#aluminum curtain wall

[technal]

https://www.technal.com/en/tme/products/curtain-wall/

Curtain wall systems have evolved from conventional building elements to artistic designs that seamlessly intertwine aesthetics and functionality. Learn more about our premium-quality aluminum curtain wall and other low carbon curtain wall solutions, with our diverse range including TENTAL 50 and TENTAL 60, as well as the GEODE 52, GEODE 62, and GEODE UNITIZED systems.

[lalsingh228-blog]

Aluminum Curtain Wall Market Sets the Table for Continued Growth

Advance Market Analytics added research publication document on Worldwide Aluminum Curtain Wall Market breaking major business segments and highlighting wider level geographies to get deep dive analysis on market data. The study is a perfect balance bridging both qualitative and quantitative information of Worldwide Aluminum Curtain Wall market. The study provides valuable market size data for historical (Volume** & Value) from 2018 to 2022 which is estimated and forecasted till 2028*. Some are the key & emerging players that are part of coverage and have being profiled are Reynaers Aluminium (Belgium), Arcat Inc. (United States), Sweets Building Products (United States), ALUMINIUM SASHES LIMITED (United Kingdom), Alutech Systems Ltd (United Kingdom), AluK (Luxembourg), EFCO Corporation (United States), Kawneer (United States), TECHNAL (France), HUECK System GmbH & Co.KG. (Egypt), ETEM Group (Greece). Get free access to Sample Report in PDF Version along with Graphs and Figures @ https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/sample-report/1015-global-aluminum-curtain-wall-sales-market

A curtain wall is defined as a thin, usually aluminum-framed wall, containing in-fills of glass, metal panels, or thin stone. The framing is attached to the building structure and does not carry the floor or roof loads of the building. The Asia Pacific region accounted for a significant market share and is expected to grow during the forecast period. The region includes developing nations, such as India, China, and Japan, whose rate of development is faster than most other developing nations in the world. A healthy spread of construction activity supports the stability of the Asian markets, along with government intervention enhancing a majority of projects for infrastructure development. Developed regions, such as Europe and North America, are expected to witness moderate growth during the forecast period. The growth in the regions can be attributed to increasing disposable income, growing construction spending, and the steady demand for sustainable curtain walls for reducing pollution and enhancing moisture resistance in high precipitation areas. Keep yourself up-to-date with latest market trends and changing dynamics due to COVID Impact and Economic Slowdown globally. Maintain a competitive edge by sizing up with available business opportunity in Aluminum Curtain Wall Market various segments and emerging territory. Influencing Market Trend

Growth in Industrial and Commercial Construction Activities

High Adoption Due To Rapid Urbanization

Market Drivers

Increase Demand for Aluminum Curtain Wall in Commercial and Industrial Activities

Technology Advancements Leads to Demand for Aluminum Curtain Wall

Opportunities:

Growth in Investment in Infrastructural Projects in Developing Economies

Challenges:

Production and Installation Requirements of a Complex Structural Glazing

Energy-Efficient Manufacturing of Raw Materials

Have Any Questions Regarding Global Aluminum Curtain Wall Market Report, Ask Our Experts@ https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/enquiry-before-buy/1015-global-aluminum-curtain-wall-sales-market Analysis by Type (Stick-built, Semi-unitized, Unitized), Application (Commercial, Residential), Insulation (Acoustic, Thermal, Others), Features (Corrosion Resistance, Anti-Static, Antibacterial, Fire Resistant, Others)

Competitive landscape highlighting important parameters that players are gaining along with the Market Development/evolution

• % Market Share, Segment Revenue, Swot Analysis for each profiled company [Reynaers Aluminium (Belgium), Arcat Inc. (United States), Sweets Building Products (United States), ALUMINIUM SASHES LIMITED (United Kingdom), Alutech Systems Ltd (United Kingdom), AluK (Luxembourg), EFCO Corporation (United States), Kawneer (United States), TECHNAL (France), HUECK System GmbH & Co.KG. (Egypt), ETEM Group (Greece)]

• Business overview and Product/Service classification

• Product/Service Matrix [Players by Product/Service comparative analysis]

• Recent Developments (Technology advancement, Product Launch or Expansion plan, Manufacturing and R&D etc)

• Consumption, Capacity & Production by Players The regional analysis of Global Aluminum Curtain Wall Market is considered for the key regions such as Asia Pacific, North America, Europe, Latin America and Rest of the World. North America is the leading region across the world. Whereas, owing to rising no. of research activities in countries such as China, India, and Japan, Asia Pacific region is also expected to exhibit higher growth rate the forecast period 2023-2028. Regulation 43 Curtain walls: Every curtain wall shall safely sustain and transmit to the load-bearing structure the combined dead loads, imposed loads, and wind loads without such deflection or deformation as will cause the curtain wall damage or impair its stability. Table of Content Chapter One: Industry Overview Chapter Two: Major Segmentation (Classification, Application and etc.) Analysis Chapter Three: Production Market Analysis Chapter Four: Sales Market Analysis Chapter Five: Consumption Market Analysis Chapter Six: Production, Sales and Consumption Market Comparison Analysis Chapter Seven: Major Manufacturers Production and Sales Market Comparison Analysis Chapter Eight: Competition Analysis by Players Chapter Nine: Marketing Channel Analysis Chapter Ten: New Project Investment Feasibility Analysis Chapter Eleven: Manufacturing Cost Analysis Chapter Twelve: Industrial Chain, Sourcing Strategy and Downstream Buyers Read Executive Summary and Detailed Index of full Research Study @ https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/reports/1015-global-aluminum-curtain-wall-sales-market Highlights of the Report • The future prospects of the global Aluminum Curtain Wall market during the forecast period 2023-2028 are given in the report. • The major developmental strategies integrated by the leading players to sustain a competitive market position in the market are included in the report. • The emerging technologies that are driving the growth of the market are highlighted in the report. • The market value of the segments that are leading the market and the sub-segments are mentioned in the report. • The report studies the leading manufacturers and other players entering the global Aluminum Curtain Wall market. Thanks for reading this article; you can also get individual chapter wise section or region wise report version like North America, Middle East, Africa, Europe or LATAM, Southeast Asia. Contact US : Craig Francis (PR & Marketing Manager) AMA Research & Media LLP Unit No. 429, Parsonage Road Edison, NJ New Jersey USA – 08837 Phone: +1 201 565 3262, +44 161 818 8166 sales@advancemarketanalytics.com

[enerfreeswindow]

Enerfrees Tilt & Turn Windows Offer Versatility and Efficiency.

Enerfrees Window And Wall Systems' Tilt & Turn windows offer the ideal balance of design and utility. Elevate your environment with modern style and benefit from easy operation, improved security, and perfect airflow. Get the most innovative windows available today.

[devinwong9873]

Glass dome tent sale

Aluminum Alloy Glass Curtain Wall dome Tent Star Hotel Accommodation One-Bedroom Tent Size Customization Global Sales

Tent factory direct sales

Guangzhou Yixing Tent Technology Co., Ltd.

WhatsApp: 0086 18688636806

Company website: http://www.yixingtent.com/

Ali International Station store URL：https://yixingtent.en.alibaba.com

Looking forward to your visit and consultation

[abhigmi]

Aluminum Curtain Wall Market Trends, Segmentation and Registering a Strong Growth by 2032

Aluminum curtain walls market is set to register significant growth between 2023 and 2032, primarily owing to the increasing government initiatives in building infrastructure. For instance, in April 2022, the GSA (General Services Administration) announced that the U.S. government will now prefer American-made, lower-carbon construction materials in its federally funded and federal procurement projects. In addition to gypsum board, asphalt, and structurally engineered wood, the construction materials listed by the GSA also comprise aluminum curtain walls and aluminum storefronts. Such impetus from the governments is expected to spur the market demand.

Get sample copy of this research report @ https://www.gminsights.com/request-sample/detail/4258

Besides, aluminum curtain walls are highly cost-effective as they lessen AC workload and reduce the requirement for artificial light. While traditional windows are expensive, especially if they are to be fitted in large buildings, aluminum curtain walls are made from budget-friendly materials. Moreover, they are lightweight and thin, which makes them easy to install as well. These advantages of aluminum curtain walls are set to fuel the market demand within the next ten years.

Overall, the aluminum curtain walls market has been bifurcated in terms of system, construction, application, and region.

Based on the system, the semi-unitized segment will reach more than 10 billion in terms of revenue by 2032. Since these curtains can be installed quickly and are more resistant to wind velocity and moisture, they are increasingly used in large buildings, which will drive market growth through 2023-2032.

On the basis of construction, the refurbishment segment is slated to grow at more than 9.5% CAGR through 2032. The aging infrastructure in major cities across the world along with an increasing interest in aesthetics has resulted in increased refurbishment activities, which will augment the market growth in the upcoming time.

In terms of application, the residential segment is set to witness significant gains through 2032. This growth can be accredited to the increasing awareness about environmental degradation, cost efficiency, and sustainability among the general populace.

Request for customization @ https://www.gminsights.com/roc/4258

In the regional context, the aluminum curtain walls market in North America is set to grow at more than 9.5% CAGR through 2032. The growth can be attributed to the increasing industrial construction and establishment of new business centers. To cite an instance, in June 2021, the Finland-based producer of environmental, weather, and industrial measurements, Vaisala, opened its new headquarters in Colorado. The firm chose to use aluminum curtain walls in major areas of the building to assist it to achieve net-zero environmental impact, apart from a modern and clean aesthetic.

Table of Contents (ToC) of the report:

Chapter 1   Methodology & Scope

1.1    Scope & definitions

1.2    Methodology and forecast parameters

1.3    Region-wise COVID-19 impact

1.3.1    North America

1.3.2    Europe

1.3.3    Asia Pacific

1.3.4    Latin America

1.3.5    Middle East & Africa

1.4    Regional trends

1.5    Data sources

1.4.1    Primary

1.4.2    Secondary

Chapter 2   Executive Summary

2.1    Aluminum curtain walls market 3600 synopsis, 2018 – 2032

2.1.1    Business trends

2.1.2    System type trends

2.1.3    Construction type trends

2.1.4    Application trends

2.1.5    Regional trends

Browse complete Table of Contents (ToC) of this research report @ https://www.gminsights.com/toc/detail/aluminum-curtain-wall-market

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[sobwh]

Sixaluminium - Devasa+ (2)

The aluminum industry is a vital sector that plays a significant role in various industries, including construction, transportation, and manufacturing. Aluminium profile are widely used in these industries due to their lightweight, durable, and corrosion-resistant properties. These profiles are produced by aluminum profile manufacturers and aluminum extrusion companies, who are key players in the industry. Aluminium profile wholesalers play a crucial role in the distribution of aluminum profiles. They act as intermediaries between manufacturers and end-users, ensuring a smooth supply chain. These wholesalers offer a wide range of aluminum profiles, including standard profiles, conduit and trunking profiles, angle and corner profiles, and seamless aluminum extrusion . They provide a one-stop solution for customers, offering competitive prices and support throughout the purchasing process. By partnering with aluminum profile wholesalers, businesses can access a diverse range of profiles to meet their specific needs. Aluminium profile manufacturer and aluminum extrusion companies are responsible for the production and customization of aluminium manufacturer. They have the expertise and capabilities to design and manufacture profiles according to customer specifications. These manufacturers offer a wide range of profiles for architectural and industrial use, such as doors, windows, curtain walls, and other structural components. They utilize advanced techniques, including anodized aluminum, to enhance the appearance and durability of the profiles. By collaborating with aluminum profile manufacturers, businesses can obtain high-quality profiles tailored to their requirements.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I like when people make the most of a small house and these owners did their best to make this little 1946 Cape in Cleveland, OH, colorful and interesting. 3bds, 2ba, 1,131 sq ft, $285,089. (One of my favorite series of children's books to read in story time is the classic "The Stupids," by Harry Allard. The Stupid family lives in Cleveland and the funniest book is "The Stupids Die." Somehow, the Stupid family thinks they died and marvel at how Heaven looks just like Cleveland. Their dog is smart, he always comes to their rescue.)

Enter directly into the living room. The floor is perfect and look at how neatly they did the designs on the walls and ceiling. I would remove the curtains, though

Cute 3pc. bath in the hall.

Not sure which bedroom is the primary. This one is smallish and has mirrored walls to give the illusion of more space.

This bedroom looks larger. There they go again, people removing the closet doors. Don't care too much for the wallpaper.

Pink & green kitchen. Nice white Shaker cabinets, but who laid the floor? Is it supposed to be in square sheets like that? I don't know why they didn't cover the whole backsplash with tile, either. Sliders open to a nice deck, though.

The large finished attic is the 3rd bd. I don't know if someone painted the clouds or if it's wallpaper, but they're beautifully done.

Finished basement. There's a bedroom area down here in the corner.

And, this is where the 2nd bath is located.

The laundry room has a nice new aluminum sink.

Very large covered deck on the back of the house.

Plus a patio with a little garden.

Interesting yard with a trampoline that looks like it conveys.

This yard could be lovely.

Path to a very large driveway and 3 car garage, plus a nice shed. I bet a pool would fit in the back yard. I think that this house is a good value for the price. 9,374 sq ft lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/15722-Lydian-Ave-Cleveland-OH-44111/33374920_zpid/

[rockyteriyaki]

i wasn’t quite able to finish my other halloween fic in time for the deadline, so i dragged out a carcar snippet and wrote a little bit for a tumblr fic! 1.5k words, guardian angel au 🪽 @motorsport-halloween

The first place they steer him after a race is the guardian angels tent.

It’s small, made of slippy plastic tarping and held up by thin aluminum, cheap like everything in F3. Water slides off the top and pours down the sides in a clear curtain. Today, there are more guardians than usual: a dense cube of feathers packed together to avoid the worsening storm. Probably because everyone and their mother was sliding around the track just now. Perilously.

Oscar stands on his tiptoes from his spot under an awning, trying to profile the crowd before running out in the downpour. He’s seen his angel exactly one time before- when he’d gotten into a particularly nasty collision and had to retire from a race. He remembers dark wings, dark eyebrows, dark eyes. An accented voice not that much older than his own.

“That was stupid. Do not- like that, you shouldn’t. Be smarter.”

Oscar had just stood there, gaping. Hadn’t closed his mouth until his angel had sort of huffed and turned away, back to the tent. The sparkling rip in the atmosphere was starting to stitch itself up, by then, swirling plastic cones into it like a vacuum. Saved by the bell. It hadn’t been until after he’d left that Oscar realized what he’d really wanted to say was fuck off.

Now, Oscar watches the rest of the grid flock to the tent, skittering in under the rain and finding their angels. He watches them idly recount their race stories to various levels of enthusiasm, subject themselves to pat-downs and wellness checks and lectures as needed. There’s genuine affection in their touches, especially in those whose drivers lost control of their cars or locked up in the rain. Who maybe got a little bit closer to the edge. When he gets to F1, this part won’t be televised, but it’ll be more thorough and more often. Because he’ll be closer to the edge, every single race.

But Oscar was pretty damn close today and his angel isn’t here, so. Maybe not.

Halfway through the F2 season, Oscar decides he officially hates his angel.

Whenever he feels his tires start to slip, whenever he clips the barrier or botches a turn, the adrenaline that rises in his throat is partially because he thinks that maybe his angel will have felt it. That he’ll be waiting for him under the tent or in the cooldown room, this time, and his dark eyes will be filled with something other than cool indifference. Like, a shred of concern for Oscar’s life, maybe. But he’s not, and he never is, and Oscar kind of really hates him.

The next time he sees him is in a bland conference room with Mark, his legal squadron and the team principal of Alpine who’s name Oscar can never remember. His black hair catches the shitty fluorescent-looking light of his halo and Oscar almost walks right back out.

“What is this,” he whispers to Mark. It’s not a hiss. “Why is he here.”

“I have to be here. To make sure your life is not ruined,” his angel says, at full volume. Oscar dislikes him so much.

“You are so—“ Oscar starts and doesn’t finish, which is a tactic he uses when he’d like to say something rude but shouldn’t. “Wait.” He turns to Mark. “Is my life about to be ruined?”

Mark inhales, reaching for his manila folder. The Alpine people wince. His angel waggles his incredibly thick eyebrows.

Oscar doesn’t sign with Alpine. He gets a text from an unknown number that says “See you should listen to me yes?” and he thinks about doing something crazy like throwing his phone against the wall. Instead, he shoves it under his sweatshirt and lets it rest against his stomach. It goes up and down as he breathes.

The issue is that his angel doesn’t leave.

Apparently he has to stick around until the ink is dry on Oscar’s contract, now that he’s waded into this whole mess. He has a little phone-like thing, sleek and rectangular, that lights up every once in awhile with indecipherable notifications about the state of Oscar’s life, or whatever. Oscar is 99% he has it on whatever the all-seeing equivalent of “do not disturb” is. He’s the worst.

“What’s his name again?” Oscar asks, around a mouthful of eggs.

“Carlos,” Mark says.

“Carlos,” Oscar seethes.

“You’re gonna have to nut up, mate,” Mark says. He sounds tired. “It’s standard procedure.”

Oscar wants to ask if it’s standard procedure to be concussed and have the doctors at the track refuse to take you to A&E without guardian angel signoff, and for that signoff to never arrive because your angel can’t be fucked, but he doesn’t.

Carlos is never around unless it’s to steer Oscar away from people and look smug. After the seventieth awkward handshake with the shadow of Carlos looming over his shoulder like an overgrown, disapproving hawk, he pulls him into a corner.

“Can you just tell me what I’m meant to do?”

“What do you mean,” Carlos says. It would have sounded sarcastic, if he hadn’t physically flopped his head to the side as he said it. Something evil settles around Oscar’s heart.

“My fate. My destiny, God’s plan, whatever the fuck, I just—I can do it myself. Please.” It comes out a little bit more desperate than he intends, but still north of begging, so he chalks it up as a point.

“No, I cannot,” Carlos says. “This is my job. Sorry,” he adds, because Oscar has the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes.

“Okay, so what if I—I dunno, disobey you?”

“Then you are making a big mistake,” Carlos says, so solemnly. His wings twitch a little bit, rising and flexing through his shoulder blades. Oscar swallows.

“You can’t stop me.”

“I can. This is my job,” Carlos repeats. His wings flare even further. The tips of the darker feathers almost block out the light, closing Oscar into the corner.

“I’ll sign with Alpine,” Oscar challenges. He doesn’t really want to do that, but there’s some kind of rabbity panic jumping around in his chest and making him stupid. “I could. They want me.”

“They don’t.” Carlos’ eyes are blazing the same neon as his halo. He could be seeing all possible futures right now, for all Oscar knows, and yet he still sounds like a moody toddler, shooting down everything Oscar says.

“I’ll show you the contract, mate, they definitely do.” Oscar is no better than him, apparently.

Except maybe he is, because Carlos steps forward until they’re practically chest-to-chest. All Oscar can see in his periphery are reflections of halo-light and Carlos’ heaving chest, his aquiline nose. “You don’t even—“

Somewhere, an alarm starts going off.

Carlos says something in Spanish, short and sharp. His eyes are wide. He fishes his angel-phone-thing out of his jeans. It’s angry red, flashing and beeping and buzzing all at once. An instinctive panic rockets through Oscar, far away from the warm anticipatory one from a few seconds ago.

“Isn’t that,” Oscar says. Clears his throat. “Um, is that bad?”

“Shit,” Carlos says in English. He does something weird, after that: like his whole body flickering, disappearing for a few milliseconds and then popping back in. “Shit. Oscar. We just—you just made a mistake.”

His accent makes it sound more deliberate. Mees-tek. “What? No, I didn’t.”

You’re not supposed to, like, try to kill your angel, but if Carlos thinks that’s what just happened then he’s even more delusional that Oscar had thought. Actually, it had been sort of exactly the opposite. Carlos had been so close, it was like—Oscar was worried he might—forget himself, or something. Try to do something crazy. Like grab Carlos’ hair and shove his head down and feel his nose against his throat.

Carlos shows him his phone screen. The text, in some archaic angel language, unscrambles before Oscar’s eyes. IMMEDIATE INTERVENTION REQUIRED, it says, scrolling across the top. Then, in bolded lettering in the middle: This message is for CARLOS SAINZ regarding OSCAR PIASTRI. Oscar’s eyes skip around the paragraph, can’t quite take any of it in. They’re not going to let Carlos leave. The angel system—fate, destiny, whatever—registered a god-tier fuckup on Oscar’s part, and they won’t let Carlos leave until he fixes it.

“What did you do?” Carlos asks, his voice annoyingly even as his phone wails and shakes in his hand. “Oscar, what did you do? Did you really sign with Alpine? You take it back and I will be gone, I promise.”

Oscar wants to say it’s just as much Carlos’ fault as it is his, but he can’t quite get the words out around the sudden, vicious longing to have Carlos squared up against him again, ready to fight, so he can watch it all drain out of him. He wants to take him apart, enact his revenge, put him back together again better and more tolerable than he was before.

MISTAKE, Carlos’ angel-cell cries. MISTAKE.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

The First Motorhome!

Remember when things were so much simpler?  The Ford House-Car Q-dog

This is one of only six Ford House-cars said to have been made per year in the mid-30's at the Ford plant in St. Paul, Minnesota, according to an article in a 1993 "Old Car​s​" magazine.

Very few others - perhaps none - remain on the road and certainly not in such amazing original condition!

When discovered in a garage under a heavy cover in northern Minnesota in August of 2001, it had only 19,000 miles on the odometer and the owner's manual was still in the glove box in like-new condition! 

The RV had always been garaged and treated with much 'TLC' as a collector vehicle. 

The all wood lined interior was still the way it appeared in the '30's complete with framed photos of the original owner on his travels, mainly to Florida, and his cabin in the North Woods. It also had other memorabilia from that era.

The Ford House-car was built on a '37 Ford Pickup frame and cowling and was powered by a 60 horse power, flathead V-8 with aluminum heads. The rear framing is all wood, with the metal skin wrapped around it. The roof structure is all wood over which the heavy, waterproofed canvas top is still very securely fitted. The structure of the body is solid, appearing to be all oak hardwood and it's still in a remarkably unaltered, undamaged condition! The door frames are thick, solid oak as are the window frames although those have been painted over. 

This House-car was a big hit at this campground once we got that great old 'flattie' V-8 hummin'! Note the expanding roof (it's that 'extra' roof piece barely visible in the picture) and the original dark green color, which has been repainted. All four side windows open while the back one tilts out in three positions. The windshield also tilts open at the bottom for 'natural' AC while driving. Here are a few shots of the Ford House-car on the road...

Here's a look at the interior.

It's a slice right out of 1930's just as the original owner had it. All the windows have curtains for privacy and there are pull-down shades on the back window, as well as on the driver's and passenger door windows. Note the wide storage cabinet under the bed.

The wood headliner gives the 'cabin' a warm and inviting rustic feel. You can also see it has a ceiling vent and the canvas expanding roof portion visible in this picture. Four wood pieces securely support the expansion when it's in the 'up' position, while clamps secure it when it's down while traveling.

Note the cedar branches hanging in the corners to give the cabin a natural, north woods aroma. Cabinets and the aluminum sink, that includes a wooden cover insert, are visible on the left. All the antiques inside, as well as on the walls, came along for the ride. Also note the collapsible table behind the driver's seat. 

It's amazing how simple vehicles were back then! No computerization to be concerned about!

[whatsnewalycat]

Burn It Down - One Shot

Javier Peña x Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Summary: Before that moment, he was so careful not to tip his hand. Always trying to make you think he’s content to take the scraps of love you give him and feast upon them. Because wanting more with you means more than just having you. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. It’s the unspoken truth of your relationship.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: Javier's POV, Angst, Established Secret Relationship, Infidelity, Drunk Driving (DON'T DO THAT!), Leg Grinding, Dirty Talk, Orgasm, Possessive Javier, Angst With A Happy Ending

A/N: Story inspiration from "The Ideal Husband" by Father John Misty. This was originally a scene I had in mind when I started writing Just Dumb Enough to Try (can you tell I was listening to a lot of FJM??), but it didn't work with those characters or their relationship.

I revisited it and fleshed it out and changed some stuff, and, voilà!

[ Masterlist ] [ Taglist ] [ AO3 ]

He should leave. 

Just turn the car around and go back home. 

But the pragmatic part of his brain is riding in the backseat. Whiskey has the wheel now. 

The digital clock on the dash reads 7:00 AM. He shakes his head in disbelief when he realizes it's been just 24 hours since he woke up in your bed and everything was fine. 

What he wouldn't give to go back in time and be there again. Heat of your body clinging to him. Buried under your white bedsheet. Watching your fingertips dance across his torso. 

Sometimes he closes his eyes and tries to trace the path your touch takes. Other times he watches inquisitively. Always trying to decode the invisible messages you draw onto his skin in these quiet moments. When he asks you what you're writing, the answer is always the same. 

"It's a secret," you teased, amusement at his curiosity drawing your gaze to his. Humor crinkled the delicate skin at the corners of your eyes. 

You and your goddamn secrets. 

If he could go back in time to 7:00 AM yesterday, this could have all been avoided. He'd tell himself to get the fuck out as soon as you suggested breakfast. Before he could have a chance to wander around your kitchen and study the artifacts of your life with the man who lives there. He wouldn't have seen the calendar on the wall. 

"I have to go. Shit to do on the ranch," he could have lied. He could have gotten dressed and gone home. 

He wouldn’t have spent the whole day drinking himself into a stupor, trying to get rid of your voice in his head. Trying to make your bright smile, your infectious laugh, disappear from his memory. Trying to erase the penciled-in note on your calendar. 

This all could have all been avoided. 

Despite all the things that could have been, though, he's here. Turning down your street. Coming to a stop and shifting the gear into park. Watching the closed curtains for any sign of movement. 

He pries open the center console and pulls out a shiny aluminum flask, then slouches down in the driver's seat and starts to empty its contents into his belly, one pull at a time. Taking a drink every time the deep ache of yearning tightens around his heart. 

No, see, despite all the things that could have been, you're in this house and he's out here. You're in there, probably still tucked into the bed and sleeping soundly, and you can never unhear the things he said to you. 

Yesterday will never happen again. No do-overs in this life, unfortunately, regardless of how many times Javi has wished there would be. Yesterday will always be the day you were greasing a frying pan, and he snuck up behind you, circling his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You reached back and blindly ran your fingers through his hair as you melted against him. 

He mumbled against your skin, "Wish we could do this every day."

Now that he thinks about it, maybe those words were the catalyst, not the calendar. His admission of wanting anything more. Before that moment, he was so careful not to tip his hand. Always trying to make you think he’s content to take the scraps of love you give him and feast upon them. 

Because wanting more with you means more than just having you. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. It’s the unspoken truth of your relationship. 

The way your body reacted to his confession told him that you know this, too. 

It was subtle, the way you tensed ever-so-slightly, pulse jumping against his lips. It was so slight, he thought he might have imagined it. But now, looking back, he has decided it was another one of your secrets. Always trying to hide pieces of yourself away, as if you want it to be impossible for any single person to see all of you at one time. 

It's been occurring to him, more and more lately, that he desperately wants to be the person you'll hand all your broken pieces to. He wants to splay you out on his dining room table like a 1000-piece puzzle that's halfway completed. 

Fuck, more than anything on this Earth, he wants to hover above you, studying each intricate, jigsawed fraction of you until he's memorized them all. Then maybe, you can both figure out how it all fits together. Then maybe, he can see all of you at one time. 

Then maybe, he can trust you with his own broken pieces. 

"I do, too, Javi," you whispered. 

Your voice wasn't hopeful. Instead, it was thick with sorrow that settled heavy in his chest like pneumonia. His hands fell away from your sides and he stepped back, giving you space to cook. You started to crack eggs into a stainless steel bowl while he casually studied the kitchen. The metallic ting-crack of eggshells giving way to the lip of the bowl was background music to his exploration. 

When he closes his eyes and recounts these events, that ting-crack echoes loudly. 

He examined the shelf of cookbooks, wondering if any of them were hand-me-downs from your mom or grandma. As he continued to stroll, he saw trinkets and contemplated their significance, too. Filed them away as potential pieces of the puzzle. Always looking for clues. 

And then he found one. 

His eyes fell on a bird calendar hanging from the wall next to your corded home phone. November 1998 was represented by the kingfisher. Its teal and rust feathers contrast and compliment each other in a striking way that he found himself admiring. Then he noticed a penciled-in note for this coming Tuesday, handwriting unmistakably yours: Wedding Cake Testing 6:00. 

You were whisking the eggs together, head down, and didn't see his face when he shattered. It was obvious to him at that moment that the two of you were just playing house for the weekend. He was just filling in as Daddy while your fiancé was away on a business trip. The unspoken truth, glaring right in the eyes. 

And it ruined him. 

Of all the complicated emotions fighting over control of his brain, rage was the victor. The edges of his vision tinged red and hot. He clenched his teeth together and leaned back against the countertop, watching you with indignation as you cluelessly went about making breakfast. 

"Do you really or are you just saying that so I'll keep fucking you?" he heard the rage say. 

You were about to pour the eggs into the pan, but lowered the bowl and turned around to face him, chuckling with confusion, "Wh- what?"

He knows now that there was no way for you to see this coming. You couldn't have foreseen the blinding rage that overrode him. But your confusion fueled the flame anyway. 

All he could think is: It's all a goddamn act.   An illusion. You and your fucking secrets. This other life you lead when he’s not there. 

It burned hot in his veins. 

He didn’t take the evidence into account. The way you look at him like he's the only person who exists. The few broken pieces you allow him to see. Your claims to misery, a whispered confession the night before: "I feel trapped when I'm with him, and when I'm with you I'm free."

Because there you were, standing in a kitchen that your fiancé owns, scrambling eggs that your fiancé bought, drowning in your fiancé's t-shirt, wearing that fucking diamond ring on your left hand, and Javier was certain you had no intention of leaving. 

You opened your mouth, but just blinked frantically, rendered silent by this part of him you had never seen before. 

He pushed off the countertop and started pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You agreed that you wish we could do this every day,” losing control of himself, he crowded you against the kitchen counter, pressing his nose into your cheek, craning your head to the side, “If that’s true, why haven’t you left him? Hmm? Why him and not me, cariño?” 

You gave no response. Just short, panicked puffs of air against his cheek. 

"What does he have that I don’t? Is it because you don’t want to be seen with someone like me?”  

“Someone like you? I- I don’t-” 

“Don't play dumb, you know what I mean," he sneered, palms pressing down on either side of your waist, cornering you there like his prey, "What is it, baby? What does he have that I don't? Hmm?" 

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. A soft gasp expanded your lungs when he husked, “Does he pay attention to you like I do?"

"No," you whimpered and shook your head. 

He shifted his hips and wedged a knee between your legs, "Does he touch you like I do?"

When you shook your head this time, his teeth caught your earlobe and a little moan escaped your throat. The warmth of your sex found his thigh and you arched into the contact. He pulled back enough to meet your eyes, all confusion and blown-out pupils as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

"Does he fuck you like I do? Hmm, baby?" his heart was thudding loud in his chest, searching your eyes for the truth. 

You bit down on your bottom lip and held back a moan, shaking your head as you began rubbing yourself against his leg. 

“I didn’t fucking think so," he growled, grabbed your face and captured your lips in his. The kiss was possessive and heated. 

Simultaneously, he wanted to destroy you and make you whole. He wanted his touch to haunt your body long after you married this fucking prick. He wanted to spoil your appetite for other men so completely that the thought of anyone else touching you would bring on bouts of nausea. 

He wanted to fucking ruin you. 

Breaking the kiss, he placed his hands on your rolling hips and pressed you down harder. Your head fell back and you moaned wantonly at the friction. When your gaze snapped back to his, your face was flushed, soft moans falling from your lips as you humped his leg. 

You weren't wearing any underwear and he could feel the heat of your cunt through the thick denim of his jeans. When he looked down at the place your bodies met, the dampened fabric as proved that you fucking loved this. 

"I wish he'd walk in and see you just like this," he growled, digging his fingers into your hips, making you gasp. 

You grabbed onto the sides of his shirt and used him as leverage, gaining more momentum.

"See you rubbing that sweet pussy all over my leg," he purred, meeting your hot gaze with his own as he uttered the words, "See that you're mine." 

Your mouth gaped open and you started to whimper frantically. Grinding down against his thigh. He could tell you were close. Your eyelids started to flutter. 

"You sit here and placate me, tell me that you want this, and then what? You continue to plan your sham fucking wedding while you fuck me on the side?" he asked through gritted teeth. 

You whimpered and shook your head frantically in denial, "No, baby, that's not true."

"Such a fucking liar, cariño." 

His lips formed an O and he spurred your pace, rocking you back and forth so fast you started taking big, deep, swallows of air and released a choked sob. 

"That's ok, baby, you can use me. Use me to make yourself feel fucking good," he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, rocking you faster now, fueled by the moans slurring together from your throat, "Come on baby, I want you to cum all over my fucking leg. Show me how much you like being my little slut." 

"Oh my god-" you gasped, "Yes yes yes, I like it."

"Like being a little fucking slut, baby, hmm?"

You nodded, whimpering and gasping, rubbing your cunt all over his drenched, hot leg, reaching a fever pitch. And then your face twisted up with pleasure and you shuddered, "H-holy fuck-”   legs tightening around his as you twitched against him. 

His lips curled into a smile at your sexual satisfaction. He kissed your sweaty forehead, your cheek, your lips through panting breaths. You hummed and closed your eyes, releasing his shirt to link your hands behind his head. 

He wasn't done with you yet, though. 

The inflamed, red part of him was still throbbing. So fucking sure that he had you figured out. So convinced he didn't need to see all the broken pieces to know that you were just toying with him. 

“I can't keep playing boyfriend with you, hoping that one day you'll actually pull the trigger and leave him."

Your chest still heaving, you pulled back and narrowed your eyes in confusion. He stepped away and returned your stare with a piercing gaze. You averted your eyes and closed in on yourself, arms folding in front of your chest. He mistook it as a sign that he was on the right track. 

“Why, cariño? Why are you so fucking content to stay? So you can be miserable? But hey, at least it’s comfortable. Isn't that right? Hmm?"

When you turned to look up at him, meeting his gaze with disbelief and fury, he should have known that you were setting your phasers to kill. 

"Is that what you think, Javier?" you bit off, glaring as you searched his face, “That I want this? Do you think this is fucking fun for me?" 

It was his turn to be rendered silent and unmoving. He watched you carefully. 

"What the fuck am I supposed to do? I have fucking nothing ,” the last word was spoken through gritted teeth. The rage overrode you, too. 

The unspoken truth spoken. It was too much for either of you to handle. 

He cut you off with a lie, “That’s not true.”

“Well, what, are you gonna save me? Let me live with you? You won’t even let me come over when your dad is home,” you scoffed, then stared off into the distance and awaited a reply he couldn't give you. 

The weight of the truth started to settle on your shoulders. He could see them slump. Your face crumpled, folding under the pressure of sorrow that welled up in the corners of your eyes, “Can’t you see that I’m in love with you, Javi? Of course I want you.”

Desperately, you searched his face for a reaction. He couldn’t process this information. So sure that he had you pegged as something much more insidious, so committed to his rage, the question gave him emotional whiplash. 

You could see it then. The panic building in his chest, creeping into the features of his face, widening his eyes. He opened his mouth to form words but nothing came out. He just shook his head. Your confession met with complete and utter terror. 

Your nostrils flared. 

“Get out,” you spat, jabbing a finger against his chest, “Fucking hypocrite.” 

It’s been bubbling between the layers of his skin since. Your confession. Your anger. Your pain. 

Fucking hypocrite. 

You were right. He did as you asked. He left. 

Went home and hit the bottle. Thought long and hard about everything. The broken pieces he can see spread out before him. Waking up next to you. Your secret notes on his skin. How your body tensed up when he tipped his hand. The calendar. Your penciled in note. The rage it evoked. His accusations. Your confession of love. 

Can’t you see that I’m in love with you? 

Now he can. He put it all together. And now he can see it. Even clearer yet, he can see… that he’s in love with you, too. 

He drops the flask back in the center console and slams it shut. Gets out of the vehicle and lets his heavy feet carry him to your front door, where he rings the doorbell. Pounds his fist against the door. 

It swings open, and you’re wrapped up in a plush black robe, hair mussed from tossing and turning in your sleep, squinting puffy eyes at the intrusion. When you register that it’s Javier standing there, swaying unsteadily on your doorstep, you sigh and cross your arms, “What do you want?”

“I needta talk to you,” he slurs, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

Your eyes blink open wider and you study him, then ask, “Are you fucking drunk?” 

He neither confirms nor denies, just shrugs. Which is like a confirmation but at least he doesn’t have to say it out loud. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Javier, get in here,” you groan and turn around into the house. He follows and closes the door behind him, then tries to bend over to take his shoes off, but stumbles forward. 

“Come on,” you pull him upright and wrap an arm around his back, guiding him towards the bedroom, “You need to sleep.” 

“Nnnno- Gotta tell you-” he mumbles, but lets you continue to guide him down the hallway, into your bedroom, where he plops down onto the bed that’s still warm from your body heat. 

You untie his shoes and yank them off. They thud on the hardwood floor, one at a time. He hums once they’re off and tries to sit up to look at you, but you press your fingers against his chest and guide him back against the bed, “He’s not gonna be back 'til tomorrow, you can sleep it off here.” 

His eyes close and he feels the room start to spin and fade as you take his pants off, then start unbuttoning his shirt. While you methodically strip him down into comfort so he can sleep, he tries time and time again to touch you, to pull you into an embrace, to make it like it was at this time yesterday. But you swat him away, muttering to yourself in annoyance. Or maybe you’re asking him questions. He’s not sure anymore. 

He hears you ask, “Why did you even come here, Javi? Can’t believe you drove in this condition.” 

This triggers his memory. He recalls the purpose of this trip. 

“I love you too,” he blurts out. You freeze. His eyes blink open and meet yours. 

Your eyebrows are pressed together, lips parted in shock. He lets it sink in. When you respond, your eyes are brimming with tears and your voice is quivering, “Don’t fuck with me right now, Javier.” 

“Mmmnot fucking with you, cariño,” he swears. His hand finds yours, and this time you let him take it, but it’s limp in response. He rubs his thumb against your skin and doesn’t part his gaze, tries his hardest not to slur his words, “I’m tired of running. Don’t wanna hide. I’m in love with you.”

Big, fat tears start to roll hot down your cheeks. You sniffle and wipe them away, avert your gaze, “You’re just saying that because you’re shitfaced.” 

“Nope,” a drunk smile stretches across his face, “Figured it out. I- I wanna marry you, have babies with you, all that. I wan' everything with you.” 

Your gaze meets his, and he can tell you’re trying to determine whether or not this is the booze talking. And, in a way, it is. He probably wouldn’t have said that last part if whiskey hadn’t destroyed his brain-to-mouth filter. He pulls your hand to his lips and plants a kiss on the back of it, then presses it to his cheek and tells you, “I mean it, cariño.” 

“Javi,” you whimper, lips forming a pout as more tears fall, “Can we talk about this when you wake up?” 

“Do you love me?” he asks, searching your face, nuzzling against the heat of your hand. 

“Yeah,” you smirk, “I do love you. Now please get some sleep, drunky pants.” 

“I don’t even have pants on,” he scoffs playfully. 

“I know, baby, I took them off,” you snort, then pull your hand away and tuck him into bed. As soon as the warmth of the blankets surrounds him, he passes out. 

When he wakes, the clock on your bedside table reads 1:35 PM. There’s music playing from a stereo in your kitchen. His head starts to pound as he sits up and puts his clothes back on, then gets out of bed. He vaguely recalls the things he said to you before passing out. 

The floor creaks under his feet when he enters the kitchen, alerting you to his presence. He peers around the room. The bird calendar is still open to November 1998, kingfisher still puffing out its impressive plumage, Wedding Cake Testing 6:00 still penciled in for this Tuesday. 

It’s funny how some things remain static although everything around it has changed. 

“Hey,” you greet him, flashing a hesitant smile as you lean back against the counter and cross your arms. 

Your body language confuses him. Hadn’t he told you? Hadn’t he confessed his love? 

Suddenly, anxiety vibrates his bones and leaves him feeling insecure. He approaches you cautiously, “Hey.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

Your voice is warm and filled with concern. He takes another step towards you and shrugs, “Grateful that you didn’t murder me in my sleep.” 

A grin plays on your lips. He comes closer to you, beckoned by the hopefulness brightening your face. You meet his gaze as he brings his hands to your hips. He slides them around you and your crossed arms that quickly respond, wrapping around his back, pulling him closer. 

The heat of your body in his embrace pulls a content sigh from his chest and he melts into it. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales the scent of you, and he knows. 

“I meant it,” he mumbles against you, closing his eyes and squeezing you tight, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Your fingers dig into his skin, like you’re trying to prevent him from escaping. Like if you hook your barbs into him he can’t leave you here to rot in a lie. But he’s not running. Neither are you. 

“What are we gonna do?” you ask him. 

He knows that this won’t be simple. It means mess. It means burning your lives down to the ground. 

“Are you ready to leave him?” he loosens his grasp on you to meet your eyes. Searching for clues. For secrets that might be lingering in the background. 

Your gaze is unflinching as you nod. You’re studying him, too. Both so timid as you tiptoe out from behind the curtains and reveal more of yourselves.

His heart is pounding in his chest, fingers tingling, vulnerability peeling away at his layers until he’s just raw, exposed nerves. 

“Do you wanna come home with me?”

The question leaves a thick residue in his throat, and he swallows hard. 

“Right now? To live?” 

He nods, ignoring the knot of insecurity twisting in his stomach that tries to make him doubt you. 

It’s like the further you both step into the bright light of truth, the more puzzle pieces you each give and receive, and it starts to fall into place. He sees more than those little jigsawed fragments of you now. He starts to see the bigger picture. 

“Yes, Javi,” you nod, eyebrows pressing together as your face crumples into tears of relief. He cups your cheeks with his palms and meets your gaze with a smile that takes up his whole face, folding his eyes into crescent moons. 

You pull him into a kiss that ignites his soul, then melt against him. 

Illuminated by the hot, glowing flames of your lives burning down, he sees you, and he knows that you see him. And he knows the two of you will dance on the ashes and welcome new growth.

[adore-laur]

JOYRIDE

— corruption in tokyo brings two partners together again to seek retribution while also fulfilling their desires🚦

ハリー

Midnight in Tokyo. 

The city transforms into a neon jungle once the moon takes the stage. Illusionary indigo and hot pink advertisements scale the sides of skyscrapers, their vibrant pixels reflecting off the slick thoroughfares bestrewed with puddles. Cosmopolitan emporiums attract visitors like clusters of moths drawn to a flame, ranging from luxury retail stores to vintage boutiques that line the sidewalks. Many diverse eateries sit snugly in the passageways—the limited seating is where conversations are struck with writers and poets alike. Whimsical art sculptures placed in hidden spots showcase Japanese culture, and the expressive pieces greet tourists from around the world. 

It's an urban utopia straight out of a futuristic fantasy. 

Digging deeper into the complex metropolis, right in the heart of the infamous Kabukicho District, is where nightlife is most vivacious. Foreigners flock to clubs and bars for ritzy entertainment and exuberant thrills. Alleyways conceal doorways to more private establishments, their explicit thresholds exposed by flickering arrows that guide those who dare to enter. It's sinfully atmospheric, with the smell of smoke and sex lingering past the brick walls lit by dangling paper lanterns. 

The vicinity is two sides of the same coin. In the daytime, families wander through a maze of honorable restaurants and hotels, but at night, the devil comes out to play. Risqué signs lead to unlawful pleasure. Curtains cover hostess clubs of endless inebriation. Intimate shops are out in the open to pique the interest of innocents. 

However, on this rainy November night, Harry Styles seeks only one unholy cove. He doesn't need to be lured into it by silhouetted street hawkers. Ignoring them is easy when the red light just around the corner holds his true desire. 

As his polished dress shoes clack against the wet pavement, a black umbrella looming over his head, he fishes into his trouser pocket to snag a piece of chewing gum. He unwraps the aluminum, pops the green gum into his mouth, folds the rubbery substance using his tongue, stretches it between his two front teeth, and then bites down on it with his back molars. A refreshing burst of spearmint hits the back of his throat, crisp and cool. He begins whistling a catchy tune he heard on the metro subway the other day, the trill echoing off the narrow walls surrounding him. The new graffiti on them catches his attention. Considering the city strictly prohibits street art, it's a rare find, so he admires the esoteric visuals before they're removed by patrolling police. 

Taking a sharp left, the top of Harry's shadow reaches his destination before he does. He stops in his tracks and breathes in the hazy air. Smoke seeps under the rusted garage door, and the muffled bass coming from inside is a straight injection into his veins. The Japanese script, emboldened by neon red, spells out the name of the strip club. 

ジョイライド 

JOYRIDE 

Guarded by a towering man in a black suit and maroon tie, it's the only barrier left. Luckily, Harry is well-versed when it comes to sneaking into elite establishments. He shakes his umbrella out, the droplets creating ripples in the asphalt pools beneath his feet. A step under the hipped awning saves his expensive clothing from becoming soaked. His long, houndstooth blazer of a dreary gray color and a dotted scarf wrapped once around his neck make him blend in nicely with the darkness. 

Harry clears his throat and politely bows to the daunting watchman. "Kobanwa," he greets, hiding the gum under his tongue out of courtesy. (Good evening.) 

"Kon'nichiwa," says the man with a reciprocated bow. "Anata no mōshide wa nanidesu ka?" (Hello. What is your offer?) 

Opening the breast pocket of his blazer, Harry plucks out three bills. He unfolds the creased paper one by one, revealing the printed face of an esteemed writer and a five-digit number representing a hefty amount of yen. His desire is worth significantly more, but he'll undoubtedly be spending the rest of what's tucked in his wallet for reasons that will never be publicly disclosed. 

"Sakura," Harry says with unwavering eye contact. 

He only needs to say a single name for the man to stare back in challenge for three seconds. He then takes the yen and inspects it for possible counterfeits, his nimble fingers flipping the banknotes over with a particular procedure. After an anticipatory moment of crinkling sounds and drowned-out electronic music, he raps a rhythmic knock on the garage behind him. It instantly lifts with a grinding creak, the smoke releasing from underneath and crawling up Harry's legs like ivy on a brick wall. 

"Anata no norimono o tanoshinde kudasai." (Enjoy your ride.) 

Harry gives the man a fixed smile and then enters his paradise. Weeks of lousy business trips that required him to globetrot across continents have led to this. Tokyo always has something sensational in store for him. He comes back to the sleepless city time and time again for the unpredictability. 

Disappointment doesn't exist here—escapade does. 

The metal stairs leading to the underground club are grungy and steep, so Harry uses the shaft of his umbrella as a makeshift cane to traverse down the dilapidated steps. Every footfall ends in a squeak until he reaches the velvet carpet at the bottom. Thumping music loudens, the scent of cigarettes grows stronger, and the beat of his heart pounds faster in anticipation. 

Red curtains are suspended in front of him, and distant chatter that eclectically ranges from foreign to familiar dialect echoes from behind them. Harry sets his umbrella by the nearby coat rack, then takes his scarf and blazer off to hang them next to a pristine suit jacket. He takes a glimpse at his own suit. It's black cashmere with a contrasting white button-up underneath and a silk tie. He adjusts the collar, tugs on the lapels, and swiftly unclasps the single button. With a final ruffle of his flattened hair and a crack of his neck, he's ready for total immersion. 

Pushing the curtains aside, he crosses the threshold. There's no turning back now. 

The seductive ambiance immediately invades every one of his senses. There's red everywhere. The spacious room holds the key to subliminal distraction, from the ruby wallpaper to the vermillion leather booths. It's a sub-rosa room where players can have fun after dusk. Every soul that wanders in leaves with a newfangled perspective on the divine beauty of women. At least that's what Harry left with the first time he traipsed in as a fresh face from Europe, a wax-sealed invitation in his hesitant grasp. 

He wouldn't call himself a loyal customer, per se. He's not dependent on the half-empty glasses of Yamazaki malt whiskey presented to him on serving trays, only to be respectfully declined. Nor does he come for the puffed cigars and joints perched between persuasive fingertips and lips. 

No, it's the stage in his peripheral vision that he floats toward. It's where his desire lies. 

His Sakura. 

She's on the round stage amid her nightly performance, one leg hooked around a silver pole protruding from the middle of the platform. A red spotlight shines down on her contorted body, her limbs reaching out like the slender branches of a cherry blossom tree. Her long hair is snaked into six braids, four twisted up high and two tinier ones falling over her forehead. The audience of men, some standing close and some sitting in booths, piercingly whistle over the loud music while throwing wads of yen at her as she spins into an upside-down position with ease, gripping the pole using just her ankles. It gives everyone a full view of her leather bodysuit, the glossy black material with cutouts revealing peeks of smooth, brown skin. 

Harry stuffs a hand in his pocket and lingers at the back of the club, where no one can pester him with invasive questions about his intentions. They don't understand. He's not here to 'get some,' as they often assume. Sure, he'll leave the place feeling satisfied, but they don't know he gets to take home the woman they're currently fawning over. 

Her pole dancing performance nears its end, with a final layer of smoke hovering over the circular platform. The mystique she exudes as she slides into an effortless split is tantalizing. Harry swallows thickly as his hand curls into a fist, every fiber of his being practically itching to be alone with her. He never grows tired of watching her, yet he's utterly addicted to what happens in their designated private room. 

The red spotlight switches to a bright white, and his Sakura smiles dazzlingly while collecting the bills thrown her way. Harry smirks and applauds, then pushes off the wall to give her his own special offering. This part seems to always occur in slow motion for him. His eyes are locked on her as he waits until she catches his hypnotic gaze. He weaves through the crowd while chewing on his now flavorless gum, mumbling apologies when he bumps into people's drunken sways until he finally reaches the stage. Slightly opening his suit, he reaches into the interior breast pocket and pulls out a plucked cherry blossom. Technically speaking, he breaks the law every time he acquires the pink symbolism of human existence, but it's of little consequence to his morals. He has much worse crimes under his belt. 

Harry gently holds out the blossom amidst the flying yen, a pastel pink delicacy in a sea of brown riches. The following moments play out like a scene in a movie. Time seems to freeze as he homes in on the sound of her high heels clicking closer. He steadily looks up, taking in her tall legs and heaving chest. She tucks a few yen in the tight seam of her bodysuit, then provides him with her undivided attention. 

"For me?" she mouths over the deafening music. 

His lips break into a wide smile at the sound of her euphonic voice, which he so longingly missed. "Always for you."

Bending down, she takes the cherry blossom from him and brings it under her nose. Her eyes flutter as she smells the fragrant flower. It's flattering that no matter how often she's received one, she still sticks it behind her ear like she does now. 

The surrounding men marvel over her, but they'll be distracted soon enough. Two more poles emerge from the stage, and a group of stripper girls come out to continue the regularly scheduled show. Harry doesn't lose focus on his Sakura, simply backing away slowly and jerking his head toward the VIP rooms. It's a drill he aims to follow through with zero problems arising. Almost everyone here is a stranger, so that means they cannot be trusted in the slightest. It's why he doesn't speak to them. If any outsiders find out about the dirty business he deals with on the side, it's a downhill slope into deep trouble. 

Harry stops at the opposite side of the room and faces another security guard, but this time, it's one he knows quite well. "Ryōji," he says while bowing. "O-genki desu ka?" (How are you?) 

Ryōji bows and withdraws a small gold key from one of the ten hooks behind him. "Okaeri nasai," he responds. (Welcome back.) 

Welcome back, indeed. Harry quickly glances around and then places a heavy hand on Ryōji's shoulder, leaning in so no one else can hear him. In English, he murmurs, "We've got another one out back. Do you think you can get some men to handle it before sunrise? I'll have the money sent to you by next week." 

The deep inhalation Ryōji takes always makes him nervous. A dreadful silence passes before he says, "Yes, sir. Any special instructions?" 

Harry gives him a friendly pat on the arm and takes the key. "Just the usual. She already took care of the hard part." 

"As you wish." 

With that, Harry gratefully nods and then walks into the back area, where several red doors, some open and some closed, present themselves in a semi-circular fashion. Steering to the right, he throws his gum away and goes to the door with a black '七' on it. 

Lucky number seven for a joyride in heaven. 

The room is a perfect size, with curtains hanging over the walls for a more intimate experience. Two velvet couches are placed on either side, and a table with glasses and a bottle of an unknown alcoholic drink sits nearby. And, of course, a red light emits from the low ceiling. 

Harry gets comfortable, tugging on his pants legs and sitting on the plush couch. Precious time ticks by, the songs slowing into more sultry beats as he waits. He checks his diamond-encrusted wristwatch—it's half past midnight, yet he doesn't feel tired. Maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Only the mysterious aura of Tokyo can give him an electric charge like no other. 

At last, Desiree struts into the room and daintily falls sideways into his lap. Her stripper name is Sakura, but her real name is used when she's alone with him. She jumps right in and holds his scruffy cheek, kissing all over his face as the red lipstick she wears stamps evidence on his flushed skin. 

"I've missed you," she whispers in his ear. 

Harry holds her waist and rolls his hips for some relief. "It's all my fault, isn't it? I've been so busy." 

Desiree takes the key from him and quickly locks the door. When she returns, she straddles him and says, "You came back to me, though." 

He nips her neck, short and tender. "I got your text message and flew straight here." 

She grips his chin. "That message wasn't about seeing me." 

Harry swallows thickly, his throat suddenly parched. "We don't need to talk about that right now," he murmurs. 

"But it will be dealt with?" she asks, her eyebrows dipping with concern. 

"Yes, my love." 

"Okay." She gently passes her thumb over his eyelashes like they're pages of a well-loved book. "That's all I need to hear." 

Harry distracts himself from the dangerous subject by twirling one of her braids around his pointer finger. "I like it when you wear your hair like this, Desi. So pretty."

"Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmm. I've gone far too long without you." 

She begins loosening his tie. "Tell me what you need." 

Sifting through his brain, Harry contemplates his options. The club doesn't allow actual intercourse inside its perimeters, so there are limited, albeit creative, methods that are used. Desiree once told him that the strippers are given a manual of all the diverse ways they can please a customer. There was a specific one he heard her briefly mention in passing. At the time, he was too shy to ask for more details, so he went home and researched the term. Needless to say, it sounded worthwhile. 

"Can I have the... red light special? Is that what it's called?" 

Desiree smirks and remarks, "That's new. You've never asked for that before." 

He blushes with a lackadaisical shrug. "Sorry. Being edged just sounds really fuckin' good right now." 

"Why are you apologizing?" She pushes lightly on his chest so he can comfortably lean against the couch. "Relax. Let me take care of you." 

Harry couldn't possibly argue, especially when she doesn't waste any time and starts with a green light. Gripping his shoulders, she smoothly rocks into his body with quick movements. His hands knead her ass, the bodysuit bestowing the perfect amount of skin for him to grab. The tension in his muscles eases as she applies pressure to his growing bulge, every perpetual grind making him harder by the minute. His eyes and neck roll back, and he forgets why he was ever stressed hours prior and instead succumbs to the satisfying ache she provides him. 

"Oh, my God," Harry moans, spreading his legs further apart. "Fuck, Desi, you feel so good. I'm all yours." 

She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips counterclockwise. The switch has Harry gritting his teeth. Shuddering, he opens his mouth and pathetically whimpers while running his hands up her clenched thighs. He feels hot—sweaty, sticky, and salaciously hot. He's burning in a blitz of fiery passion. 

The yellow light is when Desiree slows down, still grinding swivels over his pelvis. The throbbing of his cock ceases, and the buildup disappears momentarily. Her back arches as she uses her height over him to palm him with her hand. Leisurely, she squeezes where the head of his cock is through his pants, and a sensitive tingle rushes down his spine as he bites down on his knuckles to suppress his pleading noises. 

"Does that feel nice?" she asks, kissing his slack jaw. 

Harry's face crumbles in submission. "I need to come. I can't take it anymore." 

Red light. He knows he asked for it, but when she stops moving and stands before him, he reaches for her absent touch. "No, come back. C'mon, please. Stop playing around." 

She ignores him and kneels on the ground. With one finger, she trails it up his inner thigh until it reaches his covered cock. She fondles the length of it, erotically squeezing in all the right places while looking at him with eyes of a rich brown color. He often dreams of her mouth puckered around it, her wet lips and hollowed cheeks making him fall apart. 

Suddenly, his tie is removed, and Desiree holds it up. "Are you ready?" 

"I'm so close," Harry breathes out. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he adds, "You're so gorgeous; do you know that? Got me... shit, I'm absolutely aching for you." 

She stuffs the tie in his mouth and finally straddles him again, riding his thighs to bring him to his peak. His moans are muffled against the fabric as she gives him a lap dance, her body rolling to the R&B music from the distant speakers. 

It doesn't take long for Harry to come; a damp spot forms on his pants shortly after. Every part of his body feels light as he spits his tie out, breathing heavily. He really needed this. 

"Ready to leave this place?" he asks, touching himself until he's soft and able to walk.

Desiree kisses him, her tongue delving into his mouth, before nodding. "Are you taking me on another joyride?" 

Harry smirks and wipes off the lipstick stain she left on the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Full throttle, baby." 

——

デザレイ 

The first thing Desiree sees when rounding the corner of the alleyway is a parked Kawasaki motorcycle. 

The rain has let up; only a light drizzle is now falling from the starlit sky. People still pass by with umbrellas, minding their business. The lights outside are stimulating, with signs above casting fuchsia pink and Prussian blue hues over her and Harry's faces. The air reeks of gasoline and smoke, and vehicles are racing past to hop on the expressway. It's a city of nocturnal souls who get off on cheap thrills, and she couldn't help but get hooked on the appeal. Night crawling on a high-speed bike through the neon streets is the most thrilling adventure she can imagine. 

Harry rents out a different motorcycle every time he visits. When they first met, he told her he owned a marketing firm in London, so he had the money to afford such luxuries. The first time he walked into the club, she thought he would be like everyone else—a drunk and lonesome man needing attention. However, he was actually a man of innocence who stumbled upon an underground scene he wasn't expecting. She saw the intrigue in his eyes and taught him how her world worked. She let him choose what he desired without taking advantage of him. She trusted his intentions and let him see every side of her, saintly or sinful. 

Their journey leads to the eager way he's looking at her now, one gloved hand holding out a helmet and the other gripping the motorcycle's handlebar. 

"Ladies first," he says with a playful smile. 

Desiree tightens the belt on her blood-red leather coat and puts the helmet on. It rubs uncomfortably against her hair, but she's not one to place beauty above safety precautions. She then hikes a leg over the back seat, and Harry does the same motions while straddling the front seat and starting the engine. It rumbles to life when he squeezes the clutch, and he attractively revs the engine three times. 

"All good?" Harry calls out behind him, using the back of his shoe to kick up the kickstand. 

She wraps both arms around his waist and props her chin on his shoulder. "So good." 

Reaching back to squeeze her thigh, he speeds into the fast lane. For the next twenty minutes, the brisk wind blows in her ears, and the feeling of flying overtakes her entire body. She spreads her arms, and Tokyo comes alive just for her, blurry colors whooshing past as they accelerate through traffic on the winding expressway. They ride out of the district and towards Marunouchi, where the Shangri-La Hotel is located. With five stars and eleven floors of pure splendor, it's the best place to have a late-night rendezvous. 

When they eventually pull up to the hotel, a rectangular building made entirely of glass panes, Harry parks the motorcycle and kills the engine. Desiree carefully removes her helmet and fixes her hair the best she can. Her makeup feels tacky against her skin, but the cool air of an autumn night is refreshing. She looks over to see Harry do the same, his hair sticking up every which way. He sheepishly grins at her and rolls his eyes. 

"Hurry up," Desiree says through chattering teeth. She bounces on her heels, feeling the ache travel from her ankles to the tips of her toes. 

"All right, all right," Harry mumbles jokingly, holding his hand out. "I'll have a word with Raijin about the inadequate weather." 

"Studying Japanese deities, are we?" 

Interlocking her numb fingers with his, they head inside the lavish lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. The ride is quiet, and exhaustion finally catches up to them. After six beeps, a more prolonged one sounds, and the doors slide open. They walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where the suites are located. Harry swipes his key card and twists the door handle to go inside, Desiree following closely. 

The suite is as tidy and stylish as one would expect from a businessman staying there. Two designer-brand suitcases are stacked in the corner by the running air conditioner. A housekeeper must have cleaned and organized his belongings. Crisp white sheets on the king bed look quintessential for bundling up in. 

Desiree removes her heels and flops on the firm mattress. She blearily watches Harry open the mini fridge by the door, hearing the clink of beer bottles. Her assumption proves correct when one is thrown beside her, yet her body has no energy left to open the cap and drink the bitter liquid. 

Harry takes off his suit jacket and button-up, then sits against the headboard and spreads his legs on either side of her sprawled-out body. He takes a swig of beer, his jawline sharp and his throat bobbing. His bare torso, decorated with tattoos, looks like the perfect pillow, so Desiree shimmies upwards to lay her head on his abdomen. She listens to his subtle breathing.

"So, how'd you kill him?" 

Well, that's one way to initiate a conversation. Desiree snaps her eyes to his, staring at him a little funny due to her position. "Katana," she answers casually. "Quick and easy." 

He hums, sets his beer on the nightstand, and then delicately untangles her two front braids. "Made a mess, huh? Ryōji's men won't be too happy about that." 

She fidgets with one of her loose acrylic nails. "They've dealt with worse cleanups." 

She knew what she was getting into when she decided to work in Tokyo's Red Light District. There's no way to sugarcoat what goes down in the alleyways. It doesn't feel like a crime to her if she's getting rid of the bad guys. It's justified in her mind. 

Harry moves his hands to undo her bigger braids. "I know," he says softly, "but it's getting riskier. And more expensive on my end." 

Sighing, Desiree replies, "Asphyxiation is so boring, though. I like my swords." 

"Desi, I'm serious." He tilts her head to look at her straight on. "It worries me when you do those types of killings, and I'm not here to handle the outcome. What if something were to go wrong?" 

She frowns. "We're a team. You flew out to me without hesitation when I told you my plan." 

"Yes, but you act on impulse sometimes," he says, putting her elastic ponytail around his wrist. "I can't always do that with my job. You're lucky I was available." 

"So, you only came to help with the repercussions? Not to see me?" 

"You know that's not true. If it was, I'd be on a plane back to London right now instead of spending the night with you in Tokyo." 

"Just making sure," she says with a hidden undertone of insecurity. 

Once all six braids are out, her hair frizzy and free, Desiree sits up and takes her suffocating coat off. Underneath, she has a more comfortable outfit that she changed into before leaving the club. She internally debates whether she wants to go through the hassle of taking everything off, but before she can thoroughly weigh her options, Harry reaches over to open the nightstand drawer, pulling out something crinkly.

"I, uh, bought some makeup wipes," he explains while fidgeting with the package. "I didn't know what brand you use, but it's coconut, and I know you like coconut rum. There's no correlation, but it's the thought that counts, right?" 

Desiree is speechless for a moment. This is the first time he's done something like that. "Th-thanks. Can you help me take it off?" she says quietly. 

"'Course. Scoot over." 

She takes one side of the bed and sits cross-legged in front of Harry as he plucks a wipe. He folds it into a compact square four times and then hovers it over her face. His gaze wanders a bit before he starts gently swiping under her eyes. 

He speaks up again once the air conditioner clicks off. "Can I ask, pray tell, why you killed him?" 

Desiree breathes out a laugh. "Funny," she says as he scrubs the pigmented blush off her cheeks. "I remember when you couldn't even stomach asking me that question. Now you do all the dirty side work." 

Harry shrugs. "You're a bad influence." 

Sage advice from two people who dabble in reincarnating as a more sadistic Bonnie and Clyde: It's remarkably more fun to have a loyal partner in crime than to be a lone outlaw. 

"Let's see," she muses with a dramatic flair. "His name was... fuck if I know. All I was told was that he was a gang member who lured young girls in and brainwashed them into committing crimes around Shinjuku for money worth jack squat." 

"Jesus. What about the other gang members?" he asks, wiping her smeared lipstick off. 

"I'm not too worried about them. They would never suspect that a stripper at Joyride killed one of their own. They'll probably assume it was another gang's doing." 

"That's a relief." Harry yawns and tosses the dirtied makeup wipe into the nearby garbage. "All right, I've had enough killer talk. Shall we get some sleep?" 

Desiree grins tiredly and touches the smoothness of her bare face. "We shall. My body aches." 

Stripping takes a toll on her joints and muscles, especially since she incorporates performance art into her dancing. Untreated strains and torn ligaments have been left in the past due to years of training, but residual pain still lingers each night when she steps off the stage. 

Once they're comfortable under the sheets, Desiree curls into Harry's warm chest. "When do I have you until?" she asks reluctantly. 

He wraps an arm over her back and says, "Tomorrow night." 

She recounts all the times he's had to catch a red-eye flight immediately after they arrive at the hotel. Tonight, she's lucky she got him a little longer than usual. 

"It's better than nothing." 

Harry scrunches her hair and leaves a long kiss on her temple. "You can always come back to Europe with me," he murmurs. The scent of beer wafting through his breath is mouth-watering. 

Desiree shakes her head solemnly. "I can't. I belong here." 

"I understand." She feels him smile before kissing her head once more. "A cherry blossom should stay in Japan, right?" 

"Very clever." She closes her eyes. There's an elongated pause of internal reflection before she continues. "Listen, I don't want you to feel trapped. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you." 

Harry rubs the sore muscles around her shoulder blades. "I don't feel that way. I chose to get involved with how you live your life. If I'm being honest, I quite enjoy the danger of it." 

It's easy for him to say when he only has to deal with the business side of it. A pipeline of recruitment occurred where Shyla loosely hired Harry to hire men who would dispose of the dead bodies she threw in the dumpster behind the club. No one dares roam that haunted alleyway, which makes it the most adequate place to safely hide a killing. Then, he pays them handsomely in cash for successfully completing the treacherous deed. 

Desiree cups his cheek and whispers, "Please... just tell me if it ever gets too much and you want out. I'll find someone else." 

"It's never too much when your intentions are good." 

It's not enough. His safety is her top priority. 

"Tell me to stop, and I will," she says sternly. "Give me the red light, and I'll go to Europe with you. You can show me Buckingham Palace and that stupid clock—" 

"Desi," Harry interrupts with a thumb against her parted lips. "I will tell you if it gets to that point, okay?" 

She takes his large hand and holds onto it like it's the last time she'll ever touch his skin. "Promise me." 

"Yakusoku." (Promise.) 

His spoken oath doesn't mend the problem she has with herself. There's a constant battle whenever she thinks too deeply about what she participates in. She questions whether it was a mistake to get involved in cover-up assassinations and bring Harry into it. He used to be innocent. Someone who discovered the darker side of Tokyo is now stuck in the whirlwind of her immoral faults. Did she make him into a brand-new person? A monster? One that knows her crimes and prevents them from becoming exposed? 

Is it wrong that she fell for him in the process? 

She can never tell him. No, that would complicate things beyond the boundary lines she drew for herself long before she met him. There are too many risks when feelings are a factor—risks of turning on each other if there are relationship issues. Then there's the plain and straightforward risk of barely seeing each other in person. It's all too poisonous of a pool to dip her feet into. Her guard is up, and it's not coming down for anything or anyone. 

However, as Desiree drifts into a dreamland, she realizes her guard is lower whenever Harry is around. With his fingers soothingly scratching up and down her aching spine, she doesn't feel the uncertainty that always clouds her mind when he's not beside her. It clears when she awakes to the smell of brewing coffee and room service breakfast on a cart before she can even open her eyes. It gnaws at her boarded-up heart until the pieces chip away. What's left is a vulnerable girl who seeks refuge but can't leave a place of fortune and frisson. She's a moon in broad daylight. 

Does she want to be saved? Or does the red light call her name for a reason? 

——

[dzthenerd490]

File: OC 26

SCP#: AHV

Code Name: The Silver Blanket

Object Class: Euclid/ Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-AHV has been left to float freely within a 6x6 meter containment cell within Site-AK. The walls and floor of the containment cell are made of skinned human flesh. Behind the flesh is an artificial nervous system that helps keep the flesh fresh. It’s the same type of technology that AFA-3’s use to maintain their skin. As such there is no reason to enter the containment cell, even for maintenance. However, in the event of a containment breach or a power outage AFA-3 units specifically designed for SCP-AHV are to head to its containment cell and stand by. 

These particular SCP-AFA-3 units have been augmented with extendible spider-like limbs hidden in their arms, chest and back that grow out skin like a curtain. Should the skin within SCP-AHV’s containment cell start to rot allowing it to escape these AFA-3 units are to mobilize and wrap themselves around SCP-AHV like a bubble. The others are then to guard the one who has SCP-AHV contained until MTF units can arrive. The MTF are to guard SCP-AHV by updating Command on its status and watching out for possible threats and obstacles until Foundation engineers can reestablish the power in the containment cell of SCP-AHV. Afterwards, it will be slowly returned into the containment cell by the AFA-3, only then will containment be officially reestablished. 

Any testing must be approved by at least three Level 5 Foundation staff members, and if it’s a part of one of the major Projects. These are the only exceptions, anything else proposed will be disapproved immediately.

Description: SCP-AHV is a piece of metal that stands 24 inches wide, 36 inches tall, and is ½ centimeters thick. It seems heavily wrinkled like a sheet of aluminum foil yet what kind of metal it’s exactly made of is entirely unknown as it’s impossible to hold SCP-AHV in place. SCP-AHV is constantly moving, floating in the air and often swifts in direction and movement constantly to the point that it’s impossible to predict where it will go next. 

When SCP-AHV comes into 5 inches of human flesh it will quickly float away into the opposite direction. The fastest SCP-AHV goes is only 10 mph, and it never flies that high from the ground so it’s generally easy to catch. Though once a human does grab SCP-AHV it will quickly slip out of their grasp and continue to do so until it is free, no matter what the human tries. The longest anyone has ever been able to keep SCP-AHV within their grasp is 2 seconds. Knowing all of this one might assume SCP-AHV can be considered a toy but the true nature of the anomaly is anything but. 

Humans are avoided by SCP-AHV and besides the annoyance, are brought no harm, however when SCP-AHV comes into contact with any other organic matter or any other matter in general it will be erased from existence. Metal, stone, water, gas, plant, animal, dead, living, any form of matter will be instantly erased upon physical contact of SCP-AHV. Temperature has no effect on SCP-AHV in any way and forms of energy including energy-based attacks only seem to bounce right off. Though despite all of this, for whatever reason the only thing that is spared is either dead or living human tissue. This must be purely human tissue as Species of Interest Hybrids and Anomalous humanoids are at risk as well. Why this is the case is unknown. 

SCP-AHV was discovered in 2010 when the Global Occult Coalition reported an anomaly that was a massive threat before losing contact with the Strike Team who reported it. The Horizon Initiative and the Eight Wings of Mekhane formed a team and went to the area reported. It was the [data expunged] mountains of Alaska which is considered a war zone as it is home to several Sarkite clans and primitive Mekhanite sects that have been at constant war with each other. However, both organizations soon lost contact with this newly formed team as well. 

The Foundation and the Global Occult Coalition used drones to see what was going on. As the drone entered the area in question it saw trees that were cut up and missing chunks of themselves, strange holes in the ground and boulders, and there were also bits of dead bodies form animals and various Groups of Interest members. It was originally concluded that this unknown anomaly killed them; the only questioned remained is what?

Curiously the Sarkites had lost bits of them leaving them either half dead or dying by the time they were spotted by the drone. Thankfully the drone was equipped with a gun so it shot them all down before any could recover. The Mekhanites however, were completely dead as their vital artificial organs were erased entirely. Unfortunately this included the Eights Wings of Mekhane warriors who volunteered for the first investigation team. As the Drone progressed into the affected area more and more chunks of everything were erased exposing large amounts of the area below. Finally SCP-AHV was discovered, creating a crater around it by destroying all of the land in the area. Since it never floats very high from the ground it kept getting lower and lower leading to the massive crater. 

The discovery of SCP-AHV led to conflict as no one knew how to deal with it. The ACPA worked tirelessly with several ideas but none worked until SCP-AHV was contained entirely by chance. Please see Addendum X-56 for details.

***

Addendum X-56

The following is a SCP Foundation Copy of the ACPA’s efforts as well as which exact organizations were involved in each containment or neutralization attempt. There were actually hundreds of attempts so only the ones of great interest will be listed within Addendum X-56.

Attempt#: 65

GoIs Involved: The Autobots. 

Experiment: Optimus Prime proposed that he used a large crate like structure to contain the anomaly. He claimed this same crate was used to transport the “All Spark” a sacred treasure of all Cybertronians. 

Results: Failed, the anomaly destroyed the crate and nearly killed the Autobot Volunteer as a result. From here on out, it was proposed to have the anomaly destroyed rather than contained to preserve the lives of ACPA members. 

Attempt#: 273

GoIs Involved: The Global Occult Coalition and the SCP Foundation

Experiment: Space Task Fleet Apollo-1 and Strike Team-7445: "Space Dragons" deployed the SCPSS “Space Whale” and the GOCSS “Nova” over Alaska. The SCPSS “Space Whale” was armed with an electromagnetic distortion large scale rounds used for weakening entire populations of mekanites and hostile automatrons. Meanwhile the GOCSS “Nova” was armed with an experimental “rust” large scale rounds designed to release a strange virus that targets metal only and causes it to rust at an accelerated pace. Both were fired at the same time but with minimal acceleration and power to ensure any damage would only affect the anomaly and the surrounding area. The cover story presented later was that a meteorite fell in the area. 

Results: Failed, the anomaly was accelerated for a few short seconds but then proceeded to fly around at a normal pace again. It quickly erased all the smoke and debris around it.

Attempt#: 367

GoIs Involved: the Eight Wings of Mekhane, the Autobots, and the SCP Foundation. 

Experiment: The idea was to trap the anomaly within a bubble of pure energy and of no mass so that the anomaly couldn’t escape. The SCP Foundation, the Eight Wings of Mekhane, and the Autobots worked together to create a portable device for this. The Autobots notably gave a lot of their own Energon reserve to power up the device system and make the field as strong as possible. 

Results: Failed, the energy bubble was successfully created but the anomaly went berserk inside, bouncing between the walls at ever increasing speeds until the energy reserves were exhausted and the anomaly flew out. Once it did, it killed two Winged Mekhanites, cut off an Autobot’s hand, and even flew so fast that it cut off a researcher's head. This was the first reported time the anomaly managed to kill or bring any kind of harm to a human. The anomaly continued to bound around wiping out nearly an entire forest in the area before finally slowing down. All forces retreated immediately, some suffering great injuries like the ones listed during the retreat. It was agreed to never use energy as a containment alternative again. 

Attempt#: 376

GoIs Involved: Horizon Initiative and the Global Occult Coalition.

Experiment: The HI believed the item was a fragment of a chaos god and thus couldn’t be destroyed but can be sealed. They performed a thaumaturgic ritual known only to the HI and the GOC provided technology to boost the anomalous wavelengths created from the ritual for maximum power. This ritual was well known for weakening the power of chaos gods by a minimal amount but should be enough to stun this fragment.

Results: Failed, the anomaly was not affected at all and even started destroying equipment forcing them to retreat. 

Attempt#: 434

GoIs Involved: The SCP Foundation

Experiment: Given the evidence from previous attempts Dr. Zeek proposed to have a bunch of agents surround the anomaly since it tends to avoid specifically humans. They were to surround the anomaly then guide it to a transportation truck where it will be sent to an experimental site with experimental containment procedures.

Results: Failed, The anomaly just dug into the ground and ended up erasing vast amounts of the underground terrain causing a sinkhole and killing all the agents as a result. 

Attempt#: 507

GoIs Involved: The SCP Foundation

Experiment: by this point the mountain has half of its side erased as well as a majority of the ground. Granted it was all out of sight of any civilian settlement or area where civilians normally go but given the rate at which the anomaly was erasing everything, it wouldn’t last long. Unfortunately at this point the ACPA had exhausted almost every option that could both stop the anomaly but also protect the veil of normalcy. As such the thousands of options that were left would have to disregard the veil, however Dr. Walker proposed to have a net created only this time, have it made entirely of human skin and be able to convert the anomaly entirely though it must extend to at least 2 meters in diameter and must maintain the skin to keep it “fresh and alive” at all times. A drone was created to carry this “net” and use it to catch the anomaly.

Results: Success! The anomaly was caught immediately and the drone flew into a transport plane and taken to Site-AK where a containment cell of the same nature as the net would be made for the anomaly.

***

Since the SCP Foundation had one of its researchers finally catch the anomaly it was left in Foundation custody. However no one celebrated as it has never taken the ACPA 507 attempts to deal with an anomaly, thus this was considered a failure on ALL organizations within the ACPA. Instead the containment of SCP-AHV is left as a reminder on all organizations that to deal with anomalies requires not just conventional, or unconventional means but also completely unheard of means. There are an unknown number of anomalies out there and though some abide by a few laws even if they are laws, they are outside of our realm of comprehension. Thus it takes more outlandish ideas to contain the threat before humanity is exposed or worse, harmed by said anomalies.

Still the most peculiar thing about SCP-AHV is its origin. To this day no researcher from any organization has been able to identify its origin. It just manifested out of nowhere, yet another thing everyone here at the Foundation or anyone within the ACPA must be aware of regarding anomalies. You never know when the next one will show up and where. It is for this reason SCP-AHV is one of the few anomalies labeled as dual Object Class Euclid/ Keter.

.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

[cneasteel]

Discovering the Aluminum Profiles Versatility

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Aluminum Profile Benefits

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