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p-artsypants · 5 years ago

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Longest Night (33)- Waking

A lot of people commented about how horrifying it would be to wake up in the middle of surgery. Anesthesia awareness happens to about 1 in a 1000 patients, and I was one of those lucky ducks!

It wasn’t major surgery, but I still wasn’t supposed to wake up. I was getting my wisdom teeth removed. They recommended I bring in headphones and listen to music. I was only conscience enough to hear my music. At one point a song came on that I didn’t want to listen to, so I opened my eyes and looked down to my iPod. The orthodontist stopped and said, “Oh just changing the song?”

And then I looked up, seeing two doctors there, with blood covered gloves, and a bunch of instruments sticking out of my mouth.

It’s the only thing I remember from getting that surgery. Not the recovery, not the appointment, not even the song that prompted it. It also only felt like it took 15 minutes, but apparently it was two hours. Anesthesia really messes with the perceived perception of time when you’re only semiconscious.

It’s really a horrifying experience.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

Dr. Ernest Boucher would consider himself lucky. He had a loving wife, and a patient son, who understood the importance of his father’s job and didn’t take it personally when he had to suddenly leave.

And now, after a 48 hour shift, he was returning home. Exhausted, hungry, and stressed, but home.

“I’m home!” He called in the door.

“Oh honey!” His wife called from the other room. “We just sat down for dinner! Come take a seat, I’ll make you up a plate!”

Ernest hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. Home cooking, a hot shower, and to sleep for a few hours in his bed…that’s all he wanted.

His wife wrapped an arm around his waist and smooched his cheek. “I made Lasagna.”

“Lasagna…I love lasagna…” He said dreamily.

As he came into the kitchen, he saw his son, pouring himself a soda. “Hey Pop! You look like you got hit by a truck!” The boy laughed.

His son was 17 years old, blonde hair, athletic, looked a lot like Adrien. Several times during the surgery, Ernest imagined it was his boy on the table.

He sympathized with Gabriel Agreste, who looked like a complete mess.

“Pop? You good?”

Ernest yanked on his son’s arm and pulled him into a tight hug. “Just happy to see you, Kiddo.”

With a shrug, Ernest’s son hugged his father back.

—

After a filling dinner and a 8 hour night’s sleep, Ernest arose. His pager hadn’t gone off in the middle of the night. So surely Adrien and Marinette were either in the same place they were, or any minor problems were solved by the team.

He showered, shaved, and got dressed.

His boy was already at school, but had left him a text in the morning.

“You’re my superhero!” It read, simply.

The words brought tears to his eyes.

His wife made him breakfast, a big one with lots of protein to keep him full until he had a late lunch. She also filled up his coffee mug with a fancy kind that outdid the hospital brew.

And then, with another kiss, he was back off to the hospital.

Or at least that was the plan. He was not expecting to be swarmed outside his house by the media.

“Dr. Boucher! What kind of surgery did Adrien have?!”

“Is Marinette alright?”

“Did Chat lose his arm?”

“Did Adrien survive from the whipping!?”

“Have you talked to the families yet?!”

“Dr. Boucher!”

“Dr. Boucher, over here!”

Completely overwhelmed, his head swiveled everywhere his name was called until he was dizzy.

“Stop!” He shouted, hands out.

The crowd calmed to a murmur.

“Everyone be quiet! Just give me a moment!”

Well, if he was a little dazed before, now he was wide awake.

The media settled down, waiting to hear him.

“Bring the mics closer, I’m only going to say this once. Then I must get back to the hospital!”

Obediently, the news crews all passed microphones up to the front, where some poor intern was put in charge of holding them up like a bouquet in front of the good doctor.

Ernest clear his throat. “Alright. Due to patient confidentiality, I can’t get into specifics. But I can tell you that as of when I left last night, both Marinette and Adrien were alive and asleep. They both received care for several wounds inflicted from Salo, including the flogging. Adrien’s arm has not yet been addressed, because of other more serious surgeries first. That is all I can tell you now, thank you.”

The crowd parted as he headed to his car, but they continued to ask questions as he climbed inside.

Ernest took a sip of his coffee as he started the car. He wasn’t sure how the media found out he was in charge of the team. He didn’t worry about it, but it wasn’t expected. Some nurse who hadn’t read their email probably blurted something to someone.

Oh well. He supposed the nugget he gave was fair enough. After a month of knowing absolutely everything happening to the heroes, and then knowing nothing? It would leave people asking questions.

And with Hawkmoth battling with the auxiliary heroes on the Arc de Triomphe, there probably weren’t any more threats to worry about.

He hoped.

—

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away—away—to an indefinite distance—it died. The nightingale’s song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said��

“Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another.”

“I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannot return.”

It was a weird dream. No visuals, no feelings. Just a soft voice of a mother recanting a story. She spoke quietly, tenderly, just a hum above a whisper.

Then she felt sensations. Pins and needles of sleepiness in her toes, the ache and twinge of long set wounds.

Her knees ached, as they were unaccustomed to having her legs stretched out. But she found she lacked the strength to move.

Was she awake? Or asleep? Neither, she supposed, balancing on the edge of both. That blissful state of absolute comfort.

Slowly, Marinette back tracked in time. What did she remember?

The haunting image of Adrien bleeding out in that chair, watching him collapse in the hall, his slowly languid breaths in that room.

And then a haze. They moved, somewhere. Wetness, like rain. Running?

It was like looking through a thick cotton curtain, muffling sound and sight.

And now she was here. Wherever ‘here‘ was.

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I was still incredulous.

“Do you doubt me, Jane?”

“Entirely.”

“You have no faith in me?”

“Not a whit.”

It was the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. A soft bed, cradling her as if she was fragile, and a warm blanket weighing her to the bed. A soft ambient light held back the darkness, but didn’t pierce through her lids.

Marinette tried to open her eyes, caked as they were. The light was dim, illuminating gridded ceiling titles immediately above her. It smelled faintly of chemicals, while a droning hiss carried through the air. Her neck ached, but as she tilted her head, she briefly looked around the room. No one to her left, though she did see a strange machine and a metal stand, an IV stand. A tube ran from the bag down to her arm. A door cracked open revealed a bathroom and another door on the far side of the room was closed, but silhouetted figure stood in the window.

To her right, she found the owner of the voice, her own mother, sitting in a chair by her side, hand in hers, and reading from a book. Jane Eyre, as it looked. Farther down the bed, her father sat in another chair, his hand wrapped loosely around her foot.

Behind her parents, orange light filtered through the light curtains.

A bright red blob caught her attention. Tikki laid curled up on her chest.

A moment more, allowing her brain to digest all she could see, and she realized she was in a hospital.

The how and when escaped her.

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness— and especially in his incivility—to credit his sincerity: “me who have not a friend in the world but you- if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?”

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own—entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.”

“Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to read your countenance—turn!”

“There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer.”

“Marinette?” Her father interrupted.

Marinette didn’t respond verbally, not knowing if she had the strength to do so. Instead, she squeezed her hand and twitched her foot.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead, as she came to find a mask on her face. She couldn’t speak, even if she wanted to.

“Just sleep, my darling.” Sabine said softly. “You’re very tired.”

She was. That was true.

The warmth, the quiet, the softness, it was soothing.

Safe.

Sleep.

Safe.

Adrien.

She awoke with a jolt. It had only been a few minutes, so she thought, but the room was different. Brighter. Day light peered in the window, and her father was gone.

“Honey? Are you okay?” Sabine asked, seeing Marinette startle awake. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Adrien.” She said, in response.

Understanding came over Sabine’s face. “Yes darling, he’s here. He’s in ICU. He’ll be okay.”

She pulled on the mask that covered her face, immediately struggling to breathe. “I need to see him!”

Sabine just calmly replaced the mask. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

Marinette grabbed her wrist. “Where is he? Where’s Chat?” She began to cry.

Sabine pressed a button nearby. “Ssh, darling. He’s alright. Just relax.”

Marinette shook her head, forcing the mask from her face. “I don’t believe you! I need to see him! Adrien!”

A female nurse hurried into the room. “Oh dear, she’s up!” The woman smiled.

“She wants to see Adrien.”

The nurse came to the bed, clasping Marinette’s hands. “Oh honey, I know you do. But you’re in no shape to get out of bed.”

“I don’t care! I need to see Adrien! Please!” Her voice was breaking, as she desperately tried to get out of the bed. She was exhausted, and everything hurt as she moved.

“I’m sorry dear, but you need to calm down.” The nurse pressed the mask back to her face and held it there, as her other hand went to the machine at her side.

“Let me go! He needs me! Please I don’t want to leave him alone!”

The nurse petted her hair gently. “Shh, just relax. Breathe. Breathe nice and deep.”

“No! No! No…no…” she felt weaker. Her vision blurred as the room tilted.

Sleep. Her brain demanded.

Sleep.

Adrien.

She jolted again. Wakefulness coming to her quite quickly. Things had changed again, though she was only out for a few minutes, right? Except, now it was dark outside, and both of her parents were missing.

“Marinette! You’re awake again!” Tikki chirped, floating in front of her.

Marinette stared, not knowing what to say. Surely there should be some tearful reunion, right? Or perhaps shame or guilt?

But her mind was in one place.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Tikki had a millisecond to gasp before being sucked into the earrings.

The suit disconnected her from all the tubes and wires. The needles in her veins were forced out, the pads on her chest were peeled off. She ripped the mask off, finding it difficult to breathe again, but not eager to go back to sleep.

All resulting in alarms blaring.

Ladybug had to act quickly to find him. She pushed up, her arms trembling with the action. Her back twinged, as her torn flesh stretched and twisted.

By time she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the nurse appeared. A male nurse this time, roughly the same age as her father, and built like a fridge.

“Whoa there, little lady!” He rushed to her. “You can’t be getting up. Do you need to use the bathroom? We can get you a bedpan.”

She swatted him away, “don’t touch me!”

“What are you trying to do, Ladybug? Let me help you before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to see Chat! And you’re not going to stop me!” She glared at him, daring him to try to stop her.

He studied the intensity of her glare, and sighed. “Alright. Just relax a second, alright?”

She didn’t, but stopped trying to stand.

“My name is John, I’m the night shift nurse for you.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Now,” he took her hand gently. “I will take you to Adrien, but we have to do it the hospital way, okay? You don’t want to hurt yourself more, right? Chat wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

She softened at the tone. “You’ll take me to him?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll take you to your husband.”

Husband.

So that wedding really was official after all? It hadn’t felt real. No one treated them like husband and wife. They were only treated like garbage.

Her shoulders relaxed, fist uncurled, jaw unclenched. “What’s the hospital way?” She asked.

“I’m going to get you a wheelchair. We’ll reconnect you to the IV, because you’ve got to get your fluids up. Then we’ll stay for a little while, but when it starts hurting too much, we’ll bring you back.”

“I can’t stay with him?”

John knelt in front of her, and held her hands tightly. “Ladybug, Adrien is in critical condition. He lost a lot of blood. We gave him a blood transfusion, but the rest is up to him. He needs constant surveillance.”

“Is…is he going to be okay?”

“I think so. He hasn’t passed yet.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“You were admitted four days ago. You’ve been in and out of sleep for the last two.”

She frowned, considering this. Finally, she relented. “Spots off.”

In a flash of pink, Marinette returned, and with her, more pain. She cried out, as John squeezed her hand.

“I’m going to go get that wheelchair, alright? Stay seated, please.” And he hurried out of the room.

Marinette rested her hands on her knees. Her very knobby, scabbed over knees. She wore thick socks, which made her stick legs look even smaller. She was covered in all sorts of cuts and bruises she hadn’t seen in the dark, and her right hand, which had been branded, was wrapped with thick gauze.

She dared not look in the mirror.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, sadly.

“I’m sorry, Tikki,” was all she could say.

“You don’t need to apologize.” The kwami nuzzled against her cheek. “I’m just glad you’re safe now. Things are going to be weird, and you might be a little irrational. But that’s okay. I still love you.”

Marinette shuttered at the affection, reaching up to hold her against her cheek. “I love you too Tikki.”

John returned shortly, pushing a chair along. “Here we are.”

At his arrival, Marinette pushed against the mattress and tried to slide to the floor. But as her feet made contact, a sharp pain bolted up her legs and she moaned in pain.

“I gotcha,” John directed her to sit, not allowing her to stand for more than a second. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“What…what’s wrong with my legs?” She asked as the pain subsided.

“You have infection in both of your feet. From running around the catacombs for several hours with no shoes on.”

She hummed in understanding.

Carefully, John eased her into the foot rests. Then he had her hold out her arm so he could reattach the IV. “This is a saline solution, just to get your fluids up. You’re still pretty dehydrated.”

“I’m thirsty.” She admitted.

“I’ll get you some water in just a second, okay?”

Marinette couldn’t watch as he inserted the needle, but did look after he started to secure the tube for the IV. “Its…bizarre.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s…so strange to have you be nice to me. Like…I know you’re a nurse, and that you’re only trying to take care of me…”

“But you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, right?”

She nodded.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Marinette. I might boss you around a little, but I only have your best interests at heart.”

She decided to relax then, leaning back. Her back twinged with the movement. “Agh,” she hissed.

“When we get back, I’ll get you some pain killers.”

“…thank you.”

Marinette was escorted into the hall, and they almost immediately were stopped by a man in a white coat.

“John? What do you think you’re doing?” He spoke firmly, but calmly. “Miss Dupain-Cheng should not be out of bed.”

“She shouldn’t.” John agreed. “But I found that she is liable to hurt herself if she doesn’t see Mr. Agreste. She transformed.”

“Ah,” the doctor nodded, in understanding. Then he crouched so that Marinette didn’t have to crane her neck to look at him. “Hi Marinette, I’m Dr. Boucher. I’m the main physician for you and Adrien.”

She didn’t say anything, just studied him.

“I know you probably have a hard time trusting anyone right now, but I promise—“

“Stop wasting my time.” She bit, pain starting to creep into her body without the aid of painkillers. “I was promised to see Adrien.”

The doctor smirked. “Yes, of course my dear. John, I will relieve you, if you would go tell the parents where Marinette will be? I believe they are having dinner at the cafeteria right now.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll meet you in ICU.” He took hold of the chair and started to push her towards the elevators.

“Are you sure I can’t stay with him?” Marinette whispered.

“No, my dear. I’m very sorry. I’ll take you to see him, but I’ll warn you that he looks very scary right now. A lot of tubes and wires all over him. But I promise it’s very his best interest.”

Marinette didn’t outwardly react, but she did feel saddened.

Over the years, Ladybug had seen Chat Noir die several times. Whether it was turning into something, vanishing completely, or hitting the side of a building too hard.

But after the cure, he always bounced back to his normal pun-loving self.

However, this was different. Of course it was. No kwami, no powers, no five minute alarms blaring in her ears. All of it was permanent. She knew that in her head.

But her heart didn’t want to see his scars.

Dr. Boucher wheeled her to an elevator, and then pressed the button for the ground floor. The back wall of the elevator was a window that looked out into the courtyard. In the night, she could look across the yard to a set of large windows, showing the cafeteria, busy with people.

The elevator came to rest, and she was led into the hall.

This was a very nice hospital, with art and sculpture along the walls. As they passed various rooms, nurses and doctors alike spotted her and stared as she went.

“They’re looking at me.” She told the doctor.

“They mean no harm.” He assured. “You should know that you and Adrien are the biggest topic of conversation in Paris right now. Everyone is curious to hear how you are.”

“It’s none of their business,” She bit.

“It’s not.” He confirmed. “But…that woman made it everyone’s business. They just want a happy ending.”

Marinette gripped the armrests. “So do I.”

“Recovery won’t be easy, but you have a wonderful support network. And I have several therapists for you both to utilize. That should make it easier for you.”

Marinette didn’t respond, only digested the information given.

Before too long, they arrived at a room in ICU, being guarded with a police officer. He frowned when he saw Marinette.

“I’d like to see Adrien.” She said sternly.

The man just looked at the doctor. “Far be it from me to stop this…but she should be up?”

“It’s only for a visit. It’s alright.”

The man nodded, and allowed them in.

Marinette’s eyes immediately fell on the figure in the bed. He was barely visible under all the tubes and wires, and bandages. He was leaning to his left, propped up with pillows, so he wasn’t resting flat on his back. She could see his bruised eyes, as his face had a heavy mask strapped to it. Some stray locks of hair stuck out from the strap that led over the top of his head. His left hand had a tube taped to it and a oximeter clamped on his finger. A blanket was pulled up to his sternum, making his chest visible, but it was covered in pads and wires, as well as the tubes that ran into his mask. Under all that was a thick gauze right in the middle of his breast bone, taped on all sides. His right arm, which had been dislocated, was in a sling, resting against his stomach. His hand, wrapped in gauze, rested on top of a Ladybug doll, the one she had made herself. Plagg rested in the crook of his wrist.

“Adrien?”

“He’s sedated right now, which is for the best. He’s intubated so he can breathe better. It would be painful if he was awake.”

“Bring me closer.”

“Please don’t move him.”

Marinette reached out and rested her hand on his wrist, careful not to accidentally nudge his arm. Her thumb rubbed over the frigid skin, trying to give him some heat.

Plagg awoke at the movement, flicking his eyes up. Many hands had come and gone in the few hours he and Gabriel had finally been allowed to see Adrien. Ever watchful, he took note of the nurses, and what they were doing, what they were checking, applying.

But seeing Marinette had confused him for a moment, because he hadn’t recognized her immediately.

But then he saw Tikki on her lap.

“Pigtails?”

“Hi Plagg,” though there wasn’t much warmth in the greeting. She did scratch him between the ears with her finger. He only looked at her sadly.

“He’s cold.” She told the doctor.

“I can get him another blanket.” He stated as he moved from behind her. “Stay put.”

She studied Adrien’s eyes, closed to slumber, but twitching slightly. The ECG graphed his steady heart beat, and the ventilator pumped air at a calm rate. Yes, he looked scary right now, but admittedly, he looked better than he had in the hell hole. He looked peaceful, comfortable, and not at all like he was fighting for his life, though he very obviously still was.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to that sliver of skin. “I’m right here, Kitty. I want to stay with you, but I’m not allowed to.” She wiped a gentle tear from her eye. “But I think we’ll be together soon. Once you’re healed enough. So get better soon, please.”

Tikki floated from Marinette’s lap and hovered over him. “Plagg? Where’s the worst injury?”

“…I don’t know.” Said the kwami. “It’s…it’s all pretty bad.”

“Probably his back.” Provided Marinette. “It was right…right down to the bone.”

Tikki nodded and flew over to his other side. Very gently, she nuzzled into his spine.

Adrien’s eyes twitched more, before they settled.

“It probably didn’t do much,” Tikki stated. “But it will help.”

“Would it help if you stayed with him?”

“He’d have to wear the earrings to get any benefits from me.” She looked meaningfully to his ears, which were bright red in most spots, while the top of his left ear was gone, stitches in place. “I don’t thing we should attempt that now.”

Marinette moaned, feeling helpless.

But Plagg wouldn’t stand it. “Hey, I’ve got some healing properties too, you know!” He floated into her face and nuzzled against her cheek, purring. The sound reverberated into her skin, her sinuses, her skull, her spine…she felt a little better. “I just have to keep purring. So tell someone to make sure I’m properly fed with cheese.”

“Oh Plagg…I will. I absolutely will.” Her voice filled with emotion.

“Oh kid…don’t cry. I’m just trying to keep things light.”

Doctor Boucher had returned to the room, but stayed in the doorway, watching with curiosity but privacy. When he noticed Marinette’s tears, he approached her. “How is your pain?”

“I’m not ready to leave yet.” She answered by deflecting.

“Okay. Just let me know.” He unfurled the blanket he’d fetched, and carefully started to drape it over Adrien’s legs. “His hands are cold.” She argued.

“That’s normal for someone with blood loss. Though he’s had a transfusion and should be alright now, he’s not moving, so his circulation isn’t very good.”

“But he’s cold. Can’t you cover him?”

“Not just yet. You can hold his hand though. Just watch the bandages.”

Marinette said nothing, just held his fingers a little tighter.

She wanted to climb up on the bed with him, snuggle up under his chin, and press delicate kisses to his cheek. But hearing that it would be bad for him stopped her from just ignoring everyone and embracing him.

This wasn’t fair.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?”

Dr. Boucher sighed. “We’ll keep him sedated a week, at least. Maybe more. We will bring him out of sedation for about an hour a day, but the goal is to keep his anxiety reduced, especially while he’s on the ventilator.”

“So I won’t be allowed to see him.” Marinette finished.

“Unfortunately, no. His father and Plagg will be here for him, though.”

It was then that Marinette realized that Adrien wasn’t wearing his Miraculous. “Plagg, where’s the ring?”

“Gabriel has it.”

“Shouldn’t Adrien be wearing it?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Marinette.” Said the doctor. “I’m the one that suggested he not give it back to him just yet. I worried that Adrien might try to transform at the first chance he was given. And given that you did, my theory is correct.”

Marinette sighed, hating that she had been caught.

“You’re not in trouble, and we don’t blame you for doing it.” The doctor clarified. “We just can’t have either of you doing that. It won’t help.”

“I understand.” She rubbed her thumb over Adrien’s knuckles. “Thank you for letting me see him. I’ve been worried.”

“Of course. What’s your pain level?”

“Just a little longer, please.”

“Alright.”

It was then that nurse John came, accompanied by her parents, and a disheveled homeless man.

“Marinette! You shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her mother scolded.

“She knows.” Said Dr. Boucher. “But this is necessary to keep her calm. I’m watching her.”

The nurse brought over a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw. “Here you are, Marinette.”

“Thank you.” She said, taking it skeptically.

Everyone watched as she popped the lid, shook the ice around, and smelled it. Then she sipped a little bit through the straw. At the relaxed look on her face, it was obvious she found the water to be clean. She popped the lid back on and sucked more down. “This is really good.”

“It’s just water,” said Sabine, eyes watering.

“It tastes good.”

The disheveled homeless man spoke. “I’m so glad to see you awake, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I hadn’t get to check in on you since you were loaded into the ambulance.”

She hunched her shoulders. “Who are you?”

He chuckled weakly, rubbing a hand over his short beard. “I’ll admit I look pretty bad. But I didn’t realize I was unrecognizable.”

“It’s the beard, Gabriel.” Said Sabine. “It suits you though.”

“Gabriel? Gabriel Agreste?”

“Who else would be here with Adrien?”

She frowned. “Don’t know. Anyone else. Nathalie? The Gorilla? Never like you supported him before.”

“Marinette…” Sabine chastised, horrified at her behavior.

But the Marinette from the torture chamber was not known for kindness or tact. She didn’t flinch at her mother’s rebuke.

“I suppose I deserve that.” Gabriel said sadly. “Plagg has informed me that I…I may be a sociopath. This was something I wasn’t aware of before. I’m trying to improve my behavior. I’m sorry if you felt like I neglected Adrien. Things are going to be different now.”

Marinette cast her eyes over to Adrien, to her husband. “A shame this had to happen for you to see that.”

“Marinette!” Sabine exasperated.

Marinette winced, as a headache started to grow, and her wounds ached.

“I think it’s time we got you back.” Said Dr. Boucher. “We’ll get you some dinner too, hm?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do you think you could choke down some soup? You really need to eat something.”

“I said I’m not hungry!” She barked, triggering a coughing fit. The doctor simply rubbed her back as she rode it out. After it subsided, she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave him!”

The doctor crouched at her side. “Marinette, I promise you, Adrien’s not leaving this hospital without you. He’s safe. You’re safe. It’ll only be for a little while, and then we’ll put you in the same room together. Okay?”

She glared at him.

“But you’re making yourself worse by staying here like this. You’re so brave, and so smart…but let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”

A few more tears leaked out. “It hurts.”

“Then let’s get you back upstairs, and we’ll give you pain killers, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thats a good girl!” He smiled.

#longest night #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #fanfiction #ml #adrienette #adrinette #ladynoir

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bunny-banana · 5 years ago

Note

For the director's cut thing, the story where Fabri asks Ermal out on a date but Ermal doesn't realize that? 👀

YO SO WE GONNA DO THAT OR WHAT

Its this fic btw if anyones curious.

Chap 1

Even with closed eyes, he sensed the man lying next to him turn towards him but Fabrizio did not spoke immediately. No, he just stayed silent for a bit, Ermal wasn’t quite sure what he was observing but before Ermal could ask, Fabrizio broke the silence.

its u. he’s gazing at u, u idiot.

’You didn’t exactly give off the vibe that you’d say yes’

“What the fuck does that even mean? I don’t give off the vibe?!”

mr no-homo meta has NO right to be surprised at that. boy went into a panic attack every time someone as much as breathed the suggestion ofc fab was Anxious

A certain Roman showing up at his doorstep looking like he’d belong to the Milan Fashion Week.A tight grey shirt whose top three buttons almost begged to be opened (yet remained miraculously, in Fabris case, closed!) clung nicely to the body underneath it. A very fine silver chain hung around his neck that perfectly fit with the rings and the watch on his hand.Instead of ripped denim, now tight & shiny dark jeans were worn and to round this look up, an impeccably tailored black, suit jacket was thrown over him.

so not to be Hoe on main but we all just love Sexy Fab. but more so, i really thought Fabrizio would have put a lot of effort into dressing nicely this time around. Probably called a few friends, crying to help him. He just wanted Ermal to like his look. Which he did. A lot. again, outstanding heterosexual of the year, ermal meta is completely mesmerised by that look.

“Well, well, Fab. Gotta say, this place is on a whole different level“ The curly haired man commented as he flipped through the menu.“You like it?”“How could I not?”

again, Fabrizio intentionally looking up a fancy place for their Date, something he actually felt a little bit uncomfortable about himself and wouldnt normally chose for himself. But then again, he was greatly relieved when Ermal actually did say he liked it.

*It felt.. nice. The whole evening was quite nice, Ermal had to admit, even with the unusual ambient.

Ermal is just honestly iconic in this fic. man enjoys fabrizios appearance, enjoys talking with him, eating out with him, just spending time with him in general sooo much……and yet.

Fabrizio tilted his head and was it the candle light or something else, but a intriguing shine filled his eyes.“I’d know something sweeter than this.” In the next moment, everything turned upside down when Fabrizio suddenly took his hand and intertwined their fingers, his thumb gently brushing over the back of the younger man’s hand.

THE COURAGE THIS TOOK. THE NERVES WHICH WERE WRECKED. Fab really just went “ok here we go balls to the wall now or never”

Chap2

“So, Fabrizio….Fabrizio likes me. Apparently.” It felt interesting to say it out loud. Ermal got a tingly feeling at the thought. So ..it was him who made Fabrizio blush earlier? Who made him nervous? And smiley? Christ, he actually really wanted Ermal to like his outfit, didn’t he? A small smirk found its way on Ermal’s face. Who would have thought that he’d have Fabrizio Moro of all people wrapped around his finger.

erm: so im het

also erm: wow i really really like the fact that fabrizio is into me. its actually super exciting. kinda makes me happy in a way.

“Wait, what?! I should ask him out?!”“Yeah? Isn’t that something you want?”Is that something he- But that would imply that he’d want to pursue Fabrizio, his very male, masculine, manly friend Fabrizio who was definitely not by any chance a woman. To have a relationship with guy that was …..romantic… and oh sweet Mother of God, sexual?!“I- I- I don’t know.”

so yeah, to get to the bottom of this, when you’re in the process of realising your own …..non-heterosexuality, its just A Lot to take in. I thought, realistically, that would just be a bit too much for Ermal to take in at that moment. He had to process the mere thought of “yes, you could have a romantic relationship with this guy, since he’s into you. Its absolutely a possibility”. When you’re conditioned to think “i can only ever date people of the opposite sex” all your life, it takes a bit of time to get accustomed to new possibilities.

And then theres the sexual aspect which is like, on Jupiter, for Ermal’s current state of mind.

Chap3

The video he currently was immersed in showed a slow-mo fight between a mongoose and a cobra that in all its intensity outdid any action movie in a heartbeat.

i remember watching that vid before writing that chapter and being mesmerised by it. u fucking go lil mongoose!

[Bizio]: sorry i cant this weekend

First, i just love the thought of him being saved as Bizio on Ermals phone. Second, the reason why he replied so late was because he was wrecking his mind about it. Should he go? should he not? god, the thought of seeing ermal excited him and yet scared him. nonononno. he’s trying to get Over Ermal. He needs space. he is not ready yet.

[Ermal]:Fabri!! Heard you’re coming up North! 😁 I have this excellent bottle of wine that a fan gave me the other day (don’t ask) so how about we open it at my place? I know you love a good wine 😉🍷

He couldn’t even slide the phone back into his pocket before it started buzzing. Surprisingly, the reply came almost instantly this time.[Bizio]:sorry no the schedule is pretty tight for me at the moment i dont think ill have much time in milan

i just image him getting the weirdest fucking fan gifts. also lmao the lightning speed with which fab replied. homeboy saw that wine would be involved and imemdiately thought “nononononono. worst case, my drunk ass might kiss him, god forbid. we are absolutely not gonna do that”

[Ermal]:So I’m flipping through the channels at home and there comes a baking show and I wouldn’t normally stop to watch but you know what they’re baking? Those creamy pastry things we had in Lisbon!

Now the idea about the Pasteis de Nata stemms from a real life event! During ESC 2018 i slept at a friends house and since the contest was held in Portugal we decided to cook something portuguese. Thats what we did. They fucking slap. Also, one of the best weekends ive ever had

However, this is how things continued as to all of Ermal’s messages, he’d receive rather uncharacteristically short replies. When he sent him photos he’d often not reply at all and even when he called Fabri didn’t pick.

Okay we have to image in WHAT kinda mental state Fabrizio is in that time. Boy is EMBARASSED to death. Then obviously, he is trying his hardest to get rid of this crush. So he just isnt talking to Ermal at all. Which in turn makes him lonely and sad. So then Ermal shoots him a message, sends him a picture and Fabrizio is immediately head over heels again. Which he shouldnt be. Bad Fabri. And the circle repeats itself.

Fabrizio who smiled sweetly at the host, who hugged her tightly, who joked with her and oh, whose eyes didn’t stick to her face but wandered more and more south.

Dude honestly, Fab was not flirting with anyone. He was just being nice as he usually is. And we all know he a lil bit sleazy so yeah, he might have looked down once or twice. but he really was not flirting. It was just Ermals affection-deprived mind going berserk.

Also that was the first time Ermal witnessed Fabrizio being affectionate with someone else. And the contrast to that cold shoulder he received was just the last straw for him.

“Why is he all smiley and lovey-dovey with her while he treats me as if I’m a war criminal?!” Ermal shouted the second the other line got picked up.“Uhm, hello? Maybe a ‘Good morning’ first of all? A simple ‘how are you doing, Sabina?’ would have been appreciated too.”

Damn bitch can ya greet ur sister first before going off smh

And would it have been really that bad if Ermal had just held on to his hand? Let Fabrizio gently stroke him with his thumb, maybe even squeeze back while Ermal’s finger draws circles over letters that covered the older man’s knuckles.It would have been nice and Ermal would have liked it.

I think he just needed to see what he was missing out to realise what he really has always wanted. If things were to go back to normal, he would have never made any realisations.

“Am I- Do I like Fabrizio?”

No, we dont ask what he is. Because thats for another time, a calmer time. Or maybe not at all. He doesnt know the answer to that question and its not important right now. All he knows is that despite it all, he likes Fabrizio.

The fact he was a guy was new, but those feelings involved weren’t.

I feel like this is just a very bisexual experience. At least to me it was. Its very confusing when u are genuinely attracted to the opposite sex, so you make the conclusion: you are obviously straight. Its not possibly that you are not-straight.

Then u start feeling attraction to someone of ur own gender and its like “hmmm. Obviously this must be fake since we have established that Im genuinely attracted to the opposite sex ”

But the thing is..it aint going away. And then u think how you’d perhaps be down for sex, and perhaps be down for something more, and perhaps do all those nice things you would be doing with someone of the opposite sex.

So yeah, its ..its really confusing and complicated to figure it out. And if you actually do have a feelings for someone it only makes matters more complicated ig

“Jesus, I really do like him. Me. Liking a guy.”

Again, once u made That Realisation, its just the WILDEST thing in the beginning. a complete NEW concept being applied to yourself.

“LISTEN CUT THE BULLSHIT I KNOW EXACTLY THAT YOU’RE HOME! OPEN UP OR I WILL STAND HERE ALL NIGHT I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND!” In addition to the knocking he now also started ringing the doorbell. He sure as hell wouldn’t move here until that door wasn’t opened.“I DONT GIVE A FUCK, I WON’T EVEN SLEEP AND NEITHER WILL YOU. I CAN GO ON FOREVER YOU HEAR ME, FABRIZIO MOBRICI?!”

Ermal is just unhinged in all my fics.

Epilogue

[Ermal💛]: You ready?

Fabrizio added that heart right immediately after Ermal left his house a week prior.

Ermal looked….cuddly.

So yeah we all know Fab isnt the keenest on fashion and shit. And i just though Ermal would want him to be as comfortable as possible on their date, so he was like “ay come casual” . and also, its sort of cute that Ermal lets Fabri see him so casual too, its sort of more private in that sense.

And those were still the mild surprises, let’s not start with the downright shock he felt when his brain started providing words like kissable, attractive, sexy and hot during lonelier nights.

i have a fic for those kinda nights too

“It’s not that far and God knows men your age need the exercise anyway.”

ermal just cant show affection like a normal person, he has to roast u even when he’s madly in love with u

What followed behind the colourful door was a small chaos. Literally. People constantly coming and going, with buzzing voices chatting in every corner. They made their way half through the rather crowded establishment, got greeted by a waiter who rushed past them, before they finally spotted a couple leaving, liberating two chairs for them.

SO YEAH. the restaurant. it is loosely based on a place here in Vienna. Its pakistani food too, its a buffet, its kinda chaotic like described in the fic. also u can pay as much as u want.

i just thought, yknow, its home made cooking and its kinda relaxed and chill and casual and has a certain liberal flair to it. and i thought yeah that has fabri energy we gonna use that. also their mango rice puddings fucking slap

Languages were not his forte, those belonged to Ermal, but Fabrizio ran through his options. It surely wasn’t French or Spanish, that he would at least recognise. German looked different too; they had those dots over their U’s and those curly B’s which allegedly weren’t B’s at all. Swedish? Danish? No. He’s been to Ikea often enough to know that his wardrobe wouldn’t be called Qershor. And Russian had different letters but maybe it was something similar to Russian?

Okay, so I’m a known Slut for Languages. Fabrizio is not. I can pretty much recognise most European languages in written form at some point in a text. Fabrizio can not. Therefore writing this from the perspective of someone who really isnt into languages was kind of interesting and a bit challenging. I was just thinking ‘how would he recognise them when he isnt into them?’ And i think, in the end, i did it realistically.

“Is it like..Serbian? Croatian? Or something?” He mumbled while putting a piece of eggplant in his mouth but quickly realised the answer when Ermal almost spit out his water from laughing.“No, definitely not. I can guarantee you, it’s very much not Serbian or Croatian ‘or something’.” Ermal chuckled with a bright smile, obviously enjoying their little guessing game. “But you’re close. In a way.”

This is SO embarrassing but this whole language guessing game was just a setup to an inside joke I have with myself. So, for those who don’t know, I speak Serbo-Croatian. And I study Slavic studies. The first things they tell you in the first lesson of the Slavic Linguistics course is “Please, for the love of God, PLEASE, dont say Albanian/Hungarian/Romanian is a slavic language”. Apparently many europeans assume these languages are because theyre surrounded by slavic countries. BUT TO AN ACTUAL SLAVIC NATIVE SPEAKER, the difference is immediately obvious and so its quite comical when people assume theyre related languages. So i thought the reverse would be kinda funny to Ermal too.

“I can be anything the teacher wants me to be. A good student, a naughty student, whatever floats his boat…” He asked sultrily before winking at the man across of him whose higher brain functions seemed to have ceased at once and just gaped at him like a fish.

boys whole brain got fried when the sexiest man in italy started flirting with him. issokay, he was just shocked. fabrizio has never been flirty with him before, he’ll get used to it.

“I was just trying to give you the best date that I could.“At those words, the Roman frowned however."Wait, this was a date?!”

im just an asshole honestly

They giggled as they finally closed the gap between them going for a slow and deep kiss.

i just love them being all SOFT and in LOVE

“Erm, I- I have an instore tomorrow, I better be well rested.”His counterpart just huffed and raised an eyebrow.“So were you planning on staying up all night, huh?”

Fabs horn dog brain definitively went HmmmmMmm this is nice:) ..could get even nicer:) but no fuck, i have work to do tomorrow

“Love how you immediately forget about a good night’s sleep once you have a tongue in your mouth.”“Fuck off.”

He just got carried away as if u were complaining ermal smh

"I bet on everything I have that your password is 'liberoanita1’ so yes, I actually can.”

Parents culture is just using ur children’s names as all your passwords and we all know Fabri is that kinda parent.

All in All, i also wanna talk about how the epilogue mirrors the first chapter, but in a more successful light.

Fabrizio dresses for Ermal - Ermal dresses for Fabrizio

fancy place - more casual place

They take the car - they walk

Fabrizio takes Ermals hand on the open for everyone to see - Ermal takes Fabrizios hand under the table, in private

They eat their dessert seperately - they eat theri dessert together

they fall out - they become closer, kiss

they dont talk - they plan the next date

anyway thanks for reading and thank uuuuuu for this ask julchen

#my fics

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complexmagrparchive · 8 years ago

Photo

FATHER STRETCH MY HANDS PT.1

NAME › Park Taejoon D.O.B. › 11 04 1986 (31) OCCUPATION › Editor in Chief at Complex INSTA › @tjuns86

content warning: mentions of death

PORTFOLIO

Editor-in-Chief: 2010-present.

Curator: Kwang Ho Shin x COMPLEX art exhibition at Studio 6.

Director: COMPLEX fashion/ light show at HOFT gallery in homage to artist Choi Jeongmoon.

DJ: (guest DJ for Xin Seha) COMPLEX event at G2

Artist: solo graphic design exhibition of his work circa 2008-2015 ft. Selected Ambient Works 85-92 from Aphex Twin.

DETAILS

His life is average— he should be glad that his living situation is well over comfortable, but it’s all so mundane: eomoni a psych professor, and aeboji the head physician at his hospital.

They live in the suburbs of Ilsan, it’s all so average; she is everything but.

He’s quiet— they say it’s because class president’s too busy studying to be at the top of his grade. He’d much rather be making designs on his computer.

The way he told his parents he wouldn’t be a doctor: enlists in the army on his nineteenth birthday. Fresh out of high school with a shaved head and a bag of regrets.

(One thing he doesn’t regret: the summer before he goes away and she runs back to where she ran off to in the first place).

Twenty-one and his parents still don’t get the hint: enrolls in Hongik as a visual communication design major; it isn’t long before COMPLEX is born.

He drops out of university shortly after.

They’ve always been push-and-pull— it takes almost twenty years for them to start (or maybe it’s to finish what they started: at twenty-six his proposal is just a soft murmur between breathless laughter).

2016: He always thought his life was average— he wonders if it’s normal to scatter your unborn child’s ashes only months apart from pouring soju at your best friend’s funeral.

2017: He wants to be average (he’s barely keeping it together).

prologue.

There’s a deafening silence that consumes them, wraps around their entire existence until the words that need to be said dissipate like a lit cigarette.

(It burned everything).

He’s born an only child to two very busy parents— a textbook recipe on How To Fuck Up Your Kid, but Park Taejoon does not grow up to hate the world and everyone in it. He’s simply a little serious for his age, which earns him the attention from an older girl in the sandbox with the warmth of a mother and a heart of gold.

“I want one too.”

Little fingers shyly point at Sooyoung’s head; it’s the first thing he’s said to her since she started bringing him baked goods to the playground. Her smile is the sun as she motions to the flower crown atop her head. “Does Taejoonie want one too?” A nod and a smile is shared between them before:

“Yah… 꼬마 ”

(There is no warmth from Kang Ji Soo, just a blazing fire that burns to the touch).

She comes in smacking her bubblegum as she kicks the grass around them, the six-year-old’s disapproval weaving between little eyebrows in contempt. When the older girl is around, he isn’t “too-serious-for-his-age”; he’s exactly the age he needs to be, yelling and bickering and pulling out pigtails.

(The three of them couldn’t be any more different—

—it’s kismet)

ii.

The dog days of youth are most apparent on nights like these: the clock tick-tocking away at hagwon, every click of the hand like the slick of a bullet in a barrel.

He’d finished his revision for the day– Park Taejoon used the silence of the study room to draw in his notebook. It was almost a little twisted: the solitary boy preferred the communal suffering of cram school more than being in his own home– because at cram school he could doodle away without the guilt of his future weighing down on him in the form of doctorate degrees adorning the walls.

“Pssst.”

A pink note is tossed on his desk on top of a tiny wrapped box. “Pass it along to Ji Soo sunbae, will you?”

His response is always the same: a deadpan stare followed by a delayed nod and crossed fingers behind his back.

(Crossed because despite his appearance, Park Taejoon is secretly superstitious— he doesn’t want karma to bite him back in the ass as he tosses the letter and the meticulously wrapped gift into the trashcan on his way out).

iii.

“Have you heard back from SNU?”

It’s a question he’s been hearing far too much of lately (with different versions: sometimes it’s KAIST, sometimes it’s Yonsei). It’s a question that leads him to trudge up the staircase and flicker on the fluorescent lights in the bathroom…

He shaves his head with shaving cream, his father’s razor, and not much of a reason in doing so.

He stares at himself in the mirror and the answer stares back at him: his buzz-cut is uneven but he thinks it’ll be his saving grace.

(He’s only on the brink of adulthood when he enlists in the army; his mother is too busy to mourn his future but they’ve made their disappointment clear when he doesn’t get a single visit in the span of two years).

iv.

He’d always been a model student– SKY material, even– but it was all without an ounce of motivation; without a cause for destination (don’t people study just because?).

Taejoon didn’t have a dream like Sooyoung or Ji Soo, who seemingly flaunted their desires and ambitions in front of people like him, people with no direction, until:

“Hey that’s pretty cool!”

He’d left his laptop open where he had been working on some random designs when the older girls infiltrated his room, peering over his shoulder as he tried to manically close down the program.

“Not bad, 꼬마..”

He remembers that moment when he returns two years later: still, no particular destination in mind, but he’s now aware of his direction.

His parents still don’t want to see him even though he’s enrolled at Hongik albeit for an art degree.

(But it seems that what is meant to be, is meant to be: at twenty-one the Three Musketeers move into a tiny rooftop apartment in the heart of Hongdae with the dog days of youth long behind them).

His first kiss is at eleven.

Ji Soo proclaims that her middle-school sunbae didn’t like girls who couldn’t kiss and she pushes Taejoon off the swings after the fact– he’s left in a puddle of confusion and with a tingle across his lips.

(He doesn’t know what it means, but he doesn’t call her noona anymore).

It takes him years to figure out why she bothered him so much. He couldn’t even begin to count the times admirers would pass on a gift to him for her— and how all of them made it into the trash before they even reached her.

(Park Taejoon is elected class president because of his cool demeanor…

…if only they knew how fiery Kang Ji Soo made him).

She graduates a year before him and runs away to Europe; he’s left with a pang in his chest and a realization.

The summer before enlistment she’s back for the school break and he decides that there isn’t really much to lose now that he’s shaved his head.

(He kisses her on a particularly cool evening under a streetlamp, cicadas buzzing).

vi.

Two years are painstakingly slow; life goes on.

Their reunion as friends for twenty-years goes like any other, That Summer a forgotten dream.

(They are both hot— one, a wildfire, and the other a flame disguised as ice— but their love is a slow burn,

until the spark goes off and sets everything ablaze).

vii.

The passion of their youth translates into their art: they are no longer constrained by their parent’s hopes and aspirations. They learn that they carve their own path, and with the people they’ve met along away, COMPLEX is born like most artistic conceptions: a drunken night on their tiny apartment rooftop with the Seoul city lights shining.

viii.

Things are different, yet the same.

The tiny zine circulating the undergrounds of Hongdae transforms into a prominent magazine and Sooyoung and Ji Soo have finally achieved their dreams. His parents are still not speaking to him.

The tiny rooftop apartment in Hongdae becomes a regular apartment in Mapo, and Ji Soo and Taejoon have been dating for a while before:

“Stay with me forever.”

Her nose crinkles at his random profession and her laugh tinkers off and wraps around his head; he feels like he can’t breathe when she laughs like that.

“Where else would I go?”

(He likes to remember her like this, before her smile fades and the silence consumes them).

ix.

“I’m pregnant”

He distinctly remembers the winter haze enveloping them, mouths covered by the linen as their grins reached the corners of their crescent lids. He swears he’d never heard anything sweeter, kissing the top of her head with prudence— as if she were the most delicate thing in the world at that very moment.

Sooyoung was the first to know, naturally.

(The first and the last…)

He had been bowing all his life but he can’t find it in himself to pull himself back up, his forehead pressed against the bamboo mat. He doesn’t look forward when he gets back up for the second bow, only stares down at the white chrysanthemums in despair.

Her mother doesn’t wail, only glares at the floor as he bows to her in condolences.

Men don’t cry, especially in public;

(He’d never been one for conventions).

After it happens, she doesn’t say anything.

There’s an eerie stillness when they get back from the crematorium, not a word uttered between them. He wants to reach out in front of her but he’s a coward, only parting his lips when her back is to him— she can’t see his outstretched hand but he wonders if he’d done it on purpose. If one of them speaks, the nightmare becomes a reality. She slams the door behind her.

(He thinks that might be where it starts; crying behind closed doors).

Have you ever smothered a fire before?

The light goes out but the smoke lingers, draping over everything; burning.

She was once ablaze; dancing.

What was once just a disguise hardens over his flame; ice.

(& what was once a love on fire had been smothered by the silence; it burned everything).

#cx:accepted #kim won joong

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lauramalchowblog · 5 years ago

Text

Goodbye Glasses, Hello Smartglasses

By KIM BELLARD

It’s been a few months since I last wrote about augmented reality (AR), and, if anything, AR activity has only picked up since then — particularly in regard to smartglasses. I pointed out then how Apple’s Tim Cook and Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg were extremely bullish on the field. and Alphabet (Google Glasses) and Snap (Spectacles) have never, despite a few apparent setbacks, lost their faith.

I can’t do justice to all that is going on in the field, but I want to try to hit some of the highlights, including not just what we see but how we see.

Let’s start with Google acquiring smartglass innovator North, for some $180m, saying:

We’re building towards a future where helpfulness is all around you, where all your devices just work together and technology fades into the background. We call this ambient computing.

North’s founders explained that, from the start, their vision had been: “Technology seamlessly blended into your world: immediately accessible when you want it, but hidden away when you don’t,” which is a pretty good vision.

Meanwhile, Snap is up to Spectacles 3.0, introduced last summer. They allow for 3D video and AR, and continue Snap’s emphasis on headgear that not only does cool stuff but that looks cool too. Steen Strand, head of SnapLab, told The Indian Express:

A lot of the challenges with doing technology and eyewear is about how to hack all the stuff you need into a form factor that’s small, light, comfortable, and ultimately something that looks good as well.

Snapchat is very good at taking something very complex like AR and implementing it in a way that’s just fun and playful. It really sidesteps the whole burden of the technology and we are trying to do that as much as possible with Spectacles.

Snap claims 170m of its users engage with AR daily — and some 30 times each day at that. It recently introduced Local Lens, which “enable a persistent, shared AR world built right on top of your neighborhood.”

And then there’s Apple, the leader in taking hardware ideas and making them better, with cooler designs (think iPod, iPhone, iPad). It has been working on headset-mounted displays (HMDs) — including AR and VR — since 2015, with a 1,000 person engineering team.

According to Bloomberg, there has been tension between Mike Rockwell, the team’s lead, and Jony Ive, Apple’s design guru, largely centering around if such headsets would be freestanding or need a companion hub, such as a smartphone, that would allow greater capabilities.

Ive won the battle, having Apple focus first on a freestanding headset. Bloomberg reports:

Although the headset is less technologically ambitious, it’s pretty advanced. It’s designed to feature ultra-high-resolution that will make it almost impossible for a user to differentiate the virtual world from the real one.

Apple continues to work on both versions (especially since Ive has now departed). Bloomberg predicts Apple’s AR glasses will be available by 2023.

Not to be outdone, according to Patently Apple, “Facebook is determined to stay ahead of Apple on HMDs and win the race on being first with smartglasses to replace smartphones.”

For example, earlier this year, Facebook beat out Apple in an exclusive deal with AR display firm Plessey. The company’s goal is “glasses form factor that lets devices melt away,” while noting that “the project will take years to complete.” It continues to generate a variety of smartglasses related patients, including one for a companion audio system.

Just to show they’re in the game too, Amazon is working on Echo Frames and Microsoft is still trying to figure out uses for Hololens.

But what may be most intriguing smartglasses may be indicated by some recent Apple patents. As reported by Patently Apple:

The main patent covers a powerful new vision correction optical system that’s able to incorporate a user’s glasses prescription into the system. The system will then alter the optics to address vision issues such astigmatism, farsightedness, and nearsightedness so that those who wear glasses won’t have to them when using Apple’s HMD.

It’s worth pointing out that the vision correction is not the goal of the patent, just one of the features it allows. The patent incorporates a variety of field-of-vision functions, including high-resolution display needed for AR and VR. But vision correction may be one of the most consequential.

Two months ago, technology author Robert Scoble explained that Apple should be more interested in AR than VR because:

60% of people wear eye glasses. So, if Apple can disrupt the eye glass market, like it disrupted the watch market, it can sell 10s of millions. So, the teams that are winning Tim Cook’s ear are those who are showing how Apple can disrupt eye glasses. Not teams that are disrupting VR.

Doug Thompson elaborated, “If it can grab 13% of the market for glasses, that’s an $18B market, nearly double the current Apple wearables business to date.” Although he believes AR is coming, he also believes: “The point of Apple Glasses won’t be to ‘bring AR to the masses’. It will be to create a wearable product that’s beautiful and that does beautiful things.”

And this was before the news broke about Apple’s new patent.

I’ve worn glasses since elementary school, and it’s a bother to have to periodically get new lenses. If I could buy smartglasses that automatically updated, I’d be there. Warby Parker, Lenscrafter, and all those independent opticians should be pretty worried.

Thirty years ago, if you predicted we’d all be glued to handheld screens, you’d have been scoffed at. I think that in perhaps as little as ten years it is going to be considered equally as old-fashioned to be looking at a screen or even carrying a device. Anything we’d want to look at or do on a screen we’ll do virtually, using the ubiquitous computing power we’ll have (such as through Google’s ambient computing).

Mr. Scoble told John Koetsier: “This next paradigm shift is computing that you use while walking around, while moving around in space,” Mr. Koetsier believes it is “the next major leap in computing platforms,” called “spacial computing.”

We should stop thinking about AR as a fun add-on and more about a technology to help us see what we need/want to see in the way that best presents it, and smartglasses as the way we’ll experience it.

Kim is a former emarketing exec at a major Blues plan, editor of the late & lamented Tincture.io, and now regular THCB contributor.

Goodbye Glasses, Hello Smartglasses published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

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kristinsimmons · 5 years ago