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wallwriterstuff · 3 years

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Guilty Souls ||Demetri Volturi x Female reader||

Warnings: Descriptions of fear and guilt but nothing particularly noteworthy.

Words: 4257

Taglist: @thelastemzy @a-avaunce @college-is-coming @alecvolturiswifeforever @broskibowser @volturidoll13 @raindancer2004

Summary: A request for @kpopgirlbtssvt

Demetri just wanted to feed. His food fighting back was never a problem before, and this is the first time he's ever lost that fight.

“We can meet back at the jet once dinner is done.”

“I shall see you there.” Demetri agreed. Felix was gone in an instant, eyes near black and his grin slightly feral. The tracker shook his head, unable to fight his amusement – he was glad he wasn’t a human on the streets tonight. Truthfully, he was tired. The mission was never going to be easy to start with, not with a psychopathic nomad attempting to become the UK’s next biggest serial killer. The murders had been brutal and attracted far too much attention, but she covered her tracks well and with no one left alive to steal the tenor from it had taken some old school tracking, some (falsified) detective work, and a little bit of luck for them to even begin to track down their killer. Now she was ash on the wind the lack of time to rest was really starting to show for the both of them.

Demetri could feel the burn much more prominently now that he had nothing else to focus on, like a ball of thorns rolling up and down his throat with every swallow. With a grimace, he turned his nose to the sky and closed his eyes. Felix was clearly in a good mood after the kill, eager to enjoy the hunt, but Demetri just wanted something within quick reach. Stretching his senses, he scoured the area, the sounds and smells of a city at night hitting him full force. He could hear traffic rumbling along the road, late night television and music pouring from apartments, people making war and making love and the faint shutting of doors as places closed up for the night. The air smelled crisper and somewhat damp, indicating rain was on the way, and the foul scent of pollution clogged his nostrils momentarily until he forced his mind to work through it and smell what lingered beneath. Tulips in bloom in the city gardens, greasy food from the chip shop across the road and…oh.

Demetri’s head turned swiftly, eyes snapping open and feet already moving in the direction of something truly mouth-watering. It made his throat burn fiercely, venom pooling in his mouth. It took him little time to find the source of the smell two streets over, moving swiftly away from him down the pavement with her backpack slung over one shoulder, the bag strap held in both hands. She seemed to glance about as she walked, the smell of old pages clinging to her. It failed to smother her mouth-watering scent, and Demetri was more than sure he had found himself quite the delicacy for the evening. There was something incredibly addictive about her scent, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but wanted to drown in. He would have played with her if he wasn’t so damn thirsty, tainted that delicious smell with adrenaline and fear for the twang it would give her blood, but the raging fire in his throat needed soothing.

Given the goings on he shouldn’t have been surprised that she sensed him behind her. He was tailing her at a very normal, human pace so as not to arouse suspicion from the many windows she passed. The woman was smart enough to stay in public view, but it would be no match for Demetri’s speed once he saw an opening, and there was just the opening he needed coming up. The moment she neared the mouth of the alleyway he moved, his speed propelling him so fast no one would see him as any more than a blur – and that was if they really looked. His grip on her shoulder was tight and he hauled her with him with ease, spinning her straight into the brick and clamping a hand over her mouth before she could scream. It didn’t stop her from trying, the muffled noise vibrating against his hand as wide eyes rapidly grew wet, spilling tears against his palm. Demetri inhaled deeply, baring his teeth as the thirst grew to unbearable levels, but he couldn’t look away from those eyes.

Shimmering Y/E/C stared at him with so much terror, his reflection in her tears absolutely monstrous. She shook like a leaf in a violent wind, struggling frantically against him in an effort to get away. He pressed close with a snarl, desperate to ease the ache in his throat, but even when he moved his mouth closer to the throbbing pulse in her throat he couldn’t bring himself to bite down. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly, his frustrated growl echoing off of the brick he had pushed her against. Her quiet whimper made him pull back.

“Stop struggling!” he hissed. She was trying to shake her head, still pushing futilely at his chest. He had to admire the fight in her and the way she fit so perfectly against him would have been sinfully delicious in any other circumstance, but not while she was looking at him like that. Those wide eyes were terrified, so incredibly frightened of him, and it made his stomach churn. He just wanted to feed dammit! Why was she making this so hard! Her heart was pounding in his ears, her blood roaring and racing beneath the surface of her skin, so why couldn’t he just indulge in it?

“Hel-“ his hand had slipped without him realising and he quickly covered her mouth back up as he tried to fight with himself. The frenzy was lapping at the back of his mind, clouding his senses and his thoughts, but the last vestiges of his sanity were clinging to her desperate attempts to preserve her life. He studied her facial features, trying to spot anything familiar. Maybe he was struggling because she looked like someone he knew? There was nothing there he recognised. Her hands must have been sore by now, his skin was literally crystallised for petes sake, yet still she didn’t let up the barrage of slaps and punches to his chest she had been delivering since he had attacked her. With a growl he brought his mouth to her throat once more, his teeth hovering right over the vein he needed to break.

One bite, just one little bite and she is all mine, I just have to bring my teeth together he thought.

Her muffled screaming picked up again, her body trembling so hard against his own his entire frame was starting to vibrate. With a groan, he flopped forward and hit his head a few times off of the brick behind her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t feed from her. He so badly wanted to, but he couldn’t. She stilled suddenly, his low moaning seemingly startling her. For a moment, all he could hear was her shaky, rapid breathing and the pounding of her heart, his own pained filled moans and the quiet sobs he was muffling still with his hand. She never stopped trembling and Demetri couldn’t stand it. He wrapped both arms around her tight, hoping to restrict her movements.

“Stop it, stop it stop moving…please stop moving.” He begged. He was slowly losing his sanity it seemed but all he could do was watch like an out of body experience was taking place, his mind spinning and falling away from him before it surged forward and all he could acknowledge was her fear and his hatred of it. She whimpered in his ear, her neck stretched so her chin rested on his shoulder awkwardly, but even the prominent way the vein stood against the thin skin of her throat couldn’t tempt him. Her scent had soured, no longer sweet and inviting but filled with the bitter twang of fear. Usually he would enjoy it. He could still feel the predator in the back of his mind howling in delight, but he couldn’t let the monster loose.

“P-please, please let me go, l-let me go please, please.” She chanted in his ear like a siren calling him to his doom, and like she had brainwashed him with four simple words he did exactly as asked. She looked shell-shocked he had relinquished her from his grip, and he could only imagine the bruises that were going to blemish on her skin from where he had touched her – another pang of self-loathing hit him. How could he have hurt her so badly? She was beautiful, even in the darkness of the alleyway with her face covered in tears, tracking mascara down her cheeks, he could see the beauty in every feature. How could he hurt a face so angelic?

“Go.” He ground out. There was absolutely no sense in him letting her go, but he was thirsty by now he didn’t want to risk anything happening to her. As muddled as his mind would that was the only clear thing that stood out to him. Demetri wasn’t sure he understood any of what was transpiring, but after another sharp order to move she was gone, leaving her backpack behind and fleeing the alleyway as he crunched a fist into the wall.

“You alright mate?” it was a man’s voice from the opposite end of the alleyway. He didn’t have her kind of sweetness, but it would do. The tracker pulled his fist out of the brick, the rubble falling to his feet and dust coating his jacket sleeve.

“No.” he said, because truthfully he wasn’t. He never let his prey escape, not once, not even on accident. Feeding was instinctual and natural, something every vampire learned to do from their very first day, so how on Earth after 2000 years of this life had failed at it so badly tonight? Footsteps alerted him to the oncoming man, and the thumping of his heart was enough to send Demetri reeling. His lips curled back over his teeth, thirst flaring once more and the frenzy rapidly flooding his mind.

“Here mate, why don’t we-“ Demetri’s teeth in his windpipe cut him off. They tore viciously through the flesh and muscle, a burst of hot, sweet blood gushing down his throat and soothing the inferno that was raging there. It wouldn’t be enough on its own but for the few moments Demetri let his mind go elsewhere, let his instincts finally take over. This was natural. This was normal. So why the hell hadn’t he been able to do it earlier? Only when his veins were dry did Demetri drop him to the ground with a relieved sigh. With the burn minimised it was easier to think, and the more he thought the more he realised what a mistake he’d made. That woman could easily run to the police and give an accurate description of his face, his clothing. He grimaced. He’d been absolutely foolish, letting her go like that.

Her backpack remained near his feet and he rifled through the contents briefly, looking for anything that might give him any indication as to what was so special about her, where he might start looking for her. There was a work badge stating her name and the logo of a bookstore he had passed while tailing her, and a quick rummage through her wallet gave him a full driver’s license and some debit cards with her signature on the back.

Y/N L/N.

He had been so caught up in the frenzy lapping at his mind he couldn’t honestly say which tenor in his repertoire was her’s, so he was going to have to track the old fashioned way. Inhaling, he winced at the irritating scratchiness in his throat when he caught her scent. He’d need to hunt again on the way but nobody would miss the drunk old man stumbling home from the corner pub would they? He didn’t think so anyway, and nobody would find him anytime soon given the lucky proximity of a wheelie bin. She must have ran part of the way, crossing more ground than he thought she could, but he did inevitably catch up. She was still snivelling, shaking with her arms wrapped around her as she stumbled along. Demetri felt his gut twist again at the noise. She was still so afraid…

“Miss L/N.” he called.

He should have guessed she’d scream.

“Someone-“ he zipped forward and quickly covered her mouth again, his expression pained. The guilt that ate him alive was less frustrating and more exasperating now. He would give anything to stop feeling this way. Heaven forbid he was turning into a self-righteous Cullen – Felix would never forgive him.

“Please do not scream, please, I just – your backpack, I needed to return your things.” He groaned. She stopped screaming abruptly, and Demetri held her backpack up between them. Her eyes snapped up to his, and with his mind clearer now it suddenly felt so obvious to him what had stopped him feeding on her before. Something in his abdomen snapped, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. Left dumbstruck, his hand dropped from her mouth and he was left gawping at her like a fish out of water. Her scent enveloped him not to taunt his thirst, but to comfort him like a warm hug, his mind halting dead in its tracks to clear all messy thoughts from his head like the clouds breaking to finally reveal the sun.

Mate.

She was his mate.

And she had just kneed him in the balls.

He crumpled like a puppet with the strings cut, grunting in pain while venom stung his eyes – even vampires were not immune to this particular trick. His groin aching horribly, he struggled to force himself to stand as she sprinted flat out away from him, her backpack in hand and ready to swing. Demetri tried to push to his knees and collapsed twice more before he finally found his footing again, swearing under his breath.

“Hey, hey!” She was frantically waving towards a passing cab. He groaned, stumbling forward a few steps until the pain receded enough for him to run after her. Demetri reminded himself to be gentle with her as he tugged her to his side.

“Please, if I let you go now far worse people than me will come for you and I cannot have you hurt by them. Tell him I have booked us an uber, his help is unnecessary.” He urged. She tried to pull her wrist back, her eyes welling with tears again. This was too public a place for this and the way her backpack swung in an arc towards his face was far too suspicious. She would hardly attack a friend or a lover after all.

“Just let me go, no one has to know, I won’t tell I swear.” She pleaded.

“I cannot, they will know, they always know! Please tesoro, do not make this harder, I am trying to keep you safe now and no more innocent lives need be implicated in this.” Demetri insisted, his eyes flickering to the cab driver as he started to pull up. Y/N tried to twist away again with a whimper so he did the only thing he could think to do. He had to cut through the fear, make her feel the same pull he did, even if her human heart felt it to a lesser degree. She squeaked in surprise when his arm curled around her waist to haul her in close, but even if her mind screamed no she melted into his embrace when his lips moulded to hers, her instincts overriding all common sense because he was her mate and with him, she was safe. His embrace was soothing and sweet, his body created solely for the purpose of protecting hers, and the way his mouth slanted across her own was something she couldn’t refuse.

The way they fit together was undeniable, the chemistry behind the simple movement of his lips, so chaste and so respectful with just the right hint of tongue when he was sure he had her following his lead was sublime in ways it had no right to be. It shouldn’t have felt so right to kiss a stranger, especially not a kiss that had been forced upon her, but she couldn’t honestly that, if asked if she’d like another just like it, she would refuse him.

“Miss? Did you need a ride miss?” the driver was leaning across the passenger seat now, the window rolled down. Demetri pulled back to stare at her, tenderly caressing her cheek.

“Say no.” he coaxed.

She swallowed thickly. “No.”

“Are you sure?” the driver asked, his suspicion aroused. Demetri kept his eyes locked on hers, his mouth pressed together in the hopes she would say the right thing. He didn’t want to manipulate her again. Y/N had yet to blink, still mesmerised by his vibrantly red eyes and the soul-shocking feeling of his lips he guessed. He had felt it to, his whole body coming alive for what felt like the first time in all the millennia he’d been alive. The sweet ecstasy in his veins had replaced any thoughts of the thirst he was still minorly enduring and he wanted nothing more than to satiate his every need in her. Demetri wasn’t foolish enough to think she would so much as let him look at her for some time yet.

“Y-yes, sorry, we’ve got an uber coming.” She stammered, blinking herself out of the daze. Grumbling under his breath, the driver pulled away again, and Demetri only let her go when he was far enough out of sight it wouldn’t be a bother anymore if she decided to assault him again.

“Good, you did well. You have to-“ she cut him off with a sharp slap to the face, one that left minimal impact on him but made her cry out and cradle her hand close.

“Don’t you ever, kiss me without my permission again! Just who are you!” she demanded. Demetri frowned slightly. How was he supposed to tell her? If she knew anything about him, even his name, she would become a target the minute Aro read his thoughts. Hell, she was already a target. She’d seen him, been attacked by him. The shame that bloomed in his gut was almost too much to bear and he tensed under her angry glare. He hadn’t done this right at all and Demetri knew he would have a lot to make up for in the centuries to come if she accepted him. Right now…right now he had no choice but to make the situation worse.

“I need you to believe that I truly am sorry,” he said earnestly, “That this was not the way I wished to meet you, that I truly wish you no harm, but understand that I have no choice. I am bound by laws you have to yet understand and the consequences for breaking them are severe. You must come with me now - please do not fuss! I will make your comfort my utmost priority but I cannot leave you here for either of our sakes.” He reached for her hand but she snatched it back, face pale as she took a step away from him. Demetri felt his heart shatter. The physical rejection stung even if she had no clue what she had done.

“I’m not going anywhere with you you nutjob!” she snapped.

“We have no choice. Please do not make me force you.” Demetri pleaded. He didn’t want to lay a hand on his mate but the choices before them were simple. Either Y/N came with him now and travelled in comfort to Volterra with them, or someone else would be sent to fetch her before she could cause any damage to the Volturi, and they would be far less gentle.

“Force me? You’re off your meds, you – you have to be crazy to think I’d go anywhere with you!” she took another step back, and Demetri took one forward. His expression was nothing but sorrowful, the anguish obvious on his face. He really didn’t want to force her to do anything, but she really wasn’t making his life any easier. Granted, he had forced them both into this situation but surely the mate pull should have been enough for her to trust him at least a little? The fact she was to overwhelmed by her fear of him to feel it was heart-breaking. That she had already rejected him because she would rather fear him then know him…

“Please, please Y/N.” he whispered, extending a hand to her. She shook her head, ready to take off running again, and Demetri closed the gap between them with ease. His arm curled around her throat, his lips moving to her temple. She was so fragile and it took a lot of concentration he honestly didn’t have to cut off enough oxygen that she would pass out.

“Stop -ah!” she cried out, squirming in his grip. Demetri winced.

“I had no desire to hurt you. I am so sorry.” He whispered, voice wavering slightly. As she slumped in his grip he buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes. He didn’t need to be a genius to know he had probably ruined everything with her before it had even began, but what could he do? He had no other viable option to him available, or he would have taken it in a heartbeat. He couldn’t stand the disapproving look on Felix’s face when he walked onto the jet with an unconscious woman in his arms.

“If you think I am listening to you play with your food all the way home-“

“She is not my food! She happens to be my mate, though I am sure when she wakes up she would much rather throw herself out of this jet than come anywhere near me.” He snapped. Felix remained oddly silent after his outburst, and with a heavy heart Demetri made sure she was settled in one of the plush leather chairs, her backpack within arms reach and a belt secure around her waist for the take off. Once he was sure she was safe in her seat he slammed the door shut and locked himself in the bathroom, desperate to clear his head of her dizzying scent and bring some clarity to the negative thoughts swarming him. Felix watched him go in mild astonishment. The tracker was usually the cool, calm, collected one of the group. He had never seen his old friend this upset before.

Demetri didn’t remerge from the bathroom by the time she woke up either, stirring slowly and scrunching her nose and eyes when the light hit her full force. Her eyes wandered right over him, not really registering the giant’s presence the first time around. Felix tilted his head when her head snapped back in his direction, her heart picking up in her chest and grip on the armrests tightening.

“I – wh-where are we? You, your eyes…” she breathed.

“I’m a vampire.” Felix told her bluntly. A snort escaped her before her hand slapped over her mouth. She had to take a minute to study him, see if he was lying.

“Your as crazy as your friend. Oh god…oh god where it the demented bastard?” she whispered, curling her knees up as tears welled in her eyes, “What’s h-he going to do to me?” Felix couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Would you like the short or the long version?” he asked.

She gulped. “Sh-short?”

“He’s going to turn you into one of us as the law demands and love you like no other man ever could for the rest of eternity.” Felix shrugged. It was amusing to him, how her jaw dropped open. She couldn’t hear the way Demetri growled at him to shut up from the bathroom. Her hands immediately scrabbled for the belt at her waist and his eyebrows rose.

“You’re all crazy!” she snapped.

“Where do you plan on going? It’s a long way down, little human.” He chuckled.

“The bathroom! Away from the crazy!” she cried. Felix’s laughter echoed about the jet.

“There’s a crazy man in the bathroom to.” he promised. Demetri appeared in a flash, his expression furious.

“Could you at least attempt to be courteous? She is terrified enough.” He hissed. The giant leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly amused at the way she immediately swung her backpack into his face. “And will you stop hitting me with that bag!” he cried exasperatedly.

“You kidnapped me you freak!” she yelled.

“I did what I had to to save your life!”

“You were the one who put my life in danger! You – you –“

“Now now children play nicely.” Felix drawled. They both shot him frustrated looks, and he couldn’t hide his grin when he realised just how similar they appeared. He had no doubt that this rocky start was going to haunt Demetri for a while yet, if only because his mate seemed quite unwilling to let it go, and yet... Felix watched them argue with keen eyes, the pair going back and forth as Demetri quite honestly told her his motivation for the attack and subsequent kidnapping. Occasionally he would chime in with something witty only to be told to shut up, but it was quite obvious to him what neither of them seemed to notice what he did. With every angry word they seemed to smash through a barrier, the pair gravitating towards each other like magnets.

He doubted they’d last a week apart.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #volturi #demetri volturi #x female reader #demetri volturi x female reader #felix volturi #is living for the entertainment he's getting #poor demetri

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Pandora’s Box. Yan Chrollo x Reader

Warnings: Medicine mention, descriptions of anxiety, and implied minor character death. Word count: 2.7k.

A simple plan is the best kind to have.

The less variables at play, the higher your rates of success are. You’ve anticipated some margin of error, a safety net of sorts, to be used if necessary. Everything within your realm of influence has been taken into account. Your friend in a car meeting you at a dead spot, a train ticket purchased with a prepaid visa card on a VPN, and a few precious pieces of jewelry to be pawned off at a later time. Scraping these assets together is a commendable feat, having to skulk around to make it this far.

Nothing feels out of the ordinary, you think. Your preparations are almost complete. All that’s left is to wait to ensure the beast in hiding cannot come for you.

Prayer doesn’t traditionally feel worth the effort -- any god that’d allow you to be subjugated to a hell such as this is no god worth pleading to -- but tonight is different. Tonight you pray to any deity that may spare you some pity, that this plan may succeed without a hitch. The time signals the beginning of the next phase, the most vital aspect.

Tonight’s soup had an additional ingredient, a generous helping of sleep inducing pills. To avoid suspicion, you partook in the meal as usual, hoping to cancel out the effects later by ingesting a gratuitous amount of energy drinks. It served the original purpose of fending off fatigue, but not without presenting a unique set of problems of its own. The caffeine has served to heighten your anxiety, upping what was already a nerve-wracking experience to a new level.

Your guts feeling like they’re rearranging themselves, your body not capable of forgoing fidgeting a single moment. No longer can you tell if it’s nausea, stomach pain, or hyperventilation. Maybe it’s everything at once. All you know is that you’ve never had your body working against you more than now. Every nerve is frayed, your senses on high alert to any shadow or noise.

Deep breaths no longer bring you reprieve. Each raggedy breath you manage to squeeze out is an accomplishment, overshadowed by the fear that he might hear you. How irrational a thought, that Chrollo would be capable of picking up on the differences in your breathing from afar. It doesn’t matter how illogical the worry may be. With Chrollo, you’ve learned that nothing is impossible. To expect the unexpected has been the mantra of your mind these past few months.

Just a bit longer... I need to know he’s asleep for sure. Or else it’s over.

Your foot taps against the ground in a frantic rhythm, ears ringing like funeral tolls. The last time you dared peak into your shared room with Chrollo, he was supposedly fast asleep, out like a light. What should’ve been a cause for victory brought nothing but a fresh wave of dread. A guessing game ensues. Trying to decipher his body language from earlier for hints only serves to make you feel worse. You’ve been so cautious, walking on sheets of thin ice at every move. Chrollo hadn’t acted out of the ordinary to your knowledge. Not that he has a way of acting ‘ordinary’ anyways, your limited understanding of his person having to suffice.

Should everything be going according to your design, your friend will be in position to pick you up. There’s no more stalling, the point of return ahead of you.

It’s time.

You do a final check over your mental checklist. Your backpack is stocked with the necessities: toiletries, a few changes of clothes, a filtered hydro flask, non perishable foods and your train ticket. To any onlooker it might look like you’re going hiking. Sporting worn sneakers, loose-fitting clothes, and having your hair pulled away from your face. This is really it. The culmination of sneaking around behind Chrollo’s back for months, unfolding before your very eyes. Everything is falling into place as it’s meant to.

You walk to the door.

Each step you take is quiet as can be. Every shuffle of clothes, or the slightest of creaks from the floorboards, causes you to wince and pause. This penthouse has served as your personal circle of hell for months on end, the walls absorbing your cries and screams. You despise this place with every fiber of your being. The antique décor, the ancient texts that lay strewn about, the scent of sandalwood that you find nauseating.

Ghosts of the past return to haunt you as you walk through different areas. Swirling around your head, they threaten to consume you, chipping away at your resolve. His hypnotic voice resonates in your mind like whispers of the serpent in the garden, tempting you. Weighing you down. Not even your own mind is a safe haven from his speech that disguises itself as flowery, when the reality is far more sinister. Chrollo’s words are constricting vines, lined with thorns, embedding themselves deeper into your flesh the harder you try to pry them out.

“Don’t you remember how difficult your life was before me?”

Another step.

“All those people who left you, who took advantage of you?”

Your hands shake around your small, homemade EMP. It’s made from spare parts you managed to find around the penthouse, clumsily assembled through trial and error. The pulse it emits is next to nothing. Copper coils threaten to fall loose at any second when you raise it to the security system by the door. Holding your breath, you press down on the trigger. The device lets out rapid clicking sounds, the security monitor flickering before going blank.

“I know you’ll come around.”

Finally, come the excessive locks on the door. The compressed air you said you needed for cleaning is next up. The can is cool against your trembling fingers, white specs decorating the locks as you spray them over. With some persistence, they come undone, one after the other. Unshackling you from the depths. You open the door that’s mocked you relentlessly for months, withholding your prized freedom.

“But even in the event that you don’t...”

The surrounding world is a blur of colors. Your eyes don’t focus on any object for too long, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. It feels as if your stomach is in your throat when the elevator starts its descent. He had you up on the fiftieth floor?

You fixate on the screen, numbers not flashing by fast enough for your liking.

40.

20.

“Well. There are always ways of overcoming inconveniences such as that.”

It’s an extravagant lobby. Far more luxurious than you could ever have hoped to afford, this building being one of the most exclusive in Yorknew. The person at the front desk calls out and you ignore it. You must look mighty suspicious, not that you care. The priority now is escape. Running out the revolving door, crisp autumn air greets you. You’ve never felt more grateful for the bustling streets of the city. Even at night the city remains awake, making it easier to blend in. No one out here spares you a second glance as you weave in and out of fast paced crowds.

23rd street. That’s where you’ll meet up with your friend, who will then transport you to the subway. Glancing up at the signposts, you realize you’ll be in for some walking. There’s no letting your guard down. Constantly looking over your shoulder, all you see are the faces of strangers. You’ve never felt so grateful to be a part of a crowd.

Finally, after walking for what feels like an eternity, you spot your beacon of hope. A clothing store’s bright neon sign, which your friend sits parked in front of. Since these stores are closed this time of day, the crowd that once surrounded you have thinned out, yet you try not to fixate on the lack of cover. Jay walking across the street doesn’t prove to be an issue. The pollution from the city hides the stars behind a layer of smog, streetlamps your lone source of light.

Heart hammering in your chest, you tap on the window of her car with urgency. “Amelia, it’s me. [First].”

You hear the doors unlock.

Taking it as a sign she heard you, you waste no time swinging into the passenger seat of the car. Amelia immediately turns the keys, car humming to life. Your chest heaves with exhaustion from the draining events. This is it. The second to last step before you reclaim your freedom. It’s almost like a dream, the light at the end of a long tunnel. Amelia’s appearance is just as you recalled it. Hazel eyes, tan skin, long black hair, and an average build. Your heart leaps at the sight of her.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” your friend confesses in a hushed whisper. “[First], what... what happened? You completely fell off the face of the Earth for months. Then you contact me out of nowhere? What’s going on?”

It isn’t easy meeting her eyes, so you don’t. “I... I don’t know if it’s safe to talk about it. The less you know, the better.”

She takes a moment to assess you before sighing. “Alright, I can tell this is serious. Just... I’m glad you’re alright.”

Amelia begins driving without another word. Silence hangs in the air, offering a time to reflect. Your plan, Chrollo, what you’ll do next... it whirls around your head like a vortex. A gut feeling refuses to leave you alone whenever you picture his face. A dreadful thought that this entire escapade was too easy. Is it just your paranoia? It could very well be. Hugging your backpack closer to you for comfort, you’re startled by Amelia suddenly speaking up.

“The subway station, huh,” she reminiscences aloud, eyes flickering from the road to you. “So you’re leaving Yorknew?”

There’s no way to continue dodging her questions. “... Yeah, I am.”

“Where are you going?”

It’s natural she’d have lots of questions. Had the situation been reversed, you’d have plenty of your own. For her wellbeing you don’t want to indulge more than necessary. Lying to someone who is helping you lives a sour taste in your mouth. It’s for her sake, you remind yourself. Having to involve Amelia in this at all was the last thing you wanted to do.

“I’m going to Zaban City. I have some extended family there.”

Amelia hums in confirmation to your story. “Your cousin, right?”

“Right.”

She stops pressing that particular subject, likely sensing your apprehension. You take advantage of the peaceful atmosphere and close your eyes. The sleeping pills from earlier are starting to grow more prominent. Losing consciousness is the last thing you need right now, but indulging in some much needed rest sounds too inviting.

“There was something else I was wondering about.” Amelia starts, earning your attention. Looks like sleep will have to wait for later. You yawn, stretching your weary limbs, and wait for her to continue. She smiles, dark eyelashes fluttering shut in deep thought.

“Oh, sweet [First],” she whispers your name in the gentlest of tones, and looks over at you. “Why are you so selfish?”

You blink, the words not settling in immediately. “What...?”

She continues without missing a beat. “You used to be so envious of me. Always pretending to play nice, because you were too passive to say how you really felt. How you hated me.”

“Amelia? What are you talking about? I... I never hated you, what--”

“Even now you can’t bring yourself to admit the truth,” she sighs. “Not that I’m surprised. You’ve always cared way too much about what people think. Why would now be any different?”

Her unexpected attack on your character has you shifting in your seat. Every word that leaves her lips is in her voice, yet feels so different than her normal character. Did something happen in the time Chrollo took you away? Anxiety rears its ugly head at the line of questioning. You take a sudden interest in your fingers, playing with them on your lap.

“I don’t understand where any of this is coming from.” You admit, eyebrows furrowing together. The shift in atmosphere is tangible. What was once a warm reunion under stressful times has corrupted into a frosty confrontation. These insecurities of hers that laid dormant in your heart... why is she bringing this up now? In your most vulnerable hour? Nothing is making sense. These ugly feelings of yours were only ever confided in one person.

“You knew it’d be a danger to my life to contact me. You knew that, and still you did it all the same. I wonder why that is. Could it be... that you wouldn’t care if I died? If I was tortured for aiding your escape?”

Your heart drops. This knowledge... how can she know any of this? Amelia used the word escape, clear as day. Is that a coincidence? You look over at the car door, seeing it’s locked. Something’s not right here, you deduce. I don’t know what it is exactly, but something is very wrong...!

She continues on. “I really do want to know what your justification for this is. Out of everyone you could’ve picked for help, you specifically chose me, knowing the danger it’d bring. Did you think I’d be spared in some sort of miracle?”

The spare moonlight streaming in illuminates Amelia’s face, highlighting how pale her skin looks. Veins that would normally not have been so prominent have a blue tint, her lips a similar shade. Your eyes drop to the unnaturally large scarf that surrounds her neck. It’s not that cold out yet, why is she wearing something so cumbersome? Reaching out with unsteady hands, you pull the fabric back. Your gut feels like it’s been punched at the sight, eyes widening in horror.

On the back of her neck is an antenna, with bat wings on the end.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit--

In a frenzy, you stretch forward, searching for the button to unlock the car door. The second you find it, it’s pressed, and you unbuckle your seatbelt. You hear her speaking up again. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from your chest as you jump out the car, grateful it isn’t going too fast. Skin meeting asphalt, you hiss at the pain, rolling onto your side. None of that matters now. How did he do it? He has to be nearby, maybe you can still make it to the station in time. Your head hurts from the impact, legs wobbling like jelly.

It’s difficult to focus. You grit your teeth, utilizing the remnants of your strength to get to your knees. Why did the caffeine have to wear off so soon...? It was going so well. You finally had your chance, your time to take back your life. To go back to how things were. Struggling to get to your feet, you throw your backpack off, praying the lost weight will help you get up.

“You never answered my questions,” calls a deeper voice. You gulp back acidic bile as a hand is extended in front of you. “I was hoping you would.”

Your head hangs down. It’s over. For a transgression such as this, you imagine you’re in for quite the punishment. How funny a thing fate is. Similar to streams of rushing water, there are many twists and turns, leading you down paths you never wanted to go. Fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh of your palms, the pain anchoring your wandering mind to reality. All other parts of your body have lost feeling. Numbness is what you’ve come to know.

The devil incarnate bends over, taking your tearstained face into his fingers, and lifting it to meet his eyes. An abyss of grey stares back at you, devoid of humanity. Taking pleasure in besting you yet again. Disappointment is mixed within an interest to see what you’ll do next. There’s no smile on his face as you’ve come to expect. You see an empty shell of a man glowering down at you, from a place just out of reach.

“I can’t say I’m too pleased about this, [First]. We’ll need to have a long discussion, don’t you think?”

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #chrollo imagine #chrollo lucilfer imagine #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo imagine #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #Hunter X Hunter #hunter x hunter imagine #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #my stuff

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vocalyunho · 4 years

Text

Why’d you only call me when you’re high?

pairing — San x reader (fem)

genre — angst, smut

word count — 2.8k

warnings — mentions of alcohol, oral, fingering, spanking, choking (not really), explicit unprotected sex.

synopsis — San’s on your doorstep again, high and needy, like every other time. You can’t bring yourself to say no to him though, not when your emotions for him are this strong.

A/N: AM’s “Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” was the inspiration of this.

“are you up?”

San’s text got followed by one more shot that made his throat feel like he’d breathe out fire in the form of bright blue flames. He tried to walk to the bathroom and once he reached it, his already blurry vision got blurrier, as he held himself up by holding on the sink. The clean mirror in front of him, that reflected his -not so good- state, told him it was about time he left but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not with his mind on how you weren’t there with him, by his side, and he knew, very well, he shouldn’t want you there.

All his calls to you went unanswered and all his texts got overlooked with one single text that said it all “why’d you only call me when you’re high, San?”. He couldn’t bring his mind to logically answer to that, not because he wasn’t sober -even when he was he couldn’t answer to that- but because there was no answer to his liking that could explain that.

Exiting the -God knows what type of- place he was in, all the streets were empty. The dim yellow lighting from the streetlights was the only thing that helped him walk on the sidewalk and not in the middle of the road. His jacket felt heavier than ever, but the cold breeze of the spring night didn’t let him take it off. He walked slowly, his mind going dizzier by the bright lights of the ‘twenty four hours open’ little shops that were there for people who were out for the night, like him.

He walked past one of them and, turning his head to the right, he thought he saw you in there. His eyes widened but after a while, your -almost too real form- vanished proving him that this was just his mind playing tricks at 3:30AM. San shook his head in an attempt to make it see things as they were but as he kept walking, he passed in front of a dark alley in which two dudes were smoking something illegal, probably. His heart skipped two or three beats when he thought he saw you there again. This time though, he wasn’t so naïve. He shook his head harder and when he opened his eyes again, he was sure you weren’t there. His legs continued walking on their own. The sounds of the meager cars passing by him, echoed in his ears making his head throb at the too much noise pollution. He thought he saw you everywhere…

He didn’t have a final destination when he left the bar, he walked and walked but when he reached your neighborhood, he felt like he was finally home.

Your bell rang, echoing in the silent apartment, and you flinched at the unexpected visit at such hour. Your eyes left the tv and, walking to the door, you looked through the peephole before opening it with a heavy heart. And there he was, at your doorstep. Again. His eyes filled with lust and need like every other time but, this time, there was something else there too that you couldn’t figure out. You’re tired, so tired of it, but you can’t bring yourself to refuse to his request…to refuse to him.

“I was so worried”, he said with heavy eyes, his hand against the door frame, holding him up “why didn’t you answer to my calls, I didn’t know if you were okay”

“you need to leave, San”

“let me stay just for the night”

It’s funny how many times you’ve heard that sentence leaving his plump lips and it’s even funnier that you let him stay every time, even though things always end up the same. With you under him and his lips on your hot flesh that feels like it needs him and only him.

…And his lips were on yours in a second, this time too, after the door was shut close. His hands all over your body worshiping the curves sculpted by heaven itself or so he thought. San got rid of his jacket fast, that was now laying on the wooden floor of your small living room and his shoes were here and there as he took them off without glancing at them. He was too busy sucking on your neck, marking it, making it his but at the same time, not his, at all.

Your mind said no, but your heart could only scream yes. You could smell every single drop of alcohol he’s consumed tonight, you could sense every bit of need in his actions and every bit of desire in his breathy moans against your neck, but not a single hint of love.

His body was so close to yours, you could feel every inhale and exhale and he kept coming closer, moving your body backwards until you reached the plum bedroom. He knew your house better than you at this point, but what hurt you the most is that he also knew your body better than you. He’s kissed, marked, licked, explored all of it and you’d lie if you said you didn’t like it. But it hurt.

San reached for the hem of your white t-shirt and only detached his lips from your neck for a second to take it off. Like a starved man, he attacked your lips moaning your name in the process. Before you could think of it, he started unbuttoning his own shirt and once it was completely open, your fingertips moved to his exposed body like they had a mind of their own. You caressed the toned chest and flexed abs up and down the same way your tongue had done millions of times before. He moaned in your mouth and your knees weakened.

Your body was aching both because of need and pain. San always kept coming back to you and the gullible hope in your heart, always thought it was because he wanted you like you wanted him. He needed you like you needed him…with the actual meaning of the word, not just for the animalistic drunk sex you had.

He pushed you on the edge of the bed and slid your pajama pants to your ankles till they were off and thrown somewhere on the floor along with his own. You crawled further up the bed as he got rid of his boxers, like it was the most useless piece of clothing ever. His cock sprung up, red, swollen, needy as always, with pre-cum already leaking from the tip and you knew how this would go but you still stayed there, anticipating for it.

You only needed him to care. You only needed to wake up the next morning and find him next to you on the bed, but it never went like this.

He crawled on top of you and before he could move, you held his wrists tightly. You just wanted to see him for a bit, to know that he was really there, to let him know that this means more than he thinks to you…and he stayed. He stayed staring at you and you felt like this was the first time he’s ever looked in your eyes. You always thought his face was a masterpiece, a painting in a museum where all other works of art would be jealous of the beauty it held. His lips were always red and plump, his nose high and elegant like a Greek god’s and his eyes…these were your favorite. They held the entire sky and all of galaxy’s stars, no matter how corny that sounds.

“I don’t have a condom”, he broke the silence but you expected that from him, he couldn’t keep himself any longer, probably.

“you never do”

“you’re on birth control, right?”

“yeah”

“that’s my baby”

He kissed your temple and you wished he could, for once, mean both the “my” and the kiss.

“you’ll do as I say and you won’t come before a let you?”

“yes”

San was always slightly aggressive when drunk, but especially talkative and very much horny.

He lowered his body until his face was in between your legs and grasping your thighs, he didn’t even dare to take your panties off. The fabric was in between his fingers in a second and when he slid it to the side, he pecked your clit softly. The familiar tingling feeling washed your spine. He ran his tongue along the entirety of your center, collecting some of your silk and once it was down his throat, he pressed his tongue on the bundle of nerves. Your eyes shut close fast and a small moan left your lips, and before you could even get used to his actions, he puckered his lips and sucked hard “o-ohmygod”

You grabbed his hair and your fingers got clumsily tangled in the waves. Your hips backed up asking for more but he only dug his fingers on the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping you down and open for him to do as he wished. The lewd sounds of your silk getting sucked echoed in the silent apartment, driving you crazy and you felt your center burn. San’s eyes were closed until he took one hand away from your thigh to wipe the wetness from your cunt, before pushing two digits in. “holy shit-”

He only moaned at your curse as he synchronized the quick thrusting of his fingers with the lapping of his tongue and you pulled his hair when you felt your climax reaching you “S-San imgonna come”.

“don’t you dare baby”

He took his face away from your cunt and brought it on your level, but the thrusting of his fingers quickened making your eyes roll back and your head pin to the pillow. “let me see that pretty face of yours”, he groaned and pulled your chin down. You couldn’t care less at how he stared you, you only needed to chase after your orgasm even if he told you not to. The sounds from between your legs got squelchier and he bit his bottom lip in an attempt to make his hand keep going. You moaned loudly when your legs started trembling and San pulled his fingers out of you fast.

You whined at the sudden lack of penetration but he straddled you and brought his fingers to your lips, tapping them softly “open up”. You did and he inserted them to the pit, making you gag but as he pulled them slowly backwards you got to taste yourself, moaning both at the taste and the feeling of his fingers in your mouth. San twitched.

“I think you should be a good girl and fall on all fours, mhm?”

He said and took your underwear off as he left your lap. He always loved it doggy and as you held yourself up and turned around, he grabbed your hips bringing them higher than the rest of your body. Your face fell on the mattress and before you could see him from the corner of your eye, a loud smack landed on your ass.

“fuck baby, why so sensitive today?”

The way you backed your hips down made him wonder what changed today. You usually push them higher to earn more but not this time.

“I need you San-”

“you need what?”

“you”

He caressed the reddened flesh before landing another, harder smack on it “you need what?”

“your cock-”

“that’s right”

“inside me, pplease”

He guided himself to your entrance but only nudged it up and down, earning a loud sigh from you.

“San- please”

“I love it when you beg”

“fuck please”

Every pleading felt like music to his ears. He adored it when the walls of your pride fell apart for him, mostly because he knew you weren’t like this in other spectrums of your life. You never begged anyone for anything, but you did beg him because you needed him.

“your pretty begs only get me harder, babygirl”

Your heart clenched at the nickname “please San, let me feel you”

“only because it’s you”

He took his hand off his member and held on your sides as he pushed in slowly, groaning at the tightness around him.

“fuck yes”

It felt more relieving than painful and you sighed loudly at the long-awaited stretch. He went halfway in before drawing his hips back and snapping them forward again. His hands roamed your sides, moving you against his dick slowly and it would feel like lovers making love, if only there was the tiniest hint of love hidden in his actions or words. Sometimes it fooled you, making you feel like there really is something bigger there, something that could grow and even reach the level of love but you were wrong. If love exists in one party, it can never be called proper love…

His thrusts started getting faster and you clutched on the sheets on each side of your body for support. The force of his hips made you bounce against him and every time he drew back and in again, your bodies collided rhythmically.

“shit-”

San’s eyes narrowed as he tried to thrust faster, but he didn’t warn you, and once he bottomed out, a loud cry got mixed with your whimpers. Your knees weakened and you felt like collapsing while San only went faster, shortening his thrusts but hitting deep.

“S-San”

You tried to hold his thigh as your legs spread further without realizing, but he grabbed your knees and brought them up as they should be again. You cried out and pushed your ass up to help him reach deeper but he throbbed and the groan the left him came from deep in his chest.

“d-do you like that?”

“ohmygodd”

He slapped your ass and it hurt more than before but a smile creeped up your lips knowing how you would see his mark on you the next morning, once again. When your hand on his thigh got held, it took you by surprise. Your wrist was in his palm and, in a moment, he brought it up on his lips and kissed it softly contrasting the way his hips treated yours.

“fuck baby, you’re so good”

“San I’m-”

“come for me”, he almost growled and wrapped his hand around your throat to bring you up against his chest. The warmth on your back made you give yourself completely in him. He held you as he wished, he moved you as he wished, he fucked you as he wished…and you could only love it. Your head fell back, on his shoulder and you could see him from a new angle. His jaw was clenched and sweat was already dripping from the side of his face. He looked too good like that.

He saw you staring at him and the exposed flesh of your neck was more than enough to occupy his lips. He kissed on it like when he first came in your apartment tonight, but this time he nibbled and sucked more gently. He wanted to hear all your sounds, to know that he was the one responsible for them. Your eyes rolled on the back of your head when he hit your g-spot and his lips on your neck made it feel like heaven. He twitched and let a deep groan tickle your skin, you felt him trembling…

Cries of his name rolled off your tongue and your walls clenched hard. He held your side tightly with his left hand while the other was still around your throat, holding gently rather than harshly. His thrusts began to slow down and get longer but your mind went dizzier and dizzier. It was like you were drunk on the pain of him not loving you back instead of the bliss he was sending you to. There was no way you could take it anymore, you couldn’t keep bearing this pain, you needed him to be with you on daylight too, not only during the night when he’s drunk and in need of your comfort.

“baby-”

“San…pplease come-”

Your voice was desperate and almost a real cry as your climax got over you and you came around him, trembling and falling forward but he kept you steady. He forced his hips forward, with heavy pants and quivering thighs.

“can I stay afterwards?”, he spoke softly even though he was on the verge too.

“you already are”

“not only till the sun rises”

He kissed your lips and came with a deep groan, painting you like a canvas.

#ateez san #san smut #san angst #choi san #choi san smut #ateez smut #ateez angst #kpop scenarios #kpop fics #kpop smut #san x reader #ateez au #if you haven't yet please listen to 'why'd you only call me when you're high' by the Arctic Monkeys

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tokyotxehyun · 4 years

Text

txt as aesthetics/sensations you feel when you’re together

this was written on mobile so hopefully the layout isn’t horrendous. my first time writing anything like this so hopefully it isn’t too bad haha.

yeonjun:

black ripped jeans, leather jackets, soft white cotton t-shirts, black platform/combat boots

walking along the city streets at night, the air is warm, with a slight chill. his warm fingers are entwined with yours. the light from various neon signs highlights his features in a variety of colours

it has rained so the ground is wet and it smells like rain and wet concrete. yeonjun’s cologne is there too, your nose could pick up on it but it wouldn’t be as strong as if you were physically closer to him.

looking at the reflections that you both cast on the massive glass buildings that you wouldn’t usually see during the day, and the reflections cast in puddles on the ground, the lights reflecting there too

when he sees you looking at him in the reflections he smiles.

“the real me is more handsome then the reflected ones”

“yeah, but i can’t stare at you while walking beside you”

cue him taking both your hands in his and walking in front of you, backwards, grinning

“now you can stare at me all you want”

soobin:

light blue denim jeans, your favourite t-shirt and abandoned converse in favour of sandy bare feet

you’re driving somewhere, it’s summer and it’s a road close to the beach, the windows are down and you’re going along at a steady pace. there’s no one else on the road.

the salty sea air is pleasant, reminding you of the times you’ve visited the beach as a child.

the sun has set - it’s golden hour, and it’s casting a warm glow everywhere. your cheek is resting on your hand, your elbow resting on the open window.

it’s hot, but with the windchill from the moving car, you’re somewhat cooler.

soobin rests his hand on your thigh, a comforting weight, while the other remains on the steering wheel. you look over at him, and smile as you put your hand on his one. he’s smiling softly too.

you turn the stereo on, and music quietly plays through the car speakers. you recognise the song. it’s ‘like our summer’ by... well you should know

you sing along, and soobin loves it. you might not be amazing but you’re not awful either. he sings his lines for you, and you both end up laughing as he pulls over to kiss you.

beomgyu:

oversized hoodies and sweatpants

you’re sitting on the grass, back to a tree. it’s spring, but on the cooler side. it’s mid afternoon. it smells like freshly mown grass. it’s the first time the sun’s been out for some time and the weather is decent.

you’re reading a book or sketching, and he is sitting next to you, quietly plucking the strings of his acoustic guitar. you hear him humming along occasionally.

he has his instax camera with him (with the cute stickers you gave him once), and you take candid photos of each other. you have about 20 polaroids collectively spread out around you, developing.

“you look cute in this one” you pick one up - it’s a polaroid of him that you took just after you’d kissed him. pink cheeks, mouth in a perfect smile, eyes smiling too.

“you can’t take pictures of me looking like that!”

“what, looking like the cutest mess ever?”

“yeah!” you both giggle. he puts his guitar down and you sit next to him, head on his shoulder.

taehyun:

long brown or black wool coats, plain cream or white button up shirts, slim fitting pants.

you’re sitting somewhere, you have absolutely no idea where. you’re away from the city and light pollution, lying on a picnic blanket with taehyun, staring up at the night sky. it’s the transition between autumn and winter, and it’s relatively cold.

you’re also covered in one of those thick mink blankets - it’s soft under your hands and smells like taehyun.

you love space; you know a lot about it - constellations and stars and planets and galaxies and satellites and everything else.

you’re pointing to various planets that shine brighter than most of the stars, and pointing out constellations and getting sidetracked easily - you start rambling about andromeda, sirius, and alpha centauri.

he loves to hear you talk about things you’re passionate about, and he tries to remember everything you say for later conversation.

“oh my god i’m sorry, i’ll shut up now.”

“no, keep talking. i like to hear you talk about space.” he’ll pull you a little closer.

you’ll see a meteor (shooting star) streak through the atmosphere, far above

“what did you wish for?” you ask

“for us to stay like this forever. you?”

“the same thing” you kiss him. it’s soft and sweet, and you couldn’t ask for anything else.

kai:

mismatched socks, vans, colourful t-shirts, denim overalls/dungarees

you’d be with him in an old-school arcade with the likes of pac-man, space invaders, street fighter ii, etc. you used to play a lot of emulators on the computers during school with your classmates.

it’s noisy - various sounds from different games play, a constant stream of noise. the shots of laser beams, punching, and the like. the loudest of all though, was kai

he’d be full of energy and would playfully raise his voice when you won or got a higher score than he did

“hey! i would’ve beat you if you weren’t distracting me!”

after a few more hours you’d leave the noise of the arcade - it was dusk outside. kai would be very quiet; a stark contrast to his loudness in the arcade.

“... kai”

“yeah?”

“who do you think won overall?”

“well... i’d say me but your cuteness was a distraction so i’ll give it to you”

“thanks” you’d tug on his sleeve to make him stop walking and wrap your arms around him in a hug.

#tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together imagines #txt imagines #txt yeonjun #txt soobin #txt beomgyu #txt taehyun #txt huening kai #tomorrow x together imagine #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #yeonjun #soobin #beomgyu #taehyun #huening kai

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baepsaetan · 4 years

Text

Banner by @thebannershop

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6, pt. 7

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 7.4k

The gang he’s been kidnapped by apparently doesn’t own – or at least use – a car, not even a terrain-exclusive one, and they set off on foot from the little apartment complex the men live in. He doesn’t know what time it is, and the sky’s too clouded to give much of an indication, but it’s too light to be night. Mid-afternoon, maybe? There are a fair few people out, and they wind through a series of side streets, cutting by buildings that are tall but also sagging, as if the weight of keeping themselves and their hundreds of thousands of inhabitants upright for half a century or so is becoming too much. Jin considers running, or calling for help, but Jungkook had none-too-subtly shown him the pistol he’s carrying before they’d left, and he hasn’t put it away, either. Besides, when they break through the side roads into what seems to be a main street, Seokjin has other things to think about.

He’s lived in Triptych all his life, but it might be more accurate to say he’s lived in Glass Harbour, instead. The neighbourhood – built in the ocean a short way from Triptych’s shoreline – is of course isolated from the rest of the city, but Seokjin has never realized just how removed he’s been, too. He’s been outside of Glass Harbour plenty of times – even been to the Curve, where they clearly are, given the general disrepair and the lack of multileveled streets – but never without at least several guards and a friend or two, and never really on the streets, either. His family owns several hovercars that simply coast up to whatever place he wants to go; walking the pavement is for the poor.

Triptych is a sprawling city of towering steel and glass buildings, shining pathways of cable and artificial stone arching across various levels, letting citizens walk in the sky as they move through their lives. Far younger than the Bay Area, it is a city of technological advancement and drive, of lights and steel and laws written by a Meth chequebook.

The Curve is an exception to that rule. In the early days of its inception, Triptych had been built on what was essentially two hills, with a deep cleft between the pair. That inconvenience was offset by the location – close to the shore, and, more important for the three Meth families who founded the city, perfectly situated next to a wide ocean shelf on which they could begin to build their Glass Harbour. As the city grew, all soaring heights and chrome exteriors, the gap between the two hills was overwhelmed by the buildings going up on all sides. A deep dip in the urban landscape, it received less sunlight and fresh air than neighbouring districts, and so was forgotten by the Meths who poured money into construction and maintenance.

In a city devoted to worshipping the future, the Curve is a neighbourhood left in the past. There are no networks of raised walkways to direct people through the area. Everyone too poor to move elsewhere operates on one level: the ground.

And there are apparently plenty of those people. The trek through the narrow, pitted roads, Namjoon ahead and Jungkook behind, has revealed more citizens than Jin was even aware lived in Triptych. They have to push through several crowds, hassled people in impatient groups shuffling outside a building or at a transit stop, waiting for things and headed for places he can’t conceive. Even though it’s raining, a miserable shower that sinks straight through his sweater and makes things worse, almost no one has an umbrella, or even a hood. They just accept the rain.

In the same passive way, they accept the haze smearing across neon-bright signs set up far above their heads, the pollution distorting ads for any number of cheap looking products, most of which Seokjin can’t guess the purpose of. Everyone walks quickly, eyes down or on their companions, and accepts – or ignores, it is hard to see a difference – the constant noise of the advertisements. The disembodied voices fall down from the signs and the smog like the conversations of chain-smoking angels, never quite fully understood, too distorted to catch.

“Get a… Won’t regret the…”

“…seat in the back and…”

“…like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Buy now!”

The noise and lights and people crash over Seokjin with a weight that feels more physical than mental, and he guesses these people can’t even afford neural implants or ONIs. That must be why all of the ads are out in the open instead of transmitting into the ocular displays of specific consumers, targeted based on purchasing history and tendencies. He’s only experienced op ads once – no business would dare bother a Meth without permission, and he’d just tried it for fun, at Taehyung’s suggestion – but even that hectic mess of visual heckling had been less overwhelming than the blaring sounds and sights assaulting him now.

And then there’s the sheer struggle of getting where they need to be. Jin actually finds himself grateful for Namjoon. The pink haired man seems to have no issue cutting through the crowds, and, deliberately or otherwise, usually clears enough space for Jin to get through in the process. A few times it isn’t quite enough, and, unused to the broad-shouldered sleeve, Jin jostles against a passerby or two – with irritated responses – but without Namjoon, he probably would have drowned trying to get just a few steps, let alone miles.

When they finally slow, approaching the mouth of an alley off the main street, Jin’s feet are aching. The once white sneakers they gave him have seen better days, and they’re even worse now than when he put them on more than an hour ago; it feels like the three of them walked through enough trash and mud to build a small mountain on the way here, and his shoes reflect that. Namjoon and Jungkook had been oblivious, but he’d spent most of the trip trying (and failing) to navigate puddles, wrappers, cigarette butts and things he couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.

That, coupled with Jungkook almost literally breathing down his neck the entire time, gun in hand, and snickering whenever Jin slipped or winced or hesitated, has put him in a mood that could only charitably be called bad.

There’s also the whole being kidnapped and forced to return to the spot of his death thing.

“Will you stop that?” he demands when a foot knocks painfully against his heel for the umpteenth time, whipping around to glare at the (presumably) younger man. Jungkook puffs out his cheeks and smiles, a small overbite becoming evident with the little grin, and the innocent expression is infuriating.

No Meth would ever leave a defect like an overbite alone. So far as Seokjin is concerned, it screams poverty. And this drudge had the nerve to kick him! Repeatedly! And grin about it!

If the irritation boiling under his skin is any indication, he’s probably turning an unattractive shade of red, but before Seokjin can make what might be described as a mistake and take a swing at Jungkook, Namjoon intervenes. “Leave him alone, Kookie,” he orders. “Go watch the entrance, make sure no one’s going to start anything.”

Jin is dismally certain that the chances of that are low. He’d tried making eye contact with anyone even remotely respectable in appearance on their way here, some half-baked notion of escape in his head, but very few people even looked at him. Those that did were quick to look away, and he hadn’t been able to tell if that was the fault of the intimidating sleeve he’d been stuck in, or Jungkook looming over his shoulder and scowling, or something else altogether. Regardless, the small number of passersby who happen to glance into the alley all suddenly remember important engagements elsewhere and rush off, leaving Jin stranded.

Better to just bide his time. Or something that sounds similarly calm and planned and definitely not freaking out.

“So,” he says, looking around the alley, and falls silent. It’s certainly not a glamorous spot to die in, or even breathe in. Jin literally can’t imagine why he would have been here. There’s dirt and garbage on the ground, like a carpet of very dubious design that releases an odor he suspects hints at the more disgusting uses this alley has been put to. A bunch of graffiti is scrawled on the walls, senseless black and red scribbles splattered across the bricks like blood and ichor. Someone even rigged up a holographic bit of disruption, a horrifyingly grotesque man, rail thin and warped, who flickers into being (and scares the hell out of Jin) when they get close enough to activate its sensors. The image is deteriorating, pixels missing here and there, and the whole figure wavers in and out of existence erratically. However, that doesn’t stop the holographic from going through a series of obscene gestures, the least of which is giving viewers the finger.

Namjoon is staring at the wavering vandalism. “Do you know,” he asks suddenly, “how hard those are to make?”

“Ah…” The random question takes Jin off guard, and besides, graphics have never been one of his interests.

“It’s hard. Not if you have a computer program to do it all for you, but the program would cost too much for an individual to own.” His heavy eyes flick to Jin and then back to the figure. “Most individuals. So, someone built that, piece by piece, in some kind of limited process, and they did a decent job. It looks good.”

“Good,” Seokjin repeats doubtfully as he stares at the holographic, wondering if there’s something he’s missing about the distorted piece. Or maybe Namjoon’s just a nutcase.

“Not the subject, obviously,” snorts the nutcase in question. “But the skill is there. Good rendering, skin tones… The facial expressions are on point, too. Took time, took effort, took knowledge… and it’s sitting out here, in some random alleyway, just to fuck with whatever police were here to investigate your murder. See, the mechanism is latched in place? The police didn’t even bother to get rid of it, and since they’re not around anymore, it’s not getting seen by anyone.”

This doesn’t exactly feel like small talk, but if Namjoon is trying to make a point, it’s joining the advertisements prattling above Jin’s head, lost in the haze. He rolls his shoulders, impatient, and moves away from the holographic. A few seconds later it dies away. “Look, I got killed here and I don’t care about the quality of some stupid vandalism. You dragged me to this place, now tell me what’s next.”

Taking that with a mouth that twists a little, Namjoon pivots, points to a spot on the ground. It is conspicuously less filthy than any other spot. “You were found around there. This alley is a dead end, so the guy who killed you was probably close to the entrance when he did it… unless he was supposed to meet with you or set up an ambush or something. Just… try to picture it all. See if anything comes back.”

Compliant, if not exactly confident, Jin looks around more carefully, willing himself to ignore the unpleasantness and stench and focus on the specifics instead. He trails his fingers over the cinder blocks with only a slight grimace for what his touch smears through, studies each line and scuff in the grime at his feet. There are no windows opening up onto this alley, just featureless walls rising up on either side, blank and disinterested in the little drama taking place between them.

"When did I get shot?" he asks.

"From the police files we, uh, liberated, around two in the morning."

So, it was dark when it happened. If they're close to Ringwanderung – Jin can't be sure, he hasn't seen the building so far and he doesn't remember it's exact location from the last visit he can remember – the roads probably weren't deserted. People would have heard him if he screamed. But did he scream?

The rasp of the ground is rough against his fingertips, and when he pulls them away, they're blackened with dirt. Just a bit of dirt, no blood, even though this is the spot he died in. The police apparently did a good job cleaning up; if his faulty memories are at all accurate, he bled like his heart was trying to water the dry ground. But what else is there? Night time...

He's starting to feel strange again. Disconnected, although this time it's not the sleeve that he's floating away from. No, this time the body stays with him as he detaches from the present, forcing his mind into the treacherous, bleak path of the shadowed past. There's nothing there that's solid. It's disintegrated even more than the vandalism Namjoon was so intrigued by. He has – feelings. Impressions. Maybe-might-if-could-be's that float through his head and come apart when he tries to grab them. Words lost on the tip of his tongue.

He didn't scream. Jin is suddenly certain of that. He didn't scream for help, because the man – threatened something. Threatened someone? Someone – Jin loses it. But the man – in his mind, the man is the holographic, twisted and broken and ominous as he looms up in the darkness, with no solid features to nail in place. He veers in and out of focus, and his words are as intangible as his features. Something about – about wanting, about plans collapsing, about frustration and fear, about defiance, about no no no no you can't–

With a gasp, Seokjin shoves himself up from his crouch, staggers into the wall and stays there, needing the uncaring surface to keep him upright. His chest is aching, fear closing ghostly fingers around his throat, the sensation a faded pressure. This time Namjoon doesn't try to help, but neither does he rush Jin or demand an update. That makes it – easier – to get his breathing under control, but it does nothing to help the simmering pressure bubbling under his skin. He's clenching his jaw, he realizes numbly after a moment, and can't seem to get himself to relax as dissatisfaction upbraids his self-assurance.

All of that, and he still has – nothing. Absolutely nothing. A bunch of gibberish, even less useful than a holographic placed in the middle of nowhere.

He hits his fist against the wall he’s leaning against, more of a tap than a punch, but Namjoon’s eyebrows lift at the aggravated display. “I’m guessing that means you can’t remember anything important?”

“I’m trying,” he pants. “But this is just – garbage and more garbage. I can’t put anything together.”

“Tell me a bit about it.”

“What’s there to tell? I – I got threatened by the guy, I think, and he wanted something. I don’t know if I gave it to him.” Jin coughs, trying to clear a throat that’s gone dry. “Just to be clear, that’s all maybes. I don’t – I can’t tell if it’s real or not.”

“What did he want?”

It’s not purposeful – or at least, Jin’s pretty sure it’s not – but there’s something extremely aggravating about the other man’s persistence. “Yah! Are you deaf? I told you, I don’t know!”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he turns away. "So, we're at more than one dead end," he comments, and though Jin catches an attempt at a smile at the corner of his mouth, he sounds dispirited. Not angry. Just… tired. Jin is surprised and relieved that his outburst hadn’t elicited a violent retaliation, but there’s something dimly reproachful keeping his throat tight as he follows the other man to the end of the alley. When Jungkook looks over inquiringly, Namjoon shakes his head.

"Let's go inside the Ring and see if there's anything we can pick up there." Passing a hand over his face, for a moment the pink-haired man doesn't follow his own command, just stands unmoving on the sidewalk. It lasts for all of two seconds, but it still makes discomfort sink seething hooks into Jin, somewhere low in his stomach. Obviously Namjoon is struggling to hold himself together, and that doesn't seem to speak well for Jin's immediate future. Or for any of their futures, actually. When he glances at Jungkook, the boy is biting at his lip and watching his leader from the corner of his eye, presumably just as concerned, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Dropping his hand, Namjoon gives himself a little shake. As though they were the ones dawdling, his voice sharpens as he snaps, "Let's go."

True to his capturers' words, the Ring is just a few buildings down, though the street curves sharply upward and had made it difficult to spot the sign from further down the way. The sign isn’t garish, which is surprising given how many eyesores Jin has seen on this street. Three neon rings surrounded by a fourth, all of them differing shades of blue, with Ringwanderung shot through them in a dark blue approaching black. The sign probably looks quite beautiful at night. The Ring itself is a squat building of modern black and grey angles, shorter by two or three floors than the ones on either side of it, but it's also wider than either of them. If Jin remembers correctly, it has several underground floors, too, where most of the drug dens and prostitute rooms are. Above ground, funny enough, was for above ground deals, like dancing, hanging out and eating, drinking alcohol and using some of the milder intoxicants available. Very PG 13.

There aren't all that many people frequenting the club when they enter the Ring, including security. That's not entirely a surprise, given the time, and Jin pauses just inside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the slightly dimmer setting while they scour the red and black couches scattered across the room. He's half-hoping he'll see a familiar face, someone to run to and beg for help – several of his friends, particularly Taehyung, like to come here, enjoying the establishment’s slight edges. Jin’s come to realize those are pretty laughable. What’s edgy about a building complete with a complement of security guards?

Although, now that he thinks about it... his friends might be wearing familiar faces, but he isn't. What would they do if some random stranger came up to them and started ranting about needing help?

Not react quickly enough to save him from being shot by Jungkook or Namjoon, Jin's pretty sure of that. Even Taehyung, with his special empathy implants, would probably take too long.

Both of his escorts are tenser in this closed setting, anyways. Somehow Jungkook manages to inch even closer to him than when they were walking, and Namjoon doesn't let the same amount of space grow between them as he leads the way through the lounge, deeper into the club. "Keep your head down," he mutters to Jin. "I don't want someone recognizing the sleeve."

Jin stops dead and hisses, “What do you mean, someone recognizing the sleeve?” Seconds later, as Namjoon regards him tight-lipped and silent, a horrified revelation stumbles into his mind. “You – I’m in – You put me in someone’s body illegally? Someone who lives here?”

“Now’s not the time to get into the details, Seokjin,” Namjoon says from between clenched teeth.

“Not the time!” His voice leaps like it’s trying to high-five the ceiling. “Where is – who is – how –” It hadn’t even remotely occurred to him that they might have put him in a sleeve with an owner who wasn’t either dead or locked away or had moved on from this sleeve. He’d just – Meths took their sleeves from others if they took a fancy to one, sure, but that was an exception, not the rule. Most of them were lab-created, or, if biologically based and from parents, at least genetically enhanced. The point being that they were new, and not… He’d known this was a used sleeve, the impulses proved that, but he hadn’t thought that the previous user might still be around! Or their friends!

Namjoon must see the alarm taking over Jin and tilting precariously towards a full-blown meltdown, because he steps closers, grabs Jin’s arm. “Relax, okay? I promise, we’ll fill you in on everything, but not right now.”

He stares wildly into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and they feel like locked doors with bright OPEN signs above them. A lie and a disappointment. “Just tell me. Are they dead? The person who had this sleeve… Did you kill them?”

The fingers wrapped around Seokjin’s arm tighten to the point of pain, but the other man doesn’t look away. Doesn’t hesitate when he says, “No. They’re not dead. Even if they deserve to be. We’ll talk about the rest later.”

Seokjin is released and his captor turns away, leaving a throbbing ache in Jin’s arm and a colder hurt in his chest. He doesn’t know if Namjoon is lying to get him to go along with this. Is that why this body is so bruised and battered? Because whoever had worn it before ‘deserved’ it?

“Like I said,” Namjoon tacks on, voice cool, “just keep your head down. Don’t look at anyone for too long. I don’t even think he went here that often, only a few times.” He starts to move away.

"A few times is a few times too many! Maybe you should have thought of that before?" Jin gripes, unmoving, sweat pouring down his back and making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The wary looks he darts at the club inhabitants don’t reveal anyone particularly interested, even despite his outburst, but he feels like a target’s been put on his back. "This face isn't exactly indiscrete. It practically begs for attention. You should have grabbed me a hat or something."

Jungkook shoves him in the back, the gun's barrel pressing a painful indent into his body, but that doesn't stop Jin from seeing the way Namjoon grimaces, his head falling, accepting the blame as yet another heavy burden.

The dance area is even emptier than the lounge, with only a few groups of people standing here and there, drinks in hand. The small cluster of booths off to the side are completely empty. A trio of girls are swaying slowly in the middle of the floor. They can't be dancing to the music – there's a quiet but fast electro-pop song playing in the background – and he can only assume by the relaxed way they move that they've been sampling some of the wares that the Ring offers. There's a bar at the back of the room that might sell such wares, a long counter with a bunch of stools manned by a sole crewman. He's not exactly the friendliest looking person Jin's ever seen, with a bristling black beard and eyebrows so thick they could have crawled down his chin and formed another beard. He’s also giving them a once over.

Apparently failing to notice those alarming traits, Namjoon heads straight for the counter. "Arven," he says warmly.

“Namjoon!” the bartender calls back, just as warmly. “If it isn’t the bulletproof boy. I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” When Jin moves to get closer, interested in spite of himself, Jungkook grabs his sweater, pulls him back with a warning look.

“They’re not talking about shit that concerns you, Meth,” Jungkook says. “Just some business deals. How ‘bout you just stand there and look good until they’re done? I bet you’re good at that.” The acerbic words sound a bit awkward, like the kid is trying them out for the first time, and after Jin stares at him for a few seconds, Jungkook flushes and looks away.

Jin mumbles, “I am good at looking good,” and yanks his sweater out of the other's grasp. Still uncomfortable, he scans the room, observation skipping over several people before he freezes. One of the girls on the dance floor, a red head in a floral green summer dress, is watching him, her gaze glassy, and he smiles nervously before looking away.

“Uh, Jungkook?” he whispers. “I think that girl recognizes me.”

“No, she doesn’t know…” The strangled way his guard’s words die might have been funny, if the girl wasn’t making her way over.

“What do I do!?”

“Get her to go away!”

“How?”

Jungkook doesn’t come up with anything before the girl is in hearing range, and a quick look at his wide, panicked eyes makes Jin suspect it would have taken awhile, anyways.

"Hey, Siwoo," the pale girl breathes in an uncomfortably familiar way when she halts in front of them. Her eyes trail across his face, noting the cuts and bruises, but she makes no comment. Is it the norm for this sleeve, or just not something you talk about in public? "It’s so weird to run into you now."

Jin casts a pleading look at Jungkook, but the young man just edges closer, hand under his coat and definitely cradling his gun. Seokjin doesn’t dare turn around enough to see if Namjoon has noticed their interaction, but surely he won’t be shot? If he can just fumble around and pretend to be who he’s not? And if he can’t? Is he – or the girl – going to be killed just because he can’t act like a thug? The unbidden thought sets his teeth on edge, and Jin tries to pull his face into something tough and removed.

"Uh, hey," he says, wondering if she's high enough to miss any discrepancies in his mannerisms. Her expression is spacey enough to give him hope. "I had something to pick up nearby, and I, uh, figured this place had a nice ring to it, you know? Hahaha." Her delicate brows furrow, button nose scrunching, and he thinks that maybe Siwoo doesn't use puns too often. Or maybe it was the way his laugh had spiked seventy octaves, nerves punting it up like a pro-kicker over a goalpost.

Before Jin can devolve into panic too much more, the perplexed expression dissolves, replaced by a knowing smile. "You picked up some of the new stuff from Kali, huh? Bet it's got you going." She steps closer, looking back at her friends suggestively. "If you shared some with us, I bet we could really keep you going, Siwoo."

"Ahaha..." His cheeks flaming red, Jin wonders if spontaneously combusting would destroy his stack, or just this sleeve. He also wonders what kind of guy Siwoo is, that girls are willing to make that kind of suggestion, and so boldly, too. The thought does nothing for his embarrassment. "I, uh, can't. Not this time. I’m meeting with, uh…"

A stroke of genius hits, sweeping away most of the mortification. Namjoon said that whoever this body belonged too, he deserved to be dead. Who else could that be, than one of the gang members targeting Namjoon’s group? If that were true… If this girl knows Siwoo, then maybe she knows something about that, too. And if he can find it out…

Jin slaps his forehead, thickens his voice further like he’s seriously intoxicated. “Damn… You know the one. He’s the guy who…” Jin leans closer, pitches his voice lower. “Well, you heard about that Meth that got murdered the other night? It’s the guy who offed him.”

She jerks back, alarmed even in her haze, and gives Jungkook a wary once over. Her voice lowers to a hiss. “Keep your voice down, Siwoo. Fuck, you’ve had too much if you’re talking about David. ‘Sides, that’s your guys’ business, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, David, sorry.” He tries to wave an airy hand, but it’s shaking too hard, so he runs it through his hair instead. The motion doesn’t do much to soothe his racing thoughts. “This shit I’m trying is just, uh, really heavy.” She nods slowly, but Jin doesn’t think she’s quite convinced. He tries a different tactic. “Actually, honestly, I’m just kind of pissed off. I heard David got a bunch of creds or something from getting that guy, and he isn’t sharing it with me. But I still gotta grab shit for him?”

As he hoped, the promise of gossip eases her a little, even as a confused frown slopes her mouth. “I heard it was a lot, too. Something big or something, everyone up top was freaking out. Someone said Rafa smiled when he heard. It’s weird he wouldn’t share, when I heard you’re the one who helped him out.” Jungkook moves, a sudden twitch, and she eyes him again. Jin could have kicked him in the shin. Abruptly losing interest, the girl shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not my business. Besides, you never introduced me to your… friend?” Jin stiffly nods. “Who is he? Have I seen you before?” That to Jungkook directly, and with her attention diverted, Jin is free to look at his guard, too.

He hadn’t realized it before, too engrossed in the pretence, but Jungkook might very well be having a heart attack. The kid is shaking and sweating, pink staining every visible patch of skin, and his head is ducked so low his chin might as well be fused to his throat. Jungkook stutters something that’s completely incomprehensible, before clearing his throat. In a very small voice, he says, “Probably. You probably saw me. I – I’ve been here before.”

Such a novel experience as his captor floundering should really be enjoyed, and Jin is spitefully ready to sit back and let Jungkook continue to struggle. It seems no more than justice.

Unfortunately, impatient or too drugged to hold on to a train of thought, the girl shrugs again, not even interested enough to get a name. “Alright. Anyways, Siwoo, are you going to the Meth party? I’ve never been to one and I hear it's going to be wild! Some of the other girls were invited last week, but since that Meth got messed up, not many of you guys are coming here to throw around party invitations. So far none of you assholes have asked me to go. Plus I doubt any Meths are gonna be sending out invites, either."

The girl is definitely working another angle, and Jin blinks rapidly, trying to keep up with the information. "The party? Uh, I haven't decided yet. It's... when is it again?"

"Christ, Siwoo, maybe you should lay off the stuff for awhile. I heard everyone from your group is invited. It's, what, a few months from now? Remember? If you feel like going, you should hit me up; I want a pass."

"A pass?"

"Duh. Not like the Meths are gonna let just anyone stroll into Glass Harbour, especially not at a party like that." The redhead rolls her eyes. “Can’t have people like us dragging in mud, right? I want to –” One of the girls still on the dancefloor calls out a name, Natasha, and she glances back. Her friends make beckoning gestures. Natasha waves at them and looks ruefully at Jin. “My friends are calling. I’ll see you later, okay? Anytime. Hope stuff works out with you and David… And seriously, let me know if you’re going? Or if you just want to hang out…” She trails away without another look at either of them.

Beside him, Jungkook inhales violently. Within a few seconds Namjoon arrives at their side, face calm but eyes demanding as they turn to Jungkook. The brown-haired man hurriedly says, “I think it’s fine. She’s a friend or something, not someone that knows this asshole is missing.”

“And Seokjin didn’t…” Try to clue her in, Jin assumes Namjoon is asking. He lifts his chin, outraged by the question.

“No,” Jungkook replies, “nothing like that. Actually, he – I think he pretty much fooled her.” His tone could not have been more grudging if he’d made a concerted effort, though before Jin can smile at the faint praise, Jungkook cuts that pretty short. “She was so high I think a pole with a face stuck on it might have fooled her, though.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that while Jungkook was imitating the pole he just mentioned, I was finding out things! A lot of help you were, by the way,” Jin adds with a sour look at Jungkook. Yeah, he definitely prefers the kid flushing in embarrassment instead of wearing a smug grin. At least the former is cute instead of insufferable.

Namjoon forestalls anything either of them might have added. “You can tell me about it when we leave. I talked to Arven, mostly business, but I asked him about the murder, too.” As Jin begins to frown at that information, he continues. “Not about you specifically, just in an indirect way. He didn’t know much about it. Said something about an unusual amount of Meths coming here, and not just thirteenth sons and daughters, either, but even a few heads of houses.”

He looks so excited by the news that Jin feels a little bad to let him down. “That’s not that weird. There are trends, right? Ringwanderung has been gathering popularity for awhile now; it’s not odd that some of the heavy weights would eventually stop by. It’ll be a thing for a bit – maybe a while longer than usual, since I got, uh, since I died – and they’ll move on to other things.”

The way Namjoon’s shoulders slump is distracting enough for Jin to ignore Jungkook’s comment about flighty bastards. Hands hovering and waving awkwardly, Seokjin says, “Well, it might be important. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that I got hurt just when they started coming here.” It’s definitely a coincidence, so far as he’s concerned, but it’s nice to see the gang leader take a deep breath and straighten a little.

“Okay. Well – we’ll figure it out. I’m guessing being here hasn’t struck anything in your memory?”

Jin looks around the Ring. He remembers it well enough, but just from night and weekend sprees, hazy and splotched with drugs and alcohol. There’s nothing immediate about the memories, nothing that says he’s about to stumble onto a massive revelation. Hesitantly, wanting to give it his best try, he spends a few minutes wandering around, his two captors tailing him, but by the time they circle back to the dancefloor, he hasn’t found anything. He doesn’t really want to go downstairs, either, not with this company. After a few more silent seconds of observation, he shakes his head.

His companion sighs, but less heavily than the last time. “It’s time for us to go, then. This was a long shot, anyways, and the less time you’re in the open, the better.” When he gestures, Jin precedes him out of the dance area, leaving the pop music behind, with Jungkook trailing them both.

They enter into the lounge again, soft lights a distinct change from the darker illumination of the dancefloor, the private conversations a pleasant background noise. Jin tunes them out; he’s attempting to calculate what else he has to offer, since this trip has been essentially a bust. Was the Meth party significant? Who was hosting it? He can’t remember being invited to one recently, but that could be his amnesia in general, or maybe he just wasn’t friends or acquaintances with the host. The latter was admittedly much less likely – there weren’t all that many Meths, especially ones influential enough to host parties that normies could be invited to – but if the whole gang was invited, that had to be important, right? Only, what could it mean? What…

“Ah, we’re gonna find something tonight! I can feel it!”

“Sir, it’s barely the evening and we just got here. Besides, we’ve been here so many times in the last few days. What makes today different?”

“It’s a feeling! I’m absolutely positive someone here knows something.”

“…sir, you’ve tried already… Why don’t we just go home…?”

Jin’s concentrating so hard that it takes him a moment to realize that he knows both of the voices coming from a cluster of couches not far from them. When he gawks in that direction, he definitely recognizes the tousled head of dark brown hair just visible above the chair’s back.

A surge of relief hits him, thunderous comfort resonating through his nerves, so powerful that he stops dead and feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Without conscious decision, the name bursts from him, as natural as his own. “Taehyung!”

The gun that’s suddenly jammed against his spine, hard enough to make his mouth tighten in pain, is expected. After all, even as the word had left his lips, he’d regretted it, had wanted to pull it back and give himself time to think instead of showing his hand so early. He’d expected the consequences.

But he doesn’t expect the glacier cold voice that issues from behind him to belong to Namjoon.

“Put your head down, now,” demands the voice he hardly recognizes, and even as Taehyung stands up from the couch and turns their way, Seokjin complies, sets his stinging eyes on the red carpet at their feet. Namjoon snatches his arm, bodily forces him to sidestep away, and Jungkook casually paces in front of them, blocking Tae’s line of sight. “You say anything, you even breathe wrong, and you die. So does your friend,” Namjoon says quietly, his perfect enunciation of each word somehow more frightening than if he’d been shouting.

“What is it, sir?” asks Taehyung’s companion, and Jin knows it’s Drayton, the Kim family’s personal driver. Probably here to drag the man home on his father’s orders, but roped into whatever TaeTae is doing.

When Taehyung replies, he sounds miffed. “I thought I heard my name.”

“Really? I don’t think I…”

You did, Seokjin wants to scream, and he wants to cry too, because God, he’s been so alone, and Taehyung is right there. But a new terror is puncturing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and this jagged fear has nothing to do with the pistol pressing into his back. It has to do with Taehyung’s curious, clever eyes, and the way he sees things that sometimes he shouldn’t, and the way he wants to help when he shouldn’t, too.

If Namjoon had been just a little slower – if Jin had been just a little louder – his friend would have seen him, maybe even recognized him. And Jin would have had just enough time to see something like bewildered joy bloom across Taehyung’s face before Taehyung, one of the best people he knows, was shot to death, and who cared if it was just a sleeve death? Jin is walking proof that the experience is a horrible one. And the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until after the fact.

The thought makes him nauseous, literally nauseous, and Namjoon practically has to drag him through the lounge and outside. The air’s still stifling despite being outdoors, and when Seokjin looks up all he can see is buildings and grey haze. No sky to speak of. Yet somehow the rush of people is still present, going through their day as if they don’t have an ashen weight over their heads. It’s smothering and does nothing for the frenetic pounding in his chest or the queasiness in Jin’s stomach.

A harsh shove by Namjoon sets him into a stumbling walk, the gun falling away with his captors hemming him in on either side. After a few blocks, the pink-haired man asks tersely, “Do you think we’re being followed?”

Jungkook says, “I haven’t seen anyone. No… I don’t think so.” There’s a beat of silence between the three of them that’s so profound it almost blocks out the sounds of street traffic, the noisy chatter of the people they’re flowing through. Jungkook breaks it. “We shouldn’t have brought him. Or we should have made sure we had control of him. We shouldn’t –”

“I know, Jungkook. I know.”

Silence again, deep and miserable and difficult to walk in. Jin doesn’t know what to do, what to say. The constant fear that’s been lapping at his feet or swamping over his head is proving too much; his lips and fingertips are tingling, but Seokjin is numb to everything else. His feet slog through a sticky puddle of someone’s discarded drink without pause, and the clang of his foot hitting the mostly empty can doesn’t even make him glance down. It’s hard enough to just keep his legs moving.

They cover several more streets before Jungkook says, small and unhappy, “Sorry, hyung. I should have kept a closer watch, anyways. I got… distracted.”

“…Nah. S’not your fault. Just bad luck or something. Maybe we’re cursed.” It’s a joke that falls so flat it’s almost 2D, and when Jin’s eyes drift over to Namjoon’s tight face, the man doesn’t really look like he’s joking, anyways.

They’re off the main road now, passing through an industrial zone with cars lining both sides of the street, but few people are in sight among the clusters of squat, stained buildings. Jungkook kicks at the chain link fence they’re walking next to, making it rattle. “It’s not bad luck. It’s him. Why’d you have to go do something stupid like that, huh?” he abruptly demands of Jin.

Jin, grateful to be more or less ignored until now, hesitates to answer. Jungkook’s question isn’t even that mean, more frustrated than anything, but Seokjin can’t tear his gaze from the cracked pavement they’re walking over. Truth is, he’s been wondering the same thing himself. Had he really almost gotten Taehyung killed? All for – what? A second of relief that he wasn’t the only one in this horrible situation? He’d already concluded that no one could help, at least not quickly enough, but he’d called for his friend despite that.

What does that make him?

Once again, Namjoon intercedes on his behalf. Sort of. “It doesn’t matter now, Kookie. We got out without anyone important catching on. All’s well that ends well. A fairy-tale finish.” The bitterness is absolutely impossible to miss by the end, but when Jin risks a look, Namjoon isn’t directing the vitriol towards him. He’s wearing an indrawn expression, fine brows caving together, and Jin doesn’t think it’s the encounter with Taehyung that has him so upset. Or at least, that’s not the only thing.

Namjoon catches him watching, however, and his brows draw down even more. “Jungkook’s right, though. It was stupid. What did you think would happen?”

He waits to feel the sharp prick of defensiveness, but it doesn’t come. “I… I didn’t really think, it just… came out.”

The ice that was in Namjoon’s tone before has crept into his eyes when he says, “Next time – if there’s a next time – you have to think. Because I know this situation sucks, but I’m not risking my crew for a Meth who puts his mouth before his head again. Next time…”

“I get shot. I die. Yeah, I get it.” And he does. He really kind of does. So much so that it does nothing to the leaden mass sunk into every atom of his body.

The tight hollowness in his throat is only growing, a gaping emptiness that’s threatening to climb into his head and plummet into his chest. There’s regret, sure, regret for saying anything, regret for not saying enough, regret that he’s here at all, but the fear is a wrung-out towel, strangled and nearly dry. All Jin wants is to be somewhere else. It’s hard to look away from both Jungkook and Namjoon, since they’re on either side, so once again his gaze finds the ground.

Which is why Jin completely misses the woman, dressed in dark clothes with a black face mask, who suddenly steps out from behind one of the cars ahead of them. There’s a gun clutched in her hand. He misses the way she lifts up the weapon and aims – right at Jin.

He doesn’t miss the crack of the gun going off, though.

#namjin #namjin fanfic #my fanfic #namjoon x seokjin #member x member #seokjin #namjoon

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bards-witcher · 5 years

Text

Perdita - Chapter 4

So I’ve changed up the layout of the chapters just a little, so they may be a little different from the first time around in an effort to clean things up a bit.

As always I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think?

Previous lll Next

It’s hours later and he’s still on the roof, the fire having been put out by emergency services long ago as he now lay on his back to stare up at the stars, barely able to make them out due to pollution of the city on the night’s sky.

At this moment he yearned to go to the countryside, to the small clearing through a forest which he and Luke used to camp at to take themselves away from the stresses of daily life, to just take a deep breath and enjoy what little time they had with the other.

He liked to think that Luke was up there now, up in amidst the stars he loved so much watching over him, however, the thought was quick to sour in his mind, Luke would hate who he’d become and especially what he’d done under G’s ruling, not that he’d had much control over it.

Giving the sky a final look, he stood up, grabbing his bag before he slowly made his way down the fire escape, ever mindful of the growing pain in his ribs as he landed lightly on his feet in the now dark alleyway, taking a moment to orientate himself before he made a move to leave.

However, he’d only made it a couple of steps before the feeling of eyes on him had him stilling and pulling the knife he’d stashed in his belt, once again trying to reason that it was simply paranoia, but he had two gangs looking for him after all and having been in this line of work for so long, he knew when to trust his gut.

The sound of a loud crash of metal near the road had his hand tightening around the knife in his jacket pocket and like lightning turned towards the sound only to make out a flash of blue dart around the corner of the building.

He ran out of the alley then, his knife brandished as he followed the flash of color before he quickly got into a defensive pose as he expected a fight, only he saw nothing, almost as if his mind had conjured the whole thing and nothing had happened as he looked down the long empty stretch of road.

The quiet of the street was eerie and did little to put him at ease, he stayed there for a moment longer before putting the knife back in his pocket, his hand never leaving its hilt as he began to walk through the dimly lit street for a place to sleep for the night.

**********

He thought it would take a lot longer to readjust to homelessness, it having been almost two decades since he was last on the streets, but strangely, it was like riding a bicycle.

As much as he wanted to, he knew skipping town wasn’t an option he could afford, it would be almost too easy for either gang to chase him down like a wild animal and kill him, besides, he had unfinished business here.

Due to his broken ribs, he had been forced to lay low for the first few weeks, never staying in one part of the city too long and rarely frequenting the same place twice, trying to move only under the cover of darkness to make hiding from prying eyes just that bit easier.

However, during the day he was still constantly on the move, stopping only to sleep for a couple of hours at a time before moving on to a new area to rest for another few hours. It was tedious and tiring but given that he’d had no sign of G’s gang or of his old friends in the last few weeks it must have meant that it was working until it didn’t that is.

It was his fifth week out on the streets and he was currently headed to the ‘local’ jaunt under a long-abandoned underpass where most of those who were homeless came to rest at night, he only came here once a week tops, mainly to gather any new info on what was going on in the town, being the bottom of the food chain, these people normally saw and heard things which the normal person wouldn’t pay much mind to but was worth its weight in gold to him.

As soon as he got there he wasted no time to slowly make his way to one of the fire pits to speak with Carl, an older man ranging in his 60’s who was the unspoken leader of the people here, and had somehow taken him under his wing, however, as he got closer, he saw the man talking to two guys which he quickly recognized to be two of G’s men.

They weren’t much more than henchmen, simply sent around to do the nitty-gritty tasks no one else wanted, but despite their slender bodies, he knew just how aggressive and dangerous the pair were, having been out on jobs with them many times in the past.

He stuck to the shadows as he edged closer to the group in an effort to make out what they were saying, watching as they held up a picture of him for Carl and the couple of other people around him to look at and identify.

For a moment he felt a spike of panic travel through him at the thought of being sold out, he hadn’t known these people for long after all and they owed him nothing, but relief was quick to take over as he saw the older man deny all knowledge of him and he was never more grateful for a group of people at the fact, briefly noting he’d have to come back and express his gratitude towards them when his life settled down a little.

Once the two men had made their rounds of the area, having gotten nowhere with their search, they began to make their way out of the underpass until they were stopped by someone he didn’t recognize at first, but when he did he felt all the color leave his face.

When he’d first come here he’d unintentionally gotten himself a reputation, a group of guys had seen him pull some food out of his bag and soon came over demanding he hand it over. Naturally, he refused, which made one of the guys pull his fist back and aim a punch to his face, which he easily deflected before throwing his own punch, causing the man to quickly fall to the floor.

A minute later and all five guys were on the floor, hands holding their bloodied noses and sore jaws before sulking back into their corner.

From then on everyone knew not to fuck with him, but he’d always seen the hatred and anger in their eyes when he came through, and now it appeared that karma had finally come to bite him in the ass.

He couldn’t hear what was said between the men, only saw the two guys pull their guns towards Carl demanding answers, but still, the older man refused to give them, and he knew the man had just signed his own death warrant.

Before either man could even make a move he quickly pulled out his knife and threw it at one of them, catching the guy in the throat, who soon fell to the floor choking on the blood now staining the floor red, as the other guy quickly aimed his gun towards him.

He moved on the balls of his feet through the darkness as the other man started to approach him, thankful that he hadn’t been seen yet. Slowly he crept around the small pile of rubble he was hiding behind as the man got closer to him, crouching in place as he got ready to launch himself for when the man would come into his view.

The guy had just come into his eyesight when he stopped moving suddenly, making him wait with bated breath for the other man to make his move, only he wasn’t given the chance when he heard gargling noises before the man fell to the floor, dead.

He stood, ready to fight if need be only to see Carl standing there, his knife shaking in the other man’s hand before he spat onto the guy's body, the sight enough to bring a small smile to his face.

“I believe this is yours” He gratefully accepted the knife that was handed to him, bending down to wipe it on the dead guys' trouser leg before pocketing it again “Seems you got yourself into quite the bit of trouble here”

He could only let out a terse laugh at the comment, sure that it was the understatement of the century at this point “You could say that, don’t suppose you could get rid of a couple of bodies for me?”

“We’ll take care of ‘em, you just go and be safe now, okay?” He relaxed a little as he felt Carl put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, allowing himself to enjoy the only comforting bit of human contact he’d had over the past few weeks, as he nod his head in reply as his throat felt thick with emotion.

Without another thought he pulled the bag from his shoulder, rummaging through it for a moment before he found what he was looking for, without a second thought he placed the last of his cash, about $60, in Carls’ hand, it was several weeks’ worth of food that he just lost, but he just wished he had more to give to thank these people for helping him.

“Thank you, Carl, for everything” Now it was Carl’s turn to nod his head, the two looking at each other for a moment longer before with a final shake of the hand, he turned to leave, not wanting to risk these people’s lives any further.

He walked around the town for a bit, letting himself relax a little knowing that neither gang would try anything in broad daylight with people around, at least not in the open, but still, he kept alert for the slightest movement indicating foul play.

So far he’d been relatively lucky given how he hadn’t run into anyone yet despite G’s men having been at the underpass only moments ago, however, when he was about to cross the road he noticed a reflection in a shop window, it was guy in a pigs’ mask staring right at him.

They stared at each other in silent acknowledgment, feeling panic begin to edge along his spine and frozen in place, before a couple of cars drove past, blocking his view of the other man and only once the street was clear again did he notice that Tyler was gone.

His panic only grew, so much so that he could almost choke on it, quickly taking a breath before crossing the road in front of him, adrenaline now coursing through his system as he ducked into a nearby alleyway.

After he took a moment to calm his racing heart he moved to the edge where the alley met the street, sticking to the shadows as best as he could in order to try and figure his best plan of action.

It was then that a light shone at his eyes and after reaching a hand up to try and shield himself, a brief scan of the rooftops showed Lui sat at the ready, a sniper rifle in hand that was angled towards him.

He quickly moved deeper into the alley, not wasting a second as he climbed over the gate which had previously blocked his access to the next street across, not bothering to spare a glance behind him as he started weaving his way through the streets and alleys to shake off any potential pursuers.

Eventually, through some sick will of God apparently, he found himself back at the building where he’d watched his flat burn all those weeks ago, he hadn’t meant to come here but he strangely felt a sense of comfort settle over him being here.

Deciding not to question it, he quickly made his way up back onto the roof, the journey taking a fraction of the time it previously did now that he was almost fully recovered, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of the city before moving away from the edge to settle himself in for some rest.

He made the quick decision to spend the rest of the day and the night there, giving him a good chance to get some genuine rest, hoping that for once no one would decide to come looking for him.

With a sigh he sat down, unsure whether he’d need to flee or fight during the night, hoping for once that he would be lucky and event-free.

Even so, he took the pistol from his bag and tucked it into his waistband before patting his midsection until he felt the knife pressed against his stomach, a comforting weight that allowed him to relax just that little bit more.

He moved his bag to act as a sort of pillow as he lay down, quickly closing his eyes to try to will himself to get at least some sleep before the sunset and the monsters would come out.

**********

The sun was just beginning to set behind the line of buildings when he woke up, quickly sitting up to check his surroundings to make sure that he was still safe, too used to the constant threat of danger that he could only relax and let out the breath he’d been holding when the coast was finally clear.

As the sky grew darker he simply sat there, paying attention to any and every noise he heard as he constantly checked not only his guns but the contents of his bag before repacking them, only to then get bored and start the whole process again.

After a while, when the chill really started to set in and his fingers began to get numb, he pulled out the photo from his pocket, now worn with having been folded and unfolded numerous times and from the teardrops that stained it.

He doesn’t know how long he stared at it, an ache in his heart as he thought about the what-ifs and the maybes of the past months, his mind going in endless circles only serving to torment him until he saw movement in his peripheral.

Within a second he was on his feet and his gun drawn, his breath getting caught in his throat when he saw Luke start slowly walking towards him, his hands up in surrender.

“Bit trigger happy aren’t we?” There it was, that smooth southern drawl which he’d thought he’d never hear again. He could feel his heart in his throat now but still, he stood his ground, gun pointed towards the older man “Not gonna talk, huh? Fair enough, I don’t mind sittin’ here, ‘specially with a view this good”

He felt tears prickle his vision, this was Luke, his Luke, looking just as he always had, his voice crystal clear in the night sky with the ability to even now make him blush, but as much as he wanted to believe it, to give in to the lie, he knew it was just some sick conjuration of his mind.

Before Luke could make a move, he gestured to the gun in his hand in an effort to try and establish some sort of control over the impossible situation, still aiming it towards the man in front of him who definitely shouldn’t be there.

“How?” He’s not surprised that his voice cracked, he was far too overcome with emotion that he could barely even say the word.

“How am I here? Well, see there’s another set of fire escapes on the other side of…..”

“No! How’re you here, how’re you alive?” He noticed his hands were shaking as he kept the gun pointed towards Luke, all his resolve beginning to slip away as he wanted nothing more than to be embraced by the other man once again.

It was then that a look of pity crossed Lukes’ face, the older man dropping his arms as he cautiously began to walk towards him, only stopping when the still trembling gun in his hand was pressed against his chest.

“Why’d you think I’m dead? Because that sick fucker told you so?” All he could do was look up at the man in front of him, not even wanting to tempt the belief of Lukes’ survival, knowing this must all be a sick game of his own mind “Tell me Ry, what did you see?”

His stance relaxed then, all fight leaving him as he dropped his arms and held the gun loosely in his right hand whilst his left went to cup Lukes’ face, flinching a little as he felt the ice-cold skin beneath his and feeling his resolve sturdy at the fact that he knew this Luke to be fake, all as he tried to give a weak smile whilst tears fell freely down his face.

“I shot you, Luke” he moved the hand cupping Lukes’ face to his forehead, pointing his finger at the exact spot his bullet struck “Right here”

When he removed his hand from Luke he saw that there was blood on it, taking a moment to look at it coating his fingers before he looked back up at the older man only to feel his heart stop for a moment and his breathing catch in his throat as he saw the blood now trickling down the other man’s face from the bullet wound which hadn’t been there moments before.

Luke was seemingly unaffected by the change, but quickly grabbed onto his shoulders and started to shake him a little as if he was trying to get him out of a trance, pleading at him almost when he next spoke “No Ryan, what did you really see?”

He could give a confused stare at the other man, hoping for a more elaborate answer or even a hint to whatever goose chase his mind was setting him on, but just as suddenly as he’d come, Luke was gone.

With a shuddering breath, he collapsed back onto the roof, unaffected by the cold of the night air as it already felt like Ice was traveling through his veins as for the second time on that same roof he once again succumbed to his grief.

#perdita #ohmtoonz #ohmwrecker #cartoonz #let me know what you think #plus my grammer check isn't working so don't hate me too much :D

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b-kitsune · 5 years

Text

Many ways to say I love you: Day Thirteen.

Kidge-a-palooza 2019 Prompt: Antique. Pairing: Kidge (VLD) Universe: Victorian! AU Status: Part 2/4

''Dear, what do you think about children?''

The first thing Keith thought when he heard Katie was that he had misunderstood her question. But when he looked up after giving a piece of bread to his beloved fella under the table, he saw was curiosity permeated in her golden eyes along with the wait for his response. Keith cleared his throat briefly, wiping his mouth with a napkin, meditating on his words. For some reason, breakfast began to fall badly on the stomach.

''I don't know, children? Why do you ask me something like that right now?''

''Who knows ... Isn't normal for a young couple to think about having children?'' Katie asked with a faraway look, Keith sighed thinking for a few seconds. ''What would happen if I could not give you the expected offspring?''

''We're staying with the wolves.'' He answered for sure. Katie looked at him with an inquisitive look.

''I'm serious, Keith.''

''And I also. It's not like my family is pressuring us to have children, and I'm sure your parents haven't looked forward to it. What is that concern coming up so suddenly? We've been married a year, there's no need to hurry.''

''Remember that the health of women is not the same after a few years.'' Claimed Katie sharp, Keith, however, raised an eyebrow at her words, misplaced by her annoyance.

''You speak as if you suffered from delicate health, dear. And I don't think this conversation has to do with the children themselves. Is there something that worries you?''

Keith questioned intrigued, taking a little more tea that one of his employees served him effectively with a quick signal with his hand. Katie just shrugged her shoulders, discouraged, looking away to the window where the courtyard of her home looked majestic and the green around the roads began to bloom before the arrival of spring. It didn't go unnoticed for Keith that something in her eyes looked more muted than usual, as if she was thinking about something that worried her severely.

For some reason, his wife had been extremely subdued for numerous weeks. Not that Katie was a high energy girl like her older brother or Allura in her best days. But certainly, her rudeness had been reflected strangely exhausted, especially the last days since they arrived from the visit of his parents on the outskirts of the city.

Even his mother had told him about it once while wandering the halls that Keith had considered his home for many years, worried that perhaps they were having problems in the first months of marriage. Keith had denied it almost with amusement, alluding that his wife's condition was possibly impaired by the low defenses due to a cold she suffered during the fall, as Katie told him as soon as he saw the first symptoms of dejection. She had lost a couple of pounds since then, and when he looked at it in retrospect, even with the doctors visiting his home occasionally her condition didn't seem to be improving.

Since the arrival of fall ...

Something in his chest throbbed painfully at the revelation. Taking Katie's hand in concern, her touch was cold even on the fabric of her glove, drawing her attention back.

''Katie, has something happened to you?''

Keith asked softly, his work with his family's company demanded great trips for most of the year, especially during the winter. So, although he had done his best to stay with his wife on the estate that was given to them by the Holt family, even after their marriage, his stay at home was limited to a few days every few weeks off. Seeing her state like something striking, but without worrying him until that moment. Considering that several months had passed since he first fell ill, Keith felt like a terrible and carefree husband.

Katie just smiled confusedly at his question.

''No, everything is in order, dear.''

''Don't lie to me, Katie.''

Keith spoke harshly. When she turned her gaze again with regret to the opposite side of the table, he discovered that she wasn't being entirely honest with him. The worry was evident in his face. Katie was hiding something from him.

''I know the woman with whom I married. While you don't enjoy talking about what ails you, you have at least the common sense of approaching to me when it overwhelms you.'' Keith made a brief pause, with a move between his lips. His tone of voice had sounded more aggressive than he wanted. So he tried again, with more tranquility. ''I know that in spite of everything you will come to me, but too many weeks have passed. And I feel contemptible for not having noticed it before. Surely you don't trust enough in me ...''

''I do it!'' Katie answered quickly, intertwining her fingers with his to emphasize her words. ''I do ... It's just, it's been a bit difficult...''

''Katie...'' Keith raised one of his hands to kiss the back of her palm, as when courting her years ago. It was a demonstration of devotion to her. ''I know I don't usually take things with the serenity expected from a reasonable man, but I need you to talk to me, I need ...'' He stopped to swallow heavily, a knot growing inside his throat. ''Know what happens with my wife.''

''I'm pregnant.''

Keith pressed her hand between hers at the revelation of the news, but Katie looked devastated, breaking her voice at the last moment. So fragile and dejected, that even Kosmo moaned under the table when he saw her fight against the tears that threatened to fall on her undaunted face. Keith got up in a hurry falling into his wife's lap, gesturing silently to all his employees to leave the dining room, waiting patiently for his wife to be able to speak again while cupping her cheek in his hands, at the cost of pain, that seemed to pierce his heart.

After a few seconds of great breaths, Katie continued.

''It's not the first one.'' She said in a whisper, being Keith's turn to break his heart. ''Two months after our marriage, while you were spending time together with Lance on Shiro's estate, I suffered a strong pain in my insides that I wasn't even aware of until one night happened. No method, antique or new, helped my body endure the terrible loss. They couldn't do anything ...'' Katie breathed heavily as she tried to articulate the right words. ''When you returned home, I saw you so happy next to Kosmo, that I didn't feel able to tell you such grief. Matt told me many times that it was not right to hide such news from my husband, but ... My words did not come out.''

''Oh, Pidge.''

Keith embraced her sweetly as soon as her body fell into his arms, in an attempt to seek some comfort in the face of the terrible situation she had experienced on her own. She starts to hiccup from time to time when she covered her face on his chest, unable to continue to hold back the tears that fell disconsolately.

The only thing that Keith was able to do at that moment was to massage the contours of her back with slow caresses, trying to give her some relief despite herself. Katie had experienced the mourning of her firstborn completely alone, and Keith couldn't feel more useless as a husband.

Kosmo sniffed a few seconds before leaning back to Katie's side, trying to deliver support in his own way. Slowly, when the minutes passed in silence, Keith could feel his wife begin to calm down.

''I'm afraid Keith, I'm strongly afraid of not being able...''

''Everything will be fine; I will be by your side at all times.'' He said softly, surrounding her body in a deep hug.

''But what if I'm not suitable for this? If I'm not able to give you something like a child?''

''I will not leave you, Katie.''

It was his way of comforting her about her grief, but inside him, Keith's words dictated an unshakable oath.

Keith was convinced he would not abandon his woman. Not now, not never.

...

''So ... You'll go.'' James said while fiddling with one of the pens on Keith's desk. Seeing ordered his papers to delegate his position to his sister while he was out of the country. ''You haven't had a honeymoon yet?''

''This is different.'' Keith replied without looking up from the papers he was diligently reviewing. Griffin huffed at his response. ''Besides, with Acxa in charge of the company, everything will be completed in order.''

''I don't doubt it. You have a very interesting way to handle the work of the company.''

''Have you come here for a casual talk or are you just trying to annoy me?'' Keith asked exasperated. Griffin just shrugged.

''A bit of both, when Romelle told me about your temporary retirement I was certainly intrigued about the reason.''

''Katie is waiting.'' Keith wished that with that Griffin would turn around and leave his office with a mockery behind his back. But silence reigned for a moment, and Keith saw a look of concern in his eyes.

''So soon? That will not be good for her health.''

''You knew it.'' Keith hissed irritably. ''You knew all this time and you were never able to tell me a single word.''

''It wasn't my business, Keith.'' Griffin stood up with an offended face. ''Katie spent many days mourning the loss of her firstborn son. Even if you don't believe it, I have great esteem in her person and didn't want to see her with more pain.'' He turned his face with resignation. ''Even if she chose you in the end.''

''Well ... Knowing about that, it made me think that maybe it was a terrible choice on her part.''

''I don't doubt it at any time.'' Griffin got up to surround the desk with a disdainful look. ''But in spite of everything, I hope that this trip will help you find the happiness you are looking for.'' He stretched one of his hands towards him, as a sincere gesture. Keith shook his hand a little calmer, and grateful for his wishes.

''Thanks, James.''

After a few days of rigorous organization, Keith gave the position to his younger sister while he was at Lance's home during the months that were needed for the health of his wife, on the outskirts of Altea, away from the pollution and noise of the surroundings. The air of the coast would surely do Katie well, and keeping her dear friend Allura next to her would definitely cheer her a little.

Only his family and a few people from his inner circle knew the reason for their journey, to the relief of both. They hated how intrusive people used to be from time to time, and stress wouldn't do Katie good during the first months of waiting. Keith just wanted everything to go well. And little by little the idea of living her first pregnancy together with the person he loved, began to make him impatient and create expectations about what was to come.

A son of both. A life in his charge that would surely animate the atmosphere of their home for many years. It wasn't something that Keith expected so quickly considering his marriage was barely a year old.

But as time went by, when he watched Katie sing ballads during the nights for the comfort of a belly that was almost noticeable. His heart was compressed with happiness.

#peith #kidge #kidgeapalooza #kidgeapalooza2019 #keith (voltron)#keith kogane #pidge gunderson #pidge holt #katieholt #monthofkidge #kidgefanfic #voltron #voltronship #victorian au

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tighnaurri · 6 years

Text

Sleepwalking // Ten

Sleepless Night Series

Pairing: Ten x Reader

Warnings: Isolation

Length: Drabble

Drip.

Your ear twitched at the sound.

Drip.

You sighed, trying to ignore it. It was irritating you.

Drip.

Groaning, you turned over onto your side. You clutched at the sheets…wait. ‘This isn’t right,’ you thought, ‘Why is my bed so rough? Why can’t I grab the linen? Did I by chance…?’

“Fucking Hell!” You yelled, or at least tried. A dry throat prevented you from exploiting your vocal cords to the full extent. You breathed much too fast for it to be healthy, sitting forward with your palm to your temple. Your hand felt dirty, as if it had been slicked with oil and rubbed in dirt. It had happened again.

You were in the middle of Seoul, sitting on the cracked asphalt of a rundown alley tucked between two shabby, poorly designed buildings. Actually, you didn’t even know if you were in Seoul anymore. It’s not like you hadn’t wandered so far before, after all. It wouldn’t be a first.

You let your head lean against the bricks of the wall you leaned on, observing the night sky. The night sky was beautiful although void of stars due to light pollution, but you had learned to find beauty in what you cannot see. They were out there somewhere, hidden by the glow of skyscrapers and streetlights, just like you were hidden in the maze of concrete that you called home.

Drip.

The irksome noise lifted you out of your thoughts, calling attention to the fact that you might want to find your way back to your apartment by or preferably before dawn. You sat up, slowly getting up off your ass and brushing yourself off as best as you could. Your hair was damp from the warm steam rising from some sort of grate, and your butt was wet, but besides that you were good. There was a little dirt on the elbows, and some obviously on your clothing, but no physical injuries. That is the important part.

You’d never gotten hurt when sleep walking, at least badly. A torn clothing article or a small scratch was not uncommon, but you had grown used to it. It motivated you to learn how to sew, at least. You laughed, ‘Always look for the silver lining.’

You patted yourself down, checking your waist band for your phone because you sometimes tucked it there. As it turned out, you hadn’t taken it this time. Or maybe you did, but it felt out. You groaned, hoping it hadn’t. You weren’t in a good financial situation right now and couldn’t afford to buy a new one if you had. You pushed your hair behind your ear, sighing. You should start walking.

As you took a step in the direction of a street light, a figure appeared. They were a bit taller than you, clearly belonging to a male. Their body was backlit by the yellow light, making their seemingly midnight hair reflect an amber glow. You took a step back, preparing to run.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Their voice was higher than you expected, but not absurdly pitched. The pounding of your heart seemed to slow a bit. The figure held both of their hands up, showing they meant no harm, “Are you lost?”

You were hesitant, but went ahead and nodded anyway. They put down their hands and gestured for you to follow them, “I’ll get you a cab.”

You knit your brow and frowned, “No! I mean thank you, but… I don’t have my wallet on me. I’ll just walk, its fine.” You tried to brush past him.

“Wait!” He grabbed your wrist with a loose grip, his fingers slipping around you like silk, “It’s not safe to be alone at night. Someone could… you know, do terrible things to you.”

You sighed, “It’s not the first time I’ve walked alone at night.”

“It doesn’t have to be the first time for something bad to happen,” He said, already pulling out his phone, “I’m not letting you get hurt, okay?”

You pulled your wrist away abruptly, taking a step back to be in the light of the street, “You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to know you to care about you?”

You had bit your lip, turning your back to him and sitting on the curb of the road, “Fine.”

He chuckled as he went through his wallet, sitting on the curb beside you, “How far do you live from here?”

“Depends,” You said, “Where are we?”

“You don’t know?” He asked critically.

“Sleepwalking.”

“Oh,” He muttered, “We’re in Itaewon, just so you know.”

“Really?” You mused, “I thought I wandered farther than that…”

He responded with a hum, turning to the side and thumbing through his wallet. You told him roughly how far you were, careful not to tell him where you lived exactly. You felt kinda bad as he handed you the folded up currency, feeling like you were exploiting him. ‘It’s not polite to be ungrateful,’ you reminded yourself, ‘Say thank you.’

You opened your mouth to thank him only to be caught off guard by the cab pulling up beside the two of you, rolling down the window, “You two order a taxi?”

The man gestured to you, giving the old driver an eye smile, “It’s for them.”

The old man nodded, “Get in the back.”

You sighed, glancing at the raven haired boy. He nodded towards the car and gave you a small smile, “Alright…”

Getting in the car and telling the man where to go, you found your mind wandering. The cab pulled forward with a hasty lurch, making the standing figure of your savior grow ever smaller till you turned the corner. His eyes lingered on yours till the very moment you went around the bend unwavering, unblinking. The neon of signs reflected dully off the roads as you passed store front to store front.

You wondered if you would ever run into him again. He left an impression. An annoying, oddly charming, deep, impression.

Sooner than you could conclude your thoughts, you arrived at your apartment block and paid the man. His rough, dry fingers fumbled to get a good hold on the bills as you left the car, something falling from in between them. You were about to close the car door when he called for your attention, “Miss, you left something!” He held out a small white card.

You squinted, confused, but took the card anyway. Thanking the man, you watched the cab go off into the distance before you inspected the sturdy cardstock. It was a… Business card? You flipped it over.

The damn guy had written his number.

Another part caught your attention, though. At the bottom in thin, messy hand writing was a short note, ‘Call me when you get home.’ You snorted, telling yourself you wouldn’t call him. It itched at you though, the thought pestering you endlessly. When you reached your apartment, the first thing you did was pick up the cell phone you had left behind, and called his number.

“Hello, this is Ten speaking,” His sweet high voice flowed through the speakers.

You smiled, “Just calling to tell you I got home safe.”

He chuckled, his smile clear in his voice.

You could get used to that.

Another piece from my old blog, unedited. Its very odd seeing how my writing style has changed so much since then.

Thanks for reading!

#ten #nct #scenario #nct imagines #ten fluff #drabble #old blog

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dvbermingham · 4 years

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Chapter 7: Ebi II

“We’re dead. We’re fucking dead.” Matsuzaka rode shotgun in the limousine, me driving. Not a standard part of my job description according to the union rules but I wasn’t about to argue. The driver wasn’t at the car when we left Aburiya, the keys were on the dash, and Matzu wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. His hands shook as he squeezed the tattered sushi history pamphlet we were ordered to take home and study like he was trying to strangle it. I kept my eyes on the road, glancing over now and again, nervous he would tear it.

“Try not to rip it. It might be useful.”

“What, like this!?” he said and tore the paper over and over again and threw the confetti in my face. I cracked the window and let the New York air whisk away the debris, as though it were reclaiming the pollution back to its pavement bosom. “How the fuck is that going to be useful? Most of it was made up, mixed with shit they found on the internet to make it sound legitimate. You think Guttenberg really had a hand in all this?”

“It’s possible. I mean, you’re young. You might not remember how influential he was back then.”

“Forget the history. We have bigger shit to worry about. Did you see the way he was handling that turtle? The guy’s a fucking maniac. The chef is the Amphibious. What the hell does that mean? Like we’re one of his turtles.”

“The Amphibious?”

“He had hundreds of those things floating around there.”

“Mistranslation?”

“He was telling us in his own insane way that we were just as dispensable as Takuto. And if we don’t somehow figure out what the hell Takuto did to piss them off, we’re going to end up in that alley the same as him.”

“Maybe he’s just under a lot of pressure. Pressure makes people talk nonsense.”

“Pressure?”

“You read the history. That’s a lot of legacy on his shoulders.”

“Pressure!?”

It was getting tense. I reflected on my bodyguard training and remembered how important it was not just to guard the body, but guard the mind as well.

“Maybe we should get outta town for a while. Relax on the beach, go to a spa. Something for you. Something nice.”

Matsuzaka averted his eyes and sniffed. “I don’t want to.”

“Just a suggestion.”

Matsu sighed.

“Thank you…but no, that won’t help. We need to stay in the city. If he thinks we’re running away, we’re as good as dead. The only way to survive is to keep close, pretend like we know what we’re doing.”

My kind of job. I made some right turns, then some left. I got on the East River Parkway and watched each sign for each off-ramp, the underpasses and overpasses, the bridges and walkways and the Roosevelt Island Skyway, each Its own incredible feat of engineering. I got off, pretended I was riding a rollercoaster, pretended I didn’t have a care in the world, pretended like I had never heard of the Imperial Sushi Council. I wondered whether, if I could turn back time, I would give up all those years of living the late night sushi life so I would never have gotten mixed up in all this.

Then it hit me.

“The pamphlet said that the Partition was founded in 1982, right?”

“I don’t remember,” said Matsuzaka.

“I think it did. And it said Guttenberg endorsed the California roll in 1985?”

“That’s right. That I do remember that because that was the year I got my first chef job.”

I came to a stop sign, checked for any cars behind me. We sat at the sign, idling.

“What?” Matzu asked. “Somethign doesn’t sit right. I mean, Senju was an L.A. type back then. If Guttenberg was such a hot-shot sushi lover, why didn’t Senju try to get him on his side. You know, show him a good time, exclusive sashimi deals, ask him to publicly denounce the California roll. Senju’s a savvy man.”

“Maybe they never met. Maybe Senju didn’t know Guttenberg was that into sushi.”

“Senju would never have made a mistake like that,” I said. “The man has his hand in everything. He was using the Hollywood influence from the beginning to keep things tidy in L.A. So I ask you again: Why didn’t Senju have Guttenberg in his back pocket.”

“Why?”

“The Partition got to him. The Partition got to Guttenberg.”

Matsuzaka groaned. “I’m so dead. So, so dead. You’re a good guy Lou, I appreciate you trying to help, but could you just stick to your job and drive.”

“Actually I think we left the driver back at the club. I’m the bodyguard.”

“I know what you are. Just drive.”

We drove. I yawned. I thought the night would be over by now, but such is the life of a bodyguard. I wondered where the driver had gone, whether he was immediately fired and thrown in a ditch somewhere when they realized he lost his car. I tried to remember what I had signed up for, exactly. I tried to remember back to the moment when Alfonso approached me at Fishy Smells, only a few weeks ago now, how he looked at me and pursed his nose, as though wondering how anyone could eat the food I was eating, wondering if I realized what a dump I was in, where that fish had been, where it would end up. Alonso saw something in me. He knew to a man of the oafish persuasion the life of a bodyguard made sense, that we were drawn to it. There are people who protect, and people who need protecting — the world is as simple as that. He had an allegory to go along with it which maybe I’ll get to if I remember it. The gist of it was that, yes, while people should always strive to improve their lives, it is just as important to recognize honestly your natural talents and proclivities and especially your deficits when choosing a lane in life.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t guard people, when I was a cop and later a private investigator, professions for which I was not well-suited due to my forgiving nature, absentmindedness, and a general lack of knowledge regarding the law. I trusted everybody. Whatever someone said, I believed. A real handicap when it comes to mastering the rules of interrogation. The problem was, even when I was sure I thought a perpetrator was lying I would convince myself that in some confusing way that there was honesty behind the lie, that the choice of which lie they told somehow corresponded to a truth. I went so far as to convince myself that the lies could be more true than the truth because anybody could misinterpret reality, but a lies comes out through the subconscious, and how could anything that comes out of the subconscious be a lie? I learned that from Freud, the stuff about the subconscious. He is a personal favorite of mine. I like how he explains behavior by reminding us that our actions are driven by forces somewhat out of our control, like we’re animals in that way. Amphibians, like Senju said.

“What about the tuna?” I blurted out, at the thought of The Amphibious.

“Get rid of it. I don’t want to see it anymore. It’s a fucking burden. It’s going to sit there and rot, just like me when I’m dead.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know what Senju would think…”

“I don’t care. Just dump it.”

I decided to stall a little bit, lefts and rights. Diagonals when I got a chance. We drove for a while. Now and then I reached in the back and peeled a little of the fish paper back and inspected the tuna flesh, poked it with my index finger to see its bounce-back. My finger found its way a little deeper, then still deeper, until it was submerged up to my middle knuckle.

“Where should I go?”

“Where did Takuto take you when you were guarding him?”

“We went to a few restaurants, a few bars. He seemed to like the places that played jazz. One place in particular. One night he asked me to drive him to Long Island to visit his nieces. That was about it.”

“How about the night he died?”

“That was a weird night. No one has asked me about that night, strangely enough. He didn’t call me until late. We were supposed to go out for a drink before the meeting at Aburiya, but he never called. I got in my car anyway, thinking maybe he didn’t expect to have to call, that I’d just show up, so I did, I just showed up. When he answered the door he looked nervous, like he had just had a nightmare. He was wearing just his wife-beater and some jeans. He seemed disoriented. There was crazy jazz playing in the back, and voices. I asked him if he wanted me to come in. No answer. I asked him if he was having a party and again he didn’t answer. He just kind of looked past me, as though he didn’t recognize me, or maybe he was warned not to let anybody in, even if he knew them. Finally, after a long hesitation, he face changed, like he suddenly got his bearings, like his memory came back to him and he told me never to come back here again. I was perplexed. Stunned really. Was I being fired? I just couldn’t quite understand. I knew we had a big meeting that night and we were supposed to go together. Was I supposed to head over to Aburiya alone, without my boss? Would that be worse than not showing up at all? So I waited outside the building for a while, maybe an hour. I was smoking, watching traffic. There was a little side street, just up the block. An alley really, it could fit a small car heading in one direction and that’s about it. A couple of motorbikes parked on the sidewalk there. It was drizzling, the rain making little ripples on the puddles. Suddenly I had this feeling of panic, maybe I heard a noise, a high pitched noise like the ones only a dog could hear but because I got that bodyguard sense I can hear it too sometimes, I don’t know. Anyway, right at that moment, a couple of guys came running out of the side street, I could hear their feet clapping against the sidewalk and through the puddles and they hopped on their motorbikes and sped off. I knew something was wrong, so I went over to the side street and peeked down and there I saw you-know-who lying on the ground.”

“So he had people over, the same people that killed him, you think?”

“They weren’t protecting him, that’s for sure.”

“You said you heard jazz?”

“Hot jazz. Saxophone stuff, real crazy. Loud too, cause it was loud by the door, and I could tell it was way in the back of the apartment.”

“Did he listen to jazz any other time to were with him?”

“Not in the week we were paired up.”

Matzu thought for a minute. “Head to 2nd street and B. We’re going see my friend.”

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bradsbassguide-blog · 5 years

Text

How To Soundproof A Room For Music Recording

In this day and age, technology has Progress Nicely enough to Get small, home recording studios become a Fact. So much so that many amateur manufacturers are devoting a room in their home for this particular function. But the vast majority of individuals who tackle this task are concentrated largely about the technology side of this story. By doing this, they're completely ignoring what's possibly the most essential component of creating a home recording studio. We're of course speaking about soundproofing a room. Soundproofing Requires a bit of planing and now we Will walk you through the basics.Understanding The Need For Soundproofing Your Workspace Lets say you have spent an adequate quantity of money to a recording set up that may take on real recording sessions. You possess your PC prepared, you have found a ideal USB audio port or a mixer, and you've got your microphones set up. In case you've committed a space in your home to function as a studio, then this is quite probably what you'd hear when you press on that listing button. For starters, you'd encounter external sound. However sensitive and exact the polar pattern in your own condenser mic is, it's going to be vulnerable to environmental sound pollution. Even in the event that you reside in a quiet suburb, all it takes is to get somebody to honk their horn for the neighbor to check that fresh straight pipe . Before you know it, you'll need to do a retake. Simply speaking, external sound is a real problem.

On the other hand, the sound coming from the interior is equally as problematic. We are not always talking about using a source of sound in the studio, but instead how noise bounces off different surfaces. It's fairly easy, really. Any noise that's confined within a small space will bounce and reflect in a lot of directions. This may add natural reverb for your record, which is something that you definitely need to avoid. The point is, soundproofing is utilized to maintain the out noise, and decrease the effects of interior sound.

What Soundproofing Won't Do Somebody who's entirely new to the world of music recording is vulnerable to mistaking soundproofing for acoustic tuning. Both of these items are similar but ultimately distinct. Since we've mentioned previously, soundproofing is there to decrease noise pollution within your studio atmosphere. Acoustic pruning depends upon that and dials from the acoustic properties of the area. For all intents and purposes, acoustic tuning is an art form which needs a comprehensive guide of its own.

Acoustic treatment or pruning is critical for many different factors. Particularly in the event that you intend on using a fantastic pair of studio monitors. If you're only starting, soundproofing is a great step in the ideal direction. Building upon a well soundproofed area is a lot simpler than dealing with a jumble of unsuccessful soundproofing and shoddy acoustic therapy. Take it slow and become through.

Where To Start? The very first step would be to determine where your studio will be. It would be perfect to use a garage or comparable distance that's isolated from the remainder of the home. But if this isn't a chance you need to look for the most distant room in the home. The job of doing good soundproofing would be that much simpler if you remove a great part of sound by simply employing a suitable area to your studio. Basements also do the job fairly well, particularly. 1 thing to remember is that vibrations are every bit as awful as perceptible sound pollution. If you reside alongside a busy road with a great deal of visitors, then you'd certainly need to discover a space or a part of the cellar that's as far from this road as you can.

What If Your Room Is Too Large? On account of how soundproofing necessitates investment in a variety of materials which we're likely to get into soon, there's such a thing for a room that's too big. Particularly if you're operating on a restricted budget. If that's the scenario, a really good solution is to construct a mild wall and cut back the size of this space like that. Sure, it is not an ideal solution, but it could surely make your life simpler if you're coping with big open spaces.

Decoupling Decoupling is among those procedures that have a tendency to be perplexing, but are fairly straightforward. The point is to construct an extra wall frame, put it over present sheetrock and cover it with another layer of sheet rock. Doing this will stop the noise from penetrating all of the way into the surface of your home's most important construction, thus setting up a great part of this noise. It's a great idea to use thicker sheetrock to the extra wall framework as it can help you establish a great base. Since we'll explore a little later, similar principle applies to flooring.

Materials -- Adding Mass And Isolation Finest method to prevent soundproof a room is to construct the walls thick. In the event that you were starting from scratch and were going to construct the studio from the bottom up, your choices would be varied. But, adding bulk to pre marital walls is somewhat more demanding. Among the greatest methods of getting the business done would be to use a substance named Mass Loaded Vinyl, or Sheetblok since it's also known.

This is a compact layer of material which effectively blocks noise. Sheetblok comes in many different thicknesses, but the general guideline is that thicker is better. That said, Sheetblok is not affordable. Based upon how big your studio, it could consume a fantastic part of your financial plan. It's well worth it, however. A fantastic option is Sponge Neoprene. It's a lot thicker on average, but much less effective. In the conclusion of the day, it's far better than nothing.

Figuring out how much stuff has to be additional requires trial and error. There's not any specific amount we could recommend seeing every room differs both concerning shape, construction and surface. Essentially, you would like to discover a balance where audio is deadened to a place where it will not make a difference in your recording.

Sealing The Gaps As soon as you add sufficient mass to your walls, then now is the time to secure all those small gaps. We're referring to distances between panels, exposed surfaces and so forth. There are lots of products you can use for this function, among these being Acoustical Caulk. Titebond provides an excellent package that is not overpriced and is quite effective. Another fantastic brand is Sashco, that are inclined to be more picky on your financial plan.

Taking Care Of The Floor Flooring are a tricky subject. Rationale for this is simply because they need soundproofing also, but that extends beyond only laying down a coating of Soundblok material. Rather, a more revolutionary strategy is essential. With flooring, you wish to get rid of sound manifestation but also vibrations. Everything that sits right on the floor generates vibrations. As a matter of reality, gear that sits directly on the ground may cause vibrations. By way of instance, a drum set put right on the ground will provide you headaches. Same is true for guitar amps or worse, bass .

The remedy is straightforward but requires a little bit of work. The concept is to float the ground over level earth. 1 means to do it would be to use a wooden frame comprising beams. Then you are going to want to put down coating of sheet timber in addition to cover it using soundproofing materials. If you would like to go even farther, you are able to fill out the gaps between beams with fiberglass.

Isolate Your Equipment Assessing the vibrations in the studio gear is one of the last phases of soundproofing. In case you've got a PC within the area where you're recording, then it's a fantastic practice to ensure it will not make a difference in your work. Computers and other equipment use little fans to cool different elements. These may become noisy over time. Putting the pc case on a buffer of several sorts will surely assist with reducing these vibrations. Same is true for speakers, racks and nearly everything which will give off vibrations.

If you would like to choose the fail safe means of eliminating the probability of equipment hindrance, you always have the option to keep your equipment beyond the actual recording studio. Obviously, this requires considerably more investment and work on your part. Assembling a 2 compartment studio installation is more complex but allows for a more controllable environment.

Thinks To Consider When Planing Your Studio Setup What we've covered so far are the fundamentals of studio soundproofing. As we've observed, a few of the steps need you to perform extra framing. This may be a fantastic time to ask yourself in which you would like to mount your tracks . Among the conventional solutions would be to mount the speakers within the wall. We will not move too much into this, but mounting cupboards within the wall compared to getting them in the center of the space, can be advantageous to locating appropriate room acoustics for speakers that are stated.

Organizing For Acoustic Treatment Doing appropriate acoustic treatment is not as simple as soundproofing. This is one of the things where you may have to check a professional because there's a significant lot of technology that goes into correctly dialing in a studio acoustically. That said, by the time you get to acoustic treatment period, you need to have a nice idea about what your studio enjoys and what it does not like. Spending some time utilizing the studio with no acoustic treatment will crystallize any defects, which makes the task of acoustic therapy that a lot simpler.

DIY Or Hiring Professionals This is among the most frequent questions people ask when it has to do with soundproofing an area. If you try to do it yourself, or if you hire an expert to do the job for you? Discovering the proper answer is dependent upon a few matters. Most evident one is the financial plan. If you are on a small budget, odds are you will get far more bang for the dollar if you do the task yourself. There are loads of resources online which could provide you a simple and even innovative idea about the best way best to soundproof a room. Just be ready to make errors and learn from them.

On the flip side, if your budget is not restrictive, then employing a skilled seems like a sensible thing to do. The majority of the time that the individual that you employ to do so will be delighted to provide you with pointers about how best to acoustically song your studio according to their evaluation. An expert will cater the answers specifically to your area, demands and other market variables. Furthermore, experts will know precisely what type of stuff to get and probably have a few resources for said materials that aren't readily available to individuals beyond their business. Obviously, this route of approach is significantly more costly. But doing there is a possibility that you may reach the exact same cost through trial and error if you are working with a challenging room. Finally just keep in mind that cost of this job will mostly be based on the area you select.

Conclusion In the conclusion of the afternoon, the question is not whether soundproofing is essential, however how much of it's going to get you the results you desire. As a matter of fact, soundproofing is just one of the very first things that you ought to account for when picking out a budget to your studio. It is definitely better to finish the studio with just a tiny delay compared to hurry things and dismiss soundproofing. All you need to do is walk into a studio which lacks appropriate sound isolation, then walk right into one that is properly done. This will explain to you how significant this measure really is.

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in-paradox-space · 5 years

Text

after a few long seconds of flowing from the roads pivot, avoiding crosshairs, we are propelled out of the empty canal between the cars into a large meeting of junctions and lanes. There's not a thing as silence in these moments. The bikes rip-roaring through the air and my spine carries disruptions in the constant noise, disruptions such as blaring horns, sirens, a faint chatter of commuters and the passage of air turbulence throwing off shock waves in my ear canal. In those few seconds I heard multiple horns, not pressed but held intermittently, trying to send a message of sorts. Rami articulating a message of "This is what we're here for. Take any shot", through unthought commands, counteracting the 'stop' of surrounding authority.

I don't stop. We don't stop. Each of us know we'll die in an effort to complete a die hard task... yet, I didn't take a next step. In that long moment I processed many things. Not one of them was a sound of gunfire. I tried to lock eyes but only took in the shape of their moped. The fat,stout tire simmering to a carbon grey whilst always reflecting a glimmer of a white marking, openly displaying changes in speed to anyone capable of making it out. I set my forearm to rest in Rami's clavicle, felt a growing unsteadiness from the friction between tarmac and tire before instantly pushing my left arm towards the holster in an attempt to steady it for just a moment.

I don't need the head, perhaps not even the body, just anywhere in my target should stop them long enough. Through a narrow end to the stream of cars I see they only have one tight path to make. Now is the time, a fact reinforced by a hollered scream "Now!"

Focusing my eyes, mind and ever-balancing core muscles I ... hesitate. Mesmerized by the prismatic, red glow of their brake light, glimmering like a juicy apple. It is clear, they're a target, one of us won't make it to where they want to be tonight. The road gently brushes uphill, a noticeably smooth path is driven along.

I've always known I'm suppressing something, a part of my conscience which will only hinder my current ambitions. The knowing I'll someday purge it's urgencies allows me to simmer it down at times of crucial thought. In this moment, where I caught a stronger visual lock on my prey, is no exception. Despite this, I feel a very small dreamy breeze. A more conscious knowing that there are two men, with end goals, beating heart and lungs of their own, material and relative connections to people beyond them are traveling within alike velocity to our own.

At the uncommon, conflicting sensations such as these, I choose to throwback my hesitations in a cruel momentous. I squeeze the trigger, hard! I squeeze it with a forced, fighting rage. Bullets spray Infront of me while I notice we are joining a wide series of turning lanes. Rounds hammer across aluminium and steel. I think a round scraped their vehicle but I see no immediate evidence of this.

Police cars join our polarised convoy. I am now extremely aware we are on numerous cameras; those attached to the sides of police vehicles. Our unfaltering target takes a shot right at us, Rami scrapes to the left in reaction to a sharp piercing of the air felt through my hair. Untimely, somehow pleasant sound of glass shards crash from behind us as two police sirens ejaculate a high pitched whimper. He shot the cars tailing us. Tactile bursts swim beside our heads, calculated one after the other. We dip into the right oncoming lane. A wall of panicked cars shields us from them. Gunfire, deafening scatters my brain while the high powered force of the air hitting my face clears me only slightly.

I see his chiseled, square face look right at me through the openings between car tailends and noses. He breaks a devilish smirk right at me, with his figure boxed directly forward, almost 90° with the bike. His driver's back curls upwards and erects in closely connected tangent to the bikes movements.

Crashes and scratches sound within a vivid radius of me, the bursts of gunfire become more disparate as he rests his face - now a somber smile - back to where his body is facing in order to reload. Once my ears regain their wakefulness it seems the police sirens have quietened. Before the street ends with a block of motionless cars we rejoin their slipstream. I relax my gun hand, as not to arouse any intuitive defence in their awareness. The cream, scuffed moped whispers just away from collision, through traffic lights, cars and another four-way intersection. We accelerate to a further 20mph more or so, hoping dearly that our fate isn't sealed at this crossroad. I see the pressure gauge on our Suzuki pushing towards its end limit while the speedometer displays, underneath cracked glass, that it's only at two thirds of its potential. "There's too much weight", Rami grumbles to his side. We're going as fast as we can in a bike cut out for this high octane bravado. They're on a cheap, European moped with a learner sticker haphazardly resisting wind over the back tyre. It's a mystery how we can't get close to them. He was right. He really is 'the real-fucking-deal'.

A few hundred yards Infront of us there's a blockade of police cars and armoured vans covering up several lanes of road. With only parked cars outside their respective detached houses, the road feels incredibly smooth in retrospect to the previous leg of the journey. He stares at me, with a smug expression. I wonder if he knows what's behind him. Rami looks around him for any makeshift escape route. I exclaim "slow down a little, we have him, with a deliberate, yet true expression of fear on my face, I con our target into believing he has conquered us.

I see a short chuckle relax into a show of satisfaction on his face, his driver not slowing down for the blockade ahead of him, the barrels of his guns remain generally pointed at us. Faking a frightened expression of defeat, I press into Rami's chest uttering him to slow down, "brake!". The deceleration of the bike pushes my hands into his direction. The gun becomes lighter, not possibly missing him, halting to a stop 30 metres from armed police. I took the shot. So did he.

Sparks glint and flame across my visual field. I don't see any blood but they fly across a kinesthetic whallop of the police blockade. it's almost as if he shot my rounds as they flew towards him... simply impossible!

We're frozen by pointed rifles. Completely amiss to them limping up their moped and getting away. There's at least 20 or 30 officers. All focused on us. We're definitely on camera. I drop my guns as commanded. A round in the chamber fires upon hitting the ground, asserting an applause of rifles readied to fire instinctively.

My head is buried into Rami's back to avoid camera detection. Even now, I still hold on to the possibility of getting out of this scot-free. Going back to work with my colleagues none the wiser. I'm scared to death! My heartbeat thumps through my chest, panting across my resting abdominal muscles. I feel Rami's adrenaline 'ba-dump' into my cheek through his prickly spine.

"Get off the fucking bike!" "Now!" "We're not pissing about!"... Rami straightens his posture and relaxes his arms outwards. "HANDS ON YOUR HEAD... GET OFF THE BIKE!"

"Listen Ben", he determines through a voicebox disgruntled from endless episodes of screaming and pollution. "it's not over til were dead, they'll be at the shipyard", he tries to speak over distracting, verbal jabs of testosterone while slowly emptying the bikeseat of himself. I pull the sports scarf over my nose, resting it just below my eyes, to avoid identification for as long as possible.

Rami looks to me, inhaling a sense of pleasure through his nose, "I'll make a distraction. Don't give up. do whatever you can!". Warning shots fire at our feet, heeling myself involuntarily from my metal seat. Rami only retracts his arms and torso.

Kneeling on the floor, hands on the crane of my neck, I feel like I'm giving myself up for execution. Five armed guards approach us uniformly, swiftly tiptoeing with arms letting up aim from our heads to bodies. Two approach us faster than the others, with the heavy squashing sound of their clothes and equipment jingling to each footstep. They crush my hand with theirs and thrust their elbows into our spines, giving us to the ground. My cheek slams into the concrete, dust pokes my pupils and I smell that strangely familiar, Autumn, asphalt. My watery eyes glance at Rami's skinny, pale, stubble. His eyes are still in the moment. I don't have a clue what plan he has in mind, a part of me thinks he doesn't see how absolutely submitted we are to the police right now. I cough up a dirty taste of petrol and the debris of road from my throat. We're pinned down by the strong weight of kneepads, crushing my lower ribs into the hard road. I see concerned people looking from their garden gates. An amber mist of autumn leaves, still full in figure on the trees, shine in a terracotta blur at me. Sending me hope in the warm beat of rushes of terror to come. I see a man in a blue shirt decant a gesture and nasally spoken words to what is probably his wife. She looks a little worried, with something of a slim, mother's stance, clutching her wrists. This is it. They're still out there, they're not dead, I still have my connections, so we can devise a new way to accomplish our goal after this.

#reference #lucid #concrete

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deathbyvalentine · 7 years

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Prompt Collection

Crash Landing an Airship

In hindsight, knocking out the pilot had been a bad move. A worse move had been locking the co-pilot in a cupboard. Preplanning had never quite been Alexi’s strong point. Unfortunately, neither had piloting.

“Right.” They murmured to themselves, looking at the dizzying array of dials, buttons and levers, and failing to see a manual anywhere. “Flying. Piece of cake. Birds can do it. Why shouldn’t I?” Cautiously, he pressed the lime-green button, wincing as a grinding sound surfaced from somewhere deep below the decks. A needle swung wildly as a slight but certain smell of burning appeared. Was it just them, or was the ground getting closer?

My Shelter, My Prison, My Home.

Rose spent a lot of time gazing out of windows. Whenever she tired of sewing, or piano playing, or reading in front of the fire, she drifted to the window, where she could sit for hours. It was a pretty, if unremarkable view. The manor was way off the main road, and surrounded simply by gardens, forest, or lawns. You couldn’t even see the boundary fence, and even if you could, you would simply see the rolling, almost purple moors. Rose had never stepped foot on those moors. She had never even stepped foot on one of the lawns. She had never been beyond the walls of this house.

Not that she wanted to. Her mother had told her about the dangers that lay beyond. Freezing wind and rain. Animals with sharp teeth. People who were nothing more than plague carriers. No, she was already sick, and far too fragile to deal with the cruelty of the world.

But still, she looked. She especially liked looking out on rainy nights, where the wind drove downpours against the glass until she could barely hear herself think. Where the fire flickered and jumped in its grate, casting patterns on the walls. And where it was hard to make out anything but her own pale face gazing back at her in the window.

It was on a night like this, something extraordinary happened. Jane Eyre was lying forgotten on her lap, her hand holding her place. She looked spectre-like, framed in the window-seat, in nothing but her nightgown, red curls streaming down her back as if drowned. She didn’t move from her vigil, even as servants restoked the fire and whisked away untouched tea.

There was a light in the forest. She had thought it was a reflection at first, but nothing within the room could produce that white light. It glimmered and jumped, occasionally blocked by the tree trunks, but never disappearing entirely. She was transfixed, no, more than that. It was a longing she felt, deep within her fragile bones, as if something was calling to her. For the first time in her short life, she wished for more. It was this wish that lead her to slip down to the servant’s quarters, lifting the heavy iron key off it’s hook to unlock the backdoor. She did not put on shoes, she did not find a jacket. She stepped into the driving rain, marvelling at the feeling of cold water on her virgin skin. Even discomfort can feel like a miracle if it’s new. She made her way across the lawn, avoiding the bright spots of light cast by the watching house, dashing, causing splatters of mud to paint her legs. And still, that light, calling. Though it turned out not to be a light at all, but rather a creature who shone like the moon, but not like the sun. He leaned against the tree, as if he had been waiting for her there always. His teeth were sharp as he smiled, and his eyes were black. And in his hand, he held a fruit with red skin.

He offered it, casually, the promise of one prison for another. She knew she should never eat fae fruit, to ignore all tricks or pleas. But this was not a trick, it was an offer, and she may be naive, but she was no fool. She took it from him, and bit deeply, letting the sweet juice drip down her chin with the rain.

Slayers: My Last Morning In Hospital

The light seemed different, somehow. Softer, gentler. He marvelled at it, as well as the beauty of the dust motes dancing gently. He was a cliche, and he didn’t care. He thought he would never seen another morning again. His bloods had came back normal. As had his MRIs and CAT scans. As had every test they had thought to check. Even when he wasn’t actively dying, he always had had some deficiency or irregularity. Now, well, he was the epitome of health. He didn’t even need glasses anymore. They were calling it a miracle. He didn’t disagree. Nobody had known who the young doctor was. And when he mentioned the snake, they just murmured things about hallucinations and fever dreams. He could still feel the snake bite, even if the marks had healed. He could still picture the handsome face, even if he’d only gazed at it for a moment. He knew it was real. It seemed realer than the last few years had been. Perhaps the only real thing he had ever experienced. He dressed himself, ignoring the fussing of his father. The scars on his skin were gone too, from countless surgeries. They all seemed to chose to ignore this as doctors signed off on his paperwork, and shook his hand, discharging him. Nobody believed it would be the last time. But there was an air of hope there had never been before, the vain ambition that perhaps magic really did exist, and good things did happen to good people. He walked unsupported to the car, and the cold air on his skin had never felt better. This felt a little like freedom. Like a weight had been lifted. Gratitude flowed through him like honey, sweetening and tinting everything he thought of or looked upon.

His mind though, kept circling back to the feeling of a hand on his, and a smile so warm it could light up a room...

Sybil

Paris was a distraction at least. Her grief for her father was still like a fresh wound, and yes, she had some degree of homesickness, but when you had a city like Paris at your feet, you would be foolish to refuse it. There was always something to do. Always a bar or cafe opening, or a new theatre production. And the strangers here were so kind, a mile away from the standoffishness of the Midwestern Americans she had grown up amongst. Always ready with a kind word, always pouring her another drink, buying her the prettiest things. It was near overwhelming at times.

And yet, she found herself often discontented with no explanation why. Perhaps it was the single bad review taking root in her mind, polluting all it came across. But she still felt moments of joy with her new friends. Moments of profound contentness that robbed her of breath.

Sybil wondered if perhaps she did not do very well on her own. She relied on her sister an inordinate amount throughout their childhood, and she wasn’t sure if she knew what it was like to stand on her own two feet. Whenever she was alone in the morning light, that was when the darkness set in.

Luckily, she had so many good friends that seemed to not mind taking care of her a jot. How lucky she was.

Susurration

The trees were not silent. They chattered and whispered about the little, insignificant thing creeping through between them, footsteps barely making a sound. In the distance, a campfire flickered, and occasionally snatches of laughter and song made it this far into the trees, making the small thing pause. “What do you think she’s doing?” Elm whispered, glancing up at Oak as the thing used one of it’s branches to hide behind. One of it’s branches drooped considerably since lightning had struck it several years back. “Hm. That thing she’s carrying is called a knife.” Oak was wise. Oak had been a child at the dawn of this forest, and knew almost everything about what came through it. It could even tell humans apart, which was rare. “What does it do?” “It kills, dear child. She must be hunting.” Oak watched where her gaze wandered. “Hunting those others I suspect.” Elm rustled, causing the thing to look up, and frown, blonde hair blowing over her eyes. Her eyes were the colour of the spring grass, and almost pretty. “Do humans usually hunt other humans?” Oak thought, and thought. And remembered. “She passed by a few weeks hence. Her and another, one with a beard. And other, one they both sat on. That had four legs. A horse I believe. And the other humans struck them, and took their horse, and their bags. And struck the bearded one so his sap fed the earth below him. We were very grateful, though she made the most upsetting noises.” “Ah.” Elm watched as the small thing became even smaller, shifting into the darkness of the forest, and getting closer to the fire. “Will the earth be fed again tonight?” “I suspect so. Though how much, who knows?” The trees sighed.

The Neverland Lagoons

Peter’s favourite part of Neverland changed by the hour, if not the second, but it frequently was the Neverland Lagoons. It was always sunny here, the light reflecting and bouncing off the ripping water. There were always flowers growing from the gaps in the rocks. There was just enough of a breeze to cool skin hot and bothered after playtime, and it was just warm enough that wet clothes would dry quickly. Fairies dashed about the place, trying not to get their little wings wet in the water, as drying them out always made them cross. And then the were the mermaids themselves. Often about a dozen, sometimes less, sometimes more, in every shape, size, and colour. Their tails glittered like precious jewels in as many shades. Peter adored them, and they adored him, flirting and playing at every opportunity. They bore the other Lost Boys well enough, but he was their favourite, much to his pride.

And he had his favourites amongst them, when he remembered to. One of the ones that endured was, of course, Ariel. He had been fascinated by her red hair, vibrant and clashing against the clear blue of the water. She had let him brush it, only wincing a little when he tugged at the knots. She was fascinated by objects humans had that mermaids didn’t. He brought her hats and shoes, studying her face, looking for the delight that made her more radiant than the sun. She was beautiful of course, as most mermaids were, but she was also nice, which most mermaids weren’t.

She wasn’t quite from around here, he knew. Sometimes that was the way it went. Bits came through, if he let them, though of course very little could get into Neverland without his say so. He was sad, when she left, for as long as he remembered her. He hoped whatever story she was from deserved her.

Call Sign Nisus The camp fire was blazing fiercely, spitting sparks into the sky and crackling as if to remind them all it was here. The company were sprawled around it, gazing upwards at the sparkling stars, sharing cigarettes, and talking absolute shit, as most of their downtime was spent doing. Nisus had somehow managed to acquire a bottle of something that smelt of cloves, and it was already half empty. He was very almost drunk, again, not an unusual development when he had been given clearance. He was leaning heavily against his partner, though his feet were planted in a healer’s lap. He was happy, as he often was. His mouth was made for smiling, his voice made for laughter. He was rarely serious, a blessing and a curse when fate had put a gun in his hand.

He was in his element, surrounded by those he loved, and telling stories. Nobody could ever tell which bits of his stories were real, if any, and which were fake. He would never admit to lying, cheerfully being shameless with reckless abandon. Despite barely ever having seen a real war, he seemed to have more heroics than the rest of the company put together, somehow, better shooting skills, faster reflexes. Odd that. His mentor pushed his head playfully as he teased her, fondness dripping from every word. They made a right pair, her no-nonsense attitude bouncing off his, well, nonsense near constantly. They fit together somehow though, like part of a jigsaw, like anchor and ship, like weapon and sheath.

As soon as I saw the exhibit, I knew I'd owned these things before.

The museum was cool and quiet, the floors shining marble. The hoards of children had faded away with the hours of the school-day, and now, an hour before closing, the rooms had the feel of a sanctuary. People moved from room to room like ghosts, leaving no trace of themselves behind, and only the softest murmuring echoes.

They were two such people, Albie with his golden hair falling about his shoulders, the evening sun sometimes catching it and giving it the appearance of flame, Brennon with his dark dark eyes. Their arms were linked, though they sometimes fell into holding hands. They whispered to each other. Brennon preferred art galleries to museums, but it had been Albie’s turn to pick their date venue. Albie had a fascination for all things ancient.

They were in the Greek section when it happened, though to the outside observer it looked like nothing happened at all. Albie stopped in front of a case, and with a shaking hand, placed his palm against the glass. “Albie?” Brennon peered up at his taller lover. “Is something wrong?” “These things are mine.” Albie’s voice shook with the effort of keeping it controlled, low. Inside the case was a cloak pin, a handful of game counters, and a water vessel. The small white card said these things had been buried with a warrior who had died in some ancient and forgotten battle.

“What are you talking about?” “No. Not all mine.” He removed his hand from the glass, and his eyes were a million miles away. “The cloak pin was his.”

“Who’s?”

He said it so bluntly, like it meant nothing at all, like his words couldn’t hope to hurt. “My eromenos.” His voice curled differently around that word, but somehow it had never sounded more like him. They left the museum in silence. ****************************** Albie did not sleep well that night, in their small and comfortable flat. They had barely spoken that night, curled up in front of the TV, Brennon sneaking glances at his lover. His eyes were often unfocused, his elegant fingers turning a pen between them over and over again. And now, in bed, he was tossing this way and that, his skin glistening with sweat. Brennon dare not wake him up, from cowardice or care. He woke naturally after countless hours, and spoke of dust and blood and the ever beating sun. Brennon could do nothing but hold him.

He looked up signs of psychosis online, of delusions and hallucinations, but none of them fit. Albie only talked about it when the moment struck him, and often seemed frustrated that he couldn’t provide more details. And then there was the museum visits. He went back every week, and sat in front of the case, often but not always refusing Brennon’s company. Smaller details appeared, wine splattered on the doorway, small pieces of food left by windows, worry beads appearing in jewellery boxes. Albie was becoming somebody he did not recognise, but was somehow still not unlike himself. ***************************************** He dared ask the question one night, when they were laying in bed, side by side, a soft breeze being invited in from the open window, bringing in distant sounds of chatter and cars. Albie had never looked more beautiful, the half-light painting him almost divine. Brennon’s heart ached for the love of him, and for the knowledge he was not the love of his many lives. “What was he like?” Albie opened his eyes, surprised. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, thinking. Brennon wondered if he was about to get up and leave, lick his centuries old wounds. But he didn’t. He replied. “He was quicker than I ever was. He won all our races. He used to laugh, a lot, and he was never serious. His hands were always dirty.” He breathed out a laugh, closing his eyes again, pained. “He was the best swimmer, but the horses didn’t like him a bit. He died, minutes before I did, a spear through his chest. He had looked so... Confused. Like he couldn’t conceive of a world where the Gods did not save him. He was not alone. I couldn’t either.” Albie’s hands played with Brennon’s fingers. “You are not him. And I’m trying to forgive you for that.” Outside, the breeze from the river faded, and soon, the chatter and the cars would cease as the city decided to finally sleep.

Liminal Places

The garage open at three am, surrounded by darkness, the neon glow an invitation to passing travellers. Empty, the only life the bored cashier, who likely wouldn’t notice if his customers were zombies.

The road, surrounded by huddling trees, watching over the cars that come and go. You could lay in the middle of the road for minutes and not be in the slightest bit of danger. The sporadic streetlights drown out all but the brightest stars.

There’s the mega-stores, named Walmart or Costco. Windowless, temple-like testaments to capitalism, everything in excess. Nothing feels quite real, nothing feels permanent.

The cemetery is an old one, but it endures. You can feel the presences here, the veil tearing at the edges from age. The stone is crumbling with the bones beneath it, and one day, this too shall be nothing but vines and leaves.

She had always been walking, following the coastline, in the moonlight. + Gumusservi (Turkish, n.): the glimmering that moonlight makes on water.

Harry knelt in bed, folded arms resting on the window-ledge as he stared out towards the tranquil sea. It was a starry night, only a few dark clouds gathering by the mountains to the east, and the wind was soft and low. Today had been an active day, full of games, cycling and catching interesting things in the craggy rockpools left by low tide. His parents had expected him to fall asleep instantly when they kissed his forehead goodnight. But he was awake, the awakest he had perhaps ever been. Because something strange was happening outside. As you looked towards the gentle curve of the shore, there was a glowing. Steady, constant, alluring. It was calling to him, not with sound, but with a need that his nine year old mind had never known the likes of.

So he walked past his slumbering parents, and past the fishtank bubbling in the darkened living room. He picked up a flashlight from the emergency box kept under the sink, and twisted the heavy backdoor key in it’s lock, tugging the door open with only a small creak. The wind blew sand over his feet as he followed the boardwalk down the slight slope, the conspiratorial whispering of the sea only growing louder.

He wasn’t afraid - it was not as dark as it could be. The moon cast down silver, and the stars glimmered, and his torch kept his feet steady. He wasn’t surprised when he got there, that the light she was giving off was also silver. She was as much a part of this place as the moon, the stars, and the reflections of both. Nor did she seem surprised to find a small boy standing in front of her in a batman t-shirt and sneakers clutching a small bear. He shivered, once, the breeze bringing his skin up in the finest of goosebumps. She had a kindly face, beautiful. Hair fell to her shoulders in waves, her mouth turning down just a little at the corners. Her dress fell to cover bare feet, and bracelets encircled her thick wrists. She crouched down to look him in the eye. “Hello Harry.” Her voice was barely audible over the sea. “Would you like to hear a story?” He nodded, holding his bear close, and moving to sit cross legged on the still-warm sand. She made a noise of approval, and turned to stare out at the horizon. “Once upon a time, a long long time ago, when I was nothing but a green, foolish girl, I fell in love with the sea.” She paused, so long Harry was unsure if she would continue. “You wouldn’t understand of course. Too young. Too young to know what love can do to you. Child, I could not sleep. I could not eat. All I could do was walk by this shore, and kiss the salt water that touched the sand. I added my own salt to the water, and collected the glass made into precious jewels.” Here, she reached a hand into the folds of the dress, and produced a handful of the worthless seaglass. She let it fall through her fingers, though it never hit the sand.

“I did not know the sea was cruel. I did not know she was unforgiving and jealous. So when she appeared to me, dream like, I embraced her, as she embraced me. I felt my lungs go cold, and I was drowning in her. She likes keeping what loves her.” She crouched down again, and her hands were cold when she tilted his face up. She didn’t seem quite so beautiful now - she seemed terrible. Her hair hung, damp and dripping. “I love her still.” His heart ached with some unknown sorrow. He didn’t have a name for it. He didn’t like how it tasted. “Harry, I like giving her gifts. To keep her looking at me, you know? To keep her close.” The wind didn’t seem so warm anymore, and suddenly he understood. He understood how the waves that seemed so calm now, could break bones, could drown bodies. He understood how the place where he played in the afternoon sun could also be a place of death and despair. He understood death with all of his nine years of life.

And he was up and bolting, leaving the woman with her hair blowing about her pale face by her love. When he glanced back over his shoulder, she was whispering to the water. caressing it with her fingers. By the time he was in bed, duvet pulled up over his head, teddy safely clasped in his arms, he could almost tell himself it was a bad dream. He could almost believe it.

But the thing was, when he woke in the morning, the still light filtering in from the skylight, things were not as they should be. For on his beside cabinet, sea glass glittered, surrounded by sand.

She gave me a human molar, wrapped in a bloody silk handkerchief. + Gemas (Indonesian, n.): a feeling of love/affection, arising from someone/something being so cute, that compels you to squeeze them until they squeal/cry.

She worried about her sister. She watched her endlessly, fascinated and repulsed by her in equal measure. The love she felt for the smaller girl was equalled only by her fear.

Frankly, there was something odd about her, even as a baby. Vanessa never cried. She lay, quietly, watching everything with her big blue eyes, and seeming to understand. Daisy adored her from the moment she held her in her arms, every inch the proud big sister. And as they grew up, she ended up more often than not, the proud mother. And once Daisy was sixteen, and their mother lost interest completely, lost to her own mind, she took on the role with confidence.

It really started when Vanessa became a teenager. When her smiles seemed to come more easily, her fingernails always painted pristinely. She became obsessed with her appearance - not out of pride, or of vanity, but what seemed to be a mystification that she had a body at all. She could spend hours in front of a mirror, staring, poking at her cheeks and lips. Daisy wondered what she was seeing.

Daisy tended towards the opposite. She preferred all the mirrors in their house to be covered, so there was no chance of her catching a glance of herself. She could think of nothing worse than contemplating herself at length. After all - what was she but a collection of inadequacies? She needed no reminder.

Vanessa was not popular at school - she was avoided. She spent much of her time on her own, going on long walks, coming home with colourfully stained fingers from squeezing flower petals between them. Daisy found berries in her pockets, uneaten but stored. This happened frequently.

The first was found in a field, surrounded by frost touched grass and the first wildflowers of spring. Her mouth was purple, her hair tangled about her face. She was missing her shoes, three teeth, and a notebook. Her watch remained on her wrist, her pearls on her ears. The second had been missing two teeth, and a handful of gel pens. Daisy stopped reading the news after that.

Vanessa didn’t know them, and seemed disinterested when Daisy enquired. She lay on the bed on her stomach, legs kicking as she flicked through a glossy magazine, gazing at the perfect girls inside. She barely even glanced up. She perked up when Daisy offered to brush her hair, and purred like a kitten when she did so. It shone like spun gold, and Daisy wondered if she had ever seen something as beautiful.

She didn’t always understand the feedback teachers gave on parents evening. They said Vanessa’s social skills were lacking, that she didn’t empathise with characters in the books they were reading. They said she could be cruel, when she wanted to be. Daisy nodded, and bit her tongue. They didn’t see the way her younger sister would hold her when she cried. How when a boy had said something mean to her in the street, she had charged right up to him, fearless, powerful. And how, when she had been worried about yet another bill, head in hands as she clutched at the envelope, Vanessa had presented her with a handkerchief full of teeth.

“For the tooth fairy.” She said, eyes wide, and innocent.

He laid flowers on his own grave. Same day every year.

Perhaps it was a morbid tradition. Perhaps it was unhealthy. But in a way, it was comforting. He had died, once. He had been buried in the soil he now let fall through his fingers. He had come back too, but that seemed less important somehow.

He had died frightened, and alone, but not in much pain. He had been buried with enough family to fill a few pews, but few friends to share memories with. His grave was inscribed by something he wouldn’t have picked, but something he he didn’t hate. The cemetery had been one of his favourite places when he was alive. It was quiet, with hedges for birds to twitter in, and a church with history and crumbling walls. He wasn’t sure he believed in a God, but if he was anywhere, he was here.

He left flowers here because he thought someone ought to remember his death. Now he was alive again, albeit it with a much less active heart and certain more cannibalistic tendencies, nobody seemed to want to remember the time he wasn’t. And much less do anything about the causes of death. It was easier to go back to normal. Whatever normal was.

He chose lilies because roses were cliches and too expensive. He liked their smell, and the way the pollen left marks on everything it touched. But he also liked the weeds that popped up all around his tombstone, incorrigible, unable to be destroyed.

Slayers, ‘Correspondence’

They were emails, but they felt like letters. Whenever he received one, he almost could feel the weight. They felt important. They felt necessary. This wasn’t like the chatrooms he used to run, where everything he said about himself was skimming the surface, but had the pretence of intimacy. This was real. This was an honesty he had only ever shared with Asclepius.

And some things Asclepius hadn’t even heard from his mouth, since it was about him, as so many things seemed to be. Talking about how much he loved him with someone that wouldn’t pour scorn at his door. Talking about how he loved even the frightening parts. Talking about how love could feel like heartbreak.

Lydia was a marvel, and for the first time, he felt like he was seeing private glimpses of a person she didn’t allow many access to. He treasured every piece of information she shared, and prayed whatever sentence he typed next would not be the thing that broke this spell they both seemed to be under.

He realised, currently, there was very little he would not do for Lydia. And very little he would not do for the God she loved. And that frightened him even as it filled him with a sense of deep, ferocious love.

DUD: Black Ships

They bit their tongue, and kept their silence. They were damn near mute as well as blind. The amount of time they spent screaming inside their own head, instead of even whispering outloud. They were their own worst enemy, their only friend, their only company.

Who was it that had stolen their tongue? Where exactly had they lost their voice?

If they were honest, they knew the answer. They had started to lose it in the black ship. Not completely, not at the beginning. That would come later, in astropath training, beaten and bled out of them, until they could only just remember how to say their name.

But the process had begun the first time they had answered back, and the pain didn’t stop, the attacker didn’t back off until Cal reached into their mind and made them. There would be no relenting here, no mercy, no restraint. It was kill or be killed, and Cal couldn’t win every battle. So they began to avoid starting them.

Baris would have been proud, had he been here. He had always been saying how they needed to watch their mouth, and now here they were, barely breathing without considering it first. The thing was though, as their voice faded, so did their memories. Baris may have been proud - but Cal didn’t know that.

DUD: Oh Captain, My Captain

Cal fundementally did not understand Merwaldians. They were weird. They eat real food. They cared an astronomical amount about tea. They wore impractical jackets and used impractical forks. Their ships contained far too much brass, and not enough technical displays. They had manners. Feudal worlds remained to be a mystery.

And George, well George was even more of a mystery. George had a contained sense of fun that Cal didn’t understand. Sometimes it stirred something at the edge of their mind, but they suppressed it instantly. The problem was, that Cal didn’t always know when she was joking. When her orders were meant in jest, or when they were meant to decide for themselves. It put them on edge, as did her kindness. The way she seemed to look at them with pity. Kindness didn’t exist for people like Cal. So she was either afraid of them, or wanted something. Or both. Probably both.

Waldeinsamkeit (German, n.): mysterious feeling of solitude when alone in the woods.

You were never alone in the woods. Rationalise it by thinking of it in turns of creatures - there were insects creeping on bark or underfoot, birds fluttering and twitching, perhaps even a deer, passing through, disturbing little.

Don’t think about the presence all around you, watching, disturbed. It’s interested, so far. Tread carefully as you walk in it’s domain. Do not eat it’s fruit, do not kill it’s prey. Do be wild. Do bare your teeth. Do grind your hands into the earth, do stamp your feet as though your legs were thunder. Make yourself welcome here, make this as much yours guest. Do not act cautiously.

Soon, you’ll feel something curl around your heart, and you won’t be alone even in your own head. The breath in your chest will be shared. The blood in your veins will be shared. Don’t be concerned - you’re treading on borrowed ground.

Janteloven (Norwegian/Danish, n.): a set of rules which discourages individualism in communities.

Anna was an awkward little thing, her smock a little too big, a little too worn. Her sandals too were ill-fitting. Her ankles were splattered with dust from the road, her wrists a little red from rubbing at them. She stuck out, in short, because of her aggressive mundanity. People could excuse breaking from the norm if it was to succeed, not if it was to fail.

Nobody gossiped about her. Nobody whispered about her activities, or admired her skills. She could fade into the background without even trying, and that afforded her a certain amount of freedom. For instance, she could go beyond the Fence.

The elders said that beyond the Fence lay terrible beasts with dripping teeth and grasping claws. They said that there were cliffs as high as mountains, with raging seas crashing against them. They said that the fields you could see at the border were full of poisonous flowers that would cause a rash so painful you would claw your own flesh clean off.

Anna had been desperate enough to risk it. Perhaps with scars she would be noticed, perhaps with death she would be remembered. So she waited until the village was at Conclave, and slipped off over the Fence, and into the field of sweet looking grass and flowers.

She did not burst into flames, she did not burst into rashes. Instead, she stood in the evening sun, drenched in gold. She held out her palms as though she could catch it. She crushed some grass beneath her feet, and the scent of it filled the air. She felt a gladness coat her heart, and for the first time, she was glad she was invisible. Nobody else had been painted and golden.

Baraka (ةكر ب) (Arabic, n.): a gift of spiritual energy or ‘sanctifying power’.

He pushed it into my hands, the glowing ball that hummed innocently. It was warm, and he cupped his hands around mine as it lit us up. “Take it.” I loved him when he was like this. Intense, showing his cracks. Nobody else saw this. It was all mine. “I can’t.” I found my voice was a whisper. “It’s yours anyway.” He closed my fingers around it. “I am so tired. I want to see the world with fresh eyes again. With you.” His godhead flickered, distressed. “It’s my gift, freely given.”

I knew what to do, my dreams had told me in advance. The visions too were his gift. I pressed the light to my heart, and it sunk through my skin, and took shelter within my flesh. My veins lit up with fire, every part of me aching with divinity. I would be a goddess of light, of love, of sacrifice. He watched me, my fire reflecting in his eyes, and he smiled. He was nothing now, when he was everything before. I loved him still. I loved him always.

Orc Clients

She didn’t get many. Mostly soldiers making their way through from other places, curious about the ways of the League. Mostly they were interested in chatter, in someone to show them around, in drinking companions. The first time she was ever hired by an Orc, she had to admit she was intimidated. Her family, well, were traditionalists in their view. Orcs were easily angered, brutes, not very bright.

The Orc that hired her had lounged on her sofa, wine in hand, and talked with her about books for hours, more intelligently than many of the human clients she had. Weeks later, some pamphlets written by Orcs had arrived, with a beautifully written note thanking her for her time. The fear had faded a little, after that. Now her heart only jumped when they seemed to be getting angry, when the voices of their ancestors started echoing through their head.

She still kept her boot knife close, put it that way.

After Dark

Pain crackled along her right side, electric and hot. Slowly, slowly, she was coming around. The smell of blood was sickly in the air, and it took her a moment to realise it was hers. It dripped down from a wound near her temple, and she was currently unable to wiggle her fingers. Fuck. How long exactly had she been out? She shifted, and some of the plaster and brick shifted, sending up a small cloud of dust. And upstairs, she heard something move. Shit. Evidently, the bastards had back up. She thought she had put down the vampires, but like rats, there were always more living in the walls. And she was bloody, and injured. A smile flickered across her face, almost like relief. At least she could go down fighting. It would finally be over, all of it. She forced herself to her feet, fighting the wave of dizziness that threatened to make her vomit, staggering to lean across the wall with her good side to gain her balance back. From the sounds upstairs, she guessed there were at least two more. Her right arm hung useless at her side as she fumbled for a stake in her left. She crept to the stairs, black creeping into the edges of her vision, and not just from the darkness already in the house. The voices in the hallway carried down. Men, well, vampire men. Not quite the same thing. "Who the fuck cleared them out this quick-" "Not a good clean up though." "Mossy, maybe -" The voices cut off as she finally made it to the top of the stairs. She could barely see. But she could see enough to make out that the two men standing there were almost definitely not vampires. Shit. Had she dragged civvies into this somehow? That wasn't good. She opened her mouth to think of some excuse, any excuse, but instead the room tilted sideways, and she felt an arm suddenly propping her upright.

"Okay, right, I think we found our killer. Let's get her to the car, patch her up -"

Silver

They always said that silver could kill a werewolf. Folklore, I thought. But then I saw the way the moonlight gleamed in your eyes before you left for the darkness, and I started believing.

Dawnish Nobles

They kept trying to tempt her over. Commenting on how quickly she would past a test of mettle. How good she looked with a greatsword. How her poetry could fit in with ease, how many houses would crowd to have her, how she would suit nobility.

It was almost tempting.

But the thought of noble chastity, of marriage and love and tragedy repulsed her like nothing else. Why would she pursue One True Love when she could have a hundred joyful flings that didn’t end in agony? Why would she invite this sort of pain into her life? Why would anyone?

Tick Tock + Dreams

Peter didn’t always dream. Neverland was his dream after all. When he did dream, Neverland reflected it, with rain or wind or monsters. As of late, he had been dreaming of his mother. A flash of gold, a crashing cracking sound as the world fell to pieces.

He kept waiting for himself to forget. He forgot so very much, he wanted to forget this too. He was sick of waiting to stop missing her. He had only known her two days, and he loved her still, and lost her still. Life was not fair, not in the slightest, and every time he remembered that, it crashed down on him with all the force of a tidal wave.

He kept a door in the Neverland tree open for her. Just in case.

#prompts #drabbles #prose #finally fucking done with these #now to do a hundred more weeeeeee

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parkerjonesacoustics · 4 years

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Bad office acoustics – enhancing speech privacy

Articles

Making sense of Noise Surveys

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Chris Parker-Jones

December 18, 2019

The aim of our articles are to break down acoustic terms and concepts as simply as possible, without going too far into the mathematics and every nitty gritty technicality, that acousticians usually love to get stuck into.

So please, if you’re an architect, contractor, developer, planner… or really anyone who occasionally needs to dabble in acoustic design and assessments… then read on…

Got a question?

Is there an acoustic, noise, or vibration related topic or problem that you would like explained? Send us an email and we’ll write an article about it.

[email protected]

Why do I need a noise survey and what is all this jargon in my report?

As an acoustic consultant I see hundreds of noise survey reports every year. Noise Surveys are probably the most common element of work for an acoustician, so what are they, why do we need it and how do we conduct them?

Why do we carry out noise surveys?

For this article, I’m going to focus on noise surveys for new or refurbished buildings. In this area, surveys are conducted for two main reasons.

1. Noise Ingress – In any noise sensitive building (which is most buildings), we have indoor ambient noise level targets to meet within our development. Noise will transmit through the ventilation openings, glazing, doors, walls and roofs in our building façade, therefore we need to know how noisy it is outside and hence the degree of sound insulation we need. This informs the choice of our constructions, particularly important in determining ventilation openings and glazing, typical acoustic weak points. You may hear an acoustician refer to this as a BS 8233 assessment. As a rough example, if I measure an average of 50 dB(A) outside from my survey, our maximum internal target is 40 dB(A), and I know that an open window gives me roughly 13-15 dB(A) of sound reduction, then we can naturally ventilate our building. If we’re on a much noisier site, or our room is highly noise sensitive, we will need to look at higher performance constructions and mechanical ventilation, or preferably, attenuated natural ventilation. We need to measure not only average noise levels, but maximum levels as well. Our building could be beside a train line, it might be quiet on average with one train an hour, but when it does come, it causes a racket!

2. Noise Pollution – Next we have to consider the impact that noise may have on the neighbours of our new development, particularly residential areas and any other buildings considered ‘noise sensitive’. The most common noise pollutant is plant, such as external chillers, AHU’s and fan units from large kitchens. Quite often we’ll have a large school development without any specialist noise mitigation needed, but our small high street takeaway with flats overhead may encounter problems, as it’s not just the size and quantity of plant, but importantly the distance to the neighbours of our building that impacts on noise pollution. To minimise the risk of noise complaints, we should design our plant noise levels to not exceed the existing background noise level, which is why we need a noise survey. Typically, we would take the lowest measured background level from our survey, which could run through the night if the plant is operational at this time, and design to be at least 5 to 10 dB below this. Your acoustician or planning officer may call this a BS 4142 assessment. In some cases, we might have operational noise as well as plant, i.e. a resistant materials workshop, a music rehearsal room or external MUGAs and sports pitches. We may not be working to the strict limits of the lowest background noise level in these cases, but either way, a survey is still likely required to settle up on agreeable noise level target.

When do I need a survey?

Noise surveys are usually carried out at feasibility or early design stages. The earlier we conduct a survey, the more time we have to figure out how to ventilate our building and whether to shield the most noise sensitive rooms on a quieter façade, should noise levels be deemed to be high for simple open windows. We can also work on where plant may need to go (or not go) and any noise level restrictions for the M&E engineer to consider in his or her specification. Building an acoustic fence near our MUGA or sports pitch might be necessary, and operation time restrictions could be needed on music venues, bars and external restaurant areas.

The latter points of the above are normally required as part of the planning submission. Planning officers will then usually stipulate a condition relating to noise, typically regarding noise pollution and operational restrictions. This might need a further survey post completion, measuring the plant in operation to test that it is indeed below the existing background noise level, if demonstration by calculation is deemed insufficient.

The same assessment (a BS 4142 assessment) is required to achieve the one credit under POL 05 of BREEAM (POL 08 in older versions). Credits under HEA 05 will stipulate (for some building types) that indoor ambient noise levels targets must be those specified in the relevant standard (i.e. BB93 for schools or HTM for healthcare), so our survey is important in ensuring our façade does a good enough job of limiting the external noise ingress.

Is a survey always needed?

Not always. In the case of a refurbishment which is not a change of use, there might not be any mandatory acoustic requirements. That is, unless new plant is to be added. But even if you think a survey probably isn’t needed, remember that a survey is usually required for most developments, so you always an acoustician.

How do you conduct a survey?

A survey always requires attending site to measure during the proposed operational hours of the building, in positions representative of the building façade and the nearest noise sensitive receptor, i.e. the nearest house. Some consultants will use a longer term ‘fixed’ measurement position, with several short ‘spot’ measurements. The ‘fixed’ position measures for several hours to capture the variance in noise level over the day, and if necessary the night. For the latter, I need a secure location to store the equipment unattended, so don’t be surprised to find my microphone on a roof or suspended out on an open window. ‘Spot measurements’ might be anywhere from 1 minute to 30 minutes long, at various positions. The purpose is to establish how noise levels vary across the site, and by measuring at synchronised time periods to our fixed meters, we can make a direct comparison.

The more complex a site is in terms of the noise levels, the locations of noise sources, the density of neighbouring buildings and how big or irregular a shape our building is, the more positions we should measure in. Sometimes we will measure in several fixed positions, and measure over an extended period, depending on the noise source. The motorway nearby may consistent day to day, but the recycling centre next door might work with glass on a Tuesday, so it’s always important to survey for a long enough period, and on the correct days.

For any new build we will of course be measuring long before the building is in place, so won’t this be unrepresentative? Well yes, the building could change level significantly, through the screening of noise behind the building, and the noise reflections off the building itself, and nearby properties. New landscaping and fencing may also effect noise levels.

So in some cases we will consider building a noise map, calibrated to our measurements from site, with the new building then modelled. If we go back to the earlier example of an external level of 50 dB(A), I’m not too concerned, our new building is unlikely to raise these levels significantly, if at all, so we can naturally ventilate without a noise map model. If it’s 60 dB(A), we’re now looking at the increased costs of mechanical ventilation or an attenuated natural vent strategy. Without a noise map, one might apply this strategy across every façade. With a noise map, we might be able to show that the facades at the back of the building, without line of sight to the busy road outside, may be quieter and therefore can be ventilated through open windows. Of course, if there was another road facing this rear façade, a train line, plant equipment or maybe we’re under a flight path, then this may not be the case, but this is why a noise map model is important here.

If you’re ever faced with a design that has mechanical ventilation or high performance glazing across all facades, and a noise map hasn’t been produced, you should check with your acoustician.

I can’t make sense of this report, what do all these terms mean?

In the acoustics world we deal with a lot of different parameters. The main one’s you’re likely to find in a noise survey, are:

· LAeq – can be thought of as an average noise level, this is the equivalent continuous sound level which would contain the same sound energy as the time varying sound. Indoor ambient noise level targets are specified as an LAeq, hence we use this parameter to assess noise break-in.

· LAmax – this is the maximum noise level, used to assess occasional loud noises which might not affect our average level that much, but would still cause a disturbance. Like the LAeq, we should use this in assessing our façade against noise ingress.

· LA90 – used as a measure of the ‘background’ noise level, this is the level which is exceeded 90% of the time. For a noise pollution assessment in line with BS 4142, usually the lowest, modal or mean LA90 is chosen as the target noise level that plant noise should not exceed.

Sometimes you might see these written without the ‘A’, i.e. dB(A) Leq, rather than dB LAeq (these mean the same thing), or with the time period the measurement is conducted over, such as LAeq,16hr or LAeq,30min. The odd ‘S’ or ‘F’ might slip into notation, i.e. LASmax, Slow and Fast, on a slow setting noise levels are recorded every 1000 milliseconds, compared to every 125 on fast. We usually use fast, but slow can give a smoother level fluctuation which is easier to read in an environment where the average noise level is constantly changing.

Other terms you might encounter include the LA10 (level exceeded 10% of the time, often used to assess traffic noise), Lday, Lden and Ldn variations of the Leq over different day, evening and night periods, and LCpeak (the peak sound pressure level). The ‘C’ in this last term is a C weighting. In acoustics we use a weighting to give a single figure dB, which encapsulates all the frequencies in the noise. Usually an ‘A’ weighting is used, reflecting the response of human hearing in normal levels of noise, for example noise at very low frequencies and very high frequencies are heavily weighted against, because we cannot perceive them as well as frequencies around 500 Hz to 6 kHz. At excessively high noise levels the frequency response of our hearing changes again, which we use the ‘C’ weighting for. Any ‘Z’ terms that pop up define when no weighting has been applied, these are the raw sound pressure levels, commonly used if we’re not considering the effect that sound has on humans.

I hope you enjoyed this short article, and keep an eye out for more articles on the common questions that I get asked by clients in my job as an acoustic consultant. Feel free to connect and message me through LinkedIn, send me an email at [email protected], or through our Contact Us page.