I've moved here permanently I brought some money with me. I have to work out what to do with it.  Park shifted in her seat slightly towards him. He dropped the glass, she caught it spilling a little white wine onto her dress.  She hands the glass and what remains of its contents back to him. Not even aware of the surprise, perhaps even shock at the reaction they witnessed. We have the bank coming round in the morning. She says answering Jean and her husbands unspoken question. She turned back towards Abigail, conscious that they are all looking at her. Thinking this is a good time to confess that she is now becoming part of the reason, ideology of the bourgeois project.  I also own part of a company, Kawabarti, through a holding company. Now that I'm here, will have to get involved in running it.  Kawabarti, aren't they going IPO soon ? They were. I'll stop that until I know they have done nothing which is illegal, I don't want anyone to arrest me because I've been a silent investor, now that I live here. I suppose I shouldn't say that because I'm at a table with police. But its supposed to be absolutely legal and now that I live here with you, he was still looking pale, drink she said, her hand on his arm,  its ok.  I have to make sure it is... I thought I was going to faint with shock just then.  I don't want to complicate the experiment better to get all the trivial problematics out in public. Fair, i think the amount of money is a bit of a shock he said.  Experiment ? Jean asked, fascinated by the way they were being. He looked at Park. She nodded, Go ahead.  We committed to a year to see if we could live together. We thought we could run it as an experiment, I am very hopeful, though this bit of chaos. I would have told you today anyway about this.

Out there the enemy awaits them as they circle round during the sorties, perhaps they are paying a distant homage to earlier dogfights, the bend in the nights landscape,  the engine growling in the black night, three digits on the speedometer, in the distance a storm flashes, forks heading down towards the ground. Not caught unawares they race towards the motorway junction that will take them north, lightening flashes. The junction lit by a flash of lightening on its far side like a flash from a giants  camera. The lights are off at the junction. They follow the curve of the slip road, slower now as they run into a wall of rain. The road shimmers in the rain, water washing away the day. The better to make them feel, the the caress of his had stroking and holding her leg, a page turns as we read a book in the domestic space, is the caress erotic? She doesn't know. She lacks knowledge of such things she thinks, having spent too much time killing people to know. Later, in the not to distant future he will say to her that reactionaries cannot understand a thing like a caress because for them its always about power. But in the here and now as she accelerates up the hill onto the orbital she has no goal but the pleasure of the hand on her thigh and a successfully navigated bend,  and here she smiles as we have avoided another violent ending. Nothing beyond the  smile it brings to her lips,  one that he thinks resembles happiness. If we could live our lives likes this, successfully negotiating curves we could be happy...

[ ...well that was interesting her husband said. Jean looked at him quizzically.  He'll never cheat on her. Pouring vodka shots into crystal glasses. She'd probably kill him if he did. The four of them laughed. More seriously if we betrayed him after this, she'd kill us as well Frank said, i do like her [...] they talked about them sipping the vodka and drinking tea and espresso into the middle of the night [...] They sent a sealed file from her yesterday,  it was sensibly passed to me unread, it's heavily redacted but enough to know who and what she is, it makes interesting reading. He probably doesn't know, nor even care based on this evening,  Abigail interjected. They have asked us keep tabs on her and him. I think they are frightened in case she goes back. Thank you she said to her, I needed someone else's opinion.  Her husband wondered how much money she'd brought with her. This was the only way I could think of to stop them running. I will destroy the file, thank them for it and tell them we will deal with it...]

#stories of exile #exile #corruption #everyday places #tokyo #city

[celestialmazer]

Such an interesting history and evolution to an impressive and overlooked form of art, and now some of them are in Glasgow!

The Backstory on a Hollywood Backdrops - CBS

In Hollywood's Golden Age, hand-painted backdrops played a vital role in the magic of movies, creating cities, sunsets, or any other setting a director could imagine. These massive artworks were some of the largest paintings ever created, by artists whose work often went unappreciated. John Blackstone reports on the Backdrop Recovery Project, an effort to rescue these works of cinema history, and talks with Karen Maness, coauthor of "The Art of the Hollywood Backdrop," and with Lynne Coakley, whose family business, JC Backings, has been providing the backgrounds to movies and TV shows for generations.

https://www.jcbackings.com/index.php

https://youtu.be/qvVc2i4euQY

How 200 historic Hollywood backdrops were saved from the dumpster

https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2019-12-20/saving-the-lost-art-of-hollywood

By MARY MCNAMARA - CULTURE COLUMNIST AND CRITIC - DEC. 20, 2019

On top of a hill in Valencia, where the wind blows most days, the buildings are big, new and absolutely nonforthcoming. They could house anything — a doctor’s office, a car dealership, a secret government agency. Inside one, against the back wall, lies a pile of large equally nondescript pieces of canvas. Most are long and tied up with string; some have been folded into thick squares and stacked. They could be anything — enormous window treatments or very thin floor coverings.

For the record:

3:56 PM, Jan. 06, 2020 This article says several backdrops went to the Royal Scottish Academy. They went to the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland.

Hillsides, houses, airports and cathedrals; cityscapes, landscapes and the ocean rocking toward the horizon; courtrooms and bedrooms, bungalows and castles; gas stations, skyscrapers, apartment buildings; the roofs of Paris and New York, corridors, tapestries, train depots and a mineshaft burrowing into an icy mountains.

These are the 90 painted backdrops that remain of more than 200 saved through the Art Directors Guild Backdrop Recovery Project, a two-year attempt to keep a relatively few pieces of irreplaceable art and Hollywood history from the fate of so many sets, props, costumes and backdrops: the studio dumpster.

“Hollywood started as a green industry and then became brown,” says former ADG president and Recovery Project founder Tom Walsh. “Everything was used repeatedly; nothing went into storage. Then when studios began to decline, they got rid of everything, sold things in auctions or just threw them away. And the first to go were backings. We will never know how many were lost, and if I go down that road I will just start to cry.”

“These, though,” he says, “we were able to save.”

There is no more iconic Hollywood image than the backdrop. Backdrops, or backings, are the enormous paintings that make the movie and television industries possible by stretching the confines of a studio set into endless possibility. With a good backdrop, western plains can stretch to the horizon, snowy peaks of mountains create the suspense of dizzying heights, jungles bloom, skyscrapers loom and cities wink through apartment windows. Sets cradle the action; actors, writers and directors create characters and drama; but backdrops build worlds.

Many are imprinted on our collective memory — the Georgian sunset against which Scarlett O’Hara vowed never to be hungry again, the island beaches of “South Pacific,” the view of the Danube from the Von Trapp family’s terrace in “The Sound of Music,” Mt. Rushmore in “North by Northwest.”

In the early years of Hollywood, studios hired artists to paint their own backings, which were sometimes used repeatedly and sometimes thrown away, depending on need, space and the studio’s financials. In the 1950s, a few scenic artists realized this was not a great system, that studios somehow sharing backings might work better, and a few artists began striking out on their own, painting and purchasing various backdrops they would then rent out.

Nowadays almost all backings, painted and otherwise, are furnished by rental companies.

JC Backings is one of the best known of the now handful of rental companies with the most notable collection of historic backdrops in the business. A business that has increasingly shifted away from painted backings to photograph and digital versions. Over the years, JC Backings has regularly, and out of necessity, culled its collection. Even when rolled or folded, backdrops are big, difficult to move, and require temperature-controlled storage. Those not making money as rentals are literally just taking up space.

Two years ago, President Lynne Coakley decided the company no longer needed 207 of its older backings. But this time, instead of filling up an oversize dumpster, she donated them to the Art Directors Guild, which unrolled, photographed and cataloged each one, and then set about finding each one a home.

Most of the more famous images went quickly. The film academy took the backdrop from the “Fit as a Fiddle” number in “Singin’ in the Rain,” the eerie landscape of “Forbidden Planet,” the tapestried walls of “Marie Antoinette,” the office from “Adam’s Rib.” Others, like the Sistine Chapel from “The Shoes of the Fisherman” were given to colleges; the Autry Museum of the American West has eight (including two from the 1947 Katherine Hepburn/Spencer Tracy Western “The Sea of Grass”) and a few went to the Royal Scottish Academy. (George Gibson, the legendary head of MGM’s scenic design department, where many of the backdrops were painted, was Scottish.)

In their new homes, the backings function in a variety of ways — as exhibits, teaching tools and occasionally theatrical backdrops, but all, including the ones still in storage in Valencia, mark another important shift in Hollywood. For many who work in the cinematic crafts, the real tragedy of the digital revolution and the end of the studio system has been the loss of so many iconic props and artworks. Now, as more studios are dismantled, absorbed or re-purposed, there is a growing demand that the working assets of old Hollywood, be they research libraries, backdrops or remainders of sets, be preserved.

In the short version of the story, the Backdrop Recovery Project began with a phone call. In 2017, Walsh was working in New Mexico as production designer on the Netflix western series “Longmire” when he got a call from Coakley.

She said: “Well, Tom, we’re going to move.”

He managed to not drop the phone, but it was a big and upsetting announcement. JC Backings was founded by the Coakley family, which has been part of the scenic art world for five generations. Over the years, the company acquired the collections of MGM, Universal, 20th Century Fox, Disney and Paramount.

For 40 years, the company operated out of the famous MGM scenic paint studio on what is now the Sony lot in Culver City and had a history with the studio for even longer. Lynne’s great-grandfather, John Coakley, was a scenic artist there, working under Gibson’s tutelage, when, in 1936, he fell to his death from a studio scaffolding. MGM’s method of compensation was to hire his son, John Harold Coakley, as an apprentice. John Harold eventually went to 20th Century Fox and, after “Cleopatra” nearly bankrupted the studio, he bought its backdrop collection. In 1962, he formed JC Backings with his son, John Gary Coakley.

In 1972, the company moved to MGM and its still gold-standard scenic studio.

JC Backings remains in the painted backdrop business — a backing from the 1958 musical “South Pacific,” for example, was recently used on an upcoming Netflix series and several equally venerable backings were recently rented for new Marvel projects (none of which Lynne can name because she signed nondisclosure agreements). But at least half of the company’s inventory is photo and digital, and it made no sense to pay for the MGM studio, which was built for painting scenic backings and did not have the storage space the company needed.

When Lynne Coakley decided to move the headquarters to a larger facility in Culver City, with a warehouse equipped for painting in Gardena, she eyed the 3,000 or so painted backings in the company’s collection and realized that more than 200 of them had not been used in years.

A decade ago, she says, she would have just chucked them; some were faded or damaged, some so specific they could never be used again.

“It’s only in the last 10 years that we’ve started thinking of them as having historic value,” says Coakley. “For years, we thought of backings as a commodity; that’s our business.”

In the long version of the story, the conversation that resulted in the Backdrop Recovery Project occurred almost 10 years ago.

An award-winning production designer, Walsh had worked with JC Backings for much of his career. As president of ADG, from 2003 to 2013, he was committed to making the public aware of scenic artists and preserving the historic work that remained. “I started as a pot boy,” he says, referring to the young workers who mixed the paints that scenic artists used for backdrops. “It was the last days of the old ways, and ever since then, I have a soft spot for scenic artists.”

And not just as a preservationist. Walsh believes that old Hollywood arts are crucial in developing the new ones and bemoans the fact that many cinema schools now view scenic painting as an elective for their arts programs.

“A lot of people are going into the digital arts,” he says, “but the best artists I’ve worked with, digital or not, are the ones who can pick up a pencil, who can look at something and see it before they start re-creating it. No matter how they do it.”

In 2012, he founded the ADG archives, which contains resources gleaned from old studio research libraries — books and photos, paintings and advertisements, anything and everything that could help artists of all types make the sets, props and backings beautiful and believable.

That same year, he approached Lynne about publicly displaying some of the iconic backdrops and the small paintings from which they were created; over seven years, the ADG and JC Backings co-hosted five open-house nights at the historic MGM studio.

The events were so popular, Walsh says, that he wondered if there was a book to be done. While giving a guest lecture at the University of Texas, Austin, he had met Karen Maness, a former scenic artist who loved backdrops almost as much as he did.

“I grew up in San Diego,” Maness says, “and I fell in love with all the murals in Los Angeles. When I saw my first theatrical backdrop, I knew this is what I wanted to do: I wanted to work big.”

She had been teaching theatrical arts at UT Austin for several years when Walsh approached her about doing a book, and she immediately said yes. “It was a passion project to understand these artists, to help them be seen for their work.”

For the next four years, she and Richard M. Isackes interviewed Hollywood masters and in 2016 produced “The Art of the Hollywood Backdrop,” a gorgeous doorstop of a book that tells the story of an art form that is at its best when it does not appear to exist

“The publisher said it was the most beautiful book they had ever made,” Walsh says. “Certainly it is the heaviest.”

“Tom saw the urgency,” Maness says. “A lot of the artists we interviewed for the book are gone now, and I am so grateful that I got to speak with so many. It’s changed the way I paint and think about painting. I have never seen painting with such sensitivity to color, temperature and value structure. I am so embarrassingly in love with it.”

The Coakleys and their unique collection are a big part of “The Art of the Hollywood Backdrop,” in which the family’s story was told publicly for the first time. Lynne’s parents are, she says, very private and reserved individuals. Working with Walsh and Maness, Lynne began to think of JC Backings’ collection of painted backdrops as something more than company assets.

“After the book came out,” Walsh says, “we started hearing from a lot of people who were also interested in preservation.”

During the early years of the backdrop exhibitions, Lynne had been surprised when Anne Coco, the motion picture academy’s graphic arts librarian, had asked if she would be willing to donate some of the small paintings done as blueprints for the backings, which she happily did. So when Lynne decided there was no point in moving the 200-plus backings that were no longer in use, she called the academy first.

“The academy took about a dozen right away,” Lynne says. “The cream, obviously. The rest went to the ADG, and,” she adds laughing, “Tom got them to take about 10 more.”

Although the academy will not reveal anything about how, or which, backings will be displayed in its new Museum of Motion Pictures, Walsh says he put together an exhibit for architect Renzo Piano and his staff when they were in the designing phase.

For the remaining 207, she called Walsh, who was thrilled.

Thrilled and a little daunted. Moving more than 200 backings, some of which are more than 30 feet wide and, affixed to wooden battens, weigh several hundred pounds, is no joke. Nor is the work of unrolling each one and trying to identify the films for which it was used. Especially when you have only a couple of weeks to do it.

“There were some of backings that hadn’t been opened,” says Maness, who, along with a dozen or so ADG members, helped with the moving and cataloging. “The reason they survived when so many assets were lost or sold off in auction was that they were able to keep them at MGM so they were up and out of sight.”

But if the three weeks it took to catalog and move the backings were difficult, they were also exhilarating. There was gold in them there rafters.

“No one knew the ‘Fit as a Fiddle’ backing was in there,” says Walsh. “Or the tapestries from ‘Marie Antoinette.’ And the ‘Forbidden Planet’ landscapes were so amazing. But even the ones that weren’t famous, are gems. If it weren’t for JC Backings,” he says, “this library, which dates back to the 1930s wouldn’t exist.”

He has spent the past two years finding homes for the original 207 and then an additional 65 donated by Scenic Express. As of publication, there are still 50 or so in the Valencia warehouse that he hopes will find homes at some film or theatrical school. The University of Texas, Austin took 47, including the 24 from “The Shoes of the Fisherman,” which Maness uses to teach painting and design to her students; one of her classes is reproducing the Sistine Chapel.

“Everything you need to know about how to paint is in those backdrops,” she says. “I recognize that we are living in a digital world, but there’s so much power in the painting. “After the book came out, it raised consciousness about preservation. Photographic backings are fine — I use them, we all use them — but painted backdrops are art. Some are so simply drawn that when you look at them closely they don’t look like anything.

“And then you step back and you see the world.”

#hollywood #classic hollywood #backings #backdrops #film #backdrop recovery project #karen maness #lynne coakley #jc backings #the art of the hollywood backdrop #video #paintings #scene paintings #set paintings #singin' in the rain #gene kelly #the sound of music #hail ceaser! #ben hur #brigadoon #north by northwest #la times #glasgow

[hatant]

Inquiries!!!!! Answer then tag

1) 👱🏻‍♂️ Brothers - Only from other mothers!

2) 👩🏻 Sisters - Two, both older. They keep introducing me as their baby brother, which has been irritating only for my whole life.

3) 🐶 Pets - Currently two pretty chill goldfish. I don’t think they even have names.

4) 👩🏼‍⚕️ Surgeries - Nothing major, I’ve never been under general anaesthetic (only local) but yeah, twice. Stitches are the worst.

5) ☀️ Tattoos - I have (quickly counts) 13! 

6) 💎Piercings - I have 3...well actually, technically 4 (scaffolding counts as 2 I think) so yeah, 4 holes with 3 bars.

7) 🌴 Been to an Island - Technically speaking, the UK is an island so, yes. Also been to a couple other islands too.

8) ✈️ Flown on a Plane - Yup!

9) 🚑 Ridden in an ambulance - I’ve been inside an ambulance, but never gone for a ride in one.

10) ⛸ Ice Skating - I can! I actually got to grade 12 ice skating when I was younger and much less clumsy. I haven’t been for a looooong time.

11) 🚢 Been on a Cruise - Not like a cruise cruise, I’ve been on boats to places, but I don’t think that counts?

12) 🏍 Ridden a Motorcycle - I have indeed, it was awesome.

14) 🐴 Rode horse - I have indeed, it was awesome but vaguely terrifying (I was about 7?)

15) 🚓 Ridden in a police car - I have, but not in a bad way. They were kindly giving me a lift home.

16) 🏥 Stayed in a hospital - Shockingly, and thankfully no.

17) 👀 Eye Color - Green grey with golden rims. 

18) 📱 Last phone call - My boss, to talk about work but we got distracted and now her daughter is going to give me an exclusive reading of her handwritten dinosaur fact book tomorrow morning.

19) ☕ Coffee - Abso-bloody-lutely!

20) 🥧 Favourite pie - Oooh...hmm. 

21) 🐕 Favourite dog - Every dog is my favourite dog. But I’m a real sucker for BIG dogs. Dream dogs - Newfoundlands, Tibetan Mastiffs and Caucasian Shepherds!

22) Favourite season - Spring and Autumn, without a doubt. The colours are amazing, and it’s gorgeous and sunny with that perfect chill in the air.

23) Favourite holiday - I don’t really pay much attention to holidays to be honest! I’m going to say Christmas? It’s the only one I’m really involved in.

24) Favourite sport - Rugby, archery and American football!

25) Ever been to Hawaii - I have not. I’ve not seen the Pacific at all.

26) Favourite fruit - I’m a sucker for a good crispy apple, and bananas.

27) 🍺 Beer - I don’t drink all that much, but I’m partial to a Birra Moretti. Good crisp Italian beer!

28) 🚜 Can you drive a tractor - I haven’t ever tried, I imagine I wouldn’t be very successful ha!

29) 🚛 Can you drive stick? - God I haven’t driven in a very long time, so yes but very rusty.

30) 🚂 Have you traveled by train? - Very regularly (usual way to get into work).

31) 🚁 Have you ridden in a helicopter? - I have not! I’ve sat in a grounded one but never flown in one.

32 ) Reading -  Just finished ‘The City of Brass’ by S. A. Chakraborty which was excellent! I think the next one is ‘The Raven Tower’ by Ann Leckie which I’ve heard excellent things about!

Thanks @sunnyolives-blog! 

[splintersfeelings]

A Story about my Father - first draft, 3/11/2020

I smiled a smile of relief, a relief born of a year of work and growth.

“I made it. I graduated. I’m going to be teacher.”

I want to remember the path I took here. Remember, remember, remembering…backwards, because the cause is always before, buried in the clues that had no meaning except in hindsight.

 Like all stories, we start at the beginning. Away from this bright summer sun.

 A little boy was born in a hospital into a loving family, followed by his two younger brothers. He was an energetic, playful kid, a bit of a prankster. The nuns never liked him in school, and he was always getting in trouble for his practical jokes. He learned his sense of humor from his own father. The nuns called him Felix, because in this place, it wasn’t enough for the colonizers to take money and lives – they also had to take people’s names.

 I sat in bed, reading webcomics off my phone, basking in the artificial glow. A long day teaching, a short night to rest. How did I get here? What was I doing? Thinking back to all those mistakes, all those missed opportunities. Things that could have gone better, things that could have gone worse. Getting ready for another long day, I leaned over and shut out the light.

 As I dreamed, I wondered if this was the right path for me. Sneezing, I popped a pill to manage my spring allergies. Ready to leave. Ready for another day.

 A student cries during math. They’re afraid and unsure. They think they can’t do it.

 But they can. The work is hard, I tell them, because we have high expectations in this room. We work on adding and subtracting decimals.

 At the end, the student smiles.

 He was happy growing up. Or was he? It was hard to remember. When his father died, it tore his family apart. The three brothers slowly grew apart over the years, pushed by a grieving mother. She wanted him to be the head of the family. But it was a weight that no one, especially not one so young, should have to bear.

 The first day of student teaching.

 He didn’t want to let it consume him.

 The snow fell outside. I sat at home sick, waiting down the hours until it was time for my next dose of antibiotics. But all I really wanted was to be back out there, in that classroom, starting winter quarter, growing and learning and teaching. Giving back some of those opportunities that someone else gave to me.

  He didn’t feel safe at home, where he knew there was abuse waiting for him. But there was no safety at school either. Not from bitter and jealous classmates. Not from the unsympathetic nuns. On a bad day, maybe the cold, hard slap of a ruler’s edge along his bruised knuckles.

 What is a good teacher? The leaves were red, dropping from the trees onto the damp, Seattle pavement. I want to become a teacher that empowers students. I want students to learn to learn, to teach themselves. That’s a bit of an irony. A teacher’s goal is to make themselves obsolete. To put themselves out of a job. Build a world where everyone has access to learning, where everyone can learn from themselves and each other.

 Fortunately (or unfortunately), making yourself obsolete as a teacher is a tough job. So – we work, we scaffold, we learn to speak oceans in 2 short sentences, we ask questions that are simple. So simple. And yet, they must carry the weight of the world.

 He kept getting told that he was stupid. That he was lazy. Why didn’t he study? Why couldn’t he memorize? He was almost ready to believe them. Maybe he was stupid. But he didn’t believe them. Not even after they made him repeat a grade.

 It wouldn’t be the last time.

 STR? What is STR? I flipped through the website application. It would be good to move back to Seattle. My leave of absence had made me bitter. I was feeling sick of feeling stuck in grad school, of finding no passion in the research that had once excited me as an undergrad. What was the point of studying race, of studying injustice, of studying power, only to write papers that only 10 people would read?

 I attached my resume and hit submit.

  It wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying. But he just couldn’t sit down and read. When he looked at the words, they began to swim and blur together, and he’d simply doze off.

 But his creative energy wasn’t put to waste. He developed progressively innovative strategies to cheat on his exams, writing scraps of paper and tucking them into shirt sleeves, books.

 He only got caught some of the time.

 When I got accepted to UW Early Entrance, I cried. It was a big oppurtunity, a chance to escape from the terror of high school. A chance to prove myself. I knew I had to go, because if I didn’t try, I would regret for the rest of my life. I was hungry to learn, to read, to solve, to grow. I just needed to place and the people to help me do it.

 It was a big adjustment, moving to Canada. A strange place, with even stranger people. Hong Kong’s humid, tropical climate was a whole different world than the icy snow in Edmonton. He met the woman who would become his wife there, two diasporic roots. Interestingly, they would probably never have met back home – they lived in different worlds, one in Kowloon and one on the Island.

 Many nights, he went to sleep hungry.

 He repeated two more grades.

 It was hard to practice English. But he’d already gotten used to being called stupid, and lazy. He didn’t need anyone else to tell him he mattered, because he knew it already in his heart.

 But it would have been nice to hear it from someone else. Just once.

 The thing I remember most about getting kicked out of school was the shame of telling my dad. I was worried about what he’d think about me. If he’d think less of me for finally failing to live up to his high expectations. But he surprised me by giving me a hug. He told me that he was proud of me, and that if I did what I thought was right I should have no regrets. This was the turning point when our relationship started to improve, and I learned to see him as a human being. Someone with their own, silent story. Someone with their own ghosts, their own demons, their own long forgotten battlegrounds.

 His TOEFL scores were too low to get into University of Alberta, where his then-girlfriend was attending school. He ended up at the University of North Dakota. He had always loved tinkering, putting machines apart and putting them back together. He ended up studying computer science.

 When I was in 3rd grade, I stopped writing. I didn’t do my homework beyond short, terse, one-word responses. My mom was distraught because she knew I was able to say so much more verbally than I could show in writing. She spoke to my teacher, who had noticed a similar pattern. What was holding me back from writing, when I was reading more than a year above grade level?

 I didn’t know how to express it at the time, but writing was physically painful for me because of how hard I had learned to grip a pencil.

 I relearned how to write cursive. My teacher let me type up homework assignments instead of handwriting them.

 I had people who believed in me.

 He graduated from UND in 3 fast years, cramming in coursework to make up for lost time. His student visa expiring soon. He advanced 400 dollars on credit, took a train to Seattle, and declared he would work for Bill Gates.

 A week later he got hired at Microsoft, just before his student visa was expiring. He would stay there for decades.

 In 1st grade, I was behind in reading. I loved my phonics group with all the other Asian kids, working on sounds and letters while the other students read easy texts. When I was graduated into the grade level reading group, I was upset at not being with my friends. But I grew quickly.

 Even though I didn’t enjoy reading, I loved being read to. I had adults at home who read to me all the time. And I spent all that time listening, thinking, learning.

 When he got married and his wife moved to Seattle with him, they knew they knew they eventually wanted to have a family. He wanted to raise a child who was loved, who was believed in, who was surrounded by adults who would help him reach his full potential.

 The bright light shined in my eyes. First breath. Faces. He looked at this child. Who was this beautiful boy? Who would he become? There was so much going on. So much change. Would the boy become like him? Would he struggle the same struggle? Would he repeat as many grades? It’s scary, to have so little control over your body, to be exposed to so much beyond comprehension. A blur, a smell, a sound. Small, pudgy hands waving. You don’t need to cry. You don’t need to worry. You’ll learn so much here. I was passed to warm, waiting arms. Your path might be hard. But I’ll make sure it will be just a little bit easier than mine was. Because I’ll always have at least one person who always believes.

#creative writing #short story #colonialism #hong kong #adhd #learning disability #catholic school #education #teacher #family #love #father #son

[zurichtooslo]

Day 41, 30th Sept, Pula

Buses are the main form of transport around here. No train lines or not many. The buses are all nice and very efficient and the bus stations are close to town. This morning I even had wifi. The trip to Pula only took 3/4 hour so not far. We made a few stops in quaint towns.

No one much about. Most of the houses seemed to be built of stone.

Pula’s Bus station. The hotel I stayed at was only a 5 minute walk and the lady let me straight into my room which was great as it was only 9.30. I even got breakfast as I’m leaving very early tomorrow and will miss it then.

Just up the road was a very intact Roman Ampitheatre.

The Amphitheatre was built in the 1st Century at the same time as the Colosseum in Rome during Emperor Vespasian reign.

Nowadays they hold concerts and during summer they hosts gladiator fights. The amphitheatre was outside the city walls due to its size.

Closer to the centre of the city was an area where open air markets are held everyday. Also there were lots of places for coffee at cafes. I’m always astounded at the number of people you see sitting in cafes all day and all over. It was fairly warm so that encourages people but it’s just their way of life.

The fruit and vegetables always look good.

The Arch of the Sergii is a triumphal arch and commemorates three members of the Sergii family serving in the 29th Legion. It is thought to have been built in 29-27 BC.

There are fairly significant remains of the Roman city walls around Pula.

James Joyce seemed to have made an impression all over this area. Apparently he eloped with his future wife from Ireland in 1904 and worked for an English school in Pula. He wasn’t impressed with the town. He eventually found his way back to Trieste. This bronze statue is in front of where the school was. It’s now a cafe so you can sit down with him.

Like lots of places I’ve been too there are always steep steps up to the top of hills to climb.

And lots of narrow streets around to wander.

Looking out to part of the ship yard.

There was a castle up on the highest hill.

Lookout from up top.

Another view of a section of the ship yard which was built on an island that used to grow olive trees and now joined to the mainland.

Walking back down to the water.

A visit to a church is a must during each day. I find them restful places and also where you can cool down a bit on a hot day.

Lots of pleasure boats one end of the bay.

Major building along the waterfront.

The Arsenal and shipyard of Pula have existed as long as the town itself. It was particularly important during the Austria Hungary rule.

The shipyard now sits idol. During the Communist rule the ship yard was supported but it became unprofitable and closed completely in April of this year. Over 1000 workers lost their jobs but many of them were not locals so it hasn’t affected the town to significantly and now the town depends on wholly on Tourism.

This huge ship was in the process of being built when the yard closed down. Now it’s just a rust bucket.

This ship was almost completed but it too just sits with scaffolding all over it.

The Forum is the main square of Pula. The Augustus Temple stands on one side of the Forum. It was built in the 1st Century.

Next to the Temple is Pula’s Town Hall.

Between January 1944 to March 1945 Pula was repeatedly bombed by the Anglo-American Air Forces especially down near the harbour. Many buildings were damaged. In the 1950′s the area was cleaned and a park created. Remains of some of the buildings are scattered around.

This church survived the bombing of this area.

This was the National Liberation Resistance Fighters and Fascist Terror Victims in Istria Memorial. Behind the memorial were busts of famous resistance fighters.

A bust of Tito who was a revolutionary fighter during WWII and then went on to be the Communist leader of Croatia after WWII until his death in 1980.

it’s pretty easy to fill in a day as there is lots to see and then I like to read up a bit on what I’ve seen. I was staying in a small hotel so the owner, who was very interested in history told me some extra information about Pula, as well.