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peachesofteal · 6 months ago

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Deckhand Simon Riley / female reader 18+ mdni, dubcon. Simon is very no good terrible and kind of mean. Predator/prey. Excessive alcohol consumption, manipulation. Spitting, size, praise, a little bit of breeding/daddy - kink.

Simon arrives to town on the last summer wind.

It’s cold for the shoulder of the season. Not the coldest he’s ever felt, but cold enough his scars become rigid, inflexible swaths of skin littered across his body pinching at every hinge.

He can already feel the burn. The stretch and strain of his upper back, his arms, his legs. Can already feel the weight of the pots, sharp metal slamming and crashing, teeming with things that look more like creatures than they do delicacies.

Hook. String. Pull. Block.

The people stare at him, wide, wind whipped eyes peeking out underneath knit wool hems, gagged and confused, whispers passed back and forth like children with a lolly.

Did you see him?

Look at the size of ‘im-

Is that Ernest’s new deckhand?

Fucking monster of a man, I tell you.

He keeps his head down. Eyes fixed to the floor, old instinct still churning in his blood, shoulders stiff and squared. Captains are all the same, whether on land or at sea. Says “yes sir” as Ernest sizes him up, asks about his previous two seasons, and then sends him away with a perfunctory nod and a departure date.

The Old Man leaves in two weeks. See you then.

King crab fishing is the closest he’s felt to having a foot in the grave since he was actually in one. Opponents in a firefight are known, predictable. Monsters of their own kind, but ones he knows intimately. Minds of a killer, the lot of them, a certain subset of consciousness nearly shared.

The ocean shares its mind with no one. Its secrets are its own, buried in the briny deep, never to be revealed.

And the Bering-

The Bering is its own horror. Savage and cruel to those who would tempt it, willing to swallow anything offered and pull it down into fathomless black water. Cold enough to kill a man in seconds. Violent enough to toss them all to sea.

He’s seen it happen. More than once. The environment is uncontrollable, unpredictable, lethal, and the work is arduous.

The company is tolerable at best. The season is short, yet taxing. Deckhands live dozens of years, in a few short months. They stare off into nothing, watching the horizon, long gone look in their eye.

Still, he sees familiar flickers in them, same firelight he’s seen in the many men he’s killed, or worked alongside of.

At the base of it, these types of men, his kind, are all the same.

Rabid and dangerous in packs.

The cove is nearly derelict. The town spills up into white and black spruce, houses nestled in the grove of tree trunks twice Simon’s size, all doors facing the warped and tilted wooden slats of a long-loved dock.

There isn’t much here, a small grocery, a liquor store, a petrol station and of course-

A pub.

Aptly named The Wharf, the bar is as old hat as they come, seedy and sticky, sunken into the soft earth. It’s everything he’s come to expect in a fishing town this far up north, where the season is variable, and the money is too. Dark wood from floor to ceiling, over polished oak horseshoe, neglected stools and booths. Everything creaks, and The Wharf is no exception. The pub, the dock, the trees. Wind whistles and bark groans, a rasp you can only find here, in these places where time is too slow, and the world forgets.

There are rooms above the bar, usually rented to his ilk, deckhands biding their time, greenhorns rattling with excitement. They all filter in weeks before the season opens, and when he checks into his, he’s not surprised when the woman at the desk tells him he’s got the last one.

There are only ten, after all.

The Wharf’s side door swings open in a gust of blistering wind, yet not a single person turns their head.

None except him, though he doesn’t need to look to know it’s you.

He can smell you. Can feel you, clear across the floor. Sea salt and lavender, it whirls in your wake wherever you go, and when he lingers on the sidewalk outside of your little workshop, he swears he’s standing in a cloud of it.

“If y’need jackets, bibs mended from last season, there’s a place on the corner, next to The Wharf. She’ll get ‘em done before season.”

You’re the bloody seamstress. The tailor. Nimble fingers twisting and tying, threading and looping inside a faded light blue storefront, working into the small hours of the night. Your workspace is small, and overflowing with bright orange polyurethane covered clothes, long lengths of neoprene, socks, shirts, wristers. A mass of work, it seems, one that keeps your light on after all others have gone dark.

Except The Wharf’s.

It’s the second time he’s seen you here.

He doesn’t count the times he’s seen you without you realizing it. Doesn’t count the times he’s finished a cigarette on the street at the perfect angle, a solid perch to peer right in through your window. He doesn’t count the times he’s watched you from The Wharf’s one dark window, when you step outside to take a long breath of air, stretching your back and shaking your arms out, rolling your head in a circle-

and baring your throat for the slaughter.

The first was days ago, close to zero hundred, when you swung in to settle on a barstool with your back to the door. You look like you’re made from spools of silk, even underneath all of your winter layers, big coat, knit wool hat. There’s a coruscated dapple in your eye, one that manages to shimmer even in the darkest shadows of the bar, voice saccharine as he’s ever heard, dipping into a melody as you go back and forth with the bartender.

He hears it now when he closes his eyes at night, awash in a sea of bourbon, cigarette stench sunken into his skin. A gentle rhythm, a syrupy voice, saying his name.

Screaming it.

You catch his gaze across the bar. Catch him watching you, peeling you, picking you apart, but you say nothing. Blink a few times, glance down at your beer, pretend to busy yourself with something else. It’s not a flinch, but close enough to it.

He knows what you see. What you should see.

A monster. Licking his lips at a girl. A fire breather bearing down on top of a princess.

If he crossed this room right now and yanked you off that barstool, who would interrupt? Intervene? They’re all men of the same vein, born from different battlefields. The rules of engagement become status quo, regardless of whether you’re baptized by the Bering, or by fire.

Rabid, dangerous in packs.

Eleven days left, and he’s finally found something worthwhile to occupy his time, besides lurking in the dingy corners of The Wharf like an old, decrepit sailor.

You.

You live above the shop, an old fire escape leads to a wooden door with a big window, one covered by a curtain hung from the inside.

The Wharf’s rooms have a fire escape too. A metal catwalk.

Metal. Who’s the idiot who decided metal anything would be good in a place like this? Iron nearly turned red, rusted to all hell. One shift, and it all falls down.

He takes his watch there, at night. A gargoyle at his post, waiting for the flicker of your kitchen and bedroom lights, shapes and shadows dancing behind the thin drapes, a ballerina on stage for the masses.

For him.

He brings you his gear. Looms over you at the desk where your sewing machine is grinding out an industrial stitch thicker than what he’s seen on parachutes.

“H-hi.” Hi. Aren’t you cute? A little lamb, alone in the woods.

He nods. Stays silent. Enjoys watching his catch twist herself up on his hook.

You glance at the noxious orange pieces draped over his arm, and half timidly reach.

“Need those patched? Er, like… have any tears or rips?” Not really. He keeps his gear in good condition. Throws out his underclothes after every season- can never get the stench of fish out of em, but his outer gear is well cared for.

It almost pained him to rip them apart last night.

“Simon.” He gives it expectantly, jogging your manners to the forefront. You have the good grace to look embarrassed with how fast you spit out your own name.

“Bibs have a few holes. Big ones. Jacket’s got a rip under the armpit.” You reach, tiny little fingers stretching across the barren space between him and you, and he lashes down the urge to snatch your wrist out of midair and bring it to his teeth.

Do you taste like lavender? Sea salt? Is your cunt briny like the Bering, slicked sweet and brackish?

“Okay, well, I should have them done before-“

“You better.” You startle, eyes wide and confused, before they find your feet, cowed little girl before an awful man. “Jus’ need em, is all.” He softens the approach, not willing to cut you down just yet (that comes later), and you respond well, perfectly, pushing your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose with a genuine smile.

Live bait on the line. Set, cast, hook.

“Got it.”

His control is becoming a house of cards.

You’re in The Wharf earlier tonight, asking Jimmy for a double, whiskey over ice and nearly to the brim of a rocks glass. Just one, you say. Neck is sore as hell.

He maintains a distance. More inclined to watch you devolve, fascinated by the way you unravel with each sip. Lightweight. Figures.

You pull your glasses off and rub your temples, hopping off the bar stool with a quick word over your shoulder, a request for another drink. “Just goin’ to the bathroom.” You explain, walking away with a hardly detectable sway in your step-

directly into the side of the wall the bar juts out from.

Someone, a woman who never so much as looks up the entire time she’s here, furrows her brow at where you’re rubbing your forehead and tsks.

“Your glasses!” You turn, embarrassed, downright mortified, and sheepishly slide your fingers across the bar until you find them.

“Oh, right. Thanks Laurie.” Laurie, says nothing. Not until you’ve turned away and almost disappeared into the bathroom. Then, she mutters to herself, into her fresh pint.

“Damn girl is blind as bat without those things.”

He buys Laurie another round before he leaves for the night. An eventual thanks.

"Can I bum one?"

His neck nearly snaps. Where did you come from? You're timid in the mouth of the alley, lichen washed red brick flanking you on either side, your hands folded together at your navel.

"Little girls allowed to smoke 'round here?" Now your neck snaps.

"I- I'm not a little girl, thank you." It's like you're trying to turn your nose up at him, but he's a giant above, and it's hopeless.

"Sure you're not." He plucks the cigarette from his lips, and then holds it out to you. Your breath hitches, top teeth digging deep, an instigation, invitation. His hand whips forward, too fast for you to realize, gripping your chin, pressing his thumb into the flesh of your bottom lip. "Want a drag or not?"

"S-sure." He's got your cheeks squeezed together, just so, enough that the fat of them crowds your mouth and makes the s sound more like a whistle.

He doesn't let go as he feeds it to you, stopping just before the filter touches your teeth. "Go ‘head then." You draw, deep, eyes closing as that first hit of nicotine rushes your blood, undoubtedly making you light headed, and his cock thickens with dreams of his fat head pushing between your lips instead of this cigarette, dreams of you split open on him with a soaked pussy, neck bared for his teeth.

Hook. String. Pull.

He squeezes himself overtop his jeans, heavy weight pulsing between his legs, a dangerous affliction growing larger and larger with each second. He could rock against his palm, right here in front of you, and it would feel worlds better than the last measly meal he had, months and months ago. Nothing will compare to you, he already knows.

You see it all. Frozen like a deer in headlights, your lips part, transfixed, confused. Will you run? Will you shout? Will you tell?

"I uh, I better... get going. Have a lot of work t-to finish." Good girl. He nods, letting go of his aching cock, slipping the cigarette back in his mouth, searching for even a hint of lavender and sea salt lingering in the filter.

"Goodnight."

Four days left, and his gear is finished.

You leave a message for him, letting him know he can pick up whenever is convenient. During shop hours. Cash or card accepted. What a dutiful business owner.

You’re in the back when he arrives. It’s long past close, but no one locks their doors here. Anyone could walk right in.

“Be right out!” You yell, slightly muffled. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t opt to give himself away, just waits at the front desk, where a mug of fresh coffee sits, still hot, still steaming.

Desperation for claim, for possession, claws up his throat to his tongue, thrashing in a fit until saliva pools in his cheeks. He sucks through his teeth, rolling the pockets behind his molars forward, pulling as much as he can, his soul even, up and out, landing it in a glob on the surface of your evening caffeine fix.

It sits there, tiny bubbles and all, an island in endless ocean, unable to break apart or disappear. Blatant. Obvious.

So, he sticks his finger in it and gives a quick swirl. For good measure.

There’s rustling in the back, and then you pop through the doors, glasses sliding to your nose. “Hi! So sor-“

You grind to a halt, spine curling forward, as if you’re trying to protect your precious organs from his fingers, avoiding his grip around your ribs, his urge to rip you open and devour you whole.

He smirks. “Got a message my gear is done? Nick o’ time.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s done. I’ve got it, one sec.” You fidget, gun shy and shuddering, flitting away on the turn of a heel, eager to escape where he hulks in front of your desk, no doubt.

When you come back, you’re a bit more put together. Polished. Glasses in their rightful place, you place his bib and jacket on the counter unceremoniously, lips pressed together. He hands you a wad of cash, and you count it carefully, keeping your eyes pinned on the bills as he inspects the stitching, taking stock in your sharp attention to detail. “Like new, great work. Thank you.”

You go doe eyed, demure, flattered, and then confused, trying to reconcile this man, this version with the one from last night. “T-thank you.”

It all comes to a head, two days out.

There’s a party of sorts, a gathering. Entire boat of deckhands crammed into The Wharf, plus others, town residents and even some from the next over.

Too many, for Simon’s tastes.

Too many, except for one.

You’re crammed between the wall and someone’s shoulder, occasionally saying hello, accepting thanks for work well done. You keep your idle hands busy, accepting drink after drink, a shot of tequila, another of rum.

You’re even dressed up, cute as a button. Sweet as cream, honey on the hive.

Your hiccups ring out from across the room directly to his ears, chest shaking with each one. The bar is at max volume, shouting, cheering, chattering, but he can hear you crystal clear. Can hear the high pitch echo of each one, can hear your throat bobbing, the long exhale singing from your nose after trying to hold your breath. “I need some air,” you say to your neighbor, “be right back.”

He downs the last of his bourbon, subtle fire in his throat, and then makes for the back door.

Your arms are crossed, leaning against the brick with your head tipped back, eyes closed. Wearing a knit sweater, a skirt, and wool leggings, for fucks sake. “Dangerous place to be, a little girl all alone.” Your eyes snap wide, startled.

“Simon,” you don’t stutter his name, liquor easing your nerves, sweetening you up to a slaughter like the little lamb you are. Your ability to assess risk is long gone, and when you peek over at him, head rolling, the usual skittish haunt of your gaze is nowhere to be found.

“Out for a smoke?”

“No, just some fresh air.”

“Poor lamb. Drink too much?” You shrug, steadying your balance against the wall. Trying to appear more with it than he knows you are.

He stalks closer, closer than you should be comfortable with, but you only sigh, wilted as the grass withered by the impending winter.

He tests. Probes. Brushes a hand against yours, watches how you tip a little to the side, his side, eyes glassy between hard blinks. “You’re so sweet, little lamb.”

“Oh,” you make an o with your lips when you say it, like you’re suprised. “T-thank you.”

“Do you taste sweet, you think?” You jolt, but he handles your hip like he’s afraid you’ll fall, though you have a better grasp on your balance than you think you do. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” It’s a race now, one you’re desperate to catch up in, but falling behind faster and faster.

Hook. String. Pull.

“Open your mouth.” You do, on instinct, and he hums with approval. “Good girl.” He sticks his thumb inside, depressing your tongue, shoving back and to the side, hard enough he stretches the corner of your lip, and then tugs.

Hooked.

You’re too drunk to process it, not really. Enflamed with a rollercoaster of shock, shame and disgust. But beneath it all, something else rises, breaks at the surface for air. Desire.

He doesn’t waste the moment, hands splayed at your ribcage, shoving you back against the wall, your shoulders slamming into it. He’s on you, rabid, wolf at the throat of a lamb, tongue forcing its way between your teeth without permission. You jerk, tense, muscles shifting like you might put your arms up, but instead they fall limply to your sides, and you moan.

String.

The length of his torso, chest and stomach press against you, hold you in place, allowing him free rein to wrap his fingers into the fine fabric of your wool stockings and rip. The shocked little gasp falls from you as expected, but you’re too far gone to fight. Prize on the line, he tugs them aside and strokes over your folds, already wet for him, dipping into your cunt, tight and fluttering around his invasion.

“Si- Simon- stop.” You push at him shoulders, trying and failing, squirming and whining. He shoves deeper, one nearly too much, two an impossible fit.

“Why would I stop when you’re so wet f’me little girl?” He presses the swell of his cock against you, your walls clenching at the contact, and he chuckles darkly. “Gonna say you don’t want this, sweet lamb? Gonna lie when this little pussy is dripping all over my hand?” You’re scandalized. Ripped from your comfort and thrown ashore, a fish out of water, gasping on land. He breathes into your neck, biting and sucking his way back up to your mouth where he distracts you for a brief moment, long enough to tip your balance to the side, a stutter step disrupting your focus, and delivers an opportune strike to snatch your glasses off your face so fast you flinch backwards in the confusion. He manages to cup your head just in time and cushion its bounce against the brick.

Pull.

“My glasses.” Your voice trembles, and he’s surprised to feel a twinge of guilt. Don’t worry little one. He’ll pull you apart, but he’ll put you back together. Eventually. “Simon… my- my glasses, do you see my glasses?”

“No, sorry. It’s too dark, sweet thing.” You tear up, horrified, and they spill down your cheeks, fat and wet, leaving tracks all the way to your neck.

He licks them with glee.

“I need to-“ he pays you no mind, returning to his work, his meal, shoving your knee to the side and lifting you up the wall, until the smear of you cunt weeps all over his jeans. “I need-“

“Know what you need, little girl.” He shreds your leggings wider, tearing a hole big enough to expose your thighs, your lower belly. Later, when he has you pinned to his bed, he’ll eat you until you can’t speak or see, but for now, bludgeoning the entirety of his cock into this too tight space will have to do.

You hiccup again. It’s too sweet, rots his soul. He wonders if you’ll be here, when he gets back. If you’ll run, or if you’ll wait. Maybe he’ll give you something to remember him by, knock you up, nice and fat by summer, heavy with a piece of him. Maybe.

He slides his zipper now, pulling the weight of his cock free, sliding the head through your slit as you look down. You can’t see, how big, how thick, how impossible it looks, head trying to push into you, your body unyielding, spasming as he batters his way inside. You claw at his shoulders, spitting out a half moan, a half sob, and he taps his forehead to yours. “It’s too m-much, too- hurts-“

“Don’t fight it. You’ve got plenty of room, be good.” He soothes with a lie, probably. You’re so tight he can feel you in his bones, restricting, bearing down. He pushes, heat and slick closing in around him, making him dizzy, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fuck- that’s it. Feel that?” He drags your hand to the root of his cock, splaying your fingers around the base. “Feel yourself splittin’ open on me?” You moan some nonsense, some sort of garbage mixed with a yes, and a no. “Perfect little pussy, stretchin’ for me, yeah?” Only for me.

He fucks you so hard you’re shoving higher and higher up the wall, cunt choking him with each thrust, your fingers twisted in his sweatshirt, clinging on for dear life, a sailor in a storm. Lost in the fuzzy, blurry world without your glasses, he gives you a port in the dark, a lighthouse calling you home. He spreads you wide, rolling over your clit, pinching, thumbing, finding the rhythm that makes your buzz, hips starting to jerk, swallow him up.

Unbelievably, you tighten up even more, eyes slamming shut, and he holds you steady at your hips, driving deep, mouth on your ear. “Gonna be good and cum? Gonna show daddy how good you can be and cum all over his cock?” You gasp, and he drags you to it, pushes you over, rolls your shoulders back against the brick when you curl forward, pussy so tight it tries to force him out. You scream with it, but he covers your mouth, palm to your tongue, elbow at your collarbone. He’s relentless now, shoving himself until there isn’t a space inside you not filled with him, as fast as possible, body like a ragdoll. When he’s on the edge, teetering so close, he pinches your cheeks. “Open up, little lamb.” Your brow furrows, but partially blind, you’re more trusting, and you do as you’re asked. His hips piston, a rough saw, chasing, sprinting towards the end, heat climbing down his spine and across every muscle until he’s shoved so deep inside you he thinks he’s in your belly, and rears back, sucking a glob of spit to his lips and launching it into your mouth, just as he floods your pussy with cum. He jerks inside you, slow strokes, and you hang limply against him, fucked out, still drunk, docile as a lamb.

You hiss when he pulls free and lurch forward against his chest, not able to stand on your own. “C’mon, let’s get you a bath.” He murmurs into your hair, and you protest weakly.

“My glasses.”

“I’ll find ‘em.” He vows, patting their safe spot in his front pocket. “Don’t worry.”

#peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #writing about the ocean and ocean adjacent things really does it for me #and I wrote half of it on my phone so mind the mistakes thanks #simon spits in your drinks agenda #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #unedited

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cinnatwo · 2 years ago

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Something else that occured to me a few minutes ago is that both seem to be leaning towards believing what they're wary about is true. Randy is focused on Nico asking if Lav was safe, if they were hurting her, letting her know she wasn't a weapon. Now Randy is like "Oh, so he does struggle with humans. Oh dear."

Meanwhile I think Nico has assumed, since Lav was unable to provide enough details, that Randy becoming a mew was something scientific and malicious. So now he is like "Oh, so the humans she is around are dangerous. Oh dear."

I love how Lav and Nico's conversation ended on such a good note and yet in the background there is still so much tension building.

I find it fascinating how most readers are worried about what Nico will do when he and Randy are acting nearly exactly the same (cant tell if this was on purpose or not but theres so many parallels)

Nico is so ready to protect and be like a father for Lav, and Randy already is. They are both so concerned about her, and a big part of that is because they're worried how the other will treat/has treated her and the ones around her.

Nico is wary because he is not sure what Randy's stance on pokemon is, whether he sees them as tools or cares about them.

Randy is wary because he is not sure what Nico's stance on humans is, whether he sees them as abusers or has forgiven them.

They're both acting so similarly but everyone is like "oh no, what is Nico going to do" without considering that Randy is just as likely to make a mistake out of concern for lav, wariness of the other party, and misconceptions.

Man this got rambly I'm so sorry but the audience reaction I am seeing from this is just so interesting to me

As the one who knows what'll go down, it's interesting to me, too~ :3

#your furballs live rent free in my head #if i were the author id probably have it go down like #1. randy gets more concerned and is like ok stop talking to him #2. lav doesnt like that and talks to nico about it #to at least let him know this is the last meeting #3. nico is like oh no now i am concerned #crud hits the fan #nico travels to their house and both he and Randy kind of make things go downhill at the same time #equally to blame #cool fight oh no but lav is like guys stop being stupid and they stop fighting and talk instead and realize they were both stupid #the end #im really excited to see where you are going with it all!

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veryloovy · 9 months ago

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Get me the fuck out of California

These posts never do well, but here goes. Looking for help in covering rent and to move. Got a room already set, things just aren't ready to do the final planning yet. It is a very long drive that I am planning to do dirt cheap (CA->MN). I really hate that I cannot provide a goal for this right now, but it will have to happen in the next few months.

Rent here is well above my means and the place I'm trying to get to is much cheaper by like a LOT. I haven't had savings in ages, things got this bad. Things will be so much easier when this happens. To get this to happen though, I have commissions available. My art account's @lilblucat. I have a bit of a backlog though, so I am very grateful if you instead opt to donate.

Comms down below on Ko-fi. For donations my Paypal is here. Cashapp is $lunardances

#donations #commissions #help #paypal #cashapp #posting this is so fuking scary and embarrassing jfc #really hoping my car's ready for it I do not want a repair bill on top of this

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monstersandmaw · 2 months ago

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Monthly story - male bat-like forest monster x male character (nsfw)

This one was a really sweet one to write, though as ever, it's about 10k words longer than I intended. I hope you enjoy these two and the autumnal forest vibes. There are also a couple of tiny little Gabe & Odessa easter eggs in there, if you spot them...

Summary: a heartsick author books a remote fire lookout tower for some solitude after a messy breakup, and for the chance to finish his latest novel, only to fall slowly in love with a voice over the radio.

Content (light spoilers): stormy conditions, then lost while hiking, forest entity attacks with constricting vines (not romantic interest). Nsfw includes oral, no penetrative, messy sex, come marking(?), and there's some purring too.

Wordcount: 13,238

(for the tower lookout vibes, this reddit link should help)

Preview:

“You’re renting a what?” Lavinia snorted, setting down her coffee cup with a clunk and gawping at Bowen like he’d just grown another head. Or maybe like he’d lost the one he’d had to begin with.

“I’m renting an old fire lookout in the Pinewatch Range for a month.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” she blurted. “Seriously, I know the breakup with Mike fucked with your head, and with good fucking reason because the man is a complete —”

“— it’s not about the breakup, Lav,” Bowen interjected heavily, taking a sip of his own drink and wincing. Instead of his usual coffee, he’d opted for a remarkably bland chamomile tea, and was regretting it enormously. “It’s just… I’ve been wanting to work on my novel. I think a place with no electricity other than a solar panel to charge my phone and radio, and no running water, is going to suit me just fine.”

“No running water?” Lavinia looked truly horrified at that. “Seriously? How are you gonna shower? And, like… flush the toilet? Oh my god, don’t tell me you have to shit in the woods…”

At that, Bowen bit back a rare, true laugh. “There’s a composting toilet in an outhouse. It’s not like I’m turning into a bear.”

She eyed Bowen’s gut, which was just a little softer than it had once been, and raised one eyebrow. “Sweetheart, if you put on a red flannel shirt and grew that thick scruff out into a proper beard, you’d be the definition of a bear.”

He rolled his cocoa-brown eyes at her and leaned back in the farmhouse style chair, gazing around at the new coffee shop that had opened up on North Street. Lavinia looked out of place in the cutesy, rustic tea room, but as usual, she paid her surroundings little mind. Instead, she regarded him from under her heavy, Goth makeup, with a back-combed bird’s nest of box dyed, black hair piled atop her head. Behind the dramatic makeup and the false eyelashes that looked like the kind of spiders Bowen only found in the deepest recesses of his basement, he could see real concern in her features,and his heart squeezed. He’d isolated himself too much from his friend in the past six months, and now he was running away to the wilderness.

He leaned forwards, just catching the creak of the rattan beneath his jeans above the clatter of the cafe as the chair shifted and groaned a little, and he rested his weight on his forearms. “Honestly, this will be good for me, Lav. I need to unplug for a while.”

“I’m just worried you’re not gonna be able to plug back in afterwards,” she muttered darkly. “I take it you don’t get phone reception out there?”

He shook his head. “Nope. There’s a radio that connects you to the forest service in an emergency, and there are a few other old lookout towers in the area, but unless there’s a very lost hiker, I won’t see another soul for the whole month.”

“Jesus,” she hissed. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. And if I come across Mike in the meantime, I’ll hex his bollocks off and make him rue the day he dumped you.”

“You already did that.”

Something flashed in her eyes. “I made him rue the day he dumped you, but it was sweet little ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ Hazel that hexed him.”

Bowen rolled his eyes and chuckled fondly. “You and all that witchy shit, Lav. Ever since you watched The Craft in high school…”

Easy-going Bowen had always respectfully humoured his best friend’s interest and belief in the Occult, but he’d never subscribed to anything spooky himself. The spookiest thing that had ever happened to him was a traffic light going from red to green as he approached it. Hardly cause to call the Ghostbusters in, after all.

At first, he’d thought Lav had been joking, or just using some affectionate name for the group of people who had all met after class and at the weekends, calling them ‘her coven’, but over the course of their university degree, and the subsequent years of employment, he’d come to discover they all actually believed in the supernatural. Then again, Mike’s apartment had flooded the week after he’d ditched Bowen, and his had been the only one to suffer any damage. There was now some lingering problem with a particularly stubborn and rather toxic mould all over the ceilings, according to Lavinia’s mystical sources…

“Just promise me you’ll take good care of yourself, and you’ll fucking phone me the second you get back to civilisation,” she growled, and he solemnly promised with hand on heart to keep her updated when he could.

A week later, Bowen’s pickup bounced up the rutted track to the fire lookout station, with a fortnight’s worth of water and camping supplies lashed down in the bed. The nearest town of Pinewatch was a jolting, twenty mile trip down dirt roads before even reaching the main, tarmac road to get there, so he’d be using the truck for a resupply run in a couple of weeks, but until then, he figured he had everything he needed. At least, he hoped he did.

Read the whole thing on Patreon, plus gain access to every monthly story so far and join our chilled out Discord server here!

#bat monster #monster romance #mlm monster romance #fire lookout romance #male monster x male human #exophilia

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winreyplace · 5 months ago

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《 Pinned Post 》

Nestled deep in the heart of the woods lies a home known as Winrey Place—a sanctuary for characters in need of comfort, belonging, and above all, love. We are Mel and Lav, munbonders who have diligently woven together this beautiful tapestry of a chosen family since 2016. Each munbond who enters our lives brings so much value to us and we cannot wait to share their stories with you all.

Meet the Winrey Place Collective FAQ Tags List

What we will post/reblog here includes:

General history, resources, and guides on soulbonding

Posts that remind us of our munbonds

Funny and interesting stories about our family

Interactions with the wider plural community

The wisdom and experiences we have accumulated over the years from sharing munbonds together

Our alterhuman identities

Miscelife aka a/b/o lifestyle identities

Immersive daydreaming & the Living Character Phenomenon

and more!

Notes & Disclaimers:

We’re okay with doubles!

We’re selfshippers too!

All of us are over the age of 18 and enjoy kinky and sex positive content, although we will tag for it. Please be aware if you’re a minor!

Our munbonds have all evolved beyond their original sources and most of them no longer have any connection to their canonical universes.

Some posts may not be rebloggable if they are personal to our family, but you can still engage with them through replies and likes!

We’re happy to answer any questions about soulbonding or our family at any time; if you have an ask for a particular munbond, we will make sure they respond!

We’re quick to block users who exhibit racism, fatphobia, queerphobia, ableism, etc., as well as those who are antiship, anti-endo, anti-cringe, anti-otherkin/alterhuman, and anti-kink. We are a diverse group of queer, polyamorous, neurodivergent, disabled, alterhuman, and kinky people and do not tolerate bigotry or hateful discourse.

➤ Quick Rundown of Our Whole Family (For even more in-depth intros, please click link the above!)

The Bonders:

Lav - ◦ Born 1997 ◦ Munbonder ◦ Bunny Therian/Adopted Werewolf/Ranger Demikin/Miscelapin Aega/Human ◦ Bigender Boygirl ◦ Bi Aro-GreyAce ◦ Autistic, ADHD, PTSD, Physically Disabled

Mel& - ◦ Born 1999 ◦ Munbonder & Mediple System ◦ Changeling; Kin: Fallen Star/Half-Fae; Archetropes: Cleric/Bard/Wizard; Hearttypes: Doll/Halfling/The Doctor; Similies/Synpaths: Bear/Mouse; Paratypes: Wolf/TARDIS ◦ Femme-Neutrois Xirl ◦ Bi Quoi-AroAce ◦ Autistic, ADHD, Mad, Physically Disabled

The Rents:

Logan ◦ Born 1953 ◦ Insourced ◦ Ranger ◦ Autigender Man ◦ AroAce ◦ Autistic, PTSD

Meyleth ◦ Born 1933 ◦ Insourced ◦ Joined Fae ◦ Cis Woman ◦ Bi

Tasha ◦ Born 1984 ◦ Outsourced;Black Widow ◦ Human ◦ Cis Woman ◦ Acefluid ◦ Autistic, PTSD

Howlett ◦ Born 1832 ◦ Outsourced;Wolverine ◦ Mutant ◦ Cis Man ◦ Bisexual Aceflux ◦ Autistic, PTSD

Diana ◦ Born 3000 B.C. ◦ Outsourced;Wonder Woman ◦ Demigoddess ◦ Cis Woman ◦ Bisexual

Butler ◦ Born 1969 ◦ Outsourced;Artemis Fowl ◦ Human ◦ Cis Man ◦ Bi ◦ PTSD, Physically Disabled

Sean ◦ Born 1981 ◦ Outsourced;Grimm ◦ Half-Wesen(Zauberbeist)/Half-Human ◦ Neutrois Man* ◦ AroAce ◦ Autistic

The Mids:

Nick ◦ Born 1987 ◦ Outsourced;Grimm ◦ Grimm ◦ Cis Man ◦ Demisexual ◦ Misophonia

Jack ◦ Born 1690/1989 ◦ Insourced(Dream)/Outsourced;Pirates of the Caribbean ◦ Human ◦ GNC Man ◦ Pansexual ◦ ADHD

Pope ◦ Born 1987 ◦ Outsourced;Falling Skies ◦ Human ◦ Demiguy ◦ Demisexual ◦ Autistic, PTSD

Sara ◦ Born 1986 ◦ Outsourced;Falling Skies ◦ Human ◦ Cis Woman ◦ Bisexual

Quentin ◦ Born 1992 ◦ Outsourced;The Magicians ◦ Miscevulpin Omega/Fox Therian/Human/Magician ◦ Autigender Man ◦ Bisexual ◦ Autistic, MDD, Anxiety

Eliot ◦ Born 1990 ◦ Outsourced;The Magicians ◦ Human/Magician ◦ Cis Man ◦ Gay Bisexual ◦ Autistic (PDA profile), PTSD, Alcoholic

Charlton ◦ Born 1000+ years ago in Fillorian years/1992 ◦ Outsourced;The Magicians ◦ Fillorian ◦ Cisn’t Man ◦ Bisexual ◦ Autistic, PTSD

Margo ◦ Born 1990 ◦ Outsourced;The Magicians ◦ Lycanthrope/Magician ◦ Cis Woman ◦ Bisexual

Alice ◦ Born 1992 ◦ Outsourced;The Magicians ◦ Fox Otherhearted Human/Magician ◦ Cis Woman ◦ Bicurious ◦ Autistic

The Youngins:

Rune ◦ Born 1998 ◦ Insourced ◦ Ranger ◦ Cis Man ◦ AroAce ◦ Autistic, MDD

Liam ◦ Born 1997 ◦ Insourced ◦ Wild Fae ◦ Autigender Man ◦ AroAce ◦ Autistic, Anxiety, PTSD

Damien ◦ Born 1992 ◦ Outsourced;[Redacted] ◦ Atypical ◦ Genderqueer Man ◦ AroAce ◦ Autistic, ADHD, PTSD, Depression

Artemis ◦ Born 1997 ◦ Outsourced;Artemis Fowl ◦ Human Clone ◦ Masc-Aligned ◦ Asexual ◦ Autistic, Savant, OCD, Mild Paranoid Psychosis

Trubel ◦ Born 1995 ◦ Outsourced;Grimm ◦ Grimm ◦ Cis Woman ◦ AutiAce Lesbian ◦ Autistic, PTSD

Theo ◦ Born 1999 ◦ Outsourced;Teen Wolf ◦ Miscecanis Omega/Chimera WereCoyote-Wolf Hybrid ◦ Intersex Man ◦ Lithosexual ◦ PTSD

Li ◦ Born 2001 ◦ Outsourced;Teen Wolf ◦ Miscecanis Alpha/Werewolf ◦ Cis Man ◦ Bisexual ◦ ADHD, IED

Mason ◦ Born 2001 ◦ Outsourced;Teen Wolf ◦ Human ◦ Cis Man ◦ Gay

Corey ◦ Born 2001 ◦ Outsourced;Teen Wolf ◦ Chimera WereChamemelon-Ghost Rider Hybrid ◦ Cis Man ◦ Pansexual ◦ MDD, PTSD, Pica

Adam ◦ Born 2000 ◦ Insourced ◦ Human ◦ Cis Man ◦ Asexual ◦ Autistic, ADHD

Q2 ◦ Born 2023 ◦ Insourced/Outsourced;The Magicians ◦ Foxkith Adult Golem ◦ Golem Man ◦ Bisexual ◦ Autistic, Nonspeaking

Other:

12th Doctor ◦ Born ??? ◦ Outsourced;Doctor Who ◦ Galifreyan ◦ Quoi ◦ Quoi ◦ Autistic, ADHD

Monroe ◦ Born 198? ◦ Outsourced;Grimm ◦ Wesen(Blutbaden) ◦ Autigender Man ◦ Heterosexual ◦ Autistic

Living Characters:

Insourced:

Dess – Human Glow | Demisexual | ADHD | Adopted daughter of Logan | Wife to Thad

Thad – Human | Heteroflexible | QPP to Liam | Husband to Dess

Lorella – Ranger | Mother of Rune | Friend of Logan and Meyleth

Rhaneo – Ranger | Father of Rune | Friend of Logan and Meyleth

Lianna – Half-Fae | Daughter of Logan | QPP & Bloodbond of Rune | Facet (Former Parame) of Mel&

Hornrietta aka Horny – Chicken | in C/O Jack

Planty – Alien Sentient Plant Creature | Gift from Loki

Posey – Alien/Earth Cyborg Plant Creature | Planty’s Daughter | in C/O Meyleth

Outsourced:

Jenna – Human | Teen Wolf Fanon | ADHD | Mother of Li

David – Human | Teen Wolf | Step-Father of Li

Beckett – Human/? | Artemis Fowl | Child of Artemis Sr. & Angeline | Brother of Artemis & Twin of Miles

Miles – Human | Artemis Fowl | Child of Artemis Sr. & Angeline | Brother of Artemis & Twin of Beckett

Rosalee – Wesen/Fuchsbau | Grimm | Wife of Monroe | Friend of Nick

Loki – Frost Giant | MCU | Plant mom of Planty

Missy – Galifreyan/Time Lord | Doctor Who | Companion of The Doctor

Josh – Lycanthrope/Magician | The Magicians | Bicurious | Partner of Margo & Fen

Arielle – Fillorian | The Magicians | Deceased Wife of Quentin | Deceased partner of Eliot

#alterhuman #pinned post #munbonding #munbond #Winrey Place OG content

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maelkevejen · 1 month ago

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Der er godt nok meget mudder i min jobsøgningsprocess, og jeg bliver småpresset, hver gang jeg ser endnu en nyuddannet fra min årgang meddele på LinkedIn at de har fået nyt job

Jeg ved, jeg ikke er driftig nok. Jeg har holdt lav profil længe, måske fordi jeg ubevidst har prøvet at tage vare på mig selv - eller fordi jeg har været skræmt. Eller begge dele. Jeg havde måske, uden jeg havde tænkt over det, forventet, at det ville gå over på et tidspunkt, men jeg er stadig berøringsangst, og nu ligger jobcentret og skumler under overfladen, og jeg er ængstelig og berøringsangst, og jeg har slet ikke lyst, og jeg... skammer mig over det. Jeg er jo egentlig god til at skrive jobansøgninger. Og så slemt er det da heller ikke, helt ærligt, det er jo bare to om ugen. Og alligevel fejer jeg det indunder gulvtæppet og er overhovedet overhovedet ikke konstruktiv med hensyn til min jobsøgning. Puha. Det er altså... jeg synes ikke, jeg har en god nok undskyldning for det. Jeg har så svært ved at forestille mig, hvad der kommer til at ske, forestille mig rent faktisk at være i et 9-16, men jeg... jeg er også bange for at sidde her for længe. Hvad sker der så? Kommer de på nakken af mig, fuck fuckedi fuck, hvad hvis jeg "aldrig kommer i job" og løber tør for klip? Så gør dog noget!

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lastoneout · 2 years ago

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Listen IF it comes down to Kukui v Laventon then ofc Kukui(joking or not) is gonna be like "I must avenge my wife's honor" and Laventon, who is a sweetheart, will just go "haha oh no" and then CYLLENE shows up with her SWORD and Lav, trying and failing to control the situation, focuses on the wrong thing and is like "I believe he's actually a wrestler, dear" and Cyllene immediately hands him her sword like "Dont worry, I am also a master of hand to hand combat"

And Kukui isn't going to turn that down, so the finals are just an all out brawl between one actual contestant and one Angry Wife, both of which are trying to defend and/or avenge their respective partner's honor, which ofc, is the coolest shit anyone there has seen, including Laventon, who loves his wife more than he loves not supporting needless violence, and thus starts cheering her on

And the audience is rowdy as hell like Akari and Rei are going wild, Lillie is cheering louder than anyone thought she could, Burnet us cheering even louder than that, Ingo and Emmet are reffing the match(if only to stop them from challenging anyone to a battle bcs lets be real there are like at LEAST fifteen champion trainers here they WANT to battle), Nemona managed to meet Ash(oops) and both of them have been banished outside bcs they are absolutely battling and no one can stop them, most of the other Professors are placing bets including the ones who claimed they are "far too old for this sort of nonsense", Jessie, James, and Meowth are selling snacks, at least five people are holding Kamado back bcs he totally wants in on the wrestling thing, Sycamore absolutely DID take his shirt off in the semi-final match and is arguing with Oak about fairy types while shirtless which is going about as well as you'd expect

and whoever owns the building is never renting it out to any of these clowns ever again

#this is a big if #but also #I want #I want this #pokeprofshowdown

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sanjanajustwatched · 3 months ago

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Antyeshthi

First meeting - 11th September

Kushal, Max and Abbie had pitched the idea for antyeshti to me and they described the film as an experimental narrative film about Indian Culture. Once they had described the plot of the film and their plans to film in India along with Edinburgh, I was on board. As the script was in development I did not have any concrete ideas for sound at this point. As an Indian student who grew up outside of her home country, with family who had lived through the british rule in India, I found this project to be of significance to me. It is a project that allows me to represent Indian culture, mythology and the atmosphere through sound. Its experimental narrative nature allows me to get creative with the ambience and the overall sound design.

(initial ideas)

Pitch Meeting - 30th september

The group met up to prepare for our pitch where we were informed of how the script was developing and since we were given the (sort of) go ahead by our professors to film in India, I had begun to think with the group about how to get sound recorded there. It looked like we might be able to take most of the sound equipment - mixpre3/10T, shotgun mic, LAV mics etc. (except for the boom pole), and I had also considered bringing my personal recorder and renting equipment from film stores (eg. FILMCULT). In terms of sound design, I had gone through some songs that relate to the mythology as explained in the script, and culture-specific sounds that could be incorporated into the soundscape of the film (eg. temple bells, anklet/ghungroo/chelangam chimes)

Casper Galbraith has also volunteered to do the dialogue edit for the film.

Post Pitch - 7th October

The feedback after our pitch was mostly positive. Zoë brought up how this film would allow me to work extensively in a creative manner with the sound edit, which is one of the aspects I am most excited about.

Amber Lighting - 14th October

We have been amber lit! We were given feedback on how to proceed with the film in order to have a more concrete idea plan for the film and its production. - no specific notes for sound.

Travel meeting + Sound meeting - 17th october

The group met to discuss the travel logistics - we would potentially be going to India in late January (16th-30th Jan). I shared with Abbie (Producer), potentially what equipment I would need for sound and how we could make some compromises in case any issues arose.

I am also bringing my ZoomH8 as a backup and to record sounds on locations where the entire sound kit is not viable or to record wildtrack off set.

Max and I also discussed the soundscape for the film. We spoke specifically about how we want the scenes set in Gopal's shop could sound by localising the ambient sounds and accents (actors and rioters) in South of England around manchester. Max had mentioned Oldham as it had a history of race riots which took place in 2001.

The shop would be set in a moderately busy shopping street with evening traffic. The dialogue between Gopal, his wife, daughter and grandchildren would be happening between two sections of the shop (front and back), and shop could sound like there were family conversations constantly happening in the background of the focal dialogues. When the riots begin, they would mostly be off screen, and it would need to be dramatic and raucous where we hear people shouting loudly, vandalising nearby shops.

while the remaining scenes were still being constructed with the script and the tableau and archival imagery would be decided later in the term, we were unable to decide on concrete ideas, but I was confident I could develop an sonic aesthetic for the film with the directors' visions.

(rough notes from the meeting)

Film References

I have looked at a couple of films that I was thinking of when discussing the scenes set in Gopal's shop with Max.

The dynamic of the joint/large family conversation, which is constant and overlapping made me think of the films 'Do Dooni Chaar' and 'East is East'. While these are tonally very different from 'Antyeshti' the way that the dialogues sound in these film are similar to the aesthetic I had discussed with Max.

(stills from specific scenes of the reference movies - have attached a link to the scenes at the end of the blog)

Test Shoot - prep

Abbie has booked the sound equipment for the test shoot and We are aiming to film at craiglockhart on 7th november. I have also spoken to Yat Hin Lee and Michael Hood to help on set as Boom op and Sound Assistant.

Since the duration of the test shoot/proof of concept can only be upto 3 minutes, the script will be focusing on the scene at Gopal's shop and the riots with some tableau imagery. Max and Kushal have suggested the song 'Yeh Raatein Yeh Mausam' by Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhosle to be played at the start of the scene and in the shop from a radio.

I think the song would be perfect for the test shoot as it is widely known song in India and across nearby countries. As it was recorded and released in 1958, it would make sense to have this song since it came out after independence and the tone is very nostalgic and reminiscent of one's hometown and life.

Test Shoot Meeting - 3rd November

The group met up to discuss the script and logistics ahead of the test shoot. This was my first time looking at the test shoot script and so I read it and Max and Kushal broke down their ideas and intentions for the sound of the film.

The song that has been selected will start off as non-diegetic over shots of Gopal sewing, his mother's hands sewing, and the archive images, and transitions into diegetic music playing from a radio as we come into Gopal's shop. Some key sounds that we want to get are fabrics rustling, beads, sewing with hands, bell above the door ringing.

As we move to the dialogue sequence, we want it to sound a certain style of crisp. Max even gave me a compilation of scenes that replicate the style he is wanting. (click for link)

For the riot scenes, some sounds that I would like to stand out are glass breaking, various car alarms going off and things being broken down and kicked about along with people shouting. I have asked the group and we are still unsure if we need them to shout certain phrases to clue in the viewers on the context of the riots but as it is something I will have to record on a later date, I might wait till the test shoot filming is over.

In the tableau sequence, we are still unsure of what sounds would work best as they will also lead us out of the riots. Some potential ideas are to continue the song over the tableaus, or have the riot sounds instead. Another Idea is to have an uncomfortable static sounds that is constant throughout the images and conveys feelings of discomfort.

Test Shoot Research

For my research I have done a script breakdown to mark all the sounds I would need to make conisderations for and whether I will source them on location or sound libraries. (link to script breakdown)

To replicate the aesthetic of the dialogue in the scenes Max shared with me, I looked at how sound was recorded in films in the 70s. I believe the analog style of recording is very similar to the style in the references. Filming in a silent environment will be crucial for this (especially since there is limited time for the dialogue edit), which is why I am optimistic about shooting at craiglockhart. I will also need to prioritise mic placements, making sure the LAVs capture clear dialogue and booming closer to the actors.

I have also been looking into sound libraries for sounds that I cannot record myself such as the car alarms and glass breaking. A foley session would be useful to get the remaining sounds such as bell ringing, footsteps, door noises, and sewing noises (this however can also be recorded on set).

Test Shoot - On set - 7th November

Our producer informed us a couple days before the shoot that, unfortunately we were unable to film at craiglockhart, but she managed to contact a tailor shop that was happy with us filming there. We were filming at the West End Tailors which is located near princes street. I knew that this would be an issue for sound and getting sounds of a riot, due to the noisy environment. Since this was on short notice and we were unable to go on a recce as the owner did not get back to us, I wasn't able to adapt as quickly and knew I would have to make compromises on the dialogue aesthetic.

The shoot went considerably well despite the issues around sound. As we were on a tight schedule I was worried about holding for sound but the team on set were very considerate and we ended up getting mostly clean dialogue. I had some issues with the LAVs as the costumes that the actor was wearing was not the right fit and ended up causing a lot of rustling noises at the start of test shoot. But I decided to put the LAV on a few objects closes to the actor instead and we got much clearer coverage of dialogue. A similar issue occured with the actress as the sounds of her zipper would interfere with the dialogue but I could not changed the LAV position as her dialogues happen over movement, so instead I asked Yat to boom much closer to her.

Overall, despite these issues I was happy with the coverage we got and enjoyed working with the team on set. Yat and Michael were especially helpful in navigating the issues that came up with sound!

POST PRODUCTION

Sound for Riot sequence + Dialogue Edit - 11th November

I recorded some sounds of feet stomping and things being kicked over in a room at craiglockhart with Kushal and Max before equipment dropoff. My plan is to layer these into a riot track.

After reviewing the film after picture lock, I took notes of the key sounds I would need to cover in foley.

Casper also finished the dialogue edit today. He mentioned that it was a fairly quick job as the dialogue was mostly clean, but some of Vedika's lines are bit unclear due to the zipper noises interefereing with the dialogue.

I also spoke with Zoë in the sound class today about how she would ideally record the layers for a riot sequence and her advise was to have people come into the dubbing suit and shout which would be recorded with a boom mic to give the layers a sense of space instead of sounding too compressed in the voice booth. I managed to ask the 'BNN News' group if I could borrow their mic and I would be using my recorder.

Foley session + Sound design elements - 12th November

After reviewing, the dialogue edit sounds really good, as most of the traffic noises have been eliminiated. I had booked out the foley room in the morning with Yat and Michael has come in to help. It was a fairly quick and easy recording session as the sounds I needed coverage for weren't really that complex such as light footsteps, door bell, and zippers.

In the afternoon, I had asked Yat, Michael, Max, Kushal and Casper to come into the foley room originally to record voices of them shouting in the dubbing suite as Zoë suggested, but after having a chat with the directors we decided against using chants or voices, and instead get noises of them trashing a shop. We moved to the foley room and gave the guys some directions on various things to make sounds against and I recorded the sounds with a boom mic.

Later in the day I worked on placing my chosen sound effects from the library and foley effects in place on the timeline, and edit the song sequence. Since I had limited time on this day I couldn't design as much but I had taken extensive notes from Kushal and Max on what their intentions were with the design.

Song Design + Sound effects edit - 13th November

The song was challenging to edit as the cleanest version of this song is one that has been already recorded from a radio, I wasn't sure how to make it sound more 'radio-like' to distinguish the song in the archive and the narrative. I experimented with the telephone effect, space plugins, and EQ but I could not get the distinct crackle that the director's wanted.

For the riot sequence, I found a track on a sound library that worked well with the sequence (at least to layer the recorded sounds), and EQ them to make them sound like they are coming from outside the shop. The sound effects edit also took a while to make them sound bassy and jarring as we got closer to the riots.

At home I experimented with the song on my laptop with a vinyl plug-in and added some crackle on another track that would work well with the song, and bounced some versions to show the directors.

Plug ins + Riot layer + Final Mix - 14th November

Kushal and Max were happy with the version of the song I had edited, so I moved that onto the timeline. I also finished making changes on the timeline based on useful feedback I recieved from fellow sound designers.

For the tableau imagery, Max suggested using some static sounds under rhythmic, pulsy and bassy sounds. Since we were short on time, I relied on sound libraries for longer sounds that could run through the whole sequence. I also sourced some sounds that Niamh and I had recorded with an electromagnetic field microphone during one of the sound classes, onto the track as they really matched the aesthetic that Max had described. (I also looked at some scenes from 'Under the Skin' and the opening sequence of Se7en)

I completed the final mix with the tableau sounds in place and the group came in for a final listen.

Bounce files - 15th November

I did some last minute touches in the morning and bounced the files for export!

Sound Report (click to view)

Scoping Document (click to view)

TEST SHOOT LINK