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king-finnigan · 5 months ago

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Keep the Door Ajar ch. 1

Fandom: Arcane Ship: Jayvik Summary:

After the explosion in his apartment, Jayce is banished to Zaun, where he becomes a mechanic. When he meets Viktor, the apothecary across the street from his shop, he's enchanted by him, though as a newcomer in the Undercity, he tries to keep his distance. That is, until he unexpectedly finds himself caring for Powder, a child who has who recently lost her only family in a conflict caused by Jayce's very own hexcrystals. But he can't do it alone. Luckily, there's a healer across the street from him who can help him navigate his newfound home and family. And if Jayce is head over heels for this mysterious healer? Well, that's nobody's business but his own.

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The facade of the shop is the same as every other he's passed since he's entered the Undercity: colourless, dilapidated and covered in a greasy layer of chemicals and soot. The only thing identifying it as belonging to Jayce's family - and to Jayce himself, now - is the characteristic golden hammer on the sign that hangs above the sturdy door.

Jayce sighs. His new home.

He still finds it hard to believe that in the past twenty-four hours, he's lost everything that he's ever known: his home, his family, his research, his very right to be in Piltover.

Banished to the Undercity. If he'd known the price of progress would be this high, he wouldn't have started his research at all. But hindsight is everything, and unfortunately, he's here now. No use in wallowing in this bitterness, he tells himself, though he still finds it hard to swallow away the bitter lump in his throat.

Banished. For a simple fucking science experiment. He never meant to do any harm to anyone - and he hadn’t. Everything he did, every rule he broke, had all been in an attempt to help people.

He sighs and drops his bag on the ground next to him. No use in dwelling on it now. What’s done is done.

The tools inside the bag clang against each other as he searches for the key in his pocket, a rusty, old thing that his mother had stowed away in the back of a long forgotten drawer somewhere. The shop had been a venture of one of his grandfathers, an attempt to expand his business into other parts of the city, bridge the divide and try to capitalize off of it at the same time.

But the Undercity has never been kind to strangers from Topside, no matter how well meaning they are and how good their tools are, and the shop had been given up long ago. Still, it hadn't been sold, a combination of a lack of time and a lack of buyers, and it has stood abandoned here since, waiting for the moment someone desperately needed a place to stay outside of the Piltover because they were banished for a science experiment gone wrong. Lucky Jayce.

The door creaks on its metal hinges as it swings open inwards, leaving a track of cleared dust in its wake on the tile floors. It's dark - the windows guarded on the outside with metal grates to protect them from vandals - and Jayce has to slap the wall a few times to find the light switch. A lone bulb flickers to life in the middle of the ceiling, casting hesitant light on a room that has lived in darkness for years.

The floors are made of drab, brown tiles, covered in a layer of dust while the brick walls don their own drapery of spider webs. In the far right corner, a forge opens its gaping, black maw, an abandoned anvil dozing in front of it and a wooden workbench pushed against the wall next to it. More workbenches line the left back wall, some scattered with ancient, corroded tools and disintegrated, yellow paper, others only holding nothing but possibilities.

Looking around him a bit more, he can see that one of the barred windows isn't a window, but a large rolling door, probably to bring in machinery that is too large to fit through the front door. Convenient. That is, if the thing isn't rusted into place. He decides he'll have to find that out another time.

He picks his bag up from outside the shop, mentally cursing himself for having turned his back on it. If there's one thing he’s been told about the Undercity since he was a small child, it's that its people like to take things that aren't technically theirs. Especially if it belongs to a Piltie, as they call people from Topside – something which he’s found out over the past hour or so as he made his way to the shop. He's lucky this street isn't a well-travelled one, or his bag would’ve been long gone.

He sighs again, remembering the long walk here. It had been hard enough to leave the city he was born in, the city he loves for the very last time after saying a tearful goodbye to his mother. But crossing the bridge into unknown, enemy territory, had been another beast entirely.

And enemy territory it was, as he soon found out.

Eyes had followed him, a few at first, then more and more the deeper he went. People missing limbs, teeth, and various other body parts, leering at him, his freshly cut hair - something his mother had insisted on doing for him one last time - his clean clothes, his ten fingers and unblemished face and he’d felt their disdain.

But can he blame them? He’s a stranger, an outsider, a rich guy in their eyes, intruding upon their peace. He doesn’t belong here.

No one had attacked him, not yet, at least. But he’d heard a few hisses as he had passed. Piltie, said with such hate that he’d almost considered turning around and going back, catching a boat in the harbour and taking his chances in a different city altogether.

But there he would have nothing. Here, he at least has the shop.

He has to try.

As he turns to close the door behind him, a sound draws his eye. A soft tinkling; musical notes that clash so weirdly and wonderfully with the mechanic whirring that forms the background thrum he's been hearing ever since he's entered the Undercity. He looks across the street and spots another shop.

Unlike most of the abandoned buildings in the street, it’s clean. Dark metal has been wrought into large arches, like waves crashing on the shore, framing massive windows made of glass slightly tinged by the constant vapours that drift through the streets of the Undercity – yet somehow whole in a place that seems to consist solely of broken glass. They’re curtained on the inside by course, dark-purple fabric, though a warm, inviting light filters through them. The door, rounded at the top and painted the same purple as the curtains, is shut firmly. The sign above is as clear as it can be: a mortar and a pestle with the word 'Apothecary' in elegant lettering beneath it. Next to it, twinkling lightly in the foul air are windchimes.

Jayce stands there for a second, enthralled by the sight of something so clean and elegant, so welcoming in a city that's been anything but so far. Then he tears himself loose from the spell and shuts his own door. Better not to stare, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself and stay outside any longer than needs be.

He leaves tracks in the thick dust as he walks to the back of the shop towards the wooden door labelled 'Private' in rusted gilded letters. Behind it is more darkness, more dustiness and more of that odd smell that's enveloped him like a wet blanket ever since he walked further into the building. It's musty and stings in his nostrils and throat - dust and age and maybe some of the chemicals that seem to pervade the Undercity in travelling clouds.

Another lonely lightbulb, another room that's seen better days.

The floor is made of wood this time, though the walls are the same brick as the workshop. Mercifully, the person who was here last decided to drape sheets over the furniture to keep most of the dust at bay. He pulls them off one by one: a simple wooden table and two chairs in one corner in front of a kitchenette, a cot complete with mattress and pillows on the other side with a set of drawers at the foot. Yet another corner houses a desk. No chair, but he decides he can easily use one from the dining table. He's all alone anyways. A door in the right wall houses a small, tiled bathroom, right behind the forge. Clever, he muses to himself, an easy, cheap way to heat water.

He turns in a circle, looking at his living quarters. They're dirty, basic and cramped - his family has never been the richest of the Piltover houses, but still this is so different to what he has at home. Or what he had at home.

Still, he tries to think optimistically, it could be worse and a little bit of cleaning will liven the place right up.

He sighs. Well, no better time to start than now, he supposes.

He’s found a broom leaning against one of the benches in the workshop and after a few hours and a lot of swearing and sweating, he thinks he’s managed to sweep most of the dust and the cobwebs out of all the rooms.

Some expired cleaning products have the floor, the forge and the leftover tools shining like gems, his nostrils burning and eyes watering from the harsh vapours. He stands with his hands on his hips, satisfied as he looks around. It’s still not the best, but a lot better than it was a few hours ago.

His stomach rumbles and he wonders what time it is. It was morning when he left Piltover and he wandered the streets of the Undercity for a few hours, looking for the right house, getting accosted by the locals and quickly walking away from them and getting even more lost in the process. Add to that the few hours of cleaning he’s just done and it must be right around dinnertime.

He sits down at the table in the living room, carefully unwrapping the food his mom had packed him before he left. During cleaning, his mind has been as occupied as his body and he hadn’t been able to think about his circumstances, but now that he sees the lovingly wrapped sandwiches cut in triangles as he’s liked since a child, it hits him.

He’s alone now. Truly and utterly alone in a foreign place with no one to fall back on, no one to return to. His old life is gone – the Academy, his childhood home, his mother – ripped away in an instant because of a mistake he was too stupid to realize he was making. And all that remains, a carefully wrapped meal, right in front of him.

He lets his head fall into his hands as a gaping hole opens in his chest, fear and anger and grief and longing for his old life ravaging him from the inside. And for the first time since his lab exploded, he sobs.

Once the tears fall, there’s no stopping them and he curls into himself to shield him from the outside world, his memories, his feelings, from anything, and he sobs and sobs and sobs like he hasn’t since he was a small child and his mother was dying in the snow in front of him. It feels good yet at the same time it’s like he’s drowning – in fond memories, in regret, in his own tears – and leaves him heaving for every breath of putrid, stinging air until it feels like his lungs are on fire with the chemicals.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there crying. He doesn’t care to know, really, but by the time the tears abate and the sobs grow more infrequent and less painful, everything hurts. The muscles in his chest are sore from the crying, as is his throat, his back and arms ache from the cleaning and his joint from the cold that has started to seep into the room and the rickety chair. Worst of all, his head hurts. Throbbing, nauseating pain emanating from behind his eyes and blurring the edges of his vision with every heartbeat.

He stumbles off the chair, rewraps the food his mother made him – God, the food – and manages to stagger his way to the bed before collapsing on it. The sheets and pillows are far from clean, still in need of a thorough washing, but right now he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the soft, blue blanket he pulls from his bag, a remnant of his childhood, a painful yet soothing reminder of his old bedroom.

It still smells like home.

He pushes it against his nose, the headache slowly subsiding as the familiar scent envelops him, thoughts blurring into a mass of colours and movement and slowly, quietly, gently, he drifts off to sleep.

He finds a market not too far from his new home with a few decent-looking shops around it. He spends the little money he and his mother managed to scrape together before he was forced to leave there on new clothes, sheets, food and scrap machine parts.

He’s pretty sure the shop owners took one look at him, recognized him as an outsider and charged him double what the stuff is worth and his wallet is ruefully light afterwards, but it’s better than nothing. At least with the new clothes – a shirt and slacks made of rough woven fabric, both patched in several places – he could be mistaken for a Zaunite, if one doesn’t look too closely.

The rolling door in his shop and the metal shutter in front of the window are rusted at the hinges, as expected, but it’s nothing some oil, a lot of muscle work and a few muttered curses can’t solve.

And then he’s open for business.

He sits behind one of the work benches, tinkering with a few cogs and screws he got at the market. His mind strays as his hands work of their own accord, twisting metal with his tongs, soldering and cutting and screwing parts together. A familiar shape emerges - a small robot with movable limbs, its head a half-round circle that sticks up from a square chest, arms and legs gangly but able to keep it up.

He smiles softly at it.

He’d made something like this ages ago, when he’d just started at the Academy. It’d been one of his first assignments and the thing that had finally distinguished him from the other students, drawing attention and approval from the professors.

He’d named his little creation Blitzcrank, he vaguely remembers.

In the silence of the workshop, he can hear the sounds coming from outside: the eternal thrum of the mining equipment in the fissures and the ventilators underneath the streets and soft, melodic tinkling.

That damn tinkling. It’s… captivating, in a way. There’s no melody to it, the notes go up and down, up and down, coming quickly and then slowing down only to pick back up when another gust of foul air brings the small metal rods into motion again.

He wonders who the music belongs to, who decided to bring life to an otherwise deserted, broken street. Who took one look at this place and opened a shop with large, inviting windows and soft purple curtains and wind chimes outside the front door.

The apothecary. It’s a title Jayce has rarely ever heard in his time in Piltover. They had pharmacists, yes, and hospitals and physicians and doctors. But no apothecaries. The word invokes something within him, a vision of herbs hanging from the ceiling and incense burning on the windowsill, of esotericism and spells and amulets.

He shakes the thought away. He’s being ridiculous and he should focus on fixing this damn lamp so maybe he can sell it to the next customer.

And yet. That damn tinkling, pushing its way into his mind.

He looks up and through his slightly dirtied window, giving him a tinged vision of the street outside – and the apothecary’s shop. The same inviting, warm light shines through the curtains and as he looks, the door opens and a customer steps outside. An old man, bent and weathered from the harsh years spent in the Undercity, clutching a clay jar against his chest, the edge of a label barely visible from the angle Jayce is looking at. But, strangest of all, is the man’s facial expression.

It's calm. Relaxed. Almost content.

Now, Jayce hasn’t spent a long time in Zaun, but every single person he’s encountered has had the same facial expression of stress, fatigue and a tinge of angry defiance. Life in the Undercity is hard and unforgiving and doesn’t lend itself to relaxing. There’s always something to worry about, always some new calamity waiting to happen – whether it’s the return of the Grey, of the enforcers, a job that gets taken away or the gangs that roam the streets – there’s always a new threat around the corner, ready to strike when you’re least expecting it.

So to see someone calm and serene, a half-smile ghosting across their lips… It’s a new experience for Jayce.

But it happens again. And again, and again.

As he sits at the same work bench every day, waiting for customers that never arrive, starting and finishing little projects, making trinkets that no one will ever buy and fixing household devices that he finds on random street corners, person after person visits the apothecary’s across the street. A constant drip-drip-drip of sick and desperate people disappearing through the purple door, their faces pinched with pain or worry or sorrow when they enter, only for the expression to disappear when they step back outside shortly after. Some leave with a brown jar in their hands, some with a small bundle of herbs, some with nothing but a bounce in their step that wasn’t there before. But without fault, without exception, each and every person leaves without their worries.

It's nothing short of miraculous.

And it leaves Jayce very, very suspicious.

He doesn’t know what goes on behind those large, curtained windows, but whatever it is, it can’t be right. Not even the best doctor in Piltover could cure every patient, make every illness or ailment go away. Before the week is over, he’s concluded that whoever runs the shop must be a quack or a con man or a healthy mix of the two.

And still, by the end of the week, he hasn’t gotten any customers. Just his luck.

---

The next Freeday, he goes to the market to pick up some new broken devices and scraps. He’s still visibly an outsider, but with his second hand clothes and his hair slowly growing out of its perfect cut, he’s sure that within no time, he might stop drawing so much attention and so many scowls. The stall owners still scam him out of more money than he can afford to spend, but some of them recognize him and greet him with neutrality or mild annoyance, which is infinitely better than the sneers and jeers he’d gotten the first time.

As he walks back to his shop with his arms filled with cardboard boxes of old broken devices he might be able to blow some life back into, he feels light on his feet. Despite the circumstances, he feels his old optimism returning to him, the dark clouds above his head parting to let some sunshine into his mind.

That is, until he finds his front door wide open.

He freezes for a second, until his instincts take over.

“Hey!” he shouts, barging inside, dumping the boxes right inside the door against the wall. “Hey! Who’s in here?”

He walks a few steps inside to see if someone is hiding behind one of the heavy work benches. Which is his first mistake.

A shadow blurs past him and out of the front door.

“Dammit!” He turns, running after it, not looking where he’s going. His second mistake.

Whoever was inside has turned over an oil canister behind them, and his foot slips in it, his shoulder slamming painfully onto the tiles of the workshop as his ankle doubles over. He shouts in surprise and pain, nearly falling again as he tries and finally manages to get up, rushing out of the door, his right side slick with oil.

He’s just in time to see a small child disappear into a side alley, a mischievous grin on his face as he makes off with a rucksack full of Jayce’s belongings.

He runs after the kid in a desperate effort to catch up, but when he gets to the mouth of the alley, it’s empty.

“Fuck!” He slams his fist against the wall, frustration and anger making him see red, heat pulsing through his veins and warming his cheeks in embarrassment. Robbed in broad daylight, by a damn child.

He feels like an idiot .

“Am I interrupting?” A voice bounces through the narrow street, a foreign accent curling around words tinged with a hint of amusement.

Jayce feels his cheeks warm even more. Just his luck; not only has his shop been burgled by a kid less than half his age, but someone else has witnessed his idiocy. And seems amused by it.

“What the hell is your problem?” he spits, turning to the sound of the voice.

He’s slightly taken aback at the sight that meets him: a man, about his height, though slightly hunched over and leaning some of his weight on the cane in his left hand to unburden his right leg, which is wrapped in a metal brace. Unruly, dark brown hair frames a face made entirely out of angles and dotted with a few artfully placed moles. But his eyes are what capture Jayce’s attention the most. They’re a striking amber and seem to be staring right into his soul, piercing in a way he’s never experienced before, as if the man knows his every inner thought just by looking at him.

And they are, in fact, slightly crinkled by amusement.

“Here to laugh at me?” Jayce asks, venom lacing his voice.

“No, of course not,” the man says. He hesitates. “Maybe a bit.” The corners of his mouth lift up slightly. Jayce deflates, anger leaving him in a rush as embarrassment floods him.

“Alright,” he relents, looking down at his oil-stained clothes. “I do admit I may look a bit ridiculous.”

The man’s features soften slightly, those piercing eyes looking Jayce up and down. “What happened?”

Jayce sighs, wiping his clean hand over his face. “Got robbed, I guess. By a child.”

“Robbed?”

“Yeah.” Jayce gestures to his storefront, the door still open. “Just got back from the market and found him rummaging inside. I don’t know what he took, but I don’t have a lot at the moment, so it’s a big loss either way.” He sighs.

“So you’re the mechanic that’s just moved in there?”

“Yup. That’s me.” He can’t help the tinge of despair that creeps into his voice. “Though I’m afraid I’ll have to move back out again soon. Don’t have much left.” And God, does he hate the thought of packing up his stuff and leaving the country completely. Though maybe it is better to move to a new city, somewhere he doesn’t get robbed blind by a literal kid.

The stranger cocks his head slightly. “What did he look like? The child?”

Jayce furrows his eyebrows. “Uh, I’m not sure, actually. Short?” The man snorts. “He had white hair. I saw that much.”

The man nods thoughtfully, though Jayce can see the corners of his mouth curl up. “I see,” he simply says. Then, he turns around and walks away, his slightly uneven gait punctuated by a soft clack of his cane as he goes.

“Wait!” Jayce says, but the stranger has already turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

He sighs. “Alright, nice talking to you, then,” he mutters to himself as he makes his way back to his shop. He has to change into clean clothes and take stock of what’s been taken. A great way to end his first week in Zaun.

---

Though it’s been a few hours after he’s changed into clean clothes and scrubbed at his arms and legs until the stains were gone, he can still smell a whiff of engine oil every time he shifts his weight on the uncomfortable wooden stool at his workbench.

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, staring at the cogs and screws on the scarred tabletop with unseeing eyes. Most of his finished projects have been stolen and a few of his tools as well. It’s not much, nothing special really but it is- was most of what he had. What bothers him the most was that the culprit took Blitzcrank and the sandwich his mother made.

He shakes his head, frustrated at himself. It doesn’t matter. The robot was just a few pieces of scrap metal soldered together to form a homunculus and the sandwich- well, if he’s honest with himself, he likely wasn’t going to eat it anyways. Too many memories. Too much pain.

He startles out of his thoughts when a knock comes at the door. He frowns; he isn’t expecting anyone at the moment and a potential customer would just come in instead of knocking. Though, belatedly, he realizes he left the shutter down in front of the window this morning, since he went to the market and wasn’t planning on opening the shop anyways.

Which also means he can’t see who’s knocking.

He sighs. This day just can’t get better, he thinks to himself as he walks to the door to open it.

For a split second, as he does, he expects to be met with piercing amber eyes. He has to push away a slight pang of disappointment when he’s not.

He blinks up at the burly man outside, not used to seeing someone that matches his height. “Oh. Hello.”

“Afternoon!” the man says, eyes smiling behind his small, round glasses. “I’ve uh… Well…” He chuckles as he claps his hand on the shoulder of the boy in front of him, drawing Jayce’s attention to him. “ Someone here has something to confess.”

Jayce stares for a second before recognition dawns on him. “You,” he breathes, right as anger takes over. “You stole from me!”

The boy has the wherewithal to look ashamed, head turned away, though Jayce can still see a hint of defiance in the way his cheeks redden and his brow furrows.

“Listen.” The man sighs. “I’m sorry about what happened. I’ve tried to teach him not to steal, but the kid has a mind of his own.”

He hands a leather bag to Jayce and a quick peek inside lifts the weight from his shoulders. His stuff, all there and unharmed.

The spark he saw in the kid erupts. “But he’s a Piltie, Benzo! ”

“Ekko!” The man, Benzo, spits at him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and shaking him a little. “I’ve told you before, it doesn’t matter. He lives here now. He’s just as much at risk of facing the Grey or the enforcers or the chem barons as any of us.” The man’s grey sideburns move as he clenches his jaw before sighing, pushing the child slightly forward. “Now apologize.”

Ekko groans in frustration but faces Jayce nonetheless. “I am sorry for stealing your stuff, I promise not to break into your badly locked shop again,” he drones, refusing to meet his eyes.

“ Ekko,” Benzo hisses, but Jayce cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s alright. I accept your apology, Ekko.” He hesitates, furrowing his brow. “How is my shop badly locked?”

The corners of the boy’s lips curl up. “You’ve only got one lock, for starters,” he says, finally raising his eyes to Jayce’s face. “And it’s an old one, too. Completely rusted. I barely had to jam my pick in there and it was open.” He grins. “Honestly, if I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve sooner or later.”

Benzo sighs. “Incorrigible,” he mutters.

---

A few drinks and a lecture on proper locks from a child thief later, they’re sitting at Jayce’s usual workbench as he inspects his items laid out in front of him, checking them for damage.

“You know, Jayce,” Benzo muses, picking up Blitzcrank, luckily unharmed. “This really caught my eye earlier, as did the other toys.” He moves one of the arms, joints smoothly rolling in their sockets. “Did you make them yourself?”

Jayce shrugs, tearing his gaze away from the robot, heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah. Just to pass the time, really. I know they’re silly, I didn’t mean for anyone to actually see them.”

“I like them,” Ekko chimes in, grabbing a spinning top from the table and setting it in motion with a flick of his wrist. It spins in place, the little notches in the edge creating a mesmerizing pattern.

Benzo nods. “They’re good. A little rough around the edges,” he concedes, making Jayce chuckle. “But I think you can do something with them. Sell them, if you want.”

Jayce furrows his brows. “Seriously? I thought people here wouldn’t really care for them. I mean, they don’t really do anything…”

Benzo looks at him over the rim of his glasses, his eyes softening. “I know you’re from Topside, so let me tell you something, Jayce. Here in the Undercity…” He sighs. “There aren’t a lot of pretty things, nice things. Things that only exist to bring joy. But people still crave it- they’re only human. We’re only human. I think, with these things,” he gently turns Blitzcrank around in his hands, “you can remind them of that joy. You can bring it back to them.”

He can only gape at Benzo. “Really? That’s…” The kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me. He swallows his words, ducking his head instead. “That’s very nice of you.”

“It’s the truth.” Benzo leans back, smiling kindly at him as he folds his tree trunks of arms in front of him. “I think you can sell quite a few of these.”

“Unfortunately I don’t get any customers, though,” Jayce admits.

Benzo waves it away. “You’re new, those things take time. Tell you what, Ekko and I have our own stall at the market every Freeday. You can display a few of these there and we’ll see if they sell.”

“Really?” His chest fills with a warmth he hasn’t felt since the trial, eyes prickling as he’s faced with unexpected kindness and brittle hope. “But I’m not able to pay you.”

“Eh, I don’t want your money. Or lack thereof,” Benzo chuckles. “It’s not easy out here, and as I told young Ekko earlier,” he ruffles his hand through the boy’s white hair, “you live here. That makes you one of us now. And we take care of our own.”

Jayce can’t help the broad grin that splits his face. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.”

Benzo laughs. “Let’s just wait and see whether these sell or not, alright?”

#fanfic #jayvik #viktor arcane #jayce talis #arcane #arcane fanfic

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nancyrezendes · 4 months ago

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Because of the curtain's thin track, it can fit in tight spaces between windows and the ceiling. This is why the S fold works so well for taller windows or any window that is placed in an area where there isn't much room for a curtain rod. Given that they are the ideal choice for your contemporary-looking home, S fold curtains are regarded as the pinnacle of elegance, luxury, and sophistication.

The benefits of using the S-Fold Curtains track are listed below.

Versatility

Curtain tracks offer much-needed flexibility and versatility, particularly when working with windows that have unusual shapes, like bay or corner windows. They can also be used as a door or a room divider, among other drapery-related uses.

Curtain tracks are a great option for DIY decorators because they can be easily bent to any shape and allow curtains to be hung and arranged however they like.

You can use heavier weight material.

S-Fold curtains have a cutting-edge tracking system that makes opening and closing feel smoother. The tracking system is extremely robust and frequently coated in silicon to provide an especially smooth glide. Heavy fabrics are made possible by the S-Fold Curtain's heavy-duty tracking, which is not possible with conventional pleat curtains.

Outside and Inside Modern Look

Wave Fold, S-wave, S-track, and ripple fold curtains are additional names for S-Fold curtains. When installed properly, S-Fold Curtains offer a very contemporary appearance and produce an amazing appearance both inside and outside.

Continuous operation

Most curtain rods leave a bump or a seam where curtains can get caught because they are typically made of two pieces to accommodate longer windows. With curtain tracks, drawing drapes is effortless and smooth, and they can be opened or closed without tripping over along the length of the window.

Double S-fold curtain track that is optional

Installing a double S-Fold Curtain Track is a popular choice among customers. You can use a sheer S-Fold curtain during the day and a blackout lining curtain at night thanks to this. With this setup, you are guaranteed to have the most light and privacy possible day and night.

Fewer bulky stacks

The clever design of the S-Fold Curtain allows for less bulky stacking when opened compared to Pleat Curtains, which is ideal if you prefer a more streamlined and minimalistic look and dislike the appearance of large stacking of curtains. This is especially obvious when sheer S-Fold curtains are used.

The curtain is more clearly visible.

Utilizing an S-Fold Curtain track enhances the curtain's fabric and waves on both the inside and outside. This is due to the fact that S-Fold Curtains are identical on both sides, unlike Pleat Curtains, which have a front and a backside. This indicates that they present well from both angles.

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flextrack · 2 years ago

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Elevate Your Space with Ease: Discover the Versatility of Wall Mount Curtain Tracks

Explore the seamless fusion of functionality and style with our Wall Mount Curtain Tracks at TheFlexTrack.com. Transform your living spaces effortlessly while enjoying the convenience of a versatile and modern curtain solution. Visit our website [https://theflextrack.com/] to discover a wide range of customizable options that bring a touch of elegance to any room. Upgrade your home decor and experience the flexibility of wall-mounted curtain tracks for a refined and sophisticated ambiance.

#Wall Mount Curtain Track #Shower Curtain Track #Recessed Curtain Track #Ceiling Curtain Rail #Ceiling Mounted Shower Curtain Track #Ceiling Curtain Track #Sliding Curtain Track #Ceiling Drapery Track #Ceiling Curtain Track System

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slidingdoorwardrobes · 10 months ago

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Types of curtain Tracks that are motorized and benefits

26/08/2024

Curtain Tracks Motorized

SpectraBlinds

Types of curtain Tracks that are motorized and benefits

Motorized curtain tracks have transformed the way we think about window treatments, offering a blend of convenience, luxury, and smart home integration. These systems have evolved to accommodate various architectural styles and personal preferences, making them a popular choice for residential and commercial spaces alike. Below is an in-depth exploration of the types of motorized curtain tracks and their extensive benefits.

1.Single-Track System

Description: The single-track system is designed to hold a single curtain panel, making it an ideal choice for minimalistic spaces. This track is straightforward, featuring a linear design that supports one layer of fabric, usually a blackout or sheer curtain.

Applications: Commonly used in bedrooms, living rooms, or any area where a single curtain layer suffices for privacy or light control. It’s also popular in spaces where simplicity and functionality are prioritized

2. Double-Track System

Description: The double-track system is engineered to support two curtain panels, typically a combination of a sheer and a blackout curtain. The dual-track design allows users to manipulate both layers independently, providing versatile light control and privacy options.

Applications: This system is perfect for spaces like bedrooms and living rooms, where both privacy and varying light levels are desired. It’s also commonly found in hotels and luxury residences.

3.Triple-Track System

Description: The triple-track system goes a step further by accommodating three layers of curtains. This can include a sheer curtain, a blackout curtain, and a decorative drapery, offering maximum flexibility.

Applications: Best suited for large, expansive windows or spaces requiring complex light and privacy management. It’s often used in theaters, large living rooms, and high-end residential settings.

4.Curved Track System

Description: Curved track systems are designed to follow the contours of curved windows or bay windows. These tracks can be customized to fit almost any curve, providing a seamless and elegant curtain solution.

5.Ceiling-Mounted Tracks

Description: Ceiling-mounted tracks are installed directly into the ceiling, offering a sleek and modern appearance. These tracks create a floor-to-ceiling curtain effect, which is particularly striking in spaces with high ceilings.

Applications: Suitable for modern and contemporary spaces, ceiling-mounted tracks are often used in lofts, open-plan living areas, and commercial spaces where a clean, uninterrupted look is desired.

6.Recessed Tracks

Description: Recessed tracks are hidden within the ceiling or wall, giving the illusion that the curtains are floating. This design creates a clean, minimalist appearance, free from visible hardware.

Applications: Perfect for modern homes or commercial spaces that prioritize a seamless design. Recessed tracks are often found in high-end residences, hotels, and offices.

7.Smart Home Integrated Tracks

Description: These tracks are integrated with smart home systems, allowing for control via voice commands, smartphones, or automation systems like Amazon Alexa, Google Home, or Apple HomeKit. They can be programmed to operate based on time, light levels, or other environmental conditions.

Applications: Best suited for tech-savvy homes and commercial spaces where automation and ease of use are prioritized. These systems are increasingly popular in modern residential developments and luxury homes.

8.Heavy-Duty Tracks

Description: Heavy-duty tracks are designed to support large, heavy curtains, such as those used in theaters, conference rooms, or large commercial spaces. These tracks are built to withstand the weight and provide smooth operation regardless of the curtain size.

Applications: Commonly used in theaters, auditoriums, and large conference rooms, where large or heavy curtains are required.

Benefits of Motorized Curtain Tracks

1.Convenience and Ease of Use

Effortless Operation: Motorized curtain tracks allow users to open and close curtains with the push of a button, a remote control, or even a voice command. This is particularly beneficial for hard-to-reach windows or large curtains that would be difficult to operate manually.

Time-Saving: With automation features, curtains can be set to open and close at specific times of the day, saving time and reducing the need for manual intervention.

Enhanced Security

2.Automated Scheduling: By programming curtains to open and close at specific times, motorized tracks can create the illusion that someone is home, even when the house is empty. This can deter potential intruders and enhance the overall security of the property.

Integration with Security Systems: Many motorized tracks can be integrated with home security systems, allowing curtains to react to security events, such as closing automatically when the alarm is triggered.

3.Energy Efficiency

Temperature Control: Motorized curtains can be programmed to close during the hottest part of the day in summer, reducing heat gain and lowering cooling costs. Conversely, in winter, they can be set to open during sunny periods to maximize heat gain and reduce heating expenses.

Light Management: By controlling the amount of sunlight entering a room, motorized curtains help reduce the need for artificial lighting, contributing to energy savings.

4.Aesthetic Appeal

Clean Design: The elimination of cords and manual operation provides a clean, modern look. Ceiling-mounted or recessed tracks enhance this aesthetic by hiding the hardware, giving a seamless appearance.

Customizability: Motorized tracks can be customized to fit any window size or shape, offering a perfect solution for both standard and uniquely shaped windows. This customization allows for greater creativity in interior design.

5.Increased Longevity of Curtains

Gentle Operation: Automated systems ensure that curtains are opened and closed smoothly and consistently, reducing wear and tear on the fabric. This gentle operation extends the life of the curtains, making them a more sustainable investment.

Consistent Use: Regular use of curtains can prevent them from gathering dust and dirt, which is more likely when curtains are rarely moved. Automation ensures consistent use, keeping the curtains cleaner over time.

Smart Home Integration

Voice Control: Integration with smart home systems allows for voice-activated control, making it easy to adjust curtains without needing a remote or smartphone.

Scene Setting: Motorized curtains can be programmed to operate in conjunction with other smart devices, such as lights, thermostats, and entertainment systems. For example, curtains can automatically close when a home theater system is activated, enhancing the viewing experience.

6.Improved Accessibility

Ideal for All Users: Motorized tracks are particularly beneficial for elderly individuals, people with disabilities, or those with limited mobility, as they can operate curtains without physical effort.

Remote Operation: Even for able-bodied individuals, the ability to control curtains remotely can add significant convenience, especially in large homes or commercial spaces.

7.Quiet and Smooth Operation

Noise Reduction: High-quality motorized tracks are designed to operate quietly, ensuring that the movement of curtains does not disturb the peace of a room. This is particularly important in bedrooms, offices, or any space where noise levels need to be minimized.

8.Customization and Flexibility

Tailored Solutions: Motorized tracks can be tailored to meet specific needs, whether it’s the size of the window, the weight of the curtains, or the desired control method. This flexibility ensures that the system fits perfectly within the space and meets the user’s requirements.

Variety of Options: With a wide range of track types, motor options, and control systems available, users can select the combination that best suits their aesthetic preferences and functional needs.

9.Commercial Applications

Efficiency in Large Spaces: In commercial settings, motorized curtains can enhance efficiency by allowing large numbers of curtains to be controlled simultaneously from a central location. This is particularly useful in hotels, conference centers, and large office buildings.

Enhanced Client Experience: In hotels, motorized curtains can improve the guest experience by offering convenience and luxury. In conference rooms, they can provide quick and efficient light control during presentations.

Why do we choose spectra blinds?

Spectra’s commitment to customer satisfaction is evident in its focus on delivering products that not only look great but also improve energy efficiency by optimizing light and temperature control. Choosing Spectra blinds means investing in a modern, convenient, and efficient solution that will enhance your living or working environment for years to come.

Conclusion

Motorized curtain tracks offer a wide range of benefits, from convenience and security to energy efficiency and aesthetic appeal. With various types of tracks available, including single, double, curved, and intelligent home-integrated systems, there is a motorized solution for every window and every space. The increased longevity of curtains, improved accessibility, and customization options further enhance the appeal of these systems, making them a worthwhile investment for both residential and commercial applications.

As technology continues to advance, the integration of motorized curtain tracks with smart home systems will only become more seamless, offering even greater control and convenience. Whether you’re looking to enhance the functionality of your home or add a touch of luxury to your commercial space, motorized curtain tracks provide a modern, elegant, and practical solution.

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flextrack20 · 5 years ago

Link

Theflextrack is one of the best Ceiling Mounted Drapery Track provider. We offers offers flexible and straight ceiling mounted curtain track. we have innovative drapery tracks that will get your visitors marveling at the awesome tracks. We bring to you flexible drapery track. For more details visit https://theflextrack.com/.

#ceiling drapery track

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cinebration · 3 years ago

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Wolf Among Sheeple (Riddler x Reader, Edward Nygma x Reader) [Request]

I see! Okay well- there is absolutely no Batman Forever!Riddler content out there and I really, really need it, so I'd like: Reader is a former coworker of Edward's, the only one who would be interested in his ideas, they had chemistry but he was too meek; she now runs into him as the Riddler, mad chemistry still, making out ensues- can lead to lovemaking but ONLY if you want to.. ////—Requested by anon

This one also got buried, and I sincerely apologize for only now getting to it.

Warnings: gunshots, blood

Gif Source: henry-cavill

This was the last time you were letting yourself get strong-armed into a fundraiser gala. Surrounding by a crowd of well-dressed faux do-gooders, you were more than out of your element, more than a fish out of water. The urge to flee grappled with the urge to launch yourself onto that garish podium, snatch the microphone out of the pitchy singer, and level your best insults at the sheeple gathered beneath the sweeping arches of the ballroom’s ceiling.

You endured another inane conversation between your boss and some loaded bastard who couldn’t tell the difference between a neutron and an electron, much less the fact that a brown suit and burgundy tie didn’t go together.

Just as you were about to open your mouth and say as much, chaos exploded on the far end of the room. Shouts of surprise and startled screams swelled to fill the space as smoke rolled across the ballroom floor.

“Fire!” someone screamed.

You scrutinized the flow of the grayish-white cloud as everyone around you panicked. “Smoke doesn’t behave like that,” you muttered to yourself.

You concluded it was dry-ice fog just as a figure swept through it, revealing themselves in a shockingly bright green suit peppered with question marks of a darker shade. A half-crazed laugh preceded it, echoing around the large space over the cries of terror.

Your head snapping up, you fixed your attention on the figure. Behind the laugh was something you recognized, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Did someone say fire!?” The figure swept off his green bowler hat, revealing hair a shocking shade of orange. “Somebody call the fire department! I’m smoking!”

You snorted, the only sound of amusement from the crowd as armed men spilled out from behind the figure, brandishing their machine guns in the faces of the nearest fundraiser patrons. To your amusement, the loaded bastard from moments before nearly swallowed the barrel of one. To your delight, the man pissed himself.

Laughing to himself again, the man pranced around the room, waving a heavy cane with dangerous intent. You tracked his movements, didn’t even bother to conceal the wicked smile pulling at your lips.

“This is a robbery and a kidnapping and a hostage situation, folks!” The man leapt onto the stage, hip-checking the lousy singer aside, and put his lips on the microphone. “I suggest more screaming and running. That’ll help us decide whom is what.”

A scrawny man sweating rivulets down his face and neck spun on his heel to your left and sprinted toward the doors half-hidden by heavy draperies.

BANG!

The man hit the floor, blood spraying from the new hole in his chest.

“Congratulations!” The green-suited man clapped his hands together. “We have our first dead hostage! Who wants to join him?”

Shrills screams filled the space.

“The sound of success. Oh, I do so love to hear it.”

The intruder’s men began roughly corralling the crowd, brandishing their guns and using their fists, elbows, and feet with impunity. You plotted a route through the press of bodies, circumventing the attackers while nearing the stage. When you were close enough to touch the stage’s skirt, you called up, pitching your voice just enough to be heard above the pandemonium at that range, “Edward!?”

He jerked his attention toward you, eyebrows scrunching over the thin green domino mask over his eyes. He gasped, jaw dropping. Overcome with surprise, he could only gesture at you wildly, your name stuttering over his teeth.

You laughed, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. “I can’t believe it!”

Edward dropped down from the stage, landing in front of you with a flourish of his cane and hat. Another laugh ripped from your lips as he tore the mask from his face, white teeth gleaming in his wide smile.

“My God,” he drawled, sweeping his eyes over you and your dress. “Please tell me you haven’t sold out to these sheep.”

“God no,” you answered, disgust coloring your voice. “You spoiled my fun, actually. I was about to let them see a wolf.”

His smile widened further, a keen glint in his eye sending a thrill through you. “A wolf, you say?” He suddenly stepped into your space, one hand grabbing you by the hip to draw you flush against him. Peering into your face, he purred, “My, what large teeth you have!”

A low chuckle rumbled in both your throats. You ran the tip of your tongue over your teeth, the movement slow. Edward’s eyes followed the action with a hunger that made you buzzy. It had been so many years since the old excitement had coursed through your veins.

You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over his. “All the better to bite you with.”

A sharp wolf whistle threatened to burst your eardrums, but all you felt was desire as Edward crashed his lips to yours, devouring you. His cane pressed into your back as he pressed you tight against himself, the lack of space between somehow still not enough. Sparks danced down your spine, fire burning at all your nerve endings, bolts of electricity darting through you.

You pulled apart with an obscene, wet sound that made you flush with arousal.

“You should’ve done that years ago.”

He grinned, one hand reaching down to palm your ass. “Edward was too much of a chicken shit to do anything about it then.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “Who are you if not Edward?”

“The Riddler, baby,” he declared, throwing back his head and rolling the r for effect. “I’ve got a riddle for you.”

“Lay it on me.”

“God, I love a lady who isn’t afraid to play.” Clearing his throat, he projected his voice for everyone in the room to hear. “What animals prance in human skin but share not one brain cell between them?”

You glanced over your shoulder at the crowd, a wicked smile pulling at your lips. “Sheeple.”

“Bingo to the smoking hottie!”

Riddler spun you around so that your back pressed against his chest, leaned down to whisper in your ear as you both stared at the crowd. “Who should we start with first?”

You scanned the horrified faces, then pointed with your chin.

Your boss squealed.

Your laughter soared with Riddler’s to the roof.

#Riddler x Reader #Riddler #Riddler imagine #Edward Nygma x Reader #Edward Nygma #Edward Nygma Imagine #Jim Carrey x Reader #Jim Carrey #Jim Carrey imagine #Batman Forever #requests

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monstrouslyobsessed · 4 years ago

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Toy store filled with yandere dolls? —anonymous

—tw / tags: implied stalking, implied murder / death, general yandere themes, sfw, unedited —featured character(s): multiple dolls, great uncle

It was one of the oldest stores in the country, thriving even during the hard times. Hell, it was in the fierce competition of winning the title of being the “Most Magical Place on Earth” throughout the decades and even centuries. And, it was a mere toy store.

Or, rather it was the toy store that every toy-lover dreamed of going and visiting at least once in their lives. The biggest, the grandest, and among the oldest, having every possible manufactured and handmade toys imaginable in every aisle. It even sported a little museum in the back of the store.

Admiring the fantastical setup of train tracks suspended just under the stained glass ceiling, you tailed the hobbling old man between gargantuan wooden shelves. You kept your pace even, you didn’t mind your uncle’s slowness so much as it gave you more time to appreciate the entire interior designs inside the massive store. No matter how many times you had been in this place, it still took your breaths away.

You had no idea how to react to the fact that your great uncle picked you to be his successor. You were hardly that academically impressive to be chosen, and yet…—you cannot ignore the fear in your beating heart.

What if you are the one who will lead the downfall of this beautifully magical toy store?

“Ah, ‘ere we are,” your uncle’s withered voice drew you out from your dark thoughts. As you blinked at his back, he gestured you to follow him through the glass-paneled door, “come on, me lad/lass, don’t dwindle! I ‘ave people I want you to meet!” The old man disappeared through the door and then the red curtained entry.

You grimaced, “Wasn’t the museum closed for the renovation?” You said aloud, pulling down your gaze from the massive painted sign above the door. It introduced the museum; the museum within the ancient toy store. It almost sounded ridiculous, yet it was a massive hit with consumers.

Your uncle never replied and you huffed, catching a brief glance of a paper sign that said, sorry, we’re closed for renovation! on the window. They even put curtains in, to keep the changes a surprise for their visiting consumers. Pushing the drapery aside, you slipped inside.

“Uncle —?” You blinked, the place was dimmed. As one of your feet nearly knocked over a stack of paint cans, you scuffled backward not to add anymore messes to the chaos inside the museum. It was filled to the brim with plastic drop cloths, boxes, stacks of lumber woods, cans, tools, and dust. The noxious stench of fresh paints assaulted your nose and you groaned, covering your lower face, “Ugh…”

Crinkling noises pulled your attention and you called out, “Uncle? Where are you?” Sidestepping the messes of paint trays and paintbrushes, you tiptoed your ways around the obstacles to follow the sound, “Uncle!”

Goosebumps peppered throughout your skin like rashes and something—or someone was boring holes in your back. When you turned in a snap, you saw nothing. With a frown, you rubbed your arms and shook off the shiver.

“Hold on, me lad/lass,” Your uncle called out, “ran into a mess, I did! Stay put!” He sounded a huff and grunt and what sounded like a sticky crack rang out from wherever he was. “Don’t need you getting hurt!”

You stepped closer, now spotting a gaping door, and reached out, “Er, don’t you need my help for that?”

“No!” Your uncle barked, startling you with the intensity in his voice. Realizing his volume, he repeated with a softer, apologetic tone, “No, just stay put.” Whatever he was doing, you could both see and hear him wrestling with drop cloth.

With from what brief glimpses you caught, the plastic was stained dark red. Whatever paint it was, it was dying your uncle’s hands too—and the whole front half of his dress shirt and trousers. You frowned, “Er…are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fairly sure, me lad/lass,” your uncle murmured, now throwing a fresh sheet over whatever mess he encountered. His voice dropped to a low mutter, “I told him not to come and he’d gone and did it—what fool!” It was followed up with rather vivid curse you never heard from his usually polite tongue, “Me dumb lad, your greed is why we didn’t choose you!”

You were twiddling your thumbs, hearing every colorful word that escaped from your uncle’s lips. We? You wondered. Maybe your uncle was talking about his partners? He mentioned them sometimes, though you swore him calling his ‘little people’ was not all that polite to say. Nonetheless, he always referred them as such.

Your legs growing tired, you had been on the tour with your uncle for a good while, so you decided to find a place to sit and rest your poor feet for a minute. Settling on the pile of lumbers, they were neatly stacked enough to feel assured that you won’t somehow hurt yourself, you whooshed out a long breath.

It was interrupted midway, when you felt eyes on you again. Goosebumps festered on your legs now and you shivered. You parted your lips to call out for your uncle, feeling uncomfortable in the museum’s lobby room, when he called out for you, “Me lad/lass!”

“Yeah!?” You were excited to get a move on.

Your uncle poked his head out from the door and grinned sheepishly at you, “Almost done, let me get a wash up and fresh change of clothes and we’ll resume.” There were specks of paint on his face.

You almost grimaced, but refrained and nodded your head, “Y-yeah, of course.” Please hurry up. You rubbed your thumb from more goosebumps you felt growing on your skin.

With that, the old man excused himself and he was gone.

You wanted to slump, but your muscles were coiling with tensions. Nervousness. There was something wrong, but you couldn’t pinpoint where or why. As minutes ticked by, you kept twiddling your thumbs and your knee rocking and bouncing nervously. Maybe you should go and hunt for your uncle.

But you had a feeling that you really, really shouldn’t.

“Hm?” Something from the bottom of your uncomfortable seat caught your attention. It was colorful, yet small in statue. “A…” you peered closer, “toy soldier?” You didn’t think twice, when you picked the miniature imperial soldier up in your hands. Tall yet thin, it was surprisingly heavier for its size. Circling one of its arms, you can tell that underneath its little uniform, it was all wooden yet beautifully well articulated. It was bending even at the elbow and in its wrist too. A mark of excellent craftsmanship.

Thumbing over its hard face, its nose prodding harshly over your finger, you wondered why it was mostly washed in dark red. It felt and dried like paint too, so soaked through its tiny pairs of trousers that it looked black under the poor lighting. Furrowing your brows, you frowned, “Who painted over this handsome little soldier?”

The paint was oddly flaky under your nails, when you attempted scrubbing the color off from its face. Wood oil was clearly used on this tiny toy, because the paint did not adhered to its wooden body at all. There were little to do about saving its uniform though and you pouted at it. Even the fuzzy black hat couldn’t be saved, thickly matted with paint tossed on it.

The uniform was quite well made, that it almost looked as if it was of the same quality of average human clothings too.

“Oh, what a shame—but you should be okay with a new set of clothes, right? You look perfect otherwise…” You said to it, now somewhat playing with its arms and legs. You didn’t want to break it, but its articulations had you raptured. It was so rare to see a toy being this well-made, even by the modern standards.

A laughter nearly took you out of your own skin, when your uncle peered over your shoulder, “We do have plenty for this gentleman.”

“Uncle!” You shambled off the lumbers and clapped a hand over your rising chest, “Don’t scare me like that!” Grasping the ruined toy soldier in your other hand, you took care not to break it by accident.

Your uncle grinned, his face beaming at you for reasons beyond you, “I can see why they’d chosen you to be my successor.” There were glints in his aged eyes that unnerved you.

“…who?” The word slipped without your prompting.

Something clasped over your fingers, ringing its skinny arms around them. You stiffened. Shaking, you turned to look at what was hugging your hand and gulped audibly when you saw it facing its head toward yours. Its eyes piercing through your soul.

You could feel many more eyes too, boring holes from your ankles up from beyond the darkened corners in the lobby.

“Why,” the old man chuckled, “the little people who lives in this the entire store, my dear child. They’ve been waiting for you for a very,” his voice deepened, joining a chorus of other tinier voices, “very long time.”

—note: been having some health issues, blegh, so i made this one longer as my apology for not writing much. personally, im vvvv iffy with this piece…

this is probably all the concepts i can do tho. sorry to the rest who didn’t see theirs written, i don’t have any idea for them and they didnt come with any prompt for me to help :(( but i’ll probably open headcanons in couple days (whenever my issues will finally ease up 😭) so look forward to that! afterward, i’ll get back to actual writings~hopefully lol

tysm for reading! 💕

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viceprints · 5 years ago

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Following their theme of the Seven Deadly Sins, Vice returns with their second studio album EGO on June 20th, 2015. Leading with the title track “Satisfy”, EGO is full of songs relating to one’s pride.

AESTHETICS:

Purple theme this time around.

A lot of fake fur and animal prints (never real, Vice doesn’t support use of real fur).

They lowkey looked like Dionysus cosplayers this era.

The eye makeup this era…. Wow. Vice wanted to look as regal as possible, so they got a lot of purple eyeshadow and bronzer.

Generally very lush and expensive-looking.

THE MUSIC VIDEO:

This music video is more performance-based than acting-based, but there still was solo shots of the boys sitting on their thrones with different crowns and objects on them.

M.H. is the center for this era, but he had minimal props besides a large crown on the top of his head. The throne he sat on was clearly the biggest and most goddy. One of his scenes, he stood up on the throne, placing one foot on the backrest. Then he pushed the throne back, riding the throne down like a surfboard.

Geonwu was on a throne that was covered with silvery purple silk sheets. The crown on his head was really delicate and silver. The wind blowing around him made the sheets ripple. Despite the regal energy he was exuding, he still slouched in his chair. In one shot, he has the crown on his index finger, lazily twirling it around in a circle.

Woodie’s throne was upholstered with a deep red velvet, and the back of his throne was carved ‘gold’ made to look like decorative flames. In his shots, he was seen leaning forward, tapping his finger onto his clenched jaw. One of the most memorable shots for Woodam was when he took the scepter in his hand and swung at the throne in slow motion, breaking the back piece of the throne.

Cyth’s throne had green vines growing around it, growing thickly as the shots of him progress. His crown has green emerald jewels embellished on it. In his shots, he’s leaning back in his throne, trying to look disinterested, but his jaw is tight and his facial expression is hard when he raps.

Seokyu’s throne is surrounded by gold and money. His throne is made out of what looks like gold coins. His crown is almost as goddy as M.H’s. Resting on his thigh is a deep purple velvet pouch, inferred to have money inside. His hand is always resting in front of it in a protective way.

Ji’s throne looks like it’s made out of hands, painted in a rosy gold color. Half way through his shots, the hands start to move (cgi) and touch his chest and legs. His crown has little gold hearts embellished onto it. When he starts rapping and leaning forward, the hands reach out and pull him back, not allowing him to leave the throne.

Kane is holding a golden apple while he lounges lazily on the throne. Strewn around him on the floor are the rinds of other golden apples. His throne looks very plush and comfortable. His last solo shot is him taking a huge bite of the apple. In the sequence of the video, the bite scene comes right before Woodie smashes his throne.

The group shots are them dancing in a grand hall. The thrones that they are seen sitting on are positioned in a semicircle behind them. Above them is a grand chandelier and there is purple drapery coming down from the ceiling and covering the walls.

The last shot is of all of them sitting on their respected thrones.

ERA NOTES:

Although Vice is finally breaking into the mainstream, this album didn’t sell as well as ARDOR.

However, the era was still successful!

The Satisfy music video reached 10 million views in the first 24 hours.

The album topped at #5 on Melon, #3 on Mnet, and #10 on Bugs.

Satisfy won 3 music show wins.

After album promotions ended, Seokyu walked during a runway show for Dior in Seoul which caused a lot of people to be like “woah who’s that” and eventually start keeping tabs on Vice.

M.H. and Geonwu returned as MCs for Music Bank and were hosts when Satisfy got it’s first win.

In July, Vice After Dark hosted their label mates and first juniors, S.O.T to talk about their debut.

Speaking of which, S.O.T had a few interactions with M.H. and Geonwu at Music Bank during their debut and it was really heartwarming.

FANDOM BEHAVIORS:

The fanbase didn’t really grow or shrink during this era, despite EGO not being as successful as their previous album

Since Triptych stans were stepping onto the scene, Virtues tried to be really sweet to them but it ended up with them being like “yo these kids are mad annoying lmaooo poor tyh.”

Virtues got mad that Artychs weren’t streaming with them and got upset when an Artych called Vice old.

Basically this is when Artychs and Virtues start their rocky relationship.

#kumokocnet #kocsociety #peachykocnet #aeskocnet #koc community #skz addition #nct addition #bts addition #svt addition #kpop oc #oc kpop #kpop idol oc #kpop au #idol oc #oc kpop idol #fake kpop group #kpop idol au #vice.disc

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edwardiansuggestions · 5 years ago

Text

LAST NIGHT I found myself in a strange, far-off land, where the world was all peaks and lakes with nothing in-between except small livings traversing mountainsides, where labourers worked the little farms that lay like ribbons here and there. Tall bridges suspended a golden track from castle to castle, the carriages not driven by heat and coal but by some strange reaction in the metals themselves; the carriages, on contact with the rails, would shoot off in one direction, the friction lighting them up from within, and sending currents to shower the stations, carved from creamy marble, into glorious light. My home - or, at least, the home of some cousin or other - was beside on of these stations. It was a castle, and the castles of this land were not at the centre of towns or cities, but stood in the centre of lakes, rising high into the air. The bridges were some hundred feet high, but the castles towered above them, their impassive square walls cut sheer, with few windows.

My home was peculiar in that it sat apart from the station: a trackless bridge spanned the chasm between the station and the gates, narrow and with crumbling columns. There was a bridge-house, too, by the station - which, the tenants told me, was very odd, as the aristocracy did not tend to keep staff that lived outside their own home. I spoke to them for some time, but I recall them seeming disturbed by my presence, so I thought it fit to leave, and to walk the bridge back home. I remember thinking of my childhood in that castle, and the happy years I had spent, and the artwork I had painted in my nursery with my friend, who I know believe was my cousin.

I went into the central hall, which was lavishly decorated: everything seemed like a gentlemen’s club, with panelled walls, red drapery defining one room from the next, and billiard tables here and there. It was not odd to see billiard tables in the main room, as guests were received on what we might call the ‘ground’ floor, but which, in this world, would be called the ‘bridge’ floor, as there was, really, no ground floor at all - the castle was so tall, and its base submerged in a lake, that the floors must have swept onwards and onwards into the earth itself, with reception rooms becoming kitchens, kitchens becoming servant’s quarters, servant’s quarters becoming wine cellars - the parties held there necessitated them - the cellars becoming basements, and then stretching into, I image, empty halls with vaulted ceilings, with stone-hewn walls, and what we might call dungeons, and then into the earth itself.

There were guests present as I came in, and they were my aunts: three of them, all wearing these odd furs that had very heavy lapels, and the coats of which flared outwards while their skirts were very narrow, so they didn’t look like they quite fitted their bodies right, and they all held drinks. There were other guests, but the layout was such that I couldn’t see them: the rooms, as I think I said, were panelled and curtained in such an orgasmic manner that they obscured themselves from view. The wood was cherry, I think, which I don’t like at the best of times, but set against the red curtains and green of the billiard tables it was stifling. I left the party to go to my nursery, which was on the bridge floor, and which was not one of the ‘internal’ rooms of the castle - though this is not to say it was one of the few to have a window, as, though there were only a few rooms with windows looking outside onto the lake, mountain, and sky, there were lots of windows inside the castle to offer views of different rooms within. Lots of these internal rooms would have windows, as well as dumbwaiters that travelled up and down the castle to provide food to essentially any floor, and any of the most internal rooms.

The window was large, with a flat base and curved top, and it was open. It was so big that a large stick must have been used to close it, which, I imagine, lay somewhere I didn’t inspect. My friend or cousin was there, and he was happy to see me. We looked out of the window at the night sky. We looked at the artwork we had toiled at when we were children - most of them featured curtains. I remembered, then, that at night, we would lie awake (we slept in the nursery, in two very wide, low beds raised above the rest of the nursery by a few steps) and the window would rattle slightly, and then we would hear the sounds of curtains being closed and opened, and we would draw pictures of them. This, I recall, would happen at three in the morning every night, but it had abruptly stopped as we grew older. I would have forgotten it, if it wasn’t for the paintings in the nursery.

I left my cousin, who went to bed, and went back to the party to find my aunts just leaving. After they did so, my dad sat down with me. I think he wasn’t my real dad, in the sense that, in this dream, he was played by my dad, but he was not legitimately him. We sat in an ante-room, which I thought was odd - most of the rooms in the castle were essentially hall-ways leading to stairwells, which led to other floors, and most of the rooms that led off from the ‘billiard rooms’, as I will call them, were either very large (as my nursery was), or, at least, had some purpose. This one just had chesterfield sofas in it, facing one another. We sat down, and behind my dad’s head I saw a candlestick coming out of the wallpaper. This was the only part of the wall that had actual paper, and not panelling. It was red, the same red as the curtains, but with a paler flocked pattern on it. It was like the red, but pinker.

The bridge-door opened and my aunts came back in. They were wearing their furs, but said they hadn’t gotten them back yet. This, I think, was an odd excuse my dream conjured to get my dad away from me for a moment, while I inspected the wall. I did so, and some part of the wall was a knob - I think an obvious knob would be the candlestick. Let us say, then, that it turned ninety degrees to the left, opening a passageway, which, after a few feet, had a narrow staircase leading down.

I have not discussed the layout of the castle with regards to the rooms, but my nursery’s beds were, as I have said, on a small platform. This corridor, I think, led underneath this platform, and I walked down them. Disappointingly, the decoration became no less ostentatious: the walls were curtained, it was well-lit, and all just as stuffy as before. The only difference was that the walls were papered, not panelled. I descended the stairs, and walked through three rooms separated by those same curtains I have mentioned incessantly, and found myself to, I calculated, the space directly below my nursery. It was a bedroom, narrower but deeper than the nursery, and with a smaller window, the drapes drawn shut. This room was dark. Like every other room except the nursery, it was stifling, but the lack of light and airing had made it, unlike the others, take on a musty smell. I walked over to the drapes, and opened them to look out at the sky, and to air the room. I pulled them open, and was greeted by darkness. The window had been boarded up from the outside - or, I think, there was some turn I had not registered, and this window was an internal one, and on the other side there was another room - but this, too, had been boarded up.

I turned back around, and decided to turn on a light to see if I could tell whether this room was internal or not by looking through the boards. I went to a light, and rubbed its base. Like the trains, I think lots of the power in this land was drawn from friction, rather than heat. I did so, and the room lit up. It was dim, and oddly cloudy. And then I heard a noise from the bed. I looked and saw that there was a man in the bed, only his head visible above the red covers. Against the crimson sheets his face was waxen and pale, and he was unbelievably old. His hair was yellow and where it touched the pillows it stuck and was surrounded by a darker tone of embedded grease. His eyelids were half-closed and crusted so that they could barely blink, his eyes were wet, his lips the same colour as his skin, and his skin so jaunt and thin that it looked as though it was sloughing off his strong cheekbones. There is no way to describe it without sounding sensationalist, but I got the impression that his skin was disconnected from his bones, only held together as he did not move. He looked, to sound worse, tender.

I don’t know if his eyeballs moved, as they were cloudy and crusted over, but he was looking at me. And he moaned, his partly open mouth glistening in one corner with saliva, in a low strained way, quietly, but with desperation.

And I looked at the curtains on that boarded window, and at the corridor leading up the stairs to a door that could be opened, I think, only from the outside, and thought of the hundreds of stories ascending to the bedrooms and attics of the castle, and descending into cellars and store-rooms below, and the dumbwaiters that travelled to the internal rooms. I remembered the drawings I had made of the curtains opening and closing by night, and how they had stopped one night as I grew up.

I think at some point I realised he was my great-great grandfather, though I know that sounds silly. I left and went back to my aunts, and the people from the villages on the mountainside walked past the station, and were walking on the tracks, so we went out to ask them what they were doing. I pathetically asked them ‘has the war ended’ or ‘has the war started’, and one of them replied ‘we are going to the festival’, and that was all.

#long post #not a suggestion #also BARELY in character #to be honest this was going to go on my main blog but i decided i might as well put it here #dreams in lockdown are weird but looking back over this i think it makes a lot of sense as a lockdown dream lol #the scenes from this are also SO vivid in my mind and i cant get them down #i also havent read this back through so sorry if it makes no sense #it is basically a longer version of the notes i wrote down when i woke up #it was scary af when i saw him!!!! he looked so scary #i have no clue why my 'dad' was keeping him there!!!!!#the follies of the mind

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