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jjungkooksthighs · 4 years

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Claws of Carnality | jjk (5)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 8.7k we really out here getting longer with every chapter because a bitch is hungry

Summary: Privation looms lingeringly without your mate of whom hunts for you deep within the wood. In his absence, he still manages to fill the void even if it is only ephemeral. The sun watches while you fall prey to your desirous natures and it is only when the golden orb has begun to drip lower along the sky’s body that it is time for you to then be guided by the hands of other omegeans to prepare you for your mate upon his return even when no one yet knows, beyond you, who has already staked his claim on you. When the call of your alpha announces his incoming arrival through the forest beyond, that’s when you heed his howl and go to welcome him home, but what will you find when you get there?

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scent marking, scenting, fingering, begging, praise kink, female masturbation, cunnilingus, breeding/impreg kink, character injury (someone gets hurt, but it isn’t serious)

A/N: My fingers are literally sore from writing so much. This one got pumped out in like a day and I’m honestly a clown because we really out here going from 1.5k with the first chapter all the way to 8.7k for chapter five. I think my hands are still shaking as I write this, but hey, this beast is finally out of the cage of my mind like it wanted to be! Seriously, this one did take some hours of sleep out of me in its need to be written, so please feed my soul and let me know that all this effort was deserving of the lack of sleep in the midst of it being midterm week at my university.

You guys have been so freaking sweet with your kind messages so far and I really am floored at how everyone seems to be enjoying this story, so please keep that up, y’all! I hope that I did justice to everything that has been written so far and more than anything, I hope to have been able to please you all with this next installment. Now, without further ado, I give to you part five of COC!

Part 9 Part 8 Part 7 Part 6 Part 4 Part 3 Part 2 Part 1

Feebleness fleetingly finds you under its clutches while it grasps you within the boscage of the woodlands.

It is commanded by the titillating tendrils of your alpha’s spiced scent and your fingers tug tightly around the fine furs without thought as you stare longingly at the mound of vestments that Jungkook had so torturously left in his wake, a whine releasing itself from the bowels of your body as you try to stand on dangerously debilitated ligaments that are still too weak to bear your weight after the satori that has swayed your entire being.

Too distracted in the pheromones of him that wrap yearningly around you, you don’t remember to pick up the abandoned silken necklace that your alpha had wantonly pulled off and away from you as your wobbling knees bring you to the forsaken garb he’d peeled so salaciously from his beautiful body.

Next to it are the shredded, tattered remains of the trousers he’d been wearing and, distantly, you wonder how many pairs he has ruined in the past through the multitudinous shifts he must have gone through as a purebred alpha that must have been so prone to surrender to his wolf and trade his human feet for the paws of his beast.

Your wolf bays at you to pick both up in the need to keep as much of him near to you as you can and, with embers in your mind burning only for him that are stoked by his redolence, you heed it as your knees buckle when you bend with effort to grab them.

Belatedly, it occurs to you that your alpha had not brought an alternative change of clothes given the state of his wrecked attire.

As you slowly run your fingers reminiscently over the destroyed fabric, there’s a thought that pushes at your conscience between a pair of golden irises that flash commandingly at you and through the smoke that hazes your mind, you remember what he’d told you.

“I expect my mate to be waiting for me before I let every wolf in this fucking compound know that you’re mine when I claim you at the ceremony tonight.”

The words melt away at your insides in the clear claim that they heat you with and you really can’t help it when you bring both articles that had adorned him close to your chest as you turn to tread through the woodland back from whence you came as your cheeks run hot with realization.

Your alpha would anticipatedly await you to receive him back from the hunt he was to lead in your honor.

He wanted you to be there to welcome him over all of the other bitches in the pack and, like the dutifully loyal omega you were meant to be, your mind had already set into its stone that you would later return to the greenwood upon the sun’s setting when all the alphas would rightfully reemerge from the forest’s foliage so that you could greet your own.

You would do so with open arms that would bear not only your warmly joyous touch, but also the mended clothing he’d damaged to hunt for you that would serve to preserve the modesty that he intended only to show to the pack. Beyond closed doors, you wanted him to shred it all only for you.

Beyond all of that, though, there’s the searing flame of possession that your wolf finds its rump sat firmly against in the calefaction of the emotion that is ablaze within you and you find that you’re willing to fuel it into a wildfire so that everyone will know that your alpha belongs to you should he wear the restored vestments that you would effortfully stitch back up with the hands that longed to caress and find themselves over his perfect aureate skin.

These are what have you promptly turn to leave with the flutter of bird’s wings beating against your bosom as you amble along in obliviousness to the pair of lupine eyes that observe you protectively in the distance.

It is only when you walk so far into the rays of the reaching sun that even your striking silhouette can no longer be beheld by them that their owner whirls around, his ears flicking toward the clang of antlers that must belong to two rearing bucks some ways off and without a moment to lose, he’s gone in the rush of the autumn leaves.

Lost in the sea of pheromones that wash over you as the spray of them pools around you while you press your nose greedily into his garment, you pay no mind to the mated alphas or betas walking about at the early hour.

What does demand your attention, however, is the sudden onset of sharp, panging pains that, with every step and breathe you take, sink their teeth deeper within the soft skin of your belly, a whimper caught in the fabric your mouth is held against as a vicious torrent of feverishness has your body temperature begin to lower without the warmth of your alpha as a vicious headache starts to pound against your cranium.

In the midst of it, your own musk pungently pervades the air only to draw the eyes of unwanted wolves to your sweet smell that is enhanced due to the starting symptoms that have already set your body off in the absence of your alpha that it pines for.

It is only when you manage to close the door to your chambers behind you, with your alpha’s clothes covetously pressed against your nose as if drunk on his ambrosial taste, that you shirk Jungkook’s furs from your body to throw them on your bed as your wolf yaps insistently to nest amongst the pelt until the scent clinging to it has rooted itself to your cot so that no part of it has gone unseeded by your alpha.

Once you’re satisfied with the assortment of dips and ripples of the blackened blanket of pelts that cover your duvet in its entirety, that’s when you lay down to nestle the furs, your baser being demanding that you lather yourself in its savory smell that you wish to soak in until you reek of your alpha.

The soft, downy pelage of the pelt caresses you against your exposed calves so very tenderly and, abruptly, the dress you wear is far too rough as it grazes against your skin in your movements as you quickly divest yourself of it. Somewhere in your maneuvers to take it off, your legs rub against each other only for you to widen both eyes at the sight that greets you.

There’s slick that all but drips from your sex and it glistens along your thighs in the thick coating that marks you there and you suck in a breath as you ascertain the afflictions your body has been wracked with.

You’ve just gone into the pre-heat acutely accompanied by a fever that every omega has intermittent interludes of upon finding their alpha.

As if to remind you of this, a sudden shiver falls over your skin in the frosted frigidity that freezes the air around you in how cold your boudoir has just become under your steadily decreasing internal temperature.

Without the physical comfort of your alpha, you whine, your fingers finding his garment that you’d thrown on the bed beside his furs to quickly lay it atop your bare bosom, your nipples hardening against the flocculent material that is softer than satin as it brushes against the sensitive buds deliciously.

You sigh shakily in satisfaction as the cloth along your chest coaxes your skin with its gentle warmth through its fibrous fingers while his furs embrace you as you silently thank your alpha for leaving such giving gifts behind to smoothly soothe you in his absence.

Your moment of respite is short lived, however, when an edged twinge of a cramp bites low into your abdomen as you grimace in pain, a fresh accretion of your juices finding your folds as you cry out the only name that could ever hope to free you from such sensations.

“Jungkook,” his name is whispered from your lips, an irrational need setting itself alight within you as the picture of your alpha half nude from the forest flashes provocatively through your mind.

He’d been so profoundly pulchritudinous under the morning rays and, with those dark eyes and wet mouth that had been so eager to welcome you to him, he’d only allured you more to him between his words of letch that had left you so parched after him. You can still imagine the way his hot tongue had laved at you, can still feel the deep press of his digit that had pushed down wantonly within your own lips as you’d sucked at it like a newborn calf.

His finger had been so obscenely long while his hands had been so lewdly lined with veins over the bones that bore so much strength and you wonder how those digits would have felt deep within your velvet depths while you ponder what those lustful lips of his would do to you if they found their rightful place along your neck. You cogitate how well his defined, chiseled body would fit against yours while he’d drive his cock without abandon into the silken home of your pussy while he’d utter lascivious indecencies to you born out of lubriciousness for you.

All of this has your hand sliding down your body without pause, your eyes closing as new need begins to burn hotly within your system in longing for your alpha.

Your fingers find your neglected bud of nerves while you imagine that it is him that stands before the legs that you spread without hesitation for him as hunger flares behind golden rises that sear cravingly into you. You envision that it is him that commands you to taint yourself this way as you breathe in the igniting incense of him that has the flint of desire smoke profusely with the heat that simmers there as he clouds your mind until there is nothing but him that lingers there.

“Touch yourself for me, pretty,” his hazily hallucinated voice demands within your mind.

Helpless to deny him even in your fantasy, you obey in the want to please him even within the imaginary realm your head concocts of him. Your brows pull together in concentration as a ring finger slips between your saturated sex to collect the slick that accumulates there before finding its place atop the neglected bundle of nerves that have been ineffective for years in relieving you of your deep desire that has only ultimately and uncontrollably grown throughout your years without the aid of the alpha that you belonged to.

Upon the first glide of a middle finger over your clit, you moan, your other hand closing compactly around the bed of furs beneath you as you envision that pink tongue of his darting delectably from his mouth to lick at his lips as he stares raptly at you before uttering,” Come on, my omega. Show me how those tiny fingers try to sate that pretty cunt that only your alpha could ever satisfy,” you imagine that he leans over you to plant two hands on either side of your hips as he sniffs, his eyes rolling back at your musk as he burrs, “Let me see how you’ve tried to give yourself the pleasure that can only be granted by the alpha you were made for, pretty.”

You shakily sigh in response in the thirst that implores the sustenance of him through another deposit of slick as one finger begins to slowly stroke your clit while your other dips between your generously wetted folds to circle and prod at the hole that woefully weeps its essence in the denial of what it craves most.

Helpless in the inability to disobey him, one digit breaches your sopping entrance while your other streaks over the bundle of nerves crowning your womanhood in a figure-eight pattern as you throw your head back while imagining that it is his lips that find your neck to leave behind marks that brand you as his.

“Gods, yes, alpha...please,” You cry out, your digits inadequate next to the ones that have sinfully set your soul alight.

Your finger sinks easily into your wet sheath as you drive it back and forth before your pace inevitably quickens, your hips pitifully trying to chase the elusive hand of pleasure as they begin to gyrate atop the bed while your other hand latches tighter onto the furs beneath you.

You envision that the mouth you wish would claim you as his travels torturously down your body until he’s peering edaciously at your glistening sex, the squelching sounds that grow louder in your fastening ministrations only beckoning him further in the drenched deposit of slick that amplifies it.

You envisage that he brings one plump lip between his teeth as he stares like a starved man at you behind eyes that glint with appetite as he hums, “Mmm, look at that cunt crying for its alpha. You really are desperate for me, aren’t you, pretty?” He lowers himself down to his knees to give you a piercingly hungry glare, “Tell me what you want, my omega, and I may be merciful and give you the release you want so badly. Obey this- obey me -and I will bring you to your end that was only ever mine to give to you, pretty.”

Your fingers hasten their movements as you bear more force down and over your rapidly engorging clit, the digit that lodges itself needlingly inside you still not enough as you whimper out, “A-ah…please, alpha. I want your mouth on me. Give me your mouth, alpha.”

The desperation for him flares as you imagine the smirk born of amusement before he descends down to your folds that shine with the sheen of your slick that has made a mess of your thighs and the bed of furs beneath you. You watch as craving of the likes in which you’ve never endured settles heavily across your abdomen only to coil tightly when, with his eyes still locked on yours, his rapturous tongue licks a long, languid stripe across the delicate skin of your inner thigh only to cause you to bite down on your tongue in effort to trap the sound of sin that yearned to escape you in the fervid felicity of that alone.

You envision your alpha lapping unmercifully at you until the only wetness draped across your thighs is his leftover saliva, your back arching with each flick of his tongue against the sensitive skin as you whine in spite of his teasing.

“Is my mouth all that you desire, pretty? I could do so much more to you with my fingers. I could fuck you so well with just my hands,” your alpha muses as one digit prods at your entrance unmercifully in the way that it nudges itself back and forth between the folds of your sex as you gasp out. It’s when he extricates it from you, with your juices still soiling his finger, that he takes it into his mouth as he groans only to have you throw your arm over your face as redness sweeps over your cheeks as you pule.

Your alpha releases his digit from his mouth with a ‘pop’ as heat winds you up when he urges, “Beg for me, my omega. Only then will I give you more. I want to see how much you need me.”

The words fall easier than the waters from a river as you visualize him smirking knowingly as he dangles your pleasure before you like bait on his hook as you babble, “Want your fingers, too, alpha. I want you to fill me up with them until I’m so full of you that I can’t think anymore. Please, Jungkook.”

Without warning, two fingers push pleasantly inside you as your mouth parts in an ‘o’ shape while your alpha licks at his lips, entranced in the sight of his fingers disappearing into your sex before he brings them backward only to bury them deeply within you again without prelude. Hot breath is blown over your pussy as he separates his digits in a scissoring motion that has your walls contracting around him as you press your lips together in effort to stifle the sounds he so easily draws out of you.

It’s when he furls his fingers inside you in a perfect motion to have your toes curling that your body trembles in the sensation, your alpha noticing this as he utters, “Take it, pretty. I know you can. You’re being such an obedient girl for your alpha. I fucking love it.”

The praise has you preening as you pant and when his tongue flattens over your womanhood to trail tortuously up so that no part of you is left untouched by him, that’s when you keen.

“Gods, you are so fucking delicious on my tongue. I could do this forever and never tire of your flavor, my omega,” you imagine that he replaces his hand with yours only to cause you to writhe when two fingers circle over your clit unrelentingly while he gives a light, chaste kiss to the innermost part of your left leg before, with lips still coated in your essence, he croons, “Because you’ve been so good in allowing your alpha to taste you, I will give you your reward, yeah?”

You hardly have time to think on the words he feeds you with before his lips are planted over your vulva, the wet muscle attached to the bottom his mouth sweeping along your slit while his thumb whorls over the bundle of nerves as his nose brushes against your clitoral hood to cause you to cry out.

“Alpha, please,“ Your voice waters down into a mewl as you envisage that Jungkook, without warning, pushes his tongue so far inside you that your eyes roll to the back of your head with a stuttered sound.

You envision that you can feel the way he grins knowingly as he watches you fall apart on him, his eyes narrowing heatedly as he plunges the appendage damningly with you as he utters, “That’s right, pretty. Call out the name of the only one who can make you feel this good. Gods, you’re so beautiful all spread out and bare for me just like you were always meant to be. Fuck, pretty.”

You do as he says, stammering out his name in labored breaths as you imagine that he thrusts his tongue into you without fail as the tip of it perfectly hits the cluster of nerves buried deep within you over and over again. Soon, your walls begin to clench tellingly around him and by this point, your knuckles have gone white with how tight you grasp the furs in the hand that you’re not using to sinfully stimulate all of this.

When you envisage that it is his fingers that splay possessively over one breast only to fondle it amongst digits that twiddle your nipple between them while he looks at you with a hooded gaze darkened only with the most carnal of desires, that’s when the coil of craving within you constricts as your alpha rasps, “You’re close, aren’t you, pretty? Fuck, when I take you, I can’t even imagine how you’re going to feel around my knot,” the last word has your walls closing threateningly around him as you moan out in the need your wolf bays at to be filled fully and completely by the only cock that you want to impel itself in your silken sheath and in response, he hisses, “What, you like that? You want my knot, pretty? You want to be bred until you’re swollen and round with my pups? Is that it, my omega?”

You nod, too far gone into your indecent illusion to care anymore as your back bows when he sucks your sex between his lips as you drawl, “Yes, alpha. Please, give it to me.”

There’s a devastating chuckle between your legs that has you trembling in anticipation and when the digits of his fingers roll your nipple between them as if he’s done this thousands of times before as he pairs it with an especially fatal propulsion of his tongue that strikes your g-spot so piercingly that it has your body convulse dangerously around it. It is only when you’re squirming that your alpha’s all-consuming irises flash commandingly as he growls, “You’ll get your fucking pups out of me only if you yield to your alpha,” he says with the eternal flames of voracity blazing through golden rises that devour you whole as he eats you like a deprived man while he professes,” Surrender to me, pretty. Submit to me and show me how bad you want your alpha.”

He pairs this with a catastrophic swipe of his tongue once, twice and three more times before you’re throwing your head back in blissful pleasure as you fall hopelessly apart while you plummet into your end that wracks you to a writhing mess atop soiled furs while your walls flutter fiercely around the two fingers you had unknowingly undulated against in your search for release.

When you extricate your digits from your body, a string of slick clings to your fingers and, longingly, you wish that it wasn’t your essence on your hand, but instead that of your mate’s.

Only your labored breaths break the silence that sets in the aftermath of your indecent deeds, your muscles aching from the awakening of new ones that have not been in use before amongst the old that have been afflicted after the strenuous strain that your alpha had wrought on your body.

It takes a few minutes to come down from your high and your headache is furiously fast in reemerging once the remnants of your climax have faded as you groan in effort to sit up. It is then that you notice the tattered trousers you’d neglected before in the ravenousness that had eaten away at you for your alpha and, with a new resolve that prickles past the prominent pounding of your head, you decide that now would be a good time to mend them so that you will have something to present to your alpha upon his return to the compound.

You stand on unstable legs that are beginning to become a familiarity to you in the wake of your alpha as you pull Jungkook’s garment over you and are completely content with the way the article of clothing covers your intimate parts as you fold it over your chest to tie it together with a silken cord that had been buried inside.

Finding your small sewing kit that you’d left abandoned in the corner of your chambers, you situate yourself along the cluster of plush pillows settled along the window seat as you set to work on fixing your alpha’s attire.

You try to mind your fingers that the needle had left you privy to numerously numbed fingers because of in the midst of the late hours of the night after stitching together the ripped remains of the clothing that the pups under your care would often tear with claws that protracted and retracted in the midst of their growing bodies.

It is a futile attempt, for the sharp spikes that shoot through your digits inflict themselves in you anyway. Your attention is far too focused not on the article of clothing, but on the one who had worn it.

You wonder what he might be doing right now and if he’s been thinking about you as profusely-or lewdly, mind you- as you have been about him, your wolf wanting to howl for him to beckon him back as you longingly caress the shredded trousers while you pine for the warmth of his skin and the radiance of his smile.

Sometime later, there’s an abrupt series of knocks at your door and you smile as you fold your finished work and place it on the table next to your window seat before rising with anticipation that energetically bounds through you.

It was time for you to be prepared and groomed so that you could be received by the alpha that no one yet knew had already staked his claim on you. Every omega went through this period before their Offering Ceremony to heighten the chances of finding them a suitable mate.

The door opens and in leaps your best friend, Niva, who was mated last spring as she happily greets, “Y/N! Are you so excited? Your time is finally here, darling!”

You laugh jovially at her energy as you easily question with mirth, “Good to see you, too, Niva. I am, very much so. Is it just going to be you that has the privilege of getting me ready?”

She enfolds you in an all-encompassing embrace and you mirror the sentiment, for it is in omegean nature to be close-knit and seek the warm arms of the dynamic that is known for their nurturing, compassionate nature.

You wrap your arms around her, but upon your best friend getting one whiff of the heavy pheromones soured by sex in every crevasse of the room, her nose wrinkles as her face twists, “Ew, Y/N, did you seriously already get bedded on the day of your ceremony? It stinks in here. Your grandmother is not going to take kindly to this. You’re supposed to be pure, remember?”

You stand back with a smile lifting at your lips, “I know very well, Niva. Have you considered,” you lift a brow, “that perhaps I am still the virgin you always like to mess with me about being and maybe that there’s an alpha who might have given me his furs so that I could have some kind of relief in his absence?”

Your best friend’s eyes widen in surprise, but that is soon replaced with a knowing glint of mischievousness in one eye as she takes in the visage of your disheveled appearance amidst the only article of clothing that is entirely too large in how it dwarfs your much smaller body as she queries, “Judging by the smell, whoever it is must be quite an alpha based on how strongly your room reeks of him. Judging by how that excuse for a shirt on you totally swallows you up, he must also be quite muscular and tall. Tell me,” she leans close, “has he touched you yet?”

Your cheeks turn red as the memories flash like moving pictures through your mind in a tale recounting what had just happened and all that had occurred before and within the greenwood.

You pull your lip between your teeth thoughtfully before you quietly admit, “In more ways than one, yes. Gods, has it been amazing, Niva. He is so…so attractively alluring in every way.”

Your best friend holds you close as she watches the emotion color your irises and, seeing that in combination with the way your very voice had lilted with the sentiments, happiness dawns on her as she cards a hand through your hair to declare, “Then I will endeavor to make you irresistible to whoever this alpha is, darling. When I’m done with you, your alpha won’t know what hit him before it’s too late.”

You blush when she calls in your other two omegean friends of whom carry a large assortment of oils, herbs and soaps before the three disappear into the lavatory through the adjoining antechamber in your boudoir to set to work on readying your bath.

You busy yourself in the meantime with thoughts filled only with your alpha despite the cacophony of chatter echoing excitedly off of the walls, your attention drawn elsewhere and when Niva comes to retrieve you, that’s when you look away from the window that you’d been trying to squint through in effort to locate your alpha that still hunts for you within the greenwood.

When you step into the copper basin that is much too large for your smaller body, the waiting waters wrap tenderly around your ailing body as the steam wafts around you in the heat of the fluid that births it. A long, drawn out breath leaves you as your tautened muscles loosen while your friends pour vial after vial of lavender, spruce and rosemary oil over you, the viscous solutions draping themselves over your skin to coax open your pores so that more of your pheromones are released to further attract prospective alphas with your scent.

Niva takes care to drizzle you in pink salt sold out of the exotic Himalayas that she’d acquired from an especially friendly merchant after being told it had the power to make the skin glow with the might of a goddess. After that, she then spritzes the waters around you with roses, passion flowers and red clover blossoms that decorate the watery landscape around you until its canvas has been painted a magnificent magenta while you’re lathered in the herbal bath, a sigh of satisfaction falling from your lips before your best friend starts her work cleaning your hair.

Usually, you would purr at the gentle glide of fingers over your scalp, but not today. Today, there’s only one pair of hands that you want on you and they are much too far away for your liking.

Once the suds of soap have been rinsed from your hair, that’s when you’re left to bask in the warm water that had been drawn especially for you, for each omega has their own variation of scents that they prefer to bedeck themselves with for their Offering Ceremony in effort to lure more alphas through an amplified air of pheromones surrounding them.

You ruminate on what Jungkook might do once he catches your naturally enhanced aroma that he’s already admitted to liking so much and, for good measure, your fingers find a floating rose and draw its soft petals over your shoulders before rubbing it along your neck.

When the water has gone cold and you’ve been immensely imbued with the essences of nature, that’s when your friends return to retrieve you from the depths of the basin that you’ve sunken into through your calming contentment.

Your hair is aired with oaken fans brought all the way from China before they twine and curl it around until it rests artfully in a braided bun along the crest of the back of your head, two twin strands nestled right in front of your ears to petitely frame your face.

You really wish that you could focus on the gossip that falls freely as leaves from the trees this time of year as they labor over you, but you can’t. Not when your head swims with thoughts only of your alpha.

Caught as you are in the tides of him that drag you along, you do not feel the bristles of a brush along your eyelids as Niva tips your head back to apply the powdery coloring that will accentuate your brilliant silver orbs before your best friend lines your lids with the blackened stick of kohl.

Even when a light smattering of the dust of crushed rose petals is painted over your cheeks, you do not look into the mirror, for your eyes are trained on the sliver of sun that begins to wane through the rays that begin to reach backward toward their parent as your wolf bays in expectancy to receive its mate.

Once Niva is done with her masterpiece, that’s when you’re made to stand and close your eyes before you’re walked over to the mirror that spans from the floor to the ceiling in the corner of your chambers as your other two friends produce the gown your grandmother had had made for you for this very day out of an ornately sealed box that had been left outside your door upon your return from the woods.

You hear the clicks of the chest that signal its opening, excitement enthusiastically running amok within you when there are three collective gasps behind you as they stare in awe at your gown.

It is lifted gingerly and delicately in its fragility and your friends help you into it slowly while slightly stiffened organza material skims your skin as it is pulled meticulously up and over your body. Once your arms have been lifted through the hollow holes and the pleated style sleeves rest atop your shoulders, that’s when the laces lining the back of the gown are pulled taut and the bodice constricts around you as you wince at the unyielding tightness that winds around your abdomen.

Once the ties to your dress have been neatly crossed over each other in a complicated complexity that you will never see, that is the moment that you hear the distinguishing groan of aged wood being opened in the form of another box. The contents within that are unknown to you, but upon the cold, heavy material that encircles your neck, you can surmise that it is a choker meant to conceal the area so untouchable to all but the alpha whose mark you would eventually bear in its stead.

Your best friend smiles fondly at her finished piece of artwork before stepping to the side to say, “Open your eyes, Y/N. It’s time for you to see how much the moon favors her most adored daughter.”

You open your eyes in questioning, but before you can turn your attention to your friend, the image in the mirror captures it first as your breath catches at the sight it bestows to you, your jaw falling open in wonderment.

Your skin all but glows under the gleam of sunlight that tries to tread over your radiance in its dimming dance as irises the color of moonlight piercingly stare back at you from under eyelids speckled with silver like the celestial body amidst the smudges of blended eyeshadow along the sides that beseech boldness in the color that matches the soils of the earth. It is set off by a cat-eye of kohl liner that is dappled thinly along the tips of your lids to demand attention in the way that it contrasts your irises. Even your lips have been streaked with the crimson of a rose to beckon beguilingly in the wish to be looked at.

Embellishing your neck is a choker made entirely of moonstone that is set between chromium on each side. Its base rests just above your collarbones and, its thickness, it extends about two inches upward to hide away your sensitive scent glands as it covers your skin.

Below that, though, that’s what really takes your breath away.

Your gown looks to have been crafted from the threads of the moon’s core in the white of it that adorns your body in its entirety. Layers of gossamer-like fabric compose your dress and set carefully between it all are specks that shine like grayed moondust in the light that glimmers off of them.

Your bodice is styled in a plunging ‘V’ that hugs your frame and is ceased only by the firm, fitted band that wraps around and hugs your middle well below your breastbone. Tied along its end is a very thin silver cord that twists into a knotted bow before your skirt loosely trails down and out, the train of it cascading like a sea behind and around you. Your arms are bare, but the sheerer and more translucent sleeves trickle over your shoulders and flow about to join the pool of fabric along your feet as you take a shaky breath.

The woman that stares back at you is one that drips with the waters of clarity in the confidence that she exudes as she stands tall and proud. She is every bit the omega you were always meant to be as she holds her head high, her hands clasped along her front as she angles her head at you to study you and you have to close your parted maw as you stare wondrously back at her, wholly unable to move at the sight of the stranger that has your body in the mirror.

When the familiar furs of your alpha are lowered over your shoulders, that’s when you look away, your irises finding Niva’s as she coos, “I don’t even think the ancient queen of the wolves could compare to you, darling. I really have outdone myself this time.”

You stutter, completely in awe of yourself as you tell her, “N-Niva…this is… how did you-“

Your best friend hushes you with a finger to her lips,” Shhh, that’s a secret, my dear. I cannot divulge my magics lest someone steal them away from me,” she teases as she puts both hands around your shoulders to encourage, “Look at yourself, my darling. You look positively radiant. Those alphas don’t stand a chance.’

You think that maybe it is all just a trick of your senses and that it is just a hallucination, for you surely can’t actually appear the way that the girl in the mirror does, right?

You find your visage once again on the mirror in an irrational need to confirm this only to widen your eyes at what greets you, for it is you that peers curiously back at yourself, your hand reaching out to run your fingers down the image of you that is set behind it.

Your friends step back from you when your hand lowers and you turn to them with joyous tears that threaten to ruin all the work they labored so much from as they quickly fan the air around you in attempt to keep them trapped within your eyes as you laugh, your arms shooting out to welcome them all in a warm embrace that you are sure to thank them incessantly within.

You enfold them in your arms until the sun’s rays strain to reach you, it’s descent into the night being announced with the raucously reverberating howl from the forest that has your blood singing in the familiarity that it is carried to you with.

It finds your ears even here and you perk up, your wolf barking in need to go and wait for the alpha that every fiber of your being tells you is near as your best friend looks to you in understanding as she says, “Go on, Y/N. Don’t worry about us. He’s waiting for you. Go to him.”

You need no further coaxing as your feet move of their volition, your fingers closing around the mended trousers while you pull the furs your alpha had given to you tight around you, for it was tradition that omegas were not to expose skin before the Offering Ceremony and to be wrapped in an outer covering that preserved their purity until they were ready to shed it upon commencement of the event and acceptance of their alpha.

The golden disk that once sat high in the sky now has dipped halfway below the horizon, but you need none of its light to locate the alpha that calls you forth as you tread tirelessly on until your nose brings you to the edge of the forest where an old trace of Jungkook still lingers.

You crouch to leave his fixed clothing by the bark of one aged tree as you walk on, narrowing your eyes as you attempt to see beyond the long line of browned stalks that stretch on as far as the eye can see.

Anticipation flaps with the fierceness of a black swan within you and when you hear the snap of a branch somewhere off to your left, you enter the thicket’s threshold without hesitation in your baser being’s need to relish in the warmth of your alpha.

The stench of death thickly layers the air as you wrinkle your nose and as you find yourself standing before the broken limb of the tree, that’s when the dark silhouette of a figure steps out from behind it.

The sun’s fading rays blind you to whoever you’ve found, but the voice that soon lathers itself all too heavily and viscously over your skin has your hair standing on end as it saccharinely presses, “Were you looking for someone? It’s okay, omega, you can tell me that you were trying to find me and profess your love to me. Everyone else does.”

You roll your eyes at his vain vanity, “Actually, Taehyung, I was just trying to find my alpha who happens to be nearby and if he finds you here, he’s not going to take too kindly to that.”

You turn away from the alpha, but Taehyung predatorily stalks after you and before you realize what’s happened, he’s in front of you to halt your movements, a twisted grin marring his features as he sniffs you, a tremor wracking his body as he does that has your blood running cold.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, omega,” he tries to reach for you and you take a step back, not wanting his odor nor his filthy touch to stain you, “See, Jeon won’t be back for some time, sweet thing. He’s still on the mountain hauling back his kills that he’ll be too late to bargain for you with.”

Your stomach drops to the recesses of your body as you try to move away from the alpha that hounds after you while your fingers tighten over the furs that cover you from his roving irises that roam all over you, your skin crawling everywhere that his attention slithers over.

In the eyes that are glazed over from the onset of a rut, there is no care there. There is only gluttonous greed that bats away anything and everything that is not you.

Your omega harks for you to submit under the alpha’s penetrating gaze, but you resist it as your own alpha’s voice traipses through your mind.

“I will not tolerate anyone that attempts to take what is mine.”

It is that thought that has you pushing past the instinct to yield to the alpha before you now as you shake your head, the surety set in your eyes amusing Taehyung as you spew its fires, “I would advise that you move away from me before you do something that you will regret. Your pack alpha has already made his claim on me and will not hesitate to punish you if you tarnish what belongs to him.”

Your defiance has the alpha’s cock harden impossibly more amidst the divine incense you emit from freshly opened pores. No omega had dared to talk back to him before and it was inebriating.

“Stars, you really are lust if it had a form, she-wolf,” the shadow convulses with dark laughter that has goosebumps growing along your skin as you back away, “Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You smell sweet as fuck, too…I wonder if you taste just as good.”

Fear has your body begin to lock into place when your back nears the rough bark of a tree, “Do not do this, Taehyung. You will face wrath the likes of which you’ve never seen if you so much as lay a finger on me. I want nothing to do with you, do you understand?”

A grin curls with malicious intent along its edges as he takes a step forward until he’s only inches away from you as he taunts, “Oh? You want nothing to do with me? Perhaps you shouldn’t be striding around smelling like temptation and sex in that little dress then, huh? You omegas always have a flair for driving us crazy when you present, but fuck, Y/N, no one holds a candle to you. I think,” his eyes glint dangerously when your back hits the thick trunk of the tree, “that you should be claimed by a real alpha that can treat you better than Jeon ever could.”

“Taehyung,” you try through a dry mouth,” Stop. I don’t want this. Jungkook is the one I wish to bear the mark of, not you.”

Panic sets in and seeps icily across every vein when one hand comes to rest next to your head, his eyes burning a hole into your neck as he makes a sound of consideration, “Such a lucky happenstance that the pack alpha didn’t think to mark what was his if he didn’t wish for others to taint it.”

The alpha nears and the ache between your knuckles warrants the incoming protraction of unguis, but before they can make their appearance, there’s a raged roar born entirely of aggression that threateningly thunders through the woodland. It is stormed by the fury that is set between the crackling of claws fulminating fiercely over the trunks of trees somewhere behind you.

It takes only one inhale through your nostrils to know who has joined you, your heart pounding faster in response as your wolf cries for its mate while his scent thaws the ice within your body that Taehyung had foolishly frozen within it.

“I thought I made myself clear to you, boy,” the sound bleeds into a menacing snarl from behind you and Taehyung stops in his tracks, seized as he is by the overpowering command of the alpha ranked higher even than him as Jungkook’s brooding aura pierces him like an icicle in the coldness of the familiar voice,” She’s mine. I would advise you back the fuck away from my mate before I do much worse to you than break both of your arms the last time you felt it wise to try to fucking disobey me.”

In the chill of the frigid air that has his beast wanting to tuck its tail between its legs, Taehyung tries to ignore it as he dissentingly jeers, “Is she yours? Unfortunate that I don’t see your mark on her then, pack alpha,” Taehyung sneers, his eyes still settled on yours, though your attention is far from him at this point as you stare longingly towards the origin of where nails scrape furiously into the skins of the trees as he dares to challenge, “You are not the only wolf that thirsts for a she-wolf as parching as this one, Jeon. I could get drunk off her scent alone and you expect me to just sit back and allow you to take such an appealing aperitif away from me? Sorry, but I want to taste her myself and there’s nothing that you can do to-“

The rest of whatever the younger alpha had been wanting to say never makes it past the confines of his mouth, for there’s a blur of golden skin that flashes before you and suddenly, Taehyung has been launched several feet into the air only for his spine to collide into the back of an old, stocky evergreen tree.

The bark screams against the contact in the deafening series of snaps as the foolish alpha is slammed so forcefully into it that, like an arrow, his body shoots cleanly through the aged integument as the oaken pillar that has been broken in half falls to the forest floor with a thud.

Golden irises find you under their attention as your alpha steps from behind you, your blood warming at his heated touch when he grasps your chin between his fingers to assess you for damage before laying his forehead against your own as you reach out for him, the pads of your fingers lightly trailing tenderly along his jawline as you quietly whisper,” Alpha.”

Jungkook nuzzles you protectively before he rumbles out, “My omega. Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?”

He’s like a furnace in the way that his skin is calefied with the intensity of the sun and you purr when he nudges at your neck as your palm finds its place where his heart beats like a drum against you as you tell him, “No, Jungkook. With you around to keep me safe, he never got that far. He was about to, but you didn’t let him, my alpha.”

Your alpha bristles at that, his irises dimming in light of your admission as he growls, “He nearly did. He would have if I hadn’t come when I did. I sensed your scent souring and it led me here. Had I been just a bit later, I nearly would have lost what was mine,” you watch in awe how his canines draw themselves out of his gums, captivated by the way that they lengthen and grow in size until they protrude out of his mouth in their large size that is much more massive than the average alpha as he pulls away from the nook in your neck to lay a callused palm along your jaw as he utters, “I need you to stay here for me, pretty. That fucking fool needs to be reminded of who is in charge here and I intend to jog his pitiful memory so that he never forgets it.”

He draws away entirely too soon as you whimper in his absence and you, with your eyes magnetized only for him, observe with interest the way that he strides heavily and imposingly through the cluster of trees to bear down upon the collapsed body that is a mess of tangled limbs under the broken arm of the oak he’d been forcefully thrown against.

Your alpha’s hair falls wildly over his face and, in the waning light of the sun, his eyes bear down balefully over the younger alpha as he stands nude save for the mended article of clothing covering his lower half that you had dutifully brought for him.

Fury is palpable in the way that it looms like a shadow off of Jungkook, in the way that it clings to his every muscle when he snaps with glistening incisors at the downed alpha as he seethes, “It seems that you’ve lost sight of who is at the top of the food chain, boy,” Your alpha towers intimidatingly over Taehyung, who hisses at him, “The one on top gets the pick of the fucking litter and that, Taehyung, has never been you. I am your pack alpha and I am the only wolf that can command all of you alphas beneath me. It’s time that I discipline you to make you aware of that fact.”

You hardly have time to process the popping sound of bones before your alpha has lodged five razor-edged, serrated claws deep into the recesses of Taehyung’s left shoulder as the younger alpha yowls out in pain that can be heard miles away in its dismal din.

Your alpha marvels at the crimson fluid that stains him as the red tears of Taehyung’s wounds pool around your alpha’s digits only to trickle sadly downward until they are one with the earth.

Jungkook snarls forbiddingly when Taehyung squirms underneath him to hound out, “What happened to that mouth you like to fucking flap all the time? Too scared now to use it, boy?” Your alpha leans forward with anger flashing in his eyes, “I would suggest that you don’t fuck with me again, little wolf. You’re going to get much more than the fucking claws next time should you be foolish enough to try.”

Your alpha draws his other arm back, your eyes widening in the darkness that is settling its dark shroud over him.

Before another set of claws can embed themselves within the younger alpha, you call for your own and through the cloak of negative emotion that has begun to suffocate him, your voice slips between it to caress the ire of his baser being.

When your smaller fingers enclose around the wrist of his bloodied hand, you gently coax his claws out of Taehyung, who crumples atop of the brambles along the woodland with a thump as you press yourself to your alpha’s back to offer with a soft voice, “Come back to me now, alpha. Your mate does not wish to see you so wracked by your fury. You’ve made your point clear to both him and to me.”

Jungkook inhales deeply only for his muscles to loosen while your sweet scent laces itself around him as he turns to utter, “My omega, it is because of my mate that I must resort to the animal within me,” You watch as the dark emotion recedes slowly from his irises as he imbibes you, entirely too parched of you for so long as an emotion you’ve yet to understand intensifies in its wake when he confesses, “I can hardly help that when you beckon me so, pretty.”

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scrivenerofmossflower · 3 years

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I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

Word Count: ~2.8k Summary: Four new friends decide to celebrate their recent meeting by doing some light breaking-and-entering at the local cemetery. They're looking for a ghost. They accidentally come out with the seeds for a YouTube channel. In which Gonff has done research, Rose brought the video camera, Martin's a little too comfortable with this, and Columbine wonders how a pre-med like her wound up stuck with two theater geeks and an enigma. read on ao3 Notes: Human AU, College AU. Un-beta’ed, all mistakes are my own. I’ve been sitting on this for like, over two years and the fact that the ‘verse is still bothering me and I still remember all the details to the set up means that I’m just going to have to exorcise it. Have a Halloween fic the day after Halloween.

The cemetery was on the western edge of town and looked not as a cemetery usually does, with neatly kept graves and graveled paths and mown lawns, but as a cemetery should. With the sun just below the horizon and night falling quickly, the overgrown graveyard with it’s off-kilter, lichen covered headstones and crumbling mausoleums looked like something right out of a horror movie.

“Hollywood called, they want their set back,” Rose said. All four friends were leaning against the iron gates at the entrance, nerving themselves up to go in.

“Oh, come on, this is B-list horror fodder at best,” Gonff countered. “More like Haunted Mansion or Hocus Pocus than—are you recording this?”

“Yep,” Rose said. She turned her phone towards him, zoomed in and out on his face, and stuck out her tongue. “You know how big a wimp my brother is about the spooky stuff, so I was going to send it to him. Congratulations, he just found out you’re a massive Disney geek.”

“Everyone likes Hocus Pocus—”

“Are you seriously going to do this?” Columbine interrupted, and rolled her eyes when Rose turned the camera on her.

“Scared?”

She sighed. “Of getting arrested for trespassing? Yes.” She reached out and made a swipe for the camera, but Rose avoided the grab. “Especially if you’re going to be recording us breaking the law—Martin!”

While they’d been talking, Martin had swung himself onto the top of the chest-high wall and sat straddling it with one leg to either side. “What?” he asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s not really her point, mate,” Gonff said. What was chest high on Martin was shoulder high on Gonff, and between that and a bit of extra pudge, it was a bit more of an undignified scramble up. Martin snagged the back of his shirt and heaved when it looked like he wouldn’t quite make it. “Thanks. C’mon, Columbine, you’re up next.”

She sighed again, but took both their hands and let them haul her up between them, with a neat little twist that left her sitting on the wall, feet on the outside.

“Here, catch,” Rose said. She tossed her phone up to Martin and waved off their assistance, bracing her hands on the top of the wall and hopping up, accepting her phone back with a grin. The group paused again on the top of the wall. “So,” Rose said, dragging out the vowel and turning the camera on each of them. “What do you think we’re going to find?”

“I was poking around in the library this afternoon,” Gonff volunteered, drumming his heels against the wall, “and turned up a couple of specifics. Apparently there was this chemist—and I use the term loosely, he wasn’t trained and it was the 1700s, I think—but when he died he said he’d be back.”

“And was he?”

“Well, he was exhumed at some point, and the body was unsettlingly preserved. Though I suppose saying the tomb was broken into would be more accurate; a curious medical student tried to cut off his head.”

“And you say it’s the theater geeks who’re weird,” Rose said. “When has a theater geek ever tried to cut off someone’s head in the name of science?”

Columbine just raised both eyebrows in Rose’s direction. “Really? We’re really going there?”

“Okay, but when has a medical student willed their skull to a theater so it can be used in a production of Hamlet?” Martin asked, and ignored how all three just looked at him in bewilderment. “Go on, Gonff. The body was unusually preserved, the student tried to take its head.”

“Which I contest, honestly,” Columbine interrupted. “You could get as good a sample without desecrating the corpse like that.”

“Anyway,” Gonff said. “As he was putting the head in the sack he’d brought with him, he heard whispers coming from the corners of the tomb.” He gestured, describing the scene with relish. “Whispers at the edges of reality, seeping through the cracks. When he turned around, there were shadows writhing and twining in the corners, reaching out as if they would pull him into the void itself.”

There was a beat of silence.

“And this tomb is in this graveyard?” Rose said, scanning the layout of the ground below them.

“Yep. The student ran, of course, and left the head behind. It’s probably still there, kicked into a corner by a panicked foot.”

Martin and Columbine exchanged skeptical looks. “Guilty conscience, obviously, and probably wind through the leaves,” Columbine said. “Look, there’s trees all along the wall, and there’s grass and stuff, too. When was this?”

Gonff blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t really remember, a few years after the guy died?”

“So call it the 1810s at the latest,” Columbine said, crossing her arms. “Way before electricity was harnessed for things like flashlights. If he had a lantern or an oil lamp, those shadows were probably caused by the unsteady light source, and obviously an overactive imagination.”

“Speaking of which, anyone else have a flashlight?” Martin asked. “First quarter moon won’t be up for another few hours.”

There was another, longer silence.

“We are really bad at this,” Gonff said finally. “Martin’s the only person who brought a flashlight? Seriously?”

“I was just going to use my phone,” Rose said. “But that’s going to eat my battery, especially if I’m recording at the same time.”

“Lesson learned. When poking around old graveyards after dark, everyone in the crew brings a flashlight,” Columbine said, shaking her head.

“We’ll keep it mind for next time,” Rose decided, and hopped down into the graveyard without further commentary. “Come on, let’s go find this tomb. You remember which one it was, right, Gonff?”

“Yeah, it’s in the north corner. I’ll lead the way.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Martin said as he helped Columbine down off the wall, “I swung by earlier today to talk to the groundskeeper. Ghost hunters aren’t new to him, and we’ve got permission. As long as we don’t break anything, leave trash around, make too much noise, etcetera, he’s fine with it, if a little resigned.”

“I’m beginning to think you’ve done this before,” Columbine said, half joking, half accusing.

Martin shook his head. “No, I just don’t see any reason to take unnecessary risks.”

Gonff laughed from in front of them, and turned around to walk backwards and still face them. “Matey, I’ve known you for a week and I can already say with full confidence that that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

“I did say unnecessary risks,” Martin said with complete calm. “Besides, I haven’t been that reckless around any of you.”

“Yes, because jumping two flights of concrete steps is perfectly reasonable,” Rose said, giving him a very disappointed look.

“I was running late and took the landing on my shoulder like you’re supposed to.”

The deeper the four friends passed into the graveyard, the older the headstones became. What names and dates had survived the years were obscured by green-gray or orange lichen. At the very back were a row of small marble buildings, some with long fractures in their walls, some with craggy domes, some in eerily perfect repair but with the iron grate hanging askew. The casual back and forth banter grew quieter as they approached, until at last the muffled sound of shoes upon gravel swallowed it up entirely.

“That’s it,” Gonff whispered, nodding towards a mausoleum built into a low hill, the dark space where its door should have been framed by ivy and brambles.

Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Break my phone and I’ll curse you,” she said, and thrust it into Gonff’s hands.

“Wait, what are you doing?”He fumbled it, checking the camera and keeping it trained on Rose. The image was becoming grainier as the light faded, but it was still enough to film, for now.

“I’m going inside,” Rose said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, not without me you’re not,” Gonff said, shoving the phone at Martin. “Here, you hold this.”

“I’m pretty sure this violates the 'don’t break anything' request we got from the groundskeeper,” Columbine said, rubbing at her forehead.

“Do you want to go in to explain every ‘experience’ they have, or shall I?” Martin asked. The video wouldn’t show the fond grin he wore, but it was clear enough in his voice as he trained the camera on Columbine, equally fond for all her exasperation.

“You’ve got the flashlight,” Columbine pointed out, waving him on. “I’ll stand guard on the off chance someone comes to run us out.”

“We can jump the wall and make for downtown if that happens,” Martin said. “Always have an exit strategy.”

“You’ve definitely done this before.”

“No, that’s just general life advice.”

They were interrupted by a low call from Gonff from inside the mausoleum. “Martin! Flashlight?!”

Martin fished the penlight out of one pocket with one hand, keeping the camera steady on the door as he approached. He knocked on the jamb with it. “Hello? Sorry for the disturbance, but we were just hoping to look around for a little bit, if you don’t mind the company. We’ll leave you in peace again soon.”

He flicked the light on, and startled back when it illuminated Rose, who was far closer than he’d expected. She also backed off with a pained protest. “Warn a girl before you do that, will you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin said, angling the light a bit lower.

She rubbed at her eyes. “Were you talking to the ghost just now?”

“Look, if there is someone in here, just because he’s dead doesn’t mean we have to be rude,” Martin pointed out, following Rose into the crypt. “How’d you feel if someone came poking around your room without even apologizing for it?”

“You don’t even believe in ghosts,” Gonff pointed out, squinting around. The three of them drew closer together—ghost or no, they were in a small space with a dead body after dark, circumstances creepy enough to raise the hair on the back of anyone’s neck.

“I prefer to hedge my bets,” Martin said, sweeping the penlight slowly around. It was mostly empty, but for a few dead leaves in the corner and a low, rectangular construction in the middle of the room—the tomb itself. “I don’t see anything in here. Should we go a bit deeper?” They were huddled near the door, the blue-bright LED penlight aided by the distant starlight and the sickly yellow glow of a nearby streetlight.

“Yeah, why not,” Gonff said. His voice was a bit higher than normal, but he slid one foot forward, then another. Rose trailed behind him, looking closely around the room.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go in front?” Martin asked.

“You’ve got the camera,” Rose said.

“Right,” Martin muttered, not sounding too pleased with that. “Of course.”

“I’ll curse you, too, if you break my phone—” Rose started, only to cut herself off with a gasp. “Did you hear that?”

“No?”

Another long moment of tense silence, before all three heard a rustling sound from beyond the tomb.

“I heard that,” Gonff said, this time with an almost manic sounding giggle. “It sounds like he doesn’t like curses. Maybe don’t talk about that right now?”

“Right,” Rose said. She swallowed. “Sorry.”

“There’re a lot of dead leaves in here,” Martin said, directing the penlight towards the corners. “It was probably the wind, or an animal. Something like—huh.”

The light illuminated a misshapen lump closer to the entrance, a bundle of something that looked like it might be cloth. The trio stared at it for a moment.

“Do you think that’s the head?” Rose whispered.

“It’s definitely something,” Gonff said. All three drew closer together until their shoulders were touching.

“You know, I sort of thought the head would’ve been moved, or missing, or eaten by now,” Martin said.

Gonff blanched. “Eaten?”

“Well, yeah. Animals, scavengers, that sort of thing. What, did you think I meant cannibalism?”

“No…”

“Well, only one way to find out,” Rose said. She squared her shoulders. Each step forward echoed hollowly in the empty mausoleum, and when she spoke, both Gonff and Martin couldn’t quite suppress a jump. “Martin, will you stop moving the light around? I’m nervous enough as it is.”

“I’m not moving the light, Rose. And my hands are steady, before you ask,” Martin protested, eyes on the video to make sure this was the case.

Rose halted without turning around. When she spoke, her voice was forcibly calm. “If it’s not the light, what’s making the shadows move?”

“Martin, are you getting that?”

“I’m recording the shadows acting like shadows, yes,” Martin said patiently. “They’re moving because you’re moving, Rose, and you’re between the light and the—oh,” he said, as the shadows trembled again and moved up the wall.

There was a crash of stone on stone from behind them, loud in the sudden stillness. All three screamed, Gonff and Rose both latching onto Martin’s arms. Martin had dropped the penlight to free one hand, and the light swung wildly about the mausoleum, chasing spiky shadows and weird shapes up the walls.

“I think we should get out of here,” Gonff said, already backing out and dragging Martin along with him.

“Good idea,” Rose agreed, matching Gonff pace for pace. “Great time and all, really interesting, but we ought to, you know, go analyze the footage, see if we got an EVP—”

“Not find out what that was?”

“A ghost angry about a joke about curses.”

“Don’t joke about curses, I was cursed once and it offends me,” Gonff agreed with another high pitched giggle.

“This is just for practice anyway, next time we’ll go investigate,” Rose said.

There was another rustling, and the penlight caught the reflective gleam of eyes at the other end of the room.

They broke and ran, bursting out of the mausoleum and almost bowling over Columbine.

“What, what did you—”

“Eyes, dark, something—”

“Just run!” Rose said, pushing the both of them ahead of her.

“Over the wall?” Martin asked the group.

“Yes, fine, just away!”

This wall was conquered far more easily than the first, the fear adding extra speed to all four friends’s flight.

“You really saw a ghost?” Columbine panted.

“No,” Martin said, at the same time Gonff said “Yes!”

“There were eyes, mate, actual, glowing eyes!” Gonff continued. “And the shadows, you saw the shadows!”

“I saw shadows move that weren’t caused by Rose,” Martin said.

“And the crash? And the rustling?”

“Coincidence. Dead leaves. There wasn’t a ghost in there.”

They stopped a dozen blocks away, Rose clutching a stitch in her side, Gonff with his hands braced on his knees, gasping for breath.

“Then what was it?” Rose asked, leaning her head against the wall of the closed coffee shop.

“I don’t know,” Martin said. He was breathing deeply, deliberately slowing his breathing back to normal. “But it wasn’t a ghost.”

“That’s… because… it was a fox,” Columbine said, also bent double and panting for breath. She waved her phone, which the other three only just noticed in her hand. “I saw it come out about two seconds before you did,” she said, straightening as her breath came back. “Snapped a few pictures. He’s a cutie, you probably scared him.”

“We scared him?” Rose repeated, scandalized.

“Oh, let me see,” Gonff said, leaning over her shoulder as she swiped through the handful of pictures.

“Wait, let me get a shot of this,” Martin said, a grin beginning to steal over his face. He raised Rose’s phone again, getting a good angle on Columbine’s. “Aw, he is cute.”

“What about the eyes—?”

“Probably a family,” Columbine said. “I mean, that’d be a great place for a den, wouldn’t it? Sensible people don’t go in.”

“Did I ever claim I was sensible?” Gonff asked her, turning to look at her indignantly with his chin still propped on her shoulder. “Did Rose? Did Martin?”

Rose shook her head, beginning to laugh. “So our first ghost… was actually a family of foxes,” she said.

“Apparently,” Gonff said.

“Stepping through leaves, knocking something over, moving around so that there were shadows,” Martin listed. “And our imaginations did the rest.”

Columbine shot them all a grin. “Good thing I didn’t come in with you guys, then, or I wouldn’t have evidence,” she said, waving her phone in Gonff’s face.

“Well, you’ll have to figure out a way to get evidence from the inside next time,” Rose decided. She put out a hand and wiggled her fingers. Martin passed her the phone.

“Next time?” Columbine repeated.

“Absolutely,” Rose said, and panned the camera around the group. “After tonight, we’ve got to find a real ghost. This is too embarrassing a note to leave on, don’t you think?”

#my fic #redwall #Late LateRose Channel AU #one-shot #Martin the Warrior #Gonff #Columbine #Rose #look I don't remember where this came from #but I love it #please love it too

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zmwrites · 3 years

Text

tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose?

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft.

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her.

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado, @radiowrites, @pigeon-hold, @sleepyowlwrites, @akindofmagictoo, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

#tag games #about me

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vegetacide · 4 years

Text

Sleepless

Veg●notable: So... this popped into my head.. wrote it.. and here we are.

Any mistakes are purely my own...

Characters: Kayo/Virgil, Jeff Tracy

General warning: Just a little gropey

Word count: 4541 words

Time: Middle of the night. Crack past when regular people would be sleeping

Location: Lounge balcony, Island

Summary: Someone is having a hard time sleeping.. stuff happens. Embarrassment ensues.

Enjoy!

o0o

Virgil sat upright with a jolt, the feeling of foreboding and dread chasing him into the land of wakefulness. Breath heaving, heart pounding a rapid staccato in his chest, he scrambled up his rumpled bed until his back found the headboard and kicked his legs free of the tangle of linens.

Croaking out a command, the shadowy remnants of the nightmare which had been plaguing his slumber vanished as the soft, pre-programmed lighting illuminated the quiet space of his room. Reassuring him that he wasn’t actually hanging from a mountain a mere finger’s width away from a trapped climber..

Cursing softly to himself, he racked a hand through his sleep tousled hair and swung his legs over the side of the bed resisting the urge to shiver as the temperature controlled air breezed over his sweat soaked back.

Slouching he braced his elbows on his knees and rubbed the exhausted fog from his eyes. The dream had felt so real, the blistering cold, the blinding wind, the burning chill in his chest as he desperately tried to stretch those last few centimetres.

He’d been so very close yet not close enough. The climber’s pleading voice, hoarse from screaming grew quiet and an odd calm of realization had settled over the indistinguishable features of their face. A dark truth had been registered, that salvation was not in the cards for them.

In that instant Virgil had recognized the climber’s sudden intent and throwing all caution to the bitter mountain wind, he’d lunged. His thighs coiling then thrusting him out and away from the purchase of the ledge he’d been dangling from and just as he started to free fall, the climber let go…

He stared down at his hand and frowned at the slight tremble in them. Clenching them a few times and dispelling the dull phantom ache he felt from the situation that had been conjured from the depths of his own subconscious.

Catching the dim, blue numerals of the digital display on his night stand, Virgil exhaled wearily and with a grunt of effort pushed to his feet. A couple hours of sleep was better than no sleep at all but after three straight days of this, the lack of a full eight was starting to wear on him.

His brothers always razzed on him for his late morning sleeping habits and it looked like it was going to be no different once the sun decided to crest the horizon. Little did they know though that his penchant for daytime slumber was more out of a dire need than laziness on his part.

He’d suffered the insomniatic spurts for a large part of his adult life. Some due to traversing multiple time zones on a regular and completely throwing off his natural circadian rhythm and other from an over-active mind that just ceased to shut off at a reasonable time.

He’d tried various sleep aids over the years, from the medicinal variety to the drinkable kind with a percentage stamped on the side of the bottle but neither of them were long-term solutions. Both had side effects that were detrimental to his chosen career path. Hard to concentrate on a rescue in a drug induced fog or function effectively with a hangover. He knew that from experiences and both were definitely something he didn’t want to try or risk again with lives on the line.

So letting the brotherly teasing just roll off him was his preferred dénouement. As for the twilight hours from dusk till dawn? He filled those lonely hours with copious midnight sessions in the island gym, or with twilight maintenance work on his ‘Bird. The latter had been done so frequently that he could reassemble Two’s VTOL thruster assembly blindfolded, one hand tied behind his back and with a set of nail clippers as his only tool…. On the rare occasion when the exhaustion wasn’t too intolerable, he’d even break out his art supplies. Usually though his creative muse would be out cold in a corner somewhere so his productivity on those nights was severely lacking and whatever he managed to produce was subpar at best.

No one ever saw those works of so-called “art”. They were tucked away in the far back corner of his art studio saved from the trash for some reason he was unable to wrap his head around despite the fact that he loathed them for their complete ineptitude.

Crap results or not, it served its purpose of distracting his mind from whatever it was that was preventing him from dreamland and he found that on more than one occasion he managed to just stumble off to bed again before the rest of the house had roused to start their day. Hiding the fact that sleep had been evading him and effectively staving off both the worry wart that was Scott and matriarchal commandeering presence of his Grandmother.

Though these days, he had the added pressure of dealing with the wandering presence of his father as well. Who seemed to ghost around the house at night as much as he did. Virgil suspected that his father was still adjusting to being Earth side and except for one instance had managed to avoid him.

Jeff Tracy’s sleep patterns were erratic at best but that was to be expected after his survival ordeal in the Oort cloud. Virgil knew from a medical standpoint that given time his father would eventually adjust but in the meantime, he would have to play a one sided version of cat and mouse with the man just so he didn’t set his father’s somewhat questionable mental stability for a spin. He had enough on his plate to deal with already, he didn’t need the added weight of his second oldest son’s problems on top of it.

Giving his head a shake at the direction of his thoughts, Virgil made his way over to his closet. If he let his mind drift in that way for too long he would find himself down a rabbit hole he would have a hard time finding his way out of. At the moment he didn’t have the mental stamina or the wherewithal for it either.

Reaching blindly into the dark depths of his closet Virgil rummaged around until his fingers came across the soft cotton of a well loved pair of track pants. Slipping the loose folds of worn fabric over his legs he contemplated his options for the rest of the night and just couldn’t drum up the energy to make a decision.

Catching a glimpse at his bed out of the corner of his eye he knew that staying in his room wasn’t on the table. Turning, Virgil made his way quietly on bare feet out the door and towards the stairs. Maybe something good would be on late night TV but knowing his luck as of late it was unlikely. At this point though it was better than coming up with an alternative. He’d already gone over Two with a fine toothed comb and his muscles were still recuperating from the previous nights work out. Last thing he wanted to do was to end up with a work out related injury. He was already pushing safety parameters on call outs as it was and a sprain or strain was going to have him benched for sure

---

Ten minutes of channel surfing was all it took before Virgil hit the fed up phase of his evening. Abso-fucking nothing on TV. Nothing at least that could keep his attention. Tossing the remote somewhere to his left, he shoved up to his feet, grabbed his glass off the low table and headed out on to the balcony to watch the light show of a storm that was passing by off-shore.

Leaning his elbow on the railing overlooking the pool he watched the play of light as it rumbled across the dense cloud cover. By the looks of it, the storm was shaping up to be a big one but all their scans told them it would keep well to the South of their island home. Even as far out to sea as it was, the winds were starting to pick up and Virgil could hear the storm surge as it crashed against the shoals and rocky outcroppings far below the family villa.

Losing himself to the slashes of lightning that danced across the heavens in a vibrant display of scorching white streaks buffeting, turbulent bruise coloured clouds that in an instant succumb to the abysmal void of inky black. He could feel in his bones that beep bass rumbles that followed. Thrumming through the Earth, cement and rebar of his home up though his feet and the oppressiveness of its ferocity weighed on him. Even all these many miles away the might of Mother Nature could be felt. He just prayed that no one was stupid enough to be out in that mess.

“Fingers crossed.”

*-*-*

It hadn’t been her intention to startle him. Far from it and it wasn’t like she was trying to be quiet about her approach. Virgil had been just so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed her standing beside him contemplating the stark contrast of light and shadows across the expanse of his tense back and heavy shoulders.

“Shit… Kayo, you scared the crap out of me.” He heaved a sigh, settling his weight against the railing again.

“Sorry, didn’t mean too but I was just agreeing with what you said.”

Puzzled eyes turned towards her and a thick brow arched in question to her statement.

Mirroring his pose, she gave his shoulder a nudge with her own before pointing a finger off towards the churning storm. “That no one is stupid enough to be out in that.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he processed her words, noting the stiffness to his posture, the way the darkness hung like a bruise under his tired eyes and the paler of his skin. Even in the limited lighting he looked more ghost-like than human.

He gave a grunt of understanding before turning back to watch the storm and lifting his tumbler to the distant clouds in a salute. “Here’s to hoping.” The last dregs in the glass disappeared in short order as he tossed it back. The whiff of whiskey wafting her way as he set the empty vessel on the railing between them.

“I thought you were on rota tomorrow?” She questioned as she eyed the glass and wondered how much had been consumed.

“I am.” His eyes followed hers and he gave a shrug but no further explanation and Kayo didn’t press.

She’d basically grown up with the man and his brothers so she trusted his judgement impeccably but there was still something bothering her about the whole scene. Something felt off..

“You okay?” She was never one to bat around the bushes and her gut was very seldom wrong especially where it concerned the man beside her. The man she’d stopped seeing as a sibling sometime ago and started seeing as something else entirely. It was something that started to blossom one unforgettable snowy night the previous November in New York but neither of them had had the time to tend to since…. Other more pressing things had gotten in the way and there was now another Tracy planet side and returned from the dead as a result.

Maybe now…

He gave a shrug and he shifted to look at her, the wind blowing in off the coast tousling his unstyled hair in a roguish way across his brow. “I’m fine, nothing to worry about.”

He was holding something back, she could tell. Something eerie lurked in his tired walnut gazed. Shifting across the usual vivid depths like the smoldering haze after a wildfire. Dampening what was usually brilliant and clear.

She stepped towards him, her hand reaching to cup his check. The unshaved scruff rough against the palm of her hand. “I’m a good listener if you need an ear.”

He turned into her embrace, brushed his lips over the soft flesh of her hand in silent thanks and smiled at her. “Kinda a prerequisite in your line of work.”

Her own lips quirked up. “Growing up in a house full of testosterone it was a necessity or I would never have been able to sneak out at night with five over protective brothers.”

Virgil chuckled, some of the murkiness leaving his eyes. “Point taken.”

She let her hand drop and a flash of something like disappointed flickered across his brow.

His breath fanned across her face as he sighed, the light fragrance of whiskey warming her. “So…” she said, crossing her arms and emitting the air of stubbornness she was known for. “Spill already.”

A heavy shoulder lifted, the light cast through the open lounge doors catching on the planes of thick muscle with the movement and she couldn’t resist brushing a hand over the warm skin.

“Rough night, that’s all.”

“Can’t sleep again?’

He looked surprised at her question and she had her answer without him saying a word.

“Virgil, I specialize in security. I am well aware of your night time routine.Two has never run better and the gym equipment requires a break from you before you actually break it. Besides,” She added admiring the way his biceps bunched as he rested his hands on his hips, “You get any bigger you won’t be able to fit down Two’s chute”

A soft curse slipped past his lips. It was obvious that he’d thought that his attempts to avoid his family had been successful.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t or wont say anything to Scott.” Her fingers gave his shoulder a light squeeze of reassurance. “If it gets worse I know you’ll do the right thing and say something yourself. You’re dealing with it right now in your own way and you have a right to your own privacy and council. Just, if you wanna talk...” she stalled out on her offering, shifting her gaze away from his to take in the night around them as heat started to colour her cheeks.

A moment later his fingers danced across her brow and she sucked in a breath as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His strong musician’s fingers lingered until she met his eyes again.

He was looking down at her, so close now that the bare skin of his chest brushed hers with every breath. He seemed to be sturdier now, more so then when she’d discovered him looking despondently at the storm. An assuredness that had been missing before seemed to have returned to the strong line of his jaw and the tension she’d seen in his posture was gone. There was a shift in the air around him, almost anticipatory in nature and she felt a thrill run down her spine.

Her pulse kicked at the heat imbued in his eyes as he gently angled her face towards his own. She stammered, not able to finish off what she had been about to say. “..uh..talk about....”

“Thank you, Tin’ He whispered, the oaky tang of alcohol ghosting across her lips and effectively stopping her uncharacteristic fumbling.

It took but a nanosecond for her brain to go from a midair stall out to ignition. Her inner monologue screamed, demanding that she act. Only the slightest of movements would be needed to bridge the distance between them. An easy contraction of muscles and she could push up on her toes, silencing all other words with the meeting of their lips. Without further hesitation, she did just that.

Months of denied contact and frustration sprang to the fore, blazing bright and intoxicating. Before either of them were aware, they were wrapped around each other. His strong body flush to her own, his hand tangled in her hair that had somehow between one second and the next come undone from its customary binding.

“God..” she panted, barely recognizing her own voice. His lips skimming across her flesh, trailing like fire down her neck to that spot that made her world flip on its axis. Light headed she scraped her nails down his back. Seeking purchase as her knees grew weak.

“I’ve missed you…”

He emitted a groan of approval. The sound heady, potent and oh so primal. It was almost her undoing and the burn within her flared.

Desperate for more and caring little about where they were standing, she slipped her hand between them...

The sudden intrusion of a throat clearing had them springing apart so fast that she almost lost her footing and she gracelessly plopped down on the nearest lounger. A feeble attempt on her part to save face. The instantaneous lack of Virgil’s body heat made her shiver and it sobered her mind faster than any cold shower could.

One of the overhead lights flicked on and the silhouetted figure at the balcony door came into sharp focus. A short striped housecoat was sashed neatly at a trim waist and slippered feet scuffed lightly over the flooring as the head of the house stepped out onto the balcony. In one hand he swirled a glass of water. Condensation dribbling over faintly scared hands as the ice cubes tinkled with the rhythmic movement.

“Tanusha,” He greeted, one proud eyebrow arched high over suspicious eyes as he scanned over the breathless pair. “Son.”

*-*-*

Fuck… that was all that came to mind as Virgil gaped at his father though he knew better than to voice the expletive.

Reaching out a hand, he grasped at the railing and wished his own long forgotten glass wasn’t so empty.

How in hell was he going to explain this?

He peered over to Kayo hoping that she could provide something, anything that might salvage the situation. The stunned deer-caught-in-the-headlights look he found though didn't bode well.

His first attempt to speak caught in his throat and he cleared it self consciously before risking a quick glance down to assess his person. Thankfully everything was where it should be and mercifully, PG...well...kind of.

“...Dad…It’s late, what are you doing up?”

Jeff blinked at his son then held up his glass, the answer obvious. “Hydrating, as I can see you have been doing too.”

“Oh..ya that… just a night cap.”

“And you’re on call in the morning?” It was said more like a statement than a question and Virgil did his best to hide the wince at the hidden reprimand.

His father turned to Kayo, effectively dismissing the subject from further conversation as he was well aware that his message had been received loud and clear.

Virgil did a fast and stealthy re-adjustment of his pants and groaned internally. Chances were by morning he would find that his shift had been rescheduled and he was going to need to dodge the Scott Tracy hairy eyeball all day. An unwritten rule that all the younger brothers were well aware of; never mess with the Commander’s schedules. It was some old hang up from his military days that he’d never grown out of to the detriment of the rest of the island. As unpredictable as Scott could be when on mission, at home you could figure out the time of day by what the eldest was doing. From his morning jog right down to when he grabbed the daily stock reports and headed to the bathroom.

It was kind of freaky actually. The man’s bowels were perfectly timed, no matter the food that went in...even if it was Grandma’s cooking.

Giving the back of his neck a rub, Virgil surmised he spent far too much time with his brother, far, far too much time.

Well with the exception of playing a tantalizing round of ‘avoid the angry, overly concerned big brother’… at least he could attempt to catch up on some sleep.

Ding! Bright side!...Crap.

“Tanusha, didn’t know you were back on the island. How was the flight in?”

“Uh.. hell of a cross wind on approach, ” Kayo finally piped up, returning once more to her feet. Her security agent persona nailed firmly back into place. “But nothing Shadow couldn’t handle.”

“Hmm, glad to hear it. You’ll have to let me take her for a spin sometime.” His father said all conversationally as if that fact that his second eldest and basically his adoptive daughter hadn’t just been about to get it on right there on the balcony like a pair of randy teenagers.

Jeff tipped his chin in the direction of the storm. “Nice light show.”

Virgil caught a hint of a grin on his father’s face that was not quite hidden behind a careful sip of water. The man knew exactly what he was doing and he was loving every minute of it.

“Uhhh… ya. It is.” Well, this was definitely awkward and his father was sadistic. Now would be a fantastic time for John to call down with a situation.. Somewhere.. .Anywhere.. For anything.. Like a cat stuck in a tree in say like Alaska...right now…

Kayo nodded her head in agreement and mouthed an apology in Virgil’s direction when Jeff turned to take in the view. “Well, it’s been lovely talking to you both but duty call.” She glanced down at her wrist as if to check the time but really it was to avoid the pleading look on Virgil’s face. “Canada’s about to come online and they owe me a report on last week’s protocol updates.”

Virgil’s shoulders slumped..

“Good night, Tanusha.”

“Good night, Jeff.” And she slinked off into the house, holding her head high despite that fact that there was still a healthy glow of red riding her cheeks.

Jeff shifted his attention back to Virgil. “So..you two were just,” He actually stopped mid sentence to emphasize his point with finger quotation. “Talking ?”

Exhausted beyond measure, embarrassed within an inch of his life and, if he was going to be truthful to himself; horny as hell…Yup, this evening was summing up to be a real shit show.

Crossing and uncrossing his arms, Virgil really wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It wasn’t like he was a teenager anymore. He was a grown man, of course he had relationships of a romantic nature.. He wasn’t a monk, by any stretch of the imagination but this was his father and old habits apparently did die hard.

Despite the length of time his father had been absent and the fact the family dynamic in the house was still adjusting to the patriarch’s return, Virgil felt like he’d somehow regressed back to a sixteen year old again. Caught making out with his highschool girlfriend on the couch and trying to make up excuses for the state of their undress.

The smile on his father’s face told him though that the man was well aware of his son’s floundering.

“Relax, son.” A humorous snort followed and he wandered over to stand beside him, leaning casually on the railing. “ I believe we had that conversation about the birds and the bees when you were eleven. You’re a grown man, I’m not going to fault you for looking for a bit of peace and comfort. ”

Virgil studied the ground, his mind drifting to the woman that had so captured his attention. He’d been skirting around how he felt in regards to her for months and he still had doubts if it was right of him to feel the way he did. To revise their adoptive familial relationship to something more intimate after everything they had been though. He often wondered if he was in some way taking advantage… as stupid as that might sound to others he seriously questioned his own motives.

It had been Kayo that had taken the first giant leap though. He shouldn’t have been surprised with her intuition. She’d seen right through him. Tore down all his defenses to expose what he so stupidly thought was hidden from her. Everything all out into the open for them both to see and after that..right into a penthouse suite at the Park Hyatt.

One thing about Kayo, she certainly didn’t waste time when the chips were down. She knew what she wanted and she went for it.

“So, you and our Tin-tin, huh?” Jeff chuckled and Virgil brought his attention back to his father.. “I never would have suspected but seeing you two together just now.. Well, I can definitely say that the pair of you are a good match. Complementary to each other actually.”

Despite his own embarrassment, Virgil started to relax. Relieve that his father seemed fine with what he had inadvertently walked in on. “Its, uh.. still very new.”

“Really?” Jeff questioned, his brows shooting up in mild surprise. “With that chemistry? Reminds me of when your Mom and I were together. After the first few months there wasn’t a lot that could distract us from…”

“Dad!” Virgil all but squeaked. He didn’t think it was possible to fit more blood into his head at that moment but apparently he could. Well at least the blood had stopped pooling somewhere else....thank God..

Jeff raised a placating hand and his words carried a laugh in them. “Okay, okay. I will spare you the details. The point being, the pair of you look good together and I must admit even with me still trying to get the lay of the land around here… you two fit and if it makes the pair of you happy, then I wholeheartedly approve.”

Virgil was speechless a moment. It had been the last thing he expected. Approval so easily given from a man he remembered as being rather commanding and if he was being truthful to himself, a bit intimidating.

His father’s time in space had changed him, changed them all in ways they didn't fully understand.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, his calloused fingers tightening for a brief moment before he turned to watch the storm.

They sat a moment in companionable silence. Father and son, just taking in the light show together, getting reacquainted in a quiet moment while the rest of the house slept on.

It didn’t last long but it was enough to start mending the old tired fences that lay scattered between them. Not broken from misuse but worn from the years of absence. “You should try and get some sleep, son. You look tired and the sun will be up soon enough.”

Virgil inhaled deeply, tasting the distant rain and the linger hint of jasmine on his tongue. He nodded as he pushed away from the railing, rolling his shoulders to loosen up some of the knots that lingered there. “I should.” He agreed but paused before heading inside once more. “Thanks, Dad. Enjoy the storm."

Jeff tipped his glass slightly in salute. "I always did love a good show."

Virgil paused a moment, not sure how to take that but quickly decided he was way too tired to figure it out. Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle and stepped back into the house.

o0o

FIN

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brajeshupadhyay · 4 years

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Sir Jim Ratcliffe has proved that a British billionaire can bring an all-new car to market, today launching his ‘back to basics’ Ineos Grenadier – a rugged, hard-working and utilitarian 4X4 machine. The Grenadier, named after a pub in Knightsbridge, is expected to cost from between £30,000 and £45,000 and will go into full production in Wales from late next year. It aims to deliver the kind no-frills 4×4 performance that made the original Land Rover a legend. Ratcliffe, who was named the fifth richest man in Britain by the Sunday Times this year – with an estimated wealth of £12.2 billion – has achieved what the man at the top of the rich list – Sir James Dyson – couldn’t after he pulled the plug on his own electric car project last year. Here’s everything you need to know about Grenadier and how it will be aimed at buyers who have already turned their nose up at Land Rover’s new style-orientated Defender. Grenadier guns for the void left by Land Rover: This is the first model to be launched by Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos Automotive brand. It’s a hard-working, utilitarian 4X4 in the same ilk as the original Land Rover Series and later the Defender If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then Ratcliffe’s long-awaited 4X4 certainly has a very familiar look to it – resembling the squared-off silhouette of the previous-generation Defender that went out of production four years ago. The boxy new Grenadier off-roader was conceived in the pub of the same name in London’s Belgravia three years ago by the Inoes boss to fill what he perceived to be a ‘gap in the market’ for a ‘stripped back’ offroad vehicle that is capable of going anywhere. The industrial-looking Grenadier has been designed so that it is easy to customise and modify so that owners can impose their own individual personality and stamp but also retrofit the 4X4 for whatever task is required. Developers behind the project say it won’t be a ‘jelly-mould’ or ‘pavement princess’ sports utility vehicle, in what could be seen as a subtle dig at Land Rover’s recently launched all-new Defender. Sir Jim Ratcliffe announced his plans to create a spiritual successor to the Land Rover Defender soon after the previous-generation model went out of production in early 2016 Grenadier is a boxy, brutish 4X4 that’s aimed at multiple markets. While the majority of customers are likely to be farmers and agricultural types, it will also be aimed at lifestyle buyers and those obsessed with serious offroading From launch, the Grenadier will be powered by 3.0-litre BMW petrol and diesel engines, though there’s an electric hydrogen-powered version to follow Sir Jim Ratcliffe achieves what Sir James Dyson couldn’t… The arrival of the Grenadier not only comes at a time when there’s a clear void in the market, but also debuts in an unprecedented period when businesses are suffering and global markets and fortunes are being hammered by the coronavirus pandemic. It also follows the well-documented collapse of Sir James Dyson’s own automotive venture. The vacuum-cleaner mogul’s defunct electric SUV has been shown in its final prototype state in the last month, as the British billionaire – who topped The Sunday Time Rich List 2020 with a net worth of £16.2billion – explained why the plug-in vehicle was deemed ‘not commercially viable’ and the project axed in 2019. While the two vehicles couldn’t be any more different – with the Dyson electric car designed to be a luxurious cruiser – the Ineos Automotive Grenadier is also looking to the future of alternative-fuel powertrains. Sir James Dyson poses in front of the production-ready Dyson electric SUV – dubbed project ‘N526’ – which was axed last year after Britain’s richest man said it was not commercially viable The Dyson electric car was a seven-seat SUV aimed at the luxury market. As you can see from thee images, this one-of-a-kind prototype model was at a production-ready phase when the project was eventually canned Despite the failed project, Sir James Dyson has said the cancelled electric car was not the end to the company’s ‘interest in mobility’ The car-making newcomer confirmed there’s an electric hydrogen-powered version to follow. The firm plans to leap-frog into the future with a hi-tech fuel cell that uses hydrogen in a chemical reaction – rather than batteries – to generate electric power. And cunningly it will use hydrogen gas created as a bi-product of Ratcliffe’s chemical business empire to fuel them. However, from launch the new Grenadier will be powered by conventional turbocharged 3.0-litre six-cylinder petrol and diesel engines, supplied by BMW. Unveiling the new motor, Ineos bosses said: ‘Engineered to overcome all conditions, it will provide best-in-class off-road capability, durability and reliability to those who depend on a vehicle as a working tool, wherever they are in the world.’ Gap in the market: While Land Rover has attempted to market its new Defender as a hardcore offroader, many- including Sir Jim Ratcliffe – believe it doesn’t fulfill the needs of customers who bought the previous-generation vehicle Grenadier is aimed at a market that’s been disregarded by Land Rover Chairman Sir Jim Ratcliffe said: ‘The Grenadier project started by identifying a gap in the market, abandoned by a number of manufacturers, for a utilitarian off-road vehicle. ‘This gave us our engineering blueprint for a capable, durable and reliable 4X4 built to handle the world’s harshest environments. But it had to look the part as well.’ This gap in the rugged mud-plugger market has mainly been created by Land Rover ending on January 29 2016 production of its original year-old Defender some 67 years after its launch (as the original Land Rover) at the Amsterdam Motor Show in April 1948. Daily Mail Motoring Editor Ray Massey, posing in an original Land Rover Series 1 model The final Land Rover Defender of previous type came off the Solihull production line on 29 January 2016. The new 2020 Defender is being built in Nitra, Slovakia The latest Defender might feature plenty of options that would make it a hardened offroader – such as a power winch and tread-plates on the bonnet – but this is likely to be the usual terrain for the new version Pre-release images of the Grenadier show it being tested in extreme environments and conditions Over the period more than two million were built. It has been replaced with a modern hi-tech 21st century Defender model now on sale in showrooms priced from £40,290. Even to the untrained eye, the new Grenadier bears more than a passing resemblance – in shape at least – to those much loved original Land Rover Defenders which have now become collectors’ items and investments since production ended in 2016. Land Rover’s lawyers – who have already had one attempt to stop the new rival Grenadier in its mud-rutted tracks – are continuing to watch intently in case there’s any potential case to answer for design infringement. But the team behind the Grenadier are confident they have got a winner on their hands. How the Ineos Grenadier compares to Land Rover’s Defender of old and new Ineos Grenadier Expected price: £30,000 to £45,000 Production and first deliveries: Late 2021 Built: New factory Bridgend, South Wales. Dimensions: (estimated. Similar to early Merceds-Benz G-Wagon) Length: 4,700mm Width: 1,800mm Height: 1900mm Weight: circa 2.6tonnes (est) Engines: BMW 3.0 litre 6cyl petrolBMW 3.0 6 cyl diesel Electric hydrogen-powered fuel cell (to follow) Gears: 8 speed ZF automatic gearbox with three locking differentials Towing: 3.5 tonnes Original Land Rover Price in 1948: Around £450 Launched: Amsterdam Motor Show, April 30, 1948 Built: Solihull, UK Dimensions: Length: 3,353mm Width: 1,549mm Height: 1,867mm Weight: N/A Engine: 1595cc 4 cylinder inline. Gears: Four speed manual Drive: Four-wheel drive Towing; N/A 2020 Land Rover Defender Price: From £40,290 – Defender 110 Range price from £45,560 Launched: Frankfurt Motor Show, 10 September 2019 Built: Nitra, Slovakia Dimensions: Length: 4,758mm Width: 2,008mm (door mirrors folded) Height: 1967mm Wheelbase: 3,022mm Engines: Diesel: 2.0-litre 4 cylinder diesels Petrol: 2.0-litre 4 cylinder petrol and 3.0-litre straight 6-cylinder petrol Plug-in electric hybrid (PHEV) version to follow next year Gears: 8-speed automatic Drive: All-wheel drive Towing capability: 3.5 tonnes It is ‘a truly uncompromising 4×4 built from the ground up’, the company said in a release statement issued today Two versions of the Grenadier from launch Ineos Automotive will launch two variants of their own off-roader – a classic 4X4 design plus a double-cab pick-up with an open load-lugging platform at the back. Part of the unsatisfied demand for old-school 4X4s has been plugged, in part, by a rise in demand for large, basic, double-cab pick-up trucks, they believe. More variant are set to follow. Until now only grainy spy shots of the camouflaged vehicle on test in disguise have been seen. Car enthusiast, fitness fanatic and adventurer Ratcliffe, 67, and his team calculate there is still a buoyant market for tough as old boots ‘old-school’ boxy 4X4s – Tonka Toys for grown-ups. They have set out to combine ‘rugged British spirit and design with German engineering rigour’ to produce a ‘capable, durable and reliable 4×4 designed and built to handle the world’s harshest environments’. It is ‘a truly uncompromising 4×4 built from the ground up’, the company said in a release statement issued today. The Grenadier has been created to ‘look like a proper 4×4’ with an industrial design form that follows its function and with ‘an interior that can be hosed down’. Customers will be able to tailor the Grenadier to their own tastes and requirements with a raft of additional features and after-market equipment It will have 21st century levels of equipment land safety systems. Plug in smart-phones can be used for sat-nav and music, such as with Apple CarPlay The off-roaders have been designed as a ‘blank canvas’ for accessories, so customers can tailor the Grenadier to their own tastes and requirements. Significantly not all accessories will be tied to Ineos but will be ‘open source’ so customers can incorporate their existing kit – or cheaper kit from third-party suppliers. But although they aim to ‘strip away fripperies’, it won’t be spartan and will be comfortable, they insist. It will have 21st century levels of equipment land safety systems. Plug in smart-phones can be used for sat-nav and music, such as with Apple CarPlay. Head of design Toby Ecuyer explained: ‘The brief was simple. We set out to design a modern, functional and highly capable 4×4 vehicle with utility at its core. ‘It’s there to do everything you need, and nothing you don’t. Nothing is for show.’ He added: ‘Modern engineering and production techniques ensure the Grenadier is highly capable, but we have been able to stay true to the essence of creating a utilitarian vehicle that will stand the test of time.’ Head of design at Ineos Automotive and the man who has penned the design of Grenadier, Toby Ecuyer The Grenadier name comes from one of Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s favourite pubs in trendy London, where he came up with the original idea to launch a new vehicle to market Ineos insists that any broad resemblance to vehicles such as the original Land Rover Defender or the early Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon is simply a result of the engineering and physics required to build any 4X4 using a separate ‘body on frame’ or ‘ladder chassis’ and beam axles. The firm’s commercial director Mark Tennant explained: ‘It looks like what it looks like because of the job it has to do. ‘It won’t be cheap but it will be attainable. It’s designed for purpose. Nothing is for show.’ Ineos has identified three main target groups for the Grenadier The first of these groups is utility customers such as farmers, forestry workers, estate-managers, ski instructors, small businesses and overseas charities and aid groups, rescue services and the United Nations. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be a showpiece, too. In fact, the second market is lifestyle customers from the hunting, shooting and fishing fraternities – those needing a vehicle to tow a boat or horsebox. It will also target ‘cool mums and dads ‘ who want a family runaround that’s a bit different. Finally, the Grenadier should be hugely popular among enthusiasts who want a no-nonsense 4X4 for fun or as an off-roading hobby. About two thirds of sales will be to lifestyle and utility buyers, with enthusiasts on lower budgets providing a useful market for second hand vehicles. The inspiration for the Grenadier 4X4 Ineos bosses say one of the key role models was America’s original wartime Wilys-Overland Jeep – which also inspired Britain’s first Land Rover – with a simple utilitarian brief and was put swiftly into mass production. Ratcliffe and his team worked to a set of key principles, The Grenadier had to have the following: – A wheel at each corner – Permanent 4-wheel drive – A ‘ladder chasis’ and beam axles – Class-leading off road performance – A mechanical transfer box – A 3.5 tonnes towing capability – A comfortable modern interior – Hose-down capability – inside and out – Ease of repair – A design that was not a ‘jelly mould’ or ‘cookie cutter’ Where will Grenadier be built? The new Grenadier will go into production late next year at a purpose-built factory being constructed at Bridgend in South Wales, which is near Ford’s engine plant that is due to close in September. Bosses estimate it will build up to 25,000 4X4s a year creating 200 jobs initially, rising to 500 in the longer term. Around 100 staff are already with its engineering partner MBTech at its centre near Stuttgart in Germany. A sub assembly plant in Estarreja, Portugal, producing chassis and body components will create up to 500 more jobs n the longer term. Ineos Automotive has bought in world-class expertise where needed. The new Grenadier will go into production late next year at a purpose-built factory being constructed at Bridgend in South Wales Thje new facility is close to Ford’s engine plant that’s due to close. Ineos Automotive intends to build up to 25,000 4X4s a year creating 200 jobs initially, rising to 500 in the longer term Austria’s Magna Steyr, which builds vehicles under contract for major manufacturers, is a partner for the Grenadier 4X4 and is developing the suspension. German car-giant BMW is supplying the turbo-charged 3.0-litre six-cylinder petrol and diesel engines and the eight-speed automatic gearboxes are also from Germany’s ZF, which supplies to BMW, Jaguar Land Rover and more. The ‘ladder-style’ chassis is being built by Gestamp in Spain and the axles are from Carraro, Italy. The project has also poached talented staff with experience from the likes of Ford, Daimler, Volkswagen, Bentley. Jaguar Land Rover and Lotus. Will there be dealers? Ineos has also outlined plans for the sales, maintenance and repair network Dirk Heilmann, chief executive, Ineos Automotive Instead of a traditional dealership network, customers will be able to shop online and via a network of existing agricultural and tractor traders, ‘pop-up sites’ at county shows and agricultural and equestrian events, and at off-road experience centres where buyers can try out the vehicles for themselves. For repairs and servicing it is planning a ‘flying spanner’ service as well as a partnership with a major international chain of repair centres. Now that the covers are off, more than a million miles of testing is planned over the coming year including in South Africa and arctic tundra. Ineos Automotive’s chief executive Dirk Heilmann said: ‘From today the covers are off. Showing the design now allows us to focus on the critical next phase of the vehicle’s development, testing its capability and durability.’ ‘Testing ‘in plain sight’ without the need for camouflage wrapping, foam blocks or fake panels is an added benefit.’ About 35 per cent of sales will be in North America, 30 per cent in the UK and Europe including Germany, with the remainder across Africa, Asia, Australia and New Zealand. Some links in this article may be affiliate links. If you click on them we may earn a small commission. That helps us fund This Is Money, and keep it free to use. We do not write articles to promote products. We do not allow any commercial relationship to affect our editorial independence. The post Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos Grenadier 4X4 revealed appeared first on Sansaar Times.

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redscullyrevival · 5 years

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N(ot)stalgia: DISCO 2.0

Something I’ve not personally seen anyone talk about with Star Trek Discovery, although I’ve no doubt many are, is the role nostalgia plays in the series.

Sometimes at war, sometimes a crutch, sometimes reflective but mostly deconstructive; nostalgia is near constantly present within DISCO’s production. Present within the media as it is created and relayed to its audience as well as present within large portions of the audience themselves, from within their own expectations and beliefs on what Star Trek “is” (and perhaps most vocally on what the franchise “is not”). Star Trek Discovery is not all that concerned with restorative nostalgia, the series does not excessively lean on invoking comforting throw-back feelings with the intent of recreating the franchise's past tone. And then there’s season 2 episode 8 “If Memory Serves”.

OH BOY. Oh wow. Okay.

“If Memory Serves” is a double down boot stomp of an episode that I’m sure has been turning heads for its use of interweaving, updating, and altering the classic two parter “The Menagerie” (and thus the un-aired-but-widely-known pilot episode “The Cage”) and I’m positive some misguided individual is out there referring to all this as a “reference” and yes I kind of want to die a little knowing that’s happening but I’ll struggle through. Sigh.

The first season of DISCO dug deep and did some drastic nostalgia tweaking and even (dare I say) went so far as to weaponize nostalgia and all the expectations audiences brought with them about what Star Trek “was” and “means” and “does” as a pop culture storytelling institution.

It was a long-term re-haul of many, many aspects of the Star Trek TV franchise and it made many, many people very uncomfortable. Not me, I friggin’ dug it, but I am admittedly a contrary asshole.

Blahblah lots of folks right now are probably thinking about Captain Lorca and for good reason - so lets look at Lorca and how he was used to snap the audience’s nostalgic Trek lens. Spoliers ahead.

Captain Lorca (played by Jason Isaacs) was revealed to be from the Mirror Universe, as in the slap-on-a-beard-and-be-mean-universe. If you know Star Trek you know the Mirror Universe.

But in the beginning, we all sat around ho-humming over Lorca’s motivations and choices. Over what we wanted to believe about him. The viewership was VERY busy interpreting Lorca and working the character into our own individual understandings on what we know and want from a Star Trek television show.

As it happens Captain Lorca is one of the most Trekkie characters ever by default of his universal origins while simultaneously being an approach to the evils of the Mirror Universe (AKA What We Don’t Want Humanity To Be™) as we’ve never seen it before.

Hating other races and being aggressive and enjoying war and breeding a society hostile towards ideas of equality, justice, cooperation, and peace are pretty straight forward no-nos. Turns out though, and this is the real kicker, that the initial unease Lorca brought onto Discovery wasn’t just (entirely) the writers getting through their sea legs but a nice long con:

The evils of the Mirror Universe have now been expanded to psychological and emotional abuse with sexual predatory behavior and unsustainable environmental practices thrown in for good measure. Which was a much-needed update my friends.

And I say “update” but in a lot of ways it’s an insertion. A clarification. Or, as I first sated, an expansion. We could look at DISCO as re-writing Star Trek lore because that’s, ya know, what it is doing - but we can also more specifically look at DISCO as a project in nostalgic alteration.

Hey, guess what?! Spock’s sister has always been a black woman.

From our outward understanding yes, we know Michael Burnham is a ~new~ character in a ~new~ Star Trek show. None of us are confused on how any of this story telling is working. These are new stories.

The function of these stories though? I can’t help but think the audience is pretty torn up on that front.

Something inherent in experiencing Star Trek Discovery is how the show’s narrative future hails from our actual historical past. The utopia of the original series is dated and stale and disingenuous without a nostalgic/contextual lens firmly set in place. The function of many Star Trek Discovery stories is that of a much-needed blood transfusion: Bringing new life to old withered limbs.

Does this mean that Star Trek Discovery is seeking to recontextualize Star Trek? Yes and no but mostly no in my opinion. LOL, sorry, but it’s complicated! As most nostalgia driven works are.

Nostalgic Cinema is a real subset of critical film studies and has only grown in recent years but nostalgia isn’t anything new to media or the human experience. The general consensus is that nostalgic media tries to visually replicate time periods in human history (or the markers of media from a particular time period, what Marc Le Sueur dubbed “deliberate archaism”), but primarily acts as a bridge to idolized youthful emotionality and/or simplified “truths”.

Marc Le Sueur’s “Theory Number Five: Anatomy of Nostalgic Films: Heritage and Method” was published in 1977 and was one of the first major academic and critical looks into the role nostalgia plays in cinema and by extension our connection to and perception of art. In the 1990s Svetlana Boym and Fredric Jameson further pushed ideas of nostalgia in literature and late capitalism respectably (which of course made its way onto visual media).

Le Sueur and Boym saw nostalgia as two classifiable categories, restorative or reflective. Restorative nostalgia attempts to recapture and revitalize an imagined past while reflective nostalgia is marked by a wistful longing for what has been lost to time.

In “The Future of Nostalgia” Svetlana Boym wrote “Nostalgia inevitably reappears as a defense mechanism in a time of accelerated rhythms of life and historical upheavals.” She goes on to suggest that our attraction to nostalgia (either restorative or reflective) is often times less about actually trying to reclaim a vanished past but rather a conscious resistance to an unknown and potentially threatening future.

The bulk of nostalgic media can easily be seen to tie into Boym’s observations; most media isn’t concerned with or about the personal and effective uses of nostalgia as a lived experience/real feeling among individuals but instead more focused on a particularly stylized, sanitized, and simplified view of history. Nostalgia in media is typically a presentation on the present day's romanticized fantasy of the past, void of contradictions and unsolvable uncertainties of the focused time period's lived reality, so as to soften or even avoid the creator’s and audience’s confusing present and unknown future.

In 2005 film critic and historian Pam Cook explored nostalgia in her book “Screening the Past: Memory and Nostalgia in Cinema” which collected seventeen of her short essays from 1976 to 1999 that focus on memory, identity, and nostalgia not only within their subject matter but within Cook’s viewpoint of revisiting her own body of work. Early on Cook laid out a more optimistic outlook on nostalgia in media:

“Rather than being seen as a reactionary, regressive condition imbued with sentimentality, it can be perceived as a way of coming to terms with the past, as enabling it to be exorcised in order that society, and individuals, can move on. In other words, while not necessarily progressive in itself, nostalgia can form part of a transition to progress and modernity. The suspension of disbelief is central to this transition, as nostalgia is predicated on a dialect between longing for something idealized that has been lost, and an acknowledgement that this idealized something can never be retrieved in actuality, and can only be accessed through images.”

The Star Trek of 1966 didn’t air in a peaceful time free from social and political turmoil. In fact, the original series itself was a kind of attempt at Future Nostalgia: A projected desire for what humanity could be if we survive and make changes to the then-contemporary world the show was directly commenting on.

Star Trek’s original series today, as media that has survived and gained weight within the American pop cultural landscape, certainly feels warm, inviting, and reflective of an America long gone and shattered - and that’s because, now, it is.

Time moves forward and warps and bends our media and our experiences to media and the most warped and most bendy of all are those storytelling institutions that outlive and outlast the era and people who first created and first experienced it.

Recreating Star Trek visually, tonally, and thematically would be straight nostalgic vampirism and is obviously not what DISCO is doing. But that doesn’t mean Star Trek Discovery is not not a nostalgic piece even though it looks, feels, and is thematically different than the 1966 original show.

Real quick, let’s get back to this week’s episode, “If Memory Serves”!

... Honestly though, do I need to connect these dots? We all get it right? We’re all on board with this entire thing from the name of the episode, to its direct use and alterations of the original series, and then the not-so-subtle reveal that the season’s big plot point, the Red Angel, is a time traveler re-writing history. Like. We get it, right?

This is where Discovery has yet again doubled down on its storytelling functionality; this is Spock y’all. This is Pike. This is for real happening. Michael has helped shape the Spock character we will see later on in the “future” (our collective past).

And while we’re here, check out Mr. Spock! The Spock of Discovery is not dripping with nostalgic slime, he’s sharp and clean to an almost shocking degree. The series makes little effort in acting as though we should have a pre-determined fondness for the character outside of his relationship to Michael. Which is absolutely NUTS. But in a good way, in my opinion!

The search for Spock (lawl) within Discovery has been on a surface level the literal search for the character within the narrative space of this new series. They gotta find that dude.

The search for Spock within Discovery has also been a form of re-defining the character not through audience expectation of What They Know and Remember but What They Don’t Know and Have No Basis For.

And the series accomplished it within the framework of places, characters, and events that are old, new, the same, and different all at once. I believe that’s a lot of intentional wibbly wobbly timey wimey paratextual stuff taking precedence for the sake of promoting a new view on Star Trek’s (and our own) past, primarily for the sake of moving beyond it.

I don’t think it’s just ‘haha, reference!’ that the first shots we see of Vina (an original series character) in Star Trek Discovery’s “If Memory Serves” is that of her high heeled glass slippers. It’s jarring and weird and even laughable. Vina’s hair and makeup are also deliberate archaisms within the series the character is currently in, airing in the year it is. It reminded me of another nostalgia ridden TV series that would often implement a similar absurdist approach towards viewer nostalgia.

Mad Men had a lot of fun presenting a visually accurate but sterile version of the past not so as to suggest things were better in the 1960s but so that the series could better magnify (and even exasperate) American disillusionment.

One of my favorite examples of nostalgic absurdity in Mad Men is when Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser) stands in a crowded office building jokingly pointing a gun at unflinching women.

What's the goal of having Pete do this? Is it to show we were... better then? We were more innocent? Is this deeply inappropriate "joke" suddenly OK because it's 1960, or is it even within context creepy, horrifying, and in incredible bad taste? Do we need the characters to recognize the absurdity of Pete's actions for us to validate them as absurd or are we being invited to make that evaluation ourselves in the here and now outside of the character's reality?

What Pete does is creepy and weird if the characters acknowledge it or not just as much as it is, admittedly, darkly humorous for the audience to witness at all.

But that's because it's not really a set up for comparing and contrasting how much we as a country have lost or gained in the wake of mass shootings but rather that of an audience being able to recognize a total D-bag, even through time.

Pete and his gun aren't a direct focus of the show's nostalgia but they are certainly a product of it and a bit of the point is that Pete gets away with doing what he does because it's a story, yeah, but PRIMARILY due to the audience assumption of "well, it was the 1960s". Its within that suspension of disbelief living at the core of all the many absurdist moments that make up Mad Men where the series bit by bit wedges in its most critical theme: Nostalgia is bullshit.

Through its intentional juxtaposition of accurately ‘recreating’ the past and high co-dependency on its contemporary audience’s views, Mad Men suggests that the best we can do as a society, as a country, is see the similarities between the past and now and decide what is worth keeping, progressing, or discarding entirely. The series delights in uncomfortably positioning the audience to view the weird ass shit it's characters do (littering, chain smoking, drinking and driving, slapping women's butts, letting children play with plastic bags over their heads to name a basic few), not so as to suggest that the past was "better" than today but so as to highlight the ways that we as a society have already deemed the past to be inefficient, ineffective, and cruel.

The series uses the same audience awareness principle to highlight the ways in which nostalgia cannot hide nor brighten our shortcomings and continued failures. There are just as many (if not more) moments in the series that are not presented as contrasting absurdity but comparative harrowing familiarity; those areas of our cultural makeup we have not adequately progressed or left behind.

Sure, in the 1960s everyone could smoke everywhere (very ew, look how far we’ve come) but women still had to internally balance if they could afford looking like a humorless bitch when confronting workplace sexual harassment (haha, whoops!).

America’s past in Mad Men is terrifying and weird as well as frustratingly still present, as smoke soaked into our current attitudes and culture. What America’s past isn’t in Mad Men is purely seductive nostalgia for the sake of simplifying the present.

Le Sueur, Boym, and Cook all propagate that the cinematic image/use of nostalgia is that of double exposure, two images projected onto an audience’s perception and experience (1. contemporary recreation 2. of the past) - and that sure as hell makes up the building blocks of Discovery even though we’re all cognitively aware every aspect of the series is new and it takes place “in the future”. Discovery uses the franchise’s past as an adaptive functional mirror with which to compare and contrast our contemporary reality rather than merely repeating experiences and ideas reflective of a time long gone.

Vina’s shoes, her entire aesthetic down to her backstory aren’t just counter to the tone and aesthetic of Discovery but to the sensibilities of the contemporary audience; we are all very aware that Vina hasn’t literally been plucked out of 1966 and plopped into this new series. Again, none of us are confused on how any of this story telling is working. We’re aware these are new stories. But what is the function of Vina in this new story? What is the purpose of all the unease her presence brings into “If Memory Serves”?

Vina, way back in 1966, was written to choose a life of illusion among aliens siphoning her memories and emotions rather than accept and become a part of the present. The Keeper tells Pike, “She has an illusion and you have reality. May you find your way as pleasant” as they once again cover up Vina’s hunched back and scarred face with youthful and desirable 1960s beauty standards. As we all know Pike himself will go on later to choose this exact fate. He will succumb to the same choice.

“When dreams become more important than reality, you give up travel, building, creating," Vina tells us of the Talosians in “The Cage”, episode zero of Star Trek. “You even forget how to repair the machines left behind by your ancestors. You just sit living and reliving other lives left behind in the thought records.”

I’m having a serious and very real Look-Into-The-Camera-Moment here my friends. We’re all on board, yeah? Are the dots sufficiently and fully aligned? God I hope so. “If Memory Serves” is pulling a helluva fine “To Serve Man” word play pals:

If our memories perform our duties and live our lives for us, we become trapped. Discovery’s purpose for pulling in original series characters, and these characters in particular and all the narrative context sliding along in with them, is to suggest that we (and the franchise itself) need to move past our attachments to the original series and its rusty ideas and simplistic hopes for the future.

Vina and Pike are already lost causes, we know this. We gain power in knowing this. The re-framing of these characters as being more tragic than romantic, with Discovery reflecting their longing as kinda creepy and disconnected with Vina more siren than innocent the series can push past the past and grab on to a new understanding of this classic episode’s elements and what it can mean for us watching Star Trek made in 2019.

A purely DISCO inversion of all this is poor Dr. Culber who has a complete lack of emotional connection to the past, who can remember moments and events but can’t make them give off any feelings of relevancy or incorporate them into who he is as a person. Culber is just as trapped as Vina and what Pike will (possibly?) become. The inch by inch nature of his recovery will depend on, as a pissed off Burnham tells the Talosians, if he can learn to “survive another way.”

Yeah. That might be some thematic intent we’ve picked up on skip. We’re legit through the looking glass now huh? Up is down and down is up and nostalgia ain’t what it used to be! Hype.

As such, in its own way, Discovery is fairly critical of Star Trek and by extension a bulk of its audience and their personal reasons and motivations for tuning in. It makes a lot of sense that Lorca and “If Memory Serves” among many other production choices and aspects chafe some viewers.

I’m of the opinion that the shiny pristine nostalgic pedestal sculpture that is STAR TREK should be filed and chipped and shaved and grated here and there just as much as more contemporary substance should be added and stuffed back into it.

What’s the goddamn point of any of this if not to further progress the bar of reflecting and projecting the human experience onto a future better than that one envisioned in 1966? In 1987? In 1993? And, at the end of the day, isn’t THAT more authentically “Star Trek” than simply an episodic narrative structure, glitter effect transporters, and a captain’s log?

#star trek discovery #star trek #discovery #disco #fandom talks #brain puke

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wantediniceland · 6 years

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(( Under the cut: way too long chatzy log of @safecrxcker and Hardison in the cam boy verse. Wolfgang watches H do a cam show for the first time, and then talks about his tragic backstory and gets a hand job. Extremely nsfw. ))

Hardison: "Okay, so for the record I *know* that I'm always the one saying how you should see me do my thing because I'm really good in videos, but if this turns out to actually be a terrible idea, I'll probably turn around and blame it on you and say it was all your idea," Hardison rambled as he set up the lights and camera how he liked them. Wolfgang was sitting behind the camera to eliminate any chance of catching him on screen at all, and Hardison was wondering if he should call the whole thing off after all.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang had made himself comfortable in an armchair, listening to Hardison as he rambled. He had been quiet most of the time, curious about how Hardison set up, all of the lighting and placement. It was pretty detailed, but that made sense, it was a production after all. “I don't have to watch.” He offered seriously. I can go out for a drink and you can make your money.”

Hardison was just about ready when Wolfgang said that with his voice full of sincerity, causing an alarming feeling of melting to happen in Hardison's chest. "I know," he said, taking a few large strides over to Wolfgang and leaning down to kiss him. "I want you here, I want you to see what I do just so you know what it is. I'm just nervous because I've never had anyone in the room with me before, I don't actually regret it."

Wolfgang: “Good. because I am very curious.” He agreed. He just wasn't going to push Hardison if he didn't want to show him. It wasn't a big deal, it was just work, but it was interesting work. It's not like he took him with to his own job... Though there was an idea. He leaned into the kiss, cupping his cheek. “If you decide you want me to go you should have a signal, I'll be quiet and leave, yah?”

Hardison: "You are too good to be true," Hardison mumbled into Wolfgang's lips. He mimed slashing across his throat, mostly as a joke, but "that's your signal for leaving, okay? And obviously you can also just leave anytime, you don't have to stay just for me." He pulled away and took his shirt and pants off, pulling on a pair of very baggy basketball shorts instead but leaving himself topless. He adjusted the shorts until they hung dangerously low on his hipbones, and grabbed a baseball cap that he flipped backwards. He gave Wolfgang the middle finger when he snorted. "Don't knock it, the 'straight jock who goes gay for pay' schtick makes the big bucks," he said, cuing his bluetooth speaker to start playing some generic bubblegum rap.

Wolfgang: “I'm curious how you'll work that into your performance.” Wolfgang commented. His eyes did widen slightly when he saw Hardison's wardrobe choice. It was definitely not what he was expecting. He'd seen a few items like it in Hardison's drawers but he'd thought maybe they were just some things he'd gotten as gifts or on a whim and never wore. “Straight jock... Are two words I would never use to describe you.” He said simply before the music started up.

Hardison put a finger to his lips to tell Wolfgang to hush, and logged on to his channel. A few eager spectators were already there, and more signed in once he turned on the camera. He said hello to a few names he recognized as loyal viewers, but in general didn't talk much. His tendency to get off track meant he might give away too much if he allowed himself to talk, so he mostly struck to a sort of script he had perfected, dancing to the music while talking about how he never did this because he was a good straight Christian boy but he really needed the money -- it was mutual suspension of disbelief, since many of them had obviously seen him before. Once the tip jar started pinging, he removed his shorts with fake reluctance, fisting his cock. "Alright, requests are open now. What do you guys want to see?"

Wolfgang: Wolfgang, of course enjoyed the view. Hardison knew how to move his body, he already knew that. He hadn't expected the pre-show acting though and he had to cover his mouth with his hands at one point, a very faint near giggle escaping when Hardison described how he'd never done this sort of thing before. It was silly but fun, he couldn't blame his watchers for enjoying it. It was all about the fantasy. That giggle was barely muffled though when he heard Hardison call himself Jonathan while he jerked his own cock. He was only human.

Hardison told his viewers he needed to go get something special and would be back in a second, and then quickly hit mute on his mic. Of course, his supplies were already in reach because he was a professional, but he needed the excuse to stomp over to Wolfgang and slap his shoulder. "Don't laugh! It'll make me break character, stop it. Jonathan Steed is a very desperate broke straight boy okay, he plays lacrosse and basketball and he has a virgin butthole," he said, not helping because he knew that would make Wolfgang laugh. He liked hearing him laugh. But okay, not helping, focus. "Don't laugh," he warned him again, trying to be threatening. He grabbed some lube and a rather large dildo, walking back into shot.

Wolfgang: As soon as Wolfgang saw him hit pause he snorted out loud. He tilted his head up to look at him as he walked over, a grin on his as he accepted the absolute abuse of Hardison's hit. “I was trying to be quiet!” He insisted, bursting into a louder laugh at Hardison's absolutely NOT helpful statement. “I' sorry, I'm sorry.” He called over to him before he hit unmute. “I hope you and your virgin butthole forgive me, Mr Steed.”

Hardison turned the music up louder just in case Wolfgang made any more noise, and put the dildo on the bed in full view of the camera. Comments started flooding in telling him to put it inside him, of course, but he kept saying no, saying it was far too big for his virgin ass and he was scared he wouldn't be able to take it. It took all of his will power not to look at Wolfgang to check his reaction. After almost ten minutes of acting reluctant for the camera, while also jerking his cock to get it hard enough to look like he was really into this, he decided he'd made enough money to give them what they really wanted to see. He flipped the cap off the lube bottle and started prepping himself on autopilot, his movements practiced and smooth but his mind almost zoning out, thinking about stuff like how many private shows he should offer next week and whether he should buy a jock strap.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang did grin a little, but he was quiet while he watched. Hardison was good at working up his crowd, and he stared shamelessly as Hardison prepped himself with a care that was was definitely practiced. He enjoyed the sight as he worked the toy inside of himself with an ease that would never have happened if Hardison was a 'virginal' as he was claiming for the show. He wanted to applaud but definitely didn't want to distract him so he kept his hands at his sides.

Hardison sat on the toy, his back to the camera so his viewers could see his the way his bubble butt bounced as he lifted and lowered himself. It helped hide the fact that he occasionally lost his erection, since the position wasn't really doing much for him and he wasn't getting off on it. It was just a simple bodily reaction to discomfort and he was a seasoned pro, nothing dramatic breathy moans couldn't cover over and with some dedicated jerking, he finally got himself hard enough again to turn around and spread his legs for the camera. "First person to tip me $100 gets to tell me how to come," he grunted, one hand pushing the base of the dildo and the other working the head of his cock.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang held back a laugh at that. He was tempted to paper airplane a hundred dollar bill and fly it over to him, just for the reaction. He didn't think Hardison would appreciate the sudden guest appearance though. It wasn't exactly hard to tell from his angle that Hardison wasn't fully into what was going on. He supposed that was show business. He made a note to himself that if he ever did watch again that he should log in on his phone and post his thoughts on his performance there. All good reviews of course, and a good tip.

Hardison paused so he could concentrate on reading the comments, much to the chagrin of his audience. "Come into your nostrils and then hawk---NO, bigdaddy242 that is disgusting and I will *not* be doing that, thank you very much. Okay here, 'jack into the camera it looks like you're coming in my mouth', that I can do. You should tip more just in case it ruins the camera though, I won't be able to do my show next week if I can't buy a new camera."

Wolfgang: Wolfgang shook his head. It had been interesting, but he was glad the show was wrapping up. He'd never been one to watch a lot of porn, though the up close and personal was definitely a different touch. He waited for Hardison's 'big finish'. That HAD to void the warranty of the camera... When Hardison had finished up any final touches and turned off the camera he stood up and clapped his hands.

Hardison laughed awkwardly, grabbing some paper towels to wipe off the camera. He'd never done this in front of someone in person before, and although having Wolfgang there had actually kind of helped him orgasm in the end, it was overall slightly embarrassing. "How was it? Was it totally weird?"

Wolfgang: “It was certainly different.” Wolfgang went over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You're good at it.” He complimented. “You big jock you.” He reached to pull Hardison's baseball cap off his head and slide it onto his own.

Hardison took the opportunity to straddle Wolfgang's lap, completely naked. "Mmm, coach says we can't have sex with our girlfriends before the big game but I'm sooooooooo pent up, what do you say we help each other out?" he purred, half joking but laying his hands on Wolfgang's crotch anyway. He just watched a sex show, he must need some relief.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang fell back on the bed, pulling Hardison with him and laughing. “Are you calling me your team mate or your girlfriend?” He smiled up at him and cupped a hand behind his head to pull him down for a kiss. “You just worked hard, yah? Don't worry about me.”

Hardison bopped the hat on Wolfgang's head. "You're wearing the cap, you're on the team," he said. He kissed Wolfgang back more lewdly than he would normally. "I just worked myself all loose and open, you shouldn't let it go to waste," he argued back.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang groaned a little at that and bit lightly at Hardison's bottom lip. “I'm not really a team player, Mr. Steed.” He laughed softly, barely getting the name out. “Do you really want to?” He asked seriously. “Id be tired after that if I were you, and I can wait.”

Hardison: "Don't *you* want to?" he countered. He wasn't exactly turned on, since being in work mode was never really actually sexy -- he was so concentrated on his sexy persona and calculating his next five moves and thinking about business that it was very removed from real sex for him. But he wanted to do something for Wolfgang, after having done something for a whole bunch of strangers he didn't even care about.

Wolfgang: “I'd like to, but only if you want it too.” Wolfgang answered, having hoped that was obvious. Just in case it wasn't... “I'm not a client... It's not sexy if you aren't enjoying it too, really enjoying it. I'm an adult, my dick doesn't fall off if I get hard and don't do anything about it.”

Hardison was frustrated by this conversation, by his inability to articulate or even really understand what he was feeling. Talking was his thing, and it felt like it was failing him now. "I want to be close to you," he said, because that much was simple enough truth. "All that was just business, but you're more than that."

Wolfgang: “You're literally pressed up against me.” Wolfgang rubbed their noses together. He agreed with part of that sentiment though. He wanted to be more than that too. They hadn't exactly put a label on what they were doing right now, but he'd enjoyed it. He'd spent a lot more time in the area then he'd planned to just to stay in Hardison's radius and he didn't plan on stepping out of it yet. “So stay right here with me.”

Hardison: As though to make a point, Hardison pressed closer, knee sliding between his legs and weight fully on him. "Even closer. All the time." His fingers started sneaking toward the fly of his jeans. "Can I?"

Wolfgang: Wolfgang groaned and was sorely tempted. He did have a slight hard on. The show hadn't been entirely his thing, but it had been Hardison naked and moaning... He shook his head. “Later, lay down with me?”

Hardison lay down readily, cuddling in. He motioned for Wolfgang to take his shirt off so they could be skin-to-skin. His hand hadn't really moved away from Wolfgang's crotch. "Can I just hold it, though? Put my hand on it?"

Wolfgang: That was going to do nothing to help his hard on... But he shrugged a little, wrapping an arm around Hardison and settling in on the bed more. “Kind of weird, but sure.”

Hardison: "I know," Hardison said, embarrassed but not enough to not do it. He popped the button on Wolfgang's jeans and slid his hand down until the heel of his palm touched Hardison's cock. "I just want to know you're here," he said, which made little sense since as Wolfgang pointed out they were literally pressed together. He tried again. "Nothing ever...I don't do this because anyone ever, you know, exploited me or whatever. I know that's the stereotype. I just started because of the money."

Wolfgang: Wolfgang grunted softly at the touch. He hadn't been lying, it was weird, not bad, just weird. So it was Hardison. “I'm glad that it didn't.” he kissed his temple. “Sometimes the jobs you're good at just find you.”

Hardison: He tried not to move his hand too much, knowing it would be uncomfortable if he wasn't planning on giving any follow through. "I learned after I started that things can get a little hinky sometimes, way more people tried to exploit me after," he admitted. He was trying to explain why Wolfgang felt different, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it yet, it was too much. "So how did your job find you? Did your school counsellor recommend you should be a thief?"

Wolfgang: “Not exactly.” Wolfgang had his eyes closed as he relaxed. “My father was a boxman, my... family has very deep ties to many businesses in Berlin.” He explained, trusting Hardison to be smart enough to figure out what that could mean. “I knew anything I might want to be, my family would twist it into something for their benefit. So I didn't bother with another trade.” He also left Berlin as soon as he could steal his passport out of his uncle's safe. There was no leaving the family easily, or safely.

Hardison snugged in closer, worming his hand under Wolfgang's dick so he was cradling it. "Hmm, sounds dangerous. What else would you have wanted to be, if you could? And how long are you planning on staying in America?" the last question was asked casually, as though his heart didn't start pounding at the thought of certain answers.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang grunted softly and reached to rest his hand over Hardison's to keep him still. “I don't know... I never let myself think about it.” He answered, popping an eye open to look at Hardison at the second question. “I've been here for a few years now, I just move around a lot, from job to job. Staying too long in one place doesn't tend to be good for a thief.”

Hardison rubbed an itch on his nose against Wolfgang's shoulder. "Sorry," he said, for moving his hand and for asking. "If you ever have visa issues or need like a fake citizenship or something, let me know. I feel like I could probably help. Hey, what's the coolest thing you've ever stolen?"

Wolfgang: Wolfgang snorted. “I thought you just stole credit card information. What do you get up to, hm?” He kissed the top of his head. “Cool?” He repeated the word back to him. “I don't steal 'cool' things, just valueable things. Jewels, cash, drugs, information.”

Hardison: "I'm pretty handy with the computer in general," he shrugged. "I didn't go outside much between the ages of fourteen and...now." He laughed at the memory Wolfgang's face when he first heard about the broke frat jock routine. Yeah, he was very much a nerd. "So it's just all business? You never steal anything for fun? What about rare antiquities? Musical instruments? Exotic animals?"

Wolfgang: “Nerd.” He agreed then shook his head. “I like breaking into places, opening locks, cracking safes... That's the fun part for me. Things like that are interesting... but hard to move. I want things that make it worth the risk AND that I can sell after.”

Hardison: "Not a nerd, a *geek*. There's a difference. And that makes sense, but I never knew you were so sensible and practical. I bet you look real hot when you're working though, all concentrating hard and wearing all black. Do you ever wear a leather catsuit like Catherine Zeta Jones in Entrapment?" he giggled. He curled his fingers. "Can I give you a hand job now?"

Wolfgang: “Geeky nerd.” He compromised quite fairly then shrugged a little. He'd always considered himself a practical person. “I haven't seen it, but that would be awful to work in.” He trailed his fingers over Hardison's wrist and nodded quickly in agreement.

Hardison: "Don't move," he commanded. "Don't do anything back for me. That's what I want," he realized, the thought occurring to him as he said it out loud. "I want to get you off without having to have anything done to me. Is that okay?" He flicked his wrist and chuckled at Wolfgang's moan. "Would a geeky nerd be this good at this?"

Wolfgang: “More than.” Wolfgang agreed readily. That he could understand, and he could certainly appreciate as well. He smiled a little, settling back on the bed and keeping his hands to himself for now. “Hm. Would a geeky nerd be used to using his hand on a cock-...” Wolfgang let the thought hang out there even as he shivered a little at the stroke of Hardison's hand.

Hardison bit him on the shoulder for impertinence, and then left his chin there, propping his head up on Wolfgang and watching his own hand work over his cock. He pulled the foreskin down and ran his thumb around the ridge of the head.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang started to laugh, but it quickly cut off into a short moan and a soft huff. “God, like that.” He whispered, his fingers grabbing onto a fistful of the sheets as he was stroked and played with. “More, come on...”

Hardison lightened the pressure, almost but not quite pulling his hand away, as punishment for Wolfgang trying to tell him what to do. He let Wolfgang twist and curse for a moment before tightening his grip again, pumping in earnest to make up for it.

Wolfgang: “Hm-” Wolfgang hummed, smiling a little even though he was being teased, in fact likely smiling BECAUSE he was being teased. “Don't be so cruel, that's my job.” His hips jerked a little, but he forced them to still. His cock was leaking steadily in Hardison's hand and he was more than willing to admit he was getting close fast, warning Hardison since he seemed so intent on being a control freak right now.

Hardison: "I'm not cruel, you like this," Hardison said confidently. He jerked him quickly, rolling his palm over the head occasionally, spreading the fluid around. "And you're not cruel either," he said, before scooting down and putting his lips just over the very tip, sucking lightly while his hand continued to move up and down.

Wolfgang: “Just because I like it, doesn't mean it's not cruel.” He shuddered a little, his hand reaching out to grip lightly at the back of Hardison's neck. He was only human, and he needed the touch to ground himself if he was really expected not to move. “Come on...”

Hardison lifted up whenever Wolfgang bucked up, so that he always just had the head of his cock in his lips and nothing more. He knew he could probably make Wolfgang come like that if he kept it up, but he was starting to get tired himself and in the end he suddenly gave in, without warning, opening his throat and letting him sink as deep as he wanted.

Wolfgang: Wolfgang squeezed the back of Hardison's neck as he cruelly tortured him, but he didn't complain, didn't demand. Good things came to those who were patient enough to wait for them. He moaned out Hardison's name when he felt the wet drag of his tongue, the sudden hot rush of pleasure from being taken inside. He came quickly, with little finesse, definitely not worthy of the shows Hardison liked to put on, but it was just what he needed.

Hardison sat up and coughed a few times. "That was fun," he rasped, crawling up Wolfgang to give him a lingering taste of himself before rolling off the bed and grabbing some pants -- the regular joggers he wore around the house, not the basketball shorts. He bounced to the kitchen in search of food, figuring Wolfgang was probably sleepy from his orgasm now but feeling oddly energized himself.

Wolfgang: “You just take what you want from me and leave?” Wolfgang called after him after he remembered how to use words again. He stayed stretched out on the bed, feeling loose and content. “I bought some juice.” He added after hearing him rummage around. He'd noticed Hardison wasn't the best at keeping his fridge stocked with essentials. He figured after sex show he should probably hydrate with something other then soda.

Hardison wandered back into the room with a bottle of orange juice and a handful of jellybeans. "Thanks," he said, drinking some before giving it to Wolfgang. "I thought you'd be passed out." He popped five jellybeans into his mouth at once and looked for a shirt to put on.

#safecrxcker #((steal an au where Hardison is a cam boy what the hell))

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3ea-global · 5 years

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The Story behind the Brand Senitta

The way you build a brand, everyone remembers, it is mainly through the success points. Plying our trade in a competitive world, opportunities are a come-and-go or what many would call blink-and-miss. Such was a case when we got acquainted with the ambitions of Senitta, a new sanitary napkin brand by Unicorn Hygiene Products, looking to carve a niche for themselves in the industry.

The new brand wanted to convey the focus that Unicorn Hygiene Products wants to place on addressing the female hygiene issues and making safe-to-use sanitary napkins accessible across all sections of the society. What was to follow, were long discussions with the client in order to strike that familiar chord and establish the core junction to position the brand. Donning the thinking hats, our team got aligned to paper those perfect letters of ideas that could converge into an alphabet of a ‘strategy’ for Senitta. Here’s how we solved the puzzle.

Imagining Senitta! It was a myriad of thoughts as we sat to imagine what Senitta can be and interpret how big it can be! In the search for the core identity of Senitta, we came across a void which was since forever waiting to be filled. In a market that has so many brands of sanitary napkins, was there a single one that was focused on anything more than just selling the packets off the shelf? We couldn’t find the answer to this question, but it did answer our question of imagining Senitta. Not just a sanitary napkin brand, but a stimulus for a change.

Identification of the Target Audience Putting to test, various permutations and combinations, we ran multiple surveys to dig deep in identifying the pain points associated with using a product, in this case, sanitary napkins. The entire process brought up several different facts and figures for us.

64% women feel uncomfortable discussing their period with their male friends.

71% women hide sanitary napkins on their way to the bathroom.

Many hide it in black bags.

42% women are shamed for their period.

22% of young women in India still use cloth/rags during their periods.

Our research brought us to the correct junction that helped us identify the target audience. The need of the hour was to break the norm and the hygiene myths of the society and we wanted to build a community that would be willing to do it.

The Tagline and the Branding! The direction seemed clear based on our extensive research which paved the way for the creation of the logo and the tagline for Senitta. Menstrual hygiene is normal and yet there are multiple societal barriers and taboos around it. We identified the need to volume up those hushed voices and whispers around it. "Voila!" Senitta – Nothing to Whisper About It (see the logo below).

We wanted to create a vibrant branding that looked alive and connected to the target audience. The idea was to express the strong brand voice through the correct identification of the primary and secondary colours while incorporating the tagline.

The Brand Strategy As a brand consultant, you always look for concepts that challenge you, and a good challenge is never passed around by a strong brand consultant. A successful brand strategy has a secret sauce, it is a mix of research + data backing + a pinch of both emotional and rational elements. We were looking to create an integrated and a holistic strategy that could connect the dots and drive conversations for the brand. A brand is not just a marketing tool to position a product, but also an emotional way to connect with the audience through a proper dialogue. The pivotal part of the branding strategy was to inform the audience to ‘Be Bold Forever You Are Beautiful’. Various activities were carried out through several media channels including social media (see images below) to embed this thought in the minds of the people. We made sure that the same thought reverberated through different collaterals like backlits, hoardings, billboards and more. The strategy was to make sure that when you think about the brand Senitta you choose to Be Bold Forever You Are Beautiful.

Comprehensive Consulting Once the brand strategy for Senitta was in place, it was time to plan the execution and identify what the client needed across several verticals. In addition to the initial branding and marketing strategy, we expanded the horizons to provide process-orientation, organizational building, creation of the policies and procedures, employee screening, assessment and hiring. The idea was build the brand across several capacities to position them for success from the get-go.

The Launch After months of planning and strategizing, it was time for us to execute it all. We were all hands on deck as we approached the product launch for Senitta. The launch had several dignitaries in attendance, including the Honourable Mrs. Sanyukta Bhatia, Mayor, Lucknow. The launch event witnessed a lot of buzz with several media outlets and the locals in attendance. It gave us a true feeling of accomplishment as the ballroom of Grand Hyatt Lucknow adorned the designs created by us for the brand. Sounds good? Well, the best was yet to come.

The Film Strong statements need to be backed by a strong visual message too. In order to embed the thought ‘Be Bold Forever You Are Beautiful’, working on Senitta provided us an opportunity to create something truly unique. After days of reconnaissance and pre-production, the blueprint was in place for an awareness-driven ad film for Senitta. Capturing the taboos, the emotions and the rational thinking of today’s generation, we scripted the right voice for Senitta to be captured via a film. The film was screened at the product launch and was widely appreciated by the industry, citing it to be unique and thought-provoking. You can watch the film by visiting the link. Click Here

The End! No, just a Start. That’s how built the brand ‘Senitta’ right from the scratch and positioned with a unique brand voice in the market. As an old saying goes, “You only grow by coming to the end of something and by beginning something else.” We already have our plans in motion to help Senitta grow even more in the coming months through activities across different platforms. Keep following us on the social media links below as we keep sharing more success stories with you in the coming months.

#3EA #AdFilms #Senitta

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onlinediscreate · 5 years

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Unemployment Blues: Are We Pre-Programmed To Be Productive?

Worked away at our monotonous routine, we fantasy about fleeing to Hawaii or the South Pacific where we can lie on the sea shore and do literally nothing.

A few of us are fortunate enough to get away there and incidentally cut ourselves off from the universe Blue Dream Shatter of obligations and requests and stresses. We inhale simpler, rest further, eat all the more generously. It is genuinely heaven.

It's magnificent on the grounds that we have an actual existence holding on to be recovered when we venture off the plane. Our activity is hanging tight for us and we return to work with restored vitality and get-up-and-go from our long past due break.

It resembles the initial couple of long periods of joblessness, that special first night term when we end up with additional time on our hands and no motivation to rise early or battle the heavy traffic. In any case, special first nights are not intended to keep going forever and it is just when they are finished, that reality and the diligent work of structure a marriage begins.

The undeniable stressors of joblessness are generally perceived: monetary strains, the drudgery and continuous embarrassment of pursuit of employment, the family interruption, the loss of fearlessness and confidence. While none of these can be daintily rejected, we are going to focus for a minute on a zone that is regularly disregarded. It can cause inward strife, torment, fundamentally increment the passionate aftermath of cutback, and intensify the downturn, uneasiness, and negative self-see that so regularly pursue.

To feel beneficial is by all accounts an intrinsic human need. We like ourselves when we are contributing - to our very own freedom, to our family, to our locale. A considerable lot of the extraordinary disclosures, innovations, and investigations of history were made by people destined to family riches who had no compelling reason to ever lift a finger to guarantee sufficient self-support. However these people needed to add to the world here and there and left their homes, worked as the night progressed, and even passed on attempting to be a piece of some venture.

The individuals who sat back on their trees, and never found any dare to draw in them, have void existences, floating during their time without individual worth or responsibility. Today we see their unfilled faces in the general public pages and read the sensationalist newspapers to catch wind of their medication issues and their tasteless endeavors to discover energy and importance.

Those of us - a large portion of us - who must choose the option to work, fantasy about having enough cash to have a decision. Maybe a couple of us truly need to float far and wide without objectives Blue Dream Shatter or desire. We just need to plan something significant for us as opposed to the vocation we fell into which has since a long time ago lost its appeal and fervor.

It is the point at which that vocation, exhausting and lowly however it might be, is all of a sudden removed, that we understand the amount of ourselves is put resources into the job we have worn for such a long time. Our confidence in our own worth is tied up and reliant with our efficiency. We feel an imperative piece of our conjugal association, somebody our kids regard and pursue, a notable individual in our locale who has earned the privilege to voice a supposition or decision in favor of a standard. We bear ourselves with a specific pride in that we are bonafide individuals from the regular workers and obviously separate ourselves from the individuals who neglect to contribute: the welfare class, the offenders, the inactive rich, the different parasites who speck the edges of our general public.

At the point when we lose our employment, the lines begin to obscure. Our feeling of individual significance begins gradually to crack. We see the impression of ourselves according to our loved ones begin to change. While we focus on discovering other work and paying some dues required by any pursuit of employment battle, we likewise pull back increasingly more into ourselves, looking to get away from the new picture of ourselves developing in the psyches of people around us.

As a professional instructor, I heard a rehashed reiteration of worries from life partners and family: "Since this occurred, she's completely changed . . . He's not the man I knew . . . I don't have the foggiest idea who she is any longer . . . he won't converse with me about what's troubling him . . . I need my significant other back. I couldn't care less if he's working or not . . ."

Have you, or somebody you cherish, fallen into this snare?

Address the issue now, before a circumstance not of your decision and for which you bear no fault, mushrooms into the too visit individual annihilation of the jobless - broken relationships, family scattering, substance misuse, broke lives.

The inconvenience and enthusiastic torment of losing your employment likewise gives a chance to concrete bonds and construct quality in the event that you make a move to address issues head on. Most importantly, correspondence must not pass. Truth be told, it should be extended and improved. Connect with loved ones, the individuals who adore you as you may be, "imperfections and everything" as the idiom goes.

Express your feelings of dread and your stresses. Tell them how awkward you are and how frustrated you feel that you can't add to the family in the manner you generally oversaw previously. Search Blue Dream Shatter out approaches to be a profitable, regardless of whether non-working, individual from the group. Take on new errands and obligations around the house and with the children. Give additional consideration to your life partner. You will be unable to manage the cost of presents or a night on the town, however you can give of your time and your gratefulness, blessings more significant than anything you could purchase at a store.

Offer the rigors and debilitation of your activity chasing endeavors. The individuals who adore you need to partake in your disappointments just as your triumphs. Urge them to share their very own emotions and fears about your predicament, and express their tensions about what's to come. In addition to the fact that we tend not to express our most profound feelings of trepidation, we likewise tend not to intentionally plan and characterize them. They simply sit at the back of our psyches as an unremarkable, pestering stress. At the point when we neglect to bring them out away from any detectable hindrance, where they can be obviously characterized and thusly contained, we live in a consistent condition of unease. To comfort ourselves, we search for a person or thing to fault: "Everything was fine until she lost her employment . . . on the off chance that he hadn't got laid off, I'd register for school this year . . ." It is a simple slide from such ambiguous considerations to undeniable fault and you become the substitute on which all issues can be hung.

In the event that you are recently jobless, make strides currently to guarantee that such a course is kept away from. In the event that you have been out of work for a significant timeframe, and may have just observed this example create, set aside the effort to leave it speechless. Divert your energies into building up a positive camaraderie where all can have a voice and a commitment. It can transform the dangerous idea of joblessness into a lightning pole of family union, quality, and developed warmth. for more about Blue Dream Shatter visit our site

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readfelice-blog · 6 years

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moominland chronicles 06 my trip to ableton

Just quickly before i begin, ableton make software and hardware you use to make music

https://www.ableton.com

BCR / berlin community radio is a forward thinking and diverse online radio station

http://www.berlincommunityradio.com/about

It’s Friday night, though it’ll be Sunday when you read this post, I’m lying in bed in my pjs, its nearly 21h and I imagine a lot of the sexy young things that swell the streets of Berlin are out at the lake or alternately gearing up for Griessmuehle or Berghain later. Not me though, once it gets dark hopefully I’ll be able to fall asleep, I could of slept at 15h today but there’s a demanding heatwave lashing the city which expects attention, so I’ve just been wandering around my little yellow house eating and fiddling with a track I’m working on.

All my songs are about the moon these days.

There is zero,null, none, void romantic or sexual intrigues in my life in this moment: No booze, no sex, no men, now vegan, just 3 steps away from enlightenment perhaps. It sounds dreadfully unexciting but conversely I’m finding it to be rapturously liberating, I have an enormous girth of time to focus and recalibrate, to add the padding of my own space back in to my life and shine a light on all the things which fulfil me and aren’t centred around whether he will call or text or Facebook message me, what he’s doing right now, or how many other girl’s he doing it to (5? 10? 15?).

What does a young woman in a cosmopolitan city write about if it’s not boys and sex?

She writes about what she likes, that’s what she writes about…..

I went to a workshop put on by Ableton and Berlin Community Radio on Wednesday, I was racked with nerves during the lead up to the proceedings, envisioning getting in there and them sussing me as a fraud straight away.

It would play out like this:

“ You don’t make music! You don’t even know what a hi hat is! GET OUT CHARLATAN”

I am forcibly removed by a stocky man in sunglasses, Courtney Love is standing at a window above the courtyard I’m thrown onto, she looks down and shakes her head, then she fades into the dusk of the room behind her. And I just huff and puff, all fours on the concrete, a wheezing in my lungs and kick myself mentally for pretending I could pretend.

CHARLATAN.

And the gates to music are firmly shut for the rest of my pained life.

It wasn’t like that, surprise.

It was built as an inclusive space for women and non binary people working in music production, specifically on ableton, it was never going to be like that.

I walked from my little yellow house because it wasn’t very far and a lovely walk through the gentrified streets of Prenzlauer Berg and into Mitte past my favourite organic shop and lots of al fresco cafes where gorgeous shiny people were spread across tables, swilling expensive drinks and smiling beatifically at each other

I like getting stolen looks from men on those streets, it makes me feel special.

At first I walked past the entrance of Ableton and trundled about glued to maps trying to work out where my little blue dot was supposed to go, (the arrow frequently points the wrong way, I’m like a lemming with no semblance of orientation), it took me a hot minute to get my bearings:

‘Go through an archway nestled casually between buildings, through the first courtyard and into the next.

You have reached your destination. Congratulations, goodbye.’

There wasn’t much outside seating aside from one modest wooden bench, so I perched on a wall and had a cigarette before going in, I still smoke, I’m not totally organic yet. The day was thick with heat, so hiding from the sun was a legitimate pastime, I chased some shade, inhaled and exhaled and then headed to the front door, which I approached in conjunction with a slender young brunette, clearly another member of my party.

We rang the bell, introduced ourselves, got confused at the first floor due to lack of any clear signage for reception and fooled by the meagre interior of the hallway. But the thick weighted door gave way to a carnivorous airy room with bare brick walls divided by screens, there was a reception, and plush waiting area, a kitchen and then ubiquitous tables that looked multi dimensional in purpose.

Me and the brunette sat down amongst the other girls, the receptionist (office manager?) was a bit fractious because most of us were early and her assistant was directed to make us drinks which were uniformly accepted. We were 4, then 6, then about 10 of us, which is when I gauged that I’d been selected and it was a privilege to be at this workshop.

“GET OUT, c h a r l a ta n.”

The majority of our trope were casual, dressed in the obligatory heat swayed sleeveless top, au natural or barely any makeup. All engaged in the awkward pre event chit chat, where do you come from, how long have you lived in Berlin, what are you doing here. My internal voice tends to become splattered in these scenarios, so I struggled to make nice but everyone seemed kind and curious. Despite being uniformly downtempo, we were quite the motley crew assembled, jazz singers, pop princesses, understated producers.

A woman appeared among us and quietly slotted into the circle, she seemed to be a student but then in a very uncanny way introduced herself as one of the BCR crew and shortly thereafter we were led through the door into another scant corridor and then in to our place of study where neat square desks with a Dell pc and ableton push were arranged in a very orderly fashion. The focal point of our gaze was directed to our teacher Chagall, who was sporting an exotic dress with a curving tropical print, curly long pale blonde hair brushed against the green of the leaves. My fear of being spotted as an interloper was sliding off me like grease in the heat and, with a screen in front of me, I started to relax into the swing of things.

Chagall was nervous to, in an approachable and personal sort of way, it opened up the room and she got us to introduce ourselves,

“I am/ was a visual artist (disclaimer).”

Then she set about presenting herself. She was a creature totally in her element in music who had been doing it her entire adult life and seemed like a woman unrestricted by her gender, overcoming technological quandaries by interrogating them herself and not deferring to a man in her life to fix them. She presented a project she had been working on as her day job to us and we watched, mouths agape, as she seemed to give music a physical prescence, distorting and extending her voice with her body, it was something quite beautiful, to see this unfold first hand.

It indicated a utopian vision of the future where creating music would be accessible and intuitive to a increasing volume of the populous.

Then we got to the crux of the lesson, she wanted us to make an instrument with our voices.

“How do you make an instrument with your voice on ableton?”

Perplexed and again worried I’d out myself as a total dope, I tried to work it through by myself. First off during the cigarette break where I encountered ableton’s detailed instructions on how to use a toilet brush in my white stall, then when back at my computer having gulped down a little bottle of sparkling water. I recorded myself rather indiscreetly at my station on my phone and played around with audio effects I hadn’t considered before, but this wasn’t an instrument, I poked the midi tracks in a ham fisted way, pushed buttons on the push, at the best of times I’m conspicuous but when I’m confused I pulsate and send out waves, I caught Chagalls eyes accidentally a few times and embarrassed went back to my silent blustering.

But with grace she manifested (almost like I dream of genie) by my side and asked if I needed help: Thank goodness. If she hadn’t I was one step away from googling how to make an instrument on ableton, and really what would have been the point of going to the workshop at all then? Chagall sensually guided my hand across the interface of ableton, her aura mirroring an ebbing waveform, gently brushing over my total ignorance of Midi.

Midi is a thing I can use it turns out, I can sample my voice and make instruments out of it, most of you don’t care or understand probably, but for me it has opened up a world of new possibilities. Once upon a time I sat at my laptop and marvelled at the mystics that could make a song longer than 3 minutes. But as if I’m being let in on a universally sacred secret, it makes sense, and like all things it’s about understanding and then customising the process.

The first part is getting the raw material down, the second part, the bulk of the work, is in the details, akin to me me writing this blog on a Friday night and then editing and ignoring it throughout the weekend to post on Sunday.

Afterwards we were asked to volunteer to share and a handful of the group took the aux cable and presented what they’d done, the most accomplished and quietly confident girl in the room played a stimulating rich bodied ambient stroll that was met with starstruck applause. One of the most gripping pieces of sonic material came from the girl behind me, who had created a short looping clip that was addictive in its playfulness and bubbled away, panning gently in a manner that coalesced the spirit. She was one of the trained jazz singers and it was clear this had opened a new door to her also.

It was the end before it really began, but then I could of stayed in that room for months. We packed away our things and wound up the session, I was still nervous but the staff and participants were so friendly and lacking in artifice, my anxiety was disarmed. I ended up standing with a young woman from the team in an oversized t-shirt dress, who was Russian and had her own ex husband.

I felt safe there, the second time in Berlin that I’ve felt really safe amongst relative strangers in an engineered environment, the second in my life in this context (the first was at room 4 resistance at about blank afew weeks ago).

I exited the building with a kind of full spirit calm floating over me, breezing down the streets of Prenzlauer Berg teeming with how best to direct this new energy and play with the tricks I’d been introduced to. Excited, very very excited. When a creative thing grows and you’re given new skills to hone, its like you’ve been endowed with magical powers (WITCH!) that can unlock parts of your soul. I count myself as one of the army of undiagnosed asperger's sufferers that work in the creative field, so any new method of communication that does not entail actually talking is a welcome part of my social artillery.

Unwrapping music is becoming a passion which I slighted in my teenage years.

When I was 15 I wanted to be a rockstar, but my mum having borne witness to the countless instruments encountered and discarded throughout my childhood, told me to focus on one thing at a time and I went to art school. My sister was the opera singer and the writer, I was the painter and visuals girl.

Now I’m 31 I’ve been making art for over half my life and I haven’t ever really felt comfortable with the idea of being utterly immersed in the art world, at least not in London, there was always an element of distrust and tainted, unmerited arrogance that had to be accepted implicitly in order to function. I’m not naive enough to think that the music scene is any different to this, at least in certain areas, but I have barely come into contact with that yet. All I’ve met thus far is interested people who want to collaborate or to include me in things: with my small contribution I’m receiving more interest than I did in 16 years, after my art education, after countless uploads onto a myriad of social media and having had about 6/7 studio’s.

And what I’m finding particularly positive about this new adventure, as I progressively learn the tools I’m using, the hardware, the software, the instrument inside me, is that this fixation I’ve had with male musicians for my entire life, is starting to fade away, as I become more competent and able, the mystery of their creative gifts to the world unravels and I start to see these men as human.

After having very recently gone through a fixation with a certain producer, who was so significant in terms of my public breakdown, I can say with curving upward lips that he now just seems like a man, not a divinity, like the man he always was, I don’t really think about him anymore.

It makes me wonder about groupies, about these women that fervently followed men in the 60’s and 70’s, in the now tee’s, who actually, maybe, were themselves talented musicians but because of a fear to step on to stage and take ownership of the medium they loved so much, they instead projected this on to (male) individuals that they identified with.

Marianne Faithful anyone?

I was once all the parts of a groupie except being present to the people I ardently adored, now I’m getting closer to being a peer..

So I think I’m still an artist, I mean, I’m doing all the visual stuff to, in my spare time now, but my concentrated outpouring has become devoted to fades and audio effects and working out how to record my voice without feedback, and heavy breathing, and singing in the shower. And fantasising about good monitors.

And coming to terms with the material aspect of music, or rather, its lack of fixed form, its transcendent invisible nature which permeates our lives everyday.

And how to deconstruct a song.

And how to write a song.

And how to make sheet music that isn’t notated, my own variety.

And and and. You get the picture.

To quote Kate Hudson // Penny Lane in Almost Famous:

“It’s all happening.”

#ableton #berlin community radio #chagall #bcr #female producer

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animator19 · 6 years

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Interview with Alex Hirsch from after he had finished Gravity Falls

https://www.themarysue.com/alex-hirsch-interview/

Alex Hirsch: My main goal after Gravity Falls was finished was to take a vacation a BIG one and I spent about a year doing everything I couldn’t do while I was serving solitary confinement at Disney. I visited Hawaii, Japan, Portland, Burning Man. I did conventions in New York, Russia, Rio. My goal was to say “yes” to anything that wasn’t work. Sort of like Grunkle Stan on his worldwide boat tour with Ford, I needed some time away from the shack. But GF is a weirdness magnet after all and I can’t resist its pull forever. When Disney asked if I’d want to do Journal #3 I said yes immediately. It’s the number one thing I’d want to read if I was a fan, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Kaiser: Was the Journal done in stages? i.e. was the original draft for the black light version, or did you have to come back and do that once the sales proved viable?

Hirsch: Definitely stages, the very first thing I asked when they brought up the possibility of doing a journal was whether we could include the black light messages, but we were told that it would be way too expensive and to just try to forget about it. Then when the book came out and was topping the NYT bestseller list, Disney Publishing agreed to release a special edition for the superfans and give me my dream of black lights.

The challenge then was to try to fit the new messages over the old pages as though they always belonged. But these are fun challenges. Probably the hardest part was on the “Floating Eyeballs” page—there’s a spot where you see text coming from under a Polaroid. But in the Special Edition Journal, the polaroid is finally removable, so I needed to think of sentences that would credibly end with the words you’ve already seen

Kaiser: On that subject, Disney never seemed particularly keen on releasing much GF merch. Has the success of Journal 3 re-opened the conversation on things like the BluRay set?

Hirsch: The day that Disney bought Star Wars (AFTER buying Marvel) was the day I knew my merch dreams for Gravity Falls were basically toast. The company is too huge and we’re barely a blip on the radar to their consumer products division. Luckily the enduring popularity of the show has resulted in a few departments within the company sticking their neck out and trying cool experiments like journal 3. Everyone was surprised by the success of the journal except the fans. Their appetite for more continues to impress even this long after the end of the show. I’m hoping those numbers increase our likelihood of getting a DVD but I can’t make any promises.

Kaiser: Were you involved in getting The Mystery of Gravity Falls (@TheMysteryofGF) permission to do what is (according to them) small batches of sanctioned merch like the stone Bill figure and Grunkle Stan bobbleheads?

Hirsch: That guy is like my guardian angel. He’s some kind of brilliant, crazed super-fan who understands the show better than Disney ever did. Honestly, I don’t know how he contacted Disney and got the sanctioned merch—he’s some kind of wizard. I hope he runs the company one day.

[Note: I reached out to @TheMysteryofGF to check on this. Turns out I was slightly incorrect in my question. They have worked in conjunction with Disney on at least one occasion, but for the most part the merchandise they’ve made available has been of their own initiative, sometimes with help from an outside contractor. They also work with Bioworld, who provides the GF license to Hot Topic, in creating certain items.]

Kaiser: How did you approach fan interaction during the series? The codes are obviously built into the show from the get-go, but did you think it would catch on like it did? Did the response require you to adjust planned fan engagement on the fly?

Hirsch: The scope, size, influence and presence of fandom culture has gone through a complete and total revolution between now and when I first pitched Gravity Falls in 2011. Keep in mind- my first job was on Flapjack back in 2008-ish. Back then, you would release a cartoon into the ether, and it would basically disappear into a black void after airing. There’d be maybe two drawings on DeviantArt, maybe a message board with a few comments, and that was it.

That was the entirety of online feedback between cartoons and creators at the time. (And even those paltry scraps of feedback were still huge compared to fandoms when I was growing up. There was nobody in 1991 willing to die to make sure that their ship of Tommy Pickles and Reptar came to fruition. At least no one with a way of getting that opinion in front of Klasky-Csupo)

Tumblr’s rise happened just around the same time as Gravity Falls‘s premiere in 2012, so I was totally unprepared for the level of passion and engagement and fan art that would happen. I had to evolve along with all this in real time as it happened.

Kaiser: I always found it curious that you’d hold Twitter Q&As, but then delete the answers within a day.

Hirsch: Probably the best formats for answering questions were Reddit AMAs—I enjoyed doing two of those—and interviews. I occasionally answer questions on twitter when the mood strikes me, but Twitter is a TERRIBLE place for meaningful discourse.

Twitter has an ephemeral conversational glibness built into its core, but it ironically also has this incentive to cast every word said in bronze and isolate it from its context. It’s like if everything you said at a dinner party with every guest was carved into the wall and permanently became part of the house decorations. I’ll frequently prune my twitter posts to keep my feed clean from the residue of 100 little back and forths. Even if I tried to leave everything up, it disappears into the feed anyway. No matter how many times I say “There is no Season 3” people will never stop asking.

Kaiser: Obviously, that’s got to be a trial and error process. Any regrets?

Hirsch: I honestly don’t have many regrets from my engagement with fans, because everything that happens, positive and negative, is a learning experience and teaches me something about our world and the culture we live in. And overwhelmingly it has been positive. Back in the pre-fandom-culture days I never could have imagined I’d get such an overwhelming tidal wave of creative, kind, validating responses to my work. It’s every creator’s dream. It’s absolutely worth any weird prickly trolls or growing pains that come along with it and I’m insanely grateful.

Kaiser: The Cipher Hunt had to be an enormous undertaking to put together. How’d you go about organizing it? Did you ever take part in any ARGs (Augmented Reality Games) yourself that inspired you?

Kaiser: The Cipher Hunt was the most fun thing I’ve ever done.

I’ve never been part of any real-world treasure hunts, but as someone who grew up with games like MYST I love puzzles; the idea of doing one in the real world was too tempting to pass up.

The entire thing was organized by me and my buddy Ian Worrel, Gravity Falls‘ Emmy-winning art director. I’m a restless idea guy and he’s this master executor/craftsman—we were both totally in love with the idea of using our newfound free time to put something together totally for the fun of it, to build this strange Rube Goldberg Device and then watch how the fans would interact with it in real time.

Kaiser: Did you split up duties as far as where to put what? Who made the statue?

Hirsch: The statue was made by a brilliant props/effects fabricator in LA, Fon Davis of Fonco, a friend of a friend who was willing to make something weird for a price. Ian did most of the intellectual legwork in terms of figuring out which clues would lead to where, and I wrote all the actual codes. We took a road trip up to Oregon together to hide some of the final clues and had a lot of fun.

I hid the clue in Russia personally, which was a little terrifying. I knew if I got caught trying to hide a tiny magnetic capsule with a code scroll rolled up into it, Putin might not take to kindly to the optics of that. But Bill Cipher was smiling down on me that day and it went without a hitch.

Kaiser: Shifting a bit to the series itself: I recall you mentioning that the writing for season 2 had to be somewhat rethought because so many people had figured out the Author’s identity. Did that change how you wrote Ford’s arc? Were there other things you wanted to explore in general, given more time?

Hirsch: The truth is, no matter how many grand plans you have in your head, no matter what tentpole plot points or ideas you imagine, everything changes when you actually sit down to write. You discover what the show is as you make it through collaboration, trial and error, and what feels right.

In your question, you say season 2 had to be “rethought” but that implies that there was this already finished season 2 totally written out in our minds. But that’s not the case. All we knew after Season 1 was over was “Ford comes out of the portal. Bill probably creates the apocalypse. Dipper & Mabel complete their arcs. Fun stuff happens in the meantime.”

Figuring out how it all fits together in the writers’ room, discovering new things and surprising yourself—that’s the fun part of writing. We didn’t really know who Ford was, from a personality perspective, until we sat down to try to write him. The same is true of Dipper, Mabel, Grunkle Stan, and Bill. You learn as you go.

Kaiser: Fascinating! I suppose I must’ve heard about very early discussion, and extrapolated … as GF fans are wont to do. How embarrassing.

Hirsch: Casting also hugely affects a character. You have an idea of what a character is like in the writing room, but then when the actor comes in, everything can change. We cast JK Simmons as Ford late in the process. He was instantly perfect, but changed how we thought about the character. Regarding things I would love to explore if I could go back in time, I would definitely add a full episode about Wendy if I had the chance. We always wanted to give her more, but we never quite cracked a story that worked for us. But I do think she deserved more!

I deliberately tried to give her more of a role in Mabelcorn and Weirdmageddon Part 1 to make up for the lack of Wendy elsewhere. Linda Cardellini was amazing to work with. She gave the character such a grounded performance. Really was exciting to watch her work.

Kaiser: One of the issues around the show was representation/diversity, and there were a lot of rumors about what Disney would/wouldn’t allow—the little old ladies falling in love in “The Love God” is probably the most famous example. Any comment?

Hirsch: Definitely. If you’ve been following me for a while you’ll know I’ve never been shy about discussing my frustrations with Disney’s censors and this was one of the most frustrating incidents of all. Back on “Love God” there was a scene in the script that described a few random couples in a diner falling in love in through the power of cupid’s magic.

When one of our storyboard artists presented the scene to me, she’d made one of the couples two lovable old ladies. It was sweet and casual and I knew INSTANTLY that it was going to turn into a huge fight with Disney. So naturally I left it in. The note came back immediately “The scene of the two old ladies kissing in the diner is not appropriate for our audience. Please revise.” I responded with a one word answer: “Why?”

This basically broke the censors. The couldn’t think of a single way to phrase an answer to that question so they made me talk on the phone so there would be no paper trail. They were terrified of sounding like bigots—but I honestly don’t think they were bigots, I think they were cowards. They basically admitted that there was no good reason why I should change it, but that they get complaints about this stuff from various homophobic parents and would rather avoid the headache, and couldn’t I just drop it?

I said that if we did that we were basically just being held hostage by bigots and screw that, lets rise above this crap and just pull the trigger. The worst thing that can happen is that we get some letters. Who cares? Disney’s a giant company, we can survive some letters from some cranks. I don’t think they necessarily disagreed—but there’s no incentive in their job to say yes to things. But I kept going back to them.

We probably had 6 or so conversations about it. It’s one of the only times I had a face to face meeting with the censors. I didn’t want to go back to my board artist and tell her that I lost this fight. I wanted to win, and I wanted to set a precedent, and I argued that little things like this could mean the world to people and that anyone who was pissed off deserved to be pissed off. But despite my greatest efforts it finally came down to “change the scene or we’ll cut it out of the episode ourselves.”

I felt awful reporting to the artist that I’d lost this one. But I didn’t stop trying. In the last episode, I had the two police offers, Blubs and Durland, flat out say they loved each other, and I didn’t get a single note. I think the censors were finally less scared of complaining parents than they were of having to deal with how annoying I am again.

Since then, times have thankfully changed. I hear that Disney has allowed same-sex couples in Star Vs the Forces of Evil, and the Nickelodeon has done the same in Loud House. Both studios are way behind CN and what they’ve done with Steven Universe, but progress, slowly but surely, is being made. I would love to see a new Disney animated show have the guts to show a proper same-sex kiss on air. One of these networks is going to do it—I encourage Disney to keep growing and be the first.

[Note: We now enter the portion where I completely gave into my fannish id for a second. I hope you’ll all forgive me.]

Kaiser: Two things, purely to satisfy my curiosity as a fan: A) did Pacifica stay with her parents post-series? It seemed like a seriously bad situation, guardianship wise. B) what WOULD Bill have done if Ford had decided (that is, been dumb enough) to take him up on his offer?

Hirsch: I think a lot of fans read more than I meant into the awfulness of Pacifica’s parents. I never imagined them as being abusive, just very controlling—living vicariously through their daughter, treating her like a prize more than a person. I grew up in a town with some rich families and it was something I witnessed more than once—parents trying to make their kids extensions of their own reputation. Pacifica is still only a kid, so I think she’d continue to live with them, but I think she’d start to have a very needed rebellious phase to discover who she is outside of her family name.

I definitely imagined Pacifica getting a side job at Greasey’s Diner working with Lazy Susan after the family lost their mansion. I think learning the value of a dollar and having to interact with the town riff-raff would be good for her.

Re: What Bill might have done, like all things that happen off camera, that question has no true canon answer. But if I had to speculate, in my gut I think Bill would have incinerated Ford on the spot the moment he got the formula to shut down the barrier. I don’t see Bill as a romantic, sweet, or charitable character. He’s a psychopath who takes what he can get. He sees people as toys and when he gets bored of playing with them tosses them aside. I think at that point he was done playing.

Kaiser: Makes sense. There’s a decided inclination to read Bill as being sincerely impressed with Ford on some level because that’s the trope (i.e. Q in Star Trek), but it’s not quite in keeping with how things shook out, is it?

Hirsch: That’s not how I imagine Bill. I see him as a serial manipulator. While he’s “seducing” you with flattery his brain is somewhere else imagining playing ping-pong with a severed head. But people are free to imagine any headcanon they like! I’m genuinely excited by other people’s interpretation of the characters–but I never forget my own.

Kaiser: Is there a story behind that doodle you and Roiland (the creator of Rick & Morty) did of Rick and Stan? That’s a crossover that’s never coming, I’m sure, but I love the cross-show elements.

Hirsch: There’s been a lot of hay made out of the little winks about Gravity Falls in Rick & Morty, and vice versa, the truth is just that we’ve been friends since before we had TV shows, and enjoy messing with people. Although if we WERE planning something big we’d definitely deny it—so I guess you’ll never know!

Kaiser: You left one seriously huge plot thread open with Bill’s coded message in the finale and then the secret Axolotl page of the Choose Your Own Adventure book. Is that something you might come back to, or just a mystery for the fans to chew on?

Hirsch: In terms of Bill’s secret message … I like stories that complete their emotional arcs, but still leave some lingering threads to chew on. It gives the fans something to theorize on, and it gives me a window back into that world if I ever choose to return to it.

Kaiser: Do you have a medium you’d prefer? Or would it just depend at the time?

Hirsch: All depends on my schedule—and the creative urge. I’m involved in a number of projects right now, so it’s hard to say. Comics are definitely a possibility. And maybe a special one day. Honestly my dream would have been to do a Gravity Falls theatrical feature—Disney discussed it with me for a while, but ultimately (and probably rightfully) determined the show wasn’t big enough to warrant it. But if some lunatic wanted to give me 50 million dollars to make a Gravity Falls movie I’d probably do it!

Kaiser: Is there anything you can say about your other project (the one you publicly announced for Fox, or anything else), or is it too soon?

Hirsch: It’s too soon to say anything specific. I will say that Gravity Falls opened a huge number of doors and opportunities for me but I’m being careful not to announce anything until the time is right. (And most of the announcements and leaks you’ll see online about various things I’ve been involved with have been either inaccurate or premature) I can say that I have been working on a feature project that hasn’t leaked online (if you think you know what it is, you’re wrong!) that I’m very very excited about, but owing to the nature of the parties involved I can’t say anything. I’m counting down the days until I get to announce what it is.

Kaiser: As a closer, you published a series of tweets not long ago about the stigma against being allowed to fail that animators face. Do you have any advice for them?

Hirsch: Haha! Oh, that. My latest tweetstorm was specifically about a trend I see in animated series development, where executives will “develop” a show to death and waste time, money, and goodwill trying to come up with a risk-proof TV pilot. But every creative act is inherently risky. The key is to create an environment where risk is encouraged, and failures have as small a cost as possible. I believe failure is the first step to success. The key is to fail as quickly as possible and try again. To treat failure not as a terrifying ending but rather as an opportunity to learn something.

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akashamichelleblog · 7 years

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15 Things They Didn't Teach You at Design School

Design school is great. It gives you the opportunity to mature as a designer, illustrator, website builder or artist, prepares you for your future career, and helps you develop the beginnings of a design portfolio. But it can't teach you everything.

With that in mind, I've researched some successful creative professionals and found out what they wished they had known when they were in art school – so you get a head-start on your course mates.

01. How to Actually Find Work

“The one key thing I don't remember being taught was how to actually find work,” says seasoned pro Ben the Illustrator. “How to market ourselves, approach potential clients and so on. Whether we were going for full-time jobs or freelancing from the outset, nobody really knew what to do once we left college.

"The upside of this is that I learnt it all myself, and due to naivety actually had original ideas, but when the chips are down and the workflow is unstable, it would have been good to feel like I'd been taught some kind of foundation in self-promotion. This was late 90s, so slightly pre-internet. I know there are good colleges now that have students putting together amazing portfolio sites before they graduate, but I still hear from students who have a killer folio, and yet don't know what to do with it.”

02. How to Accept Commissions

“For me, I would say there is a major void in higher education,” explains illustrator Aaron Miller. “You are taught about unrealistic deadlines and creative outputs from the start. But a huge part of the job that was never explained to me was the ins and out of accepting a new client. Do I send an acceptance of commission doc, do I ask for a percentage of payment upfront? What do I do if it all goes wrong? Does the client really need that editorial illustration at 5:30pm on a Friday night?”

03. How to Manage Clients

"I wish they'd taught us about clients,” says creative director of Knight Studios Christian Day in now what’s becoming a common theme. “How to identify them, how to connect with them. Granted, this has changed wildly since I was at university, but networking is networking!”

He continues: “How to get in front of them, how to get them interested in you and your ideas, how to present and sell your ideas, how to service clients and build those relationships... you can go on and on. Having the skills and ideas is one thing, but if you can't get them in front of those clients, you'll be sat alone in a dark room.”

04. Why Associations are Important

Illustrator and designer at Empire magazine Olly Gibbs joined the Association of Illustrators to help boost his career and client list. At art school, he feels he missed out on advice for turning yourself into a product that could actually sell.

“It was great for helping people refine their ideas and find out which pathway of design they wanted to follow, but it didn’t give enough of an understanding of the real world," Gibbs explains. "I was lucky enough to have done a lot of freelance previously and during my time at art school so that helped. It just would have been great to find out more about the money side.”

The moral here? Join an association that can help you sell yourself!

05. That Personality Counts (Maybe More Than Your Diploma)

"Despite what your teachers or parents tell you, your diploma won’t necessarily get you a job," says Toronto-based web designer Janna Hagan. "Proving what kind of work you are capable of producing through your portfolio, or demonstrating passion and potential will more likely catch a potential employer's eye; compared to a student who has more formal education. Having a killer portfolio and personality will land you a job anywhere."

06. Software Skills

Jeffrey Bowman is a freelance illustrator and graphic designer based in the mountains of Hemsedal, Norway. Formerly of Studio Output and a lecturer at Shillington College, Bowman has worked for numerous clients around the globe. So what does he know now that he wished he'd learned at art school?

"Software skills," he says. "This is probably the most important thing to really focus on when you're at college." When Bowman was at university, this was something he had to teach himself, because there was no real help available.

"Being software-savvy is only going to help when you get out into the industry, because the way the industry is, these kind of skills will set you apart from the next person applying for an internship or junior job."

07. Real-World Processes

T3 magazine's art editor Jo Gulliver has been working in magazines for 15 years, during which time she's worked with the world's top illustration talent, photographers and designers. When she was at college she knew she wanted to be involved in magazines, but was never taught the process of putting together a magazine to be printed and exported across the globe.

"It would be good to explore the industry you want to go into in depth," she says. The best way to do this is through seeking out work experience while you're studying. "Also consider visiting printers, agencies, photoshoots and so on," is her top advice. "Make the most of your work experience placement and ask to see all processes of the business. It will make you much more employable when you come to get a job."

08. Commercial Knowledge

"The main thing I know now, that I never realised at college, is that there is a market for good quality drawing," says Abigail Daker – a freelance illustrator known for her stunning perspective cityscape pencil drawings.

"There was a lot of theorising about drawing on my course and plenty of discussion about the merits of drawing and its place within the contemporary fine art world, but nothing about it as a commercial product, and no advice about how to tailor your artwork to be better suited to commercial projects." Daker's advice is to scope out the latter – no matter what your intended specialism.

09. How to Stay Creative

Ian Wharton, creative director at AKQA and an advocate of young talent (he's regularly involved in judging, seminars and publications promoting young creativity). So what does he know know that he wishes he knew at art school?

"How difficult, yet entirely necessary it is to hang onto the innate creative spirit of youth," he says. "It's something I took for granted." And his advice? "Explore endlessly. Every facet of creativity that excites you – dive in and don't worry about right answers. You have the time, agility and resources to do so. When you leave school, never stop learning and waste zero time making things you don't want to be known for."

10. How to find your niche

Wildlife artist Jonathan Woodward's beautiful, textured animal illustrations have led him to commissions from the likes of Penguin, Transworld Publishing and Random House. What did he wish he knew?

"I'm probably the same as most other illustrators in that the biggest gap in my art college education was the business and marketing side of things. I've had to learn all of this as I've gone along.

"One of the most important lessons I've learned is to find a niche rather than trying to be all things to all people. It was only when I really focused on combining my two main passions for nature and illustration, specialising in being a wildlife illustrator, that things started to move forwards and the right type of commissions started come in."

11. Not to be Precious

James Wignall is an animator and motion graphics artist working in London. He wishes he'd learned not to be too precious with his designs.

"Inevitably the client will want changes, and inevitably you'll think they are for the worse. Your job is to do the best you can for your client, not for your portfolio. There are occasions that you and the client will be on the same wavelength and you'll end up with a project that will take pride of place on your website, but these jobs are few and far between.

"Behind every amazing project you've seen on a designer's website, there's probably 10 more that you don't see that pay the bills. Once you've given it all and appeased your client, boss or bill payer, you can always rework it to a state that you're happy and call it a 'directors cut'!"

12. How to Take a Step Back

Freelance art director, illustrator and graphic designer Radim Malinic has been responsible for some stunning campaigns.

"Education encourages you to be good at one thing only," he says. "When you get out into the sharp-toothed world of client work, it's easy to get consumed by focusing on small detail in your designs and not worrying about any other essential parts of the commission.

"Whether you are a freelancer or part of a bigger team with the additional beady eyes of account managers or creative directors, it is about projecting your voice through the project. By taking a little bit of extra time and stepping back for short moment to oversee what has been done, you can not only scrutinise all aspects and find any errors, you can also discover potential ways of making the project go further.

"Clients can have a limited vision and creative teams can play it safe to keep them happy. Great work just does not happen by accident, it is the ever-present hunger to create fresh work which makes it succeed."

13. How to be Humble

James Wignall didn't take the traditional route into the creative industries – he's a Bachelor of Science rather than of the Arts. However, there is some advice that applies to everyone.

"The first thing you should learn when going into the work place is a little humility – seriously it goes a long way!" he says. "A number of people from my course assumed that because they achieved a first class honours they were God's gift to the industry. Wrong! There is always somebody who's better than you and employers have no time for that kind of arrogant attitude. A workplace needs people who are easy to work with, to collaborate and bounce ideas back and forth with."

14. That It's Not All Self-Indulgent

"At college most of the projects are pretty self-indulgent," says Jo Gulliver. "You don't really experience what it's like working for a client. It would have been good to get some live client work while I was at college – working for someone would give you an insight into how the industry works.

"It would also have been useful as a learning experience on how to manage a project – pricing it, time management and so on. These are real-world things that you often discover when you're in the real world – not before!"

15. How to Choose Your Career Carefully

"My main advice for art college students today would be to really think about the type of work they want to be doing," says Jonathan Woodward. "To think about the type of commissions they really want – rather than what they think they should be doing – and then create a career and portfolio that reflects this.

"If you show the type of work in your folio that you don't want, you can be sure that is the type of work you'll get," he adds. It's an interesting point – make sure only your best and most relevant work (if you're going for an interview) is in your portfolio.

#tips #creative #graphic design #school

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brajeshupadhyay · 4 years

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Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos Grenadier 4X4 revealed

The Grenadier, named after a pub in Knightsbridge, is expected to cost from between £30,000 and £45,000 and will go into full production in Wales from late next year.

It aims to deliver the kind no-frills 4×4 performance that made the original Land Rover a legend.

Ratcliffe, who was named the fifth richest man in Britain by the Sunday Times this year – with an estimated wealth of £12.2 billion – has achieved what the man at the top of the rich list – Sir James Dyson – couldn’t after he pulled the plug on his own electric car project last year.

Here’s everything you need to know about Grenadier and how it will be aimed at buyers who have already turned their nose up at Land Rover’s new style-orientated Defender.

Grenadier guns for the void left by Land Rover: This is the first model to be launched by Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos Automotive brand. It’s a hard-working, utilitarian 4X4 in the same ilk as the original Land Rover Series and later the Defender

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then Ratcliffe’s long-awaited 4X4 certainly has a very familiar look to it – resembling the squared-off silhouette of the previous-generation Defender that went out of production four years ago.

The boxy new Grenadier off-roader was conceived in the pub of the same name in London’s Belgravia three years ago by the Inoes boss to fill what he perceived to be a ‘gap in the market’ for a ‘stripped back’ offroad vehicle that is capable of going anywhere.

The industrial-looking Grenadier has been designed so that it is easy to customise and modify so that owners can impose their own individual personality and stamp but also retrofit the 4X4 for whatever task is required.

Developers behind the project say it won’t be a ‘jelly-mould’ or ‘pavement princess’ sports utility vehicle, in what could be seen as a subtle dig at Land Rover’s recently launched all-new Defender.

Sir Jim Ratcliffe announced his plans to create a spiritual successor to the Land Rover Defender soon after the previous-generation model went out of production in early 2016

Grenadier is a boxy, brutish 4X4 that’s aimed at multiple markets. While the majority of customers are likely to be farmers and agricultural types, it will also be aimed at lifestyle buyers and those obsessed with serious offroading

From launch, the Grenadier will be powered by 3.0-litre BMW petrol and diesel engines, though there’s an electric hydrogen-powered version to follow

Sir Jim Ratcliffe achieves what Sir James Dyson couldn’t…

The arrival of the Grenadier not only comes at a time when there’s a clear void in the market, but also debuts in an unprecedented period when businesses are suffering and global markets and fortunes are being hammered by the coronavirus pandemic.

It also follows the well-documented collapse of Sir James Dyson’s own automotive venture.

The vacuum-cleaner mogul’s defunct electric SUV has been shown in its final prototype state in the last month, as the British billionaire – who topped The Sunday Time Rich List 2020 with a net worth of £16.2billion – explained why the plug-in vehicle was deemed ‘not commercially viable’ and the project axed in 2019.

While the two vehicles couldn’t be any more different – with the Dyson electric car designed to be a luxurious cruiser – the Ineos Automotive Grenadier is also looking to the future of alternative-fuel powertrains.

Sir James Dyson poses in front of the production-ready Dyson electric SUV – dubbed project ‘N526’ – which was axed last year after Britain’s richest man said it was not commercially viable

The Dyson electric car was a seven-seat SUV aimed at the luxury market. As you can see from thee images, this one-of-a-kind prototype model was at a production-ready phase when the project was eventually canned

Despite the failed project, Sir James Dyson has said the cancelled electric car was not the end to the company’s ‘interest in mobility’

The car-making newcomer confirmed there’s an electric hydrogen-powered version to follow.

The firm plans to leap-frog into the future with a hi-tech fuel cell that uses hydrogen in a chemical reaction – rather than batteries – to generate electric power.

And cunningly it will use hydrogen gas created as a bi-product of Ratcliffe’s chemical business empire to fuel them.

However, from launch the new Grenadier will be powered by conventional turbocharged 3.0-litre six-cylinder petrol and diesel engines, supplied by BMW.

Unveiling the new motor, Ineos bosses said: ‘Engineered to overcome all conditions, it will provide best-in-class off-road capability, durability and reliability to those who depend on a vehicle as a working tool, wherever they are in the world.’

Gap in the market: While Land Rover has attempted to market its new Defender as a hardcore offroader, many- including Sir Jim Ratcliffe – believe it doesn’t fulfill the needs of customers who bought the previous-generation vehicle

Grenadier is aimed at a market that’s been disregarded by Land Rover

Chairman Sir Jim Ratcliffe said: ‘The Grenadier project started by identifying a gap in the market, abandoned by a number of manufacturers, for a utilitarian off-road vehicle.

‘This gave us our engineering blueprint for a capable, durable and reliable 4X4 built to handle the world’s harshest environments. But it had to look the part as well.’

This gap in the rugged mud-plugger market has mainly been created by Land Rover ending on January 29 2016 production of its original year-old Defender some 67 years after its launch (as the original Land Rover) at the Amsterdam Motor Show in April 1948.

Daily Mail Motoring Editor Ray Massey, posing in an original Land Rover Series 1 model

The final Land Rover Defender of previous type came off the Solihull production line on 29 January 2016. The new 2020 Defender is being built in Nitra, Slovakia

The latest Defender might feature plenty of options that would make it a hardened offroader – such as a power winch and tread-plates on the bonnet – but this is likely to be the usual terrain for the new version

Pre-release images of the Grenadier show it being tested in extreme environments and conditions

Over the period more than two million were built. It has been replaced with a modern hi-tech 21st century Defender model now on sale in showrooms priced from £40,290.

Even to the untrained eye, the new Grenadier bears more than a passing resemblance – in shape at least – to those much loved original Land Rover Defenders which have now become collectors’ items and investments since production ended in 2016.

Land Rover’s lawyers – who have already had one attempt to stop the new rival Grenadier in its mud-rutted tracks – are continuing to watch intently in case there’s any potential case to answer for design infringement.

But the team behind the Grenadier are confident they have got a winner on their hands.

How the Ineos Grenadier compares to Land Rover’s Defender of old and new

Ineos Grenadier

Expected price: £30,000 to £45,000

Production and first deliveries: Late 2021

Built: New factory Bridgend, South Wales.

Dimensions: (estimated. Similar to early Merceds-Benz G-Wagon)

Length: 4,700mm

Width: 1,800mm

Height: 1900mm

Weight: circa 2.6tonnes (est)

Engines:

BMW 3.0 litre 6cyl petrolBMW 3.0 6 cyl diesel

Electric hydrogen-powered fuel cell (to follow)

Gears: 8 speed ZF automatic gearbox with three locking differentials

Towing: 3.5 tonnes

Original Land Rover

Price in 1948: Around £450

Launched: Amsterdam Motor Show, April 30, 1948

Built: Solihull, UK

Dimensions:

Length: 3,353mm

Width: 1,549mm

Height: 1,867mm

Weight: N/A

Engine: 1595cc 4 cylinder inline.

Gears: Four speed manual

Drive: Four-wheel drive

Towing; N/A

2020 Land Rover Defender

Price: From £40,290 – Defender 110 Range price from £45,560

Launched: Frankfurt Motor Show, 10 September 2019

Built: Nitra, Slovakia

Dimensions:

Length: 4,758mm

Width: 2,008mm (door mirrors folded)

Height: 1967mm

Wheelbase: 3,022mm

Engines:

Diesel: 2.0-litre 4 cylinder diesels

Petrol: 2.0-litre 4 cylinder petrol and 3.0-litre straight 6-cylinder petrol

Plug-in electric hybrid (PHEV) version to follow next year

Gears: 8-speed automatic

Drive: All-wheel drive

Towing capability: 3.5 tonnes

It is ‘a truly uncompromising 4×4 built from the ground up’, the company said in a release statement issued today

Two versions of the Grenadier from launch

Ineos Automotive will launch two variants of their own off-roader – a classic 4X4 design plus a double-cab pick-up with an open load-lugging platform at the back.

Part of the unsatisfied demand for old-school 4X4s has been plugged, in part, by a rise in demand for large, basic, double-cab pick-up trucks, they believe. More variant are set to follow.

Until now only grainy spy shots of the camouflaged vehicle on test in disguise have been seen.

Car enthusiast, fitness fanatic and adventurer Ratcliffe, 67, and his team calculate there is still a buoyant market for tough as old boots ‘old-school’ boxy 4X4s – Tonka Toys for grown-ups.

They have set out to combine ‘rugged British spirit and design with German engineering rigour’ to produce a ‘capable, durable and reliable 4×4 designed and built to handle the world’s harshest environments’.

It is ‘a truly uncompromising 4×4 built from the ground up’, the company said in a release statement issued today.

The Grenadier has been created to ‘look like a proper 4×4’ with an industrial design form that follows its function and with ‘an interior that can be hosed down’.

Customers will be able to tailor the Grenadier to their own tastes and requirements with a raft of additional features and after-market equipment

It will have 21st century levels of equipment land safety systems. Plug in smart-phones can be used for sat-nav and music, such as with Apple CarPlay

The off-roaders have been designed as a ‘blank canvas’ for accessories, so customers can tailor the Grenadier to their own tastes and requirements. Significantly not all accessories will be tied to Ineos but will be ‘open source’ so customers can incorporate their existing kit – or cheaper kit from third-party suppliers.

But although they aim to ‘strip away fripperies’, it won’t be spartan and will be comfortable, they insist.

It will have 21st century levels of equipment land safety systems. Plug in smart-phones can be used for sat-nav and music, such as with Apple CarPlay.

Head of design Toby Ecuyer explained: ‘The brief was simple. We set out to design a modern, functional and highly capable 4×4 vehicle with utility at its core.

‘It’s there to do everything you need, and nothing you don’t. Nothing is for show.’

He added: ‘Modern engineering and production techniques ensure the Grenadier is highly capable, but we have been able to stay true to the essence of creating a utilitarian vehicle that will stand the test of time.’

Head of design at Ineos Automotive and the man who has penned the design of Grenadier, Toby Ecuyer

The Grenadier name comes from one of Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s favourite pubs in trendy London, where he came up with the original idea to launch a new vehicle to market

Ineos insists that any broad resemblance to vehicles such as the original Land Rover Defender or the early Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon is simply a result of the engineering and physics required to build any 4X4 using a separate ‘body on frame’ or ‘ladder chassis’ and beam axles.

The firm’s commercial director Mark Tennant explained: ‘It looks like what it looks like because of the job it has to do.

‘It won’t be cheap but it will be attainable. It’s designed for purpose. Nothing is for show.’

Ineos has identified three main target groups for the Grenadier

The first of these groups is utility customers such as farmers, forestry workers, estate-managers, ski instructors, small businesses and overseas charities and aid groups, rescue services and the United Nations.

But that doesn’t mean it can’t be a showpiece, too.

In fact, the second market is lifestyle customers from the hunting, shooting and fishing fraternities – those needing a vehicle to tow a boat or horsebox. It will also target ‘cool mums and dads ‘ who want a family runaround that’s a bit different.

Finally, the Grenadier should be hugely popular among enthusiasts who want a no-nonsense 4X4 for fun or as an off-roading hobby.

About two thirds of sales will be to lifestyle and utility buyers, with enthusiasts on lower budgets providing a useful market for second hand vehicles.

The inspiration for the Grenadier 4X4

Ineos bosses say one of the key role models was America’s original wartime Wilys-Overland Jeep – which also inspired Britain’s first Land Rover – with a simple utilitarian brief and was put swiftly into mass production.

Ratcliffe and his team worked to a set of key principles, The Grenadier had to have the following:

– A wheel at each corner

– Permanent 4-wheel drive

– A ‘ladder chasis’ and beam axles

– Class-leading off road performance

– A mechanical transfer box

– A 3.5 tonnes towing capability

– A comfortable modern interior

– Hose-down capability – inside and out

– Ease of repair

– A design that was not a ‘jelly mould’ or ‘cookie cutter’

Where will Grenadier be built?

The new Grenadier will go into production late next year at a purpose-built factory being constructed at Bridgend in South Wales, which is near Ford’s engine plant that is due to close in September.

Bosses estimate it will build up to 25,000 4X4s a year creating 200 jobs initially, rising to 500 in the longer term.

Around 100 staff are already with its engineering partner MBTech at its centre near Stuttgart in Germany.

A sub assembly plant in Estarreja, Portugal, producing chassis and body components will create up to 500 more jobs n the longer term.

Ineos Automotive has bought in world-class expertise where needed.

The new Grenadier will go into production late next year at a purpose-built factory being constructed at Bridgend in South Wales

Thje new facility is close to Ford’s engine plant that’s due to close. Ineos Automotive intends to build up to 25,000 4X4s a year creating 200 jobs initially, rising to 500 in the longer term

Austria’s Magna Steyr, which builds vehicles under contract for major manufacturers, is a partner for the Grenadier 4X4 and is developing the suspension.

German car-giant BMW is supplying the turbo-charged 3.0-litre six-cylinder petrol and diesel engines and the eight-speed automatic gearboxes are also from Germany’s ZF, which supplies to BMW, Jaguar Land Rover and more.

The ‘ladder-style’ chassis is being built by Gestamp in Spain and the axles are from Carraro, Italy.

The project has also poached talented staff with experience from the likes of Ford, Daimler, Volkswagen, Bentley. Jaguar Land Rover and Lotus.

Will there be dealers? Ineos has also outlined plans for the sales, maintenance and repair network

Dirk Heilmann, chief executive, Ineos Automotive

Instead of a traditional dealership network, customers will be able to shop online and via a network of existing agricultural and tractor traders, ‘pop-up sites’ at county shows and agricultural and equestrian events, and at off-road experience centres where buyers can try out the vehicles for themselves.

For repairs and servicing it is planning a ‘flying spanner’ service as well as a partnership with a major international chain of repair centres.

Now that the covers are off, more than a million miles of testing is planned over the coming year including in South Africa and arctic tundra.

Ineos Automotive’s chief executive Dirk Heilmann said: ‘From today the covers are off. Showing the design now allows us to focus on the critical next phase of the vehicle’s development, testing its capability and durability.’

‘Testing ‘in plain sight’ without the need for camouflage wrapping, foam blocks or fake panels is an added benefit.’

About 35 per cent of sales will be in North America, 30 per cent in the UK and Europe including Germany, with the remainder across Africa, Asia, Australia and New Zealand.

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